Chapter Text
Scar hadn’t expected to be here.
Well, he hadn’t expected to be in this death match at all, but he was more focused on the man in front of him. His brows were furrowed as he paced around the plateau Scar had set up camp in. Grian his hand propped against his chin, sometimes rubbing his neck when his hands got bored of that.
Grian probably wouldn't appreciate it if Scar said he looked adorable, or if he was interrupted from his pacing, so Scar pretended to search through Pizza’s pack. He tried to look busy as his mind twirled around, tripping over its own feet every time he retraced his steps of last night.
He’d been operating on autopilot after Grian had passed out. He had managed to set up camp fairly easily, but then realized that if Grian was having a heat stroke–that was Scar’s best guess as to why he passed out–then he needed water.
Water. From the river near the village. He’d need to get his other things retrieved from the village to be any semblance of help, but it was mistake after mistake when the other players found him snooping for his stuff, getting Grian away, and dying.
The few positive outcomes from this was that Grian hadn’t died, and a Watcher had spoken to him directly. He hadn’t seen or heard this once before, but she’d been just as cryptic as the legends of them spun them out to be. If Martyn and a few others hadn’t explained the rules to Scar at the start, he’d be completely lost with the Watcher’s instructions and rules. From world boundaries, to time limits, to the very lives that Scar had carelessly thrown away.
Scar paused in his rummaging. He hadn’t meant to lose his life, and Grian was clearly bothered by it. He hadn’t responded at all when he’d wrapped Scar’s wounds, and Scar was quick to put his poncho back on so Grian wouldn’t keep glimpsing at his yellow jewel.
Rushed footsteps towards Scar broke him out of his trance. Grian walked up to the opposite side of Pizza from where Scar was. He propped his elbows on Pizza and rested his head on his hands, sighing. Brown eyes found Scar’s. Though Grian couldn’t talk, his eyes conveyed his emotions enough that it was like Scar was reading a book.
These eyes narrowed to stilts, looking over the other man in a calculating way, obviously the pacing not having wrought any good ideas. Eventually he got too frustrated and buried his head into Pizza’s fur, defeated.
“You really don’t owe me anything,” Scar adjusted his poncho as he spoke, grazing the purple fabric that was wrapped around his waist as he did so. “You seemed eager to leave the other day, and I’m not gonna stop you just because I was dumb enough to forget about your wings.”
Grian lifted his head just enough to quirk a brow up. The setting sun hit them so his eyes looked more like amber than brown.
“I know they’re invisible! That doesn’t make up for it.” Grian didn’t respond, and Scar bit his lip at the silence. He yoinked his waterskin from Pizza’s pouch and handed it to Grian, hovering it above him in hesitance. Grian had returned to a faceful of llama fur and darkness, so Scar just plopped it on top of his head. Grian’s head shot up the second Scar did so, and hesitantly took a swig out of the container. When he shot Scar a questioning glance, Scar just muttered, “You can’t leave if you pass out again.” Not being able to see Grian’s eyes meant Scar didn’t know if Grian had just decided to take another power nap from the heat.
But even with the added water to his system, Grian seemed to be melting before Scar’s eyes. His cheeks were constantly flushed a light pink, and sweat beaded above his brow, framing half-lidded eyes. Even without the weird robe thing he had going on when they’d met, he was wearing a fair amount of fabric for being in a desert.
Of course, Grian might care more about modesty than Scar did. Scar didn’t care that he was mainly shirtless. He hated the feeling of fabric suctioning to his skin, but Grian never seemed to mind.
What Scar would give to bathe right now…
But if were to get anywhere in his plans, he would have to wait to bathe for a bit longer.
“There’s barely anything out here, so I’ll have to build out of items from the forest…,” Scar was more talking to himself than anything, tapping on Pizza lightly. But when Grian tilted his head to the side in question, Scar shook his head and steered the conversation in a slightly different direction. “I’ll have to get resources soon. Now, I'm not going to give you supplies, but if I happen to collect a bunch of convenient vagabond materials, I wouldn’t come after you if you stole them.”
His gaze flicked from Grian to the sky, debating if he should even convince Grian to stay and ally with him. He never acted particularly friendly with Scar, and his gaze never left the horizon for too long. Even though he didn’t know Grian that well, he had no doubt that the man would strike out by himself.
Scar didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling about Grian. He was strange, and Scar’s gut told him that if he got on his bad side, the smaller man could easily take him down.
Best to act as friendly as possible, then. The best case scenario would bring the two together as a team, but Scar was determined to get on Grian’s good graces even if that didn’t work out.
Grian shook his head, waving Scar’s offer away. There was a sort of fire in his eyes that Scar hadn't seen before, one that was strange since he’d just rejected food and resources. Unless–
No, that would be crazy. Scar couldn’t even entertain the idea, so he didn’t think more of it. His fidgeting became slightly faster as he joked, “What, are you planning on making a house in the desert like me? Because I’m sorry, but there’s nothing out here to build with.”
Grian scoffed, picking up some sand and throwing it at Scar’s face. Scar gave a mock offended gasp, but was cut off from retaliation when Grian picked up another handful. He cupped his hands over the sand so it was completely surrounded. Faintly, light leaked out from his palms. Grian opened his hands, where a smooth slab of sandstone lay. Scar had his mouth open agape, but Grian wasn’t done. One of his palms still shone with light, and he pinched the air near the sandstone. The motion drew it towards his palm like clay. After a few swift movements, Grian had spelled out something.
Dumbass
With a swipe of his hand, the words fell apart and became a pile of sand once more. He grinned at Scar smugly. Scar had always suspected that Grian wasn’t human but one of the many other species they had. He didn’t know enough about different species to pinpoint which one Grian would be, but he could always ask later.
“Well, I can’t do that,” Scar huffed, trying to keep the awe out of his voice. Grian squinted his eyes and gave Scar a one-over like Scar had burned another forest and killed orphans for fun. “Also, why didn’t you do that before?” Grian gave a pointed look at his bandaged feet and took another swig of the waterskin with half-lidded eyes in a, oh, I don’t know. Must’ve slipped my mind, way. Scar could sense the sass from here and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or not. At the moment, he was trying not to laugh, so Scar didn’t seem to mind too much.
“Right, of course. You’ve been recovering.” Scar and Grian faded to an awkward silence with the unspoken words that accompanied it. You’re still recovering.
Scar tried to prevent his face from twisting into a scowl. He knew nothing about medicine, nor did he pretend to. Years of scrapped knees and dirt coiling with sweat had been his main concern for so long. Death had always been pressed against his side, black eyes watching Scar’s every breath and shift for when he would drop dead. By all accounts he shouldn’t still be alive. The little fabric that was still clinging to his skin was more of a fabric laid on corpses before they entered the morgue.
Scar huffed at his thoughts, throwing his poncho over his head and throwing it in Pizza’s pack. He was still drenched in sweat, but the wind could graze his skin much better. It helped assure him he was still alive.
Grian’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he controlled his expression and resumed his bored amusement. He raised a brow, openly staring at Scar’s chest if only to judge him as loudly as a mute person could. His dark eyes had no malice behind them, and the pink dusting his cheek reached his ears. Scar was being scandalous, like a maiden showing her ankles, and Grian wasn’t sure exactly how to act. He dropped the judgy act before his cheek’s color would deepen, suddenly back to rubbing his neck and staring anywhere but where Scar was.
“You’re a baby,” Scar wasn’t rewarded with any sort of response, so he sighed. “I’ll head out in a bit, after I fill up our water enough for you to not die out here while I’m gone. If you leave without me giving you stuff, I’ll track you down and hang you to a tree!” Scar smiled warmly, but Grian was staring at the middle area of the plateau with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
***
Grian wasn’t going to play along with these games. The first day had been a whirlwind of trudging through pain and making stupid decisions at every turn. After a few hours in the heat, his mind had been boiled and his body collapsed soon after.
It was annoying how fast mortals were weakened. Grian had humored Pearl, blindly trusting her and being spoonfed tiny bits of information. He was confused, tired, annoyed, and desperately needed to find the nearest water source to ease his throbbing muscles and burning skin.
He seethed internally about the entire situation, propelling his fire forward into the sand below to make sand stone walls. When he got especially annoyed, he’d draw little designs on the walls before he solidified the material from a clay-like substance to thick earth. He brushed off sand that clung to his bandaged feet. At first, they had acted as a barrier from the desert. Now, he was soaked in sweat so much that sand clung to every crevice. His fingernails were stuffed to the brim. Stray bits of dust and grime would smear on his forehead every time he wiped off sweat or rubbed his neck.
Along with his thoughts of escape, his eyes kept wandering from the task at hand to the green forests in the distance. Scar had left hours ago to get materials, and while Grian wasn’t worried about Scar, he was worried at the pace Grian was making the house. Even with spite and the perks of being a sun god speeding along the process of making and sculpting sandstone, he wasn’t sure if what he made would be good enough to call it even with Scar and leave.
He didn’t know if Scar was used to luxury or something more modest, so Grian had started with different sized buildings. Then he got frustrated and just mushed them together. As it stood, it had two different towers jutting out of each other at different heights, with the base being wider and more normal to less flashy mortals. Each section was distinct due to his indecisiveness and lack of planning, but it blended together so wonderfully that the designs along the outside walls morphed from random marks into something gentler.
Grian had only ever seen two flowers in his immortal existence. From above where the Watchers resided, flowers were mainly drops of color in the lush green that covered Earth. But as a child, he and his sister would drop onto wet moss and ancient oak, giggling with muddied feet at how they’d snuck out of the Watchers to see mortals up close.
Grian dipped his hand in the softened walls, ruffling through his memories to capture the essence of the flowers his sister had shown him years after Grian had stopped sneaking out. The hole in his heart wasn’t nearly as big as it was now, but it always panged at the beauty of Earth. He eventually couldn’t bear it and left her to explore by herself.
She’d never stopped her adventures. Never stopped bringing him little gifts and talking about all of the mortals she met along the way. His favorite gift was those flowers. Even though they had long since died, their red and purple hues were burned into his mind.
He had never seen something so delicate yet bursting with life. And he hadn’t since.
There, Grian had a hint of a smile tug at his lips. A field of poppies and lilacs stretching its petals across the bottom level and spiraling towards the top. They sank in and out of the sandstone. Each flower was crafted with care, the details as personal and reverent as his memories. Grian didn’t know how long he’d been sculpting them, but certainly long enough for the sun to weaken his legs and vision.
Still, he knew he had to ask her if she liked it. She always appeared in the back of his vision, mostly tucked in the recesses of his mind. He turned around to where he knew she’d be, standing right behind him as always.
Gem.
Red curls bound by a braid and leaves bled into her face. Cracked lips opened wide from ear to ear in what was supposed to be a smile. Her nose was beaten into a purple mass that squished against skin, cutting off suddenly where the hole in her head was carved. Right where her green eyes should’ve been. Red crusted her teeth and hair, but she didn’t mind, absentmindedly sliding her tongue over her teeth and swallowed the familiar taste of iron. Her Watcher cloak hid her broken bones and empty corpse, but rips in the cloak slithered out. The yellowed-ivory of her bones matched with the white of the uniform.
Grian froze. No matter how many times she’d appear throughout the years, he couldn’t help scanning his little sister’s form. Whatever emptiness that wove itself from the air into Grian’s very being became a suffocating force that squeezed into a strangled gasp. His hands twisted into the fabric of his shirt, breaths coming in shudders. He was only able to compose himself somewhat with the knowledge that she wasn’t looking at him. Her head was turned to his work.
She rubbed her neck in thought as she took it all in, then laughed. It was full and distorted by her slit throat and gurgles, but it was genuine all the same. It shot Grian’s heart, shrapnel carving into every part of his soul that hadn’t died with every laugh. Gem’s laugh didn’t sound like that, but it was close enough that fear twisted with grief. It melded into a knife at his throat that prevented him from screaming.
For years he’d been terrified of this version of his little sister, but desperation had bound him tighter than his disgust. He hadn’t seen his sister in years, and his fantasies of death accompanied her frequently.
He could throw up at this abomination later. She never took his fear well, and he’d rather not have to hear her broken sobs again.
So he swallowed down any negative feelings and pretended that this was normal. That she wasn’t mutilated.
That Gem was alive.
He bit his lip. He wouldn’t be able to escape her even if he left the games. No, she was the sand in his eyes, the shake in his breaths, the urge to speak before rationality kicked in. She was always a step behind even if he ignored it.
But at least with the Watchers, he wouldn’t be surrounded by the land she loved.
***
Scar came back later that day. Grian had meticulously made the floors and interior of Scar’s house. Since he could only build out of sandstone, he made rooms that mortals always seemed to have in their homes. A washroom, bedroom, and kitchen were all he could manage before he lost himself in detailing what he pretended were tiled floors. It was sloppy and uneven, but the lines were his and occupied him from Gem. She sat by a hole in the wall carved out for a window, a little alcove with a long stone bench meant for gazing out said nonexistent window. She sang softly as he worked, her tongue twisting in a mortal language Grian didn’t know.
It was on a familiar tune about a canary that Scar and Pizza in tandem came up the mountain. Pizza’s bleating carried up to Grian, and he was stirred from his trance. He left behind the house quickly, ignoring how Gem followed after him. Grain’s wings twitched in anticipation. Like he could still fly, and go somewhere far away from everything.
Scar hopped off of Pizza. He was still shirtless, hair tousled by hours of labor to tangle by his neck freely. His eyes were alight, seeming even brighter when they landed on Grian. Scar stretched out his arms, wiping off the dust and dirt from his expedition. The smell of pine and moss enveloped him, tying Grian’s senses as Scar tied Pizza’s reins onto a stick he put in the sand.
Not like that would prevent Pizza from escaping, but Scar was content nonetheless. Halfway through the action, his hands stilled. He was looking past Grian at his house. His breath hitched at the sight, hesitantly finding Grians with a look of awe.
“How did you…?” he whispered, finishing Pizza’s knot in one swift movement. He didn’t even grab his cane as he went over to the closest wall to them. His hands brushed against the flowers carved in, feeling each groove of stone. He was quiet for several moments, then muttered, “Grian, why did you do this?”
Grian tilted his head to the side, trying to decipher what Scar meant by that. The flowers? The house? Grian went with the latter, and stood beside Scar. He turned his gaze unconsciously to Scar’s bandaged abdomen.
You died because of my stupidity.
But Grian couldn’t tell Scar that. So he put on a small grin and contorted a part of the wall–one without flowers engraved on it–to spell the words: I needed to return the favor.
“But this…this is insane! You built a mansion–” Grian snorted. “–while I was sitting around getting wood and dirt. You never had to do anything to repay me anyway but…” he struggled with his words, eyes flickering from Grian to the house. “Thank you,” he settled on. “This is amazing.”
Grian nodded. There wasn’t anything else he had to say to Scar. After all, he would be leaving before the next sunrise. He didn’t want his face to reveal any of his intentions, so he went over to Pizza and ruffled in the bag strapped to it. It would be a good distraction for Scar, having him talk about what he got in those hours he’d been away.
Scar fell right where Grian wanted him to. He listed off every resource he’d gathered, beaming every time Grian lifted said object from the bag and ran his fingers along it. He didn’t have to hide his curiosity and wonder over such simple things. Food, wool, wood, tools, metals, stone, and a few curious jewels all in an unsorted mess that Grian had to rake through.
He was so caught up admiring what Scar had brought, he didn’t notice that Scar had stopped talking until Grian lifted up a green jewel the size of his pinkie for Scar to see. It reminded him of Scar’s eyes, so it was also an excuse to compare the two. But Scar’s eyes were back on his house. By the way his eyes kept shifting every few seconds, he was looking at the flowers.
Grian squeezed the stone between his fingers. He hadn’t expected Scar to still be caught up on them. Scar’s gaze found him after a beat. No, Scar’s eyes had more shine than the gem, Grain could see that easily now. They were a deeper color than Gem’s had been, but in a way that leaned more towards vibrant instead of dark.
“You know why we’re here, right?” The question came out of nowhere, and Grian was struggling to catch up. He knew why he was here–although that too, was vague–but didn’t see why the players were here. Entertainment, maybe? Grian hadn’t been very entertained, if that was the case. He searched Scar’s face, like it would carry the answer. Scar was carefully controlling his expression into neutrality. Grian was given no choice but to admit defeat and shake his head.
“It’s not just our lives on the line,” Scar muttered. “I can only assume you came here knowing nothing. Otherwise, there would be no way to explain why you’ve done so much for me. My death is easily explained away by an impossible situation. You can’t guarantee that I died to save you, but you happened to live while I didn’t.” His voice lacked its usual warmth. Grian was struggling to meet Scar’s gaze now. It didn’t seem like the same person who’d taken care of him was here.
Grian rubbed the back of his leg with his bandaged foot. The movement was not lost to Scar, but he didn’t point it out.
“I don’t know what kind of game the Watchers are playing with us, but they gave all of us different bits of information. Some of us don’t get any, it seems.” Scar sighed. “Tell me, are you representing a race?” Race. As in…people? Grian shook his head. “Were you told of any threats? Conditions? Anything before we started?” Grian was tired of shaking his head, so he just stared at Scar blankly.
“I don’t know how well that bodes for any of us,” The words were barely heard over the wind. “But, Grian, if you’re really set on leaving and going or teaming up with someone else–” Ah. It seemed like Grian hadn’t been very subtle in his efforts to repay debts and leave. “–you need to listen. Some of us can’t afford to lose, and that often leads to cruelty. Alliances, teams, anything that is supposed to represent a bond can be easily broken if it comes to it.”
Had Grian been a different man, he would’ve scoffed at those warnings. He was immortal, a Watcher, controlled the very sun for centuries. But he’d learned of the cruelty of both man and god at a young age, and could find only sincerity in Scar’s words. No matter what power Grian once held, he was now mortal with fragments of who he once was. He was able to die, to be deceived and pay the price for it, the same as any one of the players. He held Scar’s gaze steadily, fully processing his words before he made up his mind.
No matter what happened, he needed to make one thing clear to Scar.
Grian took a hold of the other’s wrist, not in a restraining way, but loose enough that Scar could pull away if he wanted to. Scar tensed and was unwilling when Grian tried to move his hand, then eventually complied. Grian’s hand slid to go atop of Scars and guided it to where Scar’s gem would be, hidden underneath a makeshift bandage made of Grian’s discarded cloak. He stopped their hands, pressing lightly against the fabric. Grian set his jaw, holding Scar's gaze with every amount of stubbornness and determination he could muster in a look.
I won’t hurt you.
Scar swallowed, taking several moments to speak before he said, “I won’t hurt you either.” A sort of understanding passed between the two, one that Grian hadn’t had between another in way too long. Finally, Scar broke the silence. “We should get you packed up.”
If Grian didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that Scar sounded reluctant for him to go.