Chapter Text
It was the first night on their way back that Grian noticed something was wrong. They had stopped at a tavern for the night, late enough in the evening that the sun could no longer be seen in the sky. He had noticed it when Scar had stepped out of the carriage and walked over to the tavern. How he was leaning more heavily on his cane than normal. He made no mention of it, staying mostly silent throughout dinner, Scar being too tired to talk much. Even when he struggled up the stairs to get to their room, he simply hovered behind to catch him in case he fell.
The next morning, Grian woke up before Scar. He waited for about a half hour before leaving to get breakfast for the two, bringing it back up to eat in their room. It was only then that Scar woke, but even then, he was still slow to get up. For them to get ready and get going. They stayed quiet most of the way back as well, Scar looking more exhausted by the second and Grian not wanting to intrude. They arrived back at home in the early hours of the night, stepping out of the carriage with the moon low in the sky.
Scar turned around, tapped his cane on the ground once. Then twice. Then a third time. The horses shrinking into small, wooden figures and the carriage following suit. He moved to pick them up, grunting every time he leaned down, then letting out a sharp breath when he stood back up. Before going back to their home, Grian following behind Scar who leaned heavily on his cane, walking slowly as they went inside.
Grunting with effort as he moved the rug out of the way and opened the trapdoor. Pausing once they were both halfway down the stairway to once again tap his cane against the ground, the door slamming shut behind them and the rug magically covering it back up. Grian stayed silent as Scar excused himself to his room, ambling down the hallway which led there. He stood in the middle of the living room, listening as the sound of heavy footsteps and the clicking of a cane faded away. Unsure of what to do. It was late enough, and he had been up all day, so he could go to bed.
However, he hadn’t eaten yet since a small snack for lunch (not having been hungry enough for one of the proper meals they had brought with them.) So, he probably should do that, only if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t cook. And he didn’t want to burn something and be a bother for Scar. And that was the problem right there. Scar, who had let him into his home (even if technically it was so he didn’t imprison him,) Scar who called him his friend, Scar who made a deal to give away sixty years of his life away. Even if he’d gotten back ten of them.
Scar, who was struggling to walk just the short distance from the carriage to his room, who struggled to simply bend down to grab something from the ground. And once again, that all too familiar worry and fear came right back. Grian’s wings flicked as he looked around, still stood in the middle of the living room. Surely there was something he could do? Only when he tried to come up with something, his mind came up unhelpfully blank.
‘Maybe I can think of something come morning,’ he thought to himself turning to go down the hallway towards his room. ‘Once I’m less tired, and my mind is clearer.’ He didn’t bother fully closing the door behind him as he entered his room. Quickly changing into his now usual black tank-top and sweatpants before plopping down in his bed, curling up in a ball with his wings wrapped around him like a cocoon. The soft, green blanket given to him by Scar held tightly in his arms.
~ ¤ ~
Grian woke in the early hours of the morning, barely any light filtering through the window. He groaned, and having rolled away from the door, shifted so he now faced it. Listening for any possible hint that Scar was up already. However, he found none. Silence greeting his ears, broken only be the sound of his own breathing. Normally, he could hear some quiet hint of Scar making breakfast.
Or even feel some sort of shift in the magic of the home he had recognized being associated with Scar being away. Like he was mingling his magic with that he had given to his home. He felt no shift now. He sighed and curled further into himself. Still listening to the silence as he tried to fall back asleep. He didn’t know how long he had tried to fall back asleep for, only that when he finally gave up, it was fully light out. He huffed, getting up slowly with his wings hung limply as he got out from his room.
He looked over to Scar’s door, to find that it was cracked open. He approached it slowly, careful to keep to the runner rug so his talons didn’t tap against the floor. Grian’s ears pricked as he listened for the sound of Scar’s breathing, not wanting to intrude into his space. However, he couldn’t hear anything. Unfortunately, his hearing was not one of his senses that had been heightened. Not only by him being a hybrid, but by Them. To meet their image of “perfection.”
Although. . . maybe it wouldn’t do too much harm just to peek in? It was one of the rooms he still hadn’t gone into, simply not wanting to intrude into Scar’s personal space. (Even if it was very tempting just to have a peek. He simply was too curious for his own good! (Then again, where had that gotten Him?)) Grian slowly pushed the door open, even more slowly leaning forward to peer around it.
Half of him expected to see something grand or mysterious (the man certainly had enough flare for it;) however, it was nothing more than your regular bedroom. Following a similar theme to his own. The bed was against the far wall, curtains drawn shut over a higher window just over it. A small desk at the foot of the bed. Numerous paintings were hung up on the walls, a green and golden rug decorated the floor, following the same colors as the others in his house, and semi-matching his green and orange blankets. Scar’s cane was rested against the corner made from the foot of the bed meeting the corner of the desk.
The man himself faced away from the door, blankets pulled up tight around him. Grian Watched him for a moment longer, watching as his sides slowly rose. . . and fell. He watched him for a moment longer, eventually just deciding he was in a deep sleep. He had given away ten years of his life just two days prior. And sure, he would live far longer than Ren but. . . he had a cane. And Grian still didn’t know the reason why.
So, if Ren’s exhaustion was anything to go by, then who knew how it would affect Scar? If they were lucky, he would just need a few more hours to sleep it off and he would be fine! However, if they weren’t lucky then who knew just how much worse it could be. Grian shivered as the thought, quickly standing back straight, slowly returning the door to its original place. Surely there was something he could do? Grian turned and left Scar’s room behind as he made his way out to the living space.
Maybe they had potions? Who was he kidding, of course they had potions, Scar was a wizard! Only problem was Grian had no clue where Scar kept his own. He had at one point carried them, but he had run out before he had moved in with Scar and forgotten to buy more. And with how chaotic the man could be, he had the suspicion that if he went searching for anything, he would find a chest monster of random scrambled junk with no rhyme or reason to its placement. Suddenly, he was struck with an idea.
Maybe. . . he could cook for him? The few times he had seen his friends get sick (and the one time he had,) he remembered Impulse making large amounts of soup for them. Or well, more accurately larger amounts of soup for them. With more vegetables in them to help with the healing process. He had seen them make it plenty of times, so surely it couldn’t go that bad, could it? Sure, he burnt most things he cooked, and what he didn’t--if he had seasonings available—he over seasoned.
(He also may have at one point been trying to make a cake with Mumbo and the two had set the kitchen on fire, but that was irrelevant!) Grian could make soup for Scar. He could help him. It would be fine. Nothing would happen, it would be fine.
~ ¤ ~
It turned out, things wouldn’t be fine. However, they did turn out far better than the worse Grian expected, so that was something. Whilst making it, he had taken extra care to manage the fire, so it didn’t burn the food too much, and to not let the seasonings go everywhere. Of course, Grian being Grian, accidentally spilled some of the red seasoning (he wasn’t sure of what it was, but it smelled spicy, and he knew Impulse often liked his soup to have a small amount of kick to them) over the side. Not realizing how fast it would come out when he screwed the lid off. Luckily, it only happened once.
And careful to not spill it over the side, he refrained from stirring it too much. Only somehow stirring it too little was a thing as it instead boiled over, cooking to the sides. When he removed the pot to dish it out, he nearly burned his hands on the pot (forgetting that handles existed.) It had also ended up cooking to the bottom, but that was fine too. At least the food was edible, so there was that. Right? He got spoons for their respective bowls and carrying one in each hand, made his way back to Scar’s room.
He let out a sigh of relief as he saw and remembered how he had left Scar’s door cracked just as he had found it. That way, he wouldn’t have to figure out how to open the door with a bowl in each hand or ask for help. Grian carefully pushed the door open with his talon, it creaking softly as he walked in. He made his way over to the desk, setting the two bowls down and sitting in the chair as Scar stirred. The man rolled over, sniffed, grunted, trying to shield himself from faint light coming in from the window, and sniffed again.
Finally, his eyes slowly opened, and he peered over at him.
“Grian?” Scar asked in confusion, his voice still noticeably incredibly tired.
“The one and only.”
Scar looked around in confusion, wincing and making a face that told him he immediately regretted that.
“What are you doing in my room?”
Grian pulled his wings tight against his sides as he threaded his fingers together in his lap, starring down at them. “I made breakfast. For you. While I was waiting. For you to wake up.” Scar grunted, slowly looking back over to the window.
“What time is it?” Now that was a good question. What time was it?
He shrugged. “Late.” He pointed over to the bowl he had made for him, pushing it forward. “You should eat.” Scar looked down at the bowl of food in question, a strange look on his face. His face twisted as he slowly tried to prop himself up on his elbows, only falling back down with a hiss of pain. Grian jumped up, rushing to his side to hover beside him. Scar looked over to him, making a weak smile.
“Could you maybe help me? Just to sit up,” Scar asked, an almost guilty look on his face. Grian looked down at him, nodding reassuringly as he did his best to support the man as the two worked together to get him sitting up. Propping the pillow up behind him so his back wasn't against the head rest and the wall. Both let out their own sighs of relief once finished, before Scar looked over at his bowl of food rather pitifully.
“Grian,” he whined.
He sighed again (he wasn’t bothered, he was simply playing up to dramatics,) “Yes, Scar?”
“Could you please bring my food over here for me?”
“Oh wow,” he drawled, moving to get the bowl for him. “You even went and pulled out the ‘please,’ didn’t you?” Grian handed the bowl over, the man smiling his trademark lopsided grin. Making Grian’s wings flutter behind him. “What do you want me to spoon feed the soup to you too?” he teased as he pulled the chair over, bringing his own food with him too. Scar entered a coughing fit, frantically setting his bowl down somewhere as he began to practically hacking his lungs out. Grian once again hovered at his side as Scar slowly finished and recovered, his breathing still coming out a bit too raged than Grian would like.
“Scar! Are you okay?” he squawked, his wings and ear tuffs flared in panic.
Scar coughed one last time as he looked up at him. “Birdie you can’t say that! I choked on a bit of red pepper there!” He glanced away, looking at the soup suspiciously. “Did you put enough pepper in there?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it just spilled a bit and--” he hurried to try and explain what had happened, guilt already wrapping its nasty claws around his mind.
“Birdie, its fine don’t worry about it.” Grian stopped, and Scar continued, “It doesn’t taste bad, I just didn’t expect it to have this much kick.”
“I’m sorry,” he hurried to apologize again.
“It’s okay.” Scar quickly reassured. “Like I said, it's not bad. We just need to give you a few more lessons on cooking before we have you come back into the kitchen again!” And just like that, his guilt was washed away, and things went back to normal as Scar went on to ramble about all the numerous things they could work together to make, that he could teach him (even if Impulse and Martyn had tried several times and it had just never seemed to stick. It never seemed like it was all that important information since he could survive just fine without properly cooked food.) Even if they were in Scar’s room, which they had never been in before.
Scar stuck in his bed, not having even been able to have the strength to sit up on his own. Grian, in there with him, sitting next to him in Scar’s chair he had pulled over. The two happily eating their soup for breakfast while he talked the remainder of the morning away.