Chapter Text
It didn’t take long for Grian to storm his way into the nearby forest, bloodied wings held high as he got started on the essentials.
He needed to kill, but any good killer knew that he needed to stock up on materials first. He was a stranger in these lands. It wouldn’t do to be caught off-guard.
So he killed a bunch of cows. Food, check. He killed a bunch of sheep. Bed, check. He gathered water in a bucket from the nearby river and killed a bunch of squid too, just for the sake of it, his Red instincts running wild through his mind. Water, check.
He only snapped out of his bloodthirst when someone came careening down from the sky, strange wings attached to their backs like a harness. “O-ho-ho-oh no,” a hauntingly familiar voice cried. Grian froze in place, horror-struck, but the voice, not realizing his presence, bemoaned, “Not again!”
Not again, was exactly what Grian was thinking, slowing to a heart-stuttering stop. There’s no way.
Silently treading across the undergrowth, he fought to keep his eyes on the sky, where a devastatingly familiar man was gliding his way down into a clearing – although, judging by his erratic movements, Grian doubted he’d arrive in one piece. He couldn’t see his face, only his windswept brown hair and the strange contraption strapped to his back – something that resembled wings, yet were most certainly not.
“What are you doing?” Grian hissed, knowing full well the man couldn’t hear him. He caught sight of scattered items on the grassy ground in a nearby clearing, and realized that this was what the man – he couldn’t be Scar, Grian absolutely refused to believe it – was looking for. “Oh, for void’s sake.”
He hesitated for less than a second before he was hurrying to that clearing, scooping up armfuls of weird knickknacks and cat-ear headbands that he ungracefully dumped into a chest. He staggered back to the forest, clutching his side, but crouched down in the bushes anyway, wanting to observe Scar’s reactions.
Scar, having crashed somewhere a little further, was complaining as he limped his way back to where he’d once, presumably died. Grian’s heart leaped at hearing the familiarity of his voice again, grief and unrepentant joy closing up his throat and making tears spring to his eyes, a stupid, stupid grin on his pale face.
“Every single time,” Scar grumbled. “Why do they make these things so hard to use? I’ve already died twice!”
Died… twice?
Grian’s smile instantly disappeared, feeling a shiver go down his spine at the thought of Scar losing another life, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists. He’d only just gotten him back. He can’t leave again!
“You can’t,” he repeated desperately, but of course, he was too far away for Scar to hear.
A spark of irritation fizzled through his nerves.
He had to be more careful, Grian was always telling him, but the man threw away his lives so carelessly you’d think he was bloody immortal!
Oblivious, Scar gathered up his items and let out a relieved sigh, muttering something to himself. He was frowning, looking around – presumably for the person who had packed up his things into this chest, but seeing nothing.
“Huh.” He paused, before shrugging it off with a grin. “Thanks, stranger!” He spoke to the forest with such a beaming smile that Grian felt his heart stop briefly.
He looked so… happy.
Scar had been happy in the desert, too, but not like this. The sincere yet not surprised joy that crossed his face at the mere prospect of someone helping him gather a few lost items told of a life of kindness and respect. Grian wondered if his lack of fear meant that he died often.
He really didn’t want that.
He observes Scar’s face a little closer. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this expression on anybody’s face, actually. Not Timmy, not Scott, not even Martyn and Ren. The joy in their world was tainted by the looming presence of the life system, and after Scar had gone Red, their lives were nothing but chaotic at best and vicious at worst.
A sudden sound caught Grian’s attention. He froze, watching as a creeper trundled out of the bushes and approached Scar, who, unaware, was clicking on the harness for his strange wing-machine again.
The creeper was on his back. It came closer. It began to flash in warning.
Hiss –
Grian sprang to his feet.
All of a sudden, he wasn’t in a clearing on an unfamiliar world. He was in a village, watching the aftermath of a prank gone horribly wrong; a debt turned into doomed partnership.
“Look out!” He screamed, careening out of the bushes and swinging his sword wildly down on the creeper. It hissed at him and tried to explode, but Grian was faster, slicing it down before it could hurt anyone.
His sides screamed with pain. The Red haze screamed in delight. Grian’s expression screamed of panic.
“Woah!” Scar’s hands flung up like a startled animal, and he stared, wide-eyed, at Grian. His hair was a soft shade of brown. His eyes were greener than the forest around them.
And most importantly, he was alive.
Grian was so afraid that the moment he laid eyes on Scar, all he would’ve seen was a dead man, lifeless eyes on an iron-tinted body, staring up at the blue sky on a lonely desert mountain.
Yet his fears dissolved in the face of his partner’s elatedness.
“Grian!” He exclaimed, laughing slightly. He was as easy-going as ever. “You scared me. What’re you doing all the way out here?”
Grian fought the urge to look up and check his name tag. Was Scar colour-blind? Did he not notice the red tinge to his name, the warning of danger etched above his head?
“Uh…” For all his deadly precision as a Red, he could not for the life of him find the words to answer Scar’s question. His heart thundered in his ears, and bile rose up to his throat so quickly that Grian thought that he might puke right then and there.
No. Something clear and steady rang out across his mind. He saw the briefest flicker of a dull body in his peripheral vision. Keep calm, G. You’re okay.
“I… saw your items,” he managed, somehow managing to find his voice again. His eyes burned, but he forced himself to look as relaxed as Scar was. He let his face fall into a frown that came as easily as breathing. “You need to be more careful.”
Scar’s grin only widened at his words, not an ounce of shame in him. “I know, I know,” he sighed theatrically. “My hands and feet simply refuse to obey my mind, that’s all. I’ve been meaning to file a complaint against the limb department, but —”
“It’s not funny, Scar,” Grian snapped, a snake of rage rising in an instant. His hands curled into shaking fists, the Red haze eating away at his mind. “You can’t keep doing this!” He jabbed a finger at the man, a dark expression on his face. “Do you want to end up dead?” A shink! Of metal told him that he’d drawn his sword.
He wasn’t entirely sure if he was about to swing it or not, and that terrified him more than he’d like to admit.
Scar’s grin froze in place. “No, of course not,” he said carefully, raising his hands in surrender. Palms open, posture submissive — he was trying to diffuse the situation, Grian realized. He stared at the sword in his hand and leaped away from it like it had burnt him — dropping it to the ground with a clatter that resonated within his ears for far longer than it should’ve.
“Of course I don’t want to die,” Scar continued, his expression a little less tense now that the weapon was out of the situation. “But…” And here he looked at Grian — really looked at him — and said softly, “You do realize I’d just respawn, right? Not a lick of damage on me.”
Grian scoffed. “That’s not how respawns work, and you know it.”
Scar frowned. “Yes, it is, G,” he argued, confused. His eyes flicked over the avian’s bloodied form, seemingly registering his state for the first time. “Are… you okay?”
Grian’s fists clenched. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “But you’re clearly not. Come on, we’re leaving.” He reached out to grab Scar’s hand, but the other pulled away, shaking his head. “I don’t think you are, G,” he said simply. “Hang on. I’ll message —”
“No messages!” Grian’s voice was so loud, it made Scar flinch and fumble with his communicator. “Hey!” He looked over at the shorter man and narrowed his eyes, a spark of genuine annoyance in him. “What’s going on? You’re clearly hurt, Grian; you need help.”
“I need you to come with me,” Grian said sharply. “You’re going to get yourself killed out here. Chop, chop, come on. ” His voice was beginning to get hostile, the irritation he felt amplified a thousand times by the Red haze. Why couldn’t Scar just understand? Why did he have to be so—
“No.”
Grian blinked. “ No?” He parroted incredulously. “You can’t say no!”
“I just did,” Scar raised an eyebrow, and folded his arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you, G. Not unless you come with me first, and get patched up. You’re not acting normal.”
“Normal doesn’t exist anymore!” Grian’s feathers rose sharply. The coolness of a leather hilt met his skin once more, metal glinting in his peripheral. “Come with me, Scar, or else —”
Green eyes widened. “Put down the sword, Grian —”
“Just listen to me for once in your life, Scar—”
“Grian, you need medical attention—”
“SHUT UP!” Grian’s hand moved of its own accord, metal slashing across his vision, and only a brief gasp of shock from Scar let him know what just happened. The Red haze faded from his vision, and he saw no one but him standing: nothing to imply another person had once been there, except the scatter of various items — Scar’s items — littering the ground in front of him.
Grian let out a horrified gasp, scrambling backwards and throwing his sword off to the side. What had he done? Had he really just —
No. Not again.
What was
wrong
with him?