Chapter 1: New Dawn.
Chapter Text
The town was serenely quiet for once, an occasion that only arrived a few times a year if they were lucky, like a tradition set into the fabrics of time, of the universe, silencing every thought and prayer and voice for just a little while, until the gods were pleased with their duration down time.
Or maybe it was because Jimmy's head was so loud, bubbly and bursting with excitement and nerves all the same, hopping and springing and jumping off walls and cielings like caged animals contained in a small space. Maybe it was that that drowned out every other possible noise.
He couldn't keep still, sitting on an oak chair in the kitchen—one of the broken legs supported by old ledgers and scrap paper—kicking his legs too and frow in rapid succession in feeble attempts to tire out the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.
He got no such wish however, and was left to instead find distraction in staring out the window. It wasn't anything any sort of a pretty sight to the untrained eye, dull gray houses all lined in perfect symmetry leading down down and down for the stretch of the entire world. The cobblestone paths were missing a rock every few steps, others cracked and still others jutting out of position. Tendrils of deep black soot like spider legs puffed out from chimneys to widen into clouds all over the sky, staining it a more depressing gray.
To Jimmy however, it was beautiful. It was home. No matter how many stragglers hobbled through looking to scam townsfolk or how much bird poop dried on every rooftop because nobody would be bothered to clean it off. It was home.
All Jimmy had to do now was wait. Waiting. Waiting veeeeery patiently. Watching the clouds hover at a snails pace along the expanse of grayn.
Waiting. Waiting waiting waiting waiting.
How long did it take for a—
"Jimmy." Jimmy perked up instantly at the sound of his name, his head popping up like a meerkat, unaware that he had been slouched nearly clean in half beforehand. His wings propelled him off the seat and to his father in half a second, sending the poor wooden chair crashing against the floor in his wake.
Jimmy hissed out a wince through his teeth and tensed his shoulders way up to his ears, giving his dad a very slow turn to see if there would be reprimands. He stared at the chair—which was already on its last life before Jimmy had smashed it into the ground—as though considering...before letting out a sigh.
"Come on." He softened, putting his large, calloused palm on the back of Jimmy's smaller head and directing him inside the room.
It was like a blanket had fallen over the universe, the quiet turned soft, the air padded plush with cotton. Jimmy's lips parted in awe as he slowly approached, careful in his actions as though one sudden move would send everything crashing down.
His mum smiled at him from her spot under the covers whenever he approached, his father walked a little bit infront of him and got to his mother first, giving her head an affectionate peck. Jimmy's eyes were glued to the little bundle swaddle in worn red cloth, cuddled in his mother's arms.
"Jimmy, meet your new baby brother, Grian." His mother's voice was soft, melodic, barely higher than a whisper. Everyone had made an unspoken pact it seemed, to keep everything gentle to match the presence of the baby.
Jimmy gasped, his eyes widening as he peeked over to try and get a better look, from every angle.
"Hi." He smiled, wide with childish glee. "I knew you was gonna be a boy." Jimmy smiled with his teeth, tilting his head, his parents only let out breathy giggles.
"He's soooo tiiinyyyy." Jimmy mini-squealed, his hands twitching at his sides with the need to squeeze the cutie pie infront of him, only he didn't want to hurt him, in his head the slightest breeze could hurt a fragile little baby. His mother smiled.
"He's gonna need a big strong brother to protect him." She said smoothly, Jimmy brightened in an instant.
"I can do that!" He said a little bit too loudly, tensing sheepishly. "I can protect him!" He beamed at a more reasonable level. His father smiled and placed a hand on his head.
"You're gonna be the best big brother, hm?" He mused and Jimmy nodded wildly.
"Yes! The greatest! I'll fight off all of the bullies with my wooden sword and—and everyone will know not to mess wit him!" Jimmy proclaimed with a puff of his chest, his feathers puffing out in a similar way, electric with determination. His parents laughed.
"Would you like to hold him?" His mother asked calmly, adjusting the tiny avian in her arms. Jimmy hesitated, feeling wholly unworthy of such a massive task, but alas, he was Jimmy The Great...so he took on the challenge and nodded, holding his arms out awkwardly.
His mum carefully adjusted the baby in her arms once more and transfered him to Jimmy's, still taking most of the weight with her hand on his bottom.
"Okay...sit down..there we go...support his back and head...good job." His mum talked him through holding a baby one-o-one and Jimmy already felt like a pro. He was nervous out of his mind! He didn't wanna hurt his new baby brother!
Though, once little Grian was settled in his arms, Jimmy went slack, jaw loose and eyes glued onto his brother. He was so vulnerable. So fragile and small. Jimmy was gonna keep him safe from all of the bad guys and boogeymen. The boogey man best beware because Sheriff Jimmy Solidary does not mess around.
He just stared at him. Jimmy had never acctually seen a real baby before. They were a lot more scrunched...eyes shut to protect from the too bright light of the too big world and nose wrinkled. Jimmy could feel faint little bumps in his back from where he assumed Grian's wings would be. That just brought on a whole new wave of excitement.
Jimmy was gonna teach Grian how to fly, soar way way way up in the sky and do somersaults and front flips and cartwheels and dives and—ugh. It was gonna be brilliant!!
"Hi baby Grian." Jimmy whispered. "My name is Jimmy, and that's papa and that's mama...though...I guesses you already know mama cus you were in her tummy..." Jimmy mumbled, his parents watching on in clear amusement.
"We're gonna be the bestest friends and we're gonna be together forever and ever. I'm gonna be bestest brother and we're gonna build the bestest pillow forts. I'm the best at makin' nests, so, you're lucky." He rattled on to his new brother, hopefully getting the little dude excited for all of the super cool adventures to come whenever he wasn't so tiny.
The chubby-cheeked little babe didn't react, but Jimmy knew that he was just excited as he was.
"Can I keep holding him mama?" Jimmy lifted his head, glancing expectantly as his mum, whom was just watching his interactions with maternal love.
"Of course you can baby, just be gentle with him, okay?" She whispered and ruffled Jimmy's hair. Success! The canary shuffled a little further on the bed to get into a more comfortable position and stared dowm at his baby brother. He theorised what colour his wings would be, maybe he would get papa's parrot wings since Jimmy had mama's canary ones. Or maybe he would have yellow ones too! Or maybe cool neon ones with every single colour ever!
Grian made a little teeny tiny noise somewhere in his mouth and Jimmy froze, afraid he might've broken him.
"I think he wants his big brother to keep talking to him." His father suggested quietly, and it sounded like an amazing idea to Jimmy!
"Oh little Grian, if dat's what you want then we are we gonna be one heck of a team." Jimmy grinned, adjusting the little bundle in his arms and going off on a tangent about how he'll show him the best way to make a block castle without it tipping over and scattering everywhere, because that was never fun and he wanted his baby brother to have the most fun ever.
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Jimmy whizzed around the table at top speed with his arms wide like a bird—which was ironic considering he literally had bright yellow wings on his back, but those were busy nearly knocking things off the breakfast table. Obviously.
"Slow down rascal." His father caught Jimmy by the stomach, evoking a bubble of giggles from his throat.
"Papa—!" Jimmy giggled and tried to pry his father's arm away from him, but the thick muscle wouldn't give. Jimmy was absolutely trapped as his father blew raspberries into his neck, sending him squealing and kicking.
After that very thorough 'scolding', Jimmy was released and, having learned his lesson, padded at a reasonable pace over to his baby brother.
"Mornin' baby G!" Jimmy beamed whenever he got a warbled coo in response. It had been two months and little baby Grian's wings were still pretty bare, little pink things that looked like raw chicken wings, but if Jimmy looked reeeeeaaal close he could see some downy fuzz growing.
"Can I feed him mama?" Jimmy chirped and his mother adjusted the little avian in her lap. "Well aren't you a good big brother?" She said teasingly, taking the baby bottle from his father.
"The best!" Jimmy puffed out his chest, taking the bottle filled with milky liquid that was handed to him. He was very careful, very extra extra careful. He would never wanna hurt his baby brother on accident but mama had trained him super hard so that baby Grian wouldn't choke or anything.
All in all, they had a pretty lovely breakfast. Papa read the paper and mama sipped on her tea while Jimmy kept guard over baby Grian, having his own very important conversations.
"Hm hm yes indeed." Jimmy nodded along as his baby brother blew bubbles with spit and cooed random noises. He was very very talkative, a perfect harmony with Jimmy's nonstop chatter.
But peace rarely lasted in the cruel world.
A boom rippled in the distance, accented by a defeaning crash. The lot of them went still, his father sprinted to the window, paper completely forgotten.
"Mama?" Jimmy piped, brows pinched in worry and confusion, taking baby Grian's arm into his hand so he wasn't so scared.
"Get yourself and your brother upstairs. Now. Hide in the closet and do not come out." His father barked out, papa never barked, he never yelled nor got very angry, he was always soft and gentle when he spoke to Grian or Jimmy. So naturally, Jimmy only got more scared.
"Mama? Mama what's going on?" Jimmy warbled, his eyes darting around every which way as booms echoed in the background. His mother didn't answer him, only deposited baby Grian into Jimmy's arms, who had now started up a steady cry from the commotion.
"Listen to your father." Mama said softly, though with clear undertones of seriousness. Jimmy could see papa opening clutches and grabbing swords, not wooden swords with plunt tips and rubber handles like Jimmy's, real steel. Scary swords that Jimmy wasn't ever allowed to touch.
He wouldn't budge when his mama tried to nudge him up the stairs.
"Mama! I'm scared!" Jimmy whined, his feet moving without his consent as his mama guided him up the stairs.
"Don't be scared love, everything will be okay." His mama rushed to say as they crossed the threshold of his room, baby Grian still safe in his arms but clearly just as scared as Jimmy was if not more.
"How about we think of it like a game?" His mama said swiftly. Jimmy shook his head wildly. "But I don't wanna play this game!" He whined as his mama inched him backwards towards the closet.
"Like hide and seek okay?" His mama cupped his cheek, wiped a tear he hadn't felt with her thumb as Jimmy stared with wide eyes at her familiar deep blue ones. "Don't come out unless we find you okay? Do not come out for anyone else." His mama said firmly as she took Grian so that Jimmy could situate himself comfortably in the closet, his heart racing.
"Mama, mama don't go." Jimmy croaked as baby Grian was placed back into his arms, still wailing. Jimmy hugged him close to his chest, protecting him. His mama's face softened, head tilted.
"Look after this for me okay? It's a good luck charm." His mother whispered as she slipped her necklace off and secured it around Jimmy's neck instead. A thick, brown twine thread that lead down to a little hawk pendent, it's wings spread proudly.
"Mama—" Jimmy reached out but mama just kissed his forehead and gave the same to Grian before wrapping a blanket around them both as an extra loud boom shattered the earth.
"I love you both very much, be good, okay Jimmy? Protect your brother." His mother said all in the same breath before she shut the doors...and left. Her footsteps retreating.
Jimmy's breath was going a million miles a minute, heart following a similar path as he tried to block out the earth crumbling outside. But how could he? It was enveloping him. Filling his eardrums with no room for anything else.
"It's okay G...it's okay." Jimmy whispered, his voice high with tears as he hugged Grian to his chest, shimmying his wings out so that they could wrap around the two of them and provide extra comfort.
Jimmy closed his eyes tight, curled inwards around Grian and waited. Like he was told.
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Jimmy wasn't entirely certain how much time had passed, only that his back and the base of his wings were starting to ache. Baby Grian had quietened down at some stage along the line, sleeping soundly against Jimmy's chest.
The booms had ceased too. After the world being so defeaning the silence felt more eerie than comforting. Like it was supposed to be there, an intruder to previous chaos.
He knew what mama said, it had been repeating on loop in the back of his brain over and over and over but it was still now...so...so maybe it was okay to come out? Jimmy wanted this game to be over, he wasn't having fun, he was just scared. He wanted his mama. Surely it would be fine, right?
Jimmy shuffled over and gently pushed the door open with his elbow, making sure that his baby brother wouldn't slip out of his arms. The sudden stream of pale yellow light was a little disorientating as first but Jimmy blinked it away and shuffled out of the space, then, once out, stood—a little wobbly but he got the hang of how his knees worked again and adjusted his baby brother.
The room was still the same. His wooden horses and soldiers were still strewn about the floor in an unorganised clatter mama was always telling him to clean up, some old clothes shoved into a corner creating a pile of every colour and his mirror still had a crack in it from that time he threw his wooden dragon in the wrong direction. Everything was the same—but it was so quiet.
Mama and papa weren't home. Not yet. Jimmy tightened his hold on the chick in some attempts to comfort himself as he looked around the room, eyes landing on the door.
"Come on baby Grian...we're going on an adventure." Jimmy said—to comfort Grian of course, thinking of it like an adventure was much less frightening tham acctually considering that his mama and papa were missing. A new game! Since he wasn't having fun with his last one at all.
Jimmy waddled out of his room, careful not to step on the clutter, and took a peer across the hall. No mama nor papa. He padded down the stairs, keeping his eyes and ears peeled, still no mama nor papa.
Jimmy wasn't allowed to go outside by himself, mama had spent countless hours teaching him about 'stranger danger' and about how monsters like the boogeyman and really creepy spiders could be lurking in every shadow and that he might get hurt. He didn't wanna get hurt—plus adventures were more fun with both mama and papa with him, so he had little desire to go out all on his own.
Now he found himself standing there in an abandoned home, his mother's necklace feeling weighted around his neck. Jimmy took a deep breath opened the door, tucking his wings in as he went so they wouldn't catch.
This was okay right? It was for the greater good. Mama and papa would understand.
As soon as Jimmy stepped out his senses were assaulted by the thick stench of smoke, seeping into his lungs and closing their claws around them. Jimmy winced and coughed into his elbow, squinting to see through the ash as he adjusted his jacket so that some of his baby brother's face was tucked away, safe from the horribly thick air.
He wadded his way through the smoke, trying to look around the best that he could in the sea of gray that surrounded him, containing every sight and smell in its own cage of coarse oxygen. Eventually—after some mindless wondering and half remembered memories of papa taking him to the markets—Jimmy got to the town square.
The sight he was greeted with sent a sickly feeling directly to his stomach, so overpowering and nauseating that he felt like he was going to vomit. Jimmy took a step back, unwilling to believe—to see...this was real life. It wasn't a story book or his imagination.
He clutched Grian tighter.
The town—the ratty, imperfect town that he had called home—was in shambles. Destroyed. The central fountain was blown to bits, large chunks of stone and rock tumbling down and spreading across the streets, water forming puddles in divots in the cobble and old copper coins gone black from the destruction.
Atop the old accent piece was a new structure. A statue, some figure with wings spread wide...though not like his wings...four of them...they were more slender, longer. It's eyes were covered with a scarf or something. Jimmy didn't know what it was meant to be...he didn't have time to ponder.
The paths were unearthed, jutting out higher than before, some squares missing their tile entirely to reveal the brown dirt underneath. Cracked and broken stone that was never really perfect to begin with but now looked like Jimmy had pushed his toy blocks over and let them scatter carelessly.
The houses surrounding, built in a circle to encompass the centre like a dome, were burning. Some were half burnt, others already gone. All that remained was rotting material and splintered wood, belongings burnt to a crisp.
Why hadn't his house gotten like that? Why was it only here? The outer houses like his were fine...so what had happened here? Did the big, loud, scary booms do all of this?? Who had caused the big loud scary booms? Bad guys weren't real, villains were real, mama told him so. Mama told him not to be scared because nothing was under his bed, like stuff like this—a bad guy's master plan—it wasn't real!
So what was he standing in?
Fire crackled faintly, the once charming, bustling circle, brimmed with children cheering and running with streamers and merchants calling out prices and deals, was now desolate. Coated in an orange pigment, thrown in the muck and scorched like an ancient dragon awakened and chose his home to release its fury.
Jimmy's brain caught up to him, he must've left it somewhere in the fog because he became...conscious. His eyes let him see.
The bodies.
Piles and piles of them. Young, old. Jimmy's breath caught and he took multiple steps back, eyes watering either from ash or tears, he didn't care. He couldn't breathe. It was all too much. Too much destruction.
"Do-Don't look." Jimmy croaked, his voice wobbling as he shimmied off his jacket and wrapped it around Grian like a swaddle—much messier than mama's, it served more as a blanket, but either way—his baby brother warbled at him and Jimmy held him closer.
He had to find mama and papa.
He forced his muscles to walk, one foot, infront of the other. Over and over.
"Mama!" Jimmy shouted, looking around...keeping an arm around the precious bundle in his arms to keep him in comfort while Jimmy yelled.
"Papa!" He called out, weaving around flames and bodies of strangers, limbs charred and eyes wide, lifeless. Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut...shut them very very very tight.
"Please." He croaked. Open them. He was still there, the fire's made the airs humid and smoke thick, rippling up and making the darkening sky grayer. Cloaking the world in a blanket of suffering. Not a dream.
Jimmy persevered, not looking too long at anything, eyes always skimming, looking for any signs of blonde hair or warm smiles or his name being called. His heart broke whenever the baby in his arms let out a tiny cough, he wrapped his jacket around tighter, trying to shield him.
He kept searching, but every street looked the same, every direction shroud in that same horrid smoke and same detonated foundations of lived in buildings. Fruit rotten. Jewellery rusting. No sign of mama or papa.
Jimmy stepped out into another square, the flames leaving no surface untouched. Then he spotted familiar wings. Yellow—now murky with soot and...red. Red?
Jimmy dragged his feet over, knees unsteady. Mama and papa...
Jimmy choked on his breath, choked again and stared with eyes impossibly wide. Their swords were strewn a couple metres away, arrows uselessly sticking out of wood.
"Mama?" Jimmy whispered. He couldn't manage much more. His voice had been ripped out of him under his feet just like the rest of his life had. He dropped to his knees, hugging his baby brother to his chest, clutching him like a lifeline.
He freed an arm and shook mama.
"Mama?" Jimmy whispered.
"Mama? Mama, mama wake up, mama mama, I'm here mama." Jimmy's voice grew more desperate and broken with each syllable.
"I don't wanna play anymore. Mama I wanna go home." His chest convulsed, shook and betrayed him. He scooted on his knees over to papa. Mama and papa were loosely holding hands...nails dirty and hands stained crimson.
"Papa?" He shook him too. Still. They were both still. They were both stilltheywerebothstill.
"Papa...papa look...I p-protected G-Gr-rian...papa look...papa please look." Jimmy hunched over himself, holding baby Grian's head with his palm as he sobbed into oblivion. Nobody heard him. Nobody hugged him or told him it was just a dream and it wasn't real and he was safe. He just cried, loud wails that did horrors for his throat—but he didn't care.
He couldn't think. He couldn't formulate sense or rhyme or reason.
His wings were staining black with ash.
Soot parted with tears on his cheeks.
His mother's necklace dangled off his neck
Grian started to wail with him. High-pitched keening that Jimmy couldn't be sure if was coming from him or his brother.
He did good.
He hid.
He listened.
He was good. He was good. He was good.
"Kid." A voice gruffed and Jimmy jolted violently, whipping around and landing on his back, wings shooting out in instinctive attempt to catch himself, even if he only fell a foot. Jimmy immediately glanced down at his brother, terrified the fall had jostled him too much. He seemed fine...still crying. It hurt Jimmy's heart.
"Easy." The man said...slow. Hands out. He was in uniform, miraculously clean, considering. Sure some of it looked as in disarray as the surroundings...but not scorched. He was tall, bulky. His red uniform bearing the country's crest over his left breast.
Soldiers?
The man crouched infront of him, down on his haunches and gave out his hand as though trying to tame a frightened stray cat. His voice juxtaposed his demeanour, it was low and gravelly and clearly forced to contain some emblem on patience but wasn't succeeding very well.
"Come on kid." He said...Jimmy shook his head wildly.
"I can't leave mama and papa." He hoarsed, bottom lip still wobbling. The soldier just sighed, thick through his nose.
"Well you gotta. 'M sorry kid." The soldier didn't seem very sorry.
"I'm not going." Jimmy said firmer, wrapping his wings protectively around his brother and standing—well, sitting—his ground with his parents. The man seemed to be over the gentle approach and stood, walking over and grabbing Jimmy by the back of the collar in the same fashion one would pick up a cat by the scruff.
Jimmy kicked out his little legs, trying to find purchase without jostling baby Grian too much.
"Get off!" He chirped, squirming like a worm on a line.
"I'm sorry kid." That was whispered. The soldier carried him away in his strong grip. Jimmy gave up fighting rather quick, a tightness settling in his chest as he began to sob again.
The soldier placed him back down with only a hand on his shoulder remaining, Jimmy didn't sprint back...he just solemnly followed along, sobbing quietly into hunched shoulders.
The soldier lead him through the wreckage until a horse-cart came into view, the wagon in the back filling up with more survivors in equal states of distress that Jimmy was in. An old man with salt and pepper hair just looked numb, staring off at ghosts that Jimmy couldn't see.
He was helped in, tightening his grip on the bundle in his arms and sat down next to a middle aged lady with a half ripped bandana keeping her hair together. Her face was tear streaked as she clutched a set of prayer beads close to her lips. She didn't look at Jimmy when Jimmy looked at her, so he just put his head back down, taking a peek behind his jacket to make sure baby Grian was all okay. He seemed good...dozing. Sobbed himself sleepy. That was good. Probably.
With a sharp thwack of reins, an old gypsy vanner horse with its blonde mane seeping into its eyes started its slow trot, hooves clopping on desecrated stone. The uneven cobble sent the wagon bumbling, jostling left to right as soldiers whistled to eachother—an indecipherable code, a secret between arms.
But one question still lingered—a pulse beating in the back of Jimmy's head that wouldn't die out with the wind.
"E-excuse me...mi-mister?" Jimmy piped, his voice sounded tiny even to his own ears. A ratty little seven and a half year old canary, tear sreaked and soot stained. The elderly man lifted his eyes, searching for the sound of the squeak before his eyes landed onto Jimmy. He gave a hardly audible 'hmph'.
"Do- do you know...who made all the big booms? And...and.." Jimmy didn't go into further detail, the bodies getting loaded into trolleys as they passed was enough of an ache, let alone wording the chaos.
"Watchers." He man breathed like an old bad dream—a myth come to life. Watchers?
"Wh-what—what are wat-tchers?" Jimmy whispered, unable to help himself. Watchers?? He had never heard tells of such things...how had they managed to...to do all of this??
The salt and peppered man didn't respond this time around, just shook his head and pulled his cap further down his eyes. Jimmy left it at that then...
Watchers.
Jimmy put his knees up and tucked his nose into his jacket-cocoon, breathing in his baby brother's scent for any semblance of comfort.
It was just the two of them now.
All because of Watchers. Jimmy clutched the hawk pendent...his last memory of mama.
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Jimmy wasn't certain as to how long they had been travelling for, only that he had been jolted awake from a slumber he never knew he slipped into when the wagon went over a particularly deep pot hole.
He blinked out the drowsiness from his eyes and squinted blearily at his surroundings through the morning sun. He didn't recognise where they were in the slightest but it didn't look too far off from home. Paved streets, wooden houses, merchants and children. Only these had different detailing—lime green banners instead of cobalt blue, more support stone beams rather than just bulky wooden bottoms to support the slender wooden tops.
It wasn't home, that Jimmy could be certain of.
They made a stop in what Jimmy could only assume was the town square. This place's town square lacked a fountain but instead possessed a statue of some random guy. An intricately carved deep slate monument of a man with deep eyes and a pointed moustache, a top-hat on his head and a long cane in his right hand.
Jimmy's staring was cut off by the jingle of the wagon padlock being undone so that the ramp could be let down. Soldiers stepped forward and began assisting people off, directing them over to tents and crates. It wasn't just Jimmy's group—there were dozens of other people sitting around tiny controlled campfires, babies in their arms and toddlers clinging to fathers. The sight of full families. Families whom were together, sent a pang of gried through Jimmy's chest.
"C'mon G." Jimmy whispered into his baby brother's hair as he hopped off the wagon alongside the elderly man who went off to the left while Jimmy was directed over to the right.
He situated himself down among a group—a mismatched collection of people whom seemed to be somewhat acquainted, it didn't surprise Jimmy too much, his home town was a little one.
The soldiers with red crests filed around the huddles, handing out wooden things that Jimmy couldn't see very clearly, sourced from a big cloth tent further down the street. Once the soldiers made their rounds over to their group, Jimmy could see what exactly was being passed around. Soup and half a slice of bread, Jimmy took what was handed to him with one hand and set it on the cobble infront of him, chewing the skin off his lips as he glanced down at the bundle against his chest.
"'S-scuse me sir?" Jimmy squeaked, the soldiers were being kind to them sure—but they were still intimidating people, creatures from a different world, monuments of unbreakable crystal which could withstand tidal waves taller than the moon. The soldier spared him a single look.
"Do-do you have mil-milk?" The soldier's eyes flickered to baby Grian and Jimmy subconsciously wrapped his dirty flaxen wings around him. The soldier gave a single grunt in response and walked away, returning a minute or two later with a warm bottle. There were other babies among the other mothers, Jimmy was extremely thankful that they had milk on standby.
"Thank y-ou." Jimmy whispered. The soldier nodded stiffly and walked away, rejoining the other identical figures. Jimmy got baby Grian up a little.
"Hey G...we gotta eat now." Jimmy whispered, he would prefer to have his baby brother fed now before the milk went cold—warm milk was always tastier than cold. To Jimmy anyway. Little G man let out a little coo as his bleary little eyes squinted open, aquamarine iris's making Jimmy smile.
"Morning." Jimmy whispered and kissed his baby brother's head, right on the crown just like...just like mama used to do...every morning...Jimmy touched his necklace, just a slight skim of his fingers before he adjusted himself and offered the bottle to baby Grian who latched onto the nozzle like a little lamb, hungry for some breakfast.
Jimmy maneuvered himslf slightly so that the chick was propped up on his knee and wing so that he could feed him with one hand, while grabbing his bowl of soup with the other. And, getting a good look at it, he noticed that it was rabbit soup, tiny chunks of meat and carrot floating around in the yellowish-beigey broth. His stomach gave an embarrassingly loud gurgle and he tipped the wooden edge to his lips, keeping one eye on his baby brother at all times.
Now that they were both eating, Jimmy had time to eavesdrop. Papa always said it was rude, but Jimmy had little clue about his surroundings, the people in his surroundings, and what was going to become of him and his brother—so we ought to gather as much information as he could.
The huddle of people around him, also sipping on their soups, got into enough comfortability to begin to chat amongst eachother. Jimmy listened in on their conversation, tuning out the chorus of soldiers making their rounds around them, discussing gobbledeegook in muffled tones.
"How badly were you hit?" A man asked the woman next to him. He was massive, bulky and beafy arms that could crush boulders with hands littered with scars. A graying beard adorned his worn face—more scars accenting his weathering features, gray hair tied back with a strip of leather. He vaguely reminded Jimmy of the blacksmith papa took him to when he was tinier, following along while papa ran errands.
The woman, a plump lady with rounded cheeks and a flour stained apron, a cream banana holding her auburn bun in place—let out a small sigh and just swished her soup around, watching it spin like a mini typhoon. "Lost the bakery. Blown to bloomin' bits. Hardly had no time to pocket the precious." She shook her head, overcome by the losses of her life, her livlihood. "Richard didn't make it back neither." She whispered, twirling the rusty rose gold ring on her finger, the blacksmith sighed through his nose in understanding.
"I heard they hit Bluecrest too." A different man, a brown cap high on his head and rubber wellingtons stained with dirt and muck, "Damn...Watchers." He cured under his breath.
Watchers.
"Did ya see any?" The blacksmith guy asked and the farmer and baker, both shook their heads.
"Heard nones folks who lay eyes on 'em ever sees the light of day again." The farmer said, rubbing his stubble with calloused fingers.
"Don't doubt it, evil creatures." The woman hissed under her breath, summoning a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing under her eyes with it.
"Micheal was lost." The farmer whispered and the baker lady gasped.
"Bless..." She whispered. Breathless. Jimmy didn't know who Micheal was or who Richard was or who anyone was, but he recognised the grief, the despair, the anger.
These people were hurt too. Faced loses and devestation by cruel fate and rubbish luck. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Jimmy had poured over countless storybooks where things were unfair, unjust and terrible, but a single hero, a brave knight faces the darkness head on to make certain that no man nor woman nor child nor person under his protection faces destruction ever again. Jimmy could do that. Be that for this world. He could protect people, could protect everyone, including his baby brother so that he would never ever end up like mama and papa. So some far off Jimmy-not-jimmy kid wouldn't loose thier mama and papa too.
He glanced down at baby Grian, having drained all the milk in the bottle, Jimmy removed it and placed it gently down onto the cobble, downing the last droplets of his soup. He surveyed the surroundings until he layed eyes upon a soldier in close range, keeping watch upon all the evacuees.
He pushed himself up with a hand on his knee as leverage, adjusted baby Grian and waddled over to the closest soldier.
"I wanna be a soldier." Jimmy announced with as much seriousness as a ratty little blonde avian with soot stains and a baby wrapped up in a ripped jacket against his chest could. The red-crest just raised a single brow, looking over the stick figure infront of him.
"Sorry kid. Too young." The soldier gruffed to which Jimmy frowned. That was a very silly excuse.
"I'm not! I wanna beat the Watchers!" He stopped a single foot and something dark passed over the man's eyes at the sound of that horrid name.
"Kid, this isn't a game. Wait until you're sixteen or older." The soldier persisted, keeping his posture rigid. Jimmy wasn't quite sure why he persisted so much, why he just couldn't let it go. But he couldn't walk away, so he planted his feet and lifted his chin, adorning a tough mask.
"Then let me help." He said. He could settle for that until he was older. Out on the street he would learn nothing, but in the heart of militia maybe he would have already picked up a habit or two by the time he was old enough. The soldier just gave him a questioning look.
"I can clean real good and help out with chores. Boring old work. I can do that! Let me do that! Let me let me let me let me—!"
"Okay- alright...stars." The soldier huffed out a high and rubbed his eyes and nose bridge, scratching between his brows.
"Follow me. That baby is your responsibility." He grunted and Jimmy nodded immediately, following after the red-crest with a pep in his step.
Success.
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"What in the stars is a child doing here?" A towering, black-haired buck with little gold accents around his red crest which immediately screamed that he was more important than the surrounding plain crests, said
"He's off the o-twelve. Probably bloody traumatised and deluded, the stars was I supposed to do?" The other snapped back, arms crossed over his broad chest as Jimmy did anything but pay attention, his gaze instead fixed on the military outpost on his left. A square arena blocked off by rows and rows of thick logs that were sharpened to tips of pale pure wood, bolted together with dull metal. Inside, he could just about see a tower poking out, soldiers with cross bows doing laps around the perimeters and tying letters to the ankles of proud brown hawks.
His jaw was loose, arms adjusted baby Grian so that his brother could see the amazing sight too. So so cool.
"Maybe don't bring him to a fucking military outpost." The golden-crest dude barked, sharp eyes snapping to Jimmy as he waddled over.
"Ready for business sir." Jimmy did a clumsy little salute with his right hand, baby Grian warbled and started to chew on his jacket with stubby gums. The leader-guy just sighed, half groan of frustration.
"Stick him with Barnes. Warbler could use the help." The black haired man grunted and the red-crest gave a single nod.
"Come on kid." He muttered and Jimmy followed along as he was told, giving an innocent little wave of departure to the tough lookin guy who just stared at his gesture with no return.
The bulky oak gates were heaved open and it was even cooler on the inside, men and woman—humans and avians alike passed by with swords and loading crossbows. Big, cloth covered boards had crimson circles painted onto them in three rings, the very inner being bold and a clear bullseye. Pigeons fluttered, grabbed bundles of arrows from humans and hefted them up to adjacent towers like they were mechanical beings. It was bustling, but reeked of organization.
Very very very cool.
"Don't wander." Red-crest hissed and yanked Jimmy back by the collar—who hadn't realised he had strayed in the first place.
"Sorry!" He chirped, making sure his baby brother didn't get jostled before he was escorted into a cramped, semi-cirled building made out of cobble. The red crest shoved the door open and inside were shelves and buckets filled with mops and broomsticks and cloths. Bottles of polish were lined messily along the shelves with mismatched caps and half-torn labels that looks centuries old. It was dark and humid and a little creepy if Jimmy was being honest—but not the most unpleasant place ever, he supposed.
And in the centre of it all was a humble looking fellow with feathers like Jimmy's, only his had of a greenish tint that Jimmy's lacked. His features worn with age and smile lines carved deep into skin. He perked at the visitors and put down the basket he was holding with uneasy slowness.
"Is everything alright?" He asked, his voice lighter than Jimmy imagined it would be.
"He's yours now. Give him work to do." The red-crest said as though he were delivering orders and left, leaving now the only light allowed through through a rectangular window just under the ceiling, stained a murky brown with grime.
The warbler looked at the door, then looked at Jimmy. Then at Grian, Jimmy tightened the jacket protectively on instinct and the man became conscious of his own staring and snapped out of it.
"Hello."
"Hi."
An awkward sort of silence settled in the air between them at the warbler wracked his brain for anything at all to say.
"How old are you?" He settled on.
"Seven and a half." Jimmy answered proudly. He was nearly eight! Growing up real fast...real...fast...he would he eight without mama or papa...then nine...and ten...
"Very...grown." The chestnut haired fellow said slowly and Jimmy gave a nod in agreement.
"I'm Jimmy Solidarity and this is Grian Solidarity." Jimmy announced, adjusting the baby in his arms whom was enjoying a mid-day nap. The warbler hummed and tilted his head to take a better peak at the chick.
"Very nice to meet you both, Axel." The man replied with a polite smile that eased a similar one onto Jimmy's lips.
"You boys eaten?" He asked and returned to the task that Jimmy could only assumed he was busy with before he had come in, crouching infront of the basket filled with white tanks that all looked the same, next to it a bucket of water, white and foamy with soap. Jimmy nodded.
"Good. You can set the babe in that box for now, don't worry, we don't be leavin' him alone." Jimmy nodded and did as he was told, padding over to a hollow, short box and gently lowering his baby brother into it as a makeshift cradle.
"Have a good sleep." Jimmy whispered and adjusted his jacket around him to serve as a blanket to make sure his baby brother didn't get cold. Once satisfied, Jimmy stood up straight with his hands on his hips and stared down at baby Grian. He nodded to himself and waddled back over to Axel.
"Grab that washboard for me will ya boy?" He asked and Jimmy jogged over to the opposite wall and fetched it, handing it over obedientantly.
"Alright, roll up your sleeves."
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Axel never failed to make sure that Jimmy had his hands busy doing something. Whether it was washing uniforms or brushing campfire ashes, or polishing swords and sorting through flint fragments for sharp and dull nibs.
Jimmy couldn't really complain about it, he was never too hot or too cold, always slept with a blanket and next to his brother. Baby Grian always had milk and Jimmy always had whatever rations the soldiers got too. Axel was kind and patient with him even when Jimmy spilled washing water everywhere or tripped over boxes, sending everything fumbling. He was really good guy. He reminded him of papa.
His parents were really the only issue. He missed them. He missed them like the waves missed the shore and the butterflies missed the tulips. He needed them, here, with him. But they weren't, they resided up in the stars leaving him all alone to figure everything out himself in a dangerous world with beings he couldn't understand that detonated entire villages.
He had dreams of comforting hugs and warm suppers, of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses— only to wake up and realise he had fallen for his brain's cruelty once again. He longed for his parents...but no matter how much he strained, how hard he reached, he could not pluck the stars from their galactic domain.
Jimmy, currently, was not doing what he was supposed to he doing. He was tasked with the mundane job of folding black trousers after Axel got each down from the line. His baby brother was was laying in the grass, attempting to snatch the clouds out of the sky with his meaty fingers, wings fuzzy with down providing extra padding on the lush grass.
Jimmy could hardly care less about the uniforms—his eyes glued on the soldiers, standing in formation and going through drills, swords of steel swinging through the air in perfect arches as the sergent shouted out numbers that seemed random to Jimmy's untrained ears.
They were perfectly in sync, each blade slicing through air easily and slewing invisible enemies. Jimmy couldn't tear his eyes away, pupils sparkling as he imagined himself in their positions, with his very own sword that he could face the world with and win. They seemed unstoppable, capable of showing the Watchers who's boss and kicking their—
"Ack!" Jimmy squawked as he was rendered blind and after his brain calculated what just happened, he pushed the pant leg above his eyes up with his arm and shot a glare at Axel, a pout on his lips.
"Get back to work." Axel said from where he stood on a wooden stool, hands unclipping more trousers from the line. Jimmy let out a huff and yanked the trouser off his head and got back to folding, his day dreaming fizzing out.
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Jimmy took any excuse he could to sneak peeks at the soldiers, peeking out behind walls and over the edges of doors whenever Axel wasn't looking, sneaking out whenever he had gone to sleep to observe the late night patrol groups and rough drills. Unfortunately for Jimmy, they didn't wield swords twenty-four hours a day and acctually had to do work outs and practice with crossbows—which were a little less cool but Jimmy supposed he could forgive them.
When he could, he tried to mimic their movements with an imaginary sword, clumsily fumbling through positions as though he were professional—carrying extra heavy laundry baskets instead of weights and running around where he could to build extra strength.
Axel had left him and baby Grian to go get some lunch which provided ample opportunity for Jimmy's learning sessions. He held his baby brother in his arms so that he could watch too, cooing and dribbling in what Jimmy could only assume was interest. Yea, they were pretty cool.
"What are you doing?" Jimmy jumped out of his skin with a startled squawk that managed to freak the chick against his chest out, a cry bubbling up in his throat that quickly turned to wails.
"Hey! Hey its okay- it's okay!" Jimmy tired his best to soothe, bouncing up and down on his knees to provide a rocking motion in attempts to calm his cries. Sheepishly, Jimmy forced his gaze up to the red-crest whom had foiled his observation. "I'm working." He said, hoping matter of factness would make up for being sneaky as he rubbed the space between his brother's wings.
The brunette raised a brow, his boots thudding on the floor as he deposited the basket that he had the intention of delivering before returning to Jimmy. His eyes went up, saw the soldiers, then went back down to the little canary.
"Impressed?" The man muttered, lowering himself down onto his haunches infront of Jimmy who smiled at the lack of scolding. He nodded eagerly, unable to hold back once being asked.
"They're really really really cool a-and their swords just go— KERPLOW and- and they never ever get tired! Ever!" Jimmy explained with stars in his eyes to a man who probably knew, who quite literally lived what Jimmy was describing but he rattled on anyway. A light smirk spreaded across the man's face as he let a snort slip.
"You gonna be a soldier when you grow up?" The man asked and Jimmy nodded wildly.
"I wanna be a soldier now...but the big guys won't let me." Jimmy mumbled, unsure why he was confiding in some random red-crest. The man hummed.
"Well that's not fun." He muttered, humouring him. Jimmy sighed in agreement,
"Yep. I wanna protect people too. 'Specially from Watchers...but I can't do that washin' dishes...so I gotta wait til I'm not so little, even though I'm seven and a half. More than a half!" Jimmy said passionately, lemony wings spreading to accentuate his mighty stature.
"Jeez...can't see why we wouldn't take such a strong candidate...we need all the hands we can get." The man agreed and Jimmy couldn't help but beam. He liked this guy already.
"Yeah! I gotta protect Grian here too! He's very very little, not as big as me. Not so strong yet so I gotta be extra super duper strong for the both of us!" Jimmy switched foot to foot as if on hot coals, really he was just excited and unable to keep himself still. The chick had stopped crying and switched to giggles at all the movement.
"Say, how 'bout I teach you?" The man tilted his head in question, Jimmy froze instantly, as though a pause button had been pressed.
"But the red crests say I gots to be sixteen..." Jimmy said quietly.
"Well, my father started teachin' me when I was around your age. No harm in it to start young when you're already so eager, builds good habits early. You've got fire—" The man poked two fingers into Jimmy's chest, "Fire is good, it's what we want. It's what produces quick, fierce soldiers." He stated. Jimmy's eyes glowed in wonder, the touch leaving marks ingrained in his heart, fueling the hearth like kindling.
"What about Axel?" Jimmy whispered.
"What about Axel?" Speak of the comets and they shall fly, the man himself waltzed in holding two bowls of plain rice. Jimmy tensed his shoulders up to his ears, even baby Grian went still, unbunching Jimmy's shirt from his surprisingly strong grip.
"Xisuma's a good man." Axel smiled knowingly, eyes crinkling as he placed the two bowls on a low, splintered shelf that was hanging on with sheer grit. Jimmy gave him a questioning look, "He'll teach you good. Whip you up right."
"So that means I...?" Jimmy started hopefully, careful not to jinx himself.
"Go for it."
"But what about—"
"I'll take care of the babe for ya when you can't." A grin so wide wound it's way on Jimmy's face that it split his face in half, he scrambled to situate his baby brother into his cot before giving his wings a beat and barrelling head first into Axel's side.
"Thank you." He breathed, revelling in the fire in his chest and the gentle hand in his hair. He peeled himself away and presented himself proudly infront of the red-crest—Xisuma—and gave his best salute, chest puffed out with breath.
The brunette smiled, straightening his own posture out of his kneeled position.
"Why do you want to fight?" He asked with the same gravity as someone balancing, tipping and controlling fate. Jimmy didn't have to ponder on it long, it haunted his dreams and lurked around shadows. It plagued his waking moments and the space behind his eyelids. He thought of it behind stew bowls and watching grass blades. He saw it in the memory of his parents eyes and reflected in their past smiles.
He knew why. He knew exactly why. He knew it when he threaded his fingers through his brothers down and when he fed him breakfast, lunch and dinner, knew it when he envisioned himself in years to come.
Knew it when he mistook a fallen beam for booms in the distant. Knew it when the darkness of night brought him back to the closet. Knew it with the lingering last warmth he felt of his mother's lips on his temple. His father's stern demand for promise of protection of his newest kin.
"I want to kill Watchers. I want to win."
Xisuma gave a low nod, "Okay. Then that's what we'll work for."
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Two years flew. They moved. Moved west to the proper base. The kind of base that had sturdy walls with spikey wires over the top to keep out the deadliest of sins. When the red-crests moved, they took Jimmy with them. They took Grian with them. Packed up necessities and buried sentimentals, accepting life as it was. A war zone.
Soldiers needed proper training. Proper discipline that a cramped patch of grass and rowdy townsfolk couldn't accurately supply. They marched west, galloping upon horses bred for strength and endurance, mighty steeds with muscles the size of tree trunks.
Jimmy rode with Xisuma atop a mare he had named Pepper. Every good thing needed a name to commemorate its brilliance. In centuries to come, somewhere, some day maybe a memory would reside and how would anyone story tell without a name to a face? Pepper. Pepper now could be accurately remembered.
The other avians flew overheard, soaring and spearing clouds with their dives, but Jimmy didn't want to leave his brother, plus his wings weren't strong enough to keep up. Not yet. They would be, some day soon.
Nothing could get in or out without direct military surveillance. The last outpost had four towers, one on each corner made from wood and accessible with rope, these had eight. Towering lookouts that dragons could perch on, one stationed in each corner and another one yet stationed between, walk ways connecting each in the simplest of mazes so one could get from one to the other in seconds. Ladders bolted to the bottoms that would be a real pain in the behind to unscrew. Constructed to remain intact if the base were to be compromised, so red-crests could ascend and protect.
It was a heavy-duty location. A massive step up from the little old outpost. And massive it was. Gigantic training fields of vibrant grass, stomped on by marches. A section was reserved for obstacles, another section contained lines and lines of targets and a wooden board to handle the crossbows.
Each man had his own sword, but dozens of extras hung in the weaponry among bombs and long pointed spears.
Mess halls consisted of a huge timber frame shelter with a concave bonfire scooped out in the middle, lit for supper so the soldiers could gather around for warmth while they ate their rations and spoke of old war stories and occasionally about wives waiting back home, and, if spirits were high, someone would whip out a harmonica.
A sign of life in the middle of nowhere, only distraction being the swish of trees and the splash of river depending on how far you travelled.
They were trained to win.
Chapter 2: Try and Try Again.
Summary:
Grian finds himself struggling to live up to the expectation that his brother has set out for him—no matter how many grueling hours of training he puts in he always finds his humanly (or avian) needs getting in the way and making him 'weak' as a result.
But what if he found another way to impress his brother? By chance?
Notes:
CHAPTER 2 ‼️‼️‼️
HermitHollow is the name of the country btw, I'm so very creative I know 🤩🤩 it'll make sense later trust trust.
Also large chunks of italics are either flash-backs or dreams, JUST SO NOBODY GETS CONFUSED...like I did while editing..
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Again."
His brother hissed from above him, casting the lesser below him in complete shadow. Grian, in this case, was the lesser, panting his lungs dry collapsed on the stone floor, heaving like a dog, on his stomach with weakened elbows struggling to hold his weight and trembling from the strain.
"A-gain." Came that same stern voice again that lacked any drop of patience, but Grian hardly had the energy to lift his eyes let alone stand, but, not wanting to anger his brother further, put all of his concentration on commanding his muscles to give him a break and work like they were supposed to, to get up and push through exhaustion that hours on end of training brought. He winced through his teeth, sweat matted hair falling infront of his face as he rubbed off a smear of blood with his arm from his dripping nose.
"No...more..." Grian wheezed, "Please..." Inaccruacy got people killed, training with the mind that your enemy would take pity on you if you were downed and half dead would lead to a soldier's demise. That's what Jimmy taught him, ingrained into him over casual dinner conversation. Grian knew—it bubbled in his blood, but stars sparked behind his eyes and every blood vessel he could feel pulsing.
He was trying...really...but he couldn't do it.
Grian bit back a scream when his brother ignored his wishes and instead picked him up by the upper arm and wrenched him to his feet. Grian spread out his dishevelled feathers in feeble attempts at balance, swaying unsteadily on his worn out feet. His wings were conspicuous cardinal things, a strip of ruby blending into straw then cobalt, like a sunset blending into ocean. Only they looked much more put together when they were put through grueling activity and he wasn't fighting darkening vision.
"Count." Jimmy barked at him and Grian fell into step, his brain immediately supplying the correct action to order. He took a long deep breath from his stomach, holding up a blood-specked, dirt covered hand and putting up one...then two then three then four...closing his fist...expelling the air from his lungs in identical fashion...one then two then three then four.
He did it twice over. Met his brother's eyes, the blonde snapping down his heel onto Grian's sword and propelling it upwards, kicking it up with his toe and catching it, handing it over to the younger by the hilt.
"Again."
There was no room for argument.
Grian exhaled and adjusted his grip on the sword, feeling the familiar grooves of the leather wrapping around the handle and spread his legs apart in his opening stance—still wobbling on his knees. Jimmy, hardly marked and barely tired, lunged for him. Grian ducked under the swing aimed for his head and attempted to sweep the feet while he was down there, but he just ended up with a kick to his supporting knee which sent him crashing into the far fall with an agonising thump through his wings.
"Dead." Jimmy hissed. "You'd be dead."
"I know." Grian whispered through a wince, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he slicked his hair back with his palm, choosing to ignore the crimson smears. He kept his eyes averted, staring at his brother's umber boots instead.
His brother tsked and stalked over to Grian's dropped sword, picking it up in one fluid motion and heading towards the door, "Get yourself cleaned up before supper." He muttered...Grian didn't respond and Jimmy didn't seem to need one, leaving and shutting the door behind him.
A sigh slipped its way past Grian's lips and he let the back of his head thud against the stone he was sitting against.
This basement had been a second home to him from the moment that he could place one foot infront of the other, and competent enough to to chew on a blade's edge. He had a strict training schedule that his brother wasn't lenient on. A gruesome series of teaching that was constructed to help him become the best, a man with the power to kill Watchers and win the war.
Routine didn't make it any less painful, considering Jimmy often compared resting and drinking water as something for the weak. Not Grian, no Grian wasn't allowed to be weak. Couldn't.
So hours long training sessions became his normal.
He let his eyes flutter closed, for just a tick, just to allow his body to catch up...to recuperate.
The room wasn't anything particularly extravagant. A stone area, slabs that fit in perfect formation made up the walls and smooth stone slightly lighter in colour made up the floor. It was usually kept empty, bar a few straw filled dummies that he punched and kicked every so often as a part of his drills. Cobwebs adorned the corners where an arachnid that woven its nest, dust mites floated through the air, intertwining with the oxygen. And it was quiet. No sound penetrated in nor out.
It was his brother's all time favourite room to use and the other HermitHollow soldiers knew it. They never came down, nor went anywhere near the space they knew was reserved for one thing only, it wasn't any of thier business and Grian was grateful for the privacy, his frequently bloodied state was honestly pretty embarrassing seeing as he was the brother of Jimmy Solidarity, greatest youth of his time. General. He became lieutenant at Grian's age, sixteen, as soon as he could legally have anything publicly to do with military transaction. Now General.
So, yeah, no pressure whatsoever.
Grian peeled his eyes open and took a bleary glance around the room, half noting the blood on the floor that he would have to scrub up later and the cuff marks scarred into the stone from constant footfalls. Grian used the wall as leverage to hoist himself to his feet, swallowing a groan. His joints ached from exertion and his nose was keeping up its steady drip. The buzzing in his ears started and stopped, so Grian cleared himself well enough to walk—walk was a rich term, he hobbled like a drunk over to dark spruce door and pushed it open with his shoulder.
He hauled himself up the short flight of three or four steps and took a right, dragging his feet into the cozy space of his room. It, like every section of the base, was very minimalist. Jimmy was big on not letting him get too attached to belongings so he'd have no grievances if (and possibly when) they all got lost or he had to leave them behind. With that view in place—his room was quite barren. A bunk took up the majority of the space, two cots, one on top of the other, with thin mattresses and even thinner blankets. His roommate occupied the lower bunk—though Grian was thankful he was out doing whatever he was doing.
They decided he could have the lower bunk given that Grian had wings, if danger struck or they had to get out in a rush Grian could ease his descent with a short glide and his roommate could just get up and go. It was purely strategic, just like every other curated detail of his existence.
Grian—thinking his roommate would not be pleased to find his sheets stained, chose to yank on a chair back and put it out to the near centre of the room. He waddled over to his desk and grabbed the canteen, uncorking the screw he gathered a metal bucket to catch the gunk and a cloth to wipe himself down with. He would use the sink but if he had to stand for another minute he genuinely might faint.
Sitting, he placed his equipment onto the floor beside him and unravelled the bandage on his knuckles that should've served as padding. Some shit it padded— Grian's knuckles always ended up raw and bruised one way or another. But maybe that was because the theory of using padding didn't account for hours non-stop without changing. But whatever. He tipped the bottle and poured the frigid water over his scabbed knuckles, washing away the crimson liquid as best as he could. Dunking a little onto the cloth aswell, he got to work washing off his face, grimacing at the fresh blood that greeted him. A huff escaped through his nose but he persisted the movement with mechanical precision.
This wasn't anything new, after all.
When he deemed himself 'cleaned up', Grian hoisted himself up to his bunk and draped his arms over his eyes, being kind and letting his wings spread out as much as they could in the cramped space.
He could exploit at least fourteenand a half minutes for a light nap before he would he expected down for meal times. His body didn't have to be told twice—succumbing to exhaustion and slipping into the realm of the unconscious.
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The mess was bustling with soldiers of all different heights, sizes, feather patterns and other hybrid features. Grian weaved his way through the crowd with practiced ease, the result of having to wade through seas of people three times his size since he could waddle.
Once under the timber framed shelter—huge pure wood pillars bolted into the ground and carved to last, providing a rooftop for the army men to enjoy sustenance under—Grian tucked in his parrot wings and found an empty bench on the eastward side of the mess. He flopped down into it with a sigh through the nose, giving the same stew he had been eating for a month the same look. It had some sort of hearty meat, all green veg looked the same to him, and yellow chunks he could only assumed were potatoes.
Not the worst thing in in world, though, he lost his will for taste years ago, food was food, a full stomach was a full stomach. He grabbed the spoon's handle and ladled up some soup—
"Hiya mate." And there came said roommate. He was oddly cheery for a man who lived his life on a military base, though Grian had rationalised that it was because he didn't acctually do any of the grueling combat. No, his roommate, Mumbo Jumbo, was employed as a kind of demolitions expert. Grian would never understand how he did the things he did, constructing bombs and wiring security tramps and testing different mechanics for level of safety. Grian vaguely recalled being told his father was 'one of the best'? Genes ran thick it seemed.
It was completely foreign work to him...but somehow he managed to make...a companion out of him. It was probably just the forced proximity.
"Hi." Grian muttered and put the spoon in his mouth. He knew for fact that Mumbo considered he and Grian friends. It's not that Grian didn't like Mumbo...it was just a little unsettling to get attached to someone, but he wasn't too strict with himself around Mumbo, like, what were the chances that a man behind the scenes, never to see the front lines, would be killed? But he was a little much sometimes, but Grian was getting used to it.
"How was training with the ol' General?" The cheery man asked. Grian additionally figured that Mumbo stuck by him not only because they were roommates, but because he was one of the younger recruits in this particular base. He himself was eighteen, so only two years older. How he perfected the art of explosives at only eighteen Grian couldn't understand...but maybe he was just gifted. Like his brother was gifted.
"Fine." Grian muttered and popped another spoonful into his mouth. He wasn't much of a conversationalist but miraculously Mumbo never seemed to mind.
"Did you hear Malakai got the boot?" Mumbo said with his mouth half full, to which Grian raised a brow.
"The boot?" Mumbo had an odd way of talking at times, he used 'slang' and said things that didn't mean what he was actually trying to say, it was confusing and Grian didn't have the energy to attempt at humouring him. Though some of his more common phrases got stuck in the mental fly trap enough times that Grian memorised them.
"Mhm! Saw General Jevin screamin' at him. Apparently the guy's a traitor, got caught praying to the purple gods, if you catch my drift."
Watchers.
Grian narrowed his eyes. "Did they kill him?"
"Dude!" Mumbo sputtered but Grian's suddenly stony gaze didn't let up, the demo-expert let out a tiny sigh, "Assume so."
Grian hummed and continued eating. A traitor is just as bad as the manipulator.
"So anyway," Mumbo recovered and opened his mouth to begin what Grian couldn't only assumed was a long-winded breakdown on his latest project, one of which, usually, Grian would pretend he understood but really just enjoyed the background noise. Though today couldn't find the pleasure in it with the buzzing behind his eyes.
"I'm going to go run a lap." Grian muttered and stood abruptly.
"Grian, need I remind you you have wings?" Mumbo said matter-of-factly.
"Until I get cut down, see you later." The parrot monotoned and walked away, leaving his half empty bowl for the cleaners to pick up on the counter when they made their rounds. Appetite diminished.
The stars blinked above his head, galaxies spinning and twirling in their extravagant dress. Grian made a pit stop into his room, changed into fresh shorts and a white shirt before going out again, his feet naturally leading him to the grass track and fell into the steady rhythm of a jog.
A traitor.
On this side of the walls.
Imagine. A man. A red-crest. A HermitHollow soldier who swore an oath to serve and protect, was clasping their hands and closing their eyes and baring their throats to the ravenous beasts with thousands of eyes. Grian couldn't see any appeal, any sort of desire one could possibly have to want to follow creatures who have no conscience nor morality, burning down villages and slicing down families for sport.
It was sick. Absolutely sick.
He couldn't imagine why anybody worshipped the corrupted, let alone one of the men he had walked past on his way to the weaponry and passed again on his way to the mess hall.
Who knows how long he had been living among them probably gathering information? Who knows if there are more of them, lurking, hidden under the disguise of friend not foe.
Grian stood with a rigid spine, his left hand clamped tight over his right wrist, both positioned behind his back and feet shoulder-width apart like a good little soldier. Eyes down before his superior.
He was sloppy, his endurance had fizzled out and anyone who would've seen him today would've thought he hadn't had a minute of training in his entire life. It was embarrassing. It got him standing in shame in his brother's office.
"Did I ever tell you what the Watchers did to us? To our family?" Jimmy said slowly, each word clipped.
Not in detail. He knew the Watchers are what costed their parents their lives. Grian didn't respond, it was a rhetorical question, Jimmy would continue on no matter what Grian voiced.
"They invaded our home," Jimmy walked around his desk so that he could stand infront of Grian, an even more imposing force, a towering figure of strength and living proof of survival of the fittest, "A small, vulnerable town who'd never done anything to provoke, outrage. Just living, simple, humble lives, and those MONSTERS swooped in and rained devestation down onto hundreds of innocents!"
Grian tightened the grasp he had on his arm, gritting his teeth together. He never did like being scolded, his brother, his flesh and blood, frightened him when he was disappointed. He did not talk of their parents lightly or to reminisce. He spoke of them with sharpened precision, a tale of history that would not be repeated while he breathed.
"Slaughtered woman, children, with no remorse. Slaughtered our PARENTS when you were an INFANT!" Jimmy spat, leaning down eith his upper half so that he was nearly at eye level with the parrot, wings juvenile and not yet sculpted for strength, his necklace dangled limp around his neck, swinging ever so slightly so that even a misplaced breath could cause the pendent to bump Grian in the nose.
"Do you think weaknes is the remedy to such disease?" Jimmy questioned, awaiting an acctual answer this time around.
"No, sir." Grian answered smoothly, clearly. Jimmy didn't like it when he stuttered or mumbled, a telltale of weakness, weakness was avoided at every turn.
"So when these savages come with their unnatural forces of nature that can uproot grandfather trees and flatten shrines, will they be defeated with weakness?"
"No sir."
"With trembling fingers?"
"No sir."
"I saw our parents dead in the flames of misfortune, dying in the midst of battle to protect what little they had. Do you wish to orphan little boys and girls because you HESITATED?"
"No sir."
Jimmy straightened and peered down at his kin with clinical judgement, hardened stares that came with witnessing true horrors and surviving them.
"They are heartless and will not wait for you to pick yourself back up. They will kill and keep on killing. Be the defender, not the killed."
Grian wheezed around icy lungs, thoughts spearing his brain on a spike.
No. No he couldn't fathon why one would choose wretched beings molded from corruption.
He brought a hand up to his shirt and balled it in his fist as he puffed out visible breaths.
How long had he been running? The parrot gave a quick glance at the the shimmering moon, it was nearly midnight.
He was going to curse himself in the morning.
He made the trek back to his bedroom, peeling off his sweat soaked shirt and donning a fresh one that didn't reek of exertion, Mumbo was already situated in his bunk, reading by lantern light.
"How was your run?" He asked upon Grian's return. The latter stretched out his stiff wings and toed off his boots, placing them neatly together at the foot of the the bunk bed for his morning laps.
"Fine." He responded, padding over to their basin they used as a makeshift sink and grabbed his toothbrush.
"I don't get how you lot run so much, sometimes I wonder if a machine is under all of that skin." Mumbo said lightly, slipping a scrap of paper between the pages to keep his progress.
"Just training." Grian muttered around the toothbrush between his teeth. Mumbo went quiet.
"You okay?" He asked, oh dear stars.
"Yes." Grian spat the white paste out and wiped his chin with a cloth.
"Mhmm, see, that's your 'I'm gonna say I'm fine but I'm acctually anything but fine' face." Mumbo stated, his eyes following Grian as he padded back over to the bunk and hoisted himself to the top, he wasn't safe up there however because Mumbo slipped out of bed and stood, his forearms reaching the lowest support beam that held his mattress and propping them against it. "And you were out of hours."
"Just thinking, go to sleep Mumbo." Grian grunted as he slipped himself under the covers and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.
"Well, What're you thinking about?" The engineer tried. And failed.
"Sleep." Grian half hissed, turning so that his back faced the man, the message hopefully clear. Mumbo let out a frustrated hum and Grian could hear the faint creak of him climbing back into his own bed
Another beat of silence.
"Is it Jimmy?"
"Good. Night. Mumbo."
A breath.
"Sorry."
Stillness. The lantern was snuffed out. Grian gritted his teeth and released.
"Let me know how that project goes." Grian whispered so quietly he wouldn't have been surprised if it was lost to the moon.
"Will do." Grian could just imagine the smile on his face from the tone of his voice.
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Grian cringed, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden, sharp pain that whizzed through his leg as his brother peeled the material of his trousers away from the raw skin.
He had been ducking and weaving between targets, trying to build up the stamina that Jimmy said that he needed to be big and strong! He slipped on a wet patch of grass and his clumsiness earned him a nasty cut on the side of his calf, bloody, torn skin inching away from flesh. It was really gross.
His brother frowned at the injury and leaned over to grab a brown bottle, a tiny thing that easily fit in the palm of his hand. He unscrewed the cap and sprinkled out miniscule white rocks into his free palm.
"Jimmy?" Grian squeaked, confused more than anything before seconds later a sudden scream was ripped from his throat when the fine minerals were sprinkled directly onto the exposed flesh.
"It's just a pinch of salt on the wound you'll be fine." Jimmy scolded him and grabbed another pinch between his fingers and the pain—the burning pain that had been picked from the depths of black holes themselves— that Grian knew was to come made nausea bubble up in his stomach. He shoved little little fist between his teeth and bit down hard on his knuckles.
"Be a man."
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Grian zoomed around the edge of a wooden pole, the wind produced behind his blast of speed shaking the beam ever so slightly despite it being rooted into the ground. He looped around each one, a maze of tightly knit shafts jutting out at different thicknesses and heights, forcing Grian to focus, not only on his breathing but on his concentration—an underestimated width could mean crashing. And he wanted to avoid that totally.
He ducked and weaved like a leaf through branches, light in the air but powerful enough to keep up his speed, looping and dodging with incredible swiftness.
He'd been at it non-stop for approximately forty minutes already, adrenaline and focus blocking off bodily needs—like catching breath or resting, things he didn't have time for, wouldn't have the privilege of receiving should this training ground be a war zone.
He dived, slotting his wings flush against his back to lessen air resistance and quicken his fall, at the last moment he flared his red feathers to keep his height, another beat and he spun himself like a torpedo, straightening his joints to make himself as slender as an arrow shaft so that he could thread the needle, fitting his body through the hole of a wheel.
Another obstacle cleared. He looped back around, brain so focused he didn't notice the wraps around his ankles coming loose, whipping like flags in the wind. He allowed himself height, spreading his wings to the fullest in the open sky, projecting massive shadows onto the ground below.
"Go 'round again!" Came Jimmy from the ground and Grian permitted a single pant before diving to restart his weave, counting the seconds in his head. He would beat his best.
Left. Right. Up. And down. Don't get caught. Don't touch the wood. Slip. Float like a feather but have the strength of a bull. Faster. Faster or they'll catch you, get caught and you're dead.
"How long has he been at that?" Xisuma stepped up beside Jimmy from where he was observing, analysing, his fingers leaning on his hips. Jimmy fluidly pulled his pocket-watch from an inner pocket of his uniform jacket: "Forty-two minutes." He responded.
Xisuma furrowed his brows and lifted his gaze back up to the parrot, skirting as swift as an arrow. "Non-stop?" He asked, half hidden incredulousy. Jimmy shrugged,
"Seconds in between." He replied, eyes trained on the parrot deying laws of aviancy. Like that was more than enough .
"Stars...don't you think you're pushing him a little too hard?" Xisuma said slowly, eyes narrowed to block out the sun as wind produced from firm wing beats rustled the air around them.
Grian either miscalculated or became too cocky in trusting his momentum, but pain without warning erupted through his spine as a sudden left turn resulted in his shoulder blades connecting with a wooden beam, the first push that made all the domino's fall. He panicked, sloppily banging into beam after beam, hitting his knees, his elbows his wings all the way down as he scrambled to regain control in his rapid descent until he landed with a plume of cobalt feathers and dirt, ache blossoming along his back as the air got knocked out of him, sending him into a fit of dry coughs.
Shit.
"Clearly not hard enough." Jimmy muttered and moved like storm clouds over to his little brother, whom still trying to regain control of his lungs. "Get up." His voice was even, but something in his eyes burned hotter than that tone suggested. Xisuma took a juxtaposed approach and jogged over, offering Grian a helping hand.
He ignored it and pushed himself to his feet out of his own accord, wobbling a second before regaining balance on the ground. He met Jimmy's gaze, trying his best not to flush in shame infront of those critical eyes.
"Dead." He said simply, clipped.
"I know." Grian said quietly, his ruffled wings going limp against his back. Knee wraps staining a bigger blotch of crimson by the second, same with his elbows.
"You need to man up." He said curtly. "Dissmissed." Grian gave a single nod and walked away, anger at himself making his hands clench.
"He's sixteen." Xisuma stated, eyes fixed on the scatter of red, yellow and blue feathers shifting in the wind.
"You know what I could do when I was his age." Jimmy replied coolly though tight around the edges, "And I didn't even get the head start he did."
Xisuma's posture went rigid and he lifted his eyes up to meet the hazel voids of Jimmy's, unafraid. "Did I never teach you that rest is just as crucial?" Something flickered in Jimmy's eyes but it left as quick as it came and they only turned colder, fixed on the ideals behind them.
"What does he get eight hours sleep for if not rest?" The canary replied with an air of certainness that were as unbreakable as the District Mountains. Xisuma's jaw ticked.
"He's hanging on by a damn thread Solidarity." The older hissed taking another bold step towards him. It switched something in the canary, deep rooted respect for his mentor as a mentee, of days where had Xisuma asked him to jump he would've soared.
"Well, then, let him know to preform as someone deserving of rest." Jimmy retorted and spun on his heel to walk away, only to be caught by the wrist by his mentor, eyes blazing.
"He's your brother!" Eyes stern, imploring, trying to jog a rusty cog back into place that seemed to have forgotten its purpose over the years of constant turning.
Jimmy snatched his wrist back.
"He's my soldier."
And off he went.
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The door slammed behind him so hard that it could've come clean off, rattling the poor old thing on its rusty hinges. He was a powder keg about to explode, stomping around his room with hardly restrained anger.
How could he let himself slip so easily? He screamed internally, only speeding up his pacing like that of a caged tiger.
He was trained for this. Born for this. Brought up in an environment where concentration ran through his blood, and he went out there and flapped around uselessly like some incompetent mongrel? That was what he was letting his brother waste his precious time on?
Grian's foot connected with a chair, splintering the wooden leg as Grian rained down kick after kick down until it was in pieces. He gritted his teeth together, breathing heavy as his fists remained clenched by his sides, his attempt at relieving his anger hadn't worked as well as he initially anticipated.
Stars, he couldn't even let out his own anger properly.
What was the use in having fucking feathers if he couldn't use them to his advantage? Useless. Fucking useless. If he was so idiotic with them then they might aswell just be useless weights on his back. Nothing more than a damn hindrance. He kept pacing, each step louder than the last as the coil was pulled tighter and tighter...
His best wasn't enough.
Grian's fist connected with the mirror hanging on the wall, the small crack there before exploded into a spider web of glass, small shards clattering to the ground and the pieces that remained slicing into his knuckles that were starting to bead with fresh crimson. Grian cursed under his breath, startled at his own actions as he took a step back to survey the damage, glancing between the shareds on the floor to his bloody knuckles.
He glared at himself in the fragmented shards, the boy before him split in every diagonal. He narrowed his eyes, hatred blooming—this wasn't the face of a soldier, of the perfect warrior capable of defeating evil with his bare hands. That was just a child throwing a tantrum.
Be a fucking man, Grian.
He was trying, wasn't that enough?
No. If it was enough then he wouldn't be a failure.
What did trying matter if nothing came of it?
He let out a frustrated hiss, shaking his hand off and storming out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him once more as his feet carried him down a familiar set of steps into the darkening abyss he called home.
He shoved the door open with a thrust of his shoulder and made a beeline for one of the weighted, straw dummies sitting in the corner, a glorified sack with a big frown drawn on its face and red rings to represent targets on its bulbous body. Some straw was poking through the seams from use, but it would still do nicely.
He yanked the dummy outwards and positioned it in the middle of the room, wasting no time in kicking it square in the face. He bashed its chest with his fists and kicked its straw ribs with his calf, jumping atop of it and wrapping his thighs around its throat. Sure, his weight make him topple over but he didn't loose his momentum, he elbowed its stuffed head over and over and over and and over—
Get up Grian.
That was sloppy Grian.
Again.
Again.
Grian went limp like a cat snatched by the scruff as Jimmy grabbed his face into one hand, nails digging into Grian's soft cheeks.
"Get a hold of yourself." He growled as eleven year old Grian sobbed against his hand, shaking and trembling violently from the exertion of non-stop sparring, forbidden from food or drink until his technique was perfect.
"Don't you want to avenge mother? Father?" Jimmy hissed, spittle flying from his lips at his outrage. Grian nodded weakly,
"Of course I do-" He choked, the air getting knocked out of him as Jimmy flung him backwards. Thick bood leaked down his lips, the side of his temple, and trembling hands.
Be a man.
Be a fucking man.
BE A FUCKING MAN.
Grian blinked, heaving as his eyes re-registered his surroundings. The straw sack was ripped to shreds, clawed apart like a rabid animal had been let loose to do as it pleased with it.
Fuck.
Grian let out a shuddering breathing, shoulders bunching inward and glanced around to find straw littering the ground around him. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars sparked in his vision, folding further into himself until his chest pressed against his thighs.
He wanted to be good.
He wanted to be worth something, for his mother and father he had never truly met to look down on him from their starry resting place and bless him with pride.
He wanted his brother...his only family left to be proud of him.
Grian wasn't a cryer. He was too tough for that.
Tears didn't roll down his cheeks and his throat didn't tighten with self-hatred.
At least the room was sound proof.
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Grian walked back from the showers, white towel draped around his neck and plain shirt speckled with droplets of water that had dripped down from his damp sandy hair.
As he passed down the hall, he noticed the door to his brother's office hanging slightly ajar, soft yellow light shining a straight yellow beam out into the otherwise dim hallway. He heard muffled voices, discussing matters in hushed tones that reeked of secrecy.
Intruiging. Very intruiging.
No. This was a private meeting, strictly classified information was probably being discussed and if Grian needed to know then he would be told. Jimmy would tell him if it were matters that concerned him. He would be informed of any changes. He was an important asset to the base, everyone knew of his skill and extensive training, it wasn't like he was stuck dwelling at the bottom of the food chain, begging for scraps information like a dog.
He would be told.
Right?
Surely.
Shit.
Unable to help himself, the voices enticing him beyond his resistance, Grian crept down, keeping his feet featherlight and his wings tucked close to his back, feathers shifting together with tension. Once beside the door, he pressed his back against the wall, peeking as much as he could inside the office without getting himself caught.
"—You think I don't know that?" Jimmy's voice, in stark clarity rather than muffled murmers. Grian held his breath...and listened.
"Scouts reported a new enemy camp sprouted up just north of here. They're settling, structures that would take months to construct are appearing within days."
Grian froze. Watchers.
"I know." Jimmy growled, footsteps bouncing off the floorboards, was he pacing?
"What are we to do? They'll be advancing soon, quicker than we anticipated. Last I heard there was a sighting in Empires!" Grian couldn't place that voice, wracking his brain for every voice line of every soldier within the base.
Jevin?
"Well they're clearly not in Empires anymore, are they?" Jimmy hissed, patience wearing thin. Grian heard the scrape of paper, a map being unfurled and spread out across the table...a thump, weights.
"I want scouts sent up the Craft pass, along the river, get them as close as we can afford. Detailed accounts, I want details. Upon return we'll make our plans accordingly." Jimmy said, he always sounded so sure of himself. Pure confidence in his thought processes.
"If they're spotted, they'll be killed on sight." Jevin pointed out, "It'll be like GhatlyValley, we lost twenty men during that. Don't we learn from mistakes?"
There was a beat of silence.
"Twenty is nothing. If they die, they die for their country. I want a group sorted by sunrise." Jimmy said firmly, Grian's chest tightened.
"You- You can't knowingly send men to their deaths!" Jevin barked, there was a thump of a footstep, Grian could invision the vicious narrow of his brother's eyes when he was challenged, when his authority questioned.
"Twenty men for the lives of millions." He said calmly, "Sacrifices must be made. They call upon their gods and we're dust. I know what I'm doing, or have you forgotten?" Eerily calm, the kind of steadiness that sent daggers through mens' chests. Pointed words as razor sharp as icicles.
"Send avians to fly back if things should go south. Clear?"
Grian didn't stick around to hear Jevin's response, he couldn't imagine a scenario where the man refused or argued against a man like his brother, and he didn't want to be there when they emerged from their meeting.
The Watchers were close.
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"Hey."
Mumbo leaned against the doorframe, redstone-stained hands tucked into his pockets.
Grian had moved all of the chair scraps into the far left corner for now, he'll bring it down to someone tomorrow, preferably with no explanation. He was currently sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, the worn leather wrapped handle of his sword propped up against his knee, the lean silver blade, as pale as moonlight, stretched the line of his leg, tip propped against the floor.
He continued his mechanical movements, only faltering for half a second at the sound of his roommate's voice, but he was soon back at it, rubbing the cloth up and down the sharp edge.
"You...uh... missed dinner." Mumbo, ever the conversationalist
"Wasn't hungry." Grian muttered, barely breaking focus.
"How about now?" Mumbo asked, pushing himself off of the frame and taking two steps forward, producing a bread roll from his pocket—a little smushed but who could complain. Grian paused his movements to narrow his eyes at his roommate.
"I saved one for you." Mumbo said, tapping Grian on the shoulder with the back of the hand which held the bread.
"I don't want it." Grian grunted.
"Don't soldiers gotta grow up big and strong? Come onnnn, you know you want ittt." It baffled Grian how immature a eighteen year old could be, and how easily his wizardry worked on Grian.
The tiniest, tiniest tiniest of smiles quirked the corner of his lip upward.
"There it is!" Mumbo hollered in a similar fashion he did when a prototype finally worked in accordance to his sketches. Grian rolled his eyes and shoved Mumbo slightly by the knees, taking the roll from his grip at the same time.
"Yea yea...quiet." Grian mumbled and bit into the bread, only realising how hungry he was now that he had food in his mouth.
"You all good? Heard you had a crash in training this morning." Mumbo said, turning to take a seat on his bottom bunk. Grian's posture went rigid, people were hearing about it? Lots must've if it managed to reach Mumbo all the way in demolitions.
"Xisuma." Mumbo said as though he could read his mind. Now that surprised him.
"X?" Grian turned his head to face his moustached roommate, Mumbo nodded like it was natural.
"Yep, I went to the mess and he was there and he asked me if I had seen you, but I hadn't, so I asked him if he wanted me to go and find you but he said—"
"Mumbo."
"No pride in good storytelling." Mumbo tutted, not acctually offended, "I asked how training went and he told me you crashed. I think he was worried...dunno never seen Xisuma that on edge like that. Then he told me to check up on you after—which I was gonna do anyway but y'know—and he said in his big Xisuma voice 'you're a good kid Mumbo, Grian is lucky to have you'." Mumbo said, his Xisuma impression consisting on just making his voice four octaves lower and puffing out his chest.
Grian shifted his eyes back to his sword to give himself something else to look at. Xisuma worries about him?
Why?
Grian isn't his problem. He's Jimmy's problem.
"I'm going for a walk." Grian stated, pushing himself to his feet quickly.
"Now? Again??" Mumbo said, suddenly on his feet too.
"Yes. Now." Grian said back, putting the roll in his mouth to free up his hands as he grabbed his cloak from a copper hook in the wall. He took a glance at his sword, debating, before grabbing it and also grabbing his sheathe, tying it around his waist.
"It's nearly lights off." Mumbo reminded him.
"I'll be quick." Grian took the roll out of his mouth and went for the door—
Mumbo caught his upper arm, a forgein, genuinely concerned expression plaguing his nut-brown eyes. Grian narrowed his, he could escape in half a second flat without any effort...but he waited.
"I'm here if you wanna talk, okay? Seriously mate...I know you've got a lot goin' on." Mumbo said, turning a tad bit more nervous now that he had put himself in the spotlight...but sincere.
"I care about you."
"For some reason."
The door shut behind him.
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Mumbo let out a long sigh and rubbed his hand down the length of his face, brushing his thumb against his moustahce for comfort.
Sure, he hadn't known Grian for a lifetime like the other soldiers did, he wasn't there when Grian was a toddler since he was a toddler himself, and yea he wasn't a big burly soldier who could do a hundred pushups without a single drop of sweat forming...but he still cared about him.
He considered them both friends and it pained Mumbo to think that that Grian was struggling in silence. He might not be a soldier, but he was observant, he saw how exhausted Grian was when he came back to the room every night, every cut and new bruise blossoming across his skin where he thought people couldn't see it.
"He's fine." Mumbo whispered to himself. But it just wasn't true, was it?
His friend...his best friend wasn't telling him something, and Mumbo wasn't one for conspiracy but it surely had something to do with his brother, Jimmy. An intimidating and dizzingly powerful man at such a young age. Familial pressure?
Mumbo didn't know, but whatever it was it was hurting him. Observant—he saw the destroyed chair, a once perfectly good piece of furniture reduced to splinters, a mirror, in decent condition one second and smashed to shards the next. His roommate's knuckles raw.
But he didn't know what to do, his roommate was never the kind of guy to get all touchy-feely and Mumbo didn't want to push too hard and end up making matters worse.
He let out a sigh and settled onto his bed, letting the tension in his shoulders release as he stared at the planks supporting Grian's cot above.
He hated not being sure.
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It was a nice night, the air was fresh and sharp but without the overly hypothermic chill, a breeze that soothed rather than jostled, mussing his hair and weaving through each of his feathers like the wind gods were giving him a preen.
He kept walking, boots pressing soundlessly against the fluttering grass blades while stars blinked and shone above his head, thousands—millions of them, galaxies beyond human comprehension and souls tasked with keeping guard over their loved ones, paving their way with their light, illuminating the right paths and hiding away wrong turns.
Grian took a breath, gave a glance and said a quick thanks. His mother and father were watching him...he couldn't fail them.
No matter how therapeutic his spontaneous walks were, he hadn't yet mastered the art of turning his brain off—no his brain was very vocal, all of the time. The only minutes break he got from all of his insistent thoughts was whenever he was too focused—too consumed on an adrenaline high—to think much of anything at all.
But he'd master it eventually, for now he was stuck, trudging through his head in knee deep muck.
He reached the wall and took a glance up at the red-crests standing watch, bonfires ready to be lit to signal danger, crossbows and bows and arrows at the ready should anything try and breach their walls, boxes of bombs only used for emergencies sitting pressed out of the way. Grian recognised who was on shift tonight—growing up in this place, he got to know a lot of people by face: BdoubleO, or Bdubs for short—a good man, or so Grian heard, with dark stubble speckling his chin, the moonlight heightening the sharp edge of his jaw, chestnut hair hidden underneath a helmet. He uses to sneak Grian lollipops when he was a toddler—where he even got them from was still a mystery but Jimmy cut the whole secret operation down when he found out. He was a funny guy, often laughing and jeering with other soldiers in the mess, but damn was he focused when it really mattered. With him was Etho—he was fucking terrifying and Grian respected him like he personally created soil. Hair as white as bone with snow white ears poking through and an equally pale tail—and arctic fox hybrid—and a scar—mangled crimson skin that constantly looked like it was bleeding—slicing through his left eye. How he got it, Grian never asked, but he was one force to be reckoned with when he got his hands on a sword, agility of a panther and swiftness lightning.
Grian was grateful they were on the same side.
The pair looked down at him, eyes appearing wolfish in the eerie moonlight, Grian shifted his cloak back and spread his left wing, just to make himself a tad bit more recognisable since bright red feathers were hard to miss—plus he was the only parrot avian that he knew of on the base.
Etho gave him a low nod, Grian returned it, a silent exchange that signalled to Bdubs to turn the crank, it squealed noisily in the serenely quiet atmosphere but the gates opened quick and Grian stepped through out into the forest.
He liked this forest, as a child—when and if he was allowed—he sprinted through the undergrowth and found sticks that resembled swords, he climbed trees until his arms and legs were riddled with scratches and chased birds like he was challenging them to races. It was peaceful, a world cut off where he could just float...and think.
The Watchers were close, and settling. A base of operations where They could keep close watch on the red-crests and the red-crests could keep an even closer eye on Them. The war was escalating, two opposing sides now seeing their battle field layed out for them when they looked out of their windows. Battle was imminent, inevitable. It's what Grian was trained for.
Twenty men. Twenty men that Grian had grown up with, marched beside his entire life. Hell, that's only a past number, an approximate. It could be two or it could be two-hundred this time around. Well, Grian wasn't sure how many men they were going to send, but still. Casualties were often miscalculated, impossible to accurately predict, and with their limited knowledge on this new base?
The Eyes and their gods were clever. Crafty and ruthless.
But there had to be some other way to get information, right? The Watchers, as unsettling as they were, were predictable in a strange way. Ancient texts written millions of years ago drew structures of yellow stone. Extremely durable obsidian, purple blocks that looked like brick bar the unnatural colour. And they still built them to this day with the exact same materials, statues of themselves with two sets of wings, eyes everywhere, all seeing.
Maybe it was tradition in their creepy culture or just an aesthetically pleasing thing for them, but regardless, at least they could reference texts for clues, however small.
They needed every man they had against those things. Even if They didn't come out often to fight, keeping Their powers for destruction rather than combat, Their Eyes—soldiers who worshipped their gods with their hearts and souls and beings, praised Them and breathed to serve—were highly skilled. They couldn't be underestimated, a cocky man is a man who gets an arrow to the back.
There had to be some other way, perhaps they could—
There was a rustle in the bushes. A misstep that caused a twig to break under foot. Grian froze.
He wasn't alone.
Nightly patrol soldiers walked the borders every night on rota, could it be one of them?
Grian's hand hovered over the sword on his hip, fingers flexing as he expertly stepped around stray rocks, keeping his eyes fixed forward.
Another misstep. Clumsy. Panicked.
Not one of HermitHollow's soldiers.
Grian drew his sword with startling speed, years of training moving his muscles for him as he got into position.
A woman. Dressed in a white uniform, a white mantle draped over her shoulders, held together just under her neck with a purple pendent. Hems of her white garments embroidered with purple threads...eyes.
It was an Eye. She didn't seem to be armed...which was strange. Perhaps she was lost, unfortunate for her. Grian didn't falter his grip, eyes narrowed and steady on his target. She took a step back, hood falling to reveal a tightly woven braid, purplish hair, wisps around her face that had broken free from the braid's grasp, her hands slowly raised, clear in Grian's sight.
Grian's jaw clenched. They stared at eachother...all of this training and Grian had never acctually seen an Eye, only in description and drawing, never in person. They weren't as threatening as he imagined, though maybe this one was just a weak lamb. Or a trainee. Though still, one of them.
"Please." She whispered, her voice going through Grain's ears like static, then lost in the breeze. So light...careful...laced with fear. Vulnerability.
Never show your opponent your weaknesses, because they will use it to their advantage.
Grian stared at her for another second then let out a loud and sharp whistle, it pierced through the night sky and disrupted birds from their nests. The woman's eyes widened, her mouth fell open and she turned to run—but Grian was faster, he darted for her and caught her easily, grabbing her braid and kicking her hard in the back of the knee. Once on the ground, he pressed his own knee between her shoulder blades, blade fixed under her chin.
In under a minute, five soldiers came between the trees with blazing torches.
Whistling was a powerful tool within the red-crests, a carefully formulated secret language that was taught within basic training, whistles for each compass point, for danger, for needing backup, a warning to stay put, to advance, to retreat. A special whistle for Watcher. Grian had simply whistled 'danger' and the night patrol came running. They gasped at the sight, an Eye subdued, squirming under Griam's firm hold.
"Bring her back to the base. Put her in C-twentyfour...and tell my brother." Grian ordered out smoothly, a natural authority filling his voice, though he didn't truly understand its origin, Jimmy had influenced him it seemed. The night patrol nodded and proceeded, easing her out from under Grian's knee in a careful manner so that she wouldn't run the second pressure was put off.
She was checked over for weapons.
A dagger tucked under her belt. Why hadn't she pulled it at the sight of Grian? She hadn't even attempted combat instead froze like a deer at the first sign of danger, maybe the Eyes weren't all they were cracked up to be. But it was better to overestimate than under, be prepared for the worst.
The base was awake, soldiers emerging from their barracks to investigate what all the commotion in the middle of the night was about, whether they should be gearing up for battle or not, all whispering questions that nobody could answer.
The woman was dragged off around the back with thick, sturdy rope around her wrists to C-twentyfour. Grian walked through the gates and on his walk up, Jimmy walked down, adjusting his collar as he met his brother's eyes.
"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded, something was happening in this base that he didn't know about and it was irking him, Grian could see it. He adjusted his posture, put his arms behind his back like he was trained to do, phantom stings pulsing from where Jimmy used to strike him in the back for having imperfect posture around superiors.
His tongue was locked, having his brother's full attention. His eyes, not focused on clocking mistakes or analysing technique, but boring into Grian's eyes, tearing his soul apart like a sniffer dog to search for what he wanted.
"Well you're not trying hard ENOUGH—"
"Caught an Eye, sir." A night patrol soldier said, Grian hadn't realised he was behind him and instinctively stiffened. Jimmy's critical eyes narrowed, then sparked with interest.
"An Eye?" He repeated, eyes flicking between the soldier and Grian. Grian found his voice and nodded, "In C-twentyfour." He said clearly. Jimmy's head lifted a little bit and his canary wings lost some of their tension, he was clearly very very pleased.
"You. Find Jevin and tell him there's been a change of plans." Jimmy said and the night patrol soldier nodded immediately and scurried off, leaving the two brothers to their staring. Jimmy walked forward, paused...put his hand on Grian's shoulder...and gave it a firm squeeze—not the tight squeezes that made Grian's shoulder ache even hours later—just firm. Approving. And he walked on.
Grian hadn't realised he was held his breath until he let out a large puff of it, chest deflating as his existence caught up to him. He blinked rapidly, looking around like he was re-familiarising himself with where exactly he was, he glanced to his left, his right then looked behind him to where Jimmy had walked off to.
His tough lingered, a phantom palm still pressed against his shoulder.
Grian did good.
He did good.
He couldn't sleep that night, buzzing from the high his brother's approval gave him.
Maybe he wasn't hopeless after all.
Notes:
Oh man oh man oh man the little goodies I put into this about my made up lore brooooo, Jimmy's influence goes CRAZY.
At the end of this fic I'll post a big chapter where I just go through my like, analysis of my own text? Maybe that pretentious BUT IM JUST FJHRUEHEThat 'pinch of salt' line in Grian's dream was inspired by The wolves of revolution by the arcadian wild—highly reccomend.
We are a powder keg about to explode I need someone like you to lighten the load, so? NOBODY IS SAFE FROM MY REFERENCES EVEN WHEN THEY ARE SO NOT NECCESSARY
AS ALWAYS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS I RLLY RLLY RLLY APPRECIATE THEM AND WILL READ AND RESPOND TO EVERY SINGLE ONE <3333
Chapter 3: Bubbling Crimson
Summary:
Grian goes through a horrible experience, but he could just push it all down into the depths and it will never ever resurface again! Right?
Notes:
I don't usually put in trigger warnings in my fics because I assume that most people read the tags BUT
TW: TORTURE SCENES THAT I'D DESCRIBE AS PRETTY GRAPHIC.
Oh and also vomiting, incase anyone gets triggered by that kinda thing.
Enjoy 😼😼Also medical inaccuracies goes hard with this fic...soooo
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Grian?"
Grian snapped to attention the moment that he heard that familiar lilt and dropped the hairbrush he was holding for the sake of getting his posture straight and his arms neatly behind his back.
"Yes?" Grian said, trying not to squeak while Mumbo awkwardly turned and was suddenly very very interested in his toothbrush.
"Be down to C-twentyfour in three minutes or less. I've got another lesson to teach you." Jimmy said fluidly, then took his leave. Grian blinked, eyes darting around the door that his brother had left while he processed.
"Sounds important." Mumbo said quietly—really helpful—bending down to pick up Grian's hairbrush for him and pass it back.
"Hm." Grian nodded in agreement, keeping his eyes glued on the door and blindly taking his brush back, squeezing it in his hand. A lesson. Another chance to prove himself and earn his brother's pride. General Solidarity's pride. Grian's feathers perked and something clicked in his brain, three minutes or less.
He combed through his hair rapidly, gave his wings a beat for a boost, grabbed his boots and hopped around stupidly trying to put them on mid-dash. Mumbo laughed at him, "Go get em pesky bird." He teased Grian, latter of which spared a single glance.
"Don't call me a pesky bird, you spoon." He smirked, suddenly filled with good spirits. His chest buzzed with energy, excitement that hadn't been this prominent since his pre-teens. His brother had taken time out of his morning to come to his room personally. That meant something! It meant he was something!
"Spoon?!" Mumbo gasped in mock offence, Grian snorted and gave him a two fingered salute, practically flying out of the room.
He had a minute and a half to calm his jitters before he made it to C-twentyfour. Where the Eye was being kept. His brother wanted to teach him a lesson. Grian flipped through every file in his memory for what kind of lesson it could be, combat training with a real Eye itself?
He blinked and found himself infront of the almost black wooden door, thick bolts on the lock to make sure it couldn't be picked—not in any sort of rush that a prisoner or accomplice could accomplish before they were caught. Grian righted himself and took a deep breath, inclining his head to the two guards posted on either side of the door, they nodded back at him, his brother's legacy proceeding him to not even need words exchanged. He walked inside.
It was damp, cold and dark. The walls were hard with grim etched between each slab of stone. They didn't have many...well...any prisoners, the only inhabitants currently being a whole colony of spiders taking the corners as their domain and dust mites floating through the air. Dim torch flames flickered in even intervals between each empty cell, adding to the increasing eerie atmosphere.
Goosebumps prickled along Grian's skin, it was unsettling to be down here, every instinct drilled into him since he could think screaming danger danger danger. But really, it was only dangerous for those who managed to get caught.
Like the woman.
He made it to C-twentyfour. Cell twentyfour. He pushed the door open, a slit in the top so guards could look in and a slit at the bottom to pass food through...but something told Grian that she hadn't been fed, they didn't pride themselves on hospitality after all.
Jimmy was already awaiting his arrival inside...and so was the prisoner. Maybe it was just dark the night before, but her stark white uniform, as white as the clouds on a July day, were stained brown and gray with dust and dirt, hair hanging around her like a mane as though she had been doing nothing but struggling all night. The floor had chaf marks from where she had clearly kicked and thrashed. Her wrists were shackled, left to the left and right to the right, bolted to the wall.
"Grian." Grian's wings slackened, "Today you will learn a valuable lesson in gathering information for you and your team." Jimmy started, starting his slow but sure pace infront of Grian, going back and force as he began his monologue, "In the event that you cannot or choose not to gather information by means of your own troops or own eyes, an effective mode of gathering information is extracting it directly from the source. Now, there are thousands of torture techniques you could use but—" The woman's breath hitched at the word torture, and if Grian was honest with himself, he stiffened the slightest, but hid it, he got good at hiding reactions from his brother.
The woman, however, was not so perfectly trained. Jimmy spared her half a glance before finishing: "—But for today I just want you to observe and take mental notes, understood?"
Grian's throat went dry, "Yes sir." That seemed to satisfy his brother.
Grian didn't even realise there was a metal table set up in against the far wall until his brother stalked over it, picking up a long, thin blade with mock interest, like it was oh so convenient that the sharp edged tool 'just so happened' to be laying around.
"You know...when I was a boy, I used to love running around catching frogs." Grian suppressed a frown, a questioning glance...he had never heard this story before. Jimmy had told him everything about their childhood, describe mother and father in such detail that if Grian were an artist he could create vivid replicas. He retold all of his memories—well, apparently not.
"All different shapes...sizes...types..." Jimmy drawled, running his index finger against the blade's edge and smiling when a slit was cut into his fingers, the pale skin quickly turning red as a bead of blood seeped through. It seemed to please him.
"I'd put them into containers, to keep them, as trophies for my efforts, but my father—the good, wise man that he was—told me to let them go." Jimmy took light steps around the small, dingy room, Grian could see evident puzzlement dotting the prisoner's eyes. She opened her mouth, whether to curse him or beg for freedom, Grian didn't get to find out, because Jimmy raised a hand, as though mildly bothered by a bug, "Please, do not interrupt. It's rude."
The canary cleared his throat and continued his steps, flame light reflecting off the silver blade, "Where was I? Ah yes, he used to tell me to let them go. Set them free, and when I asked why? He told me because they hadn't done anything wrong, innocent, helpless creatures that deserved to roam free. So, I did as I was told. I let them go." Jimmy smiled tightly, a slightly crinkle around his eyes that revealed the pleasure that he was taking in this little game that he was playing, a game only he knew the rules to and therefore only he could win.
"You, however," He slowly lowered himself to the ground with menacing slowness, "Are not innocent, nor helpless. Nor do you deserve to roam free." The pale blade was pressed just under her chin, a featherlight touch that wouldn't serve any other purpose other than to frighten. It seemed to have hit it's mark, the Eye's breath hitched, eyes widening and glued on the knife.
Jimmy tilted his head, a wolf toying with it's prey before sinking it's teeth. "So what on earth ought I to do with you?" He snuffed out a little breath through his nose, a half laugh as she parted her lips, unsure if his questions were genuine or rhetorical.
"What is your name?" Her mouth shut at that, a firm set to her jaw that betrayed a person making up their mind. Grian's wings twitched behind him, bundled with nervous energy because he knew, first hand, what it meant to not give his brother exactly what he demanded.
Jimmy let out a sigh, audibly displeased, "Listen, Eye, if you can't answer such basic questions then we're going to have issues." He tilted his head, "and that would be mighty mighty unpleasant for the both of us...mostly for you. So, I'll ask you again, what is your name?"
Grian silently hoped that she would just talk, betray her people and her gods and just give his brother what he was seeking so that they could move on with their war, could move on and Grian could get out of this stuffy room that was getting too hot, too uncomfortable, and too clammy. He couldn't tear his eyes aware.
"You don't scare me." She hissed through her teeth, a snake bearing its fangs in hopes of scaring the predator away rather than ejecting its venom. His older brother let out a sigh and shook his head, already foreseeing this outcome.
He tutted softly as he straightened again, breathing out, "Attitude attitude." He muttered and walked back over to the table, the woman audibly let out a pant the momemt the blade was gone, as though holding her breath from his entrance to this point.
"You know, this could have been simple, truly." He said, voice dripping with mock disappointment as he cleaned the blade off with a cloth before stalking over to one of the torches mounted into the wall and easily pulled it out of its holder, the embers turning his eyes red. The woman was watching him with wide eyes, trying to calculate the possibilities while sweat beaded on her forehead— "Grian." Grian snapped to attention, eyes darting to his brother immediately.
"Asking politely first is usually the best mode for two reasons: if they come clean quick then that saves you valuable time, and should you be written into history...well, you'll be written with words of...kinder spirit. It's the creature's fault for sealing their lips." His brother swiped his blade through the flames, cutting through air and letting the flame consume the sharp edge, "I've taught you resilience, yes? It would be...irresponsible to give up so easily." The pale metal began to glow a sullen red, a faint metallic tang filled the air as it burned hotter, so putrid that Grian could taste it on his tongue.
"You-you're sick!" The woman sputtered, getting flustered for something to say as panicked eyes watched Jimmy's methodical movements, he wasn't pleased with that. "Please do refrain from speaking unless you plan to answer my questions." He said, pulling the gleaming steel away from the flame and inspecting it like a scientist examining a specimen.
"The heat will cauterize the wound," Jimmy stated, bringing the blade up to his eye level, "Ensuring that your victim lasts longer and with reduced blood loss, they're useless if they die too early." Jimmy continued his lesson, boots thumping against the ground as he walked back over to the table and picked up a potion, the faintly shining substance the colour of a dark, bruised plum.
False Symmetry—another soldier among the base—was a competent soldier whose real talents shined in the art of brewing. It sounded simple enough, but in reality brewing was a complex series of—to Grian's untrained eye—mixing random, hard to find ingredients together and hoping for the best. She had a knack for it, doubley impressive considering the lack of knowledge and research conducted on potions. She was writing the updated copies of texts. She was documenting new discoveries for humans to find thousands of years from now, like the texts they used from thousands of years prior for knowledge of the Watchers.
People with extensive knowledge, passing down their wisdom.
Grian recognised that potion however, aptly named 'potion of harming'. Not the most romantic title, but it did as its name suggested. It did the job. "And this—" Jimmy continued, uncorking the bulbous, rounded bottle, and poured it over the blade over a bucket to catch the spill. The blazing steel sizzled and sparked under the liquid, popping and hissing as what looked like purple smoke wafted out of the weapon, "—is to make it hurt."
Jimmy approached again and the woman began to kick and thrash like a rabbit caught in a snare, kicking and yanking on the chains. "You're sick! Get away from me! Psychos! Psychos the lot of you—!"
Grian took a deep breath when the blade was pressed against that same exact spot...a soft touch just under her chin, but the stench of burning flesh assaulted Grian's nose this time around and an ominous sizzle filled the air between them. Grian's hands tightened into fists behind his back as the woman let out a guttural scream...unlike Grian had ever heard before.
"What is your name?" Jimmy asked calmly, utterly unfazed.
"Netty Pl-plays!" She rasped out in a single gasp. A name to a face...Grian felt sick, bile rising up in the back of his throat. Satisfied, Jimmy pulled the blade away to allow her to breathe. "See how easy that was?" He said sweetly, voice dripping in syrup that made your teeth rot to ash and choke your throat closed.
"I- I'm not telling you anything else!" She yelled, full of sudden fire. "I won't talk! They'll—"
"They'll what?" Jimmy tilted his head. "You think your gods are coming?" He furrowed his brows in mock concern, sickly pity that dripped with patronization, "Where are your gods, Eye? Where are your gods? Where are they?" Jimmy looked around, as though they would materialise. They obviously didn't. "Oh Netty..." He breathed out as her nostrils flared and quivered. She was frightened...very frightened.
"I'm scared." Grian whined, feeling too tiny for his boots and too slender for his new uniform...but...but brother said he would grow into it. Eventually. Once he grew up big and strong like him. And he trusted his brother more than anything—! But...but...
"How are you to inflict pain if you never experience it?" Jimmy drawled, voice rough around the edges to betray his impatience. "Do it, or I will." He dropped the dagger infront of Grian, the little blade clattering on the floor. His tiny parrot wings trembled, downy feathers breaking to reveal soft reds underneath. Grian was really proud of them...but they only served as extra weight for right now.
"I'm scared." Grian whined again, bottom lip wobbling. Why couldn't his brother understand? The little bunny was so adorable and tiny and fuzzy and staring at him with pure black innocent eyes. He didn't want to hurt the little bunny!
"You think they care about your pain?" He hissed and Grian didn't have to ask who 'they' were in this case...the other mean soldiers...
But this bunny wasn't mean!
Grian's nostrils flared as he struggled not to cry...brother hated when he cried...he was scared...he was scared, he was so scared he didn't want to bleed or hurt he didn't want to—
Grian blinked, chest tight and palms clammy as the woman—Netty—infront of him screamed, snot dripping down her lips as she begged for a slimmer of mercy.
"They left you." Jimmy cooed into her ears, sowing seeds of doubt and altering her brain's chemistry. Altering her right from wrong in his favour. "They left you to suffer...they would've noticed you were gone by now, no? They don't care. Why do you keep their secrets? They abandoned you, Eye. But I see you, I can help you. All you have to do is answer my questions, and all the pain goes away."
Grian turned his head, he didn't have the stomach to watch flesh burn in real time, sizzle like beaf on a bonfire and charr around the edges. It was sickening. Grian was grateful he hadn't eaten anything since Mumbo's late night bread roll...
"When torturing you want to stay calm." Right...right the lesson...the lesson...he was learning a lesson? This was teaching? "Getting too emotional, angry, upset, it can make your victim feel empowered that they have the ability to evoke such a reaction from you and can use it for their own personal gain. Don't let emotion consume you...no matter how...frustrating resistance may be." That line was targeted, tight and threatening. Another scream, her voice was breaking and turning hoarse from the strain.
In the end they received two pieces of information, the approximate number of soldiers, of Eyes, in the newest camp and exact location of entrances and exits. Jimmy sighed and pushed himself up with a hand on his knee as leverage, stretching out his neck like he was just after a long day at work.
He let out a sharp whistle and one of the guards—stars...stars the guards were still out there...it completely slipped Grian's mind...they must've heard...it was impossible not to hear—popped his head in. "Get a potion of healing from False. Just pour it on the wounds." He instructed and the guard nodded, running off to fill out the order.
He couldn't sleep that night. Couldn't close his eyes without seeing thick, dripping crimson and gagging through the reek of rotting flesh.
He was so unbelievably numb...yet could feel all and everything. All at once.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Grian was summoned to the dungeon that morning yet again. Everything passed in a dizzingly blur, Mumbo had that concerned look in his eye—that was becoming much more frequent, Grian noted—and tried to ask him...something? Or...? Well, Grian didn't hear him.
He forced one foot infront of the other, dragging himself to C-twentyfour. Flipped a switch in his brain and forced every twitch to be mechanical, focused and precise. Because then he didn't have to think, right? A blessing...not having to think. He could just do, let memory take over and do. Hopefully.
Jimmy straightened upon his arrival, "Grian." He said...while Netty looked awful. Pale and with wheezing breath. The marks from each slice of the blade from the day previous were healed with only sender pink lines as scars. Grian swallowed down bile and focused the lens of life.
"I hope you were listening yesterday." Jimmy said naturally, casually. The knife was already prepped. Hot and ruby. Grian clenched his jaw, "It's your turn. Now, I had a meeting and I want to know what weapons they have at their disposal, any known weaknesses in their forces and any known plans for future invasions." Jimmy said, easy, like discussing dinner plans or jesting about the weather.
"Jimmy." Grian whispered, throat dry. No- no no he couldn't possibly, watching was one thing but he couldn't possibly—
"Grian." Jimmy's voice tightened, eyes hardened as he passed the hilt of the dagger into Grian's palms. "We need information. You don't mean to tell me you feel remorse for them?" Jimmy said, voice dangerously low, a tone that shocked old instincts deeply engraved into Grian's psyche. He shook his head...swallowed, "No...Sir." He said quietly and glanced at the woman.
She barely lifted her head, focusing on her breathing and whispering under her breath. Grian took a step forward...then another, wings shifting a little for balance when his knees turned wobbly. His heart hammered in his chest, beating wilder than it did when he ran endlessly or fought with his sword.
A sinking dreading feeling blossoming in his stomach.
He had no choice.
He crouched slowly, every fibre in his entire being howled at him to stop, to walk away, to stand up to his brother because this felt so undeniably wrong.
He had no choice.
"Wh-what weapons do you have at your disposal?" He asked tightly, fist tightening around the hilt of the blade so it wouldn't slip from his sweaty palms.
She sneered...but didn't answer. Grian's stomach sank. She wasn't going to talk. Jimmy cleared his throat the longer that Grian just stared at her without movement.
He made the first slice, her first scream quite literally making his ears pop. She wouldn't talk, she was being stubborn and proud and Grian wanted to scream himself...but he remebered his teaching. Stay calm.
If he stayed calm then all of this would pass by quicker and he could live without ever seeing this Eye's face ever again.
Her skin scorched and furled, up close the potion of harming had a tangier smell to it, like wet copper or rusting iron. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it dominated, furling into his nose and ears and eyes and staining his flesh so that it buzzed and felt sticky.
Or maybe that was just the blood on his hands.
He had so much blood on his hands already.
It wasn't even his own blood. He was used to his own blood. He could handle his own blood, he had been raised on his own flesh and blood and bandages and antiseptic and holding wounds to stop the spill.
Forgein blood was different. It ran deeper than the outer layer of his skin, he could feel it staining his soul crimson. His being drenched in thick scarlett that couldn't be cleaned with a thousand washes.
He got everything out of her and more. Jimmy had to give him more questions to ask her. It all passed much much too slowly. Grian couldn't tell up from down or left from right. He couldn't think straight or breathe properly.
When he was...finished, he stood up on unsteady legs. That same guard was called upon to fetch potions. She was unconscious, head lolled...she looked...
Grian felt distant, a thousand miles away from his own body—he flinched, harsher than he would've liked—whenever the weight of his brother's hand landed on his shoulder, his eyes reflexively meeting his.
"You're dissmissed. You did good." He said...and left. Grian stood there, eyes wide and unfocused as he stared at the uneven cobble under his boots, breaths coming in in uneven, ragged sighs. What in the stars did he just watch? Hear?...do.
Then...a weak, such a weak little voice rung out... "Please..." She coughed. Not completely unconscious then...
"Please." Her white uniform blended with the moonlight, a puff of cloud brought down and molded like clay. Hands raised, just where Grian could see them, could see that she had no intention to draw a weapon.
A weapon she had.
Grian couldn't bear to look at her, he turnd rapidly on his heels, wings tucking in to make himself more aero-dynamic as he sped walked through the dungeon, sped up a little more when he shoved the door open and his quick steps turned into a sprint and then he was practically flying through corridors, stray lemony feathers the only things left in his wake.
He was trained to fight. To hit all the pressure points that sent his opponent to their knees, exploiting their weaknesses, to stab and strike where they would hurt, fall and lay dead.
Her screams vibrated through his ears, defeaning...piercing—
He barged into the basement, collapsed to his knees in a heap of feathers as he dragged the closest bucket over and heaved into it. He didn't question where the bucket came from, he didn't question how cold everything was and how blazing hot and dense the air seemed to be at the same time, boiling his blood and coiling his stomach in too thick cotton—
He heaved again, coughing and sputting, his throat clenching and pushing bits of bile and whatever food was left undigested up. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop smelling the pungent stench of charred flesh, it consumed him, seeping into everything crevice of his soul—
He heaved, panting and convulsing, parrot wings dead weight and greasy with dishevellment against his back, his hair in a not too different state, sweat soaked and clumped into chunks.
He didn't have to do it. She was harmless, she was probably just lost, they had just moved locations, settled, it would be so easy to get lost if you didn't know your way. Maybe she was just on an innocent walk, a midnight stroll to clear her head just like Grian had been, he heaved again, coughed.
He didn't have to, he could've left her, turned around and minded his own damn business, she wasn't attacking him or screaming for reinforcements or calling upon her gods and Grian lunged at the opportunity! He could've ignored it! But he whistled! He whistled and got her found!
He should've just stayed inside, gone to sleep like fucking EVERYONE. ELSE. Not gone out in the first place and then maybe he wouldn't feel so fucking SICK WITH HIMSELF.
No...no no no no NO...NO NO NO! NO! HE WAS GOOD!
He was good. He was following his training. He wasn't treasonous. He wouldn't betray his team. His side. His bretheren. His family. His country. The people he had worked so hard to protect. What if she had ran home and spilled everything she had seen, that she had seen him. For all they knew the Watchers might not even know the HermitHollow soldiers were here! They could've planned an attack and every death of his comrades would've been Grian's fault.
No...no he was trained for this. This was his purpose. He was good. He was good he could be good he was trying so fucking hard— PLEASE BROTHER I CAN BE GOOD—!!!
"Grian!" Grian jolted, a startled gasp ripped his throat on the way up...when had his throat gotten so raw?
"Stars—! Ah- i- sorry mate, I didn't mean— are you okay? Scratch that...shit...mate..."
Mumbo?
How did he know where Grian was? He wasn't allowed down here, nobody was allowed in the basement, it was supposed to be sound proof! Grian just gawked at him like he was a ghost, feathers rising and falling with each unsteady gasp. Mumbo was crouched there, his hands in plain sight—
—hands where he could see them, still clear even if it was dark—
"Hey- hey hey look at me." Grian hadn't realised that he had closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, very very tightly, acctually. They widened again at the command. Commands, he was good at following those wasn't he? Even when it meant butchering people—
"Can you try breathe? Just a little?" It was clear Mumbo didn't know what he was doing.
"How-?" Grian rasped, "Y-you-re not allowed! Not allowed down here! Everyone kn-knows that!" Grian screamed, he wasn't sure why he was screaming at Mumbo but he was, this was his private space, the space where cries and blood and exhaustion and sweat stayed where nobody could ever find them. Where vulnerabilities and failures stayed locked up, only known between him, his brother, and the ancestors above.
"Down here?" Mumbo repeated and Grian nodded wildly, hands rubbing against his trousers to get the blood off but it wasn't coming off—
"Mate...we're in the bathroom." What? No. No he ran to the basement.
Grian blinked, peering around to investigate what exactly Mumbo was going on about.
Oh.
Oh.
Wasn't sound proof then. Mumbo heard.
"Hey hey hey—!"
Other people must've heard him too, he couldn't be weak, he couldn't be sitting here blubbering like an infant when he was the general's brother! The most skilled sixteen year old in the entire country!
He was warm. Very warm. The familiar...and oddly comforting scent of gunpowder filling his nose, not overly dominating, like the smell was letting him decide whether or not he wanted to take it in or not rather than forcing itself through and consuming him inside and out.
"Breathe Gri." Mumbo whispered as Grian tucked his head into the older's shoulder, his shoulders heaving with every barely restrained sob.
"They'll hear—" Grian wheezed, bringing trembling hands to his mouth and squeezing. Mumbo put a gentle hand, a palm, rough from working, onto Grian's wrist, "Nobody's around. Everyone is gone either to training, border patrol or heightening defences. It's just us Gri...I promise." Mumbo whispered, low, such a contrast to the screams reverberating through his head.
Oh.
Oh, well. Well that was good. Grian sobbed, an ugly ugly cry into Mumbo's shoulder, he couldn't stop...he genuinely couldn't stop even if he wanted to.
"It'll be okay...it'll be okay..." Mumbo whispered into his ear, a soft melodic lullaby soothing something in Grian's tight chest as his roommate rubbed circles into his back, occasionally smoothing his palm over Grian's scraggly feathers.
In all his training, in all of his extensive hours and practice in endurance and commitment...he had never acctually hurt anyone. Not like that. He'd had sparring partners but they could tap out. She couldn't. And worse, everything was maliciously crafted to make her feel as much pain as humanly possible with no light at the end of the tunnel.
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He sobbed himself dry and once coherent enough not to collapse on the spot, Mumbo helped him back to their room.
Nothing had sound. His surroundings were devoid of colour. Funny how one second he felt everything all at once, every tiny little thing inflating like balloons within seconds, and now? He couldn't feel anything at all. Like his whole body had fallen asleep but his eyes were wide open.
Apparently, somewhere in his...whatever that was...he was scratched himself up...pretty badly.
Mumbo was sitting beside him...he practically begged Grian to let him clean him up. But Grian hadn't stooped down that low, he hadn't hit that rock bottom. He was still responsible for his own wounds no matter what.
"If you rely on your comrades for medical assistance, what will you do if they're all dead?"
He ended up wiping himself down. Washing his hands. Bandaging up his arms which were mottled with scratches as a reward of his nails ripping for purchase, to get out of the tortuous prison of his brain.
"Grian." Mumbo sounded genuinely frightened. Grian just let out a slight hum, securing the last knot his bandage.
"Look, you probably don't wanna talk about it, and I get that, but we have to do something. Do you want to go get something to eat?" Grian could appreciate that he was trying...but Grian was too exhausted to even exist at the moment. Everything was melted to sludge and he could still taste sick and metal on his tongue. Food was a no go. He shook his head, hoisted himself onto the top bunk and stared at the ceiling.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself."
Grian didn't react to that.
"Please, Gri. What can I do?" Mumbo whispered with childish undertones of pleading. Grian was grateful for him...truly. He just wasn't very effective at demonstrating it.
"Please." She rasped, begging for mercy, whether that mercy was freedom or death Grian didn't know, the line between the two was so blurred—
Grian took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"Tell me about your latest project?" There was silence after that, clearly his request had surprised the redstoner. Grian heard the shuffle of sheets as Mumbo slipped atop the covers on his cot so that they were both comfortable.
"I tried working on a mechanism, like a trip wire but without having to connect a string between two areas...for wide fields or areas where there wouldn't be any trees, and little poles sticking out of the ground are mighty suspicious..."
Grian focused on his tone, the lilts that only Mumbo could achieve, quiet stutters every so often and steady pacing, speeding up at little bits he got excited to tell Grian about.
Everything went quiet. Really quiet. Not eerie or numb quiet. The kind of quiet that only the night sky could bring, the stillness experienced atop unmovable mountains.
Still...he felt...sticky.
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His hands were translucent, slightly see through and coloured with a grayish tint as though he were a phantom rather than avian.
His skin stuttered and swished with every movement, taking a second to catch up with his movements. He puzzled at himself a moment, moving his hand around in the black abyss and blinking, reasoning that his vision was just foggy and dizziness was causing the real time lag.
It didn't fix anything. Very very strange.
"Come on, Grian." Grian whipped his head around, the voice screeched in his head but seemed to echo endlessly around him at the same time, whenever he turned back he was in a new room. A room with dimension this time.
"Please." She gasped, Grian was suddenly crouched infront of her, holding that blazing knife shining a frightening crimson, impossible to tell blood from molten steel. Grian gasped and dropped the knife, it clattered soundlessly, staring down at his hand as blood creeped out from under his nails like a plague and coated his entire hand in the sticky substance.
He let out a squawk and frantically wiped his palms onto his shirt to get it off. He blinked and the crimson was gone, the knife situated back into his grasp and marks that weren't there before—bubbling and raw burns—adorned the woman's skin.
"Don't be weak Grian." That voice echoed, nawing on his head like nails on a chalkboard.
"Talk." He whispered to her, pleading instead of demanding. He didn't want to, he didn't want to have to extract the information out of her himself, he was weak, he was so fucking weak, he couldn't do it, he couldn't in his right mind look her in the eyes and— He blinked and more blood bubbled, more and more and more oozing from every crevice as the walls closed in on them, trapping the two into an ever closing box.
"Talk." He said again, though this time in normal tone of voice. The burning didn't stop, flesh charred and melted like candle wax.
"Talk." He said, firmer, an overwhelming metallic tang on his tongue.
"Talk!" He barked, his voice and his brother's merging together.
"TALK!" He screamed at her as her face became more and more discoloured and pale.
"TALK! TALK DAMMIT TALK!" Grian screeched, wings defying the laws of space as they spread to their fullest, he threw the knife and started to shake her shoulders, shaking and shaking and shaking and shaking! It would be so much easier if she just talked! Why wouldn't she just TALK?!—
Grian jolted upwards with a gasp, his hand going to his heart and balling his sleep shirt in his fist in meager attempts at regaining control. He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut and blinked some more.
The room was dark, but not abyss-dark, not black-hole dark, he could make out outlines of the sink and the outline of his boots and could just about make out the blanket on top of him. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand through his sweaty sandy hair.
Not there then. Just in his room.
Stars, what was wrong with him?
He shifted and peered over the edge of his cot, luckily finding that Mumbo was still asleep, sprawled out like a cat in the sun with his mouth open. Absolute spoon.
Grian eased himself down from his top bunk, light on his feet, and snuck out the door, taking extra care to open and close it slowly so that it wouldn't squeak and awake his slumbering roommate. Once out, he crept down the dark hallway and brought himself back to the bathroom.
He still didn't know how he managed to confuse the basement and the bathroom, panic really did strange things to the brain...someone should study that.
Grian let out a breath through his nose and stood infront of the mirror, leaning forward with his palms balanced on the edge of the scratched up porcelain sink. He looked at himself, good and hard, in the mirror, at every unsymertrical line and imperfection in his skin, the way one eye was ever so slightly bigger than the other and how his eye bags, purple as bruises, make his eyes look smaller.
His mother's eyes...or so he was told. His father's wings... or so he was told.
This was ridiculous. Nightmares? He has nightmares regularly but he never allowed them to manifest into something that felt so real he could smell it. He was used to feeling a little odd in the morning, not a dream that woke him up at night with a cold sweat, as shocking as ice water being poured onto him.
It was childish.
Childish to dwell too hard on the past.
Reality was that he would probably have to do it again. And what a laughing stock he would be if he was the greatest soldier of all time, trained beyond the limits of avians, but got squeamish over a little blood, guilty at a shred of violence.
He was violence. His blood ran with it and his future told whispers of it. He couldn't escape it no matter how hard he flew or how fast he ran.
He was violence. And how else to cope other than to just accept what his brother molded him to be.
Get. Over. It. Grian.
He hissed inwardly, mentally tearing down every good conscience he had ever built up. She deserved it. That Eye deserved it. She killed his mother. She killed his father. She was the reason he and his brother were made orphans before they could truly understand the world around them. She worshipped monsters, trusted them with her life and they spat on it. It was her own fault. She made her bed and now she'll forever lay in it.
Grian wasn't a monster, he was just speeding up the inevitable. When they won the war the lot of them would've been dead anyway. Yea. Yea that's it.
Grian shuddered, clenching his teeth together until his molars stung, his fingers tightening on the cracked porcelain.
He just had to turn it off...just turn it off...ignore it like he had ignored every other emotion that began too big and took up important space in his psyche.
He was good. He was a good HermitHallow soldier. A good little red-crest. An obedient bird.
Man up.
With a final sigh and a firm nod to himself in the mirror, he pushed himself off. Well, he wouldn't be able to fall asleep now, not when he was so awake.
He may aswell get busy. The swords in the armory could always use a good polish.
He had worked until the sun blessed the earth with her glow, soft honey rays replacing the chilly night air with pleasant warmth. Grian stood up and wiped his hands on the cloth that he had been using to polish the swords, nodding at his own handiwork.
They looked pretty damn good if he did say so himself, tarnished steel now reflecting like a mirror. He made quick work of handling them and carrying the lot back to the armory, propping them up in their respective holders. Taking a step back, he put his hands on his hips and let out a breath. Looked good. Neat. Powerful.
He nodded to himself once more and threw the rag over his shoulder, pushing the door open with his right shoulder, though upon exit he bumped into someone. Etho raised a brow, though immediately relaxed when he spotted familiar parrot feather patterns.
"Sorry." Grian said, where on earth had the man even come from? Grian was tactically aware of his surroundings usually as all times, but the man moved like a wraith.
"All good." Etho responded cooly, hands casually resting in his pockets. Man, Grian wasn't the kind to get super intimidated around anyone other than his brother, but Etho was seriously something else. He was....well he was so cool. Grian had always secretly held guilt in his gut that he idolised him more than he did his brother, but there was just something so mysterious about him. Perhaps it was his white hair or gruesome scar or snowwy fox ears and tail, or maybe even the fact that man always had half of his face hidden, heightening the mystery related to him, but he just had an ancient air around him, like he could see the future with that eye or something.
Grian's jutted out his wooden sword just like Xisuma had shown him! Taking a sure step froward with each strike to build up momentum!
Big brother was away being super busy so his training was being monitored by his old mentor, Xisuma. He usually liked to train him himself, but he trusted Xisuma to do a good job too, so it wasn't bad. He was super cool too! Grian liked him a lot, he yelled a whole lot less than big brother did and corrected him every time he made a mistake instead of waiting for him to finish and stalking over him, raging down at him about all his missteps that he didn't realise he was making.
Yep! Xisuma was super duper nice! Though, Grian's steps were getting a tad bit clumsy as his concentration slipped. He couldn't go more than a minute of strikes before his eyes drifted back to him. He looked like something sent down by a meteor! An ethereal man who moved like smoke! And his scar was just—! Grain was itching to ask him how he got it, he wanted a badass scar too—!
"Grian." Grian jumped with a startled chirp...a sheepish smile spreading across his face as Xisuma stood over him with his hands on his hips, stern. "Focus." He said...for like the millionth billionth time today. "Shouldn't you be looking at ME?" Xisuma tilted his head, knowing.
"Sorry." Grian replied, his wings drooping with the shame of being caught...again...and he started up his formations once more.
But across the field ghost-man was doing more instricate formations, tougher on the muscles and quicker, more precise, than Grian's. The six year old narrowed his eyes as his own wooden sword then glanced back at his proper MASSIVE one, with real life steel! All while Grian got a stupid wooden one, his seemed much less cool compared to his.
Subtly...very very sneakily, Grian started to switch up his formation, keeping a close eye on ghost-man from across the field and copying his movements to the best of his ability. Red eyes met his, ears perked, and Grian nearly jumped out of his skin...but the scar tissue creased, his good eye did too...he just smirked and went back at it.
He SMIRKED AT HIM.
"Grian." Xisuma sighed and looked over at Ghost man, "Etho! Get over here!" Xisuma barked out, it never failed to impress Grian how far his voice travelled so far and how much attention it always garnered.
Etho. So cool.
Grian's brain only processed half a second too late and tingles ran up his spine as the man, the myth, the legend, was standing right infront of him, sword still in hand. Grian stared up at him wide eyes, brimmed with wonder.
"You're interrupting my lesson Etho." Xisuma muttered, tapping his foot. Grian's eyes sparkled, he puffed out his chest and did his super proper salute. "Hello Etho sir! I'm Grian Solidarity, sir!" He was buzzing, seriously unable to keep the excitement from his voice. Xisuma smiled and Etho snorted a little, crouching down to his level.
"Well, hello soldier." He gave a salute of his own. "Training?" Grian nodded wildly, presenting his wooden sword to which Etho let out a whistle, clearly super duper impressed.
"Someone can't seem to focus with me, so, why don't you show him a few pointers?" Xisuma said, voice dripping with amusement.
"Uh-" Etho cleared his throat, "I suppose I could, you'd like that?"
Grian hesitated, glancing at Xisuma to check if it was really okay.
"Jimmy doesn't let me be around anyone else." Grian whispered loudly to Xisuma, just in case he had forgotten and Grian was doing the right thing in reminding him.
"Etho's one of our best. You'll learn a lot from him, and enthusiasm will add to your learning. You'll make more progress with him than you would gawking at him with me." Xisuma countered, it made perfect sense!
Grian's feathers puffed out immediately, he nodded until his head came nearly clean off, "Yes Etho sir! You're so cool!" Etho laughed at that and placed a hand on his sandy hair, giving it a gentle ruffle.
"Alright alright, settle down feathers."
"What're you doing down here so early?" Etho raised a brow.
"Work. You?" Grian wasn't much of a conversationalist ninety-percent of the time and Mumbo could definately vouch for him on that point, but this was hardly conversation...just...noise filling silence.
Etho hummed before responding, "On my way out to the field. Say, you got anything going on this morning?"
Etho was just as meticulous and organised about his schedule and Grian was, so it came as a shock to him that he would ask a question that would lead to two different outcomes in what he did next.
"Why?" Grian asked, curiosity getting the better of him before he fell into a hole he couldn't climb out of.
"I need a sparing partner, and we haven't spared in a long time." He said, taking his hands out of his pockets and stretching out his arms. The offer was incredibly tempting and Grian found his wings subconsciously perking a little bit, excitement sparking in his veins.
"Ah..." Jimmy was strict about his training schedule. Very strict. And he generally just hated when things happened around that he didn't know about or wasn't told was happening, "I've got to ask my brother—"
"Ask your brother what?" The man himself materialised in the hallway and Grian stiffened immediately, lifting his chin and putting his hands neatly behind his back.
"May I spar with Etho?"
The canary took one look at Etho, a sparse look like he had already made up his mind and the glance was purely for show, to heighten Grian's nerves.
"I'll give you an hour and a half before I expect you down in the basement." Jimmy replied cooly. Grian knew for a fact that he also liked Etho, it was hard not to, he was incredible as following orders, strong and with sharp instincts for most crafts, experienced and loyal. Someone you could trust with your life, could count on to lead you through mountains blindfolded.
"Yes sir." Grian inclined his head, trying not to smile. Etho was already at it, he could tell there was a smirk under that mask of his.
"Go on get your wraps and shit, see you out in five?" He said, already mid-exit.
"Yep." They exchanged two fingered salutes and walked their separate ways and Grian soon vanished down the hall.
Sick.
Mumbo was up and tying his laces whenever Grian strode in and shot up comically quickly at the sight of him. Grian raised a brow, giving his friend...a look. That was..strange, to say the least.
"Hello?" Grian said slowly and walked over to one of his drawers.
"Hi." Mumbo said back, rubbing his palms on his trousers, a nervous tick he often did to rid his palms of their sweat. What had gotten him so worked up?
An awkward silence sprouted between them, so thick it could be cut with a knife. Then,
"How are you?" Ah. Now Grian could see. His shoulders dropped as he paused his rifling, sparing a glance to his roommate.
"I'm fine." Grian muttered and produced his roll of wraps, grabbing his canteen too for good measure. Mumbo stayed stock still, like his boots had melted into the floorboards and he was stuck in his spot.
"Are...are you sure?" Stars, Grian should've never been so careless with his emotions. He gets a little too overwhelmed, a pinch too many sounds and smells and sights and lights for all the chaos scrambling around in his head, he let's himself go thinking his pain would be absorbed into the stone walls like they had his entire life, once, and now suddenly he's this big cause for concern.
Grian's brows furrowed in mild irritation, "Yes, Mumbo." He said tightly, with a twinge more force than he intended but he found that he didn't regret his tone. He hated feelings. Horrid things they were.
"How are—"
"Mumbo, can you not talk about it?" That got his friend's jaw shut real quick, startled like a kicked puppy. Now that...that sight, a flash of hurt and confusion flashing in his deep eyes...extracted a sliver of guilt from within him, but he didn't have time for it.
"Sorry." Mumbo said quietly. Grian hesitated a moment, waiting to see if his mind would present any further phrases, but they came up short. So he just left without another word and made his way down to the field.
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It was an average day, not boiling hot where it was impossible to work for fear of heatstroke or such sluggishness that felt awfully close to heatstroke, and not frigid where one couldn't take two steps without shivering and gritting their teeth against the clatter.
Average.
He wrapped up his knuckles, elbows and knees and Etho did the same, untying the mask around his face and setting it next to his canteen. Grian had seen his face countless times, it wasn't like it was his first time, but each time Etho took the mask off it felt like it. It felt wrong, a wrongness Grian couldn't explain. Like he was found out a secret by accident he shouldn't know.
"Staring again, feathers?" Etho tilted his head and Grian rolled his eyes, stretching out his feathers so that they wouldn't cramp once he got started. Stars, Etho's ego really inflated all because of him didn't it. Once of life's many regrets.
"I was six." Grian grumbled, knowing exactly which memory he was referencing 'again' to. Etho just snorted.
Just one more thing, Grian took a glance around them and spotted none other than Xisuma. Grian let out a smooth two and an extra long whistle, Xisuma looked over immediately, confused.
"Wanna ref?!" Grian called out and Xisuma strode over without hesitation, planting himself next to their canteens.
"I'm getting deja vu." He said lightly, Grian rolled his eyes.
"Good with just fists for now?" Etho said, and Grian nodded, swords at the ready for later where Xisuma stood, "Terms?" Etho said next as they began to circle eachother like wild cats. How kind of him for letting Grian make that decision.
"Anything's on the table, just not to death. Tap out." Grian said lightly, sparring was always more realistic that way where he didn't have to hold back his strength against his opponent and visa versa, though murdering eachother by accident wouldn't exactly be aiding anyone...hence the tap out.
"Fine by me." Etho said, slipping into his eerie calm, ears slightly back. Grian loved sparring with him...he was right, it had been way too long. Etho knew him, Grian knew him right back. Each had equal advantage, only increased by their own respective training.
Xisuma lifted his chin, reiterated their terms...then...came the anticipated word: "Begin."
Etho lunged for him first and Grian dodged right easily, barely flinching when Etho instantly re-set his direction and punched Grian in the arm. With Etho's arm so conveniently there, Grian grabbed onto it with his opposite hand and attempted a twist. The scarred man grabbed that same forearm and flipped Grian over his shoulder, though it hardly did anything but force him to re-evaluate balance, that was easy.
He rolled down the older's back and flared his wings to catch the air so that he could kick himself off Etho's spine and land on the grass again.
Etho turned to look for him and hummed, lifting his chin. The two of them weren't ones to make jeers or mock opponents in their fights, both centred around focus and technique rather than useless irritating. They were at eachother's throats once again.
Now, one would say that a spar like this— a teenager against someone nearly twice his age, was incredibly unfair, but really they had had almost the same amount of training time in terms of years. Grian had been fighting his entire life, Etho had been fighting since he had been old enough to join.
Some...could argue...Etho was at disadvantage in this whole thing.
Grian striked with right and Etho blocked with his strong forearms, threw a left and Grian ducked under it, using his low stance to kick his leg out in an attempts to sweep. Etho, foreseeing it from miles away, jumped over his leg while silmontanously attempting a kick to Grian's nose, a perfectly lined up shot. Grian set his jaw and grabbed onto the man's ankle and calf, yanking to propel himself up, wings giving a beat for ultimate speed.
He threw a punch to Etho's unprotected face, the yank on his leg swerved him unbalanced.
Perfect.
Now, Grian was physically smaller than his opponent—the age gap was something that he couldn't magically fix and it would be foolish to think he had any realistic chance in pinning down a grown man. Foolish foolish thinking, something he couldn't change no matter how strong he got.
So he focused on pressure points of pain.
The unbalanced Etho naturally fell, but he was a speed demon, one capable of re-adjusting and getting back up on his feet in seconds. Grian flared his feathers to disorient him, the brain wasting precious seconds trying to process colour—precious seconds was all that Grian needed.
Grian dug his knuckles into the trapezius muscle and with the other hand wrenched Etho's arm behind his back, putting a knee down onto the wrist to add additional weight that would help with security and hopefully add to the pain.
It worked.
Two slaps on the grass and Grian climbed off, breath barely puffing, Etho had hardly broken a sweat.
The older let out a breath and rolled out his shoulder, glancing up at Grian, "Pesky bird." He said lightly and Grian just shrugged. That was fast...but he couldn't let it get to his head. Getting cocky was as good as drinking poison.
Spar after spar passed, Etho was a challenging opponent, difficult to predict and even more difficult to out-maneuver, but Grian was quicker, sharper. He had not only been honing his skills physically...but sealing pieces in...bit by bit...mentally.
He could stay calm. Composed, treat every fight like it was their first.
They did about five more rounds of hand to hand. Grian won them all.
At first he speculated that perhaps Etho was going easy on him, taking pity and dialing back his talents because of Grian's age, but Grian saw the tightness in his jaw and the frustration in his eyes and how more and more techniques were implemented into each fight in attempts to throw him off and secure a win. Grian was winning out of his own accord.
Now, It wasn't good etiquette to place bets, soldiers had gotten told off countless times by their superior officers to cool it down when they got too rowdy over a particularly good spar, but a circle of red-crests gathered, others pausing their rounds and watching on with interest as a little avian boy beat the shit out of the renound Etho.
It wasn't really...a surprise, they had all known him since he was an infant and new comers soon heard wind of the General's brother, youngest in the base. But it was interesting to them none the less. It was bad ettiquette, but these men were in war, and thus, fighting was all they had...so Grian held his tongue. Subconsciously listening to all the men placing their bets on him. Money was pretty much useless so they betted rations, personal supplies, favours, exchanging chores, things like that.
It was an oddly jarring experience, to physically hear that people had so much faith in you that they were willing to sacrifice for the promise of your victory.
Grian won every time.
At every tap out half the soldiers would groan and shout and the other half would cheer and punch their fists in the air. Xisuma didn't stop them, keeping full focus on his position as referee. He was seasoned, he knew the thrill of his early years and could sympathise with the other men.
"You've grown up, feathers." Etho muttered, all in good spirit as Grian helped haul him to his feet, with the other hand Etho used it to ruffle his hair. Grian detested when he did that.
"Best hope the Eyes aren't as good as me." Grian said, cracking his knuckles.
"Nobody is as good as you." Grian flushed at that and the soldiers hollered. Etho thought he was good? Etho. The Etho. Thought he was good? That he was above all else?
"Swords?" Etho suggested, ready to switch. Grian blinked himself back to reality, wiped his bloodied nose and nodded mutely, walking over to where X was to grab his blade, Etho did the same.
Fighting with blades provided its own set of additional challenges, for one, you couldn't maneuver as fluidly or slip on by as seamlessly because you had a whole extra limb against to your hand. An extra weight. An extra thought to think about. Etho was best known for his skills with a sword, a cunning fox in the night with zero mercy.
At Xisuma's call, they lunged at eachother. Grian tuned out the cheers of men as his blade clashed with his opponent's in a deafening screech of steel. Up close, the two narrowed their eyes at eachother before Grian turned sharply and intended to strike Etho in the hip, but the older out maneuvered him and managed to block his blade with his own.
Fighting with swords was also different in that tapping out was a little inconvienent, so it was the first to fall. Since, in a real battle, you fall and your opponent has not only the upper hand but also a sword? You're dead. Or you get a fatal wound, and then you're dead.
Grian took a step back and blocked Etho's arch, maintaining a comfortable stance to keep his body weight level and secure, each step never strayed too far or was placed clumsily. He knew exactly what he was doing, and so did Etho. They danced, a complex waltz of refined footwork and precise strikes and arks. Grian kept his wings tucked in for the most part, not wanting the vulnerable flesh to get pierced since wings took an annoyingly long time to heal properly.
Grian slammed his blade into Etho's but the man shifted his arms up and let the sword slip against Grian's, and before the avian could think to dodge, Etho's blade tore through the bandages on his upper arm and sliced a gash into his flesh. Not exceedingly deep, but Grian sucked in a harsh breath at it.
Grian's eyes wettened with fresh tears as he kept his hand clamped over the gash on his thigh, scarlette seeping through his little fingers, biting his bottom lip until more crimson sprouted against the waves of aching pain.
Jimmy threw down a needle and thread before him, a slender thing and black, thick thread that looked almost like wire.
He narrowed his eyes, glared at his opponent, and lunged, full fury. He sliced and arked in dizzing succession, advancing onto Etho in such speed that every backwards step Etho took was getting sloppier and sloppier, just what Grian wanted, to keep his focus all up on his upper half, avoiding steel and blocking while hastily trying to escape.
Etho gave a spontaneous swing, Grian ducked under it and threw his arm out to slice Etho in the calf. The white-haired man stumbled backwards, just a second of faltering and Grian was on his feet and slashing again, pushing back with such force that the fox stumbled back on the freshly cut leg. Grian wrenched his arm and he fell.
The men exploded into a hurricane of shouts and cheers, throwing up their fists and singing Grian's praises. The avian dropped his sword and walked over to Etho, extending his unharmed arm.
"Stars, kid." Etho hissed between his teeth and placed his palm with his, hoisting himself to his feet, "You are one scary bird." He smiled, Grian smiled back at him. Scary...he hadn't been called that before. He always saw Etho as scary, a frightening force. Grian tried not to grin too wide and get all jittery with childish excitement.
"You did good." Grian commented instead.
"And you won. Again." Etho pointed out, tail swishing lightly.
Grian panted, trying to catch his breath while looking around the crowd...through a part through the sea however, he spotted a pair of electric wings and calculating eyes.
Jimmy.
Grian's breath caught, he swallowed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and raised his chin. Had his brother seen his victory? It was just a sparring match but Grian was still proud of himself for it, he was unbeaten in all of the rounds that they fought through. Was he proud? Jimmy barely twitched before turning and exiting the way he came, taking Grian's silly hopes with him.
"You good?" Etho asked, pulling off the sweat soaked bandana from his forehead and walking over.
"Hm?" Grian glanced at him, eyes narrowed in question,
"Your arm."Etho specified, gesturing vaguely to the dripping cut sliced through Grian's upper arm, staining the bandages that he had wrapped around himself after...the incident. Blood staining the surrounding white gauze crimson.
"Oh, yea. Just a scratch." Grian hummed, "Your leg?"
"Just a scratch." Etho mimicked with a smirk and the asshole couldn't resist ruffling Grian's hair, "That was brilliant, we should spar more often, no? I'll definately need a rematch to regain my dignity."
Grian snorted, "We'll see. You might recieve more dignity lost than gained."
Etho let out a laugh, "Oh? Don't get cocky feathers." He teased, evoking a wider smile from the parrot.
"I'd never."
Etho smirked at him, grabbed his sword and canteen into one hand and outstretched the other, Grian grasped it and gave it a good shake. And they went their separate ways.
Grian quickly got himself back up to his room to patch himself up before meeting his brother in the basement for further training exercises or whatever the canary had planned for that day.
It flew by pretty quick, so Grian only had one more thing to sort out.
He roamed the bustling mess, keeping a keen eye out for a familiar slicked style of black hair and groomed moustache, holding his bowl awkwardly in his hands as he scanned the sea of soldiers until he spotted his familiar face.
Grian made his way over to his roommate and took a seat next to him on the bench and the tension in the air became palpable instantly, both not daring to look eachother in the eye. It was frustratingly forgein to Grian and he found that he didn't like it. Mumbo was talkative and often got on his nerves but...Grian...well- considered him a friend, and he hated that he couldn't get rid of the stupid churning feeling in his stomach.
"Mumbo-" Grian started and instantly regretted it, so he could go through twelve hours straight of gruelling drills but he couldn't say two words to his roommate? Well, no turning back now. "I...apologise for snapping at you. It was uncalled for." His friend's eyes widened met him, Grian wanted very much so to go and die in a hole...but he continued.
"I'm...not good with..." Shit. "Vulnerability. I know you mean well but...that night was a one off. And I'm fine...so.." Grian mixed his soup around with his spoon, poking at a bit of carrot, anything but meeting his roommate's eye.
"It's okay." That got Grian's head up, "I'm sorry too mate, it's really none of my business and I shouldn't have pried, I just wanted you to know that you could talk to me...if you want." Mumbo smiled lightly, trying to brighten up the awkward conversation.
Well that...was easy.
"Yea...okay." Grian would not be doing that, but it was a nice sentiment. An oddly warm thought.
"How was training? It was very very loud in the yard this morning." Mumbo said, flipping like a switch and diving back into casual conversation. The knot in Grian's stomach loosened instantly and he fell back into the comfortable rhythm of just...talking to his friend.
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Grian sat by firelight, the warm embers casting shadows along his young face. He was eleven, it felt odd to be allowed to reside in his brother's office, he hardly let him come in at all, let alone sit down for a bit.
But he wasn't complaining, he wanted to spend time with Jimmy, and he had done a good job today...so perhaps this was a reward?
A question did nag at the back of Grian's mind though, he had been taught and talked to about Watchers his entire life, he had seen drawing and familiarised himself with basic customs so that he could get a better idea of the enemy. But what he couldn't understand was that they were always referred to as gods, but gods...to his knowledge...
"Jimmy." Grian piped, his brother looking up from his files to see what he wanted.
"If the Watchers are...gods...then they're immortal...and all powerful...so how can they be killed?"
His brother let out a small sigh and put down his quill, standing up from his desk and walking around to meet Grian where he sat on a pillow by the fire, sitting down next to him himself with his legs crossed and wings tight against his back.
"Legends say that they are the first gods of our world. The first eyes that laid upon the undergrowth and seas. Morphed mountains and scooped out caves with bare claws. In soul, they are beings of a world beyond comprehension or imagination, a void, nothing and everything and now and never... They are not born of the flesh and blood that you and I are born of. They ARE immortals, but under our sky? Our oxygen? They're blood, odd and forgein, becomes just as vulnerable as ours. They can be killed because they are on our domain where the battleground is flat. Strike for the kill. Kill the unkillible. You train to kill gods."
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He didn't hear another word about the Eye. About Netty. Not if she was dead or alive or what they had done with the body or whether she had just been left to rot in the cell.
He didn't hear about her again.
And that was that.
Life must move on.
Notes:
Fun fact, writing the torture scene right before bed gave me nightmares soo, you're welcome.
I acc had to tone it down just a little bit, I could've made it far more gruesome but I was starting to get queasy about it lmaooMaybe I'm missing the grian has anxiety tag...shrug.
I love and hate italics because now I can't italic my like emphasised one's and have to do caps 😪
WE LOVE BROTHER FIGURE ETHO I SAY
I can't remember where I got the idea that Watchers can be killed because they're in a 'player world' so to speak, but if anyone recognises the concept do let me know
I have edited the last chapter slightly because I wanna make Etho an Arctic fox hybrid, sue me <3
Tags have been updated!!
AS ALWAYS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO LEAVE A COMMENT, I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH <33
For updates check out baffledbirdbandit on tumblr <3
Chapter 4: Forest Green
Summary:
Grian's foot gets caught...but who comes out to save him?
Notes:
I feel like I should've said this but the whistling between the red-crests is inspired by the seraphites from the last of us 2 <33 I love them a lot, they are so cool.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Grian triple checked his pockets for everything that he needed, patting himself down to feel the familiar bumps of his items and be certain everything was where it should be.
His sword at his hip, a dagger in his boot and a small vial filled with sweet pink fluid, a potion of healing provided by False herself for absolute emergencies. It wasn't nearly large enough to help much for a fatal wound, but provided just enough support to find someone or get yourself back to base should you find yourself hurt.
Check check and check.
Someone whistled, a slow first then 2 sharps followed, that soldier then received a series of return whistles from the surrounding red-crests, including Grian. Horses were saddled, packs secured to their rears and sides. Proud steeds of mostly mahogany brown and wood flesh cream, they were good horses, stayed still while being saddled and barely swished their tails when red-crests climbed over.
He loved the little guys. Good horses.
Bdubs up top cranked the lever, winding it until the gates churned open and a squadron of about fifteen either rode—if on horse back—or walked side by side if avian or just didn't have a horse on this particular outing.
Grian had donned himself simple outer wear, black cargo trousers that provided more pockets than he would ever need, but were good to have none the less, his thick brown boots with scuffs at the sole and toe, a white tank and a green jacket. Green wasn't usually his colour of choice, but it was practical in the woodlands...though not like a green jacket would make his bright red, yellow and blue parrot wings any less conspicuous, but here he was.
Things were getting serious. Plans being drawn with red strings and held on standby for perfect moments to unleash. The weaponry was being triple checked for faults that could be disastrous on the field. Generals and lieutenants were working into dawn drawing up battle plans and mapping out every worst possible outcome. And more importantly how to overcome those outcomes.
His dear friend Mumbo Jumbo had been particularly busy in the demolitions department. It was no quick thing, redstone, but he always seemed to manage it in an effiencent manner that Grian would've assumed would take months. But of course not, not when talking about Mumbo, the man was mad. Crazy.
Whipped up three dozen explosions overnight.
The little mechanisms operated like landmines, once stepped on it would produce a steel net encasing with barbs around the top to throughly trap the unlucky man, so, once the horrifying click is heard they have no opening to run away. And therefore explode into a million tiny pieces. A bomb is set off and a redstone signal pre-plotted underground flashes and travels to the main control room, lighting up lanterns with a map beside them to signal which particular bomb had gone off, in which particular region, so then they know where the attackers are coming from.
Absolutely genius.
Of course, the only thing left to do now was to set up the bombs. A few soldiers had been a tiny bit apprehensive about walking around where explosions could very well erupt under their feet, but Mumbo and his team well assured them that the system would have to be all switched on via lever...so until that, the bombs were completely safe to drop, throw, step on, so on and so forth.
Grian stared down at his map, marked with a plethora of tiny little red x's where the bombs would have to be planted, systematically sectioned out for the highest probability of catching intruders. It was quite the walk however since they were trying to keep off the patrol routes.
The red-crests marched on, taking pauses to shovel, plant, clear, and move on. At the fourth stop, Grian paused, perking his head up as his eyes flickered to a spot in the undergrowth. His wings twitched as he narrowed his eyes...he could have sworn that he had seen a rustle, a little movement of bushes that didn't come naturally from wind.
A broken twig the men didn't seem to notice, taking out the next compact explosive from their containers, unaware of the figure in the forest with clumsy steps.
Grian rolled up his map and pressed it into the closest chest to him, Impulse, reliable enough to read a damn map, "Keep on going, I'll catch up." Grian muttered, not daring to tear his eyes away from the spot should he forget where exactly it was. Lucky for him, he wasn't questioned on it, the brunette just nodded and moved the soldiers forth.
Grian broke off from the squadron, creeping carefully through the grass blades, acutely aware of every stick, rock and bramble under his sole.
They were far away from base, armed, sure, but it wouldn't be preposterous to think that they had been spotted. That Eyes or Watchers had heard wind. That they were being watched.
Grian advanced, silently drawing out his blade with careful fluidity to minimised the metallic ring of steel.
He advanced until the clops of horseshoe grew faint and direct chatter and orders flitted off with the breeze.
A rustle to his left.
Grian tightened his sword hand and set his jaw, he lunged for the berry bush—
Behind it was a bird.
One of the HermitHollow messenger hawks they tied messages to the ankles of, this one's ankle caught and tangled in wire, rendering it ground bound. Well...that was highly anti-climactic. Grian swore under his breath and the tension from his shoulders let loose, his knees straightened from their prepared stance and his sword hand went limp. Idiot, he was just being paranoid. Chasing his own shadow believing it was a monster chasing him.
"How'd you even get stuck there?" Grian mumbled, more so to himself than anything since the literal bird couldn't exactly answer him. He let out a sigh and came forward, crouching infront of the little avian.
The hawk cawed at him whilst Grian inspected it's ankle, "Yea yea I know." Grian said quietly, figuring it out quick and looping the wire under and over, manipulating the malleable material to get the little dude free. He gently pulled it off and sat back on his haunches. "There we go buddy."
The hawk looked at him with endless beady eyes and shook off its leg before spontaneously taking flight right into Grian's face, causing him to fall backwards with a startled squawk. Upon his landing, his compass bounced out of his pocket.
The hawk saw it as fair game, swooped down again and nabbed it with its talons before Grian could blink, "Hey!" He shouted and scrambled up to his feet, tripping over himself as he raced after the avian in flight, "I need that!" He called out, reaching as far as he could only for the hawk to disappear through the foliage. Gone.
"Shit." Grian hissed, "Shit!" He kicked a rock and rubbed his hands through his hair, taking a look around himself in attempts to gather his surroundings. Every tree looked the same, every branch fell in identical angles and every bush was green...darker green...and more green.
Grian narrowed his eyes and peered around, trying to figure where the sun was to at least utilise that as a natural compass. Only the foliage over head was so thick that the source of little beams of light could literally be coming from anywhere. So thick, that Grian couldn't even fly through and see for himself.
Shit.
All for some bird. Stars.
Grian sighed and sheathed his sword, the only way to see the open sky was by leaving the forest or finding a clearing, no use sitting grumbling about it...so he just picked a direction and began to walk.
It wasn't exactly riveting—would've been relaxing if not for his circumstances, the soft swish of leaves in the breeze and high-pitched calls of wren singing to eachother, a noise that felt close enough in Grian's avian brain to touch but not quite understand.
He kept walking.
He realistically had until sundown before the base got suspicious and sent out a search party, either for him or for a body. His brother had spent too long honing his perfect soldier for him to disappear without a trace, and Grian didn't want to die because he was stupid enough to get lost in the forest he grew up in. He'd rather be slain by a Watcher.
Though that would be a new level of idiocy, he could protect himself against wild animals easily and he had enough basic survival knowledge to build a shelter, fire, find a few rabbits or maybe even a deer for food, he wouldn't die, he was just listing off the possibilities to pass the time while he—
Grian's stomach dropped to his knees as the world collapsed from under him, disorientated and naturally going into fight of flight, Grian whipped his head down to find his leg stuck in a hole. A hole.
"What on earth‐?" He grumbled to himself, the hole was the size of his whole leg, reaching nearly to the joint that connects to his hip, his other leg and the rest of his body still above ground and sturdy against the grass. Okay...he pulled experimentally on his trapped leg and immediately went pale.
His anle was...stuck.
It was some sort of trap. Not for military use though, he could he sure of that. So most likely to catch animals. Well shit. Just his luck.
He pulled again and gritted his teeth when he felt sharp barbed wires digging into his boot, hard. It was seriously fucking tight, probably because it was meant for tiny little rabbits or whatever and wasn't used to having a bulky intrusion like his entire damn leg. Pretty deep for a trap but whatever, didn't really matter now that he was stuck in it.
He took a breath to clear his head. Okay. He maneuvered his trapped ankle to try and get a feel for the dimensions of the trap and try and trigger an escape mechanism. Grain peeked down to see if he could see an out, some way he could dislodge himself but the shoot was too narrow, hugging his leg with only a little bit of wiggle room.
This wasn't good. At all.
Grian attempted kick, wiggle despite the pressure to maybe get his foot out of his boot? It was unlikely he could manage it but anything was worth trying at this—
A rustle. Then footsteps. Grian completely froze.
"You are not a rabbit."
An Eye. Grian's eyes widened as he took the figure in. A tall man of clear muscular build, though Grian would get a better feel for his height if he weren't literally on the ground where everything appeared tall, in the usual white uniform, though a little stained with dirt, messy brown hair and tanned skin. Possibly his most prominent feature was the arrangement of scars on his face, and upon closer inspection, the scars seemed to continue down his revealed forearms and hands, wrapping around his fingers like thorns.
Grian sucked in a breath, due to his fall, his sheathe was knocked away from his hip and slid across the grass. Away from him. Shit. Shit shit shit shit! The Eye...walked away from him and over to a nearby oak tree, with scarred fingers the Eye pressed into a seemingly random piece of bark and to Grian's surprise, it sank in and the pressure around his ankle considerably loosened.
"Pretty cool right?" The man smiled, an unguarded, genuine grin...what the fuck was happening right now? Grian would've imagined that he could be more...hostile??
"Anyway, sorry about that!" The Eye said and offered his hand to help Grian to his feet, which the parrot dutifully ignored and pushed himself up out his own accord, confusion spreading with every heart beat.
This was...weird...and insanely dangerous.
He took a step back, hands curling into fists as his eyes flickered over to his sword. Not too far, he could grab it if he was quick and efficient—
"Oh! This yours?" The man asked merrily and sauntered over to his blade, picking the sheathe up by the strings and handing it over easily, and with that dammed smile on his face.
"Thank...you?" It felt heavier than it ever had, Grian looked down at it. Then back up at the man...then down then up again. Was he drunk? He knew soldiers got drunk on ocasion to let loose. Maybe not in the middle of a literal war but the other side was possibly more foolish than he had initially considered.
"Do I have something on my face?" The man said instantly, wiping the corners of his lips with the backs of his hands. Grian couldn't stop staring at him, emerald green eyes that put the surrounding beauty to shame, pointed ears like he had never seen before and desperately wanted to touch and ask and find out how or why he had them.
"Uh-? Hellooo?" The Eye took a step forward, hand outstretched to wave it infront of Grian's eyes but the parrots instincts immediately kicked in, he took a rapid step back and flexed his hand over his hilt. The sudden movement, to his horror, sent pricks of pain to the once trapped ankle, making him falter and stumble for just a second before he adjusted his weight onto his good foot.
Shit.
Well...no matter. He could fight an Eye with only one good foot. He still had his wings to give him an advantage and he was sure once adrenaline kicked in—
"Crap! Darnit, okay, come here." The man stepped forward and grabbed Grian's jacket sleeve. And did he break the man's wrist? Twist his arm behind his back? Unleash his sword and just kill him on the spot?
No. No Grian did not. For some bizarre reason he allowed himself to be dragged over to a nearby rock, hobbling like an idiot. What in every star was he playing at? He seriously didn't know, but he felt no control over his own limbs, staring exasperated at the definition of- of stupidity and- and ignorance infront of him, it was utterly bizarre. This whole encounter was utterly bizarre!
Grian sat, wings limp against his back as the Eye crouched infront of him, humming to himself while he rifled around in his satchel, "Okay...okay I've got just the thing." He said, seemingly talking to himself, "Aha!" The man produced a small med kit, a standard enough box...but sized for travel.
"It's tiny, see? Cute right?" The brunette grinned and opened it up as Grian just stared, absolutely dumbfounded. Tiny? Cute? It was purely practical, was Grian missing something? Was he having hallucinations? The man was talking about the travel sized med kit...right?
"Ooookayyy." The man cleared his throat at Grian's lack of response and eased his boot off his foot, humming. "Could be worse! Just a little bit of swelling, but really it shouldn't be broken or anything, hold tight, I've got this super cool like, cooling jelly thing? I don't acctually know what it's called but it smells like strawberries and it's helpful. Total double whammy!"
This was the Watcher's most elite? The opposition? The men who burned down villages and killed women and children?
The man moved down his sock, barely passed his sole and unscrewed a little white jar, scooping out some clear jelly with two fingers and smearing it onto Grian's ankle. It felt freezing to the touch but he just... watched.
Once satisfied with his handiwork, the man grabbed a roll of gauze to keep it all from wiping off and wrapped a thin layer around Grian's ankle...never had the avian ever let anyone else tend his wounds. Not Mumbo. No Xisuma. Not even Jimmy who delivered at least nintey-percent of them, Jimmy always forced him to do it himself, to get into the habit so that if he ever got hurt he didn't need to go crying to anyone. And here he was, with an Eye, casually patching up a stupid ankle wound from a stupid trap that Grian stupidly walked into like they're not literal enemies??
"That feel okay?" The brunette smiled up at him and Grian just narrowed his eyes.
"You...don't talk much, do you?" He tilted his head, smile melting a little into something softer that made Grian's heart rate pick up. He ripped the feeling up, crumpled the scraps into a ball and chucked it as far away as he could possibly throw.
"I do." The parrot grumbled.
"Okay then Mr talkative, what's your name?" The man beamed, crossing his legs on the grass like a child, completely juxtaposing his uniform and everything the purple crystal keeping his cape on stood for. Or he was on something. Shrooms or whatever.
Grian just stared at him.
"Well, I'm Scar and I'm very very very sorry for catching you in my trap." He said and extended a cut up hand for a handshake. Scar.
Scar.
"Gri..." An idea sparked, "...ffen-" Shit. That was such a stupid name, he couldn't have chosen any other G name? He knew plenty of men with G names—
"I thought you were a parrot." Scar said, Grian narrowed his eyes before he realised the dude was teasing him.
"I am." Grian monotoned.
"Oookay. Well that's a really cool name Griffen. Whatcha doin' out here?"
Grian was coming to the conclusion that Scar didn't know he was a red-crest soldier given that A. They weren't fighting to the death right now, and B. He wasn't even remotely hostile to him, like at all, if an outsider were to sneak up on them it would be pretty fair to assume that they were...friends. It was baffling how casually this man was speaking to him.
Not even just casual, but warmly. Like he had known him for years, Scar wasn't speaking to him like a soldier, he was speaking to him like a person and Grian didn't like it. Everyone back at base treated him with respect and talked to him with professionalism. Mostly. Mumbo was an exception...and maybe Etho. But that's besides the point!
They were acctually important people in his life. Roommate and fellow soldier. This man was an Eye.
Grian knew him. But he didn't know Grian. Then it really clicked. Grian wasn't in uniform. He was in simple attire any working townsfolk could get...maybe not as of high quality quality but the differences weren't visible from the outside. He didn't have his crest.
This could really really work in his favour...
"Walking." Grian settled with and the man just nodded with a hum,
"Cool cool cool." Scar hummed. Scar...now that Grian was looking at him...the name really did fit...considering all the scars. Scar. Little on the nose, but hey, he named himself Griffen of all things. Couldn't go back now.
"You know, I should probably be thanking you. I had no idea that thing was even gonna work." Scar said casually, leaning backwards and propping myself up with the heels of his palms on the grass.
"You mean the pressing into a literal tree?" Grian muttered and he swore Scar's entire face lit up like the sun after a chilly midnight, sun rays soothing goosebumps and lifting the spirit...or whatever.
"Yes! That was all me—! But I didn't get a chance to test it, so I'm lucky I had such a willing participant." He said, eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction at his own teasing, Grian raised a single brow,
"'Willing?'"
"Or something or other." Scar waved him off. Grian couldn't help but snicker, turning his head covering his mouth with the back of his hand at the sheer ridiculousness of the man infront of him. Childhood innocence clearly hadn't been stripped away...it was...charming.
Very easy to manipulate. Very good for Grian.
"You laughed." Scar grinned, a wide smile that made Grian's heart rate pick up for a reason he couldn't name. Nerves, he was in the prescsense of an Eye after all.
"So?" Grian composed himself, rubbing his palm through his hair. Scar just shrugged, looking away while the tips of his ears flushed pink.
"No nothin' nothin'..." The brunette trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck as he gazed at the forestry around them, then, to release the sudden build up of tension, he cleared his throat.
"Soo, you live around here?" Grian's stomach coiled but he managed to keep himself composed, not even a twich of change on his face that could give him away.
"Around." Grian took Scar's word and shrugged, dodging the question masked in answer. Scar didn't press and just hummed, nodded lightly while Grian grabbed his boot and slipped his foot back in, mindful not to disrupt the fresh gauze wrapped around his ankle.
"Leaving me already?" Scar teased, eyes flicking up from Grian's ankle to his eyes, the avians scoffed under his breath and tightened his laces, standing up off the boulder and testing his weight on his bad foot. A small ache, but easily ignorable.
"Gotta get home." Grian said, tightening the tie around his belt so his sword wouldn't stray from him a second time. The brunette didn't even attempt to hide his disappointment, Grian let out a sigh, feigning bregugence.
"We could meet up again...if you want." He muttered, making it sound as though he wouldn't care for either outcome, but if this game of seeking information is to play out like Grian wanted it to, he acctually had to speak to the man.
"Really?" Scar said quickly, too quickly, brightening up like Grian had just offered to let them win the war, "I would love to! Same time tomorrow?" Scar said, pushing himself to his feet.
That...was a bit of an issue.
"I've got...work." Grian muttered, he wasn't exactly lying, Jimmy wouldn't take kindly to him wandering off in the middle of the day for stars knows what.
"Ah." Scar nodded to himself, the cogs in his brain turning to think of an alternative.
"Night works for me." Grian shrugged, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves to give his fingers something to do, as soon as the words left his lips the Eye's face brightened. Grian would've hoped so, night would theoretically work wonderfully for Scar too, seeing as he's a soldier himself.
"Sounds good to me!" He smiled, rolling on the balls of his heels, "See you tomorrow?" He said, hopeful, eyes sparkling with joy that seemed a little overdramatic considering he was only meeting...well...Grian. Well, Griffen. But he was awfully sweet to someone he had just met...it was cute.
"Yep. Bye." Grian was about to turn to walk off but stopped mid stride. Right. Pesky bird. He turned back to the brunette, a confused expression spreading across the man's face.
"You wouldn't happen to have a compass would you?" Grian asked, a faint tingle of humiliation in his gut. But Scar didn't tease him or make an judgemental expressions, only hummed out a cheery 'mhm!' And fished one out of his satchel.
"Thanks." Grian muttered...rubbing his thumb over the silver cover, it was beautifully engraved, a cactus in its centre with intricate design as a backdrop, "I'll give it back tomorrow." Grian promised but Scar waved him off.
"No need, keep it." Scar smiled, sprouting something warm in Grian's chest. The parrot nodded wordlessly and walked away for real this time.
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His return back to the base was pretty swift, he was let in through the large front gates at around midday. In walking across the field, he saw the other soldier's horses gulping down water and the men nowhere to be found.
They had gotten back ages ago then, Grian mused.
"Where were you?" Grian nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden appearance of his brother directly infront of him. Grian straightened up...he hadn't acctually thought of an excuse on his way...
"Please..." Bloody hands shook, eyes wide and pleading with the desperation of life—
"I got lost." Grian said simply.
"Lost?" Jimmy echoed, to allow Grian to hear how stupid the excuse sounded to his own ears...but Grian stuck with it.
"A bird stole my compass so I had to find a clearing. I apologise for my being late back." Grian said smoothly, inclining his head...conveniently leaving out any mention of a certain smiling Eye. Scar would be his secret. He could get information with his own means.
Jimmy hummed, narrowing his eyes in clear doubt...but he dropped it, "Get yourself down to the basement." He muttered.
"Yes sir."
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Potions of healing worked wonders beyond Grian's comprehension. He didn't quite understand how one figured out that mixing ingredients together within a liquid would quite literally make the body stitch itself back together. It was utter witchcraft and Grian loved it.
It was a faster and more efficient mode of patching himself up. It was inevitable that after nearly every training session he would earn a number of cuts and bruises, it was just part of the work, and he'd bandage them or simply leave them for lack of motivation to give a shit, but healing potions worked within seconds and everything was just, gone. He should've exploited them way more way sooner.
It did leave a sickly sweet taste in the back of his throat that became more and more nauseating overtime, but he found that swallowing water right after got rid of the residual taste.
He had, however, due to his frequent use of the items, ran out. False seemed to have an endless supply though, something about them being exceedingly easy to source? Or something.
Grian made his way down the wooden steps to what the soldiers like to call 'The Cave'. Stars knows why, it was quite a nice little area with spruce around the edges to provide it with foundation, trapdoors keeping empty bottles out of sight and lanterns casting the place in a warm orange hue. It was pretty dim and the exposed walls were made of raw stone so maybe that was it, Grian reasoned, but it was certainly the most cozy 'cave' he had ever stepped foot in.
Upon his entrance, False turned and immediately perked in recognition, "Grian! What can I do you for?" She said, connecting glass bottles to the brewing stand before wiping her palms on a cloth and leaning her lower back against the counter, arms crossed infront of her.
"Hi False, I've ran out of healing potions, is it okay if I get some more?" Jimmy was in the business of walking around and demanding things because of his title and he encouraged Grian to do the same...but it didn't feel right. He was a soldier, she was a soldier, he was turning seventeen in a few days. A teenager...something in his brain forced him to respect the people around him, not only because they were older than him but...well...they were people...he was protecting them too.
"Yea of course." She said and pushed herself off to go and look through one of her chests. Jimmy didn't approve of his conversations unless necessary. Well...not like he needed to know, and False wasn't going to go off and tattle.
As she left her station, Grian couldn't help but peek over at the brewing stand, curiosity getting the better of him. It was a grayish bubbly colour that still had that pink sheen that most of her potions did...though he had never seen that particular one before...
"Hey False?" He said without taking his eyes off the stand, "What are these?"
False walked back over with a small bag of potions rattling inside, following Grian's gaze. "Ah, just something new I've been working on. Invisibility potions." She said, pride lacing around her words.
"Insibility potions...?" Grian said slowly, turning his head to meet her eye..it sounded...impossible, unless Grian was missing something?
"Yup. Drink that bad boy and you go invisible, I need to tweak the length a bit but," She shrugged, "It works. You wanna give it a try?"
A mixture of both caution and curiosity battled it out in Grian's brain, but how could he turn down such an offer? "Sure."
False smirked and unattached one of the bottles from the brewing standing and passed it to him, grayish smoke spiraling up up the glistening liquid. Didn't look ominous at all.
Grian took an experimental sniff before downing the bottle in one go—he found potions worked better that way. The taste was overwhelmingly metallic, tangy and putrid on his tongue...but, within seconds, his skin flesh and bone started to disappear right before his eyes, spreading down his arms and eventually enveloping the very tips of his wings with nothing more than a light tingle.
Grian gasped, taking a step back out of sheer surprise and turning his hands over infront of him, the only think he could see was a vague outline of himself.
"Can you see me?" He asked False, who smiled and shook her head,
"Not a bit."
"Am I not outlined for you?" Grian asked, waving his hands infront of his own face...it was bizarre.
"Nope, you're completely invisible." She said, sure of herself.
"Wow..." Grian whispered. An idea sparked and he walked over to her workbench, grabbing an empty glass bottle and holding it up, "Can you see this?" He asked.
"Yea, but it just looks like a floating bottle." False responsed, "You'd have to splash invisibility on it for it to be invisible too."
Crazy.
"How long am I like this?" Grian asked, walking around the room on featherlight feet to see if False would still turn to face him, she didn't. Amazing.
"You can turn back now if you'd like." False said lightly and pulled back a small trapdoor, producing a bottle of milk and outstretched it to Grian's general direction judging by his voice.
"Milk?" Grian narrowed his eyes.
"Yep, just drink it." Flase snickered, Grian took the milk and popped the cork off, as soon as the bottle finished his flesh was visible again. Potions were some crazy shit, how on earth does milk turn him back? Ordinary cow's milk? Though, upon his return from the land of the opaque, a wave of dizziness washed over him. Mild side effects he was quickly learning all potions possessed.
"This makes no sense." Grian muttered, rubbing his eyes to get a better grip on himself.
"Magic of potions." False shrugged and passed him his sack of healing potions that he had requested, Grian moved his hands down from his face and took them with a hum.
"Thanks False."
"Anytime."
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Grian wasn't even 100% sure that the Eye would acctually show up again. Meeting with a stranger whom you had just met for less than ten to fifteen minutes was surely universally a massive no no.
Grian was fully prepared to find the spot empty upon his arrival, but to his surprise, past the trees there was the one and only Eye. Scar. As soon as he clocked that Grian had arrived his entire face brightened and he jumped up from where he had been seated on the rock, lantern on the grass at this feet.
"Griffen!" Right- Grian almost forgot about that. This other character that he had created for himself.
"Hi." He said casually, wings relaxing behind him as he came within the bounds of the flame light, covering surprising ground for such an average little light.
"It's a nice night! I was worried it was gonna be cold but its acctually super mild, how perfect huh?" Scar beamed, glancing around himself as if to acknowledge the hard work of warm air. Grian hadn't even noticed.
"I suppose it is." He muttered and came to sat down on the grass cross legged, feathers cushioned comfortably on the dry grass.
"How're you?" Scar asked with a tilt of his head. A spark of confusion arose in Grian's chest but it went just as quick.
"Fine." Grian shrugged, as well as one could be in the middle of a war he supposed. He was alive and fed and stocked with potions and had his sword on him. Couldn't be better. Then, a beat too late, "And you?" Soldiers didn't tend to ask eachother how they were, the answer was most usually shitty...Grian forgot what it was to be truly polite and not just good natured. There was always a dead relative thought about, a recent friend's death, worry about the outcome of war, fatigue from constant training. Grian knew the feeling, it was easier not to bring emotions up, remembering their existence brought annoying baggage...easier to forget. It was an unspoken rule.
Apparently not for Eyes.
"I'm good!" Scar said, picking the petals off a daisy he was fiddling with.
"How was...er...work? What is it that you do?" Scar asked with genuine interest, body turned to face Grian, the movement of his fingers purely subconscious. Work...work work...uh?
"I'm a hunter." That was a believable profession, no? He didn't carry a bow with him but hunters could hunt with swords...it was just inefficient, but whatever, it wasn't like it was unheard of.
"So you were extra impressed with my rabbit trap, then?" Scar smirked.
"I was more focused on getting out of it." Grian mused and Scar turned sheepish.
"Griffen, work with me! All a man needs is to hear that his trap is cool, hunter certified." Scar said like it was a serious passion of his, though Grian caught the edges of teasing in his tone, of playful acting. Grian snorted and looked away, looking back to see if Scar would let it go.
Stubborn as a mule.
"It was very cool. Smart mechanism." Grian relented, smiling at Scar's soft 'yissss'.
"And...you're a soldier?" Grian prompted after a beat of silence. Real smooth transition.
He couldn't loose sight of why he was here in the first place. He wasn't here to make buddy buddy with an Eye. Strictly for his own gain, Griffen may be something of a friend...but Grian was not. He couldn't forget that. He was here for information. Purely using him.
"Uniform give it away?" Scar said, looking down at himself awkwardly, fiddling with the crystal between his collarbones.
"Not exactly inconspicuous." Grian pointed out dryly, internally cursing himself for his tone. Scar didn't seem to notice though, and if he did, he didn't mind.
"Guess not." The brunette chuckled, "Yep, I'm a soldier."
"...how's that? With the war and everything?" If Scar wasn't careful then he would spill something useful, Grian was counting on it. Even little anecdotes, his views, all information he could use one way or another.
"Ehh-" Scar tilted his head from side to side in either consideration or to portray a 'so-so' answer. Grian waited, "It's definately stressful, knowing that if you make a mistake it could cost everything? But our gods are really helpful so...it's alright."
Grian wouldn't delve into the...Watchers, yet. One topic at a time.
"I could only imagine." He muttered, purely for his amusement. Scar hummed,
"Wouldn't trade it for the world though. The soldier part—! Not the—the war part—obviously-" Scar raced awkwardly, eyes wide and flustered. Grian let out a small laugh and Scar immediately softened, knowing his point had come across and he could smile freely. "Protectin' people like you? Innocents, good people? It's worth it."
A vice tightened around Grian's heart at him being compared to an innocent or 'good person'...he considered himself neither. But maybe Griffen was. An upstanding citizen with a steady income, maybe a wife? No...Grian looked much too young for a wife. Maybe Griffen had a dog, or a cat. Maybe Griffen got bitter coffee every morning from a grumpy old fella that always meant well and secretly awaited his presence.
He should really get a concrete backstory in place, Scar was bound to ask....but maybe now wasn't the time.
Also 'helping' innocents was seriously rich. Yea, helping them reach the stars maybe.
"I've wanted to since I was little, used to run around asking if anyone needed anything doing. I walked so many dogs and helped so many elderly with gardening...but I wanted to do more so..." Scar gestured to himself, "Here I am."
Grian hummed...picking a blade of grass to twirl between his fingers.
"How about you?" Scar asked.
"Hm?"
"The war, on your end. I imagine it's pretty scary, no?" The brunette continued, sympathy seeping into his voice. Grian just shrugged to buy him time to calculate the best possible response for Griffen to say.
"Yea well...life must move on. You do what you gotta do." Grian responded, tearing the grass blade apart and letting the pieces drop on his lap.
"Yea I hear ya...But enough about war! You're wings look super cool." The appendages lifted slightly at the mention, yellow feathers still bright even in the dim night light.
Grian was getting whiplash from this man. How did they go from war to wings?
"They...do?" Grian had never really given his wings much thought beyond a tool he could use to fly and the fact that he shared the colouring with his father...but that was about it. They were just wings? Lots of people had them, avians weren't like...a rarity or anything.
"Mhm!" Scar replied enthuastically, "I mean, we've got a few wrens...a couple crows and stuff over at my base, but I've never seen a parrot avian before! Your wings are really pretty!"
The night sky grew warmer, particularly around his cheeks, odd how air worked that way.
"Oh...thanks..." Grian said slowly, wholly unsure of what he was supposed to say to that...should he compliment him back or...?
"I'm assuming that you can fly with them?" Scar asked.
"Yea...I'd say I can fly pretty well." Understatment, he trained his back and wing muscles every day, each session beating his fastest time. The brunette looked awestruck.
"Man...I wish I could fly." Scar said daydreamily, leaning back on the heels of his palms and staring at the foliage above, "Imagine...flying up among the clouds...swooping down to touch the ocean." Scar said, demonstrating by moving his arm.
"I don't have to imagine Scar." Grian could literally do it.
"Aha well that's where you're wrong! You gotta imagine the ocean, we're nowhere near it. Plus!—your not flying right now so technically speaking..."
Grian let out a snort, "Yea okay smart guy." He giggled and eliciting a similar melody from the Eye. Acting. Grian was purely acting.
The rest of the night went wholly unproductively, mostly consisting of Scar begging Grian to describe the feeling of flight and a bunch of feather related questions, hands moving with animated gestures and even a little demonstration of what he would theoretically look like in flight. It was silly...and...well- oddly relaxing.
"Can i-" Scar reached out, fingers outstretched with Grian's wings as their mark.
"What's the point in having father's feathers if you're just going to shame him?!" Red feathers mottled the floor—blue in Jimmy's hand—
Grian jerked away from Scar's hand like it had burned him, even if he hadn't made contact yet, scrambling away for an embarrassing second like a fleeing rabbit.
Scar immediately retracted his hand, eyes widening in surprise as he took an unconscious step back, guilt and shock and confusion all swirling on his face like a whirlpool.
"Griffen I—"
"It's late. We should probably get back if we want any sleep tonight." Grian said quickly, pushing himself to his feet and dusting the grass blades off his trousers, shaking the stiffness out of his feathers from being completely stationary for so long.
"Griffen." Scar took a step froward, brows pinched and eyes full of anxiety, "I didn't mean to." He said...genuinely, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He looked so utterly guilt struck that Grian got knocked out of his head, out of memories that followed him everywhere...and he just...paused.
"It's okay." Grian said quietly, "I know."
Scar visibly slumped in relief, shoulders loosing all of their sudden tension and a tiny smile spreading across his face, still wide enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle.
"See you tomorrow?" Scar asked hopefully, Grian nodded.
"Of course."
And he walked through the dense forestry, a certain set of pointed ears and smiles that could make flowers bloom lingered in his head, making his footsteps feel floaty.
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The base was utterly still whenever he got back, the only noise the faint chirping of crickets and soft footfalls of nightwatch soldiers patrolling around the top of the gates with crossbows.
Grian was easily allowed back inside and he made his way up to his room, taking his boots off to minimise the noise as he stepped inside, not wanting to wake his roommate, completely passed out on the bottom bunk, left arm hanging out the side of the bed.
Grian rubbed a hand through his hair and grabbed his sleep shirt, rubbing the drowsiness out of his eyes so he'd be coherent enough to change for the night.
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Grian had been plagued with nightmares almost his entire life. His whole adolescence had been piled high with hardship and pressure and injury, so it was only natural that his brain would be caught up by it, no matter how irritatingly inconvenient it was.
Every night, without fail, Grian would experience a night terror in one form or another—whether it be a memory resurfaced or a hypothetical made quick hundred times worse, so disproportional that he woke up wondering what on earth truly happened to make him sweat through his shirt since upon clearer brain the dream didn't make sense at all.
It was worse when he was smaller, unused and terrified. But now, it was manageable—not pleasant in any sense, but Grian got over it and learned to just push through the blood and gore and screaming and ache in his head first in the morning.
So, it was very peculiar that his nightmares...stopped. He gave it a few nights, not wanting to jinx himself, but truly...they had stopped. He wasn't having any sort of dreams now, he layed his head down, slept and awoke. It was jarring to say the least but not entirely unwelcome, just...new.
He wondered what brought this recent development on.
Mumbo seemed happy for him though when Grian told him, pleased that he would acctually be getting a good night's sleep for once and that nightmares were so unfair or whatever.
They sat side by side in the mess, Grian was halfway through a bowl of buttered rice for breakfast when Jimmy parted the sea of soldiers with an air that resembled royalty. At the sheer sight of him people moved away, afraid of getting in the general's path.
Mumbo's mouth snapped shut and Grian lifted his eyes over his bowl, watching his brother march over straight for him.
"You finished?" He asked flatly as the entire mess held their breaths, even the wind seemed to cease its rhythm at the imposing presense of his brother. His eyes were expectant and his tone conveyed only one right answer...so...with a little breath, Grian lowered his bowl to his lap.
"Yes sir." He said clearly, rising to his feet and shooting Mumbo a look which earned him the tiniest of nods. He dropped his bowl off and followed after Jimmy, fully expecting just an early morning training session or some mind game that Jimmy wanted to test out on him to build his tolerance for whatever.
But further confusion arose whenever Jimmy lead him to the main building. At this point Grian was questioning everything, his entire existence and everything he had done in his sixteen—nearly seventeen, years on this planet. Had he done something wrong? Had he slipped up and said something wrong? Had...had he figured out that Grian had been sneaking out every night and wanted to know why and then Grian would be forced to go back into the cells—
Jimmy twisted the doorknob and pushed the door to his office open, holding it open for his little brother for half a second before walking over to his desk.
Inside were seven other people, their hands clasped behind their back, awaiting their general to make his entrance. Grian recognised them all, his brother's best officers summoned to one single room, the most dangerous men and women around a single table.
Grian's nerves heightened, one officer on their own was intimidating in their own right, but the lot of them together, all with their eyes glued on Grian and his brother, was enough to make him sweat a little. Without a doubt, Grian was invited to dicuss war plans, there couldn't be any other explanation.
Xisuma was there, his lips pressed into a serious line as he watched the two enter, beside him was Gemini Tay—Grian hadn't had all too many interactions with the lady, certainly not as much as Xisuma, but from what he heard she was super nice and friendly as a person, but ruthless when the time came, methodical and and naturally precise, her red wispy hair stood out among the sea of black and dark brown. Not to mention the delicate deer antlers sprouting from somewhere between her curls, curving with beautiful bends. Officer of communications? If Grian was remembering correctly.
Beside her stood Zedaph—who decided to drape his coat around his shoulders rather than putting his arms through like the rest of the officers, and beside him stood Keralis. On the opposite side of the table, snaking around the curved edge was Cub, and then Doc. Doc was always someone peculiar to Grian, he had never seen another goat hybrid before other than the head of medical and it was...strangely cool? His large curved horns, looping around the back of his head with spiked ends a little ways past his jaw were enough to make a man double take. Though from what he had heard from Mumbo after many accidental explosion related injuries, the head of medical was a good guy if you got to talking to him, he just appeared so serious, something outside this world. And instead of the usual black coats he donned a white one, standard dress for him.
Though...considering Grian had literal parrot wings maybe that shouldn't be so shocking...and that the head of communications was a deer...
A fearsome selection of people, dangerous in their own rights but an explosive death all together, all their intellect and experience, professionalism and need to succeed all carefully woven into battle plans that are sure to prevail. A single stare enough to raise every hair on the back of one's neck and produce goosebumps on every inch of flesh, like staring the grim reaper right in the eye. Grian felt lesser among them, among the midnight black coats with silver star chains hanging from the buttons, red-crests on their right arm, an embroidered emblem of power, he felt more like a child than ever among his superiors even though he was Jimmy's brother, carefully moulded to be just as good as them...if that was possible.
Jimmy's desk, the grand mahogany thing that was usually intricately organised in a complicated system only his brother would understand was pulled into the middle of the room with maps—some detailed the ancient mountains with snowy peaks, others illustrated a light green which covered a wider area, their general surroundings, and another portraying the nearest town, a detailed image of every back alley and main road, seemingly random points marked with x's in bold script to catch the eye, something important— sprawled on its surface, bronze paper weights keeping the edges from curling.
Side tables were disturbed from their residence in the corners and placed around the main table, ink pots and quills laying disoringanised on the wood for convenience, one of the feathers dripping with fresh ink.
They barely twitched when Jimmy took his place at the head of the table, in the designated spot left open for him, Grian found a spot next to Xisuma. Everything was in place...for the meeting to begin.
"As we are all aware, the gods that they call Watchers have power beyond human understanding. The ability to reshape worlds if they so pleased, travel to universes light years away from our own with a single step."
Jimmy began, catching everyone's attention immediately.
"For that reason we must be extra cautious, defeating these creatures is our number one goal to ensure the safety of our people and our country, but our plans are meaningless if we get taken out on the battlefield first. So I propose a different tactic."
Grian watched as the people around him straightened with interest, others watching with narrowed eyes. Jimmy glowed, his uniform pressed and perfectly fitted. Grian felt even smaller, his wings less crisp and hair untrimmed...
The canary produce a leather-bound notebooks and opened the bookmarked page, "Utilizing the information Grian and I sourced from the Eye—" Grian felt suddenly nauseous...he he worked so hard to forget all about her-, "—we will be inflirtrating the Watcher's base. Now, our information was confirmed by our head of intelligence Keralis who lead a scouting yesterday."
Jimmy moved away from the table and returned with a new scroll and rolled it across the table, another map. Though this map was unlike the others, it wasn't worn and yellowing, torn around the edges and creased—this was fresh parchment, crisp with clear lines untainted with age.
"To my knowledge, this is the most accurate map we have of the Watcher base."
Sharp inhales and soft gasps rippled through the officers around Grian, this was huge, even Grian's eyes widened. As with the other maps, x's were dotted along the main points.
"Xisuma will lead a team of four men to the heart of the Watcher base." Jimmy continued, "This is a high risk operation, so, to ensure the safety of one of our major officers I propose that you leads your troops up until this point here." Jimmy put his index finger on one of the marks on the general terrain map.
"From that point you'll go to this pass—here." Another point, "As the rendezvous." Jimmy stood up straight, hands clasping behind his back once more.
"Now, as I mentioned, it is a high risk operation. What I propose is that we poison their food stocks and obliterate their weaponries." Jimmy stated, it seemed...impossible to really accomplish, a fantasy that would be heavenly for them but surely it wasn't so easy to just...waltz in and taint two major aspects of survival.
"How are we to do that?" Keralis piped up, "Information of entrances and exits and the general lay out are accurate, sure, but they will still be armed. Patrols. Scouts. We'll be spotted before we can get close."
Nods of agreement rolled through the crowd, but Grian knew his brother well, he always thought of everything.
"With invisibility potions." Jimmy said, like it was obvious, common sense. His shoulders went back, pleased with his reveal and their confused expressions.
The invisibility potions that False had been working on? Grian assumed those were prototypes, sure they worked but Grian had only been invisible for less than 2 minutes and he felt sick, he couldn't imagine what sort of side-effects could occur within—realistically—an hour? Maybe a little more or a little less to get what Jimmy wanted done and done well.
"I've spoken with False Symmetry and she said she has found a way to push the effects of the potions up to sixteen minutes. We'll supply the soldiers with five potions each to drink when they feel the effects wearing off to keep themselves hidden from the Eye's sights. Doc, I need you to construct four instant killing mechanisms. I need them tiny, I don't care how. Potion, poison, as long as it kills within seconds, should our men be found or captured, the mechanism will the placed between their teeth, bite down and they're dead before interrogations can begin." Jimmy said firmly, moving around his pawns on the chessboard.
The goat considered it a moment, his head lowering in thought, "I suppose I could." He muttered, accent thick. "But a death in seconds could be difficult to accomplish in such a small space, the best I could realistically do is death within a minute, two."
The room held its breath.
"Perfect." Jimmy straightened and turned his attention to Cub Fan. "I need bombs handled, will demolitions be able to construct something compact, and more importantly, timed right?"
Cub raised his chin easily, a slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, "Of course." Jimmy gave a firm nod, scribbling it down in the leather bound notebook to keep things documented.
"Silmontaniously, Gemini Tay, Grian—" Grian had obviously been listening to the entire meeting, but in that moment everything came into crystal clear clarity, his head shot up like a meerkat and his wings braced for impact that wasn't even coming, just alert.
"You two—" Jimmy continued, "Will go down to the nearby town of Sanndrulom. Post spread of disease to their food stocks, naturally the Eyes will flock to their dear allies for crop. So you're job is to make sure they have no such allies when they arrive. Gem, I want you to make flyers fully illustrating the true barbaric nature of whom they are supporting. Mass produce them, and Grian will drop them over the entire town. Spread word, plant seeds of gossip and they're supply will plummet. No stocks, they're weak, and then we strike when they don't have little toys to throw at us."
It sounded...brilliant. Foolproof. Grian nodded, as did Gem. They both had their roles and Grian made a mental note to offer to help with the flyer making. It wasn't impossible to believe that the townsfolk were being manipulated by the Watchers, so opening their eyes could truly work in the red-crest's favour. Though, in the back of Grian's mind, images flickered like flames...of forest green eyes that shimered when excited—Grian snuffed the flame out. Scar...would be fine. He would be fine.
"We'll meet back here tomorrow at o-eighthundred hours." Jimmy said with an air of fanality. "Dissmissed."
The officers inclined their head before hurrying out the door, having much to prepare and sort before the meeting less than twentyfour hours away for something that could make or break the war. Grian joined them, his head spinning spinning everything that could possibly go wrong.
On his way past the mess however, his moustached friend jogged up to him, shocking him out of his thoughts with a classic friendly smile, "Hi mate, what was that about?" He asked, falling into step beside Grian. The parrot wasn't entirely sure if the operation was classified or not so he didn't want to disclose any information just yet.
"You've got a new workload heading your way." Grian replied instead of a straight answer, but he wasn't lying. Mumbo would most definitely be one to the soldiers whom would be helping create the timed bombs needed to blow the Watcher's weaponries to smithereens.
Mumbo stopped dead in his tracks, horror creeping across his face, "Seriously?" He groaned, catching up again and rubbing his palms over his face, eliciting a snort from the avian.
"It is your job so..." He shrugged, "You'll get it." Grian didn't doubt that, his roommate was brilliant at this sort of thing, the thrill alone would surely excite him when he was let known.
"I suppose." Mumbo sighed and regained his spirits quickly, pulling out a wrapped up bar from his pocket and offering it to Grian who narrowed his eyes in silent questioning.
"I saved you a nut bar, seeing as your breakfast got interrupted." Mumbo said softly and pressed the cloth-wrapped ration into Grian's palm and smiled, Grian only hummed.
"Thank you." He said...that was nice of him.
"No problem mate, can't have you goin' hungry now can I?" Mumbo brushed him off with a small wave of his hand, looking away while the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of scarlette.
Notes:
Scar has astout observation as you can see. You are not a rabbit.
If anyone is confused, whenever he got back and Jimmy was like, where were you? And Grian got a flashback of Netty briefly, then lied. Because he knew if he told Jimmy about Scar Scar could very well meet the same fate...if that wasn't obvious.
Griffen is just a cool name okay. He's being called griffen. Totally has nothing to do with babel from rf kuang
Sanndrulom is a reference that nobody will get because I orphaned it, well unless you do...but whatever! It was from my very first like acctually trying hard fic. It wasn't bad I just didn't want it on my account...
AS ALWAYS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE <33
Chapter 5: Only One Year Older
Summary:
Grian's birthday, the most special time of the year...right?
Notes:
Shorter chapter today sorry about thattt
Also sorry for the late post, I was out all day !!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Grian walked through the proud oaks, he saw Scar sitting where he always was, cross-legged and miraculously balanced on that boulder that wasn't flat on the top by any means. And, as always, he brightened at the sight of Grian—Griffen, letting the stick he was carving drop into his lap.
"Hi Griffen!" He smiled.
"Hi Scar, What're you carving?" Grian asked, it didn't look like anything in particular though he didn't want to judge early stages...it just looked like a stick of naked wood so far.
"Ah! I'm so glad you asked! This, my good sir, is what I like to call—" He paused for dramatic effect, tapping his knees in rapid succession to mimic a drumroll that made Grian's eyes roll, "A stick!" He finished, smug as a fox with a chicken. Grian raised a single brow.
"I'm not acctually making anything." Scar explain after a short giggle, "It's just to keep my hands busy, therapeutic yknow?" The brunette shrugged.
"Anywayyyy, how did your day go?"
They fell into the familiar rhythm of back and forth conversation, melodic tunes only voices could achieve warming what some would see as an eerie forest in the middle of the night.
Grian wouldn't admit this openly, couldn't be tortured out of him (would you look at that...Scar's jokes have rubbed off on him...), but he seriously looked forward to these meetings. They broke the grueling flow, the tension he didn't know he carried around all day was free to relax and the world saw opening to lift off of his shoulders.
Of course- he was also trying to get information...but...an escape from trying to be perfect, the perfect little soldier, escape his brother's critical eye and the looming figure of war following him around, the weight of his parent's vengeance hanging in the balance—was a nice change of pace.
"—turns out that Bradley snuck a bottle of gin out after coming back from the supply pick up." Scar said, animated as ever, it was very important to him to keep Grian up to date on the gossip...there wasn't a lot so Scar would always light up when he had new news to share.
"And, I'm not a drinker but I was curious, y'know what I'm sayin'? So as he's sharing the bottle out y'know pouring a little bit into everyone's canteens," Scar mimed the action, he always did talk predominantly with his hands, "Using my undeniable charm, I asked politely if I could try some and I was rudely reminded that I wasn't old enough to drink! I mean come on its only a tinyyy drop you know?—wait, hold old are you?"
"I'll be seventeen tomorrow." Grian replied, barely twitching at the the sudden shift. Though what did get him to straighten...was how Scar's face fell.
"Your birthday is tomorrow?" Scar asked slowly as Grian furrowed his brows in confusion at the fully serious tone his voice had taken on.
"Yes?" Grian second guessed himself, he didn't do it often but the intensity was getting to him.
"And you didn't tell me?!" Scar exploded, shooting up from the rock with his hands in the air. Grian scrunched his nose and leaned back on the grass, completely and utterly caught off guard.
"Why would I?" Grian said slowly, sure he was missing something.
"Because it's your birthday!" Scar said, exasperated as though it would explain everything, moving his hands around wildly.
"So?" What in the stars was happening?
"So, are you gonna celebrate? Any plans? Here I was talking about base gossip! Come on Griffen, details!" Scar situated himself back on the rock and leaned forward eagerly, Grian's brows only furrowed deeper.
"I don't celebrate my birthday." He never did, his birthday was just that. A birthday. A mark of him getting one year older, a mark of him getting one years worth of more experience, older, meaning he could handle more grueling hours and advanced techniques. Growing meant he produced more muscle, stamina increased. He was just getting older, why that was a cause for celebration he couldn't fathom. His birthday contained no difference to any other day, the sun rose and fell and the stars blinked above him. The world didn't stop to congratulate him. The thought of a celebration seemed down right silly.
But Scar gasped like he had personally offended him, hand over his heart. "You can't be serious!" He said, breathless. "You don't celebrate? Like- ever?"
"No." Grian muttered. Whenever he was smaller he noticed soldiers every so often saying happy birthday to eachother if they were close, Xisuma said it to him once but Jimmy told him off for it. Lots of things were different for Grian, turns out birthdays were one of those things. He didn't need to be coddled anyway.
"Well I'm gonna change that." Scar stated, completely making up his mind. "We'll do something, you deserve to have a birthday man! It's like, one of the great wonders of life!"
"But—"
"Nope! Nope I won't hear it! You my friend, are going to have a brilliant seventeenth birthday. I'll do something small, okay?" Scar smiled at him, really smiled at him. Stars, Grian hated when he did that, hated how the back of his neck heated up and that it had the power to make him conceed no matter what. An utterly ridiculous weakness.
"Fine." Grian sighed, regretting saying anything in the first place as he leaned back on the heels of his palms on the cool grass.
"Cool." Scar smirked, undoubtedly pleased with himself, then, he froze and pulled out a pocket watch, holding up his index finger.
"What are you—?"
"Waaaaait." Scar kept his eyes glued to the watch, this man was utterly baffling. Every time Grian thought he had the brunette figured out, he would surprise him with a new world of wacky.
"Aaaand—happy birthday." Scar looked up at him, teeth shown in pure glee.
"Pardon?" Grian scrunched his face, purely and utterly confused.
"It's midnight, so it's the next day, so it's your birthday. Happy birthday!" He beamed and Grian couldn't help but smirk...cute.
"Thanks." He said quietly, a little something dislodged in his chest and he sat up straighter, basking in him, Scar, the little light and the small patch of forest they claimed theirs. Their haven. Even though he was utterly ridiculous.
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Everyone filed in right on schedule and gathered around the table just like they had the day prior, ready and waiting for the meeting to commence. His older brother was already there, wings preened and hair combed back, standing to attention for them to get settled.
Everyone else went to the exact same spots they had been yesterday...Grian was unsure if it was some sort of unspoken rule or something but he didn't want to be the black sheep, so he took his place next to Xisuma. X gave him a look...almost tender, before putting his gaze back forward.
"Let's get to business. Talk to me about these bombs." Jimmy said, right on track from the get go.
Cub cleared his throat, "We've successfully constructed the bombs, they're compact and could easily fit into our soldier's pockets without setting off. A silent pin must be pulled for the clock to start, I've set it to a five minutes count down. The damage won't be colossal but will be more than enough to ruin their weapons. The five minutes will give enough time to leave the premises but will be quick enough to go off before it can be found out."
Jimmy nodded, ticking things off in his notes, "And the disease?"
"I've sourced something." Zedaph said, "I've been working with Doc to perfect it, we've formulated a gray powder that should rot whatever it touches."
Jimmy's gaze shifted to Doc whom raised his chin, "I can confirm, anyone eats it and they're dead. It's lethal, sir."
Jimmy smiled at that, he didn't smile all that often, usually choosing to adorn himself in a serious exterior...so he must be really excited.
Lethal. The single tiny word bounced around in Grian's head. He shouldn't care. And he didn't...but theoretically if he were to worry about a certain pointed eared menace...that was his base. His food stock. If he ate some of it...if they didn't catch it...
Grian's jaw set to avoid the cold chill running up his spine from effecting him.
"I've also been in touch with False Symmetry. The earliest she can source all of those potions is Saturday, around thirteen-hundred hours. That's what she told me." Zedaph continued, Jimmy merely hummed.
"That's fine. We need time to relay all this to the soldiers being sent anyway." The canary said, wings taut behind him.
"The flyers?" He prompted and Gem moved like clockwork, pulling her satchel to her front and pulling out three different options for Jimmy choose from. Threw different designs that Grian had helped to create...art was really not his strong suit, but the message was the most important part of it anyway. One of the flyers illustrated the destruction that came with Watchers, the other illustrating them as manipulators and the third outlined the red-crests as being kind, and on the correct side of morals.
Jimmy narrowed his eyes at them, dragging them across the table to him with his gloved hand and scrutinizing each one.
"This one." He slid the flyer of destruction back over to the deer and Gem nodded, "I'll have them copied sir, how many do you think we'll need?" She asked, folding over the unneeded drafts and slipping them back into her satchel.
Jimmy turned it over in his mind a moment, "One thousand." Grian nearly sputtered but Gem remained fully composed, giving a single nod. A thousand seemed a little bit excessive if you were to ask Grian...but he wasn't a general.
The meeting continued, each officer contributing minor tweeks and entries for convenience, Grian stayed mostly quiet...he had no idea what to say...he was more of the 'stay silent and follow orders' type, speaking out on his opinion was foreign to him...he didn't want to say the wrong thing, but even if he did, his mind stayed completely blank the entire time. He had nothing to say.
Plans were set in stone. The mission would commence on Sunday, midday.
As everyone packed up their notes and maps and started to exit the office...Grian lingered. It was a childish train of thought but...it was his birthday, and Scar made it seem like the most important event in history, so many Grian had been getting it wrong? Maybe Grian just had to give his brother a chance to do something instead of being so pessimistic...he...wanted...his brother to do something..
Grian felt six again, eager to impress his brother for a sliver of attention, of love from his only family left. The moment Jimmy came around the table Grian straightened, adrenaline shooting through his veins.
"Is there something you want?" Jimmy asked coldly, staring down the bridge of his nose at the avian, lip slightly curled at the obstruction in his path.
Grian swallowed past his dry throat, practically holding his breath...well, he couldn't exactly back out now. "It's...my birthday." He said quietly, not exactly sure what he was hoping for. Jimmy's scowl only deepened.
"So?"
All of that stupid stupid stupid childish hope, the exact same poison that he had long ago forced himself to eradicate because all it did was make him feel shit about himself when it was crushed into crumbs. This wasn't a military question, an inquiry about training or how he could be more perfect.
It was a selfish deep rooted need, need to what? Feel important? Well he wasn't.
"Nevermind...Sir." Grian said quietly, numbness spreading to the tips of his fingers. Idiot. Such a fucking idiot.
Jimmy hummed and lifted his chin, glaring down at his little brother even more as though he were merely dirt on his boot. "When I invited you to this meeting, Grian, I expected you to be more useful." He said, perfectly even.
Useful.
"Sorry sir." Grian replied, his stomach twisting itself into knots.
Jimmy didn't have a reply for that, just walked around him and left.
Happy birthday to him.
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Grian sat in the mess, his tiny legs unable to reach the ground on the benches carved for fully grown men. It was okay though! Since they were super big they were also super comfortable and since it was so high up, Grian had free space to kick his legs back and forth.
He didn't know why he did it exactly, it was just...fun? Sorta. But whatever, he liked doing it. So, the little eight year old avian sat, munching on his bowl of scrambled eggs the cooker guys made for him. The cooker guys were always really nice to Grian! He liked them a lot, though he never really talked to them much, they always smiled at him when nobody was watching!
Grian chomped down on a big ol' mouthful of eggs, looking around himself idly for anything to occupy his little mind when he caught sight of a group of soldiers huddled together on his left. Curious, Grian perked his head up a little and turned his brain on so that he could listen. His brother told him he's got super good hearing because he's a parrot and stuff, and it really did help! Though they were being loud anyway...but still!
"Happy birthday Nikolai." A blonde man teased a brunette beside him, another blonde, hair all buzzed with a patchy beard, threw an arm around the brunette, said brunette, a man with a scar running through his eyebrow tried to push the two men away. They looked like good friends!
"Shut up Al." Brunette man—Nikolai?—said, trying to shove the two away from him in embarrassment.
"We got you something." One of the blonde's smirked and produced a protein bar with a candle stuck in it from behind his back.
"How the fuck did you get your hands on candles?" Nikolai snorted and they all snickered as he blew out the singular candle, teasing him about making a wish and how he was 'an old man' now.
That looked...fun.
Grian had birthdays too! He never got anything though...maybe big brother didn't realise! Grian could understand that, he was busy and probably forgot all about it! But Grian would do the right thing and remind him justtttt in case. Grian plopped down from his bench, dropped his empty bowl off and ran off to Jimmy's office, he would probably be in there, right?
Grian kept his hand on the wall as he walked until he eventually he reached his brother's office and carefully pushed the door open.
"Yes?" Jimmy lifted his eyes, but they immediately trailed down the moment he realised the person who had walked in had not infact been an adult...but someone of much smaller stature.
"It's my birthday!" Grian smiled lightly...hoping Jimmy would light up like those other men did...but he just narrowed his eyes...a glare just forming.
"And?" He said tightly, starting to get annoyed at his time being wasted. Grian flinched, suddenly unsure of himself...he lowered his head, fiddling with his fingers behind his back.
"Well..."
"Straighten up when you talk to me." Jimmy snapped and Grian's head whipped up. Right! His muscles immediately locked, shifting into the correct posture in a moments notice...he really didn't mean to! He just...forgot.
"Well? Speak then." Jimmy hissed...Grian found he didn't want to anymore...but pushed on anyway.
"Well...I was sorta hoping that we could do something for my birthday? I saw the other soldiers—"
"Celebrating?" Jimmy cut him off and slowly rose from his desk, walking around the thing with eerie slowness, his boot falls thudding against Grian's skull.
"You think you're worth celebrating?" Jimmy stopped infront of him...Grian didn't know what to say. He wanted to say yes but...he was sensing it was a trick question...or one of those questions people didn't really want the answers to but asked anyway.
"Your swings are clumsy. You can't even fly straight. You're immature and a crying mongrel. You're ignorant and forgetful and slow. Does that sound like something worth celebrating?"
Grian bit down on his trembling lip...not wanting to prove his brother's point further.
"No sir." The parrot said quietly...little wings drooping against his back.
"And now, you come into my office, interrupt my very important work because you want to celebrate? You think you're worth my time?"
Grian's stomach hurt, twisting in on itself in complicated loops as something sickly burned the back of his throat.
"Look at me!" Jimmy hissed and Grian's eyes immediately snapped to his, trying their best not to water, "Well?" Jimmy tilted his head, slightly lowering himself, voice laced with condensation.
"N-no sir." Grian whispered. Satisfied, Jimmy straightened, lip still curled in disgust.
"Well then, if you UNDERSTAND then get out of my sight.
Grian didn't need to be told twice, immediately spinning on his heels with a soft squeak on the floorboards and sprinting out and down the hall without looking back, vision half blurred with newly formed tears.
He didn't mean to. He really didn't mean to. He just wanted what they had, he wanted to laugh with someone too, to get a silly candle even if it was childish and get hugs and light-hearted teases.
Grian didn't know where he was running to...but passing by the armory he figured that that was as good a place as any, so, he ducked inside and seated himself into the far corner, his sanctuary half protected by shields.
He wanted to be loved too. He was trying so hard. He was trying SO HARD.
Grian wrapped his arms around his head as though braced for impact and tucked his head onto his knees, sobbing until his chest shook with the force.
He couldn't help being childish. He couldn't HELP it. He really wanted to make big brother proud, he wanted to be as cool as him, as strong as him, as fast as him. He was really trying! He promised! He didn't realise he was clumsy or that he wasn't flying straight, he could fix it. He could fix it. He didn't wanna be useless or a waste of time.
But he was. He was and he didn't know what to do about it.
He didn't know what to do...
Seconds, minutes, hours passed until soft daylight streamed into the dusty space. Grian didn't lift his head at the sound of footsteps or at the creak of the door.. if a soldier was coming in here to get stuff that was fine. Grian could easily be ignored. He was nothing. Wasn't worth the damn attention anyways.
"Grian?" Grian's wings twitched in recognition...Xisuma. Blearily, Grian lifted his head and blinked like a newborn fawn, snot dripping down his face and his eyes swollen red. Xisuma's brows furrowed in quiet concern as he crouched infront of him.
Grian liked Xisuma...but he didn't deserve nice things for being a cry baby.
"Hey...hey what's the matter?"
Grian didn't provide any kind of response...so Xisuma got creative. Process of elimination.
"Are you hurt?"
Grian shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip.
"Okay...are you scared of something?"
Grian considered it for a moment...he nodded, a tiny tiny little nod.
"Okay...why are you scared?" Xisuma asked softly, he was always so patient with him, taking things in baby steps when Jimmy was too busy to do things himself. Grian knew for a fact that his big brother didn't like it very much when Xisuma was nice to him...he couldn't understand why he continued to do it.
He was a baby. Too useless even for his own brother.
"Why don't I get to have a birthday too?"
Xisuma softened instantly, Grian saw it, the way his furrowed brows grew a little less taut and his shoulders lost their tension, a little sigh managing past his lips.
"Oh kid..." He said quietly and sat down, an arm opened in offering.
"I don't want a hug." Grian grunted. He DID want a hug, he wanted a hug more than anything else in the entire world right now, more than a lollipop and more than a nap. But Jimmy didn't like it when he got hugs and Grian didn't wanna make big brother hate him even more.
"Okay...alright..." Xisuma dropped his arm and instead opted for just sitting next to Grian instead, tapping his gloved fingers together. "You deserve to have a birthday kiddo...it's just difficult, you know? In a military base...there's not a lot we can do in terms of birthdays without spending valuable time and materials—"
"Am I not valuable?" Grian squeaked, a tiny chirp. Though the look of horror and guilt that passed across Xisuma's face filled him with instant regret so he went on, "I don't want anything big...I seen a guy give another dude a protein bar...I just..." Grian shrugged.
Xisuma hummed, "Okay...okay well if something small is okay...we can totally do something small." He smiled and Grian perked up, just a tiny bit.
"But Jimmy said I don't deserve a birthday." Grian whispered.
"I'll sort it out with the general, okay? Come on, whaddya say we drag Etho out of training so he can party with us, hm?" Xisuma's smile turned into a smirk at the proposition of trickery, Grian brightened instantly.
"Yissss!"
They didn't do a lot but it was fun none the less! Etho was spotted rather quickly and did nothing but grunt and complain at being torn away from his sword, but the second Grian told him it was his birthday it was like a switch had flipped.
They got him an apple with a candle in it and chased him around the field singing his very own birthday song! With his name in it and everything!
By the time night rolled around Grian was exhausted and his stomach hurt from giggling so much, all he wanted to do was collapse onto his mattress and bask in a sleep, not filled with nightmares, but hopefully reliving the events of today. Though, on his way down the hall to his room...he heard scary sounds booming from big brother's office.
Grian put his index finger between his lips and started to chew on the nail as he tip toed next to the door to peek inside...
"—It was his birthday!" Xisuma?
"He's useless enough without all your damn coddling Xisuma!" Jimmy roared, Grian heard a bang that made him gasp a little and clamp his hands over his mouth...they didn't seem to hear him though.
"He's a child!—"
"He's MY brother! When the day comes for him to avenge our parents, do you think those creatures will give a shit about birthdays? That stupid clump of feathers doesn't have talent to waste on birthdays." Jimmy hissed, voice laced with pure venom, each angrier than the last.
"He's my brother and I have control over him. Not you Xisuma. I know what's best for him, and what's best for him? What's best for him is to not grow up believing the world is all sunshine and rainbows. He has to realise nobody gives a flying fuck about him. He needs to man the fuck up and stop wishing for—"
Grian ran away before he could hear the end of his brother's sentence, the sob bubbling up in his throat would've given his position away and then Jimmy would've yelled at him for eavesdropping.
Nobody gave a shit about him.
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"There he is! Happy birthday!" Scar jumped off the rock with his arms in the air, a wide grin plastered across his face.
Grian snorted and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest as he approached. "Thanks." Grian muttered, though unable to keep the smile off of his face.
"Oo! Wait wait wait right there-!" Scar said and bent down on his heels to pick up a little pink box that Grain hadn't even noticed was there until Scar grabbed it, carefully opening the card up and producing...a cupcake?
How on earth did he get his hands on a cupcake? Were the Watchers hosting baking classes?
Scar grabbed a lighter from his pocket and flipped the top off, snapping down the flint he carefully lit the singular candle jutting out of the plain, golden brown treat.
"Happy birthday to you—"
"Please don't sing the song." Grian snorted, his smile widening despite his best efforts to wipe it off completely.
Scar clicked his tongue in mock annoyance and let out a long sigh just to remind Grian of his disappointment, all in good fun though. "Fine fine." He smirked and handed the cupcake to Grian. It was a petite little thing with a red case, dotted with white polkadots.
"Make a wish." Scar said quietly...he didn't step back. Stood directly infront of Grian as the meager little flame flickered between them.
Make a wish. A wish. Grian had long given up on wishes. If you wanted something to happen then you shed blood for it...nothing just happens by hoping with your fingers crossed. But Scar stood there, waiting so expectantly with a gaze so excited...so Grian humoured him...closed his eyes and pretended to wish hard even as his mind remained blank.
The candle went out in a single soft blow.
Grian met Scar's eyes and Scar's met his...
"Presents time!" Scar blurted, stepping away quickly and picking his satchel up from the grass. "You can eat that whole thing by the way, I didn't bargain with a baker for nothing." Scar jested.
Grian couldn't remember a time he had ever tried cake...the cupcake was quite adorable. He narrowed his eyes and flattened away the casing. Grian took the little white candle out and split the thing in half to the best of his abilities, not getting too fussed about the tiny crumbs which fell through his fingers and onto the grass.
"We'll share it." Grian declared, offering the piece that ended up slightly bigger. Scar turned, his arms going slack.
"But it's your birthday cake." He reminded as though Grian had forgotten.
"And I choose to share it with you, take it." The avian insisted, but instead of taking the offered piece, Scar snagged the other—smaller—half with a little smile.
"Then you get the bigger bit." He said, his voice containing a playful lilt as he shoved his bit into his mouth all in one go. Grian wanted to protest but...the cake was already gone so...there wasn't much he could do about it now.
"Scar." Grian scolded, but sighed, taking a bite of his half.
It was delicious, light and airy and fluffy, not too sweet or crumbly...really good.
"Like it?" Scar teased with a little laugh, "You're eyes are like- huge." He chuckled, grinning ear to ear.
Shit!
"Yea- yea it's fine I guess." Grian grunted and clamped his left hand over both eyes, pissed off that he couldn't control their dilation. Blasted things and blasted avianry.
"Hey..." Grian felt a gentle touch on his wrist and he didn't fight against it, letting Scar carefully lower his hand away from his face. Grian could've overpowered him easily, slapped his hand away and demanded not to be touched...but Scar's hands were so...warm.
"It's cute." Scar tilted his head, but seconds later reality slapped then both in the face and Scar jolted, eyes wide and cheeks turning a dark shade of cheery. "Cool! Cool- I mean. I meant cool. I didn't know pupils could go so wide! Er- glad you liked the uh- the cupcake." Scar rambled, scratching the back of his neck.
Grian's eyes fixed on a little crumb just at the corner of Scar's mouth, before he could stop himself or consult the rational part of his brain—the very section that would tell him to keep his damn hands to himself—he reached out and brushed it off with his thumb.
"Thank you, Scar." Grian said quietly and dropped his hand.
Scar quickly wiped his mouth again with the back of his hand and cleared his throat, looking around himself, flustered and trying to pick up where he had left off.
"Gifts! Yes!" Scar snapped his fingers and produced a little wooden box from his satchel.
A gift?
"Scar I don't need gifts-" Grian said, clearly too slow.
"Nonsense! Take the damn box dumbie." Scar shoved the carved thing into Grian's chest. "It's only a small thing anyway, just a little something." Scar shrugged.
Grian let out a sigh and begrudgingly lifted off the lid. Inside was a long length of twine, hanging off of it were a collection of green beads of different shades, silver accents to separate the colour and keep things fresh. At the end hung a singular charm, a leaf. It was beautiful..
"It's er- for your sword! You like, hang it off the handle...I figured since we only see eachother at night it could be a little reminder of me during the day! Wow...that sounded a lot less corny in my head." Scar trailed off awkwardly as Grian just stared at the leaf on the end...outlined in silver...
"Happy birthday Griffen." Scar said quietly...
Grian didn't know how to express the suffocating gratitude in his chest, his heart beating so hard it was about ready to fucking burst a blood vessel. Half formed thank yous bounced around in his head but none felt wide enough, none felt big enough to—colossal enough to explain the tingly feeling in Grian's chest.
"I'll cherish it." Grian settled with..unable to tear his eyes away. "Thank you, Scar." His whole life it had been beaten into him not to get attached, that everyone could explode and everyone he ever loved could be slaughtered. Not to get sentimental, if one had to flee he would have nothing to grab. Nothing to waste time on. Nothing to miss. Jimmy tore away every pet rock and wooden bow and arrow, wastes of time.
Grian would kill to hold onto this. Fly to the stars if it got lost.
He blinked, glancing down at the sword on his hip and then back up to the thread...he tied it securely onto his handle, looking to Scar, "Does it look okay?" He couldn't care less how it looked...he just wanted it cherish correctly.
"You look great. It! It looks great!" Scar grinned and Grian smiled back at him.
Logically, he knew that it couldn't stay. He would have the take the charm off the second that he got out of Scar's eyeline...but that didn't mean Grian wouldn't cherish it.
Stupid...Eye...
Grian layed awake that night, Mumbo snoring softly below him...the entire base still.
Grian held the charm in his fist...letting it dangle right infront of him, the moon streaming through the window somehow hitting the charms perfectly, making them shine.
Green.
He liked the colour green, he decided. Wisps of soft grass blades blending into forest, the edges crinkling with every smile...looking at him like a person, a true beating heart, instead of a soldier.
A single tear dripped down Grian's cheekbone and stained the thin pillow below.
He really liked the colour green.
Notes:
I love the idea that everyone knows Grian is borderline abused so the adults are super nice to him—most.
Was it casual whenever you offered me your birthday cake and tried to give me the bigger piece?
AS ALWAYS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEE LEAVE COMMENTS I LOVE THEM ALL VERY DEARLY <33
Chapter 6: Straight Through and Twist.
Summary:
Sometimes things don't go according to plan.
Notes:
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
TW: MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM TYPE BEHAVIOUR AND REFERENCES/ATTEMPT(?) AT SUICIDE!!Please do read the tags <33
Just be careful.Anyways hope that didn't scare you too bad, enjoyyyy !!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunday came. A perfectly romantic day, with skies a blue and the sun blazing. Birds chirping and flirting. Completely inconspicuous, an ordinary day.
Good for them.
Grian adjusted the satchel that they had given him—a leather thing scratched up and fading near the straps from years of rubbing fingers—so that it wouldn't sit over his wings. Everyone was geared up and ready to go, kill switches stuck in the back of their teeth.
Grian didn't want to think about what would happen if the invisibility ran out right infront of an Eye. If they acctually had to bite down to avoid torture. Dying with honour. For their countries, to help with their win in the war. Despite everything...Grian couldn't stop getting attached. It was so stupid...he got attached no matter how many times he was scolded by Jimmy, or his attachments got yelled at too. He got attached to Etho, attached to Xisuma and attached to Mumbo....that...Eye...
He couldn't get rid of it...so the least he could do was try and hide it from everyone else. He wasn't very good at hiding it in all fairness...but he was trying.
"Be careful." Grian grunted. Etho was more than qualified to go, a tough soldier...and Grian had full faith in him...it's the Watchers he didn't trust. That was anger at the creatures in his stomach...not worry.
"When am I not careful?" Etho tilted his head but it nothing to ease his gut, his scowl only deepened.
"Etho-"
"I know feathers, you stay safe too, yea?" Etho said...Grian just hummed. He knew this was coming, they were all risking their lives every day, he knew there...was a chance. But it was so right in his face now, right infront of him with no way around. Etho either came home on his feet or in a bag.
Or on a pike.
Grian wasn't worried about himself, his misison was a hundred times safer than Etho's. Just dropping a few measly flyers, hundreds of feet in the air, above ordinary townsfolk, while he was going right into the heart.
Etho tapped his bent fingers under Grian's chin and smirked lightly under his mask and gave a little whistle.
Grian set his jaw and returned it.
And they went their separate ways. Grian and Gem were going through the south gate, Etho east.
"Ready?" Gem asked, deer ear flicking once against the gentle breeze.
"Yes ma'am." Grian replied.
He and Gem would be walking down to the town...he could fly ahead, but this was a two person mission, equally they could bring horses but that was too much of a hassle in the already bustling streets, plus if Grian's assumptions were correct then she would be perched somewhere ready to signal him.
The town of Sanndrulom wasn't very far anyway.
He and Gem stayed quiet the entire walk, she had nothing to say to him, and he to her. He wasn't very good at small talk as it was, but he didn't mind the silence at all. It was an excuse to fully switch his brain off. Or attempt to at least, more realistically distract it with unimportant thoughts.
About fifty metres away from the town, Grian took off in a plume of road dust and soared ahead. He hadn't really had the chance to fly properly outside of his training, and he had to say, flying out in the open air felt amazing. Being able to spread his wings and just drift without stressing over his speed was a blessing, it delighted the little bird inside his brain tremendously.
Once within the town walls, Grian perched atop an old clock tower— copper rings rusty and numbers scratched—and let his legs dangle, keeping a keen eye out, the flyers sitting safe on his thighs.
It was a nice little town, there wasn't anything that jarringly stood out from any other town in HermitHollow but that didn't mean it wasn't a nice place to be. The atmosphere was cozy, market stalls selling flowers and the scent of fresh bread wafting out of each bakery. It was nice...Grian wondered if his home town was as lovely...
Every person seemed to have their own rhythm, walking with purpose and chanting out the latest deals for tomatoes and bartering for a wheel of cheese. It made Grian feel nostalgic for something he had never even experienced. A simpler life filled with laughter rather than screams.
Down below, Grian caught sight of a little boy, shrieking with laughter as his mother threw him in the air and caught him again with a huge smile on her face...across the same street were another set of boys—one much taller than the other—sprinting down cobbled paths together, laughing off all the vendors they disturbed because nothing else mattered when it came to their wooden dragon soaring through the air.
Running around...carefree...together...
Grian's fingers tightened on the ledge he was sitting on, he didn't realise he was gritting his teeth until pin pricks of mild pain shot through his molars.
Get a grip Grian. What? Ashamed you're protecting your people??? What you do is an honour, quit moping.
A whistle tore it's way through Grian's thoughts and his head shot up instantly, honed from years of built up instinct. It came again and he scanned his surroundings until familiar antlers came into view.
Wait.
He got up from his sitting position and opted for a crouch, keeping on his feet so it would be much easier to launch off.
A series of two sharp whistles and one dragged out. There it was. Grian propelled himself off of the clock tower, wings spread out to the fullest and the let the flyers rain. The paper floated slowly through the air but the shadows alone immediately caught people's attention. Grian heard the muffled whispers and shocked gasped, confusion spreading through one person to the next as Grian soared through the air, leaving no man in the dark about what exactly was going on.
The whispers grew louder, people grouped into huddles to read the posters.
It worked. Well, he hoped that it did. Definately caught their attention.
All they had to do was wait and see if their loyalties would shift.
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Grian let out a large breath that he hadn't realised he was holding the second he stepped through the gates and saw the their squadron just returning, following behind Xisuma.
All four of them, including Etho. Grian's wings spread a little in preparation for his sprint over, to ask questions, to see how it went, to just bask in the relief that Etho was alive, so surely the mission had to have gone well. But he held back, remembered himself, and glanced at Gem incase she had other plans for him, anything else she wanted him to do while he was under her charge. But...she just smiled at him, a smile he had never seen from her—seeing the woman as a no-nonsense kind of person, but it seemed to fit so right,
"Go on." He said softly and Grian gave her a firm nod and jogged off towards Etho.
"Hey feathers." Etho smiled and ruffled his hair, Grian was opened his mouth to ask—
"How did it go?" The soldiers hushed at Jimmy's prescense, lemony wings constantly taut behind. Etho straightened, his eyes loosing their almost playful glint they always donned when around Grian into something more professional, serious in the face of his general.
"Well, sir. We weren't spotted, not even a suspicion. The bombs went off smoothly and the disease has been placed." Etho replied cooly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"And Grian?" Jimmy prompted, eyes narrowing to see if Grian would be ugly duckling that put the others perfect performance to shame. But Grian just lifted his too, trying to match Etho's confidence even if he was a whole head shorter.
"We certainly got the townsfolk's attention, only a matter of time now, sir."
Jimmy hummed, considering whether or not he was pleased and ultimately landed on the former. "Good, get yourself changed and to the basement."
"Yes sir."
Good.
He was good.
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"Scar?" Grian frowned and glanced around himself. Usually Scar was always there when he arrived, waiting there with his adorable glee and animated greetings, beyond ready to start their late night ramblings, to waste time on something that didn't matter, for once. Well, to him, obviously. Only for him. Grian was still working, keeping up this facade just to get information out of the Eye. Obviously.
It was...strange. And struck Grian with sudden anxiety.
He couldn't have...
No...no surely not. No.
So Grian waited...and waited, fiddling with the green charm dangling from his sword he had put back on for the sake of seeing Scar again, so the man knew he was grateful and didn't know he had been putting it on and off before and after their meetings.
Grian waited, picked puffs out of his wings and little bits of dirt where be could reach, not a fully focused preen, just where he could reach conveniently to distract his mind.
He counted the grass blades that were visible to him even in the shadow of night.
He chewed his already short nails further down to the nub.
"Hey...sorry I'm late." An orange lantern glow and padded footsteps. Grian nearly jumped out of his skin, straightening from his leaning position against the rock.
"Hi! Uh- that's, that's okay." Grian would've waited all night. He didn't need the sleep.
As good as it was to see the brunette...something was...off. Different about him. A bee losing its buzz and a rose losing its red. It was unnatural, jarring to the eye that was used to a singular pleasant thing to keep equilibrium.
"What's wrong?" Grian asked, cringing internally at the blunt question, feelings were always Mumbo's sort of thing...not his.
Scar's eyes snapped to Grian's, stunned at the abrupt questioning. "Nothing." He smiled. It wasn't a Scar smile. Grian didn't like it. It was half-assed and not him at all. It lacked the glow that riveled the stars and filled him with disbelief rather than its usual warmth. He missed the usual Scar smile.
"You're lying." Grian stated.
"Look- it's just war stuff...I really don't wanna talk about it...please?" Scar dropped his eyes, twitchy fingers picking at his nail beds.
"Okay." Grian understood not wanting to talk about it. He was worried—but he understood.
An awkward silence spread between them like thick fog. Grian despised it. Scar was usually the one to prompt conversation and they'd get lost from there. But Scar was quiet. He was never quiet.
Think Grian. Think. Think think think..
"Would you like to be hugged?" Grian loved and hated hugs. But he would do it for Scar...how was he meant to get information out of an Eye if he didn't speak? Obviously...
Grian didn't want him to be upset.
Scar lifted his eyes and chewed on the inside of his mouth. "Yeah." He said quietly. He didn't move, so Grian did, wrapping his arms around him and enveloping them both into a feathered cocoon for extra warmth.
"I'm not good at this." Grian whispered, secrets that would never penetrate outside of their safe space. "What can I do?" He could soar at incredible heights and swing a sword without breaking a sweat...but he wasn't good at this.
"I know G." Scar said lightly, was that a glimmer of a smile Grian heard? "Y'know...if you were an animal...you'd be a bear."
Grian furrowed his brows at that, a bear?
"Scar, you know I have wings don't you?" Grian reminded him, despite his confusion, a weight lifted off of his shoulders. His Scar was talking again about stupid things that he couldn't figure out what inspired. Perfect.
"Yea I know that." Scar chuckled, muffled against Grian's shoulder. He didn't let go...so neither did Grian.
"But you act all mean and scary...big tough old Griffen...but you're really just a big softie." Scar tightened his hug. A softie. Him? Soft? He let a scoff slip...but it made Scar snort.
"I am not soft." Grian muttered.
"Yeah...you're very evil." Scar teased...a beat passed..."Thank you Griffen."
"For what?"
Grian felt the brunette shrug against him.
"Just."
Well that was stupid.
"Thank you. Just." Grian countered with a sarcastic air and Scar couldn't help but snicker.
Weirdo...
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The initial flyer drop wasn't providing positive results. Red-crests were marched down to the town to speak with locals and check their flags to see if it had changed to red...but purple still flew. Eyes still wandered and gave the opposition dirty looks, coiled with energy to break a fight out right there in the middle of the street like hooligans.
By that point, the Watchers replenished their food stock with the town's crops— good hearty meals grown with local hands, and reforged their swords, their spears and carved out their bows with the aid of loyal blacksmiths—for a generous price.
The flyers were for nothing. The disease and explosion maybe a little more than a hindrance.
So they sent back to the drawing board. Re-thought and remeasured the idea close up and far away. The Watchers were on guard now to any breaking in, so rehashing the same old idea wouldn't go down well, any goo strategist could tell you that. But they couldn't limit what occurred in the town—since they didn't own it, the people just worshipped them.
So more flyers were made.
And more and more. Different messages, bold colours that cost a fortune to print. Manipulators. Liars. Thieves. Psychopaths.
The red-crests: Brave. Determined. Hard working. Dedicated.
Layed out between the two, the red-crests were obviously the better option.
But the people weren't buying into it.
Every passing day Jimmy would get more and more irritable, nobody even walked passed his office for fear of losing their position and demoted to launtrine. Nobody breathed near him, bothered him for anything. He was truly terrifying when he was this angry, the boogeyman come to life.
Until he called a meeting with every officer. They shuffled in, retaining a calm and collected air but Grian saw how their eyes flickered to Jimmy, half concern and half fear of what could be coiling in the man's head after nearly a week of silent, simmering rage.
Grian wasn't as worried as he ought to have been, his brother's rage accompanied him through his entire walk of life. Grian knew what to expect.
"I've run out of patience." Jimmy said, voice low and grim as he leaned the pads of his fingers onto the table. "If the townsfolk are to continue to he stubborn, to worship the very beings that, if not for their usefulness, would've burned their homes to the ground? Then so be it. If they want to be little Eyes, let them be treated as such."
A shiver ran down Grian's spine.
"We will bomb the next supply delivery."
Grian expected,—would've hoped for—unanimous shock and outrage. Bombing the town??? The supply routes were brought to the town centre from the merchants then bought by whoever came along, and to give supplies to whom they worshipped would naturally include more people, more people willing and excited to do such a job.
Grian looked around at each officer, faces set in grim acceptance. No-one spoke up. It was unbelievable.
"What about the townsfolk?" Grian took the initiative. Shock passed through his brothers eyes at the audacity of his little seventeen year old self daring to speak up, before it melted into a pure glare, daggers ripping apart Grian's heart. But just because it was happening on the inside, didn't mean he had to show it on the outside.
"They chose their side." Jimmy said slowly, "They would've succumbed to that fate anyway whenever the Watchers deemed them not useful anymore."
"But they're innocent—you said so yourself that the Watchers are manipulative, it isn't their fault!" Grian snapped.
"Watch your tone!" Jimmy snapped back with equal force, if not greater. His fist slammed against the table, rattling quils in their ink pots. Grian didn't falter.
Harming Watchers, he was on board with, harming Eyes was trickier but Grian knew he had to for the greater good. But innocent people? People roaming around, living their lives with no say in the violence around them, only hoping and praying that them and their families make it through to the next day? He couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to strangers who were just trying to survive.
"They chose and still choose to follow Them." Jimmy said, top lip curled in parts anger and disgust.
He couldn't be serious. He genuinely couldn't be serious! Grian looked around the table, at every officer, the people who watched him grow up, who had been in the game longer than he had been flying, hoping, praying that they had enough sense to see the insanity in this plan!
They were all serious. Heads bowed to not intrude on their brotherly conflicts.
"Xisuma!" Grian sputtered, surely he, the man who secretly laughed with him and always tried to make Grian feel normal despite his brother's protest. The kindest soul he had ever met.
But he avoided Grian's eyes.
"Gem?" Grian glanced at her, the kind-spirited deer who smiled at the passersby when she and Grian went off to drop all of those flyers. She thought he didn't notice.
"For our country, Grian."
Unbelievable.
"Jevin???" Grian whipped his head around. He remembered the conversation Jevin and his brother had in his office that one night, Jevin was stressed about sacrificing soldiers for nothing. He cared too! Grian could see it! He had to care!
"A few men for the lives of millions." Jevin said, voice firm and almost cold. Accepted.
Grian scoffed and took a step back. He had no idea where this sudden disobedience had come from, but it was here, it was here and it was so blazing hot that Grian could feel it in every nerve fibre. He shook his head, then shook it harder.
"Do you think we want to kill our people Grian?" Xisuma snapped and the locked all of Grian's muscles into place.
"This is war kid, we have to make the hard choices." Keralis muttered.
"This- this-! There has to be another way! We can't be the reason that they don't go home tonight! We're the good guys! We don't—let's re-plan, come on there must be something else!"
"Grian Solidarity." Jimmy's voice broke through his rambling, an ever growing crack in an ice berg until eventually the whole thing collapsed. Grian's jaw clicked shut.
"Everyone dissmissed. I need to have a private conversation with my little brother." Jimmy all but growled, keeping his eyes firmly set on Grian. Little. Little, like grian was just some little kid that didn't understand the world around him. Smaller. Lesser. Didn't know what he was talking about.
Everyone left, immediately.
But Grian wasn't afraid. He was too much of a coward to protest about Netty but he wouldn't hurt anyone else unprovoked-!
"This isn't what I signed up for!" Grian yelled, years of humiliation, built up frustration at everything his brother ever did, every stinging touch and cruel word that chipped away at his soul. "You said we were going to help people, to save lives—!"
"We are helping people, Grian." Jimmy hissed, walking around the table to face him face to face.
Grian let out a bitter laugh, "By blowing them to bits?! You know exactly what'll happen if you plant a bomb in the town square!"
"Yes. I do." Jimmy said firmly, lemony wings barely holding still with all his pent up frustration. "It will ruin their supply and tell the people we are serious."
"So we're going to frighten people into supporting us?!" Grian yelled in complete exasperation.
"We're going to frighten people into not aiding our enemies." The canary shot back.
"We'll turn into the very things that we are turning them against—!"
"For the sake of possibly winning this war and saving countless cities—!"
"And what if I doesn't work?!" Grian was borderline screaming. He had gotten this far and he couldn't back out now. "If it doesn't work like you think it will are you going to do it again? And again and again?! These are real people Jimmy! I do all of this to help people, you told me that you do all of this so that nobody will ever have to go through what we did! So that no kid has to stand over their parent's corpse!"
Jimmy's hands clenched at his sides, fists pulled so taut that his knuckles turned white. But Grian didn't relent.
"You think this is avenging mum and dad?! You think they would be proud—?!"
Grian didn't have time to react before Jimmy's fist was in his hair. His face connected with the desk in a horrific crack, agony blooming across Grian's nose as he was then thrown backwards, free to land on his back and skid across the floor a few centimetres.
He just sat there, his brain unable to catch up and process what on earth just happened. He let out a shallow breath, blinking past blurry vision as dizziness washed over him in blinding waves.
"Don't you dare bring mum and dad into this!" Jimmy howled, voice splitting Grian's skull in half in his barely conscious state.
"Look at me." Jimmy growled and grabbed Grian's front, creasing his uniform in his fist. On command, everything cleared...well...his brother's face cleared, came into focus, anything behind were indistinguishable blobs.
"I carried you through those burning streets and I held you when my life fell apart and you dare utter a single syllable about them?!"
Grian forced his eyes to stay open...a deer stunned, unable to move in the face of a bow.
"You have no idea what sacrifice is. You have no idea what it means to loose because you are a child. A weak fucking link in the machine I have built."
Grian's nose pulsed with every heartbeat, every few seconds three Jimmy's would appear before molding back into their centre. Grian felt nauseous.
"You will light the bomb. You will plant it. You will watch. You will see what it takes to save the ones you love. You will learn. Must I repeat myself?" His words were laced in pure venom, injecting its poison into Grian's blood until he couldn't breathe past it.
He didn't have the choice to say no.
He didn't have the resolve to fight anymore.
He was so scared.
"No sir." Grian whispered.
Jimmy released his hold and Grian managed to catch himself on his elbow and forearm. His parrot wings crushed underneath him.
"Then get out of my sight and do not raise your voice at me again." Jimmy muttered, lifting his chin like he did when he would scold Grian as a toddler.
Grian masked a wince and hauled himself to his feet, blinking back the brutal waves of dizziness lapping at the shore front of his eyes.
And...as if his situation couldn't get any worse...Mumbo was there when he came in.
He was just on his cot, doodling mechanism designs in his notepad but immediately jumped up whenever Grian stumbled in, catching him by the arm as he wobbled.
"Dude—?! Hey- hey mate, what in the stars happened?!" Mumbo asked frantically, already panicked and brutally failing at hiding it. He took tiny steps backwards and eased Grian down onto his lower cot...Grian would've been fine to climb up to his top...but whatever. His vision had cleared mostly, it was just the pain in his nose...but he knew pain. He could deal with pain.
"I'm fine." Grian muttered, blinking off the last of the blotches in his vision.
"You are not fine, Grian! Stars you're bleeding all over yourself-" He winced to himself and rushed over to grab a cloth from the sink, Grian hissed through his teeth when it was pressed against his nose, sending more blotches rather than taking them away.
Grian didn't have the energy to shove him away or tell him off for worrying or call him a spoon. He was just...numb.
It was such a stupid idea to yell at the general. Such a stupid idea to think he could change his mind. To voice his opinions.
His opinions weren't anything anyway.
"Shit." Mumbo hissed under his breath before meeting Grian's eye again, "You're seriously not gonna tell me what happened?" He said, full of not-so-subtle urgency.
"I'm fine." Grian looped around the question and Mumbo just sighed.
"I'm taking you to Doc." Mumbo stated. Now that got Grian's heart racing again, his eyes widened and he grabbed Mumbo's wrist.
"I don't need to see Doc." Grian said firmly, a borderline sneer.
"Grian." Mumbo said firmly, clearly not willing to budge on this.
"I'm not allowed to see him, Mumbo. I can do it myself." Grian insisted.
"A bone is practically sticking out of your nose Grian! You're seeing Doc, just this once...please?" Mumbo's eyes softened into something close to pleading. Well shit.
He let himself be lead, humiliated was a weak word for the shame he felt when he sat down on the cot in Doc's medical building, the goat finishing up scribbling something on the labels of herbs...though he immediately paused at the sight of Grian.
"What...seems to be the issue?" He said slowly, unused to having him here. Grian had never once came here, to his memory anyway. Jimmy taught him to take care of himself.
"I think he's broken his nose? It looks bad-" Mumbo said and Grian carefully took the cloth away. Doc just hummed.
"What happened?" Stars, why was everyone so nosey? Ha. Nose-y.
"I fell." Grian monotoned. He knew it was bullshit. He didn't even try to put in the effort into conjuring a convincing story. Doc could put two and two together, he was a smart man. He was in that meeting, Grian was in that meeting. He leaves, and Grian emerges with a broken nose. It wasn't potion science.
"Uh...huh." Doc hummed, totally not believing him just as Grian suspected, but he didn't push for an honest answer either. Grian's wings shuffled to get comfortable as Doc prepped his shit.
Grian zoned out fairly quickly, just wanting this to be over as quickly as possible so he could sink into the sludge of numbness and never have to think about anything ever again.
"Okay, definitely a broken nose, but no concussion."
Grian was fixed up. Tried to be given leafy drugs but he denied them. And he was on his way.
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Grian debated not showing up tonight. His limbs felt like lead and all he wanted to do was sob until his body gave out...but he didn't want to worry Scar like that...he couldn't bring himself to imagine the stress of one day just suddenly...disappearing without a word.
So...he forced himself out of bed. Put one foot infront of the other repeatedly until the phenomenon of walking brought him to their secret place. Their safe space.
"Hi Griff...en..." Scar trailed off and his cheerful features melted into a concerned frown. "What happened your nose?" He asked quietly, coming forward and cupping his face with no shyness, tilting it this way and that to get a better view.
Grian stiffened at the touch, digging his nails into his palms to bear it right now because he couldn't force himself to shove Scar away when he meant so well.
"I fell." Grian monotoned the same excuse he offered Doc. He was too tired to be creative...Scar's frown only deepened, letting his arms fall limp by his sides as he stared into Grian's soul as though he could wrench out every truth with a fishing hook.
"Would you like to be hugged...?" Scar offered slowly, bringing his arms out with a tiny smile. His own words against him.
You're a horrible fucking person Grian.
"No." He muttered, lowering his eyes to the grass so he couldn't witness Scar's hurt, his fingers fiddling with his sword charm idly.
"Hm. Oo! I know what'll cheer you up!" Instead of being defeated, Scar somehow...brightened? The juxtaposition snapped Grian's eyes up immediately, confused more than stressed now.
"C'mere, sit!" Scar insisted by way of imperative...Grian didn't fight him, taking a seat on the rock with a small sigh, head brimming with questions.
"Okay okay, this is for children but who says two teens can't enjoy children's stories?" Scar smiled real wide with a comedic shrug before moving his lantern over infront of a tree, he lifted his hands and formed a bird with his fingers.
Oh stars.
"Shadow puppets?" Grian raised a brow.
"Ah ah ah! You just sit back, relax and enjoy the show my friend!" Scar announced so confidently that Grian couldn't help but let a snort slip.
"See! Already a success!" Scar beamed and Grian couldn't help rolling his eyes.
"Is this your plan? Make stupid statements 'til I laugh my ass off?" Grian said sarcastically, already sinking into that easy rhythm that was never difficult to get lost in when he was around Scar. That selfish comfort of something easier.
Scar scoffed, "No! Quit distracting me I'm trying to make you feel better!" The brunette pouted.
Grian smirked, real wide, "Oh my bad my bad. Please, do continue." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but Scar didn't comment on that.
"Thank you." He said and cleared his throat intentionally loud and with multiple stutters.
"Long before the stars found their rightful places before the night sky held any light, there was only the Void—a vast, endless expanse of silence and shadow." Scar began, lowering his voice slightly and putting on some kind of accent. Idiot.
"Housing horrors of unknown! Infinite mystery left untrained. It was neither dark, nor light, neither cold, nor warm, but a place where time itself slumbered."
His hands shifted, displaying a humanoid figure in a long robe and multiple sets of outstretched wings. How he did that with just his hands was baffling, but anyway.
"But, from this stillness arose the Watchers—ancient beings of divine purpose, both gods and spirits, sworn caretakers of the spaces left unseen. Their ethereal forms shimmered with the faint glow of the first beginnings, violet eyes deep pools that reflected the emptiness they wandered."
Grian tilted his head...Scar's shadow puppets made him unsure at first but now that he was getting into the flow, seeping into the melody of the story teller...Grian grew more enthralled.
How one learned to move their hands so fluidly, to present animation so life like it was as though he were watching events unfold in reality, as they did however long ago, was beyond him.
Scar had a knack for this, a talent he didn't know man possessed.
"The Watchers drifted through the Void, gathering tiny blinking particles—sparkling gems of potential, fragments of creation too small for any with untrained eyes to notice. They bagged these fragments into woven clouds of silver threads, crafting vast bundles—heavier than mountains but held with gentle hands."
"At the turning of the eternal dusk, the Watchers wafted through the great darkness and cast these sparkling bundles into the heavens. As the glowing particles spilled, they blossomed into galaxies—whirling, luminous islands in the sea of cosmos. Each galaxy was a masterpiece, a painting of light carefully crafted on the canvas of night, glowing in pulses to mark the passage of time."
"Yet, in their weaving of stars, the Watchers saw a fragile world—one without light to guide its timid creatures through the night’s embrace. The Earth lay in shadow, its people wandering blind and afraid, lost with no direction."
"Moved with sympathy, the Watchers took a great orb of silver stone and molded it with care, shaping its craters and valleys with the artistry of a clay maker. They placed this orb in the sky—the Moon—crafting it as a lantern to hold steady against the darkness. It was a gift, a steady glow to ease the fears of those below. Providing a haven, bestowing upon mortals the gift of comfort."
"From that moment on, the Moon guided the humans in their time of need, casting gentle light where shadows once reigned. The Watchers continued their silent work, painting the midnight sky with galaxies, reminding all who looked up that even the deepest voids could birth beauty and light. All with their aid. With their kindness."
Grian stared at him, mouth slightly agape, having fallen open at some stage during the story.
Logically...it didn't make any sort of sense. Watchers gave humanity light? Helped them in their hour of darkness? The same creatures that desecrated villages and took the lives of thousands.
Also there was no way they created stars. Stars created stars...or something. But stars were stars! Stars were what he believed in.
Beautiful, the story was, from a poetic perspective...but entirely just that. A lovely thought, but a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"You believe in that?" Grian asked quietly, he didn't want to sound patronising or anything, he was genuinely curious...it sounded too bizarre to be believable.
"Ehh." Scar dropped his hands by his sides, "Not really, its mostly just a children's story. But! I do believe that they came down to help us in our time of need. Not so much the galaxies bit." Scar smiled and rubbed his palms against his trousers.
"Are you feeling better then?" Scar smiled, just a tiny bit and it lit a fire behind Grian's ribs.
"Yes, Scar. Where did you learn to do shadow puppets?" Grian asked, the brunette infront of him melting away any negative energy his body held...for now anyway...in his company.
"I'm a man of many mysteries!" Scar wiggled his fingers, entirely unhelpful but it made Grian smirk.
"Ooh! Lemme tell you about the fox and the rabbit!" Scar jumped and lifted his fingers to form the shadow of a rabbit.
"The what?" Grian thought he would be used to Scar's one-eightys by now, apparently not.
"It's a nursery rhyme, and I'm amazing at the rabbit shadow." Scar grinned ear to ear.
"Hey, Scar?" Grian said quickly, before he could talk himself out of it or forget.
"Hm?" Scar paused his movements, just for a second before glancing at Grian.
"I won't be able to come tomorrow. Just letting you know." Grian said, dreading the moment Scar asked why. But it didn't happen.
"Okay." Scar replied instead with an understanding smile and continued with his show.
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Every step was harder than the last, the air grew more stale and the night more quiet. Too quiet. Nothing to distract his mind, allowing the storm to move in and drench him with thoughts that burned like torture.
The veil fell. The fantasy snapped in half. He wasn't with Scar anymore.
How was he supposed to be happy, all alone, when tomorrow he would have to do the one thing that haunted him to do.
Funny how emotions worked. He forgot about the looming destruction when he was inside the eye of the hurricane, but upon exit it all came back crashing down.
He was happy, then he wasn't.
He just wanted to get this over with.
Man up.
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Grian felt sick to his stomach, swallowing back bile as it rose and stung his throat every few seconds to keep from vomiting. Vomiting wasn't ideal in itself, an even more so mid flight.
He was soaring through the air this time instead of traveling to town by foot as he was accompanied by a magpie. They flew side by side, he didn't even know the magpie's name, just another soldier, someone else that was probably super okay with just killing off innocents who hadn't done anything—
He barely registered it when they flew within the town's borders, he only snapped out of his half-dazed zoning when the magpie whistled at him. Grian blinked and glanced over, the man nodded once and swooped down to perch atop a few stories of housing, Grian took his familiar place on the old clock tower.
He was starting to hate this perch.
Everything was ordinary. Merchants bragged about their wares, yelling out to passersby in attempts to sell trinkets one didn't acctually need, but were pleasing and enticing to the eye.
Bakers rolled up their carts, stock piled with fresh bread and pastry for the folk to stock their cupboards with, applying discounts for family friends and catching up on how the in-laws were keeping.
Children sprinted down streets with no caution, absorbed in the childish innocence one grew out of far too quickly, untainted by the true horrors and evils of the real world. Happily residing in their world of make believe where their largest worries were schooling and imaginary goblins lurking under bridges.
Women and girls sold flowers. Men tried their best at charm. Everything worked in perfect harmony to its surroundings.
Soldiers lined the streets bearing the red-crest, strolling down cobbled roads in an attempt to look ordinary, doing rounds, no suspicion.
Grian sucked in a deep breath, relishing in the short relief fresh air gave to his anxiety and pulled the bow off of his back, easing it through his wing to get it firmly in his grasp.
He was stationed up here. A birds-eye view of the entire operation on purpose. So he could watch, as his brother wanted. Not only watch...but be the one to light the fuse. With unsteady hands, Grian slid an arrow out from his small quiver and lit the tip ablaze. Mechanically, he positioned his arrow, moved his shoulders back and elbows out and drew back the bow-string.
The supply cart was wheeled out by a burly looking man, a long white beard braided into three different sections. Grian tightened his jaw, a whistle sounded and the magpie swooped down faster than lightning and planted the explosion before propelling upwards.
Grian let the arrow fly.
An earth rattling boom crashed through the air, barely drowned out by the guttural screams of terror from the folk in the surrounding area. A large plume of smoke, larger than life, erupted from the site of the explosion. People started to sprint away, ushering their children to safety while others screamed names of loved ones concealed by the smoke.
Grian's hands shook, but he hardly registered them. He hardly registered anything outside his immediate line of sight. Not the breeze or the raging beat of his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut. Ears ringing, splitting his skull in half.
It was done. It was over and he couldn't do anything to change that.
He couldn't revive charred bodies and he couldn't offer condolences to families. It was all his fault. He could've fought harder, resisted more, ignored the signal.
They didn't do anything. What crime had they committed? The crime of trust? If someone came and told Grian that the moon was evil and he should stop seeking to it for direction, he wouldn't buy into it either.
Grian's brain operated on its own accord for the rest of the day. His soul and being were somewhere else, somewhere else in the deepest pits of guilt and sorrow he had ever encountered. Sure, his entire life hadn't been all amazing and lovely and perfect, he had extensive experience with the void of despair...especially after that one...Eye...but this was somehow worse. What excuse did he have?
He came down from that rooftop mechanically, other red-crests voices echoing off his ears like repellent, but his brain knew what to do, knew to keep quiet and follow the group.
He intentionally avoided looking at the destruction. If he saw a body he'd very very likely vomit and that would only serve to plunge him deeper into the void.
He didn't fly back. Didn't have the concentration.
He didn't speak at the after debrief. His brother didn't force him too. His sullenness was indicator enough that it was done.
Grian never got used to how the void of himself worked, he could operate quite the same as 'fully mentally there' Grian did, he could walk and look and breathe and eat...but he didn't speak...or smile. Everything around him was passing in a swirl of colour and noise, useless chatter that only served to make his ears ring and head pound even if he couldn't fully understand the words being said. Like he didn't speak the language. A forgein place in a forgein body surrounded by forgein people who spoke foreign languages.
Nobody bothered him directly.
Night rolled around too slow, Grian was itching to get out to the forest, restlessly pacing his room on light feet waiting for the correct time to head out, the same time he went out through the gate to meet his Eye every single night.
Scar could fix him, right? Right? He didn't like the void. He really didn't like the void. Scar always—somehow, maybe with some Eye sorcery—managed to make him feel better, warm and fuzzy with just that dopey grin alone.
He paced and paced and paced and paced until his stupid slow brain slammed an spear through his throat.
He told him he wouldn't come tonight.
Scar wasn't going to come tonight.
Grian grabbed a handful of feathers and yanked, trying to gulp down breaths instead of heaving them so he wouldn't wake his roommate. He couldn't do that on top of anything else, be a murderer and a shitty roommate.
He plucked red feathers, yellow feathers, blue feathers, anything to make the world around him stop spinning.
Pain. Pain he knew pain. He knew pain. Pain was good. His brain could focus on pain.
Grian yanked out another handful, barely registering when smudges of blood stained his fingertips..
He was alone in this blasted room in this blasted base with his own blasted thoughts.
He was a soldier who couldn't kill.
That was obvious now that the idea came...but his blood ran cold. He froze his excessive plucking and stared at the dark blurry items that made up his room.
He was a soldier who couldn't kill.
Not wouldn't. Couldn't.
Well then what fucking good was he?! What good was he, a red-crest—a HermitHollow soldier who couldn't kill! Couldn't kill an Eye without suffocating, couldn't kill a few townsfolk without ripping his feathers out!
The one thing, The one thing he was trained for.
Grian shoved the door open, too foggy-minded to muffle his movements as he sprinted down the hall, each step spent catching himself so he wouldn't fall flat on his ass.
He leaped down the stairs two at a time and bursted into the basement. He needed some sort of familiarity. If he couldn't have Scar then maybe he could have this, right? Maybe he could have this? He wheezed into the floor...gasping and gripping his shirt where his heart was underneath.
He was a soldier who couldn't kill.
Except he did. He did with his two hands. People were dead. Families were torn apart. Children would spend nights crying because mama or papa will never come home. Parents will mourn that their child never got to experience their next birthday.
All because of him.
All his fault.
He's wasted too much time blaming Jimmy when he was the culprit all along.
He has control over his actions, his movement and muscle.
He could've said no. He could've...
Grian sucked in a sharp breath that stung on the way down and swiveled his head around like a blind fawn. His fingers met the coarse leather of his sword handle and he closed his whole hand around it, breath defeaningly loud in the small space, echoing and grating on his ears.
He killed innocent people.
Unprovoked.
They weren't Watchers. He trained hard every day to avenge his parents against the Watchers.
The Watchers were the evil ones. Not innocent fathers and florists.
He was weak.
He raised the blade with unsteady arms, whole body trembling like he had been thrust into the northern snowstorms.
If all those people died by his hand what right did he have to live?
He straightened himself on his knees, invisioning his thrust in his head. Straight through the stomach. Twist.
They felt pain. Agony. Being blown to symathaireens.
Why shouldn't he feel the same?
Netty screamed, screamed and begged for a sliver or mercy as he just dug the blade deeper.
Why should he escape that sort of pain?
Why should he live when innocents died?
Netty did nothing, raised her hands even when armed and trained.
Civilians did nothing but try and survive the war. Loyal to their beliefs.
Emerald eyes flashed in his head, the widest of smiles despite being thrust into a world where war was life. Scar tissue pulling at the sides of his cheeks, but he smiled either way, the corners of his eyes crinkled, teeth barred in unfiltered joy.
He didn't deserve to experience life.
Jimmy would be better off not wasting his time on someone like Grian. A weak link. A child who couldn't follow through simple orders without a big song and dance.
He was nothing but filth.
He was a horrible, heartless monster. How much better was he than the Watchers?
His parents would be disgusted with Grian.
Grian took a breath, squeezed his eyes closed, adjusted his grip with sweaty palms, raised the sword higher and—
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Grian gasped, looking around for the source of...whatever that just was.
It was unlike anything Grian had ever heard before, unlike any language or tone he had encountered. Something so...melodic, several layers of harmonies compacted into one single sound that rang through his ears, through the empty space but with no source at all.
Grian's breathed returned to him in a shaky exhale and he let his hands fall atop his head, the blade point facing downwards as he tried to catch up with his oxygen debt.
Crazy.
He was acctually going crazy.
His arms slinked down until the sword was resting infront of his bent knees on the stone. He nearly...
Stars, he really was crazy.
He leaned back until he fell on his ass, shuffling away from the blade as if scared he was going to pick it back up again, finish what he had started. Grian let out a hiss of a breath and rubbed the balls of his palms into his eyes.
"Get a fucking hold of yourself Grian." He whispered, cold walls encasing his shame.
He needed something. He needed- he didn't know he didn't know he had no idea what he needed but his brain was going to pop like a damn balloon if he didn't do something.
He couldn't do what he did last time. With Netty. Shove it down so deep that it could never see the light of day, of course until it did and it sends Grian down to nearly taking his own—
Grian scrambled up onto his feet and rubbed his hands through his hair.
Okay okay okay okay okay okay.
He had an idea. He had an idea and if it didn't work he had two other people who might do it for him.
He stumbled back a pace and winced when his wings collided with the wall, he yanked on his roots to get a better grip on the here and now before he shoved the door open and hauled hauled himself back up the steps.
Now...there could be a chance that he was asleep. But Grian had known him to stay up exceedingly late doing...whatever, plotting probably. So he just prayed to the stars that tonight was one of those nights so he wouldn't be forced to go and wake up Xisuma or Etho. He had no choice, he couldn't drag himself to bed like this.
And he didn't want to die. Not really. Not truly. He just...felt too damn much.
He stumbled down the hall half dead (ha) before making it to his brother's door, a soft orange glow emanating through the slit at the bottom. Grian was so fucking relieved he could cry.
Whenever he pushed the door open without knocking, Jimmy looked up from his papers—and upon sight of his dishevelled brother his features morphed into a deep scowl.
"Grian what on earth—"
Grian intently ignored him, practically sprinted over. Jimmy turned in his chair to face the right side where Grian was coming around before the parrot dropped down like a ragdoll to his knees, pressing his forehead against his brother's knee, unfazed when his still healing nose pressed against the fabric of his trousers.
"Grian-?!" The canary squawked but Grian ignored him. Ignored him and ignored him and cut him off because yes—he looked like he had utterly lost his mind but he just wanted quiet, he just wanted his dammed brain to be quiet.
"Tell me I had to." Grian rasped.
"Grian what in the stars—"
"Tell me I had to!" Grian all but yelled, hugging his stomach and digging his nails into the soft clothed flesh. "Tell me I had to. That everyone would have died to the Watchers if I hadn't tortured Netty, if I hadn't killed all those people." Grian gasped, breaths coming in in erratic pants with no rhyme or reason other than the instinctual need to breathe even when his lungs refused to.
The canary stayed silent.
"Tell me! Please! Lie to me I don't care! I don't care Jimmy I can't—I won't question you just TELL ME SO I CAN GO TO FUCKING SLEEP."
Grian started to sob somewhere through his outburst, making his breathing situation all the more tricky.
"Grian cease this—"
"YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!" Grian all but screamed. He was weak. He was a baby. He was sensitive. He wasn't a man. Whatever! "I can't think properly or breathe or function! I keep hearing shit and I nearly—!!" No...he couldn't tell anyone about that.
"Please! Please brother please, please please. Hit me if you must I don't care, beat me for my weakness just take my thoughts away from me." He blabbered, growing increasingly more and more desperate.
He heard his brother swallow, fully put down his quill.
"That Eye gave us valuable information." He started slowly, "Had you not done what you did we would've lost good men in gathering that sort of information straight from the source." Jimmy said, voice low and oddly grounding. It usually scared him...he was in a state beyond fear right now though so he supposed it made sense.
"That Eye, if not dead, would have killed your comrades with her bare hands on the battle field. Had she gotten out she would've described our faces in detail to her gods and then who would lead my troops?"
That...made...sense...
"Those townsfolk died for their country. Had they kept supplying the Watchers with every single material and food, we would be at a disadvantage and that would up the chances of the Watchers winning, Their victory would've lead to the deaths of millions. We've given ourselves an advantage. Their next supply is gone. And now they know that aiding Watchers is the wrong move. You saved lives, opened their eyes."
Grian's brain worked in strange ways. He knew, his heart pulsed with it—that it was wrong. All of this was wrong and horrific and no amount of reasoning will ever make him kill another man with good faith...but his brain didn't need to believe that. If he believed hard enough...then he could sleep. He could breathe and think.
He was manipulating himself, snagging his foot in his own trap. But anything was better than the void. If he had to rewire his own brain by hand then so be it.
"Xisuma and Etho would have died if not for your help. They would've bled out and their families would be missing a member for the rest of their lives. Your comrade? You'd live every day knowing you could've prevented his death. Xisuma, an amazing officer, could have lived. And now they will, live."
Grian let out a ragged breath, nearly convulsing with each intake. Good. Good good good the more...horrific the hypotheticals...the better.
"We're the good guys...aren't we?" Grian choked, the line between good and evil was so intensely blurred no matter how hard he blinked it would not clear.
"We are." Jimmy answered, firm.
Grian swallowed back his sick.
"Hey." The canary lifted him by the hair, not hard...but if anything the little pinpricks of pain were welcomed, Grian chose not to focus on the little harrow of his eyes, inspecting his face, "For mum and dad." Jimmy stared, right into his soul, the blue eyes that tied their family line together.
"For mum and dad." Grian returned in a broken whisper, vocal chords raw.
"Go to sleep Grian." Jimmy muttered, eyes narrowing. "Don't make me do this again." That was cold, it seared right into the front of Grian's brain.
"Yes sir." He mumbled and sat back on his heels, gathering his bearing before he pushed himself up on unsteady feet, stumbling the first few steps.
"Grian." Grian froze, his back automatically straightening. "I thought it was clear that you'll need to kill. Centre yourself with that so we don't have this recurring issue."
Grian swallowed, his throat throbbed with soreness. "Yes sir." He said quietly and left, closing the door with a soft click behind him.
Well...something worked. He was exhausted...and his head was numb. Better numb than spinning. He walked like the undead back to his room.
He paused in the doorway when he saw Mumbo up and awake...seemingly waiting, his head immediately perked at the soft creak of old hinges, his shoulders dropping.
"Hi." Mumbo said quietly, picking at the skin around his fingers, then, his brows scrunched. "Did you pluck your feathers?"
Grian stiffened and lifted a wing out of impulse. "Yea." He muttered. He just didn't have the energy to lie.
"Why? G...what happened?" Mumbo asked, voice almost pained in the deep worry he possessed.
"Nothing." Grian mumbled and rubbed his eyes, he waddled forward and hauled himself up into his cot with the last shred of strength he had remaining before completely collapsing.
"Mumbo?" He said, so so quiet that he wouldn't be surprised if the engineer didn't hear, but of course his luck wasn't that good.
"Yes?" Mumbo answered, too quick.
"Can you tell me...stuff." Way to be descriptive. Grian cringed at himself. "Anything. Literally anything."
"Uh- y-yea! Yea I can do that." Mumbo cleared his throat.
Grian fell asleep mid way through an explanation in what observers did.
Notes:
Yes the 'you have no idea what sacrifice is' was inspired by Joel's line in the last of us: 'you have no idea what loss is'
See I was gonna give Grian a concussion but then realistically I'd have to give him recovery time and really who has time for that?
Chapter 7: Three Days Time.
Summary:
Bad things then good things then bad things, what else?
Notes:
Yea usually I have more to say buttttt, nope. Enjoy the chapter !!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Grian shoveled grain into his mouth—sort of like a porridge substance though instead of being mixed with hot milk it was mixed with hot water. Everything tasted the same to him to be honest, even growing up every bland flavour just started to blend together overtime. It was his own personal flex that he could eat anything at all.
He raised another spoonful to his mouth before Etho's voice cut through his breakfasting, "Yo feathers, did you pluck your wings?"
Grian let out a small sigh, Mumbo stayed completely silent beside him, figuring he'd spend a little time admiring the wooden beams holding the mess up.
"No." Grian muttered.
Etho was never one to dig too deep, he took his answer and figured there was a good reason for it. Grian liked that about him. He also liked being able to finish his breakfast for once without being interrupted.
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Grian had no idea how much he truly missed his Eye until he walked his familiar trail through the forest—breathing in the addicting scent of oak and fern—had no idea how much he truly missed Scar until the shining ball of light was infront of him.
And then suddenly—literally infront of him. Like centimetres away.
"Oh thank goodness Griffen! I heard about the explosion!" Scar said quickly, taking Grian's face into his hands before the avian had a second to process what on earth was going on.
Scar tilted his face this way and that, "Did you get hurt?" He asked, brows furrowed with genuine worry as he lifted Grian's fringe up just a bit to feel his forehead— "Stars I'm so glad you're alive—"
Grian caught his wrists, slowly bringing them away from himself.
"I'm fine." Grian said quietly and lead Scar to his rock and he to his usual spot on the grass.
"Did you pluck your feathers?" Scar asked upon sitting down, brows still knotted in worry he couldn't let go of.
Why did everyone keep asking him that??
"Yes." Grian whispered. He couldn't lie to Scar. He could lie to his brain but he couldn't lie to his only safe space. Ironic considering the whole identity he knew was a lie.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Scar slid down the rock and sat on the grass beside Grian, getting down to his level...it was acctually pretty...nice of him. "If not I have more shadow puppet stories planned! Or just ordinary talking, or stupid talking—I love that one, makes for funny conversation if that's what you need right now."
How was this man real?
"I don't like...killing..." Grian bit his lip, "...deer."
"Deer?" Scar prompted with a tilt of his head.
"Mhm...they're...i-i know I'm a hunter...that's what I do...my...uh...brother was a hunter too...it's how I was brought up...it's my one purpose. But sometimes...I feel bad. I feel really really guilty because...well the deer didn't do anything to me...why should I be the decider of who lives and dies?"
Scar was quiet for a second, "Well...you need to to survive don't you? To sell it and eat it..." Scar said slowly, giving him his full and undivided attention. "I-I'm sure the deer doesn't hold it against you."
Maybe...but still.
"But what about its deer family?" Grian said softly, really leaning into this whole metaphor he had going.
"Well...you feel bad. Bad people don't feel bad." Scar shrugged slightly, "Would it help any if I told you I don't think you're bad?"
Oh.
"Thanks Scar." Grian whispered with a tight throat.
"Of course." Scar bumped his shoulder with his.
Grian was quiet a moment...he didn't like to talk about his feelings, even in the metaphorical sense...he was all talked out.
Silence settled between them.
"Do you wanna talk about pandas now?" Scar whispered in that natural instinct he had to make Grian smile.
"What are pandas?"
Scar gasped, like acctually fully gasped.
"You've never heard of pandas?! Oh ho ho my friend you're in for a treat! So basically—"
They sounded make believe. But Grian listened anyway.
Going through the foods they ate, Grian felt tiny droplets of rain patter against his cheek, if Scar felt them he didn't show it, or more probably didn't even notice.
Grian didn't want to interrupt his passionate rant, he enjoyed them too much to even risk it..so...as subtly as he could, he lifted up one of his parrot wings up and held it over Scar's head, shielding him from the rain and getting hit himself with any drops that dripped through the foliage.
Scar kept rambling.
Success.
Grian let himself melt into the comfort of his voice. Followed the movement of his lips and how certain words pulled at them, in turn stretching the scar tissue around his cheeks. Grian wanted to ask about them, know about them. Know him. Know how they came to be, who hurt him or if it was an accident. He watched his jade eyes light up like the sun peaking over after hibernating in the unforgiving winters, found it oddling satisfying how the brunette locks hanging down his forehead swayed and bounced when he made a particularly animated gesture.
He would get vital information from him tomorrow. For now...he payed full attention to these creatures called 'pandas'.
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It was quiet for a bit, anywhere else it would've been nice, a breather from the chaos. But war doesn't neatly shcrudale in five minutes whenever things get rough. It just is—chaos. Which only made the temporary relief feel all the more eerie.
It was the calm before the storm. Everyone was braced for something—a breach, an invasion, explosives and spies.
Until the other shoe dropped.
Grian was carrying boxes of spearing heads for Impulse when— from seemingly thin air—a thick purple smoke spreaded out, curling and weaving from various sources around the camp since when Grian looked around multiple areas were already being consumed.
When the smoke curled around his body, it attacked his throat instantly, sending him into fits of coughing. As a result, Grian dropped the box—the scattering of spear heads was the least of their worries right now—and coughed into the crook of his elbow, lifting his arm over his face to hide his mouth and nose.
What on earth?
It burned the back of his throat like acid, weaving around his senses and filling up every nook, every space, every pore, and lighting it up with blazing hot agony.
"GET INSIDE! GO GO QUICKLY!" Shouts erupted from nearly every soldier as people started to sprint...others being not so lucky.
Grian wanted to vomit when he saw red-crests start dropping dead, he himself didn't feel all that better, his muscles started to seize, shaking and rattling against his bones to the point that standing up became the most difficult of tasks. His wings spread in instinctual attempts to catch his fall as his body gave out and lowered him to his knees, the only truly clear sound was the erratic thump of his heart.
"Grian!" That voice, he recognised, but he couldn't acctually see where it was coming from, his eyes were stinging like crazy and starting to water as he coughed and coughed and coughed.
Was he shaking? He couldn't acctually tell. He could hardly focus beyond his choking gasps.
But then he was moving. Now that was hard to miss. Someone had yanked him up by the scruff of his shirt and was dragging him across the grass like a damm pup. Until grass met concrete.
He was thrust into a room and heard the crash of a door slam shut—the noise echoed in his ears a hundred times over, millions of doors slamming in a crescendo of thuds that sprouted a headache between his eyes. Everything was so blurry, ringing, bright. He wanted to rip his throat apart with his nails with how much it scratched and irritated.
"Drink this." A faint voice told him, whether it was a real person or a being of the stars...one couldn't be sure, but he opened his mouth anyway and let whatever be poured in. The sickly sweet syrup of a regen potion touched his tongue and his senses slowly but surely came back to him. He hated how sweet some potions were—Grian for one did not have a sweet tooth and it made him honestly a bit sick. Ironic considering the properties of the potion.
Grian could've cried at the relief it brought to his throat though, the insistent urge to cough his guts out had ceased. His foggy vision had cleared for the most part to the point that he could look around and gather his bearing. False was crouched infront of him, blonde braid falling over her shoulder and three empty potion bottles sitting at her heels. Three???
He looked around, Doc was busy shoving bed sheets against the windows and the cracks in the door to make sure none of that gas could seep in, Tango was standing in the corner, also recovering from his coughing fits, and Etho. Etho—the one who dragged him out—was staring at Grian with a firm narrow in his eyes, the kind of narrow he put on when he was told bad news, scolded, injured. The narrow that tried hard not to betray the emotion underneath.
"You alright Grian?" Not feathers, that was...a little jarring to say the least. Obviously it was his name but from Etho it didn't feel right.
"Yeah." Grian said, his throat scratchy and awkward before he cleared it. "I'm fine, you?"
"Fine." Etho nodded once.
"What is that shit?" Grian muttered, giving False a nod of thanks as she cleared away the empty bottles.
"Poisonous gas, that's all we know." Doc said grimly, checking over his handiwork.
"Have others made it out?" Grian asked next, putting his hands into his lap to wipe his sweaty palms.
"From what I saw, yes. People're doing what I did for you. Yelling to get inside. But still, saw people dropping." Etho said, his arms crossed with his hand just above his elbow.
Yelling to get inside. If every door is locked, covered, air tight—
"What if there are still people out there? We have to—"
"Worry about yourself." Etho cut Grian off and the avian scowled.
"So are we just supposed to sit here?" Grian snapped, the thought of good men and woman suffocating to their deaths because he wouldn't go out and help made his stomach churn.
"Look, Grian, if anyone is still out there then they're probably gone by now." Doc said firmly.
"See how bad of a state you were in? From just what, a minute and a half?" False said, she clearly didn't love the sound of it either...but it was realistic, "Just hope the majority got out."
Grian shut his jaw, clenched it tight. This was a fight he couldn't win.
"So we're just sitting here?" He muttered, not making an effort to keep the bitterness from his voice.
"Basically. Until it clears." Doc said, goat ear flicking.
"What if it doesn't clear?"
"It will clear."
Grian sighed and shuffled himself against a wall so he could lean his head back, fingers tapping restlessly against his arm.
Where on earth was Mumbo? Xisuma? His...brother?
He didn't lift his head when Etho sat down next to him, didn't even glance.
"I know you care, feathers." Etho said quietly, "But it's just the way things go, I'm sure everyone will be okay."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a baby Etho." Grian snapped, unsure where all this attitude sparked from. He was just frustrated, angry at himself and the universe. Angry at the Watchers and how easily they skittered like ants when their hill had water poured into it.
"You're not a baby Grian." Etho's voice became firmer, clearly unappreciative of the snapping but mature enough not to lose his cool, "But getting angry at the past is pointless."
Grian felt like a baby, "I...know that." He mumbled, mildly embarrassed.
"Good. Use that spark against the Watchers, not us, okay?" Etho bumped with shoulder with him.
"Kay." Grian grunted, pretending to be completely fed up with his lecturing, but he was acctually calmer.
He lifted his head and took a deep breath, only to see False and Doc already tinkering away with limited potion stock and what looked like—to Grian's untrained eye—scraps of junk.
"What're you doing?" Grian asked from his spot.
"It took three regen potions to get you back. If this happens again we don't have those kinds of materials to spare, and it's not exactly practical." False said, connecting up tubes.
"So, What're you supposin'?" Grian jumped to his feet and jogged over. If he couldn't help his comrades then maybe he could help the future comrades.
"With all do respect Grian Solidarity." Doc started and Grian already wanted to groan, "Let us figure this out. You've got your skill and we've got ours."
Grian sighed, he understood but he just wanted to help instead of being useless.
"Yeah fine." The avian mumbled, wings drooping as he sat down next to Etho to twiddle his thumbs or some shit.
His mind began to whirr.
"How did the Watchers even get in?" Grian muttered, "It seemed to come...from thin air. The gas."
"They're gods I suppose." Etho muttered.
But that posed the question. A big question that didn't make any sense no matter what way Grian dissected it.
"So if they can just get in...why don't they? Why only now?"
Grian say Doc's hands falter for a split second before they continued their movement.
"I don't know." Etho said honestly, "But I'm sure they have restrictions in our world or something. Who knows, gods are unpredictable."
It just didn't make any sense. But Grian knew if he got too hung up on it he would never stop, so, regretfully, he shoved it to the very back of his mind to forget about for now.
They sat trying to make themselves useful and tried to distract their minds from the very real possibility of many being dead or a second wave of attacks approaching. It would a logical move, strike while they're scrambling to keep life together.
They waited and waited for maybe around an hour and a half before Doc peeked around to look at the window. The camp seemed clear.
Now it was time to face the destruction.
Once Grian was out, he could see soldiers starting to do the same, poking their heads out and looking around the terrifying stillness, devoid of life, the air sucked dry.
The bodies were the most prominent consequence, but Grian tried not to look at them for fear he would get himself riled up and in a dark place—a place he was too exhausted to try and escape for the millionth time.
He instead scanned the living, looking for familiar faces. He saw Gem, he gave her a nod and she nodded back. She was okay.
Whistles rippled across the camp, back and forth to communicate safety. Impulse was alive. Bdubs alive—Etho broke off from Grian to go and greet him. Grian knew they were close, he also knew it wasn't his place to comment on brushes of the hand he'd catch on his nightly escapdes to see Scar, or the shorter standing on his tippy toes to deliver kisses to Etho. Grian was happy they were happy.
Cub was alive. Keralis too.
Stars Mumbo where on earth are you?
"Grian! Thank the stars."
Grian let out a sharp exhale, tension he had been holding slightly diffused as someone collided into his back.
"You're okay?" Grian turned around, inspecting his roommate who just nodded wildly.
"I was inside anyway when it truck." He explained, "I was with Cub."
Grian nodded and lifted his eyes up again like a meerkat. His feet carried him before he could think twice, leading him to a familiar Xisuma and pair of canary wings.
"You're alive." Grian stated, obviously relieved—they'd be pretty screwed without a general.
"'Course I am." Jimmy muttered, keeping his eyes narrowed on the field, lip quirked and arms crossed stiffly over his chest. He didn't look at Grian. "Count the dead." He muttered to Xisuma, quiet rage bubbling under the surface of his tone. "Go and help him, Grian."
Grian nodded immediately and followed after Xisuma when he broke off.
"You all okay?" Xisuma asked, doing that worry look he so loved to do, even when Grian was little.
"Yea. Fine." He mumbled. A little idea, just a tiny one, a miniscule thought that didn't even mean anything, he was just overthinking it: Jimmy didn't ask if he was okay. Yea...he was alive and infront of him but...
It was fine. He was fine. Everyone he cared for was fine.
He and Xisuma spent the rest of the day counting up soldiers as others bagged the bodies.
Eighty dead.
Including Officer Jevin.
Xisuma was grim, almost lifeless once he saw his body. Grian didn't know much about the man, but he seemed good—honest, caring.
Nobody could say where the gas came from. Not even Doc could figure out what it was made from due to a lack of a sample.
Suddenly though, while Grian finished taking all of the red-tags off the soldiers necks to possibly send back to their families via hawk—a series of a sharp swift whistles echoed through the camp. Every soldier came running, including Grian, alarm bells going off in his head.
The sea parted to allowed the general through, Grian himself managed to squeeze past a few foot soldiers and what he saw made his brows scrunch.
A single sign. Plaint wood. Plain coal.
"Careful next time :)"
Jimmy's jaw ticked and his hands clenched into fists at his sides so tight that they shook.
"We need longer range bombs. Get the explosive arrows out of prototype by tomorrow." He growled to nobody in particular, though it was clear who would carry it outer obviously—Cub, Keralis, maybe False would pitch in, Mumbo will definitely get word from Cub.
But nobody moved.
"GO!" Jimmy yelled and the soldiers scattered away from his wrath to go and let the relevant officers know if they didn't know already.
He was being mocked. They were all being mocked.
"Jimmy...?" Grian tried to speak up.
"Shut up Grian! Just be quiet for once in your life and get out of my sight!" His brother roared, cheeks flushed red with rage as he pointed to a random direction, nostrils flared.
Grian didn't want to admit that he flinched, instincts screaming at him to step back, to run away, berating him about danger danger danger.
Grian waddled down the hall excitedly, trying not to trip over his own stubby legs—but he was just too excited! Way too exciting for a measly, SLOW walk!! He has to get there super duper duper fast! It was really very important.
He beamed and pushed big brother's office door open with all his might, bubbling over around to his desk, eyes gleaming with childish giddiness.
"Brother! Brother brother brother look! Look I got my first feather! Look it's red, see!" Grian squealed and tried his best to present it proudly even if he didn't have all that good co-ordonation with his wings.
Brother ignored him, brows scrunched as he scribbled on a sheet of parchment.
"Brother!!" Grian persisted, trying to tug oh his brother's trouser leg—
"Be quiet Grian!"
"Yes sir." The avian muttered and walked away with the rest of the soldiers, taking deep breaths of the fresh air in attempts to settle the erratic spike in his heart rate.
Fine. He'd do what he was told.
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Scar let out a large long yawn into the crook of his elbow, just ever so slightly flexing his shoulder muscle back to rid it of its kinks.
"Tired?" Grian tilted his head, observing intently...Scar had this way of keeping Grian's eyes on him at all times...he couldn't look away. Strange Eye witchery.
Scar's face melted into a sleep smile, eyes soft around the edges, "Ah, more home-sick. You know?"
"Hm." Maybe Griffen could relate somewhat, but Grian couldn't. He didn't understand home sickness when military drills were his home and always had been, his once upon a time village lost to those with memories.
He almost forgot ordinary people had homes beyond sword blades.
"What's home like?" Grian asked, taking any excuse to get Scar going on a long story. With him, the longer the better.
"Cozy." Scar said, clearly the first thing that came to mind. "Ma loved granny squares, you know the things that are like patches of about a million colours and patterns? Those." Scar laughed lightly, "The house was covered in them. She probably made most of them herself. The bedsheets, pillows, curtains, were always screaming at you with colour." Scar reminisced fondly...his voice growing softer and softer with each word.
"Every Friday would be our designated cookie night. She'd make a whole tray just for the two of us every Friday without fail...and we would just sit in the living room together with warm milk—sometimes tea, and laugh. She'd tell me all kinds of stories about when I was a baby and when she was a girl. And when we were done, I'd sit against her and she would read to me until I fell asleep. She got all kinds of books from merchants—some were a bit odd in all honesty but the majority were pretty good. Ma didn't like the ones with pirates in them...but I did...so she kept buying them for me."
All of Grian's scars collectively decided to regain feeling, torturing Grian with tingles. That...sounded really really nice.
"Though, obviously when I got older I read my own books, but the tradition upholded, cookies and then our respective reading together." Scar continued, once emittinating pure warmth.
"What about your dad?" Grian asked next, genuinely curious to know what other sweet little traditions he had, domestic pleasures that Grian would've never dreamed of. Grian's heart dropped when Scar's smile faded a little and his eyes went downcast—guilt hitting him like an arrow to the chest.
"He left before I was born." Scar said quietly, picking at the loose strings on his trousers.
Grian furrowed his brows immediately, utterly taken aback—he thought he had accidentally brought up a death or something. Left???
"What?? Why?" Grian asked, slightly exasperated.
Scar just shrugged, "I don't know." He mumbled.
"Well- do you know where he is? Working or- or is he a soldier too?" That was the only logical explanation right?
"Nope." Scar shrugged, he was quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip. "He just left, ma says its because he's a weak coward who can't handle responsibility. He didn't wanna take care of a baby, I guess."
Grian's stomach churned, a tight knot that pulled taut by Scar's final words. Grian couldn't imagine it, couldn't fathom why on earth a person would willingly choose to leave behind their baby, to leave behind their wife because of a little hardship? From Grian's knowledge it took two to have a baby so it wasn't like this was some kind of accident either—not that that would be a liable excuse either.
Stars. Just leaving? Just packing up and going? Grian would be pissed off—he was pissed off, on Scar's behalf.
"Well good riddance then." Grian all but snapped, bubbling with hatred for a man he had never met. What was wrong with that man? He was just cool with never watching his baby grow up? Never meeting his boy? Missing first steps and first words? "He doesn't deserve you anyway." Grian grunted.
Scar's smile appeared again, a shy little thing, "You sound like ma." Scar chuckled.
"Well your mother sounds like a very intelligent lady." Grian said with a small nod, adjusting his sitting position a little to let his wings fan out.
Scar snorted and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, "What about you? What're your parents like?"
Grian snapped straight.
"Come on." Scar laughed, "Enough about me! Whether you believe it or not Mr grumpy pants I acctually care about you, so I wanna know!"
Well this was suddenly very very awkward.
"They're dead." Grian muttered pretty much under his breath to ease the blow, avoiding the brunette's eyes while he picked at grass blades.
The silence was defenaing.
"Stars—Griffen I didn't mean, shit. I'm sorry." Scar rambled out, half panicked.
"It's okay." Grian looked up at him, "Really...it's fine." He gave him a little smile to prove it which instantly softened Scar's internal emergency.
"So.." He cleared his throat, "You live alone then? At seventeen?" He sounded almost pitying, it made Grian queasy.
He didn't have to know about Jimmy. His 'brother' wasn't home. Griffen's brother was off somewhere. He didn't have to go into detail about him...he made the mistake of stupidly mentioning him once in his dumb metaphor.
"Yea." He muttered, "It's fine though, I like being alone...and it's less mouths to feed and whatever." He rattled on, really really not wanting to be the subject of Scar's worry.
"But you like being around me, don't you?" Grian suppressed the biggest sigh of his life—teasing. He could do teasing—he loved Scar's teasing...most of the time.
"Yes, Scar." Grian smirked, conceeding, his heart rate running miles whenever Scar's face lit up like a bonfire.
"Good." He grinned, shuffling his position a little. Cocky Eye.
"Don't let it get to your head." Grian snorted, just glad the attention was off a past he did not want to culminate.
"I'm not!" Scar argued, lifting both hands to further prove that he was absolutely innocent.
Cute.
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Grian stepped back into his room like he did every single night, moonlight streaming through the window, his boots lightly scuffing on the floor so quiet you couldn't hear it unless you were really listening.
Except this time, there was no moonlight streaming in through their single window, nor was there the shadow of darkness to conceal his outings. A lantern was lit, shining the room in a warm yellow hue, and instead of being asleep—out like a light like Grian was used to—he stood in the middle of the room, arms firmly crossed across his chest. He quit his pacing the second he heard Grian come in, giving him a look he couldn't decipher. It gave the avian quite the fright.
"Where have you been?" He asked, trying to looked all assertive and unwavering—it was such an unnatural look that it didn't really land how Grian thinks Mumbo thinks it did.
"Nowhere." Grian muttered, remaining as calm and collected as possible while he untied his sword from his hip.
"'Nowwhere'? You've been sneaking out every night to go 'nowhere'?"
Exactly how long had Mumbo been speculating for? Watching him for? Maybe he wasn't as heavy of a sleeper as Grian thought...
"Exactly." Grian muttered.
"Grian. I'm worried. You don't get enough sleep as is and now you miss half the damn night—??" Mumbo stepped forward and tried to take his arm but Grian shrugged out of it.
"I'm fine Mumbo." He insisted.
"Well I'm not letting this go! Are you training more? Grian you're going to swing yourself to the ground if you keep—"
"It's not for training." Grian cut off his incoming rant about the importance of sleep for the brain and energy and...whatever whatever.
"Then what?" Mumbo persisted, brows furrowed in genuine confusion, "What do you have to do that has to take place at night?"
"I'm...meeting someone." Grian muttered, turning to take his jacket off and ease it around his wings, admitting it only because he genuinely didn't have the patience for this back and forth.
"Meeting...somebody?" Mumbo said slowly, half to himself. Grian could see him raise his chin a tad out of his peripherals. "Who?"
"Mother spore." Grian monotoned. A figure that lurked in forest—or something like that. A children's tale to scare kids into going to sleep or else Mother Spore would cover their rooms in mycelium.
Mumbo let out a huff of a laugh that held no humour while his foot began to tap. "Seriously, who are you seeing? Is it a girl?" He pressed, "A guy?"
Grian went quiet.
"It is a guy! Who?!" Mumbo all but exclaimed before clocking that it was still infact maybe between three or four am and lowered his voice, "Who?"
Grian sighed, leaning his head back a moment to regarded his thoughts before taking a glance back at his roommate. "What's the big issue?"
Mumbo flushed pink.
"Well! Well there's no issue I- I er wouldn't say that but-! But you're losing sleep obviously!" He snapped his fingers, "Yes! That's the issue! Obviously!"
Grian gave him a long look, "Right...? Well I'm fine. I still get four or five hours a night. Sometimes six, others seven. It all depends. And it's all I need." Grian reasoned, making a slight twirling motion with his index finger to signal for Mumbo to turn around so be could change.
For some reason Mumbo turned a deeper shade of rose and awkwardly spun himself around.
The room went silent, apart from the soft rustle of cloth brushing against cloth.
"Are you seeing him or...seeing him?" Mumbo said quietly, awkwardly disrupting the silence...just as Grian thought he would be cut loose. His throat tightened.
"It's not like that." Grian grunted.
"Good." Mumbo said, too quick, before clearing his throat, "Good. Good that...that's good...y'know because...he could be a serial killer...or something."
Grian furrowed his brows and pulled his shirt down, changed into his sleep attire. That was almost laughable. Scar. A killer.
Wellllll—he was an Eye...but whatever! He was a sweet guy, the kind that you looked at and immediately registered that he wouldn't hurt a fly.
"He's not a serial killer." Grian monotoned.
"How do you know?" Mumbo turned around whenever he heard the gentle ruffle of feathers as Grian hauled himself up to his top cot.
"Becuase I just know." Grian stated, sitting cross-legged and staring down at his roommate.
Mumbo narrowed his eyes.
"Why are you so caught up about this?" Grian asked. He had known Mumbo for years now and never once has he seen him this...uncomfortable? That wasn't exactly the word for it, but Grian couldn't find it, if he didn't know any better he would've called him jealous. But that was absurd.
"I'm not at all!" Mumbo announced and tried to make a show of slipping back into his cot casually—only to bang his forehead on the frame. "I'm totally chill." He added with a small hiss, rubbing his newly forming bruise.
"Uh...huh..." Grian scrunched his nose before laying down on his back, still staring at the ceiling even as the lantern light went out.
"G?" Came Mumbo's voice again.
"Hm?" He returned.
"Be careful, yea?" He said slowly, "You've still got a war to fight."
"I know."
Oh he knew. It made him sweat.
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"Hey False? I needa stock up on health potions." Grian said casually as he came into her little laboratory—the place was seriously coming together in what Grian could only assume also looked like the inside of her brain.
The place was a little creepy, shelves lined with bottles glowing of every colour and dozens of brewing stands stationed at even intervals for maximised efficiently—but it was still cool. The jars of spider eyes were creepy—but cool.
Anyway, False held up a single hand so she could finish clicking a bottle into place before turning around to greet him, her face paled immediately.
"How on earth did you manage that?!" She exclaimed, Grian didn't see what the big deal was. He held up his arm, positioning his other hand under it to catch any falling droplets of blood—the side of his hand all the way down to his mid forearm had a gash in it, it didn't really hurt so much as it was just a pain in the ass and would definitely need stitches. Grian wanted to do anything but stitch himself back together—now was a really inconvenient time to not be able to move his sword arm properly for fear of tearing stitching, Jimmy was furious and everyone was on edge, he couldn't afford to not be on his a-game incase Jimmy needed a punching bag to relieve his stress.
"Sword." Grian shrugged, he had done worse to himself before—granted that was whenever he was smaller and not as competent, but whatever. These things happened and he was fine.
"Stars." False hissed and turned on his heels to fetch a potion, she came back and uncorked it, putting her palm underneath to catch any stray drops—
"I can drink it myself." Grian took the bottle, furrowing his brows in confusion at her sudden babying.
"I worry about you Grian." False crossed her arms as though to challenge Grian's odd look.
"It's just a scratch False." Grian assured and downed the potion in one hard swing, hissing through his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as flesh weaved itself back together—it didn't hurt per-say, it was just a very very odd feeling, like an insistent bunch of pins and needles—plus drinking a potion quickly like that often burned his throat.
His gash was no more than a long, pale, spindly scar.
False let out a long sigh and walking away grumbling, "Kids."
Grian's eyes followed her movements and landed on what could only be described as...a contraption. He didn't exactly know what on earth he was looking at...some sort of torture device? It looked like a mask, but with clear tubing coming out of two symmetrical sides, connecting to some sort of centre point behind the thing. It was crafted out of a dark material, almost resembling bronze.
He only snapped out of his hovering when False turned her head. She wasn't stupid, she could feel his eyes on her.
Grian cleared his throat, "Uhm...what is that?" He asked, ignoring his own sheepish blush.
"Doc and I have been working on a counter for that purple gas." Fasle replied, "When you drink a potion it goes down your esophagus, allll the way down to your stomach—I'm unsure what goes on from there but I can only assume that the properties speed up the distribution process in the cells and the effects are carried to the area of interest. But the gas is breathed through your nose and goes down a completely separate tube to the lungs, making that potion in your stomach...ehh, impractical."
Grian pretended to know what he was talking about, he got the main premise though.
"So," She continued, "We've developed a mask where you can breathe in the potion directly. It should in theory block out the gas and allow you to breathe, but if gas gets in the potion will attack it. It should waste less potion and provide better results."
That...sounded brilliant. How False and Doc came up with such things was beyond him, but now that it was explained it sounded like such a no-brainer.
"Wow..." Grian whispered, running his fingertips over the tubing, "How does it work?" He asked, now genuinely interested.
False smirked a little and picked the mask up, "These tubes connect to a holder which will rest against your nape. When you breath in, the force will suck the potion through and at these little diffusers will break down the liquid and turn it to a gas to be breathed in. This little switch on the side is what opens it up and starts the whole thing—so if there's no gas you can still wear it without wasting the potion, but if disaster strikes, one little flip and you're all good to go."
"Amazing." Grian whispered. Genius.
False just hummed, "We're planning on making one for every soldier, it'll be a lot of work but we're making really good time."
"Is it fool proof?" The avian asked, meeting her eye.
Her hesitation made his stomach drop a little.
"Ehhh-" False made a so-so motion with her hand, "In theory, we can't really run any tests without the presence of the gas, but really everything should work out perfectly. I've triple checked the design and I can't see how it would go wrong. Though, I suppose if you were really in trouble you could take the potion out, drink that and hope for the best.
Grian hummed, wings shifting on his back as he roved his eyes over the mechanism.
"I'm sure it's good." He nodded. False nodded back before taking a deep breath.
"Well- I'm gonna work on this for a while. Call in if you need any more potions yea?" False said while putting the mask back down on her workbench.
"Yep." Grian took his cue and strode over to the door, "Bye False." He left and shut the door closed behind him, jogging up the stairs on his way out of her little witch cave—setting Grian's brain loose.
If that mask really did work then it would put the red-crests on a whole new tier. The gas was powerful stuff—capable of ending lives in no time at all, once trapped in it you literally had nowhere to run unless someone was willing to drag you out. Suffocating was a feeling Grian never wanted to experience again, the cold unforgiving claws of death tightening their grip around his throat—but now he didn't have to, nobody did. On the battle field they could focus on fighting instead of worrying about poisonous gases. It should raise confidence, morale, productivity. They were unstoppable, the Watchers didn't stand a chance.
Grian walked down the hall, ready to go to his basement to get some more training in—he couldn't get cocky now, just because they had masks now didn't make them invincible to being stabbed or impaled or burned. The masks were an asset, not a garuantred victory.
He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, stretching his arms over his head, before his movements froze.
There came the officers. One by one, filing out of Jimmy's office and passing him.
A meeting?
Grian watched them pass, none acknowledging him, if he didn't know any better he would've thought that they were deliberately avoiding his gaze.
Grian let out an inaudible scoff and kept walking, ignoring them right back.
So what if he hadn't been invited to the meeting.
He didn't want to go to the meeting anyway.
He didn't care.
He shoved the door open and slid into what he was born for.
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Scar was rambling—Grain was more than a little worried that the man was rambling while swinging a sword around, but he supposed that it was all part of the atmosphere considering he was retelling a story of how amazing he was in training today.
It all sounded like pretty average stuff to Grian, but it was heart warming to see Scar get so excited, so, like always, he sat quietly and watched his little sun ray dance around.
Grian loved listening to Scar, he did, but he just couldn't get comfortable no matter how many times he altered his sitting position.
As much as he loved having his wings, they were a bit of a pain in the ass. He was a soldier, constantly on the move and busy, whether it was training or debriefs or helping out others with inventory or sparring or getting lectured by his brother or regaining energy at the mess—he was always on his feet. His wings got in the way of his schedule sometimes—he often forgot that, no, they weren't just there for his convenience if and when he wanted or had to fly, they acctually needed care? Very inconvenient. Preening took ages and Grian was no good at it. He did as best as he could, but if it was getting over the five-ten minute mark then he just gave up, having better things to do with his time.
He was paying the price for that now.
This one feather—a singular stupid feather—was loose somewhere near the base of his wings and insistently stabbing him in the spine, digging into his skin so that Grian couldn't sit comfortably unless he was at the perfect angle—and even then the feather would shift and his potiosion would be useless again.
Well, apparently his constant squirming had gotten the attention of a certain Eye. He paused his movements mid swing and narrowed his eyes at Grian. The avian completely stilled despite the discomfort.
"You okay?" He asked, his eyes flicking over his entire frame in search of some kind of injury.
"Yea, fine. You were saying?" Grian prompted, trying to subtly flex his shoulder blades to ease some of the tension, only for the blasted thing to wedge right into his flesh.
Scar narrowed his eyes, clearly not fooled.
"It's just a wing thing." Grian brushed off, "It's fine."
But no matter how hard Grian tried or how casual he was, the brunette's face still twisted in concern.
"Your wings? What's wrong with your wings?"
Before Grian could stop him or squawk out some quick response, Scar set his sword on the grass and walked around him, crouching down behind Grian's back. Every instinct screamed at him, the thought of someone behind him making his skin prickle with sudden survival instinct. But he bit it down. It was only Scar.
"It's nothing—"
"Griffen, if you deflect one more time I'm putting ice down your shirt."
Threat taken.
Grian sighed, "It's just a loose feather near the base of my wings. I'd have to take my shirt off to get it." And he was not doing that.
"Oh." Scar dropped his shoulders, "Can I try something?"
Uh oh.
"Uh...maybe?" Grian said, his unsure tone made Scar snicker.
"Trust me, take off your jacket."
Grian gave him a look over his shoulder.
"Be good, grumpy pants."
Grian bit down his pride (and the raging heat that prickled his ears) and slipped his jacket off and placed it in his lap, fidgeting with the sleeves.
He didn't know what Scar was planning on doing back there, he was stretching the little slits cut into the back of his shirt where his wings passed through. All Grian could feel were deft little touches and the ghost of a figure behind him.
He wasn't going to take his shirt off, that wasn't going to happen, so whatever Scar was planning Grian was hoping he was factoring in disappointment when—
Grian let out a sharp chirp, flinching away from the man behind him.
"This feather?" Scar twirled a yellow feather between his fingers, a shit eating grin plastered across his face.
Grian hadn't had too many issues with his bird brain, he had spoken to other avian soldiers on ocasion and they complained about all of the nesting instincts and flock urges. Grian never had to deal with any of that, bar maybe once or twice.
It probably wasn't healthy to suppress those, but what about Grian's actions were ever healthy? All of it built up over the years into a big mountain pile, that stupid feather was what made it crumble.
Grian had to physically restrain himself from breaking out into an utter mess of warbles and chirps and croons, had to keep himself rooted in place for fear he would embarrass himself and give into his bird brain. Seeing Scar there, with his father. His feather. His yellow feather.
"You...good?" Scar tilted his head, still smirking.
Grian opened his mouth to answer only to rapidly clamp his hands over his mouth when a little chirp to escaped. Stupid fucking bird brain.
Though, instead of bursting out into laughter or mocking him, Scar softened, his entire body going slack. His eyes shimered with something that Grian couldn't name.
"You...preen, right? That's the correct word?" Scar asked gently.
Grian bit down on his tongue and nodded, keeping his hands in place and not trusting himself to lower them, more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life.
Over one damn feather.
"Can...I try? If that's okay- I know you don't like being touched all that often—"
YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES
Grian curled in on himself. He hated his bird brain. Seriously. Hated it. Why now? Why in seventeen years did his bird brain decide to come in full force now.
He nodded his head rapidly before manually slowing it to a non-chalant casual duck of his head. Scar snorted and shuffled forward, crossing his legs and putting his hands on his knees.
"Okay. What do I do?"
Grian hated this man. Forcing him to lower his hands and speak. Stars he had to speak.
He slowly lowered his palms from his lips and cleared his throat, "You...uh...just pick out any dirt...if some feathers are loose don't be afraid to pull them out, they should come really easy...if-" He cleared his throat again, "If they don't its best to leave them." Was he sweating? When did it get so hot?
"Sir yes sir." Scar smiled and shuffled in his spot a little before raising his fingers, Grian turned and let his wings fan out, bringing his legs up against his chest so he could rest his chin on his knees.
Good move. Real real good move.
He hugged his knees real real tight, digging his fingers into the sides of his calves to suppress the berage of croons rolling around on his tongue, boiling over in the hollow of his throat.
It felt so good. He hadn't let anyone preen him except for Jimmy when his feathers first came in, and his older brother taught him how he was supposed to do it. But nothing since then. Nobody but him ever touched them, even causally—they were only ever touched by him or if they were accidentally brushed when fighting.
Grian was protective over his wings, the only thing he had left of his father. But stars...stars stars stars stars did it feel so damn good—
"When were you gonna tell me you're this adorable?" Scar giggled and Grian pressed his forehead against his knees, passing a warble off as just a gasp.
"Be- be...quiet." Grian muttered, his face flushing.
Scar was a dirty liar. Like stars he didn't know what he was doing. His fingers moved over his feathers with such skill it probably rivaled Grian's own—gliding over the sensitive wings with such care and precision that he was this close to genuinely combusting. And with how hot his face was getting he'd say he was pretty damn close.
"Are...you okay?" Scar asked, almost hesitant. What a sight Grian was, practically curled up in the fetal position sweating like an idiot.
"Do you want me to stop?"
Grian's head snapped up before he could think twice, before stupid little birdie on the left side of his brain could consult smart man on the right with how human fucking interactions worked.
"No!" Grian nearly yelled, cringing at himself immediately and taking a shaky deep breath. "No." He amended, "No...please." If Scar stopped right now Grian was unsure he would ever recover..
Scar's smile returned in full force and he gave Grian a nod, "Okay."
The parrot let himself melt.
"You're not so scary." Scar said softly, half to himself. Grian really didn't care, he was too far gone for caring, he was too far gone to focus on anything other than the insistent parrot in his head purring non stop.
"Big scary hunter..." Scar whispered, "Big ol' softie..."
"I...hate you..." Grian whispered out like more of a pleading than an insult.
"Uh huh, stay still birdie."
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Grian stepped through the door to his room, still a little light headed and floating on a bed of clouds. He couldn't wait to get to sleep. Everything felt so soft, the air felt soft, his tongue felt soft, the floor felt soft.
He was so fuzzy.
"How was your mystery man?" Mumbo said without looking up from where he was thumbing through a book, waiting up for him.
"Good." Grian mumbled, face permanently flushed as he hauled himself up to bed and floopped immediately with a contented coo.
"You...seem happy." Mumbo stated, standing up from his bunk to look at Grian through the slits in his.
The avian could only hum, half asleep already, "I am." He mumbled, curling up on top of the blanket.
Mumbo let out a huff through his nose, half laugh. "Goodnight Grian."
"Night..." He yawned and turned over, falling asleep in seconds.
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He shot up in bed the second that he regained consciousness, gasping for air.
Well shit. Shit shit shit shit.
How was he ever supposed to face Scar again?
He had vague recollection of last night and every memory was worse than the last.
He groaned and flopped back onto his pillow, rubbing his eyes hard with the balls of his palms.
Someone kill him.
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Every other day when Grian wanted to go to his room or head down to the basement he was greeting with the muffled voices of officers, discussing unintelligible war plans that he was dying of curiosity about but was never told.
He wasn't told what the next step was or what the stakes were or what the options were for the next move.
He acted like he didn't care. Walked past Jimmy casually and barely spared a glance to Xisuma. He thought his resolve was stronger than this...but apparently not.
After a week of it he found himself infront of Jimmy's office, the grooves in the hard wood door looking more intimidating than they ever had.
He could do this. He didn't work this hard just to be shunned. Sure...he couldn't kill...but he could still help. He still wanted to know what was going on.
Just as his knuckles raised, the door opened. Jimmy had to do a double take and pause in his own doorway, clearly perplexed to see Grian there.
"Grian. I was just coming to find you." Jimmy stated, Grian's heart leaped despite himself...and he was honestly relieved that he wouldn't have to confront his brother head on.
"We're going to battle in three days time."
Grian's heart stopped. Real battle. Real fighting face to face with the enemy. His first battle.
Stars.
Grian's throat went dry but Jimmy was clearly expecting some sort of response, so he just nodded. Jimmy nodded back and walked around him like it was nothing, like he didn't just flip Grian's entire world upside down.
He wasn't an idiot, he knew where he was and the state his world was in. He knew he was a soldier and with being a soldier came battle but...still. It was daunting beyond belief to imagine that in three days times every late night training session and berating scream in his ears all lead up to that moment. A single moment where he could either live, or die.
"Stars..." Grian whispered to himself...and dragged his ass to the basement.
The cold room was familiar and the heavy blade of his sword was a comfort.
Three days. Three days was all he had to get his act together.
He didn't doubt his skills—he hadn't spent the better part of fifteen years training his every movement to exact precision just for him to flunk on the battle field. No, no he wasn't worried about that. He was stressed about his psyche.
Lying to his brain worked—it had proven to work. But how was he supposed to lie when he was face to face with the bodies he was supposed to kill? How was he supposed to raise his blade as his brother taught and slice down his fellow man in cold blood.
How?
Grian hissed and swung his sword, spinning on his head and lashing the blade over his head in a perfect arc.
He had to figure something out or else he was dead. Other soldiers didn't have his 'issue'. They saw him, saw a weakness, and they would exploit it.
So why couldn't Grian even begin to imagine killing the people who were out to kill him?
He grunted and sliced down, cutting through the air.
Why did he feel so sick at the sight of other's blood?
He couldn't kill.
He couldn't...kill?
He couldn't kill, but surely he could force himself to ...hurt and evade?
Slice, dodge and escape. He could aim for the legs rather than the heart. Man could survive without legs—if he hurt them so badly that it came to that but probably not. But even a gash could heal, a broken bone could heal.
He wouldn't be...killing them...he'd just be...making sure he didn't die.
The more he turned the idea over in his head the more appealing it became to him. He wouldn't hurt unless he had to—he wouldn't kill period. He would defend himself but not to the point of murder.
Well then...his plan was set.
He still had three days.
Stars save them all.
Notes:
RIP Jevin, you will be missed 🙏
Also that grain that he eats at the start, I like like think that weetabix is cannon.
As always please don't forget to leave a comment, i love them all sososos much <333
Chapter 8: Ancient Static.
Summary:
War and war and things and war and war and war xoxo <3
Notes:
Tw: Brief mention of wanting to die. Poor Grian.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The field sprawled wide and open, a great sweep of green grassland bending under the heavy press of daylight. Long stalks of sun-bleached grass whispered against each other, rippling with each faint breeze that passed across the land, swaying this way and that, carefree in the face of bloodshed to come, enjoying its final moments, untrampled, to bask in their freedom. The earth beneath was firm but scattered with old stone fragments—shattered markers, fallen cairns, remnants of something once built and long forgotten to time—now overgrown with sprawling vines eager for surface and wildflowers in every shade to break up the harsh jagged rock.
To their left, mountains rose abruptly from the plain, dark and imposing under the low, grey sky. Their slopes were veiled in a drifting thin mist that curled around many jagged ridges, higher up, crags pierced through the clouds like black knives. The peaks, hidden among layered fog, looked ancient and unmoved by the gathering storm below, watching with distate at the ignorance of man below, while shadows spilled down from the cliffs, casting half the western edge of the field in deep, sombre darkness. Sparse clusters of hardy shrubs and stunted oak trees clung to the land near the mountain’s base, their dry leaves rustling quietly, as though shivering beneath the chill air.
The sky itself was a dim, unbroken grey, thick with heavy clouds that threatened rain but gave none, holding all their weight above the gathered armies. Light filtered through only as a pale, cold wash, draining every ounce of colour from the field and the grim faces of those who stood upon it.
Grian stood with his red-crest marked on his breast, an insignia of his country, of who he was, of his purpose and will and people to be saved—he stood among his fellow soldiers, silver armour gleaming beneath white light, unmoving despite the chill.
They all held their breaths, the avian included.
They didn't have the luxury of high ground and the steep unforving cliffs were too much of a risk to scale—so the archers were positioned on the outskirts of the red-crest army, nearly all avians. Intentional, so the birds could take flight when the battle commenced and get a birds eye view on who and where to shoot—creating their own high ground.
In the front was the cavalry—while Jimmy wanted Grian on a horse, anyone could see that it was a waste of a good stallion, so Grian stayed with the footmen while every officer and a handful of extras got their own black beauties—dark stallions bred of a pure muscle and grit. Xisuma was on Raven—Grian had groomed her once when he was little and had nothing better to do while Jimmy was held up at a meeting. She was a good horse. Grian wished her luck. The cavalry skiers had their swords at thier hips, spears secured in their hands while three of the soldiers on horses—one in the middle and on both sides—held up the banner of their country, ruby red blowing in the wind.
The Watcher army was in similar formation—though with their clear differences. Their steeds with pale white instead of black and their purple banner bore the single emblem of a rectangle shape with squares broken off in the corners. Both sides stared eachother down, itching to begin.
Grian breathed through his mask, trusting the mechanics, trusting the potion and trusting the switch. Everyone stood at the ready, staring the opposing force down.
Blood would be spilled.
Jimmy raised a hand.
People he knew would die.
He raised it higher, posture perfectly straight atop his horse...the model of a fine general.
He let out a sharp whistle.
The battle begun.
Both sides sprinted to eachother at top speed with piercing screams and battle cries, the horses surged forward, powerful hooves kicking up the dirt in their stead.
Grian was in the heart of war before he knew it, an Eye already challenging his years of sick, sweat and tears with his blade alone—every single swing meant to peirce Grian's heart.
His heart. His heart was racing. He wanted to be sick already, but he held it down, mentally reminding himself every two seconds of what his plan was.
"Protecting your upper body is good, but useless if you ignore your lower."
Aim for the legs. And so he did.
Every soldier that took their chances with him met the same fate—gashes through the thighs and slashes to the knees that brought them down and subdued. Some still tried to fight, hauling themselves back onto unsteady feet to try and take Grian down, but they were no match for his speed and agility—the very endurance he had bled for his entire youth.
He wasn't killing people. He was defending himself. They weren't dead, they were injured, everyone got injured once in a while...Grian wasn't a monster...they would live...hopefully.
Grian gasped and dodged under an incoming blade, kicking a whole separate person in the gut coming up on his right and silmontaniously arcing his blade into another Eye on his left.
Nothing really prepared a person for the rage of war. He stood in that cold stone room for seventy percent of his life believing that one day he could truly be ready. But now—in the throng of it—he could see that nothing he could've done would've ever prepared him for the think stench of death wafting through the air, the cries of victory and loss, the clashing or steels and wizz of arrows overhead—it was all too much and yet not enough. For some reason...Grian felt like this was too easy. That the war was narrowed down to just his two eyes and the enemies infront of him.
It was surreal. Utterly bizarre.
He hissed through his teeth when his side was nicked but didn't let that stunt his momentum, he kept pushing through, hoping that the ones he cared for were surviving.
His wings tucked in flush against his back as he spun around, using his opponent's momentum against them and turning behind them, jabbing his blade into their knee and yanking it out before he even made it to their other side.
Though, whenever he stepped back, he bumped into another figure, the avian felt them stumble and took that opportunity to wrench his blade back. With a soft thunk, Grian heard the figure fall onto the grass—he raised his blade high and...froze.
"Griffen?"
Grian yanked down his gas mask and glared at Scar right in the face, his stomach punishing with tight unforgiving knots.
"Grian." He hissed out. He knew it was a matter of time, a matter of time until they met during daylight where his escape would see him in broad clarity for what he truly was.
Grian clenched his jaw, his blade tip inches from Scar's throat. Scar knew so much about him, his vulnerabilities, his hopes—somewhere along the line Griffen and Grian merged and he stopped lying and hiding behind half truths.
Scar was a liability.
Whistles shot across the battlefield in wild succession, a secret language the Eyes never managed to decipher. Grian's head snapped up instantly and he lifted his mask over his nose and flicked the little switch. It was stiff and didn't shift as easy as he expected—he supposed that was a good thing though. Sturdy.
Immediately the sickly honey coated mist of regen filled his nostrils and coated the back of his throat and sinuses. He saw it before he choked on it—purple gas rippling down the praire in daunting waves, like dust spreading unnaturally fast after a landslide.
Every soldier did the same as him, becoming immune. The Eyes—maskless and vulnerable—didn't choke. They continued on as if nothing had occurred.
Immune. Good to know.
If there was gas then surely...
His shoulders dropped and the jaw went slack beneath his mask. He wondered, in the deep depths of sleep when he was consumed with dreams and nightmares alike, what the creatures who slaughtered thousands would look like. He imagined cruel eyes, seen ancient drawings of freakishly gigantic wings, two sets of them.
And wings They had. There was one of Them, floating high above them all with no need to beat Their wings. There was no cruel jeer or predatory claws—just a large figure clad in purple robes the very shade he imagined venom to be. Every feature was obscured, any notion of arms or legs—hidden. The same applied to Their face, concealed by a white mask.
They stood out like a blotch of red in the snow, a force that made the air itself crackle and splinter around the edges.
Grian looked down—Scar was gone. Shit. Well that was a later issue.
He let out a hiss of breath and raised his eyes again—Their god watching over Their followers.
"If they call upon their gods then we're fucked." Jimmy often said, often reminded in his time of frustration or when he was deep in his own head about plans and strategies.
Grian looked around himself, at the war raging on all sides—thousands of enemies that he was too weak to kill. He could fight but he couldn't deliver the final blow.
He had an idea.
His jaw set. There was something that he could do—he would not be useless.
With a powerful beat of his wings he propelled himself off the ground, grass blowing in all directions in his wake. He let himself gain height before whipping his head from left to right to pin what he was looking for...
Bingo. He beelined for the closest archer—the avian in question, a robin not to underestimated, stared at him in pure confusion at what Grian could possibly be doing up in the air with a lack of a bow.
"Pass?" Grian held out his hand, really having no time for questions. The Robin narrowed her eyes but passed her bow none the less, putting trust in his reputation.
Grian swiped two of the rockets at her hip and she rapidly passed him her flint—it sparked once before the line caught. He aimed for billowing robes and fired, relishing in the explosion of purple and red. With the second, he tied it around his waist instead of firing it aswell. Backup.
The Watcher looked around in confusion, momentarily stunned. In Their stunned state Grian handed back the bow and dove, tucking his wings to make his body more aerodynamic before snapping them out and flying circles around the god—doing a full swirl until he was over Their head.
Grian nearly smirked. That was Their attention caught. "Hello Watcher."
An almost snarl-like noise rippled through the air, staticcy and wrong, then it blossomed into what could only be described as a cackle.
And—just as Grian hoped—the chase began.
This was possibly the most idiotic idea that Grian had ever come up with. He had no knowledge of Their speed, Their wit, Their endurance, whether They had some new and deadly power that Grian hadn't thought of. But he was faster, and he had control beyond anyone he had ever known.
If he couldn't kill people, he could do this. Lead the god away from those he loved most without dying himself.
Grian smirked at his own cockiness as he soared through the air with impossible speed—to die the Watcher had to catch him first.
"॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ϟᒣ⚍ᕊᕊᒍ∷リリᒷϟϟ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ⎓⚍ᒣ╎|:ᒷ ▭ ᒲᒷ∷ᒷ ▭ ᒲᒍ∷ᒣᖋ|:." Their voice rippled through his blood and filled his ears with the piercing sound of splintering tree trunks, nearly throwing him off balance with how it grated on his ears. But he persevered, keeping the disturbing voice out of his head. There was no point in dwelling on Their tongue–on the language of ancients.
"I can't understand gibberish." He called over his shoulder. He had a ways to go yet. It probably wasn't smart...at all...to mock a god, but exhilaration made him bold. He was high on adrenaline like no other—this is what he was born for, to soar like the king of the skies.
The chase continued, clouds filling Grian's hair with minute droplets as he weaved in and out of the puffy water balls, an annoying taunt disguised as really him just trying to buy himself time to think.
The Watcher, with all of its robes and finery was much less aerodynamic than Grian was—not to mention the fact that the god had two sets of wings rather than one, having to focus twice as hard to make the stubborn appendages co-operate as desired. But then again, this was a god he was talking about—but if he applied that logic to every single half formed plan he would never get anywhere and just fly for the rest of his life.
He had to take risks.
Well...no time like the present.
He took a big gulp of breath and dove, spinning in on himself and letting wind whip him in the face upon his decent, he caught himelf before he turned into a Grian shaped pancake on the rocks and picked up his flight with greater speed than before.
The mountain was much bigger up close—sure it looked intimidating and ancient from afar, but up close things were really set into scale. It was enormous and incredibly porous, riddled with uneven edges and tiny nooks where the beginnings of caves were carving.
It was beautiful, and worked splendidly in Grian's favour.
He weaved between the rocks, assured that he was still being followed due to the staticy noises bursting out behind him every so often and the powerful flap of foreign wings.
He turned his body one hundred and eighty degrees to fit through a tight space between the rock and nearly laughed when the Watcher did the same—it wasn't funny, not at all, but he laughed all the same. He couldn't remember a time his veins flowed with so much fire.
The crescendo of explsions and yells faded to mere echoes in comparison to the thrum of his own heart in his ears. He ducked under arches and flowed over collapsed rock, any tight space that he could potentially gain a few seconds on. He had to think of something now—formulate a plan already or else he would truly be flying forever. He had stamina, but it wasn't endless.
He took quick note of his surroundings, keeping his eyes pealed for anything he could exploit when his sights snagged on a loose rock in the distance—cracked and weathered from snow and rain—and sped towards it, kicking back with all of his might as soon as he was close enough.
He heard a rippling shriek, but the wing beats remained fierce.
He cursed under his breath. They weren't that stupid.
Then...another idea sparked. The rocket at his hip billowed wildly in the wind—miraculously still secured by the same tie he used for his sword and just begging to be used.
Grian dived down, just a few metres, and snagged the first stone that his fingers could get grip on before doubling his speed in a push of powerful wing beats—gritting his teeth and ignoring the growing fatigue.
He had an idea. But needed specific terrain to accomplish it. Until then...he persevered.
Be a man.
He couldn't do anything else.
For his country.
For his parents.
He ducked into the first cave he spotted that was large enough to accommodate his frame and prayed to ever star that there wouldn't be a dead end. That was a very real and terrifying possibility, the exceedingly long cavern coming to an abrupt stop—so deep in that his body would never be found.
He hissed and put the imagine out of his mind and flapped harder, straining his shoulders and forcing himself forward. Faster. Faster yet never fast enough.
"ᖋ∷∷ᒍ┤ᖋリᒣ ▭ |:╎ᒣᒣ|:ᒷ ▭ ᒲᒍ∷ᒣᖋ|:." Growled a voice from behind him that sent cracks into rocks and made stalagmites fall from their places—dozens dropping and striking the cave floor like lightning, which Grian had to dodge, for the alternative was being impaled.
That voice, the language seemed impossible, devoid of any vowels or constinants—it was impossible to explain and even tricker to decipher. Constructed on tone alone, to force a human tongue to form such sound would surely mangle it.
He huffed out a breath and dared a glance over his shoulder. The Watcher was growing nearer. Grian's heart pounded in his ears as he straightened his vision again—he could've vomited from the sheer relief he felt when he saw a sliver of light. There was the sun, he had never felt happier to see her.
He pushed on with new found determination and gripped the stone in his hand so tight it nearly pierced his palm. Soon, the narrow cave opened up to a vertical cave shaft, pure white light streaming in from the top.
Grian looked over his shoulder.
Good. Follow. Good little Watcher.
He bent himself like a spring and propelled upward, with his new speed, he yanked the rocket off his hip and struck the stone against the rock walls—it took a rapid series of tries but the spark eventually lit and he let it drop.
The explosion launched him upwards—heat scorching his feathers as he pushed and fought to get up and escape the roaring burst of flame—the top ledge crumbled with an audible crash, sliding into the cave mouth. Destroyed. Grian panted, straining himself higher so that he would not be enveloped by the dust—
But once he was eventually high enough, he stopped and hazard a look down. The powerful flaps went silent that cut through the air like razors were gone. The screeching that defeaned the wide world around them died. All that remained was collapsed rock and an eerie stillness.
Realisation hit him like a boulder to the head.
He had killed a Watcher.
He had killed a Watcher.
He dove down, sucking in greedy gulps of regen to allow him to duck through the smoke unharmed and landed atop the rocky heap. He jumped down and inspected it, the whole world around him was dead silent. His heart didn't drum and his steps didn't echo. Silent.
He examined the heap before spotting the bone white mask and grabbing it, looking back to the pile expectantly to see if black claws would wrench it from his grip or if some ancient curse would turn the sky purple. No such thing happened.
Little bulbs, like a thousand tiny lights, some yellow and some green and others purple, floated into the sky in elegant swirls.
He had killed a Watcher.
He...he knew Watchers could be killed be was told—he was told he—but he never acctually—he went into it knowing but he—
He killed a god.
Grian let out a sharp series of breaths and used all of his remaining strength to fly himself out of the cave and soar back down the battlefield. The air was still, birds drifted down from the sky to perch on treetops rather than dare fly vulnerable.
The earth was...mutilating. That was the only way to put it. Solid earth was crackling and growing, sprouting from the ground like artifical stoney hills, putting every single Eye up on a tall pedestal while red-crests backed away at the face of the power of gods.
The Eyes didn't even seem to question it, staring at their feet and then looking around for Their familiar presence.
The fighting had stopped. The earth sprouted and sprouted, producing mountains that weren't there before—completely changing the landmass and before long every Eye was swallowed and the grassland became just as it was—flat and endless.
Grian swooped down once he deemed it safe and let out a whistle he wished came out stronger—he whistled with all his might, gulping down the pants he needed to take and prioritising his messages.
"Stars—easy Grian." Etho...the second Grian's feet touched the ground all adrenaline flowed out of his body and he was left boneless, his knees no longer seeing a need to support him now that he was out of life or death. But Etho was right there to catch him before he could hit the grass.
"Easy—" He said, more than a little panicked as he carefully lowered Grian to the ground, looking him over in search of injuries that simply were not there, apart from a few scratches and lightly burned primaries.
"Get Jimmy." Grian hissed. "Get the general."
Etho's eyes furrowed before they landed on possibly the rarest item known.
His high-pitched whistles rippled like skipped stones, once released skipping to the next, then to the next then to the next until every soldier on their feet was on the search for their general.
Etho knew. Grian knew he knew.
"Come on." He muttered and looped his arm around Grian's shoulders, leaning Grian's entire body weight into his side and encouraging him to stand up. Grian winced—muscles numb from exhaustion and wings complete dead weight on his back, vision darkening around the edges in even pulses.
The whistling ceased and confused soldiers parted to allow their storming general through to where the avian stood on shaky legs.
At the sight of his brother—stained crimson with the blood of enemies, eyes wild with the rage of war and blonde hair messy and mussed from lack of giving a shit in the midst of battle—canary wings in similar dissaray, lemony feathers speckled with scarlette—Grian felt a flicker of intimidation despite his achievement. His eyes flickered and passed, looking for something to land on and searching for what he was supposed to be paying attention to—what was so important that every soldier was looking for him.
Grian pushed himself off of Etho—stumbled once but managed to will his joints to just hang on for one more moment. He flicked the switch—though the potion was long used up with his panting— and pulled the mask off his face to let it dangle around his neck.
"I killed one." Grian said...then lifted his chin, lifted it high and puffed out his chest. He outstretched his hand to show his brother the mask—the symbol of his success.
"I killed a Watcher."
Gasps rippled among the soldiers as they broke out into whispers amongst themselves.
That's why the battle was suddenly put on hold. Why the Eyes were sucked into the earth with divine power as a temporary cease.
A god was dead.
"You killed one..." Jimmy whispered under his breath all to himself before his eyes slowly flicked up from the mask and met Grian's, his lips parted at the gravity.
Then, his jaw set.
"Everyone get back to camp. Leave the dead." Jimmy ordered, his tone just as firm and assertive as any other day. Tired soldiers still nodded good and firm and rounded themselves, picking arrows imbedded into the grass to be used again.
Grian blanched, blinking quickly as he pulled the mask back to his chest.
"Brother I killed one—" Grian repeated himself, taking a step forward as though Jimmy had misheard him.
He did the most important deed of his entire life and—well he didn't know what he was expecting but it wasn't this. It wasn't cold acknowledgement like everything else.
Jimmy simply turned to walk with his soldiers and find his horse.
"Jimmy-!" Grian stepped forward to grab his arm but his brother whipped around, wrenching it out of his grasp.
"I killed a Watcher." Grian whispered, almost desperate, his flesh shaking against bone. Please let him hear. Let him hear that he was good...that Grian did what he was supposed to, that he did what he trained so hard for.
Simple words. He needed simple words. Something. Anything.
"I know." Jimmy grunted, staring at Grian through his brows, "That's what I expected you to do."
Grian let his arms drop, the weight of the mask doubling with every passing second. Grian let out a small huff, his chest shaking as he stared at his brother open mouthed.
"I almost died for it." Grian stated. Anything, anything to make him heroic, worthy of his brother's pride, worthy of honour, worthy of being family. His entire life it's all he wanted, he wanted his family's love.
He wanted Jimmy to care. To give a shit. He wanted him to tell him he was free to rest, deserved to sleep off his fatigue and earned the best of meals. He wanted his brother to list off how proud he was—what an incredible achievement doing the impossible was, how proud mother and father would be—are.
"We all nearly died for this. You aren't special for doing what I trained you for. You've finally reached the bare minimum, Grian." Jimmy stated and walked away, each word landed like hot blades on Grian's heart.
The bare minimum. That's all he was?
"Grian—"
Grian flinched off the hand on his shoulder, a light touch that sent painful pinpricks the whole way down his spine.
"Don't touch me." He hissed, harsher than he wanted to, harsher than he ever wanted to talk to Etho.
The fox's ears bent back a little and he kept his hand suspended for a moment, eyes flickering over Grian's features before he let it drop, "Okay." He whispered, then: "You're stronger than us all, Grian. I see you."
Grian clenched his jaw. He wanted to take it, wanted to take his sweet words and let the syrup coat his soul in sticky sweet so that he shall never feel the bitter outside ever again—but it wasn't the same.
"Thanks." He muttered, toneless and blunt and tightened his fist around the mask before following after the rest of the red-crests.
The bare minimum.
His efforts, his exhaustion, his nausea and ache...aren't special. He isn't special. He's just a whiny little kid. A dog begging for scraps.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
He paced like a cage animal in the tiny clearing—that once brought him immense amount of comfort and peace now made him sick to his stomach to think about.
He didn't bother changing out of his uniform this time, he didn't bother to hide his red-crest. He just showed up—early for once because be couldn't stand the idea of being the second to arrive like always where Scar could very well have gathered his entire militia or- or placed traps in the dirt for him to slit his throat on.
He paced and paced and paced, trying to regulate his own thoughts even as they rushed through him at super sonic speed—a crazed flurry of birds that could not hold still for even a second and refused to do anything but fly in dizzying circles.
He didn't know what he was going to say and he dreaded the thought of what Scar would say even more.
It was only a matter of time, but it was so much easier not to look into the future for his sort of thing, it was so much easier to bask in the stupid stupid childish comfort that everything would be okay and he could continue to indulge in what he knew was a waste of time 'project' to satisfy his own need for belonging when the camp which he had lived in his entire life lacked it for him, he let himself go too far and seek too much and talk too freely and now he was paying the price because why in the name of stars had he thought this would he a good idea in the first place? Gather information? Oh please, he had done nothing of the sort, he was a liar and cheat and he just wanted to satisfy his own pathetic needs for connection to someone who didn't just see him as the general's little brother and could look at him without emanating suffocating amounts of pity—or worse, disappointment. Pride that the one thing that he was meant to do and focused on and trained hard for even with the things he couldn't do and oh! Oh once he did! Once he did, what did he get?! Nothing! Nothing! He didn't know why he thought he was in any position to demand anything at all when he would literally take any bloody scrap handed to him like a begging dog—
"Grian?"
Grian sucked in a sharp breath he couldn't stop until it was too late, ceasing his steps and just standing there like an idiot. His jaw tightened and his fingers dug into his upper arms.
Scar...stars, Scar.
"I didn't think you'd come..." Scar said awkwardly, like a nervous school child. He lowered his gaze a moment before lifting it back up to Grian. "Grain—" He took a step forward but Grian immediately stepped back, hand instinctively hovering over his hilt.
Grian. Grian wanted to be sick.
Scar's eyes flickered to his hand before coming back up to his face, hurt flashing across his emerald eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks, standing up straight and pursing his lips, eyes crinkled in such a way that made Grian's heart ache to look at. His chest rose and fell in steady visibly succession, but he didn't put his hand down.
He shouldn't have come. He should've just forgotten that stupid smile ever existed.
What was he thinking?
"Stars." He hissed to himself and turned to leave, to put his soft hair and gentle eyes and humour that never failed to make him smile and delicate touch that always soothed his pain—
"Grian-" He heard a rapid succession of footsteps behind him, "Are you mad at me?"
Grian stopped and let out a ragged breath. He squeezed his hands into fists so tight his knuckles went white...he dared a glance over his shoulder.
"What?"
"Are you mad at me?" Scar repeated like it was the first time, his eyes darting from Grian's left eye to his right.
He just...stared at him.
How was he supposed to know?
Was he angry? He was something but he didn't know if angry described it. He was...he was pent up. He was tense and bursting at the seams with an emotion he couldn't name, only that he wanted to punch bark until his knuckles bled. Was he mad at Scar?
"What do you want from me?" Grian grunted instead, avoiding the question entirely.
Scar seemed taken aback and blinked a few times, "What..?"
"Well now you know." Grian said bitterly, turning to face the brunette fully, "Now you know. So what do you want? Why did you show up, hm?"
"Grian—why are you suddenly so hostile?" Scar asked, so genuinely that Grian acctually laughed.
"Hostile? Scar you know what I am!" He hissed, "A red-crest. I'm the one who—"
"I always knew."
Grian stopped, whatever he was going to say after entirely unimportant and died on his tongue.
"What?" Grian whispered, throat dry.
Scar sighed and turned his face away, rubbing his hands through his hair as though stressed before emotional eyes met Grian's once again.
"I knew." Scar said. "I knew you were a red-crest. I knew before today."
Grian's heart sank down to his knees. Was... Scar playing him right back?
"How?" Why did he pretend then? For how long had he been calling him the name Griffen knowing that it was all a lie?
"Nobody else comes into this forest but soldiers." Scar started slow and awkward, "I've spoken to the hunters in the village and they've never heard of a Griffen in their lives. You've never carried a bow. Our scouts report any and all soldiers they see to prevent rats and you're—you're easily recognisable." Scar went on, fingers tugging listlessly at the edges of his jacket.
Grian took a step back, slowly shaking his head. An idiot. He'd been an utter fool.
"Grian." Scar said, voice breaking at the edges, "Please don't leave."
Grian's knees froze. His foot planted to the ground as though roots from oak had suddenly wrapped around his ankles and rooted him to the ground.
"It's not a bad thing. I- I was a little shocked naturally but—but you're...you never did anything." Scar spoke, swallowing to stop a rant, he took a breath, "I waited to see if...well if something would happen, but it didn't. Nothing. You never attacked me even when you knew I was an Eye. You were never cruel or tried to harm me or brought other soldiers here with you."
"You don't care I lied to you?" Grian said then scoffed, under his breath. "You know what I am? I'm heartless—"
"No you aren't." Scar snapped back at him before letting out a breath to calm himself. His sudden tone surprising. "You aren't serious, Griff...Grian. I know you're not."
"How do you know?" Grian hissed, "How do you know I wasn't playing the long game? How do you know that I wasn't planning to lure you and kill you?" Grian got more worked up with each word he spat.
Scar softened instantly, his shoulders dropped, "I know you wouldn't."
"How?!" Grian snapped, the roots dissolved and he took a brave step forward, "How?!"
"'I don't like killing deer'...Grian...it doesn't take a genius to know what that meant." Scar said quietly and took a little step forward, no sudden movements, treating Grian as though he were a wild animal.
Grian just stared at him, eyes darting all over his face.
"I saw you on that bafflefield, Grian. You weren't killing anyone."
No. No no no no no.
"No. No you don't know me." Grian hissed, "You know Griffen—i- i-" Grian swallowed past quickening breath, shaking his head like a mad man.
"Grian...stars. Grian I like you. I've liked you for months. You can't look me in the eye and tell me that all of your laughs and jokes were all acting. The way you look at me was all acting."
Grian stared at him, his jaw beginning to tremble. Scar was calm. Much much too calm—why wasn't he angry? Upset? Distraught? Betrayed?
"I manipulated you." Grian hissed, "I lied to you."
"You did what you thought you had to." Scar responded softly, taking a little step forward.
"I used you." Grian continued, his arms beginning to shake, "I was using you for my own gain. I was using you for information!" The words were tumbling off his tongue like vomit, restless with no end in sight.
"And yet you never did anything." Scar said softly, "You had ample opportunity to hatch a plot and you didn't." Another step.
Grian shook his head once again. He didn't understand! He didn't get it! He- Grian- Grian wasnt a good person! Grian- he- He couldn't be liked. He couldn't. He wasn't good enough for that. He was worthy of that. He was tolerable at best. Tolerable. He was the bare minimum. He wasn't a man. He was a pain in the ass. A child. He—he did what he was told like a good little soldier for his brother for any semblance of kindness like a moron. He wasn't good or just with concrete morals and the kindness on his tongue.
"I killed one of your own!" Grian yelled, getting more desperate for Scar to see how much of a shitty person he really was.
"I know." Scar whispered, another step.
"I killed innocents!" He yelled again. Another step.
"I killed one of your gods!" He was nearly screaming. WHY COULDN'T HE SEE????
"I know." He still whispered, he still spoke softly, he still kept his hands in view, he still kept his steps light.
Why was he being so goddamn considerate???
"STOP SAYING THAT!" Grian roared, "You know?! If you know then—then do something?! Hit me! Slice me! Punch me! Yell at me! Do something!" Tears made his vision blur as he lost control over his own tongue, demands rattling off like breaths.
"It's okay Grian."
Grian gasped whenever he found that...Scar was infront of him, his warm palms on his shoulders. Every fibre of Grian's being wanted to shove him off, to demand he be furious and to treat him like the traitor he was.
"ITS NOT OKAY! ITS NOT!" Grian screamed, tears burning his cheeks on the way dow, his nose stinging. "NONE OF THIS IS OKAY! WHY CANT YOU SEE THAT?!" Grian barred his teeth, the corners of his mouth folding downwards as he shook with every inhale, staring at Scar and just waiting, begging him to snap because all this softness? This patience? It was forgein and terrifying when he knew he deserved to be punished. He was a traitor. A manipulative asshole.
"You're a good person Grian."
Grian nearly laughed but it got lodged in his throat when a tender hand was placed on his cheek.
"You aren't a monster. You're human, you feel guilt, if given the option to kill and not to kill what would you choose?"
"Why does that matter—?!"
"Tell me."
"N-not! But—I have-! I have! Stars Scar stop filling my head with—"
Scar adjusted his grip so Grian's eyes snapped back to his.
"You feel guilt. You're human, not a monster. It eats at you, I'm not blind Grian. I'm not blind now and I wasn't blind when you walked through those trees trembling and distant. I don't know how it's done over in that camp but I know you are not a monster." Scar said with such vigor that Grian couldn't bring himself to argue, he didn't flinch—barely even felt it when a second palm slipped over his other cheek, a careful thumb gently brushing away his tears.
Being hit was so...so much easier. He knew, he did wrong so he got punished. Simple. Straight forward. But...why...why on earth...
"Kill me." Grian whispered.
"No." Scar swallowed thick, eyes blinking away their sheen.
"Why?" Grian whispered. Why. Why. Bad people deserved to die. He was a bad person. What was the difference in him and the Watchers? He tried so hard, worked tirelessly and it was never enough. Nothing was enough—he wasn't enough.
He hurt Scar...his...Scar. He took a bright light and snuffed it under his sole like he was nothing. He used his warmth until he was satisfied and never did a thing for him.
"Doing bad things doesn't necessarily make you a bad person. You still care, I know you still care. You're not too far gone, you're just scared."
Grian clenched his jaw until pain shot through his molars.
"I was going to kill you today." Grian whispered in a last-ditch attempt to receive the hate he deserved.
"Then why didn't you?"
Grian's stomach coiled. He hesitated too long. Why did he hesitate?
"Because I didn't want to." Grian whispered. Raw and honest and broken. "I couldn't. I can't kill. I have...but I can't. It rots me inside out, Scar. I can't do it. I can't do it—"
Scar pulled him close to his chest and the bird in Grian's head spread to his entire brain. He let himself to, demolished his walls and just sobbed.
"It's okay." Scar stroked his hair... "It's okay."
"Hate me. I hurt you." Grain rasped, weakly hitting his fists against Scar's hips.
"You didn't hurt me. I'm not hurt. You're okay songbird."
Grian went boneless, Scar's grip tightened on him just a bit so he could safely lower him to the grass and not interrupt his sobbing. He had never cried so hard—not in the basement and not on the bathroom floor. He wanted to vomit tears, let them leak out of his ears and burst out of his stomach—nothing was enough. There was so much pressure that would never release no matter how hard he wheezed.
"You're safe Grian. I don't hate you."
That somehow made him sob harder.
"I'm really sorry." He rasped.
"I know. And I forgive you." Scar whispered, rocking him slightly.
He didn't know how long he had sat there on the forest floor being held and rocked like a baby, but eventually his storage of tears ran dry and he was just breathing raggedly against the man's chest. Scar...never stopped stroking his hair once. He felt so warm—it was probably due to the sweat but...he felt warm. Protected in some silly way.
Grian sniffed and conjured enough energy to lift his head, his eyes puffy red and cheeks flushed a similar ruby.
"You like me?" He croaked dumbly. Scar hummed and gently brushed back the sandy strands that were stuck to Grian's forehead.
"I do." He whispered.
"I- I don't know...what that...feels like." Grian admitted, too exhausted to give a shit about his pride, not right now.
"That's okay." Scar answered without missing a beat, his thumb leisurely stroking his cheek. "You don't have to know...just feel it."
Grian sniffed, letting out a shaky laugh—shaker than he intended, but oh well, what was he expecting, "That's so sappy." He sniffed wetly.
Scar let out a breathy laugh of his own, smile turning almost sheepish, "Yeah maybe..."
Grian hummed...scrunching his nose at the comically large wet patch on Scar's shirt, "That's...gross." He mumbled, mostly to himself.
Scar snorted anyway, "I'll just wash it."
Grian bit down on the inside of his lip, "'M sorry..."
"Hey." Scar tapped the underside of Grian's chin to lift his gaze up again, "Stop apologising. It's just a shirt. You're far more important than cotton." Scar said seriously, flicking Grian lightly on the forehead.
"I feel..." Grian swallowed, "Mushy...in my stomach...when I'm with you..." Grian admitted in a quiet voice, "I...when we used to...to talk I couldn't look away...I always got so excited w-when night rolled around and i- I dunno...I felt so...at peace." Where this was coming from, he had no idea. He was just so tired. Lying all of the time was exhausting.
"Yeah?" Scar tilted his head, "I felt that way too." The brunette hesitated a moment, then another and Grian was just about to ask what he was thinking before he felt a tender peck on his forehead. Grian froze, every inch of free skin burning up.
"I..." Wow. What—what on—in the stars—
"Sorry." Scar mumbled, "Too fast? I've been wanting to do that since for—"
Grian moved before his right mind could step in and grabbed Scar by the face. Now, any logical person from an outside point of view would look at that and see an absolute maniac. It also didn't help his case whatsoever that Grian had never kissed a single person in his life. What was the saying...throw the bird off the cliff and then it'll learn to fly? Or something.
Scar made a startled noise through his nose before almost instantly softening, tilting his head to the right so that their noses didn't get in the way and cupping Grian by both sides of his neck—his fingertips tickling the wisps of hair behind his ears.
They stayed connected for another few blissful moments before Grian reluctantly pulled away, his stomach coiling in on itself when it realised what an idiot the one who it inhabited was.
"Uh- I'm...I'm sorry." Grian swallowed, nerves making his arms tingle.
Scar smiled, really really smiled—Grian's favourite smile, and gently stroked his jaw, "It's okay. I liked that...a-a lot..." He whispered, his cheeks and pointed ears shining red. Grian's smile softened too as he subconsciously leaned into Scar's touch.
"Tell me you're proud of me." Grian whispered, then paled, "Don't—no acctually don't answer that—" idiot idiot idiot idiot—
Scar grabbed his face into his hands and propped his forehead against Grian's, "I'm proud of you. Always. You're the strongest person I have ever met, Grian."
"Oh." Grian squeaked...his eyes watering all over again. Sap.
"Thank you." He croaked and settled his head against Scar's broad chest once again, which Scar seemed to have no issue with whatsoever, crossing his legs to accommodate the emotional wreck bird and cradle him for as long as he needed.
"I'm not mad at you songbird." Scar whispered in his ear, low and soothing, Grian warmed at the nickname, it made a piece of his feathered soul feel extra fuzzy. "You're just trying your best...for yourself...for your friends...for your country. You're not heartless and you're not a killer." Scar whispered, drawing patterns into his spine with his fingertips. Grian let him, his wings going slack.
"Is it okay if I call you songbird?" Scar whispered.
"Please." Grian responsed, never feeling more secure in his entire life.
A little snort sounded from the brunette, but his soft little motions continued, "Okay. You're safe with me...songbird."
They sat like that together for hours without talking—they didn't need to. This was enough. This was more than enough. If Grian died right here—blood draining right here in Scar's embrace where nothing could ever hurt him, he would die happy. He would die again and again for this man's touch. For the peace he brought to his ever spinning mind.
But of course...all good things must come to an end. Grian practically had to peel himself off of the man with chirps of complaint he had no control over but seemed to amuse Scar greatly.
He got himself only to his feet and straightened, all ready to go. Wiping at his drowsy eyes.
"Will you be okay to go back?" Scar whispered and Grian couldn't help but furrow his brows.
"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked, the red-crests were harsh and his brother constantly despised him no matter how hard he tried, but he doubted that he would be killed or anything—he was sure to be fine, and after the killing of a Watcher his brother had to be in a better mood when they were at such a high advantage, Grian hadn't done anything to garner a punishment—that he knew of.
"Because...well...you asked me to...kill you?" Scar said slowly like the air itself was delicate.
Grian went pale.
Right. Right yeah-
"I- wasn't...serious." He cleared his throat. He had only had the thought like—twice! He was fine.
"You sure?" Scar tilted his head.
"Mhm." Grian nodded, "Promise. I'll...I'll see you tomorrow night?" Grian asked, voice lilting with childish hope.
Scar smirked, a tiny smile, and nodded, "Of course." He said and took Grian's hand, placing a tender kiss to the back of his knuckles.
He didn't know a man's knees could ever feel so weak.
"You've done this before haven't you-" Grian said like it had just clocked. He was wayyyy too smooth for a newbie like Grian, sly fox—
"Maybe." Scar smirked, "I can cool it a little—"
"No." Grian wasn't even ashamed. "No. I like it. I'll see you tomorrow, Scar."
The brunette smiled and nodded, tips of his ears permanently stained red, "See you tomorrow."
Grian was ready for sleep. He was halfway to collapse.
He closed his eyes with the comfort that Scar didn't hate him.
He didn't think he was a good person...the opposite acctually...but Scar did.
A part of him—that dark part of him that came as a package deal with the darkness of night—started to seep into his nightly thoughts.
What if Grian had manipulated Scar so well that he didn't acctually like him, he was just too tangled up with the image of Griffen to let go.
Or, worse, what if he didn't acctually like Grian, what if he was just so used to the routine of coming to see him, found comfort in the familiarity of it, that he doesn't want to break it and his subconscious gives the excuse that he likes him just so he doesn't have to cut out a section of his routine.
He brushed those thoughts away. That was just his stupid brain talking.
Scar was the most genuine person he had ever met.
He wasn't...that bad was he? That he managed to manipulate everything, even a person's own subconscious?
Surely not. No. No he was safe with him...he didn't...he wasn't bad...Scar said he wasn't bad.
Grian turned over on his right and closed his eyes, tucking his knees to his chest under the blanket.
Notes:
Omg while I was editing this I accidentally clicked the link at the top of my screen and all of my progress was gone, I was like halfway through.
But whatveerrrrr
Anyways, scarian lovers how are we feeling? I hope I didn't do too bad of a job.
You know I'm low-key tempted to put family issues in as a tag
As always please please do leave comments I love them all sosososo much <333
Chapter 9: Crumbling Foundations.
Summary:
Grian learns some very very interesting information.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He honestly didn't know what he was expecting to happen whenever he finally managed to kill a Watcher. Honestly—in his mind, once one was killed the whole world would stop entirely—the war would come to a close and everyone would get total peace and prosperity.
But everything was just...the same. He got up the mornings and ate whatever breakfast was given to him, brought himself down to the basement to train with his older brother—if he ever acctually showed up, becoming increasingly preoccupied as of late—went to the field to beat his flying record, run a few laps, help out with a few chores—mundane things.
The only real difference from that event was that every soldier looked at him differently—stared a little longer, walked a little slower in passing. He didn't know how he felt about. It was...creepy in a sense, really that everything else was the same but the people, the people were not. He'd rather everything be different or everything be the same, not this strange in-between where he didn't know how to act in.
He found he didn't like it and despite his better judgement glared at anyone he noticed lingering a little too long.
Jimmy...was well...Jimmy. Xisuma was avoiding him for some bizarre reason and Mumbo was always caught up with work.
A small part of him was starting to regret killing that Watcher—just a sliver of him...because then maybe things would've stayed the same and wouldn't be so damn awkward to breath in.
But whatever...Grian didn't truly need them, not when he had Scar. Nights were the best parts of his days.
Regardless, it was important for Grian to keep himself busy, so, he took the time to make spears. After the last battle many got splintered or snapped in half so there was a demand for more. Grian didn't mind doing it, the repetitive movement was almost therapeutic in a way—and at least he would be doing something acctually useful.
"Hey feathers." Came Etho's voice over his head, the fox in question flicked a stick onto his foot and kicked it up to his hands, "How are you holding up?" He asked, grabbing the knife off his belt and cutting the notches for the spear head to slide through, holding out his palm expectantly for one.
Grian barely glanced at him before slipping one of the steel points into Etho's hand, "Fine." He replied, wrapping twine around his own, "You?"
"Fine." Etho responded before sitting down on the grass beside him, grabbing his own length of the coarse twine from the bundle while his tail wrapped over his thighs. "Are you sure you're good?"
"Mhm." Grian nodded, tying off the thread and dropping the new spear into his growing pile. A beat of hesitation, "Do you know why X is mad at me?" Grian asked, he wasn't entirely certain it was anger but it was surely something. The man usually checked up on him every once in a while and Grian hadn't even seen him beyond the battle the day prior. He shouldn't care, he really shouldn't care. It was one the most implemented lessons his brother tried to ingrain...he probably should've listened, because now that knot just wouldn't go away.
"Mad at you?" Etho furrowed his brows, his hands stilling a moment.
"Yeah. He's been avoiding me...I think." Grian muttered, cutting a notch into another shaft.
Etho was silent a moment, consumed with thought. "I'm sure he's not angry. He's a busy man, y'know? Plus the general has been extra on edge and apparently stressed about figuring out the next course of action, fast. None of us really know what it means to...kill a Watcher." The man cleared his throat.
Grian's jaw tightened, "Why do I feel like I'm being punished for it?" Ugh, he wasn't a feelings man. Scar was rubbing off on him. "My whole life it's been the damn goal and now that I've done it I...well it just feels a wholly anti-climactic." He said, honestly.
"You're not being punished." Etho started immediately, "It's just...delicate. You did good though, feathers. Stars only know how you managed to do such a thing but...it was damn brave. And now we've got an advantage thanks to you." Etho nudged his knee with his own.
"I guess." Grian shrugged. He didn't feel very brave. He felt like a child. But whatever.
"You know, when you were little—I wanna say like one or two? You vomited all over me." Etho said lightly, voice laced with amusement.
Grian though, did not infact share in his cheer but instead flushed red, "I what???" He squakwed. Completely caught off guard.
"Yep, alllll down my front. It was pretty frickin' gross." Etho laughed, Grian's wings just fluffed up in embarrassment.
"And you're bringing this up now because...?!" Grian asked, he really wouldn't mind if the ground sucked him up right then and there.
"Because you're grumpy." Etho said matter-of-factly. "And you need cheering up. So I figured why not one of my favourite memories?"
"That's one of your favourite memories?" Grian raised a brow, utterly baffled, "You're like a hundred years old and one of your favourite memories is me barfing all over you?" It was bloody bizarre, a bizarre bizarre man.
"Hey! I'm only thirty-eight you little shit!" Etho laughed, giving his shoulder a shove, "And, all have you know, its one of my favourite memories of you. Got so excited to see me that you puked everywhere." Etho teased.
"Excitment, sure." Grian mumbled sarcastically under his breath and earned another playful nudge, making the pair chuckle once again.
They fell into comfortable silence, letting the scrape of blade on wood and the scratch of thread fall between them.
Before Etho cleared his throat, "You know...we all get afraid. Stressed. If you ever need words of wisdom...you can come to me." Etho said slowly, suddenly quite serious even while he tried not to get too firm out of nowhere.
"Words of wisdom from my elders." Grian commented to himself like he was reciting a prophecy. He couldn't resist. Etho just sighed, dramatically loud before settling.
"Seriously Grian, you can tell me anything. You're only seventeen." Etho said, tilting his head to meet Grian's eyes.
The avian looked up...nodding slowly. "I'm legally allowed to join the army. I was even a year ago." Grian stated.
"I know. You're mature and you've been here your whole life yadda yadda, I'm not saying you can't handle things, I'm saying it's alright to need help. Now stop being a pesky bird and just say 'okay'." Etho's eyes crinkled, a smirk under his mask.
Grian snorted...but nodded, "Yeah. Yeah okay."
"Good." Etho ruffled his hair and Grian dutifully tried to duck under it with zero luck.
Grian sighed and mussed his hair back to somewhat presentable and grabbed the pile of spears—which had grown signifantly larger than the last time he looked over.
"I'm gonna get these to the armory for Impulse to pick up later." Grian said, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his sword which he had set on the grass so he could sit more comfortably.
"Alright." Etho sighed as he stood aswell, dusting the grass blades off of his legs, "Guess I have to stop procrastinating drills then." He sighed and Grian couldn't help but smirk.
"Cya Etho." He said, hauling the spears into his arms.
"Bye." The former said back and they both went their separate ways.
In a strange—good strange—way, Grian felt more awake. More alive. He always appreciated a talk from Etho, now he could stop getting too deep into his own head and just focus on the here and now.
He walked across the camp with the spears in hand before he reached the armory and kicked the closed door open with his boot, pushing it the rest of the way with his back against the wood. Once inside the little space, he deposited the newly crafted speers on a bench and stood back to admire his handy work.
That should be good enough.
Grian let out a breath and took a moment to glance around. He wasn't in here all that often—he had his own designated sword after all that he kept on him at all times. He admired the bows and the designs that seemed to be carved into them by a bored soldier when his eyes snagged on a cloth and polish.
He put the pieces together, glanced down then back up. His sword could never be too shiny...right?
Well. He had nothing else better to do. Not really. Risking seeing his brother was a big no—Grian was doing a good job at avoiding him thus far since yesterday.
But he didn't wanna think about yesterday! He was in a good mood now! He didn't need to think about anyone ignoring him or zoning out until night came!
Grian grabbed his supplies and dragged over the nearest chair and sat down, taking his sword off his hip. He dunked a good amount of polish onto the gray cloth—stained from years of use but that just made it better, Grian swore old things always worked better than new.
Plus it was still in its prime!
Grian propped his sword against his knee and started to rub the cloth down the length of the blade. He loved taking care of this thing, it was nice to have something to focus on and he figured that his blade deserved to be honoured in many respects seeing as it guided him for...how many years now? He wanted to say four but it was more realistically five—
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Grian flinched and snapped his head up. He looked around the little armory in search of the source of the voice. That was...weird...he vaguely...recognised those distorted...tones...
Odd.
Grian shrugged off the shiver going down his spine and looked down again, only to find his sword gone. The cloth gone.
He made a squawk at the back of his throat and once he looked up he found the entire armory gone too, instead replaced by an endless black void.
Okay—okay what on earth???
Grian forced in deep inhales to keep himself from panicking, whipping his head around to try and take stock of his surroundings. The 'ground' beneath him was solid—or so he assumed considering that he was literally standing on it, he took an experimental step forward and found that he didn't sink. Solid. Except everything was black, devoid of any sort of light.
Had he suddenly had a heart attack and died?
He closed his eyes and squeezed them real tight—the only other logical solution had to be that he was dreaming. He didn't know how, but what else could be the explanation?
"Get a grip Grian." The avian hissed to himself, rubbed his eyes and then opened them.
His mouth opened in a silent scream and he scrambled back several steps. Eyes. Millions upon billions of endless purple eyes. Every single one was staring at him, they're soulless pupils completely fixed on his form. Grian swallowed, his eyes darting around everywhere. He took a step back and the eyes flickered accordingly, watching him.
Okay. Okay don't panic—do not panic—
Grian turned to look behind him and just as he had feared, it was exactly the same all the way round, thousands of eyes, underneath his feet, above his head, all watching his every movement, his every twitch, his every breath. Not creepy at all...Grian turned his head back and a gasp was torn from his throat at the sight of three robed figures clad in long purple robes that dissolved at the edges into nothing, particles of purple fraying from the fabric, the rest of the space filled with lines of seemingly random numbers, flickering and changing every few seconds to display a different pattern, symbols, numbers, capitalised letters, dotted with—as if there weren't already enough—more blinking eyes.
Almost a halo type beam hung over Their heads, a dot, a cornered line leading to another dot and a mirror cornered line opposite, glowing faintly lilac. Almost identically resembling Their flag. Their faces, instead of being concealed by a white mask like the Watcher he had seen and killed were instead covered with layers of bone white wings, hoods drawn up to cast the rest of their heads in shadow.
Stars, he should've known.
"Watchers." Grian hissed through his teeth like it was dirt on his tongue, his hand moved on instinct to his hip and surprisingly he felt the familiar leather grooves of his hilt.
He drew it out immediately, holding it out infront of him in a protective stance, his parrot wings fanned out instantly, spreading to their full wingspan—instinctual, to make himself look bigger, more intimidating.
"Hello, Diamond." Their words rippled through the fabric of space, echoing everywhere and nowhere, pulsing between Grian's eyes yet vibrating all around him. It was wrong. But...oddly...melodic? A smooth tone, unlike the static and disorder of that Watcher that he killed, Their words crumbling rock and making his stomach coil.
Dont get him wrong, this was still menacing and made the hair at the back of his neck stand to attention...but it was different, almost resembling a female voice...dare he say soothing? Honey-laced...
Grian shook his head and retightened his grip.
"Diamond?" He scoffed, who did They think he was? Their prized little gem?
"Yes. You're quite the specimen. A rare mortal indeed...precious." Another voice said—he couldn't see any moving lips but he knew from the tone...slightly deeper but still female-
"You are quite precious." Another agreed and suddenly the voice was distinguishably coming from his right, "Like a diamond." The whisper in his ear was much too loud for being so close, he startled and swung his sword on instinct, drawing out a rapid breath. A wind of giggles followed, reverberating off his skull.
Special? Precious???
When he looked forward again. He found them gone.
"What do you want?" Grian hissed to open void, spinning around in hopes of pin-pointing the bastards' location.
"Such fire." Came a purr.
"Spirit." Another whisper.
This was getting infuriating, fast.
"Skill."
The voice were coming from all around him, so disorientating that Grian couldn't possibly figure out a specific point...so he did the only logical thing he could think of and began swinging erratically at nothing.
"Let me out of this—this—! Place!" Grian demanded for lack of a better word.
"We only want to talk to you, Diamond." Came an echo that sounded a million miles away. How large exactly was this space? Grian was starting to feel nauseous.
"Talk?" Grian almost laughed, "You want to slaughter thousands and then talk?!" He growled, still whipping around in attempt to catch them off guard and take another glimpse.
"Little diamond in the rough...so very rare." Came a whisper that sounded like it was coming from about ten different places.
"Stop calling me that." Grian snapped, twisting, only to find them right behind him, impossibly large and stalking over him like giants. Grian couldn't control the step he took backwards, sword faltering just a tad.
"But it is so fitting. You are unlike your fellow mortals." That smooth-toned melody came back into full force, "You cannot kill, you combat what you were nurtured to accomplish."
Grian scoffed, "I killed one of you though." He bit but then froze at the bone-chilling laughter that followed.
"That you did, Diamond. An impressive feat indeed...so selfless, leading Us away from your comrades...risking your life for the safety of another...truly...inspiring."
Grian set his jaw. Why did he get the sinking feeling that he was being mocked?
"What do you want?" Grian repeated in a low growl, "Gonna kill me?" He bit like a challenge. He was met with echoing laughter that spiraled into silence as though getting farther and father away...Their figures swirling into the one before blinking out of existence.
"Silly mortal." Came behind Grian, causing him to squawk and lash around, sword raised once more. "We have no interest in killing you, that would he highly counterintuitive."
Grian narrowed his eyes, "Then what?" He hissed.
"We want YOU." The 'you' boomed across the plane of existence, producing such feedback that it nearly swept Grian off feet entirely, his bones rattling against eachother from the force.
Grian barked out a humourless laugh, still bold despite the jitters in his knees, "You want me to join your little army?! After everything you've done?!" Grian roared.
"Such oversized feelings for such tiny thing." Hummed a voice, tilting Their head. Every Eye blinked, just once, and not all at the same time.
It made Grian sick.
"You're Our precious Diamond. All we want is for you to be safe, to not trudge through human suffering—"
Grian slashed through Their figures with his blade with a loud grunt, but steel passed right through Them and Their forms flickered out of existence. "You're liars!" He roared, "You killed my parents!"
He spun around to slash again the moment They flickered back into view a little ways away, but the second he leaped to swing the 'ground' from underneath him crumbled. His stomach sank at the terrifying feeling of dropping.
He fell and fell and fell for eternity until he landed in the same pool of nothing, not even endless eyes. Just pure black—as though he had closed his eyes.
"Is that what they teach?" The Watchers whispered. Grian wasn't standing anymore, there was no ground nor floor, just a sea of invisible sludge he couldn't wade through.
"That We are monsters?" They're voices reverberated and he began falling once again. His wings flapped uselessly begin him, unable to catch any sort of breeze or draft despite his rapid descent, his limbs scrambled to no avail—he desperately tried to reach—for what he did not know—but he found no purchase. He couldn't even scream.
Until his back collided with something solid. Though, shockingly, it brought no pain, just a firm assurance that he was connected once again. He blinked back blurry vision and groped his hip for his sword, only to find nothing.
No matter. He could still fight unarmed. He rolled over and propped himself up on his forearms.
He shuffled back instantly, eyes widening as he realised what exactly was underneath him.
A village. He was over a village.
How...did he get here?
He scrambled up to his feet, looking around desperately for some sort of explanation. In the distance, the village ended and blended into void, the same on all four sides.
He was standing on a massive square.
But something was wrong—well other than the fact he was on a massive platform in the middle of nothing and nowhere—the streets of the village were...empty. Completely empty. Upon closer inspection he realised that it wasn't the village closest to him at all...but still somehow...familiar.
"You're smart, Diamond." Grian almost forgot about Them in his thoughts, flinching at Their return in his head. "Let us guide you. Feed you the fruit of truth."
Grian swallowed. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.
"What if I say no?" Grian muttered.
"That unfortunately was not one of the options." Suddenly, the village came to life.
"Heartless. You were taught. Barbaric. You were told. Look closely, Diamond."
Grian gulped back bile and looked down. The world shifted on his axis, warping under his feet until his eyes zoomed into first person—except he wasn't a person, he had no body, no hands nor feet. He was just...present. He saw straw rooves and walls insulated with clay–dusty paths instead of cobbled streets and donkeys wheeling old carts of straw too and frow. Dozens of people walked with large weaved baskets in their arms filled to the brim with oranges, fishermen sat in their stations slicing the scales off salmon and tiny children with little downy wings sped down streets chasing poor old dogs.
In the centre of it all were purple robes. Something deep in Grian's gut knew exactly who they were—Eyes. Their uniforms were different, and if the setting was anything to judge by this seemed centuries before the war ever began...
"There was a time where we brought light to the darkness. To the starving we gave bread and to the thirsty we provided fresh springs."
Grian narrowed his eyes, the Eyes were smiling politely and making small talk with every person who walked by, handing over baskets of the oranges that Grian had seen previous, townsfolk bowing their heads with the greatest of gratitude and taking their fill with them—basking in the luxury of sweetness.
"There was a time of peace, of prosperity, where We asked for none yet received many out of mortal free will. We made sure none went hungry, made sure none rotted in depression, ensured the highest living for each mortal under Our guise."
The world zoomed out and Grian returned to his bird's eye view. People teaching by roadsides, purple robes aiding in the construction of temples, statues appearing overnight and people running through the streets with pure excitment at the good omen they had received.
Grian's eyes darted to every face, every grin and frolick and beam...it didn't make any sense. Everything—everyone was so...happy. Their village was thriving....people were fed...how did destruction come into play??
"Until they came."
The whole world flipped its side and Grian careened to his left before his vision returned to its usual clarity. The entire surrounding had changes, rooftops were burning and townsfolk were sprinting down the streets screaming.
"They called themselves the Truth."
Women let out guttural screams as babies were wrenched from their grips, infants wailed and sobbed as they were ripped to pieces by humanoids with black claws that clearly still resembled the human man. Grian felt like he was going to vomit, desperately trying to close his eyes to protect himself from the gruesome sight.
"They found hate in Our world We built on love, they took Our followers, Our people, anyone who believed in Our divine power and aid and slaughtered them dead."
The sky turned blood red, the moon blocked out by thick black smoke wafting from raging fires—the wind cloaking the earth in the thick stench of death.
Grian couldn't believe what he was witnessing. It was like something out of a nightmare, a bad dream he couldn't wake from—something in the back of his brain told him...knew...it had happened. They were replaying history for him.
"Many escaped."
The world flipped once more, displaying scenes of people hurriedly packing essentials and fleeing on the backs of donkeys and plain sprinting away into fields while their lives crumbled to ash behind them.
"And travelled far, spreading Our message far and wide in every city they planted new roots. But the Truth spread like disease, and soon, any tell of Our name, or worship, and the worshipper would be slaughtered."
Public hangings and the lighting controlled fires and just plain slicing with a sword.
"We care for Our people. Our followers. We always share light in the face of the dark...so We striked back."
Now this, this was familiar somehow. He recognised this was stories, explosions rippling across entire cities, families dead on the streets.
"We have killed, that is true. But We kill to protect Our own. So tell Us, Diamond. What is so different from Our intentions to yours?"
Grian fell to his knees the second the world came back to his own eyes, he could see his hands infront of him and feel his own heart in his chest. His hand came up and he gripped his shirt as he panted into the void, trying to catch his breath and choke back bile.
He couldn't.
He genuinely couldn't.
This whole war—the Watchers killed innocents but...but they did the same to Their people—
It was a cycle of death and each side saw the other as the culprit but...but initially...at the very core of it...
The side Grian had been fighting for had started it all, lit the flame in a forest and let the match drop.
"Do you see?" The voice was quieter, not as overwhelming.
"Yes." Grian whispered.
Everything he had been told—everything he had been taught to believe in it all—it was all built on a lie. These Watchers were constructed and molded in his mind as some force of evil when really all They wanted—and have done—is try to help and- and nurture and- and Grian's own ancestors slaughtered them like animals.
"We're truly sorry, Diamond, about your parents." His chin was lifted by a white hand—so stark white it almost looked like porcelain. He didn't resist the touch. "But what had to be done was done...do you understand?"
"Yes." Grian whispered, a miracle that his voice didn't shake. He did. Because it's exactly the kind of call that Jimmy would have made. Grian swallowed back a fresh round of bile. "But I killed one of You." Grian whispered, forcing his eyes to those feathers sheathed over what he assumed would be a face...if They even had faced.
"Yes.." The Watcher infront of him whispered, almost a coo, and rubbed Their thumb along Grian's cheek. "But We are not angry at you, Diamond. We are impressed. Impressed by your commitment and dedication yet moral compass. We are not so different...you care for the lives of people...as do We."
Grian let out a shaky exhale.
"Your strength can be a wonderful gift...if handled correctly...on the correct side." The Watcher whispered, coating his ears in sweetness.
"Let us keep you safe Diamond." Cooed a voice from his left.
"We will make sure you will never be forced to use your good hand for evil." Came from his right.
"Let yourself be Ours." Came all three in perfect harmony.
"I...I need to think." Grian rasped, his head spinning.
"Of course." The one still holding his chin whispered, his limbs became weightless and he was pulled by indivisible string up onto his feet.
"We will guide you, Our Diamond."
Grian's eyes closed on their own accord, when opened...he was back in the armory, still in a rickety old wooden chair, a stained and scratched bottle of polish by his feet, his beloved blade on his knee and a stained old cloth still loosely in his grip.
He sprang from his seat with surprising agility given how dizzy he felt and slammed the door open so hard he was mildly surprised it didn't fly off its hinges, he made it two steps out into the open grass before he keeled over and vomited, pressing his arms into his stomach.
"Grian!" Someone dropped down by his side almost immediately—Impulse. He hadn't spoken much to the man, but he was nice enough. Said man put a hand on his shoulder, making a cringed noise at the puke.
"Hey, you alright?" He asked, a little rattled.
Grian just nodded, "'M fine." He grunted, his head still spinning. Note to self, being stuck in a void with Watchers throwing you around like a ragdoll was not easy on the stomach whatsoever.
"Alright man, here let me help you up." Grian let himself be hefted by the shoulders, leaning into the other man's side for balance.
"Thanks." Grian muttered, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.
"Anytime. Want me to walk you to Doc's?" Impulse offered, stepping away slowly to see if Grian could stand up on his own—which he managed.
"Nah." Grian shook his head, letting out a dry cough into the back of his hand as he re-gathered his bearings. "No I'm okay. Thanks though." He muttered, Impulse inclined his head and took his leave.
Grian sucked in a deep breath of the fresh air and stretched his arms over his head in attempts to calm himself down and get grounded again.
What he was fighting for, was a lie.
Grian went about his whole day with that stuck in his head.
The vengeance that his older brother was so caught up on was the exact thing that spiraled in the first place. At its very core that's what this whole war is—a battle of vengeance that ultimately started when man saw something different and instead of choosing to understand swayed to eradicate it at all costs, in every paradise innocents found they were hunted and murdered.
And Grian thought that he was fighting for the good guys.
Dinner felt stale in his mouth.
Who else knew? Who else was lying right to his face his entire life.
His brother had to have known. There was no chance he didn't.
Xisuma surely knew.
Stars, all the officers probably knew.
The only reprieve he had from his thoughts was the few hours he got with Scar that night, but, like always, the veil fell and without a kind, caring, diligent, stubborn distraction to keep his mind busy—he fell back into his head. Scar was obviously worried—he could always tell. But Grian used the excuse of nausea and Scar didn't push him further than that...that's one of the many things he loved about him...he was so patient, he never forced an answer out of him, instead just waited for Grian to give it when he was ready or took the response Grian gave even if he knew it was a lie.
He just needed more time.
He avoided speaking to Mumbo when he asked what was up with him or tried to make conversation about the Watcher.
He layed awake in his cot, staring at the ceiling, still trying to wrap his head around it all. He shuffled and slipped the Watcher mask out from where he had been keeping it under his pillow and just stared at it in the darkness, faintly outlined by shadow.
He rubbed his thumb over the coarse material and sighed through his nose.
What was he doing?
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Grian cringed and squeezed his eyes shut. Could They just—not?
"I still don't know what that means." He grunted into the darkness.
He sighed and let he mask drop into his chest before letting his eyes flutter shut.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
The next day Grian rose before the sun and dragged himself across the camp—fatigue should've been overwhelming considering that he had gotten maybe two, three hours of sleep? But he was up and buzzing, awake and ready.
He strode across the camp with new ambition, making quick distance until he reached one of the stone buildings near the back—an old stone building with mismatched brick—some light gray, others almost black and still others nearly fully green with spreading moss. It was three stories, and while that sounded impressive, they weren't large by any means, a stubby sandwich of a building with a rickety staircase on the outside and a wooden door painted red underneath.
Grian allowed himself in and breathed in the musky smell of dust.
Warehouse of Wisdom—or that's what the soldiers called it to incorporate some kind of majesty into the building which was still very very useful...just not very popular.
It housed all of their maps, well, any maps that weren't being kept elsewhere...so not all of their maps but...he digresses! It had many many maps.
Grian scanned the area for any signs of flint before finding it in a little wooden bowl on a table by the door, he grabbed it and made quick work in lighting all of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling by bulky chains. There weren't any windows in this building to keep the scrolls from succumbing to sun damage so It got seriously stuffy sometimes—Grian would know, Jimmy had him down here at least once a month in his youth so that he could have some sort of schooling and not turn out to be a big fool who would only use his fists and not wit.
Bookshelves lined the walls, spines cracked and fraying of every single colour imaginable, up a little ladder in the corner there were more shelves spiraling up the rest of the little stories, barrels of cream parchment maps compiled in any free space. Tables were lined across the centre of the little room, long, almost bench like with half melted candles sitting in silver dishes in even intervals for anyone whom desired better sight.
Grian exhaled and put his hands on his hips, looking around to take stock of his surroundings. This was going to take a while.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸." Echoed in his ears as he made a step towards the ancient bookshelves. He scrunched his nose, feeling no need to look around when he knew exactly where the voice was coming from.
"Still can't speak your language." Grian muttered and scanned the book spines, tilting his head owlishsly to read them better.
"What do you seek?" Came a whisper that sounded so realistically over his shoulder he almost jumped.
"Nothing." He was going crazy, talking to himself in an old sorta-library.
He pulled out a green backed book and walked over to the table to deposit it before continuing his search.
"We can help you, Diamond." Came a voice so sincere his fingers faltered from reaching for a grimy yellow spine. "We only wish to aid."
"History." Grian said, propping the yellow book on his chest before grabbing a red cloth bound piece of text that was thicker than the previous two.
He wanted to know more. He wanted verification. He wanted details.
"·ǀ·リᒍ∴|:ᒷ↸┤ᒷ ▭ ᒍリ|:॥ ▭ ∷ᒍᒣϟ ▭ |:ᒍ॥ᖋ|:ᒣ॥ ▭."
Grian's jaw ticked.
"Get out of my head." He muttered, the bizarre tongue was starting to make him a little dizzy.
The whispers didn't return, Grian waited a minute more just to make sure before he contentedly returned to his searching.
This was going to take him a while. Lucky he woke up early.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
And it did. He spent the better part of three hours scanning every inch of the place and over that course of time had gathered an intimidatingly large stack of books on the table. He let out a sigh, rubbing a palm through dusty locks as he despositied his last bunch of books atop his last stack before placing his hands on his hips.
Well, they weren't going to he looked through themselves.
He slid into the long seat and blew off decades of dust before opening it up.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Something wasn't right. The hours ticked by minute by minute and by each hour that passed Grian got more and more confused and irritate when each disappointment rolled in. Mysteries that couldn't be explained.
Chapter fifteen skipped to chapter nineteen.
Other books followed similar patterns.
Chapters three through seven all gone.
Some books skipped entire time periods all together. But suspiciously the Watchers destroying villages was always there, in every historian's take, in every face to face encounter.
How awfully convenient.
Very convenient indeed.
"They lie to you, Our Diamond." Came a soft voice, almost sympathetic.
"I know." Grian slammed his book closed and glared at the lot.
Their parts of history were just conveniently ripped out in their own military base?
"We would never lie to you Diamond." A melodic promise that weaved around his heart like soft fabric in winter.
He had been thoroughly lied to. His entire life. And they had the audacity to try and cover their tracks—erase their massacres from history to frame kind spirits as heartless creatures.
"Do you see, Diamond?" He felt a phantom touch on his shoulder. He didn't even flinch at it.
"Yes." The avian muttered, his wings going slack on his back, glaring at the books like that they had personally offended offended.
There was only one thing for it, then.
He awaited nightfall.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
"Songbird!" Scar stood to greet him, a massive grin on his face as he came forward to cup Grian's cheeks in his warm palms. "I missed you." He said while dinning a teasing tone, but Grian knew he was being completely sincere.
"I missed you too." He softened, relishing in the immediate release of tension. Though...he hesitated, just for a moment, and Scar caught it. Of course he did.
"You alright?" The brunette asked, tilting his head, "Still nauseous?"
Grian shook his head, gently easing Scar's hands away from his face by his wrists, instead holding them down low.
"I need to talk to you." Grian said, and something in his eyes must've conveyed his seriousness because Scar perked and nodded immediately, gaze darting around Grian's features in attempts to gauge happiness, sadness, hurt?
"Yeah, yeah okay." He nodded and led Grian over to their spot, he sat down on the grass infront of Grian rather than his usual perch on the rock. The avian took a deep breath, stomach fluttering at the gentle caress of Scar's thumb across his knuckles, a grounding motion that Grian wondered if Scar even knew he was doing.
"My side...is bad." Grian said and immediately cringed at himself. He was saying that to the enemy, no shit. But Scar didn't mock him or make a joke, he remained quiet to allow Grian to continue...so...the avian took a deep breath.
"I've been lied to. My entire life I was taught—I believed that Watchers were these awful beings who burned down villages for no reason...but I've realised that...that it was all just defense. Defending Their people like we defend ours—" Grian took another breath, "I found out about the red-crests—or...Truths—slaughtering anyone who worshipped Watchers. Your gods just defended Their own and we made a war out of it."
Scar stared at him and Grian dared to meet his eyes.
"You...didn't know." Scar said slowly, a statement rather than a question. Grian shook his head anyway.
"How...how did you find out?" Scar asked quietly, leaning in a little.
"They told me." Grian muttered.
"The red-crests?" Scar furrows his brows.
"The Watchers."
The air between them was pulled taut and he could visibly see Scar become completely taken aback, blinking and sputtering under his breath in complete shock.
"How—??" He asked, looking seriously puzzled.
"I don't know." Grian confessed with a little sigh, "They just...talk to me. I was polishing my sword and I was like, transported to this place of darkness and well...They told me."
Scar nodded along slowly as though letting himself process it all.
"They want me." Grian added, "They want me to join Them. At first it sounded impossibly and honestly arrogant but...but how can I fight for a side like that? They were never in the wrong...we were. We were and I've been adding to death count—" Grian grew more breathless as stress settled upon his shoulders, but Scar was right there to drag him back down, rubbing his thumb firmly into Grian's pulse to get his mind focused on that pressure rather than the pressure on his lungs.
"You're joining us?" Scar said, a little breathless himself, he leaned in a little closer.
Grian swallowed and nodded dumbly before finding his voice again, "Yes...yeah I think so."
He felt sick at the idea but he knew it had to be done. He had to leave his brother behind...and how his fury would rip him apart should they face eachother on the battle field. He was betraying his blood, but his blood had been betraying him for years. He had to. He wouldn't be able to stand his own existence if he continued with what he knew now. He had to do the right thing and quit being a coward.
"Okay." Scar whispered, leaning back and taking a breath, staring off into the wood before focusing his eyes on Grian once more, "Okay. I trust you. What's the plan?"
Grian flushed a light pink, "I hadn't...thought that far ahead, I just wanted to tell you." He admitted, more than a little embarrassed.
Scar's serious expression softened into a smile and he squeezed Grian's hands in his own. "That's really fucking cute." He chuckled.
"Shut up." Grian rolled his eyes and looked away—because he was angry, not because his cheeks were heating up.
"Well." Scar exhaled, "We've got time now. Let's make a plan."
Grian glanced back at him and gave him a firm nod.
His mind began to whirr.
He couldn't just pack a bag and leave—he had been let out by the night guards almost every night and if he suddenly had a bag with him it could seriously rouse some sort of suspicion as to where exactly he was planning to go. He didn't want to answer any unnecessary questions. It wasn't ideal.
He would still have to leave at night, slipping away during the day was exceedingly harder than at night given that he was always expected to be at somewhere or another at any given point, day gave people time to search for him and Grian wanted to avoid that at all costs.
So at night definitely...getting any sort of gear through would be difficult...
"I'll have to come with nothing but my sword." Grian stated, it was the only clear way he saw. "I've been leaving nearly every single night for months, the night guard are used to it, but if I suddenly just start carrying a bag they'll ask questions." Grian muttered and earned a nod from the brunette.
"Okay." Scar hummed, "Are you sure? I mean, do you not have any valuables?"
Grian almost laughed—maybe Jimmy's teachings on not getting attached to anything were worth while after all, all he really needed was his sword and the clothes on his back.
"I'm sure." Grian nodded.
"Alright." Scar sighed lightly, "When do you plan on coming? Are...are you sure about all of this?"
Grian nodded immediately, wings shifting on his back, "I'm sure. Tomorrow night." Grian said firmly, sure.
"Tomorrow night." Scar echoed and placed a kiss on his knuckles.
Notes:
↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸ means Diamond btwwww.
LISTEN UP‼️‼️‼️‼️
I will not be posting chapter 10 tomorrow. I have made a statement on the reasoning on my tumblr: Baffledbirdbandit.
In short I will be taking a break from posting due to my own stress, I'm not exactly sure how long this break will last but I'm estimating it could end around the 25th—30th of August. Maybe not as long as the 30th but idk 🤷🏼♂️
Thank you so so so much for the support. Wings of War will be back I promise you <33
Chapter Text
Grian went through the motions of his day like it was any other. He woke up, ate breakfast with Mumbo, trained until his muscles burned. The usual.
He avoided pretty much everyone that he could, he was even distant around Mumbo—the demolitions man could obviously tell that something was off, but when was something not off with Grian? His shift in moods became so common that Mumbo seemed to think it was better just not to ask and let him go through the motions—just what Grian wanted.
His heart wasn't in his swings and he didn't push himself as hard to beat his record times.
It all felt pointless.
He also figured it was best not to talk to anyone. Not to say any hidden goodbyes or get one last conversation in before he would surely never see them again. He didn't want to, worst case scenario was that his stupid emotions clouded his judgement and he talked himself out of leaving entirely. And that just wasn't an option. Not with what he now knew.
So he left Xisuma alone like he had been leaving him, he didn't speak to Mumbo and just answered in huffs when addressed, Jimmy was ordinary—they never really spoke anyway.
So. By the time that the sun set he was fully ready.
He slipped the only valuables he had into his pockets. The charm he received for his birthday and the compass Scar gave him the very first time they met all those months ago—over a rabbit trap, it seemed to stupid now. His hand hesitated for the Watcher mask but ultimately he shoved that down his trousers aswell. Everything that was precious to him.
Grian sighed, glanced at Mumbo's sleeping form one last time...and slipped out like a shadow in the night.
He fell into the same step he did every night—his intentions only hidden in the restless shifting of his wings that he could hardly control. But they didn't notice, nobody noticed, and he was allowed through the gates...one last time. It was easy. It was so easy, Grian didn't know what he was expecting but...everything kept moving, the stars kept blinking and the breeze kept swishing despite the fact that everything that Grian knew was crumbling. Had crumbled.
He walked through familiar forestry though the air held something thicker, more prominent, every step a commitment to what he was throwing away and what he was about to become.
His boots crunched on dry leaves and snapped little twigs that made skittish critters skuttle back from the creature so much bigger than them.
Stars blinked above and Grian said a silent prayer into himself, apologising to his ansestors, to his parents, for the choices he had made but didn't regret.
He was always torn between good and evil, second guessing every mission and movement and asking the big question of whether or not he was doing more help or harm.
Harm was the answer. He couldn't go on.
His parents had to understand that.
He hoped that they did, that he still had their blessings.
He didn't want to freak himself out with the thought that he was utterly alone.
He couldn't be alone. He was scared to be completely alone.
"Hey." Scar smiled and met him halfway in their little clearing, Grian smiled back at him, even though he could feel the apprehension creep into his expression. "Everyone knows your coming so we'll be in the clear to just walk in, so don't worry, you won't get shot down." Scar snickered even if something genuinely loosened in Grian's shoulders.
"Everyone knows?" He asked, everything becoming more and more real with each passing second.
"Yeah." Scar slid his hands into his pockets, "They were...apprehensive, but the Watchers were ecstatic, in a seriously good mood." Scar relayed and Grian hummed. He didn't know what to think.
"You ready?" The brunette walked forward, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers against Grian's wrist.
"Yeah...yeah I think so." Grian nodded, stomach churning with a constant stream of anxiety.
Anxiety that was like a flare in the realm of Scar.
"We have time." He said, brows furrowing in concern, "We can stay here like always and talk, or not talk, or I can talk, you know I love to talk." Scar's tone turned playful as he nudged Grian's calf with the toe of his boot, the avian couldn't help but smirk.
"No...that's alright. Let's not drag this out, hm?" Grian raised his chin and Scar's smile softened.
"Okay." He whispered and placed a kiss on Grian's forehead, ever the affectionate type. A beat passed between them before Scar leaned his forehead down against Grian's, his nose filling with the comforting scent of....him. His reason for smiling, for waking. His warmth and his happiness. His security and his heart. "I've got you." Scar whispered, his forest eyes—a swirl of every perfect shade looking right into Grian's, into the fears housed in cages in his soul...but Grian wasnt scared to give him the key, not like he was everyone else. Scar could see whatever he wanted because Grian knew he would still be wanted after the fact.
"I know." Grian took a deep breath, "'S just...jarring. But I'm fine." He muttered. Jarring was an understatement, he was flipping a whole seventeen years on its heel, his brain was actively being rewired.
"Can..." Grian hesitated...stars this was stupid. "Can...will...you kiss me? Please?" Grian swallowed thickly, his ears going bright red at his own foolishness. Since his first kiss he had found himself craving more and more and more, craving the taste of his lips like it was the sweetest nectar. Like an idiot. But he couldn't squash the feelings away.
Scar's smile widened into a grin, clearly teasing but trying to be restrained, "You're so fucking cute." He laughed and tilted Grian's jaw up and angled himself right to plant the best kiss he had onto Grian's lips, his broad chest pressed against Grian's.
Grian's mind cleared instantly like dust being blown off ancient books or clouds being torn apart to reveal the warm sun underneath.
Bliss. True bliss.
Grian let out a sigh when it was finished, letting his eyes drop as he nodded to himself. "Okay." He whispered, "Let's go."
Scar nodded back and lead him up the route that he took each night, it was strange, to see what Scar saw every single day—he had never really travelled this far out for the obvious reason that Eyes could be lurking and accidentally getting too close was a death sentence or a scrap waiting to happen.
Until finally the trees thinned to reveal high stone walls—blackstone, sleek and unaffected by weathering, tall and intimidating with spires to support the corners, much like the base back home, only they ended in a gradient of yellowy stone which Grian had never seen before.
Scar lead him forward even when every old instinct screamed at Grian to run away, to not get close, that this was much much much too close. Scar seemed to sense his discomfort though, because he gave Grian a small nudge—a subtle check in to which Grian just nodded. He was fine, as long as Scar was there to guide him. This was fine. Everything was fine.
Whenever they got close enough, night guards froze and peered down with crossbows pointed immediately at the ready just incase, but were quickly lowered whenever they saw Scar...and apparently they knew Grian was coming so the bright red wings were their own indicator of their identities.
Grian expected it to be quiet considering that it was the middle of the night, but once the sleek gates were pulled back he could see pretty much every single Eye staring at him—waiting. His anxiety reached a peak.
"Welcome home, Diamond." Rippled a soothing voice in the back of his head. He swallowed.
"Everyone." Scar smiled, standing up a little straighter, "This, is Grian."
Grian flushed pink, uncomfortable with the sheer amount of attention put upon him, a spotlight he never wanted but now had.
Was he supposed to say something?
His wings shifted uneasily on his back and he found himself itching to reach for his blade—but that really wouldn't make a good first impression considering that he was joining them, not there for an ambush.
"The red-crest." Someone hissed and Grian felt himself tense up, but he forced his chin up, he wouldn't let these Eyes mock him when their gods were literally the ones who sought him out.
"Former red-crest." Scar immediately came to his defense. Firm and...protective?
A scoff sounded and a man of average build stepped up, blonde hair with a middle part flowing over a black band tied around his forehead, face patched with scars, especially around his chin but weren't as prominent as Scar's—were his eyes red or was it just Grian? He was breathing heavy, lip curled into a furious sneer.
Grian furrowed his brows, wondering what on earth his problem was.
"You've got some nerve to waltz in here like you're suddenly one of us." He hissed, drawing his sword.
"Martyn—" Scar stepped forward but the blonde—Martyn, Grian noted—didn't even look at him, eyes fixed on Grian like a predator stalking prey.
"Listen, I know I've done wrong for the other side before—" Grian rose his hands a little, keeping his fingers open. Picking fights with Eyes in his first few seconds on the Watcher base was less than ideal considering he'll be fighting alongside this very 'Martyn'.
He barked out a humourless laugh, "Done wrong?" He snarled and Scar immediately stepped up with his hands open.
"Stars, Martyn, cool it, he didn't know—"
"He killed my wife." And in a flash Martyn was lunging for him like a wild animal finally making its move.
Grian went pale. That Eye...Netty.
A yelp escaped him out of sheer surprise whenever his brain caught up and realised he was being tackled to the ground, realistically he could've dodged if his thoughts didn't lag—memories he had shut down to the very depth resurfacing and attacking every nerves fibre.
The suffocating stench of burning flesh.
Screams of agony.
Begging for mercy.
There was commotion around him but Grian couldn't hear it over his ringing ears—he could only scramble as pain blossomed across his nose, a weight straddling his hips, but as quickly as it came, it went. Martyn was hauled off him and Grian was helped into a sitting position by Scar, the latter of which was turning his face this way and that, checking for injury.
"HE KILLED MY WIFE!" Martyn roared, straining against other Eyes as tears streamed down his face in a despair only grief could conjure.
"You don't even know it was him Martyn, he's just a red-crest." Someone hissed to the blonde.
Grian's stomach coiled with the nausea of knowledge. He had. He had done it.
"And we've killed his comrades!" Scar barked back, "Everyone has killed someone. He's with us now. That's what matters."
Grian had never seen Scar so hostile. For some sick reason butterflies sprung in his stomach at the protective fierceness of Scar's voice. He was used to looking out for himself...but hearing Scar defend him with such certainty..
Grian swallowed.
"I'm sorry. I am." He didn't know what else to say but he felt the need to say something. He pushed himself to his feet, unharmed apart from a thin line of blood leaking from his nose which he wiped away with the back of his hand. What could he say to a grieving man? A grieving man who was staring right in the face of the person who subjected him to that pain.
Stars.
Martyn didn't take his apology, he looked like he wanted to tear Grian apart but was instead dragged away by other concerned Eyes to help him calm down.
"I'm sorry about that dude." A man came over to him and Grian instinctively took a single step back. Scar's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed once—conveying a silent message of safety.
Grian glanced at him once before looking back at the man infront of him. Longish brown hair was pulled to a tie at his nape with fluffy brown ears blending into his locks, wolf or dog Grian couldn't tell. He was quite burly, stubble adorning his chin and jaw. He had an accent that Grian couldn't place.
"He's...well he's grieving ya know?" The man said and Grian nodded slowly...yeah, he didn't blame him.
Grian swallowed back bile.
"Ren." The man smiled and held out a hand—the sudden politeness caught Grian off guard and honestly gave him whiplash, from being tackled to being offered a handshake?
Grian just stared at the hand, brows furrowed.
"Oookay." The man—Ren—let his hand drop as he cleared his throat with a little awkwardness.
"So, you're the parrot then?" He noted with a small hum. Grian scrunched his nose, what was that supposed to mean?
"Word spreads." Scar smirked and nudged him...everything felt a little too easy. "The brother of the general. You're like a myth."
"Me?" Grian whipped his head around, he had stories about him? They knew about him?? Or had Scar just given them a quick over view of who he was beyond his past loyalties?
"Yeah." Scar chuckled.
"Listen, why don't you get him settled and everything and we'll talk more in the morning?" Ren said and Scar immediately nodded.
"Sounds good. Coming?" He gently eased Grian's arms out of their crossed state and lightly took his hand. Grian took a glance about his surroundings before nodding—feeling very strange in his place.
"Goodnight." Scar called over his shoulder and Grian allowed himself to he dragged off.
"Never knew you were so popular." Grian muttered and earned a snicker from his brunette.
"I'm a bloody ray of sunshine, songbird. Everyone loves me." Scar said in mock cockiness as Grian was lead into an average building, just trusting in Scar's directions.
"Uh huh." Grian snorted and looked about his new surroundings, everything making his skin prickle with unfamiliarity.
Scar smirked and lead him on, "You'll be staying with me. Hope that's okay?"
Grian glanced at him quickly and immediately smiled, relief washing over him like a wave, "Yeah, yeah that's great."
"Good." Scar smiled at his smile before he pushed open a wooden door. It was a pretty average looking room, tiny, cot in the corner with a sink in the other and a box at the foot to hold whatever, a small dresser in the remaining corner.
"Fancy." Grian hummed, taking a walk around and staring at everything.
"Okay birdie I'd like to see if your room was any better." Scar scoffed in playful offence and crossed his arms. Grian just snorted, brushing his fingertips along sketches pinned to the walls—lines scratchy but somehow adding to the effect.
"Did you draw these?" Grian asked, turning his head.
"Nah, kids in the village give them to us." Scar smirked and came up behind him, settling a hand on his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world but made Grian's face heat up like a fire cracker.
"Uh-uhm‐ cool." He cleared his throat, letting his hand drop.
That was very sweet acctually...the drawings.
Scar smirked and rubbed his thumb along the fabric of Grian's trousers, just a little steady motion.
"You've got options. Take the bed and I'll roll out a blanket on the floor...or we can share a bed. It's quite small—so we don't have to if you don't want to, it's okay i promise—" Scar's words sped up by the end and Grian turned his head so he could look at him in the dim light.
"Uh-" Real eloquent. Grian didn't know honestly...he had never slept side by side another person.
"Got it. I'll grab a spare—" Scar pulled his hand away and shifted to walk to the dresser, but Grian stopped him, his hand clamped to his wrist.
"Wait—"
Scar froze and glanced over, confused.
"I...it's okay. I'll sleep with you." Grian muttered.
"You don't have to." Scar reiterated, "I know you like your space."
Grian softened...this man.
"No...it's okay. As long as you don't hog the blanket." Grian teased awkwardly so the whole atmosphere didn't feel so tense.
Scar's lips broke into a genuine smile, "No promises." He teased back and walked over to grab another pillow, plopping it down next to the one already there.
Grian made quick work of kicking his shoes off and letting his jacket slip off his shoulders.
"We'll get you new clothes tomorrow." Scar promised, sitting down on the edge of the bed before shuffling in, Grian quickly followed suit.
He wasn't wrong. There really wasn't much room on the single cot.
He shifted to get comfortable, wondering how such an arrangement would ever work—until a strong arm wrapped around his waist and before he knew it he was being tugged backwards, his back flush against a broad chest, his wings somehow not getting in the way and acctually laying quite comfortably.
His face burned.
"Is this okay songbird?" Came a gentle whisper against his nape that made him shiver, sensitive skin prickling under warm breath.
Grian fought not to squirm.
"You infuriate me." Grian grunted and Scar only snickered.
"Yea? How so?" He teased quietly, his thumb doing that stupid rubbing motion against Grian's clothed stomach that filled it with butterflies. Why did he keep doing that? Idiot.
"You know what you're doing and I don't. It's an uneven playing field." Grian muttered grumpily and Scar let out a laugh.
"Oh I'm sorry." He cooed, still teasing.
"You should be." Grian grumbled, swallowing thickly.
"I'll tone it down if you want. I really don't mind sleeping on the floor." Scar promised, gentler, much much gentler, the teasing falling away.
Grian immediately felt guilty, he was only being an ass, he didn't mean to make Scar think that...he didn't like it or anything.
"No." Grian insisted. "No...no I like this. Don't you dare go." He muttered in the most stern voice he could muster, curling on on himself an little to practically hug Scar's arm.
"Okay." Scar whispered, half in relief, placing a deft kiss to the skin of Grian's nape, "Goodnight."
Grian was literally going to explode if he kept this up.
"Goodnight."
He was so...warm.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
To memory, Grian had never woken up slowly. Whenever he awoke, he registered he was awake, rubbed away lingering drowsiness and got up—the whole ordeal took him about ten seconds after opening his eyes. Simple. Efficient.
But this morning was different, he woke up impossibly slow and sluggish—his limbs were stiffer than they normally were and his eyes wanted to do anything but open despite the fact that he was very much awake.
He dug his hand out of the blanket to wipe at his face, only for the movement to stir a certain Eye behind him.
Grian froze, immediately on edge until the events of last night came back to his sleep fogged brain.
He was in the Watcher base. In bed. He was in bed with Scar.
The man made himself more known by letting out a little groan, the arm which had been slung around Grian's waist all night curled, serving to only tighten his encasement, but Grian wasn't complaining...he allowed the man to hug him close...it would he a shame to push him away, besides, he was still—bizarrely—sleepy.
"You awake?" Scar whispered into the shell of his ear, voice quiet and soft enough that if Grian hadn't arisen, it would not wake him up.
Grian let out a soft hum to relay consciousness and he felt Scar adjust his arms around him, burying his nose into the curls at the nape of his neck.
"Sleep okay?"
No. No he was infact not okay. He never had issues before with tone of voice in his life, but suddenly—because the world just loved to be cruel to him—butterflies were swirling around in his gut much too early in the morning and he was more aware of the raspiness of the brunette's voice than he would like to be. Low and hoarse, slightly muffled but still deep. Grian's face went red at his own thoughts and he was silently grateful for the fact that Scar was behind him.
"No." He grunted, squirming a little in attempts to rid himself of the funny feeling in his gut and the ever growing pace of his heart.
"No?" Scar echoed, voice full of confusion. "Why?" He heard a shuffle behind him but Grian didn't dare to look.
"Because you're annoying and you've got no right to sound like that first thing in—" Grian bit down on his tongue, a sudden spike of panic crawling up his spine, "Wait, what was the question?"
He could practically taste the smirk on Scar's lips, "I asked you if you slept okay."
Grian's face burned.
Well shit.
"Oh- yeah, yeah I slept fine." Good. Surprisingly good. Amazingly...
Scar hummed, "What was this about my voice?" He asked, voice lilting in pure amusement that Grian didn't appreciate.
"Nothing. Shut up." He grunted and lifted the blanket up over his head.
"Hey!" Scar laughed, tugging at the top, "Come on, I just wanna hear that one more time, finish your sentence songbird." He said playfully, rivalling Grian's own strength in trying to pull the blanket down.
Grian groaned.
"Your stupid voice is making my stupid stomach do stupid flips. Don't let it get to your head." The avian grumbled, twisting himself around so that his back was no longer against the other's chest.
"Hey." Scar laughed, ducking under the blanket too with something of a fond smile. "Thank you, songbird." He said with genuine care and placed a kiss on Grian's forehead.
Dumbass.
"What're we doing today?" Grian muttered, trying to take the attention away from himself and something more ordinary.
"Except for compliment my morning voice?" Scar teased, "Ow!" He hissed when Grian punched him in the bicep—he was being utterly dramatic, Grian hadn't even hit hard at all. "Have mercy songbird I am but a weak man!" Scar said theatrically, Grian couldn't help but laugh.
Scar laughed with him.
"Well," The brunette let out a sigh, bringing them both up from under the blanket, "I'm gonna give you the grand tour. Meet some people." Scar shrugged.
"Okay." Grian mumbled. A tour sounded good—he didn't want to be completely incompetent without Scar by his side. "What time is it?" He mumbled like an after thought.
"Nearly six am." Scar responded and Grian let out a probably too loud exhale, relief flooding through him that he had woken up at a reasonable hour.
Scar snorted, "You wanna lay in a little?" He asked, fiddling with a wisp of Grian's messy hair.
The avian scrunched his nose, "It's nearly six am." He stated.
"Yeah?" Scar raised a brow, awaiting more, by there was none.
"We should be getting ready." Grian said slowly, confused by his confusion. Scar just groaned and put his head down and buried himself under Grian's chin.
"Scar-" Grian couldn't help but laugh.
"Fine fine just give me a second." Came a muffled complaint that only made Grian's smirk widen.
Eventually—after many little noises just to remind everyone that Scar was infact not happy with getting out of bed—they peeled themselves away and got dressed and out the door.
It was a nice morning. The air was crisp and fresh and the grass held on to little droplets of dew, the sun was out and ready, though not risen to its full height but the birds seemed to deem that good enough to get our and get chirping.
Just like Grian.
"Oh! Yes! Clothes." Scar clicked his fingers as though recalling something he had forgotten, "We'll get you clothes first before we go for breakfast so you don't have to stay in the ones you slept in."
And so they did. Scar lead him down to a surprisingly nice blackstone building, the inside had fresh wooden floors like nobody with muddy boots had even dreamed to step foot in it and everything was so organised Grian couldn't help but gawk.
Scar fished around for the basics, shirt, trousers, socks, underwear, a spare coat if he needed it—which he didn't.
"There you go." Scar smirked, adding to the growing pile built up on Grian's forearms.
"Thanks." He monotoned for the sake of the joke and they both giggled.
Afterwards Scar lead him back to his room because Grian hadn't been taking proper stock of his surroundings and he spent a short time cutting holes into his shirts before he changed.
Breakfast was...well it was something else. Scar lead him down the lush green to a massive canopy of quartz seats with acctual tables instead of benches. For one, Grian never expected the sudden change in colour pallette, and secondly they used quartz like this all willy nilly? This was probably the most quartz Grian had seen in his entire life and it was just being used for a mess hall!! Quartz!
He was guided over to a join the back of a line of soldiers and once his turn came up his mouth immediately began to water as he was handed a bowl of freshly scrambled eggs with a side of toast. Eggs. They had the luxury of eggs?! Grian worried for a second that his tolerance to bland food was going to go down the drain with one single meal.
Scar must've noticed his starstruck expression because the brunette snorted and nudged him, "What?" He asked, curious and more than a little amused.
"Nothing I just—" Grian couldn't stop staring at it, soft and fluffy yellow lightly seasoned with black specks and golden brown glistening with butter. "I haven't had eggs in a long time." Resourses were limited most of the time, luxuries like this were kept for special occasions if at all, they didn't exactly have a chicken lying around ready to pop out eggs for them, nor did they have a very good relationship with the village—and still don't after...well...that incident.
"Oh? What would you normally have?" Scar asked while they walked, slowing his pace so they wouldn't get to their destination before Grian finished talking.
"Grain...porridge with water...porridge...uhh, rice." Grian tried to think of more, "Oats, maybe sometimes just an apple." He shrugged. He assumed that that was pretty standard breakfast food but he was starting to question himself whenever Scar looked absolutely appalled.
"Donkies eat better!" He said, exasperated.
Grian narrowed his eyes, "Donkies eat straw." Grian muttered.
"Details." Scar brushed him off, "Stars Grian. Well, now that you're here you'll be eating good, am I understood?" Scar said in this firm tone of voice that made Grian snicker.
"Sir yes sir." He snorted and kept on walking.
Scar lead him over to a table with another inhabitant already sitting at it. An avian, he noted—soft brown sparrow wings.
"Grian, I'd like to introduce you to my good friend Pearl, Pearl, this is Grian." Scar said very slowly before sitting down, Grian took the chair beside him.
"Hello." He said by way of being polite and the lady smiled back at him.
"Hi."
She seemed nice enough. Ordinary.
Breakfast was uneventful except for that, they chatted about mundane things like the weather and how the cook had outdone himself today or whatever. Grian didn't really care for it, he chimed in ever so often just to stay present but otherwise just allowed Scar and Pearl to talk while his brain plagued him with other thoughts.
Thoughts of the people back home. Well, the red-crest base.
He usually had his every day meals with Mumbo, and he wasn't saying that he didn't enjoy being in Scar's company it was just—jarring. Very jarring. Yeah Scar had his own rambles and they were doubled with Pearl's own conversation, but he vaguely missed the animated rants about his latest projects and other projects that didn't explode in his face—which was always a win.
"You alright?" Grian jumped a little more than he ought to, blinking and looking around.
"Oh- yeah." Grian cleared his throat, "Yeah I'm fine why- uh- why do you ask?" He said in the most casual tone of voice he could muster.
"You're not eating." Scar said slowly, brows slightly furrowed. Grian glanced down at his bowl and noted that he had only taken a singular bite of toast.
His stomach churned.
"Oh, right." He took a bite of eggs but they didn't really have a taste, just substance in his mouth.
Scar's eyes softened into worry and he made a tiny shift in his head, barely noticeable but conveying a silent question.
Grian nodded and that was that. Scar reluctantly nodded back and returned to his conversation with Pearl.
After breakfast—which Grian hadn't finished, only taken a few meager bites and insisted that he was full and alright—began the tour.
He had to admit that the Watcher base was nice. Like insanely nice. It felt like it's own little village, buildings lined up in perfect and logical order with paths in the grass to mark one place to another. Each building pretty much looked the same and that only added to the beauty of it—sleek blackstone rooves and stone walls—only a select few had that yellowy stone brick Grian had never seen as exterior foundation.
"Where on earth did you get all of this?" Grian had asked. All of it must've cost a fortune.
"The Watchers blessed us with the materials and we just...built." Scar had replied and it just put Grian into more awe and really put more of the Watcher's abilities into perspective. Stars.
But the most gorgeous part of all had to be the fountain right smack in the middle of everything.
A Watcher, Grian's brain supplied. A large figure in a long robe with Their two sets of wings spread wide—spindly things that were much thinner than avian wings but were so intimidating, even in stone. But it held no mask, unearth the hood water was pouring out from where eye sockets would be and dripping into the circular basin below. It wasn't massive—the basin—just enough of a ring so water didn't flood.
"Wow..." Grian whispered under his breath..slowly reaching out to rub his palm along the stone.
"The Watchers built that themselves." Scar said quietly with a tender smile, "We call it Hope. Like—if you're addressing it you'd say 'I'll meet you at Hope' or whatever." Scar came forward, putting a hand on Grian's hip.
"Hope..." Grian echoed to himself.
Cool.
"Well." Scar cleared his throat, "What do you think?" He smiled, turning Grian to face him, the avian smiled back at him.
"Your base is fancy as shit." He said, a very valid conclusion to come to that made Scar laugh.
"Really?" He said through giggles.
"Really." Grian confirmed, "I haven't seen a single thing that's chipped or held together with wooden boards. Fancy."
Scar snorted and adjusted his arms, hooking his fingers at the small of Grian's back, "You like it, then?" He asked, almost hopeful.
Grian nodded, "It's nice...nicer with...you." Well great. Real smooth.
Scar giggled, "Did you just try and flirt with me?" He asked, voice full with amusement.
It only made Grian redder, "Shut up!" He frowned, "I was trying something and now I've learned never to say a nice thing ever again." He stated.
"Oh come on!" Scar laughed.
"Nope!" Grian turned his head away, "You're horrible and arrogant about your romantic ability." He pouted dramatically.
Until Scar's gentle fingers turned his chin forward, tilting his head up just so, "What if I said sorry?" He tilted his head, breath warm against Grian's lips.
Blasted butterflies.
"Then I wouldn't forgive you." Grian muttered, remaining stubborn.
"Please?" Scar whispered. It sent shivers down Grian's spine.
Dumbass.
"Fine." He grunted and tried to keep his smile away whenever Scar's mouth widened into the brightest grin.
"Great." He beamed and pressed a little kiss to Grian's lips.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸"
Grian flinched away. He recognised that dammed word but he still didn't know what it meant.
"Songbird?" Scar furrowed his brows, confused.
Grian brought his hand up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I-it's nothing." Grian muttered.
"We want to see you Diamond." Echoed a coo at the base of his skull, so genuine and melodic that Grian felt himself being soothed by it. He let out a sigh.
"Do you uh-" Grian swallowed, "Know where I could go and see the Watchers?" He asked, feeling immediately awkward.
"See the Watchers?" Scar raised a brow, "We don't really see Them, but I show you to the place They're said to live."
Grian frowned...he didn't remember that as part of the tour, "Where They live?"
Scar nodded, "Where they're usually in...though they don't like to be distrubed." Scar warned.
"Take me." Grian wasn't sure if this was a secret thing or not but he figured that it was best to be cautious when dealing with gods, he'd ask now in a moment though whether this...whatever this was...was okay to share.
So Scar did. He lead him up a long flight of stairs that seemed to be never ending, spiraling all the way up to the stars themselves. Until, finally, they reached a wooden door with purple ruins burned into its face—a dull glow emanating from the symbols Grian didn't understand.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Scar asked, "I...know you mentioned that the Watchers spoke to you. Did they do that again?"
Right. Shit. Well if it had to remain a secret Grian had already broken that. But it seemed to be fine.
"Mhm." He nodded, "I'll go alone...I'll see you later?" He said, hopefully.
Scar immediately smiled, "I'll see you later. You won't get lost?"
Grian tilted his head, "It's a long endless flight of stairs, not like I can make any wrong turns." The avian said matter of factly and had Scar's eyes crinkling before he dropped his head.
"I suppose you're right, okay then, be careful." Scar said before he made his descent.
Grian took a deep breath, sudden nerves washing over his entire being before he pushed the door open.
The room was dark—almost black as the midnight sky. Grian searched for a lantern, a torch, anything he could use to see clearer before the sky started to light up with tiny blinking lights. The ceiling was covered in stars, but they didn't look fake or man-made, they looked like genuine stars.
Then the room was cast purple—candles sparked with purple flame out of their own accord and Grian's jaw dropped when he realised that they were floating. Full, thick candle sticks floating through the air, but they weren't bubbling or bouncing around, they were stationary in their air borne state.
Grian, curiously, reached out to nudge one with the tip of his index finger and marveled whenever it merely wobbled before settling again in the same exact spot.
He had never seen fire glow violet.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Grian jumped and turned around to find the Three standing there staring at him. They didn't look as...well...for lack of a better word: creepy, as they did in the realm of void. They were just figures clad in robes and white masks. A white mask. Familiar white masks. A white mask he too owned.
"Stars...can you not scare me every time?" Grian asked, clutching his chest where his heart would be.
"We're sorry, Diamond." Came a soothing voice that sounded genuinely apologetic. Grian let out an exhale and composed himself.
"What's...that word you keep saying?" He asked slowly.
"Which word?" Asked the middle.
"Uh-" Grian wasn't even going to attempt to pronounce it, he didn't think his human tongue could even form the syllables. "That word...you always say." He said slowly, a little awkward since he didn't know how to be more specific.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸?" Echoed the one on the left and Grian nodded immediately...the Watchers sounded amused.
"Diamond." They answered. It was quite the illusion when speaking to them since he never saw a single mouth move, he didn't know if they even had mouths, each phrase was swirling around in his mind rather than outside it.
"Ah." Grian nodded slowly. Diamond. That made sense...Diamond.
"Fret not Our Diamond, you will learn Our tongue soon." They promised in a synchronised harmony that made Grian slightly dizzy.
That...wasn't ominous at all.
Grian just hummed slightly and decided to take better stock of his surroundings. The walls were all lined with bookshelves, every last one. But other than that there wasn't much decor unless you counted ruins similar to the ones on the door imbedded into the stone floor.
"Allow us to be transparent with you, Diamond." Their voice wrapped around his soul like warm linen, "We want you to join us."
Grian blanched, hadn't he already done that? "What? Like become a Watcher?" He said sarcastically by way of comedy.
They didn't laugh.
"Precisely."
Grian blinked rapidly and his eyes widened, surely he had misheard?? He wasn't being serious!
"How...? How am I supposed to become...a god." Just saying it out loud felt ridiculous, he had never been more confused in his life.
"Don't worry about the details...Our Diamond...just trust Us." They came closer, words lapping in almost a lullaby that had his shoulders relaxing.
"We can make you a part of something, something real yours as much as Ours."
"Okay." He whispered. He trusted Them. He didn't know why, or how...but he felt himself drifting into compliance.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
The longer he stayed the deeper the pool in his gut got.
He couldn't stop wondering about his old life. Had they searched for him? Who had noticed first? Did Mumbo wake up that morning immediately confused or had he brushed it off for him waking up extra early.
Had Jimmy gotten worried when his little brother hadn't been seen by anyone? Was anybody concerned about his nearly week long absence without a single word?
Did they assume he was dead or were they keeping up hope?
Did they hate him now? They probably did, if they knew. The red-crests were smart, the night guards would have reported that he had left and he assumed that they would relay that Grian had been leaving every single night...it wouldn't take long to deduce that he had either fled to the other side or defected entirely.
But still...even if they hated him he couldn't help but miss them. He missed Mumbo and he missed Etho and stars he wished that he had taken his brother's teachings on sentiment more seriously because his stupid people brain would not shut up.
He couldn't stop thinking. And that was the issue.
But there was another side to his pondering.
Did they know what he knew? Did they know the truth?
Did they knew the origin of this whole war? The monstrosities their side committed and then turned around to preach being the good guys? Was there even a good side in war? At least the Watchers didn't torture. Grian shuddered.
"Diamond."
He jumped, blinking out of his daze and glancing at the gods infront of him. He had been sitting at a table that wasn't there one day then placed in the middle of the room the next. The Watchers were having him read through old texts—he has to wrap his head around the main premise of their whole heritage, but They assured him that if the soul was willing that They could plant knowledge like a seed within him. But something couldn't come from nothing.
He had to focus, but that was becoming increasingly difficult when uncertainty haunted him.
Did they miss him? Did anyone?
"What is troubling you?" Grian thought he caught a hint of tightness, but he must've just imagined it, for a spindly hand with long fingers tipped black as though dipped in midnight ink cupped his tired face with such tenderness that it made him sigh.
Grian probably shouldn't, they were gods, but a little part of him...the tiny fledgling still chirping in his chest nuzzling into any warmth given to him, greedily gathering feathers to fill the gap left by not having any sort of mother figure in his life. He let out an exhale, any tension leaving with it.
"Nothing." Grian said quietly, trying to convince himself as much as the Watchers.
A head tilted, a thumb brushed underneath his eye.
"You musn't lie to Us Diamond." They said firmly and he found himself not wanting to disappoint them.
"I'm thinking...about the red-crests." Grian admitted, sitting up straighter. The Watcher let our an almost sympathetic noise.
"Thank you for telling Us." Looped around voice intertwined with Theirs.
The Watchers were...complicated and Grian had yet to get used to their dynamic fully, sometimes they were one, three voices in one circling around in his head, and others the full three figures were present infront of him.
"Would you like to bring them here?" The Watcher whispered and Grian blinked—They never failed to catch him off guard.
"Bring...them..here?" He—well he didn't know what to think.
"Yes. Your comfort is Our priority Diamond...among the fact that We desire your focus." A phamtom touch pressed into the spot right between his eyes, above his nose bridge.
"How?" Grian furrowed his brows. He was still coming down from his whiplash, this was not how he expected the conversation to turn.
"Are you familiar with the mortal...Martyn?"
Grian nodded. Martyn. He had killed his wife...the blonde man to attacked him his first day and he hadn't seen since, he wouldn't be surprised if he was being avoided on purpose. Poor guy.
"Go and see him. He will know all. We will tell him." A series of whispers passed from left and right channels and Grian found himself getting more confused.
"But—"
"You trust Us...do you not, Our Diamond?" His cheek was stroked as the softness of female voice had him going boneless.
"Yes." He muttered. He did. He didn't know why but he did. He really did.
"Good." There was a smile in that voice but he could not see it. "Go on now." The hand dropped and disappeared into fabric and Grian stood, stretching out sore muscle before picking up his sword from where he had it propped against the chair.
Grian went to the door...then paused, "Thank you." He said quietly, he wasn't sure what he was thanking Them for but he felt grateful...perhaps he just didn't expect things to be so easy. That he could casually converse with his now enemy.
The Watcher inclined Their head and Grian took his cue and left.
He made the familiar trek down the stairs with practiced swiftness, allowing himself to glide at parts with his wings just to speed up the process.
Once out, he took a grateful gulp of air and immediately began searching for his...uhmm. His sunflower. Grian cringed at his own internal monologues, that was corny, far too corny. Scar did fine...just because he had a cute nickname for him didn't mean he had to follow suit...right?
Stars, things were confusing.
"Hey!"
Well that made Grian's search much easier, Scar found him first and was jogging up to him with a bright smile on his face.
"You're out early." He said, but not as a bad thing, he sounded excited, genuinely happy to see him...Grian grinned back, happy to have someone be happy to see him.
This base was changing him. Having people care about him was making him soft. Having people care beyond the bare minimum and little conversation...Grian had never seen another's eyes light up so just to see little old him.
"Miss me?" Grian teased, pulling Scar down by the collar of his shirt—because the man was much too tall and it was annoying—to plant a kiss on his lips without having to go up on his tippy toes.
"Yessss." Scar didn't even hesitate, hugging Grian close. "How could I not, you're only my favourite bird." He teased, placing his own kiss to Grian's temple which made the avian snicker.
"How did lessons go?" Scar asked. When he inquired the secrecy of these meetings the Watchers told him that he could say and not say whatever he wanted, so long as They kept his loyalty.
"Good." Grian nodded and took a breath, "Lucky you found me, I was just coming to look for you. Will you come with me to see Martyn?"
Scar winced through his teeth. Pretty expected response. "Why?" He asked slowly, face a little twisted.
"I'm going to see my friends from...the red-crests." Grian said and watched in real time as utter confusion crossed upon Scar's eyes, he stiffen too, just a little.
"Red-crests?" He echoed. Grian nodded.
"The Watchers told me to go and see Martyn...I wasn't focusing because I was...missing them." Grian admitted with a pinch of sheepishness.
"What will Martyn do...be an escort?" Scar tilted his head, just thinking aloud. Grian shrugged.
"No idea, but I didn't wanna go alone." It wasn't like he was scared of the man or anything, but Grian knew that he wasn't a favourite right now...or possibly ever, how could you ever forgive a man for killing your wife? But he was more familiar with Scar, so maybe with him around he wouldn't lunge at Grian the second he saw him.
"Yeah okay." Scar agreed, "I'll come, right now?"
"I guess so." Grian shrugged, the Watchers just told him to go and see Martyn, they didn't specify so he just assumed now.
Scar nodded and—unable to help himself—placed a last kiss on Grian's nose, "Alright, let's get searching." He smiled.
Grian smiled back at him, cheeks red. Stars he cherished that man.
They found Martyn sharpening up arrowheads and the pair decided that it was probably better for Scar to go first and Grian be just an inch behind him.
"Heyyy Martyn!" Scar said casually and Martyn lifted his head up, but his eyes almost instantly found Grian's. So much for easing him into Grian's prescense.
"You're here." He stated, his voice cold.
"Hi-" Grian said, unsure of what else to say.
Martyn stood suddenly and Grian made no step back.
"Don't get it twisted. I'm helping you for my gods." He spat and Grian raised his hands up a little, a universal sign of peace. So he knew then, somehow. Well that made things easier, probably.
"Martyn, my dude please refrain from killing the parrot." Ren jogged over and slung an arm around his shoulders. Martyn was still steaming but relaxed significantly at the presence of the other, even if his glare remained properly fixed.
"Hi Ren." Grian said, suddenly grateful to have back up.
"Come back to me tonight and I'll have every set up. It's not happening in broad daylight." Martyn gruffed, not making any effort to hide his hatred.
Grian nodded immediately. Logical enough.
"Wow wait, what's happening tonight?" Ren asked, looking from face to face for answers.
Nobody really answered him, Grian didn't know what to say, he didn't know how much he could trust him not to freak out or whatever. Grian didn't want this to be some big show and dance he just wanted to tell his friends the truth and get them out of there.
"He wants to see the red-crests." Martyn bit. Why was Grian getting the impression that he was being accused of something, "You wanna come?" Martyn turned to Ren, his tone considerably softer when talking with him than with Grian.
Fair enough.
"Uhhh, I mean sure! Why not!" Ren agreed and Martyn gave him a nod.
"I assume your boyfriend's coming?" He raised a brow and Grian went red.
"Uh- yes- yea yep! Yep I'll be there." Scar said, face equally rosey.
They had never acctually discussed any sort of label, so having someone just blatantly come out with it was—well it was a little startling!
"Right." Martyn muttered. "Bye then."
"Bye." Grian swallowed at the abrupt farewell and decided to just walk off with Scar in tow.
"He hates me." Grian mumbled to fill the silence, he didn't mind being hated—he had been somewhat hated his entire life by the only family he had left, but this was different...he genuinely felt remorse and he didn't know how to convey that.
"Yep." Scar sighed, "But there's not much we can do about that."
Grian hummed in agreement, continuing their slow walk with no destination in mind.
"So." Scar cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between them, "How...how did you feel when Martyn called me your boyfriend?" He was trying to be casual and Grian could tell that instantly, but he wasn't doing a very good job.
"Uh-" Grian honestly didn't know what to say. How did he feel? But now...now didn't feel like the right time to bring it up.
"Can we talk about this some other time?" He said, his stomach churning. Was it so bad that he just...wanted to exist with Scar? His whole life his label was Jimmy's younger brother, the general's younger brother. He couldn't breathe past that, he couldn't think beyond expectation. And...well he was scared. Of what, he couldn't pin point. It just made him uneasy.
"Yeah- yeah of course." Scar said immediately and looked away, part embarrassed and part guilty.
Grian bit down on the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to make Scar feel bad, because it wasn't Scar's fault. At all.
"Can...things just stay he same?" Grian whispered, everything was changing, constantly, all around him...Scar had always been his comfort...his paradise in the desert...he didn't want him to start changing too. "I just...I like you...and I want that to be enough for right now."
The brunette softened instantly and turned to him, "Yeah." He whispered, taking Grian's hand, "Yes, of course songbird. Don't stress about it, please, don't worry." Scar kissed his forehead and Grian found himself relaxing.
Grian let out an exhale, "Well..." He breathed, "We've got time to kill...what do you wanna do?"
Scar hummed in thought, "You ever groomed horses?" Scar asked.
"I have." Grian nodded and Scar's smile widened.
"Do you wanna meet them?" He smirked.
Grian nodded instantly, and off they went.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Grian returned that night to the same spot. Martyn and Ren were already waiting, then proceeded to lead Grian and Scar to a little building at the back of the base.
"Okay. Here's what your gonna do." Martyn started and Grian leaned in, not risking to miss any minute detail. "You're going to take a few invis potions with you and fly over the red-crest base to get in. You can be quiet can't you?" Grian didn't miss the hint of condescension in Martyn's voice.
"Yes." He muttered, of course he could be quiet, he has trained for it.
Martyn hummed before continuing, he stood up and walked across the small space and only when he was right next to it did Grian notice the trap door on the ground. Martyn lifted it up and underneath was a small shute of water with bubbles constantly streaming to the top as if it were boiling.
Grian frowned, he had never seen anything like it.
"You'll go in, do whatever you need to do and you'll get brought back, like this." The trap door was dropped with a loud crash that made Grian flinch embrassingly.
"Right...?" Grian narrowed his eyes, more than a little sceptical with a million different questions flying through his head all fighting for dominance on which should be asked first.
But nobody else looked confused other than him.
"Okay, but how is a trapdoor and water supposed to bring me back?" He asked and Martyn turned to reach into his satchel and pulled out something that did not belong in this world.
It looked like a glass orb, a spherical ball that could fit in your hand without being awkward. It was almost black around the edges but then slowly faded into a deep blueish green, then a slightly lighter turquoise colour, and, in the middle, was a smaller circle that he could only describe as an eye.
It made Grian more than a little uneasy.
"This, is an enderpearl." Martyn stated and outstretched his hand to give it to him. Grian hesitated, this was the sort of thing that when distrubed would surely bring curses down onto your entire bloodline or something around those lines...but hesitantly...he took it.
It was warmer than he had expected, but was hard like glass. He glanced back up at Martyn, awaiting him to continue.
"When thrown it can teleport you to the location it lands. But in here, the trapdoor hitting it will activate it all the same and you'll be brought back here instantly. All you need to do is drop it into the water and it'll be connected to you."
Grian's mind scrambled to process all of the information at once, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't have to understand it, he just had to do what he was told and trust that Martyn, Ren, Scar and the Watchers all weren't lying to him.
"Okay." Grian muttered, glancing at down at the ender pearl in his hands.
"Do you understand?" Martyn asked with a raised brow.
"Yes." He understood what he had to do, which was what he assumed Martyn was asking him.
The blonde nodded, low and ready, "Drop the pearl into the water."
Grian did as he was told and dropped the pearl in once the trapdoor was lifted up again. He didn't know what he expected to happen—maybe some flashing lights or big spectar, but the only thing the pearl did...was bob on the surface of the water like red bait on a line.
There was only one more question.
"How will you know when to shut the trapdoor?" He asked.
"They'll be watching." Martyn answered naturally, Grian was just about to question what exactly he meant before he was cut off and handed a potion, "Now go."
Grian nodded, rose, and took a deep breath.
"Stay safe." Scar said and Grian smiled at him before gulping the potion down, taking a bottle of milk, and disappearing into the night.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Grian got a sick sense of deja vu the second that the red-crest camp came into view, memory upon memory all flooding in at once to attack him.
Not necessarily bad memories—though a lot of them were—but memories none the less.
The closer he got the more his anxiety rose—if he was somehow seen, if a ruffled feather was heard, then he would be shot down mid-flight and there was nothing he could do about it.
So he tried harder than he ever had to stay quiet, stay high so even a mis-calculated wing beat couldn't be heard unless they appointed some new night guard with super sonic hearing.
Apart from the strange sense of deja vu...he couldn't help the feeling that he was being watched...but he brushed it off. The Watchers were something to get used to indeed.
Once he was fully over the base he dived down like a raptor going for the kill, sleek and as soundless as he could get it before he landed on the grass, looking around to make sure he was truly in the clear—most everyone was asleep, just like it was every night.
Good for him.
He scouted the building that Etho stayed in and made his way over on light feet, careful to avoid anything he could trip over and any stray twigs, a single crack that could reveal his position and jeopardise everything.
He went around the back and scanned the wall for a window—that was the safest option since he didn't know Etho's building as well as his own and he could easily misplace a step and land on a squeaky floorboard which would also go down very very poorly for him.
So a window was his best bet.
Lucky for him, just like he assumed, there was one. He peered inside just to be sure that it was Etho's room before quietly creeping in. Grian jumped up and latched his hands onto the slightly ajar beam and hooked his leg over so that he could roll inside.
The issue was the landing.
He instantly stepped on a creaky floorboard and Etho—ever the light sleeper—sat up instantly, mask off and hair disheveled from sleep, one ear lopsided.
"Hello?"
Grian slowly reached for the milk he had tied to his belt but the sloshing and giant sound of a cork had made Etho jolt, immediately rising to his feet and pulling his sword out from under his pillow, eyes narrowed, scar intimidating in the moonlight.
Grian raised his hands immediately as the potion wore off, showing his identity and that he meant no harm.
Etho froze, his eyes widened and his arms faltered just a little as his brain processed the sight infront of him.
Grian. Grian Solidarity standing there after being missing/deflected/dead, whichever one was the leading theory in the camp, for almost an entire week.
"You." Etho snarled like a curse and Grian's stomach immediately made him feel sick.
"Etho—Etho listen to me, I know I'm probably not your favourite person right now—" Grian said, voice speeding up but Etho cut him off with a bitter laugh.
"What are you doing here, Grian?" He growled. It hurt, distantly, to not hear 'feathers' for once.
"I came back for you." Grian answered honestly, there was no use in beating around the bush or making vague statements.
"Came back for me?" Etho scoffed, "You left. You ran!"
"Keep your voice down." Grian hissed, taking a step forward with his palms still in clear view. "Look, I need you tell you something."
"Save it." Etho snapped, "You betrayed us. We wake up in the morning to find you gone without a trace. The night guards say you left at nearly one in the morning, Mumbo tells us that you've been seeing some 'mystery man' and now you decide to come grovelling back after just a week? Tell the truth Grian, are you with them?"
Grian flinched like he had been struck, his heart beating a million miles a minute to see someone he had respected since he was a child, had fought beside and trained with and thought of as one of his closest friends, look at him like he was less than dirt. Like he was a monster.
"Well— yes but Etho you don't understand—" Grian said quickly words getting jumbled up in his throat.
Grian could see Etho's hands tighten on his sword.
"No, no no I understand perfectly. You meet this new guy and allow him to manipulate you because your soft. And you've always been soft, but stars, Grian, I never expected you to go this far. Suddenly, with this new guy we don't matter to you anymore. Your country doesn't matter to you anymore. Your family. Doesn't. Matter. To. You. Anymore."
Grian felt his eyes sting, burning like he was stuck in a house on fire, he shook his head faster than he had ever shaken it as he tried to organise the speeding thoughts in his head.
"No, no Etho it isn't like that—just, just come back with me, please? You don't know what you're doing—" Grian didn't care that his pride was bruising, he seriously didn't care. He didn't care if he sounded like a whiny child. He was getting more scared by the second. He had never felt more seventeen than he had now. Not an adult. A weakling.
Etho let out a huff through his nose in disbelief, he stood up straight and looked to his right, slowly shaking his head, letting it drop before meeting Grian's. "Go with you? You must be joking Grian if you think I'm as much of a rat as you are." He muttered, bitterly calm.
"Etho, Etho seriously." Grian puffed out his chest, taking a deep breath, "They told me—They told me the truth Etho, we aren't the good guys here! We slaughtered Their followers everywhere that they tried to flee! Men, women, children! Etho I saw it." Grian said with meaning, imploring, praying that Etho understood.
But understanding was not an emotion displayed in those nearly black eyes, "We killed off thousands of them?" He narrowed his eyes, standing up straight. "Get out of my sight Grian." Etho said, low and cold.
Grian furrowed his brows, "Etho—Etho how could you fight for a side knowing what we've done!" Grian snapped.
"Grian I really don't want to fucking hurt you." Etho said, voice low.
"Etho—" Grain stepped forward but Etho just lifted his blade so the tip was inches from Grian's face.
"Don't you know what they did to us? Millions of us?!" Etho snapped and Grian frowned, confusion coming across his face.
"They helped us—I saw it." Grian said, hands shaking, "Please, Etho—"
"'Helped us'?" Etho narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, "They—" when Grian felt every fibre of his being being ripped apart like paper.
Every muscle burned as the world around him crumbled to green and blue specks until a bucket of ice cold water washed over him.
Water.
He rose up gasping into the stone floor, convulsing with each breath as muffled voices whispered around him—well it sounded like they were whispering...were they whispering?
"—ird?—ou—e?"
Grian squeezed his eyes shut against the ringing in his ears and tried to force his body to shut up and relax, to pretend the world around him wasn't duplicating and spinning one way for a few seconds then the other way the next. He just stayed there, propped up by his own elbows with a foreign warmth on his back that felt like fire against the ice.
"Scar—" Grian breathed. His brain was foggy and his social awareness was none existent, but that name pulsed between his eyes like a steady drum beat. Scar. Scar. Scar. He needed Scar. Scar made him feel safe. Scar made him feel warm. Scar made everything feel okay even when it was the opposite with his stupid jokes that made no sense and charming smile that blurred everything else around him. He needed Scar.
He felt himself being pulled and he didn't fight it. Then his scent cleared his senses and his voice cleared all ache.
"I'm right here songbird...I'm right here..." He said into Grian's ear, holding him against his broad chest despite the fast that Grian was dripping wet.
"What happened?" Scar asked someone, Grian didn't care. He was warm.
"Probably his first time teleporting. Got its side effects but he'll be fine." Someone said but Grian didn't care because it wasn't his man.
"Okay...alright okay, its okay baby you'll be okay." A cheek pressed against the top of his damp hair and Grian relished in it...before he realised.
"My wings are wet." He muttered, still dizzy and feeling like vomit might come out rather than words.
"Yeah." Scar whispered, stopping abruptly as though he wasn't sure what else to say.
"That's a pain in the ass." Grian slurred with a little groan. "I hate wet wings."
A hum vibrated against his cheek, "Yeah...we'll get you dried birdie, it's okay." Came the whisper, joined by a hand in his hair brushing his wet bang back so water wouldn't drip down his face.
"He'll be fine. Just get him back to...your room? Wherever he's staying, and let him sleep." Weird voice said again and before he knew it he was being lifted...or he assumed he was being lifted—anyhow the movement made him gag, distorting his whole sense of direction immediately.
"Hey hey hey—it's okay birdie, please don't puke all over me." Scar's voice came and Grian just hummed...hugging his arms around his neck.
He felt like shit.
He felt like shit when Scar helped him change.
He felt like shit when a towel went through his wings.
And he felt like shit when his head hit the pillow.
He fell asleep instantly.
Notes:
Hi hi, I'm really really sorry about this but I'm changing my posting schedule from every day to once a week. I'm just losing motivation and school is starting up soon, I hope you can understand <3
I'll update you on any changes.
Chapter 11: A Pocket Watch...Tick Tick Tick
Summary:
War and stuff
Notes:
HELLO HELLO HELLO
Im acc so excited for this chapter fhdbrhdb
How do we feel about the once a week? Have you missed me all week? 😼😼
Anyways, be careful i suppose and enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The moment that Grian returned to the land of the conscious he promptly leaned over the side of the bed and vomited. Though, to his surprise, he didn't hear the expected splatter of liquid on floorboards, but instead the echo of a bucket.
He frowned, peeled his eyes open and allowed his vision to adjust before confirming that his ears had not decieved him.
"Hey songbird." Scar said quietly, already awake and rubbing Grian's back.
So the bucket was Scar's doing.
"How're you feeling?" He asked, rubbing his fingers between Grian's wings. The avian let out a half groan half sighed and rubbed his face, sitting up slowly as to not jostle his stomach any further.
"Fine." He muttered, voice thick with grogginess. But he wasn't fine. His head was foggy and his skin was clammy. He didn't feel ill. Not physically.
"You sure?" Scar said, voice full of concern as he tried to tilt his head in order to meet Grian's eyes in that caring way he did, but Grian didn't humour him, turning his face away.
"Mhm." Grian muttered, Etho's voice still rippling in his head even hours later. The bend in his ears. The readiness of his stance.
He hated being awake. He could justify dreams as not being real, mere figments, but real events he could not control. They were exhausting and he had no way out of them. There was 'no waking' up from real life, no matter how cruel it was.
Scar didn't take his answer, instead reaching out to grab his chin and turning his face himself, "Listen Grian, I don't know what happened and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I care about you, okay? And I get that you don't like talking about shit sometimes, that's normal, but can't you just let me in, just a little? Because holy shit I worry, I worry about you and I'm only going to worry more if you keep lying to me. Take your time, but don't you lie to me."
Grian was taken aback by his vigor, so taken aback that his brain temporarily forgot what had put him in such a sour mood in the first place.
Be sighed, leaning into Scar's palm and accepting defeat. "It didn't work." He muttered, "He hates me. And...I understand...but still. It's...stupid."
"It's not stupid." Scar said firmly, rubbing his thumb over any skin that he could reach, "You tried. You're here now. Everything will be okay songbird."
Grian hummed and let out a breath, "I'm just...torn. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. My head's a mess." He mumbled, eyes drooping the more he spoke.
"Well that's what I'm here for." Scar shuffled forward, to be closer. "I've got you birdie." He pressed his forehead to Grian's, "I've got you."
Grian relaxed against his warmth...letting his eyes droop closed. Before he could stop it, his tongue loosened, "Scar...do you think I'm a rat?" He whispered, voice thick.
Scar pulled away instantly with that worried look making his eyes and brows droop. His palms came to Grian's cheeks instantly, adding gravity and seriousness to his next words.
"No." He said, final and firm. "No you're not a rat, Grian."
Grian bit his bottom lip, temples pulsing with memory he could never erase, "But I left them...I barely hesitated...I left my family—" Grian sucked down a breath, he would not cry infront of Scar. Not now. He would not.
"You did...because you're a good person, Grian." Scar said, voice softening once he noticed the glassy sheen to Grian's eyes, wiping his thumb against his cheeks even if there were no tears to wipe, "You knew what was right so you changed, even if it seemed impossible, even if you had little support, even if you were scared. You're not a rat, you're brave, and whoever called you that clearly needs to open their fucking eyes."
Grian didn't appreciate Scar talking bad about Etho...but he did appreciate the pick-me-up. He took a deep breath, meeting those emerald eyes he cherished, "Promise?" Grian whispered, for his own sanity.
"I promise." Scar whispered, placing a kiss to his head.
Grian let out an exhale and pulled away, rubbing his hands through sleep-knotted hair to get a grip on himself.
"I need to go and see the Watchers." Grian mumbled, sounding more sure than he felt, "I should focus on that, right?"
He needed direction. Even if it was just from Scar. He needed anyone, anything, to tell him he was doing something right.
Scar smiled, just a little, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah focus on that."
Grian slipped out of the bed and swallowed back any lingering nausea and got himself dressed, trusting that Scar would naturally turn an eye.
"If it ever gets too bad don't hesitate to see me, okay? You don't have to suffer all on your own." Scar said and Grian scrunched his brow before realisation dawned on him.
Right. His dying...thing.
"I don't want to die Scar." Grian stated, wishing he had never asked that blasted question in the first place.
"Good. But if that changes..."
"I'll come to you." Grian finished, he walked over and placed a kiss on Scar's temple, all dressed and ready.
Scar smiled and turned, taking Grian's forearms into his hands. "Having breakfast with me?" He asked, head tilted up. Grian nearly laughed at the contrast of ten minutes.
"No...not hungry. Lunch though I will." Grian said.
"I'll take it." Scar replied and pushed himself out of bed to get dressed aswell and Grian parted from him, exiting the room and making his way to the familiar winding steps.
And, as always, the cold settled once again without his hearth to warm him.
He should be used to it, but alas, his thoughts flooded in right on time to consume him.
In his adventure back to his old camp he had planned to get Etho and then venture to his old room to try and convince Mumbo to come too...but after Etho...Grian couldn't bring himself to try again, the very thought of his moustached friend snarling at him the way Etho did made his stomach churn.
He'd rather not. He'd rather accept the fact that he chose what he chose and they chose what they chose and there was nothing that he could do about it.
Mumbo was probably as angry as Etho. He surely hated him. How could he not? Grian was a shitty friend and a shitty person all together whenever it came down to it. Scar loved him and Scar would probably be the only person ever to truly love him.
His brother was probably relieved to not have to deal with him anymore. Or angry that Grian had wasted all his time—on the flip side.
If Grian could...if it were up to him...he would've never been born in the first place.
He didn't want to die, he just didn't want to be born. There was a difference. He wasn't like that. He wasn't that sad.
He blinked and he was at the top, barely stopping his spiraling in time before his head hit the door. He looked around at the stone, embarrassed before he righted himself and pushed the door open.
He had other things to focus on. The Watchers had plans for him, he was special to them.
He wouldn't fuck everything up. Not again. Fool me once, or something like that.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
The wicks lit up in their purple flame whenever Grian walked in and he would be lying if he didn't feel his heart leap at that soft melodic whisper. Softer than his brother ever spoke to him...he didn't dive deeper into that thought.
"Hi." He smiled, he smiled because he recognised that word now! He was learning, he was doing something right. Diamond. He was precious to someone.
"We are sorry for your poor luck last night." The middle Watcher said, sounding genuinely upset on his behalf.
Grian just hummed, "It's fine. At least I'm not left wondering now...where I stand is very very clear." He took a breath and huffed it out, wings shifting as he took a seat.
"Well, we expect that you will be more inclined to put total focus into your studies now, yes?" The Watcher on the right said.
He really needed to get names for Them. Did they already have names?
"Yes." Grian said immediately.
"Good." The left Watcher said, sounding delighted as a book floated off of the shelves and landed on the table infront of Grian, flipping to the correct page number all by itself.
"You are very close to achieving total knowledge, Diamond." They cooed in harmony that made Grian bloom with excitment—not at the prospect of knowledge, at how pleased they sounded with him.
He stuck his nose into the book immediately, chapter three on the concept of galaxies. Swirling universes the size of wheat seeds housing life forms human and sub-human, creatures as tall as buildings and as small as blades of grass.
It was all quite interesting really, the theory of it—hard to wrap one's head around but he was trying his hardest, for nothing could really be done for him if he didn't understand the the basics—again, something cannot come from nothing.
He was doing well though, he thought, he understood most of it and what he didn't get he was guided through by soft motherly patient voices.
He stayed over in their little office all day—lunch with Scar completely forgotten. The entire world completely forgotten. He had full tunnel vision on his books, reading and making sure he understood every line, every syllable, every philosophical question that tested his very understanding—he sat and read until confusion had no place in his mind.
The lingering effects of teleportation were but a distant memory, laser focus ejecting any sort of weakness.
Well. Not the weakness of sleep deprecation apparently.
He jolted awake, his head having hung to low—he caught himself, blinking around his surrounding to re-centre himself. Ink stained his fingers, his neck was hot from stuffy air and candle smoke and his eyes drooped, beggining for a moment of reprieve.
"Diamond. Perhaps it is time for you to rest." A Watcher said to him, the other two aided in lifting his arms and easing him out of his seat—his wings aching from being stationary for hours on end, feathers in dissaray from neglect...he hadn't exactly been keeping up with preening.
"Yeah...yeah that's probably a good idea." Grian muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them wide again in hopes that his vision would less hazy.
"Get a good nights sleep, Diamond...tomorrow you will be ready." The Watcher whispered, midnight stained claws pushing his fringe back with care and swooping around his cheek. Grian couldn't hold back his coo—bloody bird noises. Or the subconscious lean.
"We shall see you tomorrow, Diamond." They whispered and Grian nodded, walking himelf to the door and stretching his wings out as far as they would go.
"Bye." He gave a little wave and left, beginning his descent down the winding steps.
Whenever he finally made it back to the room, he froze in the doorway to see Scar still up, sitting cross legged on the bed and wiping his sword down with a cloth, the metal shimmering under creamy lantern light. As soon as he entered Scar stopped his movements and looked up.
"What're you doing up?" Grian asked and regained control of his body, stepping fully into the space and shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.
"Waiting for you." Scar replied simply as Grian tugged on the long lace of his boots before toeing them off. He didn't have a response to that.
"You missed lunch. And dinner." Scar stated, low with undertones of something Grian couldn't name.
"Yeah...sorry about that." He said, guilt bubbling in his gut as he quickly changed out of his day clothes.
"You haven't eaten anything all day." The brunette added in that same tone of voice.
"It's fine, I've gone longer without food." Grian said in attempts to ease the other's clear worry for him.
It didn't seem to have the intended effect. But he didn't press the matter.
"I'm sorry, really." Grian said, walking towards the bed before slipping in next to Scar, their knees touching. He didn't want this awkward air around them, it didn't feel natural, he hated it. He would do anything to rid themselves of it.
Though, lucky for him...Scar softened. "It's okay." Scar said quietly, reaching his hand up to brush a strand of sandy hair with his fingertips and tuck it behind his ear, touch lingering like sugar on his tongue. "How was your day?" He asked next and Grian couldn't he happier.
"Good." He smiled, beyond grateful that the uncomfortable air had passed—allowing him to lean into the comfort that was Scar. "They said I'm ready...that tomorrow They'll pass Their knowledge." Grian said and just saying it out loud made it sound all the more surreal. He couldn't fathom that this was where he was in his life—that a month ago he detested Watchers with all of his being and now he was entrusting his heart and soul into their gentle palms.
Life was one big surprise.
Scar's eyes widened, "Songbird—that's, that's incredible!" He grinned, taking Grian's hands into his own, "You've been blessed with something everyone can only dream of. I'm so proud of you you know that?"
Grian froze. He didn't know why that had hit him like an arrow to the gut but pressure blossomed across his entire chest to the point that he could hardly breath.
Proud. Scar was proud of him. And he knew that—the little cubby in the back of his head always knew that, but acctually hearing him say it? He felt like a man wading through desert that had finally been given ice cold water.
"Again." Grian breathed, leaning in. "Say it again." He swallowed.
Scar's smile only widened, just a little, absolute care shimmering in his eyes, "I'm so proud of you." He whispered, taking Grian's cheek into his palm.
"Again." Grian whispered.
"I'm proud of you."
Grian clenched his jaw and leaned his head down until it rested against his joy's shoulder, "Again." He whispered, really not caring that he sounded like a needy puppy. He didn't care. Nothing mattered, not right now.
"I'm so so so proud of you songbird...so so so proud." Scar whispered, indulging in his little—whatever this was.
Grian let out a hum—half croon—and nuzzled his nose into the crook of Scar's shoulder. He smelled so familiar, so comforting...so like home.
He leaned in even closer when a strong arm wrapped around his back, holding him like he was something precious.
"Tired?" Scar whispered, careful not to break the serenity of the moment.
"Yeah." Grian whispered back. Already falling asleep.
"Do you wanna get under the covers?" Was the next question.
He never wanted to move ever ever again. He shook his head faintly.
Scar snorted, "Aren't you gonna get cold?"
Grian shook his head again, "You're warm." He mumbled.
"Your back is gonna hurt by morning..." Scar whispered, pressing his fingers against his spine. "If you lay with me under the covers then I can hold you more effectively." Scar whispered and Grian's senses heightened.
He snorted, "Look at you Mr logic." He teased, leaning up a little bit to place a kiss to the side of his throat.
"Wh-what can I say?" Scar teased back, though Grian didn't miss the hitch in his voice.
Cute.
"Fine." Grian muttered and Scar wasted no time in easing him away—just a little so that he could set his sword and the cloth on the floor by the foot of the bed—before returning and settling the both of them beneath the covers.
Grian curled against his front, arms wrapped around Scar's middle and holding his back, Scar's own arms hugging his waist. Grian found a nice spot under his chin and fell asleep in seconds.
Someone was proud of him.
Why couldn't Jimmy of ever been proud of him?
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
"Slow down!" Scar laughed and latched onto Grian's wrist to pull his bowl away from his lips.
Porridge was usually eaten with a spoon, but Grian had opted for the more efficient method of just drinking it like a pot of stew.
It was nice, tasted far better than the porridge back home—for once thing it was hot, and Scar had showed him the art of drizzling honey onto it and now he was as obsessed as an addict. But the taste wasn't what hastened his breakfasting, it was the promise of what he would achieve today.
"If you insist on me having breakfast then let me eat my way!" Grian complained, mouth half full which only served to make Scar laugh harder.
"You can hardly go see the Watchers if you choke to death before the hour." Scar chuckled, wiping the corner of Grian's mouth with his thumb. Grian returned a mighty glare.
"I can do whatever I want. And you can't stop me!" He said and went back to shovelling the food into his mouth in a land-slide of hot oats that burned his throat with each swallow.
"Grian how old are you again?" Scar teased and Grian shot him a look of death.
"Seventeen dad." He said playfully and slammed his finished bowl down with a dramatic gasp from Scar.
"I'm not parenting you I'm just rightfully concerned!" He said, trying to act serious though the grin on his face betrayed his character.
Grian snorted and pushed himself out of the chair, "I'll see you later." He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Scar's head.
"Make sure you have lunch." Scar said seriously and Grian smirked.
"I will I will. See you." Grian smiled.
"See you."
And they parted ways.
Every colour and noise felt more saturated today as if pathetic fallacy were acting upon his very existence—the sky was brighter, the bird song was extra lovely and the grass was greener. Even the winding stone steps seemed to have a gleam in them that he hadn't notice before, the grime vanishing at the sight of his excitment.
Though by the time he reached the door his excitmemt blended into nerves—but he figured anxiety was normal seeing as he had no idea what to expect, only that it was a good thing, a brilliant thing. Something he had worked so hard towards.
He took a deep breath, schooled his face into a neutral expression so he wouldn't appear too desperate, and pushed the door open.
The candles were already flickering and the Watchers already stood, tall and menacing and divine. Waiting for him. Watching him.
Grian straightened himself and lifted his chin.
"Hello Diamond." Wrapped that familiar honey glaze around his mind.
"Hello." He returned and stepped further in.
"Come here...precious Diamond." They cooed and Grian found his feet moving before his brain decided to make them, his head feeling so far up in the clouds. Precious. His heart roared.
He felt smaller than he was, childish and meager in the face of gods but he didn't care. He felt so so so fuzzy.
"This will work best if you stay very still...can you do that for Us precious Diamond?" They whispered and cupped Their hands around his cheeks, he really felt precious...Diamond...rare...hard to come by...beautiful...
"Yes." He said immediately, wings shifting against his back to get all the energy out early.
The Watcher smoothed his fringe back and pressed Their thumb right between his eyes. His conciousness exploded immediately. He didn't know how else to explain it beyond blinding light and the realistic feeling of quite literally falling—falling at a terrifyingly rapid rate, the world around him all the same shade of vermilion, hurting his eyes until they burned.
Then, he saw it.
Everything was swirling into a spiral of brilliance—galaxies and cosmos and universes and travel and time and space, everything, everything made so much sense that he felt like an utter fool before. How had he lived his entire life without knowledge of the plane he existed on—he felt like he had just opened his eyes, just escaped the watery depths of the ocean floor and experienced pure air for the first time.
A million shades of purple and neon green and sapphire blue spun and rained down in thousands upon thousands of little sparkling particles, like stars or maybe bubbles, accelerating around his head and looping around each and every limb until the entire world went black.
And all he could see were two rectangular eyes—horizontal and piercing. Fog settled around the edges and he found the universe simplified into squares—blocks of solid colour that deteriorated more and more as every second passed until pixels of different shades appeared on the blocks.
Grass, trees, oceans and mountains.
His vision pulsed, ejected into the air and he saw a dice—an ordinary dice. It rolled...travelling miles and miles and miles and miles—a sword dripped with sliced crimson, a clock ticked and ticked and ticked until it exploded into particles and those particles came together to form a scroll that ripped in half and faded away into nothing—
His ears popped and he fell to the ground—momentarily blind and stuck in the void of his surroundings where the only thing he could feel was the ground below him.
Existence spun and twirled...until he opened his eyes.
He opened his Eyes.
He could see himself in the third person. His heart seized at the revelation, the overwhelming pound in his chest that screamed that this was all wrong.
His body was laying on the floor flat on his back with red, yellow, blue feathers sprawled out underneath him, a few scattered a ways away from him—drifted away from the force of his fall. His body was stock still as though dead and pale as so too.
A sudden spike of fear went through him—was he dead?! Has he ascended as a spirit?! He believed that whenever one died one ascended to the stars but maybe this was like an in-between period of some sort where he could gaze upon his lifeless form and say goodbye to his vessel one last time.
"∴ᖋ·ǀ·ᒷ ▭ ⚍i!."
Wake up.
He eyes blew open and he jolted to an upright position, panting as though he had just sprinted up a mountain range with stones tied to his wings. He gasped, wheezing and gulping down sweet sweet air while his eyes darted around his surroundings.
The Watcher room...floating candles...ancient books with even older texts...ruins with lettering that...he understood??
"ᒷᖋϟ॥․⎽ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Easy, Diamond.
Someone crooned and he flinched back immediately, having the overwhelming urge to hit himself on the head until his soul stopped screaming.
He was shaking all over, clammy and sweaty with the worst flu that he had ever caught. His arm was tugged and the floor grew solid beneath his feet.
And he was well.
Memory of before rushed back like a tidal wave.
Wisdom.
He took a breath to clear himself—a steady breath, not gasping like a fish out of water. He closed his eyes...and opened them, grounding and calm.
"That was...unpleasant." He muttered, to put it lightly.
"॥ᒷϟ․⎽ ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ᖋi!ᒍ|:ᒍ┤╎ϟᒷ. ▭ ᕊ⚍ᒣ ▭ ᒣᒷ|:|: ▭ ⚍ϟ․⎽ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸. ▭ ᒣᒷ|:|: ▭ ⚍ϟ․⎽ ▭ ↸ᒍ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ϟᒣᖋリ↸․ﺭ․"
Yes, We apologise. But tell Us, Diamond. Tell Us, do you understand?
Grian paled, snapped his head up to meet the bone white masks of the Watchers infront of him, expectant, waiting, hands hidden beneath their robes as concealed eyes bore into his despite them being covered.
Tones and phrasing that sounded like gibberish before. Unrecognisable patterns of the tongue that seemed to have no rhyme nor reason for lilting and dropping. Ancient languages only the stars could decipher...he understood.
"Yes—yes! Yes I understand!" He beamed, suddenly excited.
He could understand! He could hear Their words un-translated to his tongue and understand without confusion!
Extraordinary.
"Ϟi!ᒷᖋ·ǀ· ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷリ."
Speak then.
"Speak? I...I don't know how-" Grian said, suddenly terrified of disappointing, understanding was one thing but conjuring syllables himself was another feat entirely.
An exhale, a gentle sigh, then a caring hand caressing through his hair.
"⋮⚍ϟᒣ ▭ ᒣ∷॥ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ ▭ ⚍ϟ․⎽ ▭ ∴ᒍリ‾ᒣ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍․⎽ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸․ﺭ․"
Just try for Us, won't you, Diamond?
So patient, slow and unrushed that easily calmed Grian's anxieties.
But when he searched into himself, he found that it came so naturally, as natural as his native tongue. Just right there in the forefront of his brain begging to he used. So he reached.
"╎ ▭ ϟᒷᒷ ▭ ╎ᒣ. ▭ ╎ ▭ ᔮᖋリ ▭ ϟi!ᒷᖋ·ǀ·."
I see it. I can speak.
He had never felt better in his entire life, buzzing, completely buzzing.
He had done something right. He was important.
His cheek was stroked and the closest thing he had ever heard from a smile slid into the Watcher's voice.
"┤ᒍᒍ↸. ▭ ⍊ᒷ∷॥ ▭ ⍊ᒷ∷॥ ▭ ┤ᒍᒍ↸. ▭ リᒍ∴ ▭ ᒣᒷ|:|: ▭ ⚍ϟ ▭ ∴⍑ᖋᒣ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ϟᖋ∴ ▭ ᕊᒷ⎓ᒍ∷ᒷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ᖋ∴ᒍ·ǀ·ᒷ."
Good. Very very good. Now tell Us what you saw before you awoke.
Grian cleared this throat, his tongue much looser than he thought it would be—fluid, like this new language was easier to form than his native.
"╎ ▭ ϟᖋ∴ ▭ ᒲ॥ϟᒷ|:⎓ ▭ ᖋリ↸ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ᒷリᒣ╎∷ᒷ ▭ ∷ᒍᒍᒲ...ᕊ⚍ᒣ ▭ ⎓∷ᒍᒲ ▭ ᒍ⚍ᒣϟ╎↸ᒷ ▭ ᒲ॥ϟᒷ|:⎓․⎽ ▭ ╎リ ▭ ᒣ⍑╎∷↸ ▭ i!ᒷ∷ϟᒍリ."
I saw myself and the entire room...but from outside myself, in third person.
He replied, still unable to wrap his mind around it, it was seriously trippy.
But the Watchers seemed pleased.
"┤ᒍᒍ↸․⎽ ▭ ┤ᒍᒍ↸ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᖋᒣ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ⍊ᒷ∷॥ ▭ ┤ᒍᒍ↸․⎽ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸. ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒍϟᒷ ▭ ᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᒷ॥ᒷϟ."
Good, good that is very good, Diamond. Those are your Eyes.
Grian scrunched his nose. Eyes?
"╎ ▭ ↸ᒍリ‾ᒣ ▭ ⚍リ↸ᒷ∷ϟᒣᖋリ↸ ▭."
I don't understand.
He confessed, genuinely confused.
"∴╎ᒣ⍑ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᒷ॥ᒷϟ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ᔮᖋリ ▭ ϟᒷᒷ ▭ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷॥ᒣ⍑╎リ┤ ▭ ᖋリ↸ ▭ ᖋリ॥ᒣ⍑╎リ┤ ▭ ∴╎ᒣ⍑ ▭ ᒲᒷ∷ᒷ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒍ⚍┤⍑ᒣ ▭ —リᒍ ▭ ϟᒷᔮ∷ᒷᒣ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ∴ᒷ|:|: ▭ ᒷリᒍ⚍┤⍑ ▭ ⍑╎↸↸ᒷリ."
With your Eyes you can see everything and anything with mere thought —no secret is well enough hidden.
The Watchers words lapped around his brain like a lazy ocean shore, pushing knowledge up in its swash. Clearly some residual confusion was still present on his face because the Watcher raised Their hand.
"ᒣ⍑╎リ·ǀ· ▭ ᒍ⎓ ▭ ᖋ ▭ i!ᒷ∷ϟᒍリ․⎽ ▭ i!|:ᖋᔮᒷ․⎽ ▭ ╎↸ᒷᖋ. ▭ ╎ᒲᖋ┤╎リᒷ ▭ ╎ᒣ ▭ ╎リ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ᒷ⎓∷ᒍリᒣ ▭ ᒍ⎓ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᒲ╎リ↸ ▭ ᒍ∷ ▭ ᒣ∷ᖋ⍊ᒷ|: ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ▭ ᒲᖋリ⚍ᖋ|:|:॥...ᖋリ↸ ▭ ᒍi!ᒷリ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᒷ॥ᒷϟ."
Think of a person, place, idea. Imagine it in the forefront of your mind or travel there manually...and open your Eyes.
It sounded preposterous, something completely made up that you told your child within bedtime stories to make them feel like legendary heroes—entertaining the thought of the world being a magical place.
Grian would have called baloney on the entire thing had be not just witnessed cosmos stitch together in blinding light.
So...putting his trust into his mentors...he closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, and imagined his favourite sight of all.
Scars wrapping around soft skin like blossoming vines...green eyes the shade of clovers...pointed ears as sure as a blade point...
He opened his Eyes. And there he was, he was going through formations, blade arching with effect technique while Pearl mimicked his movements beside him, the two focused and making little comments about eachother's foot work—
Grian gasped and opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly and looking around himself.
"Wow..." He whispered, looking down at his hands just to make certain that he was still all there.
But...if They had this power all along...then what was stopping them from using it on the red-crests? What was stopping them from winning this war in two seconds flat..?
He lifted his head, fully prepared to bombard the gods with every swirling question whenever a thunderous boom reverberated through the land and rattled the ground beneath his feet.
Grian sprung into age-old instincts, drawing the sword at his hip and springing to the door.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Diamond.
Grian stopped right in his tracks, feet lifting and dropping in rapid suggestion as anxiety took over. He was wasting time. He needed to get out. He needed to help.
"॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ↸ᒍ ▭ リᒍᒣ ▭ ⎓╎┤⍑ᒣ. ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ᔮᖋリリᒍᒣ ▭ ·ǀ·╎|:|:."
You do not fight. You cannot kill.
The Watcher said slowly, firm around the edges that pierced through Grian's chest.
"Well- well yeah I know but- but I have to go and help! I- I can't just do nothing if we're being attacked!" He rambled, panicked.
He needed to help Scar. He couldn't kill but he wouldn't let anyone die.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸...↸ᒍ ▭ ᔮᖋ|:ᒲ ▭ ↸ᒍ∴リ․⎽ ▭ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷॥ᒣ⍑╎リ┤ ▭ ∴╎|:|: ▭ ᕊᒷ ▭ ᖋ|:∷╎┤⍑ᒣ. ▭ ⍑ᖋ⍊ᒷ ▭ ⎓ᖋ╎ᒣ⍑ ▭ ╎リ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ϟᒍ|:↸╎ᒷ∷ϟ."
Diamond...do calm down, everything will be alright. Have faith in the soldiers.
They said with added sharpness, the candles sparking like lightning.
Grian froze, his breath taken from him.
"I can't do nothing." He said quietly but so sure. It probably wasn't smart to defy gods but at this point he didn't care all that much—he needed to go out.
"I am a soldier." First and foremost.
So, with a final look, Grian shoved the door open and sprinted down the stairs two at the time, his wings spreading slightly to stop him from falling down the stairs—which he had nearly done several times in the span of a few seconds.
The staircase felt endless, each step feeling like he wasn't really getting anywhere and instead stuck in a loop. His senses perked the second he saw the door and he didn't hesitate in ramming into it and flying out into open air to survey the situation.
Red-crests were close to the walls. Eyes were driving them back. The explosion hadn't hit yet—instead formed a crater of rock and earth real close—too close for comfort.
Grian stuck his sword back into his sheathe and swooped down in rapid descent.
He felt like a traitor. He supposed that he was. No, he really was. But...he...he was doing what was right. That was the important thing. Sentiment had always been one of his biggest weaknesses.
He pushed his bullshit aside and grabbed as many bombs as he could into his arms and flew over the battle.
He didn't know how to get thier attention, his instincts were tempted to whistle but that language was one that only red-crests understood and it would be very counter intuitive.
So he did the next best thing, what man was best at.
He screamed.
"Ren!" He yelled, recognising the hybrid. He immediately looked to the sky and Grian dropped the bomb down—the pin wasn't pulled so even if he didn't catch it he would be completely safe. But he caught it and shot Grian and grin and pulled the pin with his teeth.
Boom.
Erupted of fire and ash—brilliant plumes of orange and red that mimicked the sun herself.
Grian grinned and screamed more—he didn't know many names at all, but Eyes soon caught on and caught his bombs. Whistles rippled forward and back in an overwhelming overlay—for Grian since he knew what every single sharp succession meant.
If their songs of panic were anything to go by then Grian assumed they were doing good.
He wasn't killing. He was aiding...he was doing his best. But he wasn't delivering blows.
For the greater good. For the greater good. He repeated over and over and over.
Red-crests weren't innocents.
For the greater good. For the greater good.
Pain pierced across his arm—sharp and sudden and fight or flight ducked him to the right.
An avian he vaguely recognised had shot him with a bow and was pulling another arrow back...with hesitancy, he noted. The guilt pool deepened.
Grian narrowed his eyes and swerved past her arrows—the wound on his arm was minor, just a graze, a skim, a careless miss...or maybe purposeful. He didn't dwell on it.
He spiral dived down, making himself as much of a living target as possible to avoid the hits. He was out of bombs too, darnit.
His brain whirled, searching for solution.
Then it clicked.
He was a bird.
He took a breath and swooped down—this was possibly one of the stupidest things that he had ever come up with but it was worth a shot...he swooped down and latched onto swords.
Low and behold he got one! He acctually got one!
He laughed to himself, a soldiers blade digging into his palm and stinging but that didn't matter! It worked!
Holy stars how did that work??
He grinned and flew up, propelling himself closer to the mountain, flinging the sword carelessly into the rock and swooping down to repeat again. His hands were quickly accumulating cuts but it was all worth it.
He managed to nab five swords and was swooping down to grab a sixth when his ears began to ring.
"Grian!"
That voice.
Xisuma.
He faltered and ended up losing balance as a result, careening left with a failed attempt to straighten, wasted time that propelled him to the right but by that point he was already dangerously close to the ground.
He crashed, his momentum sending him skidding across the dirt and little jutted out stones grazed his bare elbows.
Xisuma.
His heart clenched.
"Grian." He sprinted over and Grian scrambled to get back to his feet, his joints pulling his sword before his brain could command it.
"Xisuma." Grian hissed between his teeth.
He had left him first.
For some stupid reason, made Grian think he had done something wrong, made him secretly panic.
"Stars..." Xisuma whispered while war raged around him. Nobody payed attention to them, lost in trying to keep their own lives and whistling louder so that it wouldn't be drowned out by the clash of steel.
"Why? Grian?" Xisuma stepped forward, face grim.
Grian furrowed his brows and held his sword out firm.
"Because you kill because of your own damn prejudice." Grian growled without mercy and took a step back...he couldn't kill him. He wouldn't. But Xisuma didn't deserve to see him weak ever again.
He looked confused, "Prejudice? Grian what are they filling your head with?" He stepped forward and Grian mimicked it backward.
"↸ᒍ ▭ リᒍᒣ ▭ ᖋ|:|:ᒍ∴ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ϟᒷ|:⎓ ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ ᕊᒷ ▭ ᒲᖋリ╎i!⚍|:ᖋᒣᒷ↸. ▭ リᒍᒣ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ ▭ ᖋ ▭ ϟᒷᔮᒍリ↸ ▭ ᒣ╎ᒲᒷ."
Do not allow yourself to be manipulated. Not for a second time.
Echoed in the back of his brain, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on edge. He narrowed his eyes.
"You gonna kill me, officer Xisuma?" Grian muttered, low and dangerous.
"Kid—"
Grian scrunched his nose and propelled himself upward in a spritz of dirt and grass, flying away for his own damn sanity.
He was done with them. With all of them. He was finished with that section of his life. He didn't have to make this harder than it already was and he could not let Xisuma plant seeds of doubt in his blessed knowledge.
What else could he do?
He thought a moment, staring at the bodies overlapping in combat.
"Hey G!" Came a yell from down below. A white uniform.
He dove.
"Boost me will you?!" It was Martyn. Grian felt a spark in his chest, he smiled and grabbed the back of his uniform—the scruff if you will—and hoisted him up, his wings working twice as hard to carry the weight—
"Drop!" He yelled and Grian did.
The grass erupted into a mess of particles and suddenly red-crests and Eyes alike were screaming...but those Eyes weren't screaming for more than a few seconds...the red-crests however.
They all ran. Whistles and pure shouts roaring for a retreat. Grian's ears filled with the prominent thud of horse hooves and voices getting farther and farther away...what on earth kind of potion was that?
It made human skin...bubble...like it was boiling and burned...
His mind snapped into focus. Scar.
Scar Scar Scar Scar.
He scanned the crowd frantically...and it made him feel like he was going to vomit but he scanned the dead aswell.
Scar Scar Scar.
He swooped down lower to see faces better, he spotted a woman with ginger hair—he had seen Scar with her once or twice while they ate meals, Cleo? Or something like that?
He dropped.
"Cleo, have you seen Scar?" He asked, words tumbling off his tongue.
To his horror, she shook her head, "Sorry, I haven't. I'm sure he's around here somewhere, he's tough, I wouldn't worry." She said with a gentle smile that was meant to ease his worries but only made them double.
He nodded and she walked off and he returned to fanatically scanning faces.
Then. His eyes widened. Oh yeah.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Come on come on come on...
Opened them. Scar was limping, his arm wrapped around another soldier—
Alive. Grian gasped and opened his eyes and weaved around soldiers, until he spotted him. A beacon. Nobody else like him. Like his Scar.
"Scar!" He yelled out and sprinted to him, immediately cupping his face and inspecting every inch of his skin to see if every scar was as it should be and there wasn't any new ones. His face was soot stained, a cut on his cheek, shallow thank the stars.
"Hey songbird." Scar breathed out, seemingly also relieved beyond belief. "I'm okay." He whispered but Grian didn't believe him for a second.
An okay man doesn't limp.
Grian furrowed his brows and took a step back.
No wonder he needed support, his calf was sliced, vertical and bleeding.
Suddenly, Grian has zero care of the retreating red-crests or the left over destruction blazing around them. His world had narrowed to a singular face.
"I've got him." Grian said to the man beside him, someone he didn't recognise, but the blonde nodded and went to join the retreating crowd of comrades.
"You idiot." Grian hissed and it immediately made Scar laugh.
"This isn't funny!" Grian snapped, his wings puffing out in irritation.
"Maybe just a little bit." Scar smirked as they hobbled, Grian having to slow his steps significantly to accommodate the pain of such an injury.
"No, not a little bit." The avian grunted. Real fear and adrenaline making his heart race.
The moment they were back safe within the walls Grian practically dragged him back to their room and deposited him onto the bed, leg outstretched.
"What are you doing?" Scar asked while Grian rummaged around their room, yanking things out of drawers.
"Patching you up. Obviously." Grian responded though he wasn't fully there, more focused on finding a med kit.
"What about your arm?" Scar said and Grian glanced down—it had already stopped bleeding and honestly he had forgotten all about it.
"It's fine." He said, distracted.
Nothing else mattered. Not what that potion was, not the battle, not how the Watchers would react to his disobedience. His mind was solar focused on one single thing, a single person.
Aha!
Grian found a little green box and pulled it out, opening it up and sighing with relief that everything he needed was in there ready to go.
He didn't have any healing potions on him and he didn't want to waste time running around like a headless chicken to find one, so this would just have to do. There was nothing wrong with good old guaze and alcohol.
He turned and that asshole, that little asshole was leaning back on his palms with a smirk on his face.
"What?" Grian muttered, was there a joke he had missed.
"Nothing. You're just cute." Scar smiled, eyeing him.
Grian's cheeks burned, "Is this really the time for you to flirt with me?" He grunted, crouching down infront of the injured leg.
"Yes." Scar responsed easily. Moron. This wasn't the time nor the place.
Though as soon as Grian touched the skin a wince erupted from Scar's throat and Grian's head shot up so fast it nearly popped clean off.
"I'm fine I'm fine." Scar assured immediately.
Grian nodded, he knew it hurt...he had dealt with similar injuries whenever he was younger. Pain was just a part of it...there was little he could do about it.
"I'll try and be gentle." Grian said...quieter. "It needs stitches." He noted, more to himself than anything as he assessed the gash. At least it was a clean cut.
"Do you know where the medbay is?" Confused rippled as soon as the question was asked.
"No? Scar, I'll just do it myself. You can hardly walk." Grian said and grabbed a needle, grabbing a tiny bottle of alcohol and dousing the little thing in it—the floor could be cleaned up after the fact.
"You know how to stitch up wounds?" Scar asked with a tone of speculation that Grian didn't understand.
"Yeah." He answered, putting some onto his hands for good measure, "Don't you?" Confusion only grew and grew.
"Should I??"
Grian stopped his movements completely and glanced up at him, a little exasperation if he was honest. "Yes! What happens when you're all by yourself and bleeding out, you'd die within a day!" Grian snapped, he thought that was common sense!
Scar didn't have a response and Grian's shoulders sagged down.
"Sorry." He mumbled, not meaning to shout...he focused on threading the needle.
"No...no it's okay." Scar said immediately and sighed.
Stupid silence.
"Where did you—" Scar gasped and hissed through his teeth when Grian's wiped the area down with more alcohol, "Where did you...uh- learn to stitch?" He asked, making conversation instead of focusing on pain.
Grian hesitated before answering, voice quiet, "My brother taught me." He glanced up at Scar, "Do you want something to bite on?"
The brunette laughed nervously, thinking about it for a moment, "No, no I should be fine." He said. He didn't sound sure but Grian didn't push it.
"Don't forget to breathe." He said, soft, "It's gonna hurt like a bitch but holding your breath doesn't help, like, at all."
Scar nodded at him, eyes gleaming with trust and something tender. Grian nodded back by way of silent communication and pierced the needle through flesh.
Scar was holding out surprisingly well, even if he was squeezing the sheets beneath him like his life depended on it, "You must've been re-real popular in your ol-d medbay." Scar said, trying to keep his voice steady as if Grian couldn't feel him tensing under his fingers.
"What?" Grian scrunched his nose, not looking up from his work.
"The medbay? Where I assume you practiced? Scar said slow, as if that was obvious.
"No. I practiced on myself." He said without blinking—man, Scar really was something else.
Silence fell over them like a storm cloud, waiting and ominous. Grian felt the shift, of course he did, but he didn't know what to make of it.
"I never took you for the clumsy type..." Scar said slowly, very very slowly, as cautious as a man sneaking around bear traps.
"I'm not clumsy." Grian scoffed, unsure whether or not to be offended, "My brother made the cuts and I stitched them back together." He said all in one breath, tying off his last stitch and looking back to admire his handiwork.
"What?" Scar whispered, sounding breathless.
Grian met his eyes and stars he didn't expect the pain that he saw in them, the kind of anguish that ran deeper than the skin but pierced through the soul. Grian didn't understand it, had he said something wrong?
"What?" He echoed, the suspense just making his anxiety worsen. What was the issue??
"How old were you?" Scar asked instead.
Grian furrowed his brows and turned to grab some gauze to give himself time to think.
"Pfff...can't even remember. The first time I was younger than 10 anyway." Grian shrugged and looked back up. Scar lips were parted.
"Scar you're freaking me out." Grian said seriously, he'd rather he just come out with it! What had Grian said wrong?!
His lips closed and his adam's apple bobbed with a swallow, "That's not...normal G..." He said quietly, face pained as though someone had kicked his puppy.
Grian still didn't get it.
"Sure it is." He said, grabbing the gauze around his calf, "How else was I supposed to learn?"
Scar looked like he'd been slapped. "Oh sweetheart..."
That tone. That stupid blasted tone. The kind of tone that made his throat feel full of rocks and his eyes sting like nettles.
The worst thing was, he didn't understand. And yet he still acted like a child about it.
"I don't want to talk about this." He muttered, tying off the gauze and making sure that it wasn't too tight.
"Grian—"
"I said I don't want to talk about it." Grian repeated, physically holding himself back from snapping.
It was just the truth, his life, his childhood. Why did he feel like he was being punished?
But then, "Okay." Scar whispered, "Okay birdie...but I just need you to know that that wasn't okay. But you're not there anymore...you're with me...I promise you won't get hurt like that again."
Grian scrunched his nose, "Why are you talking to me like I'm a victim?"
Scar didn't answer him, he just chewed on the inside of his lip.
"Thank you for patching me up." Scar said quietly and Grian exhaled.
"Yeah...try not to walk on it for a week or so...can I trust you to change your own bandages every day?" He asked, looking up at him.
"Yeah." Scar smiled, a tiny smile that was meant to put Grian at ease...and it worked, annoyingly.
"Good." The avian mumbled and put all of his supplies away as neatly as he could into the box and back into his mess of drawers.
"Come here..." Scar said quietly and Grian couldn't help himself—he was lured to that voice like a snake to a flute.
"I need some pain relief." Scar whispered to him, running his fingertips down the arches of his wings as Grian sat down beside him, their thighs brushing.
"Oh yeah? What kind of pain relief?" Grian muttered, his stomach still churning at memories of himself as a child.
"Well, do you have anything you need to do today?" Scar asked quietly.
"I should probably get back to the Watcher tower at some point...I think They're angry with me." Grian murmured.
Scar just let out a soft hum, "Well...can I just get an hour with you?" Scar asked with these puppy eyes that Grian just couldn't say no to.
"What do you want to do?" The avian asked, tilting his head a little...trying not to be awkward.
"I just wanna lay with you...if that's okay of course, we don't have to or anything—" Scar stumbled through that second part, "I dunno...I just like being with you...maybe we can have a short nap or something..." Scar said, a tiny bit sheepish with rose dusting his cheeks.
Grian's stomach settled, he smiled a small smile and nodded.
"Okay." He whispered. That he could do.
They layed down—well Grian got up rather rapidly to place pillows under Scar's leg to keep it elevated, much to Scar's amusement and teasing—before he settled, wings going slack and sticking out off the bed.
He was warm. Right at home against Scar's chest.
While he was here...he couldn't help but reach up and stroke his fingertips over the points of Scar's ears. The brunette smiled...so Grian didn't stop.
He was still so mesmerising to him.
"I've got you birdie." Scar whispered. Smile softened than usually and maybe a little strained. Odd.
"I've got you...dumbie." Grian retorted and laughed when Scar hugged him tight in retaliation.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Grian wanted to do anything other than peel himself away from the one he wanted to be with the most—but alas, he couldn't avoid the Watchers forever, and perhaps They'd be more lenient if he came forward the same day.
He kept replaying the moment in his head. He hadn't been horrible, sure he ignored Their wishes but They would understand, right? He wanted to help, that's all he wanted, and he came out unscathed!
But still, every step felt like he was walking to his own death.
The hinges creaked when he slowly pushed the door open and peeked inside like a child trying to steal sugar after bed.
The candles were already lit and the ruins glowed their dim violet hue.
"↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
Diamond.
Grian stepped inside fully, keeping his hands behind his back and back straight...just how Jimmy always liked...
"ᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ᖋ|:∷╎┤⍑ᒣ․ﺭ․"
Are you alright?
There was only one this time, voice ringing like static instead of honey. It made Grian sweat.
"॥ᒷϟ."
Yes.
He answered instantly, raising his chin up just a little bit, his knees feeling unsteady. This was...going well...right?
There was a hum that sounded more like boots scuffing against tile that warm melody. Clawed fingers wrapped around his arm—the arm with the scratch on it that was already started to scab with dried blood crusted around the edges.
Their thumb brushed over it and it was gone. Like, not leaving a scar, not a single spindly line like how healing potions always worked. Gone. Like it had never been there in the first place.
Grian's eyes widened.
"How—?" He asked, trying to turn his arm over to get a better look at it only for the grip on his flesh to tighten, snapping his eyes back to the Watcher immediately.
"∴ᒷ ▭ ᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ ↸╎ϟᖋi!i!ᒍ╎リᒣᒷ↸ ▭ ╎リ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍․⎽ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸."
We are disappointed in you, Diamond.
Grian's heart dropped down to his feet.
"╎‾ᒲ ▭ ϟᒍ∷∷॥. ▭ ╎‾ᒲ ▭ ∷ᒷᖋ|:|:॥ ▭ ϟᒍ∷∷॥."
I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.
He said quick, trying not to sound too desperate. He didn't want them angry with him, that was the last thing that he wanted. He was trying his very hardest, he was, he really really was. He didn't want to be a failure again—not enough, never good enough.
"॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᖋi!ᒍ|:ᒍ┤╎ᒷϟ ▭ ᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ ᑑ⚍╎ᒣᒷ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ╎∷∷╎ᒣᖋリᒣ․⎽ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸. ▭ ᖋ|:|:ᒍ∴ ▭ ᒣ⍑╎ϟ ▭ ᒲᒍᒲᒷリᒣ ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ ᕊᒷ ▭ ᖋ ▭ |:ᒷᖋ∷リ╎リ┤ ▭ ᒷ̇/i!ᒷ∷╎ᒷリᔮᒷ․⎽ ▭ ॥ᒷϟ․ﺭ․ ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ᔮᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ ᖋᕊᒍ⚍ᒣ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍. ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ·ǀ·リᒍ∴ ▭ ∴⍑ᖋᒣ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ᕊᒷϟᒣ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍. ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍‾↸ ▭ ↸ᒍ ▭ ∴ᒷ|:|: ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ ∷ᒷᒲᖋ╎リ ▭ ᒍᕊᒷ↸╎ᒷリᒣ․⎽ ▭ ⚍リ⎓ᒷ∷ϟᒣᖋリ↸․ﺭ․"
Your apologies are quite the irritant, Diamond. Allow this moment to be a learning experience, yes? We care about you. We know what is best for you. You'd do well to remain obedient, understand?
Grian swallowed but found his throat dry as though he had swallowed a mouthful of salt.
"॥ᒷϟ."
Yes.
Grian responded, biting the apology off the tip of his tongue.
Obedient. He could do that. He had been doing that. He could do it again. He would do anything.
"┤ᒍᒍ↸. ▭ ᒣ⍑ᖋᒣ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ϟᒍ ▭ ┤ᒍᒍ↸ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸․⎽ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍‾∷ᒷ ▭ ϟ⚍ᔮ⍑ ▭ ᖋリ ▭ ᖋᒲᖋ∩╎リ┤ ▭ |:╎ᒣᒣ|:ᒷ ▭ ┤ᒷᒲ."
Good. That is so good Diamond, you're such an amazing little gem.
That tone turned to syrup and Grian nearly keened for it, a breath exhale mixed with needy chirps spilling from this lips that made the Watcher chuckle, Their iron clad grip softening into more of a cradle, gently stroking his skin with great tenderness.
"॥ᒍ⚍‾|:|: ▭ |:╎ϟᒣᒷリ ▭ ⎓∷ᒍᒲ ▭ リᒍ∴ ▭ ᒍリ․⎽ ▭ ∴ᒍリ‾ᒣ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸․ﺭ․"
You'll listen from now on, won't you Diamond?
"॥ᒷϟ"
Yes.
He responded immediately, chasing that warmth, that care, that praise like he dying of thirst. He needed it. He needed to be good for someone. He needed someone older he could cling to when his parents were long gone.
His own thoughts shocked him...but he didn't dissect them.
Grian leaned into the warm palm on his cheek, a stray dog chasing connection.
He just wanted stability. He wanted to do something worthwhile with his life.
Because what was he if not a perfect little soldier?
Notes:
Should I put mommy and daddy issues as a tag?? Maybe family issues. Not sure not sure
Did anyone get my life series references.........
Chapter 12: Goodbye, Brother.
Summary:
Oh ho ho ho buckle up
Chapter Text
Two weeks passed in a chaotic blur of explosions that made his ears ring, scrapes of metal on metal and the crackle ofsplintering wood.
Battles became more and more frequent as the war progressed—both sides becoming impatient and antsy for some kind of avenegment for all of the live they had lost—every soul that died because both sides spat in the face of peace.
Grian found out what that potion was, potion of poisoning. He also found out that they had been using it more and more, by the end of the day full litres (by estimate) of the liquid being drained in the pursuit of battle.
But the red-crests weren't idiots. Grian knew them. Knew that Doc and False when combined would never let a weakness get them down for too long, and he was right, sure enough they had new armour that gave a big ol' middle finger to their potions and rendered them useless.
Grian got all of this information from from a third party though—from Scar. Which honestly he was still pretty mad that the moron was going out to battle with barely healed stitches, but that charm always managed to cool his frustration ike ice on a hot stove. They made it a routine, every night Scar would relay all the information he had and Grian would do the same.
He didn't like bloodshed, that much was painfully obvious but he still..sort of...missed the battlefield. Living it through Scar wasn't proving to be enough.
He missed the rush and his heart rate going up, he missed the adrenaline and putting his hard work to the test. Because why did he work himself bloody just not to do anything with it? He refused to believe that seventeen years of sweat and tears all amounted to nothing. He missed feeling useful—needed.
Obviously the Watchers made him feel good, made him feel special and taught him about about travelling and creating dimensions...but still.
Maybe he was just being greedy.
He was safe and alive.
But his heart still yearned.
Whenever his feet carried him to his second home and he opened the door, he found all three Watchers standing there in a perfect line, limbs hidden between the folds of dark purple robes.
Now, in the past he wouldn't have even blinked, but as of late only one had been showing up—well all of Them...in one...it was confusing! But They were all there as though they had been waiting on him.
Strange.
He closed the door real slow, keeping his eyes forward incase he missed something.
"⍑ᒷ|:|:ᒍ."
Hello.
He said slowly, suddenly afraid that he had done something wrong—mind fanatically scrambling to retrace his every breath and step.
He hadn't done anything wrong to memory...
Maybe this was a good thing then!
"⍑ᒷ|:|:ᒍ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸. ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ⍑ᖋ⍊ᒷ ▭ ᖋ ▭ ᒣᖋϟ·ǀ· ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍."
Hello Diamond. We have a task for you.
Grian stepped further into the room immediately—after much exposure to the Watchers Their echoing tones and phrasing wasn't so jarring anymore, but he still reacted to it none the less.
"॥ᒷϟ․ﺭ․"
Yes?
He said back, already eager, already ready, waiting, wanting.
He wasn't going crazy.
He wasn't crazy.
He just wanted to please! He didn't want Them to be angry at him. Anything but being angry at him. He didn't want anyone to be angry at him anymore.
He was perfectly sane!
His wings shifted on their own accord.
"↸ᒍ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ∷ᒷᔮᖋ|:|: ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᕊ∷ᒍᒣ⍑ᒷ∷․⎽ ▭ ┤ᒷリᒷ∷ᖋ|: ▭ ϟᒍ|:╎↸ᖋ∷╎ᒣ॥․ﺭ․"
Do you recall your brother, General Solidarity?
Grian furrowed his brows a little. How could he forget?
He was going to state as such, make a little joke about it but immediately though better of it and bit his tongue.
"॥ᒷϟ."
Yes.
He replied instead, knowing that it was the answer that they wanted.
A him made the hairs along his skin stand to attention..
"⍑ᒷ ▭ ⍑ᖋ↸ ▭ ᕊᒷᒷリ...ᔮᖋ⚍ϟ╎リ┤ ▭ ᑑ⚍╎ᒣᒷ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ↸╎ϟᒣ⚍∷ᕊᖋリᔮᒷ ▭ ᖋリ↸ ▭ ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ϟᒍ|:↸╎ᒷ∷ϟ ▭ ᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ リᒍᒣ ▭ i!∷ᒷ⎓ᒍ∷ᒲ╎リ┤ ▭ ᖋϟ ▭ ∴ᒷ|:|: ▭ ᖋϟ ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ⍑ᖋ↸ ▭ ⍑ᒍi!ᒷ↸...ϟᒍ...ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ i!∷ᒷᔮ╎ᒍ⚍ϟ ▭ ↸╎ᖋᒲᒍリ↸. ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ∴ᖋリᒣ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ ┤ᒷᒣ ▭ ∷╎↸ ▭ ᒍ⎓ ▭ ⍑╎ᒲ."
He has been...causing quite the disturbance and as a result Our soldiers are not preforming as well as We had hoped...so...Our precious Diamond. We want you to get rid of him.
They said with clicnal precision, motherly affection completely misleading. Tone hiding the atrocity underneath.
"┤ᒷᒣ...∷╎↸...ᒍ⎓...⍑╎ᒲ․ﺭ․"
Get...rid...of...him?
Grian echoed, voice quiet and hesitant, praying to the stars that he had misheard...
"·ǀ·╎|:|: ▭ ⍑╎ᒲ."
Kill him.
They reiterated fluidly.
Grian felt the colour drain from his face immediately, cold hard dread manifesting in his stomach and tearing his organs apart.
He couldn't. He felt physically sick. His brother—well his brother wasn't the best person on the planet and maybe he had lied to him and got too blinded by revenge, but he was still family.
He was still his family.
And the Watchers promised him...swore to him that he wouldn't have to kill anyone, not again. Didn't They? Perhaps this was a punishment, or maybe they trusted him more than anyone else...it didn't make any sort of sense.
But this was what he wanted isn't it? To get back out on the field with everyone else instead of sitting up here all safe and sound without having to worry about an arrow piercing his back.
It wasn't fair. He wanted to be down there helping too.
He wanted that. And Jimmy had been knowingly helping a side that murdered because of belief for centuries...
For the greater good, he always said. That was always his excuse so his brain wouldn't eat him alive.
For the greater good once again then.
He could make the Watchers proud, he could.
"ᒍーᒍ·ǀ·ᖋ॥."
O-okay.
He said quietly, cursing himself for his stutter that came out in place of confidence.
He didn't know what else to do.
So he just went through the motions.
Hours passed by like seconds. He must've sharpened and polished his sword a million times, paced until his boot prints were burned into the floor and picked at the skin around his nails until they bled.
All for loyalty. He could show Them that he was loyal. The Watchers were so good to him! So kind! They gave him a place even when he killed one of Their own, They saw his skill, his potential, and took him in. They were good. They made him see the truth. They wouldn't lie to him.
He was good. This was good. The death of the general would completely derail things and while they were running around like headless chickens that would be the perfect moment to strike.
And besides, Grian didn't want anyone else to do it. Jimmy was his family, full circle or whatever the fuck.
Just one life.
One more life.
And the whole war could potentially be over.
He refused to eat—he tried, he really did try but it all tasted like slime and he couldn't keep it down, puking seconds after swallowing.
Scar noticed, how could he not? It was blazingly obvious and he didn't do a great job at hiding his concern. Scar was...Scar, he asked gently what was up, rubbed Grian's back, whispered reassurances.
Grian didn't budge.
He couldn't. Lest Scar—the wonderful man that he is—extract even more complicated emotions from the avian that he simply didn't have room for. It was easier to just narrow his thoughts. Squint and leap head first.
Until the day came.
The day where he stood among his comrades with his sword in his palm—so familiar yet so so so heavy, weighted down by the pressure of his guilt and fear and dread.
He had to find him right away.
No point in dragging this out right?
Just one strike was all it really took...
One last prayer. One last apology to his parents...he was trying his best.
Grian swallowed back bile, tucked in his wings and sprinted into the throng of battle where the air itself tasted of copper.
Grian weaved through bodies like an otter through current, not engaging in any sort of combat for more than three seconds as to not waste time in reaching his end goal—the one opponent he acctually needed to fight. To win with.
Soldiers tried, they did, slashing at him and sticking out their feet to trip him up or simply just latching onto his wings and wanking so that Grian would be forced to give them attention. They didn't take long to subdue at all, Grian would blink and they'd be done, staring up at him with shock he barely saw for a second before sprinting through the throng once more.
He was in, what some people called, 'the zone', where the outside world didn't exist. The only thing that truly mattered being his focus, everything else be dammed—the gray sky with dull clouds that promised rain at some stage in the day, cold grass blades that were trampled over and therefore never grew to their full potentials, bay flower buds squashed with mangled petals—none of it mattered, the deja vu didn't matter, the mountain glaring over them like a referee didn't matter.
Then finally, through the chaos, his eyes sharpened.
Jimmy.
His blonde hair was dishevelled and hanging over his forehead rather than the backward swoop which he always preferred it in, his eyes were dark, narrowed, completely focused against his opponent. Horse nowhere in sight. Stubble dotted his chin and jaw and prominent bags stained his undereyes.
There he was.
Grian had been tempted over the days to use his new Eyes to take a peek at his friends...see if they were alright, if they were healthy, see what they were up to. But he had decided against it...meaning he hadn't seen more than glimpses or word of mouth about his brother since he left.
He let out a sharp whistle. A single loud blow he made up whenever he was first learning the language—a child having fun and making up nonsense. He never stopped blowing that dammed note and everyone knew him by it. Whenever he was smaller it was adorable, now, Grian could see the very second that it pierced Jimmy's ears.
His movements froze, his eyes widened a fraction and the soldier against him was dealt with. He looked lost in space for a moment before slowly, he turned his head and met Grian's eye.
A moment of shock passed through his eyes before he stood up straight, his jaw ticked. Grian wasn't afraid of him, not anymore, he took a step forward, then another and another once more.
Everybody else blurred into one big hazy blob. The only clear picture was him.
"Grian." Jimmy muttered, low but not filled with venom.
"Jimmy." Grian returned, marching his tone. He adjusted his grip on the sword, heart pounding a million miles a minute.
"You look older." Grian commented, dry.
"And you look just the same."
Jimmy charged first.
Sword high, broad shoulders squared, his boots tore the grass beneath him as he lunged—confident, aiming to end it fast. His opening strike was a heavy over the head blow which was supposed to catch Grian immediately off guard.
Okay. Okay they were doing this.
Grian didn’t retreat. He had never fought against his brother like this, where both clearly aimed to kill...but fight or flight almost immediately eradicated nerves. He stepped into the swing, parrying with a sharp, upward diagonal that made the steel shriek, momentum diverted. Jimmy blinked, momentarily stunned.
Then, Grian twisted, redirected the force, and lashed out with a low, snapping cut toward Jimmy’s knee. The canary jumped back, getting a shallow gash through his trousers—but now his expression had shifted.
He was surprised.
Grian'a chest tightened.
“You finally decided to man up, then?” Jimmy muttered.
Grian didn’t answer.
He advanced without hesitation, striking fast and low, left-right-left and bursts that were short but aggressive. Jimmy caught the flurry on his blade, backing up, but each blow forced him to adjust and recalibrate. His wide swings couldn’t land. His reach meant nothing if Grian kept so close.
Maybe bleeding out in that basement was acctually worth it.
He wouldn't let it be for northing.
Jimmy stepped to the side, trying to reset the distance, and swept in with a powerful horizontal cut. Grian ducked under it, spun low on the grass, and flicked his sword upward—a clean, elegant slash that tore up and under Jimmy's armour and slashed at his ribs. Grian nearly puked at the pressure on his blade, feeling skin and flesh tear away like butter. But he swallowed it down...he would have to kill him after all...
Stars.
Jimmy stumbled back.
He smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright then.” He tensed his neck to the side with a crack and rolled his shoulders.
The tempo exploded.
Jimmy came again. Faster—impossibly faster this time around. He poured his full strength into it now, arcing sweeps, sharp jabs, overhead slashes that would’ve shattered a weaker soldier. Grian danced between them—sidestepping, deflecting, slipping beneath strikes like wind between trees. His muscles screamed at him but his heart didn't dare stop. It wouldn't stop.
He felt a little offended that Jimmy wasn't going full force before, now and then having clear contrast, but oh well.
The grass whipped around their boots. Blades blurred. Huffs and pants harmonised.
Jimmy growled, frustrated at the lack of victory, and lashed out high, then pivoted and went low. Grian caught it anyway, reflexes trained to an absolute tea, steel sliding along steel, then batted the blade wide and rushed in. His elbow connected with Jimmy’s chest—just enough force to unbalance.
Jimmy stumbled back again, eyes flaring with something between pride and disbelief. Still moving despite his bloodied state.
“Who's the boy?”
The question caught Grian completely off balance, but he recovered quick, gritting his teeth.
“Wouldn't you like to know.” Grian never thought he'd be so disrespectful...yet here he was. His muscles thought for him.
Less he knew about Scar the better, Scar was his.
Grian launched forward.
He stopped dodging and went on the offensive.
He struck with purpose with a fluid, relentless rhythm of precision. Every motion was compact, intentional. Jimmy blocked one, two, three before he began losing ground. His foot slid in the grass. His arms moved wider. He adjusted too late. He was hurting. Fatigue effecting reaction time.
Grian’s blade slid along the flat of Jimmy’s next swing, locked it midair, and used the leverage to spin around him—then cracked the back of his blade against Jimmy’s shoulder as he passed.
Jimmy wheeled. Grian was already turning. Already back in stance.
Grian swallowed back bile oncr again and exploded forward again.
He cut high, then low, then high again just to confuse him and when Jimmy raised his blade to intercept the third, Grian reversed and struck from the opposite side, his blade raking across Jimmy’s sword hand hard enough to throw it wide.
The canary had no time to recover for Grian drove forward, blade aimed straight for his throat—
Stopped.
Steel hovered at his brother's neck.
Jimmy stood frozen, breath catching in his chest. His sword dangled in his grip, his stance open. The entire plain was still now—only the wind in the grass, and their panting breath between them.
Grian stared at him, eyes unreadable. Calm.
Jimmy looked down at the blade. Then back at his brother. Grian scrunched his nose and kicked him back right square in his stomach. Jimmy didn't resist, falling like a cut scarecrow while Grian booted his blade across the grass.
Jimmy breathed heavily, nostrils flaring in attempts at recovery as he kept his gaze locked onto him, exhausted, but smart enough not to take his eyes off of an enemy, especially with leaking crimson form various wounds—some not even delivered from Grian but from faceless comrades.
A glimmer of silver peeking out from under his armour caught Grian's attention, brought into the light from all his joslting. A bird on twine—slightly scratched and tarnished from years and years of aging.
His mother's necklace, Jimmy told him when Grian asked all those years ago—a lifetime ago.
Grian heaved, chest rising in rapid barely controlled breaths.
Jimmy didn't make movement to get up. Didn't crawl to his sword. Didn't gamble at sweeping Grian off his feet.
"Do it then." Jimmy muttered, staring up at his little brother through his lashes.
Grian blinked, eyes darting around his entire form, panic settling in—iornic, seeing as he had just fought for his life seconds before, and only now panic was starting to consume him?
Grian glanced down at his sword, speckled with blood that wasn't his own.
Everything was much too...real, the wind was in his hair, he could hear the world around him—just barely, but it was there. The blood on his hands burrowed itself into the soft part of Grian's heart.
"Grian."
Grian eyes snapped to him, wide and petrified.
"I'm sorry."
Grian's eyes went glassy with tears instantly, those two little words, two little words cut right through his soul and imbedded themselves like thorns.
"┤ᒍ ▭ ᒍリ."
Go on.
It jabbed through his skull without mercy.
He had to. He knew it.
For the greater good.
For the greater good.
For the greater good he raised his sword.
For the greater good he raised it high, high above his head.
Deja vu struck. Cold and chilling.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tightened his grip until his knuckles went white, ears ringing and worsening his migraine, his wings trembling on his back and feeling all too heavy.
He took a deep breath—
And dropped.
The blade was tossed, where? He didn't care. He tossed it onto the grass and collapsed infront of his brother, onto his knees, shaking and trembling like a fawn. He wrapped his arms around him—his big brother, his family, his. His eyes his hair his grin his blood. His blood. His blood was spilling and it was all Grian's fault and he didn't want it.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to.
He squeezed him tight and sobbed, tears coming loose like a waterfall that had been caged its entire existence—the dam broken down with hammers so powerful his whole body reverberated from them.
"I'm sorry." He sobbed, trembling.
"I'm sorry." Jimmy echoed, a whisper filled with pure surprise, but not disgust. He didn't sneer at him for being a child or being too weak to finish the job. Instead, his arms came around him and hugged Grian back, hand cradling the back of his head.
"I was blinded by revenge. I never wanted to lose you. I should've been a better big brother." He whispered, soft, only meant for his ears. Uncharacteristically....vulnerable Grian had never heard his brother—General Solidarity—sound so...reverant. His brother. His big, strong, heart of steel brother...was guilty. Grian's heart squeezed. He sobbed harder.
"You are enough. You have always been enough...little brother." He whispered and it only served to make Grian break down more, his wings slack and trembling in the wind.
Those words were all he had ever wanted.
"リᒍ."
NO.
That voice tore through the reverence like a blade forged from thunder. A raw, seismic force that rippled outward in waves of pure power. Each pulse vibrated through the air, bending it, distorting it—an invisible shock that set the grass trembling and tearing from the soil like hair being ripped out chunk by chunk.
The mountains—mighty unbreakable monuments shook and writhed beneath power that was not of their world, stone bleeding from cracks that splintered like spreading disease.
The echo wasn’t just heard but was felt through the soul, pressing against the skin and rattling the very atoms around it. The sky cracked and shattered with defeaning shoots of lightning, clouds warping and turning a terrifying black—not heavy gray, filled to the brim with storm rain—but black, pure midnight like the night sky itself.
Grian tore himself away from his brother and stood up on unsteady legs, soldiers screaming and yelling to eachother, each confused but more so petrified of forces they should never have meddled with.
There was only one explanation.
Grian had defied the Watchers. Again.
"ᒣ⍑╎ϟ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ リᒍᒣ ▭ ⍑ᒍ∴ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ┤ᖋᒲᒷ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ϟ⚍i!i!ᒍϟᒷ↸ ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ ┤ᒍ."
THIS IS NOT HOW THE GAME IS SUPPOSED TO GO.
The sky spat out zaps of electric bolts, accenting each syllable of the gods' wrath.
Game?
Grian furrowed his brows and looked around at his comrades, who each had similar looks of confusion and terror plastered on their faces.
His brother didn't seem surprised.
The red-crests, the red-crests just gritted their teeth and snarled at the sky, their mortal opponents forgotten and shunned aside. How did they look so sure?
Game? What on earth were they talking about???
"Game?" He whispered and Jimmy pushed himself up, gripping his side with his jaw loose.
"You don't know?" Jimmy said, breathy.
"Know what?!" Grian snapped back, too stressed for this shit, dried tears on his cheeks burning in the wind.
He was scared.
What exactly was going on???
"॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ╎↸╎ᒍᒣ╎ᔮ ▭ ᒲᒍ∷ᒣᖋ|:ϟ ▭ ᖋ∷ᒷ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷┤ᒷᒣᒣ╎リ┤ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ∷ᒍ|:ᒷϟ. ▭ ∴⍑॥ ▭ ╎ϟ ▭ ╎ᒣ ▭ ϟᒍ ▭ ↸╎⎓⎓╎ᔮ⚍|:ᒣ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᒲᒷᖋϟᒷ|:॥ ▭ ᕊ∷ᖋ╎リϟ ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ |:╎ϟᒣᒷリ."
YOU IDIOTIC MORTALS ARE FORGETTING YOUR ROLES. WHY IS IT SO DIFFICULT FOR YOUR MEASELY BRAINS TO LISTEN.
The sky spun faster, a vortex unlike Grian had ever seen before. Unholy miracles...but miracles weren't always good...didn't always bring blessings.
The sky lit up purple in time with rumbling thunder before going pitch black once more, wind blowing leaves and light rocks through the air as though they were weightless.
"॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ⍑ᖋ⍊ᒷ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷┤ᒍᒣᒣᒷリ ▭ ᒣ⍑ᒷ ▭ ∷⚍|:ᒷϟ. ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ⍑ᖋ⍊ᒷ ▭ ϟᒣ∷ᒷᒣᔮ⍑ᒷ↸ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍∷ ▭ ᕊᒍ⚍リ↸ϟ ▭ ᒣᒍᒍ ▭ ∴╎↸ᒷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ╎リϟᒍ|:ᒷリᒣ ▭ |:╎ᒣᒣ|:ᒷ ▭ ᔮ∷ᒷᖋᒣ⚍∷ᒷϟ."
YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THE RULES. YOU HAVE STRETCHED YOUR BOUNDS TOO WIDE YOU INSOLENT LITTLE CREATURES.
The sky opened like the jaws of monsters, razor sharp fangs tearing the very fabric of reality into shreds—splintering air like it was solid in a sparkles of green, yellow, blue, glass shattering and churning through everyone's bones in such a crushing pressure that it sent the souls around him into coughing fits and gasps.
"リᒍ ▭ ᒲᖋᒣᒣᒷ∷. ▭ ∴ᒷ ▭ ⍑ᖋ⍊ᒷ ▭ ∴ᖋϟᒣᒷ↸ ▭ ᒣᒍᒍ ▭ ᒲ⚍ᔮ⍑ ▭ ᒣ╎ᒲᒷ ▭ ⎓ᒍ∷ ▭ ॥ᒍ⚍ ▭ ᒣᒍ ▭ ⋮⚍ϟᒣ ▭ ᒲ╎ϟᕊᒷ⍑ᖋ⍊ᒷ ▭ |:╎·ǀ·ᒷ ▭ ᒣ⍑╎ϟ."
No matter. We have wasted too much time for you to just misbehave like this.
Grian's heart sank.
Purple strings like pouncing serpants shot out from the tear in reality and made a beeline for him.
The avian gasped the moment he realised and took a step back and raised his sword.
But these threads could not be cut with any blade nor burned with fire.
They wrapped around Grian's limbs—his arms, his wrists his ankles, every joint of his fingers and his knees while he writhed like a rat caught by a cat.
He growled, yanking and pulling and flapping his wings uselessly only for them to be bound in the wispy strings aswell.
"Grian!" Someone screamed, a raw throat breaking through the roar of the wind.
Grian stilled his movements.
Scar.
"Scar!" Grian choked back, gagging whenever a new thread squeezed around his throat.
The brunette leaped, determined eyes glazed over. He jumped, pushed off the ground and reach as far as his arm could go—
His hand missed Grian's ankle.
He was too far away.
"GRIAN!" His vocal chords sounded like like were being shredded.
And then.
The world around him went black.
Notes:
So...how do we feel?
Please do leave a comment !!!! I love love love every single one !!
Chapter 13: Broken Rules.
Notes:
Tw for mild suicidal ideation and self-harm (hair pulling)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Scar watched with tears slowed in time as the rip in the sky sewed itself back to together like a spider reweaving a tear in its nest. He watched the man that he slept beside, ate with, cherished and cared for and would've given his life for—disappear on the other side.
The wrong side.
This was all wrong. He was supposed to be here, with him. They were together. They were happy. Grian wasn't with the red-crests anymore. Scar could wake up and see that adorable little grin first thing instead of waiting until sundown. And now he was gone??? Just like that? It wasn't right. Nothing felt right.
He wasn't supposed to be gone. He was supposed to be safe now.
The very air held its breath and there was a moment where nobody moved a muscle—too starstruck and terrified that their brains took longer to process the events that has just unfolded.
Not Scar. He didn't need to process shit. He let out a sharp exhale, his chest trembling.
His...his Grian was gone.. His Grian was gone.
What on earth had They meant by 'game'??
Scar clenched his fists by his sides and the spell broke, the once eerie silence was no more—cease fire had been silently called upon, nobody was fighting nor even reached for their swords but instead the masses erupted in chatter rather than bombs.
"Did you know?" A blonde man with off-yellow canary feathers—feathers Scar could only guess were bright when not covered in both dirt and dust—hissed at Scar like he was the problem.
"Know what?" Scar growled back, too stressed out to have to deal with all of this shit. Not to mention that that was General Solidarity, the absolute bastard piece of shit that hurt his precious bird and called it 'lessons'. If anything, Scar wanted to punch him right in the bloody nose, how would that be for lessons. "That he would be taken to stars knows where?!" Fury bloomed in Scar's chest, red hot and angry with nowhere to go but out, he took a few sure steps forward and jabbed a finger into the general's chest, uncaring. "You think I was fucking in on this—?!"
"Easy, Eye." Jimmy snapped with added ferocity and caught Scar's wrist in an iron-clad grip, too proud to let some Eye speak to him with such a tone—arrogant prick.
"Listen pal, I don't have time for you to be fucking insinuating shit when Grian just got sucked into the damn sky." Scar shot back—pure stress driving his tolerance level way way way down.
"Stars, you really don't know, do you." Jimmy breathed and shook his head slowly, eyes wider as the realisation came upon him.
Scar scrunched his nose, this was getting really irritating.
He opened his mouth to retort before he was cut off by whistles rippling through the crowds, Jimmy's head shot up while Scar just stood there looking around himself—he had no idea what those whistles meant, he had gathered that they were code for shit but he never asked Grian what any of them meant...he probably should've. His heart gave a painful clench.
Other Eyes were staring around with similar looks of confusion as red-crests relayed the same information that Scar had just received. Same questions. Same accusations.
That's how they found themselves—truce established for the time being and a thin promise not to stab eachother in the back—in the heart of the red-crest camp in a large open field with fires dotted around for warmth as medics from both sides ran around to tend to wounded.
It all felt too fragile, nobody trusted eachother, not really. But what was to be expecting after decades of war? Scar was too pent up, mind whirring with no sign of stopping.
He paced, he paced and paced and paced because staying still for even just a second felt like betraying Grian, felt like leaving him behind and forgetting him, which was the very last thing Scar wanted to do.
He was scared. He was so fucking scared.
"Hey—" Ren appeared from behind him and he noticed too late, springing ten feet in the air whenever he felt a hand grace his shoulder. "Sorry dude—" The hybrid raised his hands immediately, looking so struck with guilt that it made Scar soften.
"No, no I'm sorry. I'm just...jumpy." Scar said quietly, taking in a shaky inhale that did nothing at all for his nerves.
Ren nodded slowly, unsure of what to say but feeling the need to offer sympathy, "You're not hurt are you?" He asked and Scar shook his head.
"Well...alright, I just wanted to check on you since the medics are making their rounds...so..." He looked down awkwardly, hesitating, "We'll get him back Scar."
Scar's eyes brimmed with tears at the very mention of him but he blinked them away and set his jaw. There was no use crying about it, crying would get him nowhere but in the exact same spot just with a headache. Tears wouldn't get his bird back.
"Yeah." He nodded, lips curled, "Yeah we'll get him back."
Ren smiled, a tiny smile that didn't reach his eyes before walking off to check on the rest of his friends, leaving Scar to pace once more.
He didn't trust these people, but fueds meant nothing to him without Grian by his side—anyone could be an ally if it got his darling songbird back.
Where was he? That was an entirely different issue. Where was he?
A tear in air wasn't exactly a tangible place in which he could rock up with rockets loaded—and that petrified him, what if they had taken him to a place which Scar could never reach? The very thought of never hearing his voice again or seeing his face made bile rise in his throat.
He couldn't think like that. He would get him back, he would. Under any means necessary. He couldn't give up before he had even started. Grian wasn't a Watcher, they couldn't drag him through universes—or so Scar assumed. He was still human, mortal.
Yeah.
Yeah yeah he would stay right here in the plane that Scar could reach. Yes. That made sense. Okay. Everything was fine. Everything was FINE HE WAS FINE—
"Yo, Eye." A red-crest barked at him like he was a dog and Scar shot him a glare.
"Scar." He hissed back, his hands tightening on his biceps.
"Yeah, whatever. General Solidarity wants you inside." The red-crests grunted. A tall man with a buzzed head who looked at Scar like he was dirty on his shoe. Pft, Scar didn't think too highly of him either.
"Why?" He scrunched his nose, immediately suspicious.
"Stars." The soldier sighed like Scar was the biggest inconvenience of his entire day, "So everyone can have a meeting about what's happening, and about the little brother."
Grian.
Scar perked instantly, "Where?"
The soldier pointed and Scar made off, the sooner they got plans in place the better—this was surely all a misunderstanding. The Watchers were angry right now but they had obviously done something to offend them, but they wouldn't kill. They wouldn't kill Grian, they spent too much time with him to just throw it all away just like that.
But yet again...
Scar shook himself, no, think positive.
He shoved himself through the door and narrowed his eyes, the office space was smaller than he expected it to be and very cramped with the amount of people squashed inside of it.
It seemed pretty roughly fifty/fifty red-crest to Eye, he saw a few people he knew, including a few people he had seen on the battle field.
"Scar." Martyn waved him over and Scar stood against the wall—others were sitting on crates and others stood. He chose to stand, eyes narrowed on the generals in the middle, a single lantern hanging from the ceiling by a chain casting the entire space in a gloomy atmosphere—fitting somehow.
"Do any of you acctually know your own history?" Jimmy began and got the Eyes into a row instantly, snarls and hisses ricocheting across the room.
Scar himself scoffed at his arrogance. Of course they knew their own damn history! They weren't idiots.
"Quiet!" The General snapped, nose already scrunched in irritation. "Then why on earth did you look so fucking confused when that creature mentioned the game. Hm?"
No responses of any sort rippled this time and all the red-crests rolled their eyes, though some looked genuinely surprised.
Scar just felt irritated, antsy to do something already instead of just sitting here like a lot of stubborn toddlers bickering over the rules of tag.
"Get on with what you're gonna say and quit wasting our time." Scar snapped and got roars of agreement from his side. Every second they wasted Grian spent terrified and confused.
Jimmy clicked his tongue and took a deep breath, pressing his fingertips against the table.
"It started when the Watchers introduced their 'aid'."
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Grian shot upright with a sharp gasp, inhaling and wheezing around oxygen to try and force as much as he possibly could into unwilling lungs—the sudden movement however was clearly the wrong move, seeing as sparks of every colour clouded his vision and his head squeezed in on itself with immense pressure that felt like vessels were all bursting.
He winced, rubbing the bridge of his nose and allowing the feeling to pass—once he didn't feel as though he would vomit or pass out again at any moment he lowered his hand and blinked through the fog and lingering twinkles.
The first thing that became clear to him was...the plush underneath him. He frowned and looked down. He was on a bed, white covers pooling around his waist. A bed. With clean white sheets and a bedside table and everything.
Confusion hit him like a punch to the gut. Really, his whole room was...furnished. There was a table pushed up against the corner with a lantern propped atop of it and a simple wooden chair pushed underneath. A purple rug on the floor with stray threads tied in knots at the corners and a wardrobe against the gray wall.
It looked all too..homey. It was unsettling.
Grian blinked and looked down at his hands to prove to himself that he was real and even pinched his forearm to check if it was some sort of dream—but no, no it was very much real.
Another thing, his wrists, elbows, and the joints of his fingers had a ring of scarred skin around them. The threads—Grian's mind supplied. Curiously, he pulled back the covers and found that the same rope-like burns stretched across his knees and ankles aswell, he wouldn't be surprised if a similar ring looped around his throat aswell.
Pain shot between his eyes like an arrow through the forehead. He winced and pressed his fist against it, waiting for it to ride out.
Game.
His heart seized.
He distrupted thier...game?
He didn't do as he was told.
Now he was being punished.
Was this punishment though? He didn't understand, he assumed that maybe he'd be in some void or- well he didn't know. Not this, not a fully furnished room.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and just sat there, trying to process.
Game. That same word kept ringing through his brain and bouncing off the walls.
Game.
Game.
Why did they use the word game?
The door swung open.
"Good morning, Diamond."
Grian shot to his feet instantly, fists clenched at his sides even if the stars sparking in his vision begged him to sit back down.
The language sounded so natural to him now that he heard as he heard English.
He spared a glance to the window—the setting sun blending the sky into a watercolour portrait of pink and orange as the last dying rays of light shone against the grass, providing them with final kisses of warmth before the cold night descended.
Grian looked back, eyes watering for reasons that he couldn't name beyond human nature—human shame, human guilt. Childish fear.
"What game?" He whispered, blinking rapidly to rid himself of glassy vision. He didn't waste time with the pleasantries.
"Oh Diamond." The Watcher chuckled and multiplied into three, Grian swallowed and waited for an answer...but They only seemed to be amused. Amused. That...that was better than angry right?
"What...ga-game?" He asked again, hating how shaky and small his voice came out—but it wouldn't harden, he couldn't find it in himself to be firm no matter how tightly he balled his fists.
The game. Forgetting their roles. Insolent creatures
"Oh Diamond, sweet, naive, precious little Diamond." They cooed and tilted Their heads. Grian bit down hard on his lower lip, a chasm of unease opening in his chest.
"All of this is Our game, Diamond. Our special little game."
The ground crumbled beneath him like sand, the walls splintering and falling in on themselves and before Grian knew it his feet were sinking through the floor. His wings spread wide, fluttering uselessly as he panicked, twisting and turning but he just sank, sank as easily as through soft sand lower and lower and lower until his mouth and nose were submerged and he couldn't breathe—
Void.
Billions of tiny tiny particles that looked like stars but felt awfully wrong. Grian had been here before, that much was clear, that much he remembered.
He fell onto wobbly knees and gulped down air, coughing on nothing because it wasn't real. His surroundings weren't real. Nothing was cold nor warm beneath him it was just nothing, that's all it was. Nothing. He was surrounded by nothing.
Until the platform he was on tilted and he rolled down, accelerating quickly while fight or flight kicked in but he could not nothing but fall—nails scrambling uselessly for a purchase that didn't exist.
Deja vu slammed into him like horse hooves and he was propelled into third person. The sun was much too bright and blinded him a moment before he adjusted and surveyed his surroundings.
Surroundings he knew and recognised. Straw rooves and people walking along roadsides without a care in the world, munching on ripe oranges provided by the kind hands of Eyes.
"All We ever wanted to do was play Our game after the last universe proved...boring." Echoed through his head and stung his ears.
"And Our players were good, very very good. They did whatever We asked without thinking twice! It was the pinical of amusement. Obedient, mindless little drones. Until they decided to think too hard."
The world shuffled and Grian saw a group of people in linen shirts hanging off their shoulders with determined expressions on their faces, "We don't do it." The front man hissed, holding an arm out to protect the people behind him who held sticks and rakes for protection, "You can't ask us to murder people!"
"Come now." A voice cooed but from outside of Grian's head—it was so startlingly to hear Their voice outside of himself, They sounded so quiet when They weren't booming through his ears. "Do as you're told...what have We done but help you? Be good now..."
"No!" The man roared and the people shouted back in similar outward protest, "You- You're monsters! We don't need your help! Be gone from our lands!"
A repetitive tut emerged from the Watcher, "Wrong answer, I'm afraid. Wrong. Answer." And Their eyes, where eyes should be but were instead featureless, lit up a horrific red.
"Insolent children must be punished, for if they're not how will they learn? They broke the rules." That came from Grian's head, pulsing like blood around his system, "And the game is not fun if you break the rules."
Grian saw blood and heard screams so blaring they made his ears pop. Blood. A whole sea of it. Screams and desperate voices begging for mercy while a ghost of death smitted down every living and breathing soul who dared to 'break the rules'.
Grian stared with wide eyes, vomit coming up his throat but not going anywhere because his physical body was not real, all he could do is gag with nausea that had nowhere to go.
Then a familiar scene.
The burning of buildings and men, women, children, fleeing for their lives as their homes came up in flames.
"They got so...rowdy." The Watchers hummed, "Thought it was as simple as trying to burn Us away."
The puzzle pieces fell together in Grian's mind and each that clicked into place made him more and more horrified.
He opened his eyes he was on his feet, gasping in the middle of the room and looking at the gods infront of him stained with the blood of thousands.
"It was so funny." The Watchers giggled, "In their attempts to thwart Us they only created a brand new game. A huge playground of war. But even war has its rules. What's the point if not to have fun?"
Grian stepped backwards, shaking his head as air was scooped right out of his lungs, stolen from him, leaving his throat tight and lips parted, eyes impossibly wide.
"You lied to me." He whispered, his brain running a million miles a minute. "The early red-crests never killed blindly. They killed because you killed them first...they killed because their families were being played like puppets." Grian whispered, low and horrified.
"This whole war...you allowed this whole war to happen for amusement..." Everything suddenly made sense—the impurities being cracked off crystal so that he could see clearly through it.
Beings with power beyond human comprehension somehow spent decades at war. Why not use their power to win right away? Because then it wouldn't be fun. It would be no fun to cut the game short when they could instead watch mortals squirm.
They twisted Grian's mind into a web of hidden truths—They preached him being manipulated...and he was...he was and he let himself willingly...but not by his brother...but by the very creatures he desperately clung to. His desperate and needy brain swallowed each lie They fed him like it was the sweetest nectar then praised him for making the valiant choice.
He was just a pawn in their game.
Killing his brother would've just added higher stakes.
Etho was going to tell him something, that night that he went to try and bring him back he was going to say something before Grian was teleported back.
"You lied to me."
The Watchers knew exactly what Etho was going to say so they forced Grian back and played at feeling sorry for him.
They twisted each and every mind that fought for Them, dismissing the truth and labelling them as lies.
Each choice was just an exciting plot twist to feed Their own enjoyment and create intrigue.
"This war was becoming too repetitive, We were so excited to see how you mortals would react to the death of a general, but then you went and ruined it." There was an edge there, but then it flattened, "And now you know. But no trouble. None of that matters now because you are Ours."
Grian lifted his darting eyes, wide and glazed and met Their figures, Their blasted cursed figures that he had idolised and grovelled for. He barely felt his own shaking, his limbs trembling—bones vibrating against flesh and heart skipping three beats at a time. Tears stained his cheeks but he didn't feel them. Pain laced through his bones but he pushed them aside.
"I. Am not. Yours." He growled and barred his teeth, breath regained and coming in in sharp heaving pants with such force that it shook his entire chest and both shoulders.
"You lied to me! You turned me away from everything I've ever known! You used me!" He took a step forward for every statement, a trail of feathers dropping to the ground in his wake.
"You beasts!" He roared and lunged. He didn't know what he would do if he got his hands on Them, that was for later Grian to figure out. He just needed to, he needed to make them hurt and rip them apart and sink his teeth and nails into whatever They had for skin so they could feel an ounce of the pain he was feeling.
They were going to make him kill his brother.
He didn't even get close before an invisible force shot him back and pain erupted from his wings as his back smashed against the far wall.
"That is quite enough Diamond." They hissed, voices making the room stutter beneath him, but Grian didn't care. He was through with listening to Them, he was through with giving a shit about Their anger or Their disgust or Their satisfaction.
"You stole my childhood!" He screamed and pushed himself up, pure adrenaline keeping him from collapse, "You stole my freedom! You stole my family from me!" He yelled himself hoarse but the Watchers barely even twitched.
"It would seem you time to settle, Diamond." The door was locked behind Them and Grian's eyes widened, he sprinted to the door as fast as he could and yanked on the bronze handle so hard he feared that it made break clean off.
"Let me out!" He screamed and banged on the door with his fist, banging and banging and banging with erratic beats as hard as he had the strength to, "Let me out! Let me out you cowards! You aren't gods! You're evil beings sent from the fucking depths!" He screamed until each word was punctuated with a voice crack. His nails began to bleed from scratching at the wood to no avail.
He slumped and broke down, curling in on himself in the fetal position and hugged his own head—the strain on his neck was uncomfortable but he couldn't find himself to care, any and all feeling driven to the back burner against overwhelming sobs.
He sobbed unmuffled, cried until he vomited and then sobbed more.
He wanted his mother. He wanted the woman that he had never met to come and comfort him. He imagined the door creaking open, he imagined the softest of gasps followed by a tender coo.
"Oh my baby..." His brain whispered, his mother crouching down beside him and gathering him up in her safe and warm arms where no ogre nor goblin could hurt him.
He imagined warm hands on his back and being rocked gently.
But none of that was real.
The Watchers took that from him. They took his family.
He was alone and he was cold and he was laying in a puddle of his own vomit sobbing until his vocal chords snapped and wishing, praying, hoping for death to take him.
He didn't want to die, it was natural animalistic instinct to run in the opposite direction to death, to fight to survive.
But he had been fighting his entire life and he was tired He was so so so tired.
He gripped his own hair and tightened it in his fist until he felt clumps come loose.
He was only trying his best. His very fucking hardest.
He didn't want to be punished anymore.
"Mama..." Grian whispered, and only sobbed harder.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
"Why wasn't there anything about this in our texts?" Martyn asked, with less fire than he had moments ago before their entire worship was burnt to a crisp.
"They must've erased it." Jimmy said, grim and dead serious, "They can erase whatever They wish out of texts, but word of mouth, They could never erase. They could never erase the stories passed down through generations and the lives lost."
Scar stared into the abyss, brain trying, really trying to absord everything that they had just been told but refusing to. Like he had hit a wall inside of himself.
A game.
They had all risked their lives for the sake of a game.
A war that could've been avoided entirely.
"We assumed that you just, knew. Knew and went along with Them for similar thrill."
They had been tricked and then deemed the opposing force the villains.
"So what exactly does that mean for Grian?" Scar asked and the silence after the question only made him go pale, the very nature and truth of what he was asking sinking deep into his bones.
They killed anyone who broke Their rules.
And now Grian was right in their clutches.
Nobody answered him, the silence was enough for everyone to know just what exactly that meant for Grian.
"We have to save him!" Scar snapped and slammed his fists down onto the table without a single care of the hierarchy around him, glaring at the entire crowd even as the lantern swung from the force of his determination.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves—" A red-crest held up a hand, meeting Scar's fury head on. "First of all, he's a traitor, how can we be sure that this isn't a ruse to lure us in? We all broke the rules apparently, that booming voice thing referred to 'plural'. What if he's teamed up with Them?"
Scar gaped, he seriously couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you serious?" He hissed, "You've lived with Grian for how many years? Trained beside him? He isn't like that! The whole reason why he even joined us was because he thought he was doing the right thing! We all thought we were doing the right thing because we were lied to about who the villains acctually are! Do you honestly think he's that fucking malicious?! Is there something fucking wrong with your bloody eyesight?!" Scar hissed, not giving a shit about his language or his tone or how disrespectful he was being in the moment. Each second those morons wasted accusing his innocent Grian of atrocities he didn't commit, the slimmer the chances got of saving him.
Honestly! The nerve of some people!
The red-crest scrunched his nose, not letting up, "He's a traitor!"
"He's fucking seventeen!" Scar snapped back and held his arms open as if to say 'are you serious?'.
"Look, we're all in danger here. Time could be better spent figuring out a way to defeat Them instead of scarificing the lives of thousands for one single person." A different red-crest snapped. Scar genuinely couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Do you hear yourself?! You're willing to sacrifice a person to unimaginable fucking torture?! We can save him and the townsfolk but if we ignore him all together he has no shot! Grian is stuck in a place filled with gods who don't give a shit about humanity! They want to have fun, play games, and Grian is literally at Their disposal to do whatever They want! And you just don't care about that?! He's a favourite, They taught him all They know and that's fucking terrifying because I can't even begin to imagine what They will do to him now that he disobeyed! He's trapped and alone and scared and confused and he might die when I never even got to tell him that I love him." The words tumbled off of Scar's tongue like vomit but never once did he stutter or break his momentum, he slammed his fists down onto the table and by the very end he was left panting, two tears running down both cheeks.
"So you're the guy." A red-crest said breathlessly, a man with pale white hair as bright as bone and a nasty red scar running through his left eye, the lower half of his face completely covered with a mask, "You're the man Grian ran away with."
Scar sniffed and stood up straight, lip curled, "I'm the man who took care of him when his entire world flipped upside-down—"
"Enough." General Solidarity barked, posture undeniably intimidating, "We're rescuing my little brother. If he is as adored as you say then who know what They plan to use him for. Willingingly or otherwise. BDouble, Etho, Xisuma, go scout out the Watcher base and come back with any noted changes. Do not get too close. Flee at the first sight of danger, avoid combat. Understood?"
"Yes sir." The white-haired man nodded.
"I'll go too." Pearl stood up quickly, face set and ready.
The Eyes nodded in agreement, it brought more comfort to know that one of their own—one of their best—was going along too...so that there won't be any half-truths from these red-crests.
Jimmy didn't complain and instead nodded, knowing that there would be uproar and suspicion if he refused, which they really didn't have the time for right now.
"Be safe." Scar said quietly and Pearl shot him a small smile.
"We'll get him back." She said softly, gave his forearm a squeeze then left with the three red-crests into the young night.
Yeah. Yeah they would. Or Scar would burn the entire world down to the ground.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Grian paced his room like a caged animal, glaring at anything and everything and screaming his lungs out to be let out, even for Them to just come into his room so that he could demand answers or a sliver of retribution.
But They left him alone. Completely alone to spiral and go fucking crazy.
A snarl tore it's way up his throat and he yanked the covers off of the bed and chucked them somewhere across the room, with another heave the entire mattress went with it—maybe not across the room but he put his entire strength into lifting it so that it knocked against the bedside table.
He panted, but his fury was not yet quenched. He whipped his head around the room and found focus on the wardrobe, he yanked over the doors in attempts to rip them clean off their hinges...but his strength didn't go that far. His teeth gritted in frustration before attempting an alternative. He closed them and started to kick as hard as he could, and soon enough, the wood splintered with a loud growl straight from his gut. Every single item of clothing inside was either clawed to shreds or flopped against the far wall.
But it still wasn't enough.
To think his naivety told him things would be different this time.
He threw the lantern against the ceiling. And it still wasn't enough. He flipped the desk and it still wasn't enough.
Then something clicked.
They were foolish enough to give him a window.
His eyes flickered to the chair, then back to the window.
He clenched his jaw and kicked the chair as hard as he possibly could before picking it up and slamming it against the floor—pieces broke off and scattered across the messy floor, all splintered and demolished much like everything else that was once used to furnish his room.
Grian exhaled, took a second to breath before going straight for a broken chair leg and stumbling through the ruin towards the window, and, with a grunt, he swung the wood back and smashed it with all his might against the glass.
He laughed when it crystallised, just another hit got it completely crumbling—shiny, miniscule little pieces gleaming in the bright moonlight.
He grinned wide and brushed off any remaining shards from the sill before leaping out, wings stretched and ready to escape—
"Disappointing."
Grian yelped as the world flickered beneath him and he barrel-rolled in on himself a multitude of times before eventually crashing into something plush that did nothing for the new ache in his neck.
He winced and scrambled to sit upright, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubbed the sore muscle before taking stock of his new surroundings—it wasn't the outside world, that was for fucking sure.
A room.
Just a room with white walls covered in what looked like pillow...but seamless. White padded walls from ceiling to floor and completely empty.
Three figures stood in the centre, Their purple and black providing quite the eyesore among all the white. They didn't belong. They were wrong. But really where were they not wrong?
"Shame. We thought you could be mature and grateful for the lovely room We provided you."
Grian grinded his teeth together and shot to his feet at Their condescending monotonous voices.
"Grateful?! Let me out! What do you even want with me?! I'm not your little Diamond, I'm not gonna fall for your stupid soft touches anymore you- you manipulators!" He screamed and tried to charge forward but he couldn't even make it a few feet before an invisible force shoved him backwards, sending him flying until his back collided with the wall.Again. Stars his wings ached.
"We tried being patient with you, Diamond." Came a low voice, a low ominous hum that you wouldn't want to hear in the middle of a pitch black forest in the dead of night. The hum of a predator stalking. The hum of being watched.
"Remember that you decided to take Our kindness for granted."
Then They flickered out of existence.
Grian gasped and scrambled upright, sprinting to the spot where they had just been and whipping his head around every which way. It was impossible to tell down from up and left from right. Every wall looked the same—plush material. Just a square room. No door. No nothing.
"You cowards! I won't bend for you!" He roared. But was met with no response but the thrum in his own heart.
❖─･｡━━ * ⚔ 🪶 ⚔ * ━━･｡─❖
Scar was still pent up, the scout was taking longer than it should—it had only been ten minutes—and Scar felt like he was going absolutely crazy. He felt useless, completely useless just sitting here safe and warm surrounded and protected by soldiers while Grian was all by himself suffering.
They had caged a bird who was born to be free and there wasn't much that Scar could do about it but wait.
Each second was the slowest of his entire life. He had hardly moved an inch after everyone was taken out of the office and packed around campfires once more since they couldn't really formulate plans unless they had some solid intel to go off of. It was pointless to get a brilliant idea only for it to be deemed impossible the second they saw what they were dealing with.
Well, he wasn't good with wait and spent his time biting his nails down to the nub and picking at hang nails until his beds bled and after considering that maybe that wasn't such a good idea he opted for grabbing a little bit of fire wood and hacking away at it with his knife.
He wasn't exactly sure what he was carving yet, but he was pretty certain that it would come out as a stick. Or a blob. Or a splinter.
Stars, a splinter. Grian would've laughed at him, maybe teased him or called him an idiot...Scar probably would've scoffed, clutched his chest and rambled on about fine art...
Scar felt like someone had ripped a hole through his chest. Incomplete.
Stars he missed Grian so fucking badly.
"Hey..." Someone cut through his broody but Scar didn't have the energy to even turn his head, especially not for a voice he didn't recognise.
"Sorry to er...bother you but uh..you're...Scar, right?" An awkward voice asked that made Scar's fingers stop for just a moment.
"Yeah. Who's asking?" He muttered, carving into the wood with a little bit more force.
Was it not clear that he wanted to be left alone? Did he have to put a sign on his back or something? The love of his life was being tormented by the very gods he foolishly worshipped. Was that not excuse enough not to be bothered?
"Uh—my name is Mumbo I am—well I was- I mean I still am...I guess...maybe..." The man cleared his throat, "Grian's best friend."
That got Scar stilling completely.
"So what? You come to complain that I stole him away?" He grunted, in a pissed off mood that had no room for socialisation.
"No! No no I...I just wanted to see you." He said and slowly lowered himself to sit next to Scar, palms awkwardly drumming on his knees.
Scar didn't look at him, instead putting all his attention back to his carving lest he accidentally punch the man. He didn't consider himself a violent person, nor one to lose his temper. But these were special circumstances.
"So...you're the one that Grian met every night?" Mumbo asked slowly, crossing his legs and resuming the incessant tapping on his ankles instead.
"Mhm." Scar replied, nearly knicking himself on the finger—nearly.
"Hm." Mumbo nodded slowly, turning to stare at the crackling fire burning in the confines of a circle of rock. "He was happier...after he met you, you know? He used to always toss and turn...every single night. I don't think he knew I knew but...then at some stage he just...stopped. Completely. The nightmares just went away..."
Scar's jaw tightened, "Yeah well, he did a lot for me too. Is there something specific you want?" Scar wiped his eyes quick with the back of his hand, a harsh swipe to just get it over and done with.
"We-well no I just-" The man stammered before a familiar voice butted in.
"Hey red-crest, go hang out with someone who wants to be bothered, yeah?" Ren barked and sent the man awkwardly shuffling away with a sheepish apology. He hybrid sat down in his place with a sigh and leaned his shoulder up against Scar's.
"What're you carving my dude?" He asked, accent thick and tail curling into his own lap so he could subconsciously pick at it.
"Dunno." Scar mumbled and carved a notch too deep by accident that got tears brimming his vision. It was stupid. Just a fucking piece of wood and yet he was crying over it.
"Where's Martyn?" Scar mumbled, grateful that Ren didn't make him talk about it even if he had noticed, Scar just let the tears fall seeing as nobody else could see them besides his friend.
Usually him and Martyn were inseperable.
"He's taking with some girl called Gemini Tay, deer hybrid. They're eating...do you want anything?" Ren asked slowly, treading lightly.
"Nah. I'm fine...thank you though." He couldn't imagine being able to stomach anything at all.
"Hm." Ren hummed before leaning back on the heels of his palms, "This red-crest camp isn't too shabby. Really jarring though, I mean couldn't they have picked a singular colour palette?"
Scar snorted and wiped his eyes so that he could see the wood better, "Yeah...there's that." He agreed, taking a little breath.
"The officers are acctually pretty nice, I was chatting to this dude Doc, he's like the medic or whatever. He's a pretty cool guy after he got over the whole Eye thing and what not." Ren went on and Scar was secretly thanking him for not droning on about useless reassurances, while he obviously did appreciate people trying to comfort him, it all felt pointless somehow. He'd much rather have this distraction.
"Yeah? I heard tell he's a—" Scar started but got cut off by the sound of sudden commotion.
The soldiers were back.
Scar sprung to his feet so quickly he was surprised he didn't pull a muscle and immediately shoved his way to the front of the forming crowd, eyes wide and ears perked.
"Well?" Jimmy prompted and Xisuma lifted his chin.
"It's all changed, the walls have been pretty much obliterated and replaced with tall pillars with purple crystals perked at their heads. And the base...well the base is a huge palace made out of purple blocks and quartz. It's massive but doesn't seem to have any doors and the windows are pitch black."
Jimmy nodded, taking in all of the information like a good general and storing it for later use. "Good. Plans start tomorrow."
Scar's jaw dropped.
"Tomorrow?! Are you serious?! Grian could be dead by then! We don't have time to waste an entire night—!"
"—and waste time thinking with sleep deprived brains. Cub with show you all to a barrack, some will sleep in sleeping bags." Jimmy finished for him in an irritatingly controlled tone.
Scar sputtered, searching for something, anything to say but he was so filled with rage that he couldn't pick just a single outburst to go with.
They finally had info, they finally got what they needed to try get his love back and he wanted to wait??
"Push it and you can sleep on the grass, it is not up for debate. Everyone is dissmisesd." Jimmy snapped while Scar's nails just dug deeper and deeper into his own palms.
"You rat bastard." Scar hissed and before he could blink he lunged and bashed a fist right into the canary's nose. Crimson erupted in a brutal spray of red.
"You twisted, filthy—" Scar managed to get one last hit in before roars of outcry rattled through the air and his shoulders were latched onto, arms forced back and sharp blades—at least four—pressed smug against his throat.
"You hurt him! You piece of shit, you abused him! You tormented an innocent fucking child! You black-hearted asshole!" Spittle flew from Scar's lip accompanied by tears flowing down his cheek as he rained down his torrent of curses upon the general who just stood there with a hand over his nose and multiple soldiers stepping up to flank him for protection.
Grief. Thick raw and unfiltered.
He hurt him. He traumatised him. Scar hadn't missed how close Grian clung to him, how he absorbed a single ounce of praise or kind word like a starved bear to sweet honey. He didn't miss the scars and stars how badly he wanted to assume that that was all just due to life as a soldier until every suspicion came to a terrifying conclusion. A stable support system couldn't make a person plead for death. At seventeen.
That sorry excuse for a brother.
"Scar!" Martyn shouted from somewhere across the growing crowd.
Scar squirmed and fought, uncaring of the swords at his throat and red-crests kicking him in the knees. "You're sick! He's a kind fucking soul and you're leaving him to rot—!" His voice was slurred to his own ears, half mucus and tears.
The mental image of bone pale skin and lifeless eyes were getting harder and harder to keep away.
"He's a man grieving for fucks sake!" Martyn yelled and desperately shoved through red-crests while the ones holding him down attempted forcing him to the ground.
"Stop." The general held up a hand, much to the audible surprise. The red-crests efforts stuttered, "Release him."
Hesitantly, slowly, the swords were lowered and the grips loosened—though not without annoyance for he was still shoved roughly, but still.
Scar blinked at the man, jaw clenched and chest heaving.
"Tomorrow." The general said smoothly, still so poised even with the lower half of his face dripping in a steady stream. "I swear to you, tomorrow."
He gave him a long look—a lingering gaze, and left. Oh stars how Scar wanted to drag him back by his fluffy little feathers—
"Scar!" Martyn panted, finally reaching his side, "You alright mate?"
No. No he was anything but alright.
"Scar."
Scar whirled around and raised a fist, teeth barred—
Mumbo squeaked and held up his hands nervously, taking a step back, "Sorry! Sorry I didn't mean to startle you! I- I just- er- well do you wanna see Grian's room? I figured 'cause uh...you know..."
The brunette's arm slowly dropped all he could think was— "Yes."
Martyn narrowed his eyes, glanced between his comrade and the red-crest and offered Scar a firm nod, which he returned after a much needed deep breath. Not very clear, but breathing none the less.
Scar stepped in slow and reverant, feeling like he was walking through a dream rather than stepping into reality. It felt so..jarring, to imagine that this is where Grian spent every single night...
Scar let out an unsteady breath and rubbed his fingertips gently over the wood of the top bunk...his cot littered with a few stray blue feathers here and there...bed un-made from the last time he had slept in it...
The mirror was cracked around the edges...but what Scar couldn't shake was the sheer...emptiness of it all, and not just because Grian wasn't there.
It felt...plain.
"He wasn't...allowed to keep anything, like...decor or anything like that so...sorry if its underwhelming." Mumbo said awkwardly from the door as if he could read Scar's thoughts.
That statement filled him with rage for his brother. He should've tackled the damn prick.
Not allowed.
Stars.
"And you sleep down here?" He muttered, glancing at the bottom bunk and noting a nod from the black-haired man.
"You can sleep here, i-if you'd like." Mumbo offered and Scar's eyes widened.
"Yes...thank you."
He hoisted himself up into the top cot, his heart giving a pang when he realised that there was no ladder...of course...Grian could just drift up with those wings of his...
"Want me to blow out the light?" Came Mumbo's voice.
"Mhm." Scar hummed, distracted as he curled up under the thin covers on a mattress as thin as cardboard and pressed the blanket against his nose.
It still faintly smell of him.
He curled in on himself and cried, silent and grieving.
He wasn't lost yet, he reminded himself. He could still get him back.
He would.
Notes:
If anyone has seen avatar 2 I took nspiration for the language from that, in the sense that its as natural as English so I didn't have to keep translating when everything is gonna be predominantly galactic.
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Jamma on Chapter 1 Mon 11 Aug 2025 01:58PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 11 Aug 2025 01:59PM UTC
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