Gretel (_gretel) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2014-05-27 21:12:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | character: gretel, character: hansel |
If the sky starts falling down on you.
Who: Hansel and Gretel
What: Dealing with a new kind of trauma in their old way.
Where: Their room at the Sleepy Hollow
When: Tuesday night
Status: Complete
It'd been a quiet couple days, but not the peaceful sort of quiet. A still, stagnant atmosphere had settled around both of them since that day. Even the ghost in Hansel's room had left him alone, likely fended off by the dangerously protective air given off by his sister. Only by the grace of God had she managed to not blow the heads off of anything in a white coat milling about the hospital; the instincts of one who had hunted evil her entire life had a sense of what might, and what would get them both killed stayed her hand. Also, without his medicine, Hansel would have died. So instead, only part of him did, when they strapped him to a chair and shot lightning through his head for an hour. Part of Gretel died, too... having to watch. Having to do nothing.
It wouldn't happen again. She'd burn this whole place before she let them touch him again.
Meanwhile, they'd spent the days following in a quiet isolation, licking their wounds the way they always had after a particularly difficult hunt. But after twenty years of nothing but child-killings, their skin was more than sufficiently thick. That's why Gretel watched her brother's slow mental deterioration like a fucking hawk, not to mention the goings-on around them, all while never leaving his side. It'd come to a head; according to what she'd been reading and listening to on the word-box's lists, they may not have time to recover in 'peace' very long.
In her riding trousers and tunic, Gretel placed the communicator down on the desk and turned a look toward her brother's still shape on the bed. Anyone else would've thought he was sleeping. She knew better. The bed creased under her weight as she sat beside him, her back against the headboard. The weight of her hand came next, drawing tenderly across his brow and hair, then let him pull it close, her arm serving as a pillow.
She said nothing for a while longer, only squeezed his hand, and tried to keep her own worry from crushing both their souls. When the moment passed, she spoke very quietly.
"Something's happening out there..."