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drabbles-of-writing · 1 year

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Odd Echoes

AO3

Summary: Luz wasn't surprised to find Hunter in the kitchen. She wasn't surprised that his nightmares hadn't been very nice that night, or that they were both equally paranoid, or that he was still hearing things that weren't there anymore. It was all par for the course, really.

The surprising thing was that when she listened, she started hearing it, too.

A lonely, longing birdsong.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Well, you shouldn’t be awake.”

It was odd, Luz thought, to see Hunter whirl around so fast, eyes so wild and crazed, and know it used to be worse. To smile, just a little bit, as he began to relax, and find some comfort in knowing it was getting better.

Or maybe he was too tired. That was always possible.

“Neither should you,” He muttered, remaining leaning awkwardly against the kitchen counter, facing off into the dark, head raised, from where it had been blankly staring at his hands.

“We’re not talking about me.” Luz waved it off, trudging through the dark, past the kitchen table, hands skimming over the wood as she passed. Just to check.

“Then don’t complain.” Hunter sniffed, eyes tracking, all the way until she slipped into a seat across the counter.

There wasn’t a single light on, so she could only assume his slightly moving head was him tracking her. Really, if she wasn’t so paranoid, she probably wouldn’t have seen him there in the first place. He had been tucked to the side, hidden from even the moonlight through the window.

His eyes didn’t glow like they used to, after all.

“Not complaining.” She corrected, resting her cheek tiredly in one hand. “Just pointing it out. Mom would tell you to go to bed.”

“She’d tell that to you, too.”

“Nah, she caught me wandering a few times.” Luz hummed. “I mean, it was implied, but I think she was just hoping I’d get it out of my system.”

“And how’s that going?” She thought she saw his eyebrow raise.

“Eh, it hasn’t gotten worse?” She shrugged, letting her hand fall. “Did you at least get a snack?”

“No,” Hunter’s head turned, looking around, “I kind of forgot I was in the kitchen.”

“Happens,” Luz shrugged, “grab me some chips.”

“I’m getting pretzels.” Hunter decided, pushing himself up and turning.

“Suit yourself.” Luz sighed, if only to encourage him to do what he wanted. It was usually more difficult on nights like these.

“I thought I was being quiet.” Hunter commented, shuffling around and pulling open a cabinet door.

“Hm?” Luz blinked. “Oh, no, I had no idea you were awake.”

“Ah,” He said simply, withdrawing a packet of something that crinkled, “here.”

He moved to toss it, stopped, then silently handed it over. She took it, also slow with her movements, delicate so as to make little noise.

“You know we can still move you to the guest room, right?” Luz said, quietly tearing a piece off the corner of the packet, “you don’t have to keep sitting in the base—these are funyuns.”

“I wasn’t looking.” He admitted, leaning closer to peer at it. “Sorry, I can—”

“Funyuns are good, too.” She assured, popping one in her mouth. “These are the spicy ones, though, so don’t eat them. You’ll melt.”

“You eat one fiery monstrosity.” Hunter muttered, turning back and opening another cabinet.

“It was a taki, Hunter.” She deadpanned. “The normal kind.”

“Monstrosity.”

“Whiner.” Luz considered throwing a funyun at him, but decided to let him crouch and withdraw another packet of snacks, thoroughly scrutinizing it. “Answer my question.”

“The—? Oh,” Hunter stood up, silently shutting the cabinet and laying the snack on the table, “got the pretzels. I don’t mind the basement.”

“But if you would prefer—”

“I know Vee is basically moving into that room.” He persisted.

“Yes, but she lives here full-time, and it really wouldn’t be difficult to sort—”

“The basement is nice.” Hunter interrupted, paused, then shifted around, his back to the closed cabinets. “It’s big. There’s a lot of cool stuff. I can put my own things practically anywhere. There aren’t any windows.” He listed, and Luz glanced at the window before her. “And…” He paused, “I can hear when people are upstairs.”

Easy to know when you’re alone.

“It’s only going to be us.” She found herself saying.

“No, it isn’t.” Hunter’s head turned, and it was a tad unerring, she thought, to see his eyes now. His face she could make out, but his eyes nearly looked like black pits. “You know it won’t be.”

“It is for now.” Luz murmured, knowing a lost battle, and, well, she didn’t really need to be chipper around him. “We could dream.”

“Yeah, we could.” He snorted, crossing his arms over the counter.

The silence stewed. Luz took another funyun, extra cautious about how she chewed, even if she knew it sounded much louder to her ears than it actually was.

She paused, for a moment. Swallowed, thumbed at the edge of the packet, looked to the window. There was a half moon in the sky. Waning or waxing, she couldn't tell.

When she glanced back to Hunter, his position had changed. Hunched forward, leaning all his weight on the counter, shoulders drawn up, and head lowered so far forward it was nearly on the counter. Unmoving, practically lifeless, like all the strings were cut on a pu—

Hunter violently flinched, jerking upright with fangs flashing into sight.

Then, right then, did Luz realize she’d seized his forearm in a vice-like grip. She could feel her hand shake with how tight it was.

Hunter had grabbed her wrist. Lighter, she figured, but enough to hurt.

She stared up for a few seconds, eyes flicking over black pits that led to nowhere. Nothing yellow, or piercing in the night. Moving, if she looked just right, and worried.

“Sorry,” She croaked, slowly forcing her hand to loosen, “sorry, that—sorry.” She rasped, and when she realized her hand still wouldn’t unclench all the way, she gave it a harsh tug, tearing it off, and nearly taking Hunter’s arm with her.

Hunter released her wrist as she made the movement, a quick unclasping of fingers as though he’d briefly touched a hot stove. His hand remained raised between them as Luz curled her hand back, now in a fist, against her chest.

The silence was more suffocating, now.

Hunter stared at her, and she stared right at the counter. She was a coward, she knew, in being unable to know if he looked more concerned or more scared.

“Why’d you wake up?”

Luz still didn’t look up, because if Hunter was asking that, then she must have looked terrifying, or terri fied, in the dark. That was the peace agreement. If she didn’t ask, then neither would he.

His tone was simple, though. Monotone, betrayed only by the crack at the very end. His hand was still partially raised.

“Nightmare,” She murmured, shoulders hunching, “had to check on everyone.” She paused, exhaled slowly. “I was coming to check on you.”

Slowly, Hunter’s hand lowered. She could see it, resting on the counter, just out of the corner of her eye. His finger twitched, then curled around the pretzel packet. Just to have something to hold, she guessed.

“Terror,” Hunter offered dully, “the—night terror is when you wake up panicked, right? Dif–different from a nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Luz gave a tiny nod, allowing herself to look up enough to see Hunter’s chest, “usually.”

“I had to check the entry points.” Hunter admitted, finger lightly fiddling with the packet. “All the doors and windows, twice. I was, um,” He stopped, swallowed, “trying to yell at myself to not check a third time.”

“You can check a third time.” She assured, uncurling just a little more.

“Didn’t want to wake anyone up.” He shrugged, slumping, and now she could see his face, downtrodden, and focused entirely on the pretzels. “And there was…” He stopped, head raising, looking out the window.

Luz followed, back out to the night sky, to the town with dark windows and not a soul moving. She was sure it was her imagination that made the town look sore, tired and aching from something that came long before. But the feeling still remained.

“I thought…” He slumped further, as though his legs wouldn’t hold his weight, head bowed again, but this time, Luz could see him moving, see his back rising with his breaths, “just thought I heard something. Didn’t…want to be an idiot and go outside, you know?”

“Heard what?” Luz sat up. Realistically, it was more likely to be a racoon. But, realistically, she wasn’t sitting here, at an ungodly hour, with a guy who shouldn’t exist in an uncountable amount of ways.

Hunter didn’t answer for a minute. He left the packet to fiddle with his sleeves. It was a quieter alternative. When she looked, he gripped the fabric much more fiercely, inadvertently showing the scars along one wrist.

“Just Flapjack,” He mumbled, so quiet it was nearly a breeze, “that’s all.”

Luz sat back in her chair.

She considered letting the silence linger. Too much more and Hunter might start staying silent by choice, not because he had nothing left to say.

Then, she slid a hand across the counter, waiting until Hunter’s head moved to show he saw it. She didn’t touch, but she left it there. An offering.

“I used to think I heard Eda, back when we were stuck here.” She offered, quietly. “And King. Usually Eda, though, ‘cause King’s always loud, and I swore I heard her muttering around the corner.”

“Yeah,” Hunter gruffed, curt, “and now, she could be.”

She let the hand stay, though she relented, and went silent. She didn’t take it personally, and she knew he hadn’t meant it to be.

Like he said: now, if she turned the corner, they just might be there.

He couldn’t be that lucky.

She really would’ve thought that, by this point, she’d quit trying to do the whole relating-to-other-people thing. It clearly wasn’t her strong suit, and Vee should’ve been the final straw that got her to knock it off.

Trying to get her head to listen to her was a lot easier said than done. Especially these days.

Hunter’s ear twitched.

She noticed it, saw his head raise a tiny amount, then duck again, shoulders bunching closer. An attempt at covering his ears without moving his hands, without being obvious.

She began to open her mouth to say it was alright, he could cover them—and stopped.

She tilted her head, frowning.

There, through the walls and windows, was a small, high-pitched noise.

A chirp.

Multiple, all in order, followed by a long whistle.

“Hunter,” She whispered, slowly standing.

“Luz, I’m not—”

“Hunter, I hear it, too.” She insisted, and Hunter jerked around even faster than when she’d first spoken.

“What.” He hissed, head raising higher, ears pricking.

“Is it words, or just chirps?” Luz asked, holding out a hand to tell him to whisper, still listening to the soft trills.

“Chirps,” He said, turning as well, ears swiveling in a way she’d call adorable later, trying to find the source.

“Might be some bird outside.” She reasoned.

“I thought you only had those owls at night?” He angled his head slowly to the side, ears raising, then giving a small twitch. Found the source.

“We have others.” She said, already moving. “Wouldn’t hurt to check, though.”

“That doesn’t—” He reached, grabbing her upper arm.

“There’s two of us, two more here,” Luz turned, gesturing with her head back towards the hallway, “and a portal just a little ways away.”

“You said it’s probably just some other bird.” Hunter flattened his ears.

“You don’t want to check, then?” Luz tilted her head.

Hunter pursed his lips, then glared. Softened, then stared off towards the front door. Back to Luz, to the counter, ears pricked and listening.

Somewhere, she heard faint, joyous clicks.

“Quietly.” He ordered, dropping her arm and moving in an instant.

Luz tailed him, stopping only to duck down and move her arm under the living room couch, withdrawing a bat she kept stashed there, among a few others. Could never be too secure.

Hunter had already opened the door and stepped out, leaving Luz to sprint to catch up, darting out and gently pulling the front door shut behind them.

Hunter stood on the porch, hands gripping the rail, listening. Better ears than hers, after all.

Silence. Pressing and suffocating with Luz stood next to him, fingers curling tightly around the handle of her bat.

A tiny trill, and Hunter’s head jerked to the right, towards the forest.

He moved, and she followed.

At the very least, it wasn’t inwards to the forest, but somewhere on the outside, by the treeline, and the house was still in sight. Her mind helpfully supplied they could sprint back and through a window in just a few seconds

Hunter scanned the branches and through the winding trees, ears almost like disks with how much they swiveled. Luz kept her eyes up, below them, all around, and just about anywhere that Hunter wasn’t watching

He hopped onto an old stump, a tree that had to be cut because it leaned too heavily, looking up and around. In the dappled moonlight, she could finally see the shaded brown of his eyes, pupils small.

“Flapjack?” He called faintly, much too quiet for anyone more than six feet away to hear, palisman or not.

A series of clicks at rapid-fire, closer.

Hunter hopped off the stump, turning in slow circles as he looked all around, trying to pinpoint the origin, somewhere in the trees.

Luz stepped around him, trying to peer under the foliage of a thick holly.

There, she saw a shift.

Luz scurried back, scanning, eyes flicking about. Not that branch, that one had no leaves, that was just berries—

“Hunter,” She said, tension seeping away, turning back to nudge him with the end of her bat.

He whirled. She gave him a soft smile, pointing up with the bat, and his gaze followed.

There, amongst the twisted branches of the holly, cried out a small, light brown bird.

Luz turned to look back at the singing bird herself, if only to spare Hunter from being caught with his shoulders falling, all preparation dropping away like a heavy stone.

The bird tilted its head this way and that, shifting and ruffling as it called out, warbling and whistling. It paid no mind to its audience, stopping and starting seemingly only when it deemed fit.

“Yeah,” Luz heard Hunter murmur at her side, “that makes sense.”

Palismen, she knew, weren’t like living things. They didn’t abide by what vocal chords they ought to have, especially not one like Stringbean. She’d heard Ghost growl much deeper than any cat should, Clover chirp like a cricket, and she swore that she once heard Emmiline croak.

Flapjack was an amalgamation of calls. She was sure just about any songbird would sound like him.

The bird twittered again, wings fluffing, head raised in waiting for a few moments.

“Looks like a nightingale.” She offered quietly, eyes remaining on the bird.

“Do you just know all birds?” Hunter muttered, also staring.

“Animal kid.” She said proudly, one hand on her chest before it dropped. “Just a minor obsession. Everyone says these guys are the best singers.”

The nightingale whistled again, a tone that raised and lowered before being followed by drawn-out clicks.

“The best?” Hunter scoffed. “How awful do the rest of your birds sound?”

“It’s just what they say.” Luz huffed, nudging his arm. “Probably just got hyped up by millions of poets and stories.”

“What in the world could a poet have to say about a bird?” Hunter muttered, arms raising to cross over his chest. He was still watching the nightingale.

“A lot.” Luz snickered. “But I think the best they’ve got is some Berkeley Square song and that story with the em—” She snapped her mouth shut.

“The what?” Hunter hummed, not paying too much attention.

“...the monarch.” She settled on, swallowing thickly, watching the bird shift and sing. “I don’t remember a lot, again, minor obsession, but it was, er,” She paused, thinking, “something about a ruler who liked a nightingale’s song, so he put her in a cage.”

“...ah.” Hunter said slowly, and she saw his jaw tighten when she glanced.

“She escaped, though, I remember that.” Luz tried sheepishly. “Something about, uh, the ruler found a replacement? But then something happened, and she came back to help him? I dunno, it was some lesson about friendship.”

“Why’d she come back?” Hunter wondered.

“Cause he was dying. I think.” Luz leaned the end of her bat on the ground.

“But he caged her?” Hunter frowned, head turning slightly.

“I don’t try to understand the morals of stories written over a hundred years ago.” She shrugged.

“Did—” Hunter clenched his jaw tighter, closed shut.

Luz kept quiet, drumming her fingers along the bat.

The nightingale hopped a few paces down its branch, fluttering its wings as it raised its head to chirp some odd-sounding tune. It was kind of funny, watching the show, when the only response was a barking fox in the distance.

“Did…” Hunter started again, and Luz didn’t look over. “Did she miss him?”

“Dunno,” Luz said, perhaps forcing how easily she tried to make it sound, “but I’m sure it’s been re-imagined a few times. Maybe in one of them, she did.”

The nightingale paused its singing. Its head turned this way and that, the night feeling much quieter, much more enclosing, in the ensuing silence. She had the tiniest feeling of relief when it started up again.

“What, uh,” Hunter cleared his throat, sounding just a bit rough, “what’s it singing for, anyway?”

“Trying to find someone, usually.” Luz said, this time, the simplicity was genuine. Before frowning. “I’m…pretty sure they’re not native to this place, though.”

“Think she’s lost?” Hunter asked.

“Or someone’s pet got loose.” Luz’s frown deepened.

The nightingale sang again, shaking itself out. It paused a moment later, listening. Like before, like always, there was nothing to return it.

And so, it sang again.

“I should actually probably get M—”

A small, uneven whistle.

Luz looked back to Hunter, blinking quickly as he thinned his mouth again, cut off barely a second after it began.

The nightingale made a piping noise, and Luz looked up at it to see it was leaning a bit off the branch, tail twitching, head tilting.

Slowly, she heard Hunter take in a breath.

“Well?” Luz murmured, not looking over.

A moment of silence.

Then, softly, he whistled again.

It was one sound, no real tune to it. More of a high-pitched whine than anything else. Noise for the sake of noise.

But the nightingale chirped again, fluttering down to a lower branch. Its wings flicked, and it trilled again, drawn-out.

Hunter whistled more of a tune, starting high, shifting a bit lower, and harsher at the end with some puffs of air. It was wonky, and it varied in volume, but the nightingale flew to a lower branch all the same.

It remained well out of reach. But still, it sang.

“Bird boy.” Luz teased with a grin.

“Should we catch her?” He asked, before giving another short, sharp whistle, one that the nightingale replied to with another pip.

“Probably.” Luz stepped back. “I’ll go grab Mom.”

Hunter gave a quick nod, whistling something that almost sounded like a song Luz had been playing as background noise last week. She tilted the bat over her shoulder, took another step back, and turned to the house.

The time between stepping inside and making it to her mom’s door was over in a flash, the quick speed-walking turning into a sprint when she was sure Hunter couldn’t look back and notice her. He could handle himself just fine, but it still made her antsy to leave anyone on their own.

The bat was still loosely in her hand as she cracked open the bedroom door, slinking in. Her eyes, long-since getting used to the dark, easily found the mound of a body, and she used the end of the bat to poke it.

“Hey, mamá,” She whispered, pushing a little more when Camila grunted.

Living with six kids had gotten to her, and she was much quicker to get up than she’d have been a year ago. Bleary eyes snapped to focus when she saw Luz, sitting up in an instant and suddenly wide awake as she reached for her glasses.

“Hey, cariño, what’s wrong?” She worried.

“Nothing, estoy bien,” She insisted, hand raised and standing back, smile turning just a tiny bit nervous. “Just—nightingales don’t live in Connecticut, right?”

Camila blinked a few times, processing the words in a sleep-fogged brain. Then, she sighed, tired and much more relaxed, sliding her glasses on.

“Cariño, tienes un teléfo—”

“No, no, cause,” Luz pointed behind herself, then out the open door, “Encontramos una nightingale. Uh, just outside.”

“Luz, estás en serio—” Camila paused. “We?”

“Me and Hunter.” She clarified. “He’s speaking its language right now, pero soy el noventa y cinco por ciento sure it’s a nightingale.”

“Alright, alright,” Camila sighed, pushing the covers back, “is it hurt?”

“No, but I imagine the little guy doesn’t want to be here.” Luz said, stepping back and being a tad grateful her mom only gave a small glance to the bat before standing up, rubbing at her eyes.

“Let’s take a look, then.” Camila sighed, trudging towards the door.

Luz scurried out ahead of her, quicker thanks to, well, being awake longer. She still walked on quiet feet, aware of Vee still sleeping, and realized she’d left the front door open somewhere during the blur of coming inside and waking up her mom.

She looked back to make sure Camila was following, gesturing with a hand before slipping out. She heard some grumbling behind her, but nothing more than expected of someone just woken up.

She could hear Hunter whistling again, accompanied by chirps. She grinned at her mom as she walked out, clearly hearing it herself, head tilted curiously.

Camila left the door cracked open as Luz hopped down the porch steps, circling around the side of the house, where she could pick out Hunter’s shock of pale hair easier in the dim night than a shadowed kitchen.

He was standing right next to the holly tree, now, with the nightingale on a branch right next to him. He had one hand raised, finger offered in a perch. The nightingale would chirp, shuffle a little closer, cheep a few more times, then bounce away on the branch.

Hunter barely moved, whistling changing sometimes into humming, and, yeah, that was definitely the song she’d had on repeat last week. She could’ve sworn Hunter had found it, quote, “the most insufferable thing I’ve heard all month”.

Hunter’s ear twitched, and though his head didn’t move, she figured his eyes must have shifted to them, canting his head slightly in greeting as Luz strode over, extra cautious to keep her distance, now that the nightingale was so close.

“Bueno, mira eso.” Camila hummed, also cautious, but faster than Luz. “Be careful, Hunter,” She called, a bit louder, “it could be diseased.”

“Just looks a bit skinny to me.” Hunter commented, quiet, and followed it with a leading whistle, of which the nightingale trilled back.

“Must be a pet,” Camila mumbled, and Luz wasn’t sure if Hunter heard it, “has it been easy to grab?”

“I don’t want to hurt her.” Hunter’s ears pressed down a bit, still looking at the bird, humming something high in his throat.

The nightingale stared for a moment, looked down at his hand, then gave it a tiny peck.

He barely flinched, which the nightingale seemed to care little for, and it just looked up again and chirped.

“Of course not, I know you would be careful,” Camila soothed easily, a few paces away, and while the nightingale seemed to eye her, it was perfectly content where it was, “I only wanted to check.”

“Can you speak bird yet?” Luz called cheekily, daring to step a bit closer, to which she got the nightingale warbling at her and hopping a tad closer to Hunter on its branch.

“Only once.” Hunter quipped, sardonic, but his mouth twitched in an almost-smile, so Luz didn’t feel bad about snickering. “She’s talkative, though. Reminds me of you.”

“Amemao.” She puffed.

“Ay,” Camila whirled a glare, to which Luz immediately ducked her head and took a few steps back. Much to Hunter’s clear entertainment.

“We can help her, right?” Hunter asked, tone still light, but his ears remained drooped, eyes half-lidded due to all kinds of exhaustion as he curled his finger in a “come here” gesture, to which the nightingale was unimpressed.

“Of course,” Camila soothed immediately, “Luz, we still have that bag of seeds, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luz looked up, then angled her head, “Hunter, you found where we put it, right?”

“You're bad at hiding things.” Hunter snorted, and Luz caught her mom’s slight cringe.

Camila was a vet, after all. Familiar to the grief from beast and human alike, and, really, Flapjack had been somewhere in the middle of both of those, hadn't he?

Tuck the reminders out of sight, that was the method. Don’t get rid of it, just make it less obvious how hollow the house became. Easier to remake a life around the hole when it’s off in a corner, not all over the floor.

“We weren’t hiding it—”

“Should be in my drawer.” Hunter continued anyway, barely batting an eye. “The night stand, closest to the stairs in my—in the basement.” He caught, shaking his head.

“In your room, got it.” Luz made a finger-guns motion, and Hunter could only glare her way, seeing as he’d started whistling again before the nightingale hopped away. “I’ll go get it. Don’t start being a better bird whisperer without me!” She was already walking backwards, giving an ‘I'm watching you’ gesture.

“Gracias,” Camila said over her shoulder, still focused on the tree, “Hunter, can you bring her along the branch? Further from the center of the tree, we don’t want to make it too easy for her to hide.”

Hunter flicked an ear in understanding, hand still raised in a loose, welcoming pose as he stepped a little further away. His whistle became a hum akin to some wonky beat that could probably be found in whatever old CD’s they had gathering dust in the basement, eyes never leaving the bird.

The nightingale, without hesitation, followed. A quick and just short of a begging call followed, louder as it hopped along the branch.

“I’m here,” She could’ve sworn she heard it, though there’s no way she was close enough, raspy and murmuring; “I’m not going anywhere, promise.”

Luz turned fully away then. Had to find and make sure she didn’t fall over the steps and all that. Vee really didn’t need to be woken up for this, so she was extra careful when nudging the cracked door further open again.

She should probably grab some kind of box to put the nightingale in, too, now that she was thinking about it. Hunter would probably take full possession of it, but she doubted anyone would complain.

Behind her, in the quiet of night, the nightingale sang out.

And, finally, she got a reply.

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