Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian thinks that life has a tendency to pick on a few select people. 

He’s fully convinced that whatever higher power there is looks down from whatever heaven it has and points at some poor mortal soul and decides to make them its personal jester. Even gods need entertainment, and he’s fairly certain that’s why some people have just awful lives.

Grian wishes he didn’t fall into that category, but given his current history, he’s fairly sure he’s being used as free comedy. 

It’s hard enough being an avian in a society that’s decided to be hostile toward every nonhuman species in existence. It’s mildly frustrating because it prevents Grian from getting anything done. He can’t hold a job, can’t get a house, and certainly can’t establish a life. He’s always on the move. 

Which is what he’s doing right now. Fleeing from the local soldiers because he stole food. 

Grian really did try and turn it around. He’s tried multiple times, actually. But when he has no stable way of earning income, he has to resort to petty theft. 

That’s certainly when having wings comes in handy. He can just fly away from whoever’s pursuing him. 

But that makes it hard to keep a low profile, so he does his best to hide his wings beneath his cloak. Grian’s had lots of time to perfect the art of hiding in plain sight. As long as the law enforcement thinks he’s a regular human, they’ll never suspect an avian of whatever crime they’re spending time investigating. 

Grian vaults over a low fence, breaking for the nearest alley. The one part of the market that sucks is how open it is. It can be difficult to actually steal something and get away with it. 

It’s not too difficult to lose the soldiers. They’re really not all that interested in stopping a master criminal from stealing a loaf of bread. Grian knows he’s escaped them by the third alley, slowing his run to a jog. 

“Finally.” He mutters to himself, shaking off his cloak. He stretches his wings, cramped and stiff from being curled for so long. The golden feathers catch the little sunlight that makes it over the buildings, illuminating the colors. 

Even if they make his life hell, he does love his wings nonetheless.

Grian tosses the bread from hand to hand. It isn’t the biggest piece in the world, but it’ll definitely keep him going. His life has purely come down to surviving to the next day. 

He doesn’t intend to stay in the alley for too long; even if he’s pretty sure he’s gotten away with his crime, it’s best to move on quickly. Grian is preparing to do just that when a figure steps into his temporary haven. 

He turns quickly, wings fluffed. Grian relaxes when he realizes who it is— only slightly. 

Martyn is still someone he doesn’t want to see. He’s the bearer of bad news, especially for him . 

“Hello, Grian.” Martyn greets him cordially. He holds an axe, which Grian can’t help but make a note of. He doesn’t think it’ll be used on him, but there’s always the possibility. 

“Hey, Martyn.” Grian says, trying to sound confident. He flashes him a smile. “Can I help you?” The other man lifts his axe over his shoulder, expressing unreadable.

“Ren wants to see you.” He says, the words sounding like a death sentence. Grian’s grin falters, resisting the urge to curl in on himself. 

“That’s nice.” He says, waving Martyn off with his wing. “I’ll make sure to drop by ne—“

“Now.” Martyn cuts him off. “Don’t make this difficult, Grian.” The avian sighs, crossing his arms. He forces another smile, his heart dropping to his stomach. This won’t end well. 

“Lead the way.” Martyn gives him a curt nod, walking out of the alley. Grian follows slowly, wondering if it’s too late to take off and just run. But no, Dogwarts has made it clear that there’s nowhere Grian could run that they wouldn’t find him. 

So he follows Martyn to the familiar stone walls, walks in after him to the modest wooden house, and sits down in one of the off rooms as he waits for Ren. 

Ren, the founder of Dogwarts and the “king” of the city. The real governor has no power; Ren’s taken it all by both force and luck. The governor is weak, barely able to maintain order. Ren runs a powerful and lucrative business, enough to pay the soldiers in the city to do his will. And the people trust him, because he’s protected them from monsters that lurk outside the city limits. Rumor has it he killed an entire pack of werewolves with a machete. 

Grian can’t confirm that story, but seeing the scars and Ren’s demeanor alone is enough to convince him there’s some truth to that story. 

The door creaks open as if on cue, Ren himself stepping in. Martyn follows suit, shutting the door behind the two. Grian’s wings twist, a nervous warble creeping up in his throat. He swallows it back, instead keeping his face as neutral as possible. 

Ren sits down across from him, furred cloak hung from the chair’s back. He keeps his glasses on, tinted a dark shade to conceal his eyes. Grian secretly thinks his hair would do that job fine enough, the brown mess barely passing as “manageable” in his opinion. 

Not that he’d ever say that. He hates to admit it, but he’s scared of Ren. Ever since that night, he’s learned this man is not one to cross. 

“Ren.” He greets. 

“Grian.” The Dogwarts leader says, his voice cool. Skipping pleasantries, that’s not good. Ren leans back in his chair. “We need to talk.” 

“I see.” Grian replies, his hands suddenly feeling very numb. “If it’s about the bread, I have to eat somehow —“ Ren shakes his head. 

“You still have a debt to pay.” The words cut like ice, stilling Grian completely. He looks over at Ren, his expression unreadable behind tinted glasses. “And you’re overdue on this month’s payment.” 

“Ren—“ Grian starts to say. Ren shakes his head, holding up a hand. 

“Grian, you’ve been holding out on us. You came to Dogwarts as a criminal, and we only ask for retribution in return.” Grian scoffs, Ren’s statement almost funny. He never didn’t ask for this, not really. Even if he did, he’s long since repaid it. And yet, they still want more. 

“I can’t.” Grian says simply, moving to stand. “I’m sorry.” Ren glances over at Martyn, both of them eerily silent. Grian begins to back toward the door, uneasy. 

“Very well.” Ren says, slowly rising to his feet. Grian resists the urge to puff his wings out, feeling very threatened as the Dogwarts leader walks toward him. He keeps his gaze forward, not wavering despite his instincts screaming at him to run, fly, because there’s danger.

Ren stops in front of him, so close that Grian can almost see his calculating eyes behind those dark glasses. “Dogwarts has other ways of extracting what is owed.” 

Oh . Grian swallows thickly, nervous smile creeping over his face. That could mean a lot of things. A lot of things he isn’t keen on finding out about. 

“I—“ He starts to protest. 

“One week.” Ren says softly. “Pay your dues. And we can let it slide.” The Dogwarts leader’s gaze shifts to Grian’s wings, which he consequently tucks closer to his back. 

“Okay.” He forces out.

“Those wings would fetch a pretty penny.” Ren says airily as he walks past Grian toward the door. “It’d be a shame if you couldn’t keep them.”  

Grian can only watch in mute shock as the Dogwarts leader walks out of the room, leaving Grian to stand alone in the room. The fire crackles cheerfully in the background, and despite the warmth he feels a chill race down his spine. 

He stares mutely at the wall, cision tunneling slightly. They’ll take my wings. Grian forces his breathing to steady, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. 

He has a week. That’s a week to fix this mess. He can do it, he just needs to find a place to start. 

Luckily, Grian has an idea. He shakes his head and walks toward the door, pushing it open slowly. He can fix this, he can salvage this, it’ll all be alright. 

He still tucks his wings in tighter, as if somehow that would keep the hounds at bay. 

—

Grian knows his situation sucks . 

He’s got less than a week to steal something or take a job or get money somehow. He’s already at a huge disadvantage being an avian; it’s hard enough to get hired as is. He’s had to resort to thievery over and over again just to stay afloat and for what? To be bullied by Dogwarts even more? 

Grian regrets trying to steal from that damn organization. If he could go back and tell himself not to, he would in a heartbeat. He’s put himself in the worst possible position and now he’s going to pay for it. 

The traitorous part of his mind whispers it might be easier to lose the wings. Sure, he’s still got talons and stray feathers, but he can hide those easily. Hiding his wings consists of him uncomfortably folding them to his back and praying the coat or sweater doesn’t look too weird. The disguise never lasts, either. Sooner or later he has to fight off some poachers or flee town because heaven forbid an avian try and make a life for themself. 

Grian shakes off the thought instantly. No, never. No matter how much of an inconvenience his wings can be, they are still his, and he wouldn’t give them up for the world. Which is why he has to do something fast, unless he wants to wake up with an axe buried in his feathers. 

He had high hopes for this town. Grian had heard that it was a little more free, that fantastical creatures could safely make their homes here. That they didn’t have to hide like everywhere else.

It had been a let down, but Grian could admit it wasn’t as bad as some regions. He could walk around with his wings on full display and not worry as much about being chased off or kidnapped or murdered. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t discriminated against or anything, but it was a start . Grian thought he might actually be able to make it work and build a life in this town. 

And then he learned about Dogwarts. Dogwarts, apparently the most powerful organization in the city, with services offering spells and protection. Dogwarts, a business that had a wildly growing ego that Grian couldn’t stand. Dogwarts, who Grian decided he could go toe to toe with. Grian was desperate because the reality was he couldn’t find work. He had no money and no home, but he was desperate to stay somewhere that treated him a little better than the rest. 

If that meant heisting Dogwarts, so be it. 

It was stupid. He was stupid. He broke into their headquarters, the stone walls easy for him to clear. The simple wooden shack looked like nothing, because it was nothing. The real importance was underground. The real treasure was at his fingertips. 

But of course it was guarded. Grian was naive to think it wasn’t. It was Martyn who cornered him, who alerted the other guards to his presence and dragged him to Ren. Despite his valiant efforts to fight his way out, he was overpowered. 

Grian had known the risks, known the potential rewards. It had seemed that at the time, he’d be facing the consequences. Thieves are punished by death, hung from the gallows for all to see. And crowds love to see nonhumans executed. 

But Ren hadn’t handed him over to the authorities. Instead, he smiled and offered Grian a deal. Work for him, pay him back for what he attempted to take, and he would let this incident slide. Grian agreed instantly; he wished he’d seen the way the boss smiled when he shook Grian’s hand.

Ren was never going to let Grian go. He should've known that. Every month he paid him, his debt seemed to get deeper and deeper. But he has no way out, unless he wants to flee town or face execution. Grian might seriously have to consider that if this pattern continues, though. 

Grian sighs, burying his head in his hands. He should’ve taken his chances months ago with the gallows. Maybe he could’ve pulled off some great escape. Maybe he could’ve fled and made a new life again. 

It doesn’t matter, it does him no good to waste time wishing on what could’ve been. He’s stuck with what is and has to make the best of it. 

Grian pushes open the door to the tavern, oak wood creaking beneath his fingers. He keeps his wings tucked in, ignoring the burst of pain when they collide with the top of the door frame. He steps neatly over the threshold and looks around, eyes immediately drawn to the advertisements hanging loosely from the makeshift billboard. Perfect.

Grian’s long since given up on the idea of getting a proper job. Avians aren’t good hires, apparently. Nonhumans aren’t good hires. Even in a town that tolerated their existence, many people are still wary. Grian never understood that. It’s not like his wings keep him completing a task. But no, it’s just the fact that he’s not human. 

He could try and establish his own business, but that requires funds. Funds he doesn’t have. It’s an endless loop, a cycle he can’t break from no matter how hard he tries. A situation that can’t get better because people refuse to change. 

Ironically, Ren’s the one who’s treated him the best out of any human. He basically gave him a job, avian traits and all. Even if he’s threatening Grian with a fate that’s essentially worse than death, at least he’s technically employed. 

He snorts at the thought. He’s not sure why he’s trying to make light of his circumstances. They suck. It would almost be better to go live as a hermit at this point. 

Grian walks over to the advertisements. Advertisements might not be the right word; they’re just… notices. Some are genuinely looking for hires (Grian’s tried those, and shocker, he never gets the job), while others are something else entirely. Bounties, which might prove lucrative, challenges, which Grian could attempt, or just warnings. 

Sometimes, the latter all get rolled together. Like hunting for mythical beasts. Those hit the checkboxes of warning, bounty, and challenge. Grian’s never wanted to attempt those, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

He scans the board, tapping his foot restlessly against the wooden planks. The fire at the hearth flickers in strength, orange glow surging and painting the ragged paper in an eerie yellow. 

Grian has to pick something. He’s out of time at this point. Whatever he does is going to have risks, and he has to accept that. But it’s better than losing his wings because he didn’t do anything. His gaze drifts to the bounties, worrying his lip as he does.

By far, the most profitable is beast hunting. Everyone loves to see a monster slayed. Grian turns away from those hunting calls, stomach turning. He’s pretty sure he saw an avian related ad. Great. He has to hope he was hallucinating from the sheer stress he’s under. 

It would just be one more thing to worry about. To be honest, Grian’s not sure how much more he can take before he crumbles. 

He steadies himself against the sudden wave of anxiety, shaking his head. It’s fine, he has nothing to worry about. He’s sure the poster wasn’t actually there because he would’ve been attacked by now. Unless it’s new—

Stop. Grian sighs, glancing over the bounties, trying to gauge what would get him the most funds. Realistically, he should be thinking about his safety, but deep down he knows he can’t afford to. Quick money, despite the risks, is what he needs.  

His gaze lands on an ad slightly hidden by the others. Grian pushes aside some of the other papers, fingers closing around the notice. He pulls it off the bulletin board, turning it over in his hands.

The paper warns against a dragon spotted just outside the town. It has no specific locations, no true description, just confirmation that there is a giant beast living near the city. There’s inscriptions about rewards related to the dragon’s demise, but Grian could care less.

He’d rather steal from the hoard. He couldn’t kill a dragon, but perhaps he could be clever enough to get away with some of its treasure. Assuming he found it, of course. 

“Interesting.” He murmurs to himself, picking up the dragon notice. He tucks it into his bag. Grian knows that going after a dragon’s treasure is astronomically stupid, but it’s not a horrible last ditch effort.

“Hey.” A voice snaps Grian out of his stupor. He turns warily, locking eyes with the tavern’s owner. Blue dyed cloak over a simple white shirt, high reaching boots that look far nicer than anything Grian could dream of affording. It makes sense, given that this is the most profitable taverns in town. 

His eyes sparkle with a strange friendliness, which is something Grian didn’t expect. The owner is human, yet shows no visible unease about being around him. He extends a hand in greeting, and Grian tentatively shakes it. 

“My name’s Scott.” He says, his voice warm. Grian tries not to be off put by how odd the interaction is compared to the usual routine he’s used to. It makes him suspicious. He keeps one eye on the door, ready to bolt if things turn awry. 

“Grian.” He says slowly. Scott beams at him, then gestures to the front of the bar. 

“Care to grab a drink with me?” Grian narrows his eyes, subconsciously pulling his cloak tighter. He wants to hide, get out of here. He doesn’t like this, certainly doesn’t trust this. But he’s also intrigued. Curiosity might be the death of him, and it definitely drives his decision to nod. 

“Alright.” He affirms. Scott leads him to a pair of open seats, sliding into the first one. Grian glanced around, noting with slight relief the others at the bar have positioned themselves well away from Scott. Grian sits down in the other open seat, careful not to let his wings brush the floor. 

“What can I do for you?” Grian decides to facilitate the next conversation, careful to keep his tone friendly. Scott nods, looking unhurried. 

“Of course I’ll get to that, but may I offer you a drink first?” Grian blinks, tilting his head. It makes his danger this could be very bad sense go off the charts, but this entire interaction has been so bizarre that he smiles nervously. 

“Sure.” He says with a shrug. “I don’t have a preference.” Scott hums, nodding to the bartender, who passes the tavern owner a bottle and two glasses. Grian watches intently as he pours the drink, hoping to every deity that the drink wasn’t spiked beforehand. He’s heard stories of how hunters lull their victims into false senses of security, and he has no desire to become another story. 

Grian does relax when Scott takes the first drink. Alright, this is okay. He doesn’t think that the tavern owner has an interest in selling him out, but he can never be too careful. 

“Alright.” Scott says, setting his glass down. “I have a proposition for you.” Grian raises a brow. 

“Okay?” He replies, the question forming at the end of the phrase. 

“I couldn’t help but notice you were looking at our lovely wall.” Scott gestures to the array of posters. “So I assume you’re in need of some money.” Grian’s wings ruffle up indignantly. 

“Perceptive.” He says, gritting his teeth. Scott hums, raising his glass in acknowledgment. 

“I could help you out.” Scott continues. “If you can help me.” 

“Oh?” Grian says, trying to hide his surprise. He has no idea what Scott could want. His wariness is back, and he can’t help but glance toward the door again. “What’s that?” Scott sighs, the tavern owner looking almost ashamed. 

“There’s these… bandits that have been running around town lately.” Scott says, placing his glass down. He traces the rim, cleaning it of any residual liquid. “If you could catch them, I’d be willing to compensate for your efforts.” Grian grips the table tightly, biting back an excited noise. Finally. He might be able to do this. He can fly, surely he could catch at least one of them. 

Then he can pay Ren and figure out his next move without having to fear losing his wings. He can get Dogwarts off his back for a little longer. This will work, this will work. 

“I’ve got it.” Grian says with an easy smile.

“Excellent!” Scott says brightly. “I thought you might be interested.” Grian nods, snapping himself out of his daydream. Step by step. 

“Do you have descriptions or anything I can go off of?” He asks. Scott nods, standing up. 

“Yes.” He reaches into his pocket and draws out two folded slips of paper. Grian takes them, dropping them in the bag next to the other poster he took. 

Grian tries to hide his elation. But it’s hard not to smile when he’s finally got a break. He has a chance, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take full advantage of it. He thanks Scott and walks toward the tavern door. Grian has some work to do. 

He ignores the doubt curled in his chest, writing off the string of anxiety in his heart. He’s sure it’s nothing. It’ll all turn out fine. 

—

Grian perches on the tavern’s roof, the sun long since set. The moon sparkles above him, stars twinkling merrily in the summer air. Grian exhales slowly, resisting the urge to spread his wings and just fly. Nights like these are perfect, and soaring in the clouds feels like lending himself to heaven itself.

But no, he has a job to do. If he pulls this off, he can touch the stars tomorrow. 

Scott told him the bandits usually show up late, when the town’s doused their lanterns and shut the blinds for the night. But not Grian. He waits patiently for his prey, silently watching the streets below. 

Part of his brain nags at him, warning him this could be a set-up. But Grian has to believe it isn’t. He has to believe that this will be exactly what he was told. 

And so he waits. 

His patience is the real killer. Grian forces himself to stay still as he watches the street. Any noise could be enough to scare off the criminals intent on raiding the tavern. If he wants to catch them, he has to channel all his self control and stay motionless. 

The moon continues on its path, arching up and through the night sky. Grian thinks it’s well past the longest hours of the night when he finally detects movement on the streets below. 

His attention is immediately laser focused on the noise. It sounded like pebbles strewn haphazardly across the cobble path. Grian quells his excitement, reminding himself that it could be nothing. Just some drunken villager stumbling home after a long night drinking. 

But Grian doesn’t think so. He carefully unfurls his wings, wavering as he prepares to glide down to the town’s path. 

He doesn’t make a move until he sees the target. When he finally catches sight of the person, he knows he found the culprit. 

Just like Scott described, blonde hair, brown vest, blue bandana pulled over his nose and mouth. Obscuring all details except his eyes, which shine like a cat’s in the dark. Grian smiles to himself. Found you. 

In the back of his mind, he remembers Scott mentioning there were two of them. Grian shrugs the worry off. If they’re split up, that makes it easier on him. 

He takes off as silently as he can, careful not to flap his wings. He drifts down with the slow breeze, lightly touching down. The bandit twitches. Grian freezes, balancing precariously on the uneven stone path. 

The bandit turns slowly, and Grian decides to move.

He leaps forward, wings spread. He grabs the bandit’s shirt and yanks him back. The thief yelps in shock, hand grasping Grian’s wrist and twisting. Grian lets go, shocked by the force in which he grabs him. The thief draws his weapon, recovering quickly from the attack. There went the element of surprise. 

The bandit swings wildly at him with a sword. Grian jumps back, wings flared. He grabs his own dagger, lunging for the man. He knocks the thief over, the man practically crumpling against the pavement. Grian expects him to stay down, but he stands up almost instantly. 

Clearly he’s not going down without a fight.

Grian jumps back as he jabs forward, using his wings to propel himself away. He dances on his heels as the bandit lunges forward again, pivoting to the right as he attacks.

The bandit’s attacks seem to be patternless, made out of desperation rather than strategy. Grian smiles to himself, elated. This should be easy. It should go smoothly, and he’ll get paid, and it’ll be great. He steps forward, intending to attack, only for the bandit to swing at him again, forcing him backward again. 

Okay, maybe not easy . But if he can knock the thief down again, there’s no way he’ll recover from it. Grian tenses, ready to attack again, when the bandit stops, standing up straight. There’s a strange twinkle in his eyes, almost shining with something akin to victory. 

“Tango!” The bandit shouts suddenly, voice muffled by his mask. Grian turns just in time to see the second bandit leap at him, throwing a weighted fishing net at him. Grian has seconds to react, throwing himself to the side in an attempt to avoid the snare. He feels it snag his wings, tangling them together.  

The pain is sudden, erupting from where the net digs into his wings. He bites back a shriek, instead pivoting and swinging his dagger at the second bandit. The other man parries the attack, with enough force that Grian nearly drops his weapon. 

Grian grits his teeth and kicks forward suddenly, sweeping his leg against the cobbled ground and catching the bandit unaware. He goes down hard with a crack. 

“Tango!” The first bandit shouts again. Oh, Grian thinks, that must be his name. The bandit shoves past him, running to his downed partner. Grian hesitates before acting, decision wavering. He could stay and attack the first bandit and hand both of them over to Scott. He could be rewarded greatly. 

It’s what he should do. But as Grian steps forward, dagger still clutched in hand, the first bandit whirls in a second, sword pointed at Grian’s neck. 

“You’ve made a mistake.” He snarls, eyes shining with hate. “And you’re lucky he isn’t dead.” Grian says nothing, narrowing his eyes at the bandit. Instead, he lunges forward, swinging his dagger down. 

The thief blocks him easily, pushing him backward with his sword. Grian throws up his dagger in a split second, barely blocking the sword from cutting into his face. He plants his feet, still ignoring the aching pain in his wings as he shoves upward. 

The bandit doesn’t cease his attacks, instead launching into an array of strikes. Grian barely defends himself, the rapid attacks overwhelming. He finds himself backing further and further away, until he collides with a wall. Trapped. The thief knows this, his eyes shining with malice in the low light. 

“Gotcha.” He taunts. “Where’s the bird gonna go when his wings are tied in knots?” Grian doesn’t dignify that with a response, despite the truth that hangs in his words. He’s truly trapped. 

Grian raises his dagger slowly, not blinking as the bandit inches closer. Damnit, if only his wings were free. If only he hadn’t been so stupid and let his guard down. He’d been possessed by the idea of victory, and of course it all went downhill. 

He can’t get caught. He refuses to be murdered in the streets or sold for his wings. Grian will not go down like this. Not a failure born out of desperation, not a missed opportunity turned disaster. 

All he has is a last ditch effort. Maybe if he moves quick enough, if he baits this bandit into acting impulsively he can flee. Grian twitches to the left, eyes darting to the walls pressing against him. 

The bandit’s sword drags against the ground, ear splitting sound making Grian flinch. He refuses to be shaken, instead trying to play up the idea that he’s going to run left. Please, please work. 

The bandit lunges forward suddenly, shifting left as if to cut Grian’s escape off. Grian ducks right, throwing himself forward and back the way he came. He feels the sword swipe against his arm, another burst of pain flowering from the new injury. He ignores it, bolting down the alley as fast he can. 

Grian doesn’t know how long he runs for. He takes the back roads, cuts through alleys, stays off the streets, until he feels he’s finally far enough away to slow to a stop. He kneels down, heart thundering in his chest. 

He made it. Against all odds, he made it.

Grian forces himself to stand, the adrenaline finally stilling and the extent of his injuries becoming known. His arm burns, blood dripping from the cut on his bicep. Grian tears a piece of his cloak off, wrapping it tightly around the injury. It’s not the best bandage, but it’ll have to do.

His wings smart from the net, still binding them. Grian untangles his wings from the net, clawing at the ropes. He shakes them off, the snares falling to the ground at his feet. His breathing still hasn’t steadied, instead rapid, panicked gasps escaping his chest.

He doesn’t know what just happened. He doesn’t know how it happened. The bandits were ready for him. They knew exactly how to combat him and were ready to take him. He could’ve been kidnapped and sold because he’d been naive. 

Did Scott set him up? He doesn’t know. Grian doesn’t think he’ll ever know. He stares at the nets, kicking them in disgust. Maybe the hermit idea isn’t so bad after all.

Oh, gods. It hits him suddenly, like lightning striking a tree. That was his chance. That was his last shot at getting the funds he needed to ward off Ren. And it’s gone. 

Grian sinks to his knees, his throat closing. He’s aware of the chirps that escape him, unable to control how scared he is. 

This can’t be it. He can’t be at game over. Grian pulls his cloak around his knees, burying his head in his knees. He has to think. He has to think. 

And yet, it feels as though he’s hit a barrier. This job was supposed to be his saving grace, not set him back even further, not confirm that he’s basically hopeless. 

Think, there must be something. 

An idea blooms slowly, a reminder of his doomsday plan. His Hail Mary, his last resort.

Grian reaches into the folds of his cloak and unfurls the warning he’d grabbed at the tavern. He traces the letters, spelling dragon in the parchment.

It’ll be dangerous. It’ll likely be disastrous if he messes up as badly as he did with the bandits, but it’s Grian’s only hope. He only has one option left. 

Grian stands slowly, dusting the dirt off his clothes. No more time to wallow in self-pity. 

He has a dragon to find. 

—

This is a bad idea. Grian thinks as he stares at the looming cavern, immediately second-guessing his plan. Ren honestly might treat him better then the dragon will if he’s caught by it.

Dragons protect what is precious to them with everything they have. Few leave a dragon’s lair alive. 

But that is exactly what Grian intends to do. 

He doesn’t need an amazing amount of treasure— just something to push him out of debt. And since dragons hoard valuables, it should be easy to find something that fits the bill. 

None of his makeshift plan gets complicated until he has to leave. That’s when things get dicey and require an absurd amount of variables to line up and for events to go right. Grian’s fully prepared to improvise because things never go right. 

Getting in won’t be the hard part. Leaving is the big catch. 

Grian decided against flying to the dragon’s den. He had a rough idea of where it was, at best. He didn’t want to give himself away by circling an area. If it came down to it, being able to fly might be his biggest surprise should he have to make a quick exit. 

Based on the poster, he’d guessed that the lair is a small trek north of the city. The dragon was spotted “three times” near that area— and Grian has to hope that claim is true. He really is at his final hour, and desperately needs this to work out. 

So he left the city and hiked north, searching for crevices that open down to the earth’s core, or caves in the sides of hills that look foreboding. It shouldn’t be that hard to find. At the very least, he should see the dragon. 

In the end, Grian didn’t see the beast, and he almost didn’t find the cave. It was an accident at best. He tripped over a root and turned around to curse it when he saw the maw of a perfect sized cave. Grian hiked up to investigate and saw a large amount of bones strewn near the entrance. The bones had large teeth marks, as if they’d been bit down to their marrow. 

There was only one explanation that made sense. 

The dragon’s den. He’s found it. 

Grian swallows thickly as he stares into the swirling darkness. It has a strange glow, one that he hates immediately. His instincts beg him to fly away, get away before it’s too late. But he’s come too far to turn back now. He steels his nerves and steps over the bones and into the cave. 

At first glance, it seemed like a pitch black cave. But as Grian clears the entrance tunnel, the space opens up to something else entirely. 

The interior of the cave takes Grian’s breath away. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, not really. Maybe a mess. Maybe some more skeletons. But instead, he’s greeted with low hanging lanterns burning with cheerful fires, casting the room in a warm orange glow. There’s plush chairs and books strewn across the floor, and Grian’s fairly sure there’s a rug under all that. 

Odd. He thought this was a dragon's den. 

Maybe it’s just left over from whoever the dragon ate to claim the den. He’s pretty sure there are scratch marks on the chairs anyway. Grian’s not keen to investigate. 

The dragon could be a juvenile. Maybe that’s why the items haven’t been destroyed yet. 

Grian makes his way further into the cave, careful not to disturb anything. The key to escaping is to make it like he was never here. 

He turns down one of the passages, breathing a small sigh of relief. He almost finds that funny, how he’s happy to see the rest of the cave look like how he imagined a dragon’s lair to look. 

Grian’s clearly found the hoard. Gold shines in low lantern light, each coin reflected against the embers. Jewels glimmer in the midst as well, fine jewelry and ornate cutlery among the pile as well. 

Grian steps forward cautiously, looking around for the dragon itself. He’s counted himself lucky to have not found the beast yet. He continues to hope that it’s out hunting, but he can never be too sure. 

He strains his ears, listening for any sound of life. Grian exhales slowly, stepping forward. He’s almost certain he’s alone. He thinks he would’ve spotted the dragon, or at the very least heard it. They aren’t exactly known for being quiet. 

Grian descends on the treasure, carefully picking out the smallest pieces he can. He selects small gems and coins, guessing how much it might be worth. He grabs a bejeweled cup for good measure, tucking it into his satchel along with the other treasures. 

This should be enough. He steps back slowly, carefully edging away from the pile. Grian doesn’t think he’s taken enough to be noticeable. But he still wants to cover it up as much as possible. The last thing he needs is an angry dragon after him. 

Grian glances inside his satchel, mentally tallying how much he thinks the worth to be. He’s fairly certain it’s enough to pay his debt for a month or two. He breathes a small sigh of relief, glancing at the treasure. 

Despite knowing the risks, some part of him desires more . Dragons aren’t the only creatures that like shiny things. Grian shakes off the desire, fighting back his instincts. He needs his self-preservation to win for once . 

Grian turns toward the mouth of the cave, doing his best not to let euphoria seize him. He can’t get excited until after the job is done. He should’ve learned his lesson with the botched bandit fight. 

Carefully, Grian creeps toward the exit. He can see daylight seeping in, the sun beckoning him out to its embrace. Still, he moves slowly and quietly, keeping to the shadowy parts of the cave. He ignores the strange room as he beelines for the exit. 

Almost there. Grian is practically at the threshold, practically to the sky, practically in freedom—  

A cough makes Grian freeze in his tracks, shakes him to his core. Despite all the signs, of all the things he was expecting to find in this cave, a truly sentient creature was not one of them. That’s what scares him the most. 

He turns, grabbing his dagger and pointing it at the newcomer, who simply smiles at him, fangs and all. 

“Why hello there.”

Chapter Text

Grian turns slowly, clutching his satchel to his chest. He swallows nervously, his heart thundering in his ears. Of course. He was naive to think he could get away without being caught. 

He was naive to think he’d been alone in the first place. 

But to hear another voice, not a growl promising death— that was strange. Grian is immediately thrown off, the blindside of another creature being in the cave enough to rattle him. 

“Who’s there?” Grian calls, struggling to keep his voice even. He has to sound confident, like he belongs here. The newcomer laughs, the sound reverberating against the cavern walls. Grian resists the urge to flinch, instead standing tall. He prays his wings are still hidden; they could prove to be his greatest advantage getting out of here. 

“Who do you think?” The voice responds, what Grian thinks to be fangs flashing again. He narrows his eyes against the gloom, backing away as the creature stalks forward. 

Oh. 

That was not what he was expecting. 

Whatever he is, it’s not exactly a dragon . 

The first thing Grian sees are his wings and horns. Muddy brown scales match the cave walls, barely shining in the low light. Green eyes glint as the creature studies him, pupils remarkably similar to that of a cat’s. He has a tan shirt and pants that match the shade of his wings, the aforementioned shirt’s collar folded neatly and smoothed down. He looks remarkably put together for whatever he is. 

Grian doesn’t think he’s a dragon. He’s clearly not human, but whatever he is has been greatly exaggerated. 

Still, he’s not taking any chances. Grian eyes him warily and steps back. The creature notices his move and smiles again. Grian is certain the beast has fangs now, pointed teeth looking ominous in the shadows. 

“It’s very rude to run from your host.” The dragon— if Grian can call him that— says, examining his nails. “Why don’t you just make it easier on both of us and just lay down your weapons?” 

Grian slowly sets his dagger down, never taking his eyes off the dragon. His tail lashes steadily behind his back, the brown color matching his wings and horns. 

“Alright.” Grian says softly. He grabs the edge of his cloak, waiting for the right moment. If he thought the bandit incident was high-stake, this makes the situation look like a cakewalk in comparison. No sudden moves, not yet. The dragon smiles at him, fangs glinting in the low cave light. 

“Cool.” He says easily, his tone far too light. “My name’s Scar. The big bad dragon.” As if for show, he flares his wings behind him. Grian then realizes that they aren’t brown, but a dark green. The scales catch the minimal sunlight filtering into the den, illuminating the membrane in an even lighter emerald shade. They’re gorgeous. 

“I see.” Grian says, pulling his gaze off the wings. The dragon’s eyes glint, shining in the low light like a cat’s would. Interesting. Grian can’t help but be intrigued by the beast. 

“Aren’t you gonna introduce yourself?” The dragon— Scar asks warmly. Grian ponders his request for a split second, before grinning. 

“Nah.” He decides. “I was just on my way out.” Scar laughs as if he’d just told a particularly funny joke. 

“Wouldn’t you like a tour?” He asks, sweeping his arm out. “I’d be happy to show you around. Maybe you could even feed the cat.” Grian’s fear rises again, but he shoves the terror down. Now is not the time to panic. Instead, he laughs along. 

“I’m alright.” He says, inching toward the exit. 

“I’m not asking.” Scar refutes. Grian snorts, deciding to drag the conversation out. Get his guard down. 

“That’s rude. Not much hospitality.” He retorts. 

“Breaking and entering is what’s rude .” Scar points out. 

“Fair.” Grian concedes. “Which is why I’ll be taking my leave.” Scar steps forward, his jest slowly wearing off. He can see the predatory gleam in the dragon’s eyes, and he’s well aware his time is up. Grian steps back, lining himself up with the cave’s exit. He lets the dragon get slightly closer, before grinning and sweeping into a bow. 

“It was nice to meet you.” He says, pulling his cloak off. “But I’m afraid I must get going.” Grian spreads his wings and bolts for the exit. He doesn’t look back, not until he can smell fresh air and feels the warmth of the sun hit his face. 

He spreads his wings and takes off, letting the wind carry him up. 

Grian immediately hates flying where he is. The trees stretch high into the sky, green tops reaching like claws to the sun. Grian doesn’t want to fly too high; it would be a dead giveaway of his location. But he’s also loath to dive into the forest. Woodland flying is by far the most difficult. As a fledgling, Grian remembers spending hours gliding from tree to tree, determined to learn the art of forest flight. 

It ended up not mattering until now. He’s spent most of his time in cities anyway. 

Grian risks a glance back, seeing a figure emerge from the cave’s maw. He has no choice. He has to hope muscle memory serves him well, has to hope that the dragon-thing isn’t as agile as he is. 

Taking a deep breath, he tucks his wings back and dives for the forest. 

Immediately, he hates it. Grian loves the woods, sure, but it’s been so long since he’s flown through them. He’s almost ashamed of himself. Avians are meant for the forest, and yet he finds himself like a fish out of water. 

He dips one wing down, narrowly avoiding a low hanging branch. Grian sweeps between two intertwined trees, snapping his wings open to slow down ever so slightly. He tries to remember how he used to glide, sifting through his old memories. 

It was much easier without boots. He hates hiding his talons, but he hasn’t exactly made use of them lately. It would have surely been smarter to have ditched his shoes when he wasn’t in the forest. But it’s too late now; Grian’s got to make due with his circumstances. 

Grian yanks his wings to his back, avoiding colliding with two trees. He can feel his heart racing, a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety circling his mind. Focus. He sweeps upward, clearing a fallen tree, before using his momentum to dive through a particularly narrow section. 

It’s almost like an obstacle course. One that could have horrible consequences if he messes up. Grian can’t afford to make mistakes. 

He feels like he’s falling into a rhythm, a sort of dance that only he knows the steps to. It’s unpredictable but somehow feels right. Grian slowly feels his confidence building with every correct navigation, with every tree he successfully avoids. 

He might actually pull this escape off. 

Grian just has to not get distracted. He can’t let any noise distract him, can’t let anything throw him off. Don’t look back. It’s the first rule of flight in tight quarters. If he looks back, he will die. It’s what everyone in his flock used to say. 

But when he does hear that inevitable noise, Grian can’t help but glance back, briefly catching sight of a figure pursuing him. He couldn’t have been looking back for more than two seconds, but when he snaps his gaze back ahead, a gnarled tree looms ahead. 

Grian yelps and tries to veer to the side. He thinks he clears it, he thought he cleared it. 

But no. His side scrapes against the trunk and it’s enough to knock the wind out of him. Grian’s momentum is completely stilled and he falls. He’s faintly aware of hitting a branch as he continues to spiral down.  

The pain suddenly hits like a tsunami, an agonizing rip sensation spreading through his wing. He cries out as he continues to fall, back colliding with the ground. 

Grian lays winded against the forest floor, gasping for breath. He can feel every forming bruise on his back, already aching from the impact of the fall. His arms sting, probably scrapes from the initial collisions. 

But those injuries dwarf in comparison to his wing. 

Grian sits up, only to be hit with a wave of nausea and pain . He grits his teeth and hoists himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore how much it hurts. He risks a glance at his wing, surveying the damage. 

Blood stains his feathers, dirt and sticks entangled within them. He can see— or more accurately, feel— the open wound, too close to his shoulder for comfort. Realistically, it could have been much worse, but that doesn’t change the fact that it hurts like hell. But Grian has to suck it up and get out of the area before— 

“That tree came out of nowhere, huh?” Great. Grian tears his gaze off his mangled wing, instead watching the dragon - thing land neatly on a rock. “I mean, I get it, forests can be really hard to fly in sometimes—“ 

“Will you shut up?” Grian snaps, unable to keep his irritation at bay. Scar looks taken aback by the sudden bluntness, until his gaze lands on Grian’s wing. Grian immediately tries to hide it, throwing his arm in front of the injury. It’s too late for that, though. Scar’s face has already changed from one of amusement to concern. 

“That looks bad.” He says, whistling softly. Grian huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah. I know.” It hurts like hell. He bites back the last words. He can’t let the dragon know he’s even a little weak. He can't let his guard down, no matter how much agony he’s in. 

Scar, however, seems perfectly attuned to the pain he’s in. The dragon slides off the rock, hesitantly approaching Grian. He backs up quickly, the sudden movement sending another wave of pain through his body. He inhales sharply, blinking away the dark spots that crowd the edges of his vision. 

“Why don’t you come back to my den?” Scar asks. “I can fix you up.” Grian eyes him warily, furling his injured wing closer. 

“It’s not that bad.” He lies, ignoring the way pain shoots up the tender ligament as he shifts. Scar lifts a brow, cat eyes completely unimpressed. 

“You practically had a tree sticking through it.” Scar deadpans. “I don’t think that qualifies as ‘not that bad.’” Grian glares at him, huffing indignantly. Another wave of pain washes over him, so sharp he nearly blacks out. 

“I can take care of myself.” He spits, making a move to stand. Grian steadies himself against the very tree he crashed into, ignoring the patch of red that slowly stains his wing. Scar walls over to him, the dragon —(dragon hybrid ? dragon man ? Grian still isn’t sure) — grasping his arm. His hands are surprisingly gentle. 

“C’mon, birdy.” Scar says. “You broke into my house. I think you owe me this.” Grian stills, the reality of the situation hitting him. 

Scar is a dragon. Scar is the dragon who he stole from. Dragons do not like thieves. Dragons have a tendency to eat thieves. Grian yanks his arm away, his good wing ruffling up. 

“I don’t—“ He starts to say, his words breaking. He clears his throat, starting over. “I’m not going to go with you.” Scar looks him up and down, clearly doubtful that Grian could make it five steps without collapsing.  

Wing injuries suck. Even the most mild hurt more than a stab wound, in Grian’s opinion. Maybe it’s because wings are just so fragile, so sensitive. He has to keep them in good condition, which he’s also very bad at, and be careful about what he hits them against. He’s gotten good at ignoring the discomfort of hitting them against doors or twisting a feather out of place, but to practically impale himself on a tree… he hates to admit it, but it’s a miracle he isn’t unconscious. 

“Fine.” Scar says, his voice surprisingly warm. “If you can make it ten steps without using a tree, I’ll walk away. Or fly away, because I didn’t run into a tree.” Grian grits his teeth, biting back an insult. Pretentious jerk. 

“Maybe I will.” He snaps, still not letting go of the bark. Scar gestures at the path. 

“Be my guest.” The dragon hybrid tucks his wings in. Grian does his best to ignore how the scales shine a deep green in the sun, trying not to get jealous that his wings are in perfect working condition. 

Grian stands up as straight as he can, vision swimming dangerously as he does. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the spreading dark spots. He swears he hears Scar snicker behind him, the dragon waiting for him to pass out. 

Grian wishes he could say with confidence that he could walk away with ease. But he’s not sure he can let go of this tree without falling. Grian shakes his head, sighing. His knuckles have turned white with the strain of gripping the tree. He’s well aware of the blood starting to pool at his feet, dripping slowly from a wound that gets worse by the second. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Grian turns back to Scar, unable to hold back a laugh of disbelief. He shakes his head, still chuckling humorously. 

“Why should I believe you?” He snaps, unable to keep the bitterness from bleeding into his voice. “Like you said, I broke into your home.” Scar shrugs, Grian only barely able to make out the action through his blurred vision. 

“If I wanted you dead, I probably would’ve killed you by now.” He says evenly. “Us dragons, we’re more of the… impulsive type.”

“Uh-huh.” Grian says, doubtful. “I still don’t want your help.” 

“And I told you what to do.” Scar shoots back. “Ten unassisted steps. Should be no problem if you’re as fine as you claim.” 

“Prick.” Grian says through gritted teeth. Scar smiles at laugh, eyes glinting with mischief. His tail twitches behind him, pointed tip glowing a vibrant emerald against the dull brown of the trees. 

“You must be quite the charmer.” Scar replies airily. Grian ignores his jibe, instead fully focusing on how he’s going to walk out of the woods. It honestly might take divine intervention for him to take two steps. His wings hurt, almost as bad as when— 

Grian shakes the thought off. No. He’s spent a long time suppressing those memories. There’s no way in hell he’s letting a tree bring his past come rushing back in. 

Grian slowly withdraws his hand from the tree, knees shaking as he does. The pain in his wing seems to amplify, crescendoing as he takes his first step. 

His vision swims on the second. 

His legs are practically numb on the third. 

He freezes on the fourth. 

Grian exhales slowly, trying vainly to find any fight to keep going. But he wants nothing more than to lay down and rest, his wing throbbing with white hot pain. He can feel tears in the corners of his eyes with the effort it takes to stay standing. 

“Birdy.” Scar sounds genuinely concerned. Grian can’t decide if it’s all part of his ruse or not. “C’mon. I really just want to help you out.” The words cause Grian’s heart to still, his stomach in knots at the idea of leaving himself at the mercy of anyone. 

“I don’t want— I don’t need help.” Grian hisses. “I’m f... fine.” He trips over the last words, his vision suddenly giving way to a sea of grey. He falls to his knees, a pained noise escaping his chest. No, no, no. Through his haze, he can hear footsteps getting closer. He wants so desperately to flee because he isn’t safe. 

He’s never safe. It’s never safe to be vulnerable. Someone always wants to hurt him, to abuse him, to exploit him for what he is. 

“Calm down, feathers.” Scar’s voice breaks the fog, somehow gentle despite everything. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

Grian wants to say he doesn’t believe him, that he’s a liar, and that he should leave him alone. All he can manage is a pained warble, before he gives in to the agony and shuts his eyes. 

He doesn’t want to rest, but fears he has no choice. The last thing Grian registers is the pain in his wing and Scar’s voice telling him it’ll all be okay. 

Liar. 

— 

Scar had been shocked to say the least. 

He’s no stranger to humans breaking into his home, trying to steal his treasure (on a good day) or trying to kill him (the usual). Jellie normally takes care of the latter offenders, but Scar’s gotten pretty good at dealing with treasure hunters.

He thought that the newest challenger would be no different. Scar would let him see his hoard, surprise him at the last second when he thinks he’s about to escape, then kill him and give Jellie dinner. 

But the thief surprised him. 

He had frozen for a split second, before throwing his cloak down and revealing wings. Scar had been totally blindsided by that one. He rarely sees other hybrids anymore, especially ones with wings. So meeting this avian had been totally unexpected. He’d barely shaken himself out of that revelation in time to see where the avian went. 

Scar of course gave chase. Even though he’d lost all intention of killing the thief, he was curious now. He wanted to learn more about the bird. 

The avian had tried to take shelter in the trees. It wasn’t a bad idea, especially since they’re known for their forest flight— but this one seemed different . Unsure at first, despite the fact that he stayed well ahead of Scar. He might’ve actually lost him if he hadn’t ran into the tree. 

It feels stupid to think about; birds aren’t supposed to hit trees. But this one sure did. The avian went down hard. Scar felt bad for him instantly. That had to hurt. 

Of course, the situation only got worse when he saw that the avian managed to injure his wing. He’d been standoffish in the cave, and the wound seemed to make him even more hostile. It was jarring how insistent the bird was that he was fine. Scar could clearly see he wasn’t, but he also didn’t want to just take the avian. But it was obvious he couldn’t leave him here. 

So he waited. And Scar became convinced that the avian either had severe brain damage or immense amounts of trauma. He had tried to walk away, for gods’ sake. Nobody in their right mind with an injury that bad does that.

But the avian did, and he collapsed. Unsurprising, but still concerning. Scar didn’t hesitate to pick the unconscious bird up, taken aback by how light he was. He knows that avians have hollow bones, sure, but he weighs practically nothing. 

Yep, he definitely has concerns. 

It takes no effort to fly back to his cave, even without shifting. He has practically no added weight from the avian, after all. This isn’t normal. 

There’s lots of layers of wrongness to the situation. Scar finds it funny how worried he is about a thief. But the longer he spent conversing with him— especially after he got hurt— it became apparent that the avian has a history that made him desperate enough to steal from him. 

Dragons are regarded as “the final boss.” At least, that’s how Scar refers to himself. He’s only ever attacked when a knight wants to prove their valor (which rarely ends well) or a thief wants to prove how clever they are (which ends even worse). But once in a blue moon, he isn’t met with foolish ambitions or egotistical aspirations.

Sometimes, his assailant is desperate. Trying in vain to do something to improve their circumstances. Scar always finds those cases interesting. He can see it in their eyes when they’re caught, their last flame of hope dying. He almost feels bad when he kills them. But part of him tells himself that he’s giving them a kinder fate, especially if they were in a desolate enough place to steal from a dragon.  

Scar hadn’t suspected the avian of being that kind of thief, not until he was cornered in the woods. Then he saw the despair in his gaze, the defeat in his demeanor. 

It just made him even more curious. 

Scar finds that he genuinely wants to help this bird— or at least get to know him. The avian clearly has a story to tell, and Scar can’t help but want to know more. Who knows? Maybe he can help. 

So Scar spreads his wings and flies back to his cave, taking great care to make the journey as gentle as possible. He knows the avian is unconscious, sure, but he doesn’t want to risk damaging his wing anymore. He did promise he wouldn’t hurt him, after all. 

Scar touches down neatly outside his cave, feet skimming the rock as he descends the tunnel. He likes the entrance to his home. He thinks it provides a nice facade to what really waits on the inside. 

The second Scar steps into his home, he’s greeted by a rumbling noise. He turns slightly, seeing a figure perched in the shadow. He flashes her a smile, dipping his head slightly. 

“Hey, Jellie.” Scar greets the giant cat before setting the bird down in one of the chairs. The avian chirps slightly, the sound pained. He winces at the sound, hating how agonized it sounds. I guess he can still feel things. 

Jellie freezes when she sees the avian, ears slowly flattening. Her tail begins to twitch and Scar winces. Uh oh. That means she’s irritated, which never ends well. 

“Surprise?” He says weakly. “New roommate?” 

Jellie hisses. Clearly she’s not hip on the idea. Scar sighs, turning back to the avian. He’s already curled up, completely silent as opposed to the pained warbles from earlier. Scar’s not sure if that qualifies as an improvement or not.

Scar sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s never really had to worry about someone else until now. It’s always been just him, and as of late, Jellie. Now he’s got an injured bird who did technically try to steal from him. 

“This is fine.” Scar mutters out loud. “This is okay.” His tail sweeps the floor as he suppressed the familiar bolt of anger that accompanies the thought of thief. Scar likes to think he’s pretty laid back for a dragon, but the idea of someone touching his treasure still pisses him off.

Still. He finds himself with an inexplicable desire to help the avian. He can deal with the whole attempted robbery later.

Scar does his best to gently pick the avian up again, walking him deeper into his cave. He can’t stay on that chair. And it’s probably a good idea to get him out of Jellie’s sight for a moment. 

Scar’s cave isn’t exactly equipped to handle guests. He has his “room,” the entrance cave, and the treasure. He figures the best spot for the avian is in the back, lying down. Right? That makes sense. 

He can do this. He can take care of the avian. 

Scar sets the avian down again, this time on his bed. That’ll probably be fine. 

Scar tries not to overthink it as he cleans the avian’s injury, keeping the shake out of his claws. The stakes feel much higher now that it’s not himself he’s trying to patch up. He wraps the injury up carefully, ignoring the slow drip of blood that stains the bandage. 

Gods, he hopes the bleeding stops soon. 

Scar steps back, slumping down on the cave floor opposite the bed. He hears a small meow as Jellie pads in, the giant cat sitting down next to him.

Scar hums to himself, gently petting the giant cat. Jellie purrs, curling up at Scar’s side. He smiles softly, gaze drifting up to the sleeping figure of the avian.

He knows the bird will be fine. He’s seen a couple of avians before, and happens to know their wings are sensitive. Scar can’t imagine the pain he’s in, but at least he knows he won’t die. 

Probably.

Being impaled on a tree is technically fatal in some cases. 

But it’s probably fine. Most likely. Scar cleaned the wound and bandaged it up, but that stubborn avian had refused his help up until the moment he passed out. 

Of course, who could blame him? Scar would be scared of himself if he wasn’t him. Essentially being a dragon— it’s not easy knowing how the world perceives him. A mindless beast intent only on slaughter and treasure. Scar prefers not to think about that too much. What matters is he knows who he is.

Though it was shocking how adamant the avian was against getting help. Maybe there’s a story there. Scar wants to know more about this bird. He has a lot of questions, that’s for sure. 

All he had to do was wait until the avian woke up. 

He sighs, scratching Jellie’s head. He can be patient. 

—

Days pass, and Scar’s still worried.

The avian’s caught in a weird holding pattern. He doesn’t think the injury is getting any better. Scar’s trying everything he can think of, but the avian just stays asleep. 

He thought it would be better by now. 

Scar doesn’t know much about avians, that much is a given. Maybe the wound was worse than either of them thought. 

And then there’s Jellie, who’s at best wary toward the avian. Scar doesn’t think the giant cat will do anything to hurt him further, but he doesn’t think his vigilance is for nothing. Meanwhile, Jellie just watches. 

Scar hates how worried he is. But he can’t help it. 

—

Ow. Ow. Ow. 

Grian honestly can’t remember the last time he felt this awful. 

He doesn’t think he’s supposed to be awake anyway. It feels wrong, like he’s defying the natural order of … something. He’s in too much pain to really care. 

His wing hurts. He knows it’s just one of them that’s making his head spin and his stomach churn. He knows something happened but can’t remember what. 

Grian’s head is still fuzzy. Maybe he should go back to sleep. 

Deep down, he’s beginning to feel afraid he won’t wake back up. 

—

Scar thinks the injury might be infected. It would definitely be his fault, given he has no idea how to take care of injuries. 

That’s a lie. He’s just extraordinarily bad at it. 

So seeing the angry gash on the avian’s wing continue to grow and change color, he can’t help but be a little worried. He tried all the herbs he could think of, but he must be missing something. 

“You gotta help me.” Scar says to Jellie, turning to the giant cat. She gives him an incredulous look, followed by a hiss. Scar glares at her. 

“C’mon.” He pleads. “I know you know how to help.” The mountain cat glares at him again, tail twitching. She growls, looking over at the unconscious avian. 

“He might actually die if you don’t help.” Scar continues. “And I know you have this weird beef with him, but could you please help? At least for me?” Jellie considers his words, before huffing and standing up. She pads out of the cave, movements deliberate. 

Jellie returns hours later, an assortment of plants clutched in her mouth. She spits them at Scar’s feet, bumping his leg with her head before returning to the corner of the cave. 

“Thank you.” Scar says earnestly. It takes a few days, but the avian starts to recover after that.

Scar thinks he might’ve been hallucinating, but he swears he saw Jellie smile when she saw the injury start to fade. 

— 

He’s a fledgling again. He knows this because his wings feel a little too big and it’s hard to balance. He’s surrounded by his flock, his family, all smiling and laughing together.

He spreads his too-big wings and glides with them, fumbling with some of the branches but still keeping up nonetheless. Other fledglings fly with him, all trying to prove to themselves and one another that they can fly, that they’re almost ready to touch heaven. 

It feels safe. He’s at home.

Something in the back of his mind reminds him it won’t last. 

— 

When Grian wakes again, it doesn’t hurt as much. The burning sensation has faded, replaced by a dull ache that twinges whenever he shifts too far one direction. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, though. He’s not ready for that.

He’s still tired. He just wants to rest. 

As he drifts off, Grian swears he hears a voice above him. It’s almost enough to snap him back to awareness, but the dark just seems so nice. 

Whatever. He can deal with it when he wakes up. 

— 

The bliss of his home was disrupted just months after his flight feathers grew in. The hunters came, burning their haven to ash and taking whoever stood in their way. 

He wishes he could say he stood and fought. He wishes he could say he tried to save his home. He wishes he could say he didn’t just watch as everything he loved was killed. 

But he didn’t. He ran. 

He ran, he ran, he ran. When the fires started, he fled.

And he’ll never forgive himself. But he got his punishment. He was alone, without a flock. It was something he’s grown accustomed to.

—

Grian’s eyes snap open, inhaling sharply as he comes to. He’s faintly aware of a dull pain in his wing, and he twists to look at it. His movements feel sluggish, as if he’s not quite in control yet. He wonders why he feels so tired.  

His wing is bound in tight bandages, tinged a pale pink. Grian blinks, slightly confused. What? He sits up slowly, only to sink back into whatever he was lying on. He glances down at it, blinking as he realizes it’s a bed. 

Grian can’t remember the last time he slept in anything even similar to one. He’s certain that whatever predicament he was in last wouldn’t have allowed for such luxuries either. So how did he end up here? 

He looks around the room, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. He can’t shake the creeping sense of unease that crawls up his spine, causing him to shudder. Grian’s pretty sure he’s in a cave, but why— 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He remembers slowly, the memories trickling back in. The tree. The treasure. The dragon. Grian sits up fully, hand flying to his mouth as he realizes exactly where he is, a bolt of fear curling around his heart. 

He’s back in the dragon’s cave. 

Chapter Text

Grian never thought that he would ever be in a dragon’s cave. He always told himself he would avoid them at all costs. Of all the beasts to cross, a dragon was not on his list. 

But now he’s been in one twice. The second time, he didn’t even bring himself there. Grian’s inexplicably ended up back in the dragon’s lair. And now he wants to get the hell out . He chose to enter the first time, a pipe dream to save himself, but clearly that hasn’t gone remotely according to plan. 

That stupid tree. If only he hadn’t hit it. He would be paying off his debt, completely free to go, if he hadn’t ran into that tree. 

Grian supposes that means he’s gotten a little rusty with his forest flying. If he survives this encounter, that might be something he wants to work on. Grian slowly stands up, legs shaking slightly as he does. His wing hurts significantly less, but the pain is still there. He has to get out of here.

Each step is difficult. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out for– days? He hopes it was only for a few days. If it was longer than that, he’s screwed. Ren gave him a week. He’s pushing his luck at this point. Grian exhales slowly, steadying his steps. 

He knows he can’t fly out of here, but maybe he can walk. It wasn’t too bad the first time. He just has to make it to town and hope for the best. Maybe Ren will understand that he was unconscious and kidnapped by a dragon. Maybe he’ll extend his deadline by a few days. Grian’s pretty  resourceful. He can figure it out. 

Grian takes a few more hesitant steps, his wing still aching. The slightest movement seems to be enough to disturb it, sending a new bolt of pain rocketing through the extremity. Grian shakes it off, focusing on his path ahead. 

It’s almost deja vu. Grian tries to walk out of the cave, and he’s immediately stopped by a figure blocking his way. 

“You’re awake!” The dragon– right, not dragon thing– stops him in his tracks. Grian involuntarily squawks, jumping back. The dragon (Scar, Grian faintly remembers him introducing himself before it all went downhill) puts his hands up. Grian sees his claws glinting in the low light, his stomach churning. Did he save him just to get the satisfaction of killing him while he’s conscious? 

Grian doesn’t respond to his exclamation, instead backing away. He’s significantly worse off than the first time he faced Scar. He can’t even fly. Grian honestly should just accept his fate, but he really hates the idea that he evaded death only to be murdered seconds later. Scar clears his throat, the dragon clearly trying to choose his next words carefully. 

“Nice to see you with the living world.” He says brightly. Grian quirks an eyebrow. That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. Part of him wants to relax, to maybe accept the fact that this might not be a hostile encounter. But his instincts scream at him not to trust this dragon, that he just can’t trust him. 

“Thanks?” Grian elects to respond, keeping his tone wary. Scar looks delighted that he responded, the dragon beaming at him. 

“I really think we got off on the wrong foot.” Scar says, crossing one hand over his heart. “And I apologize for that.” Grian stares at him incredulously. What. 

“I broke into your home.” Grian manages out, blinking rapidly. Scar laughs at that. 

“True.” the dragon concedes. “Maybe it was a shared effort.” Grian nods, doing his best to play along. 

“Sure.” He says. Scar sighs, his demeanor shifting suddenly. Grian braces himself, ready to fight tooth and nail if things start to go south. The dragon leans against the cave wall, crossing his arms. Grian backs away even further, practically back into the room he exited.

“Relax, feathers.” Scar says quickly. “Seriously. What’ll take to convince you that you’re safe here?” Grian doesn’t want to relax. He’s scared. He hates that he’s scared, but it’s a constant for him. It’s amplified by the situation he’s in, and he can’t make himself calm down. Even logic is lost on him, instead replaced by the primal fear that if he lets his guard down, it will have consequences. 

“It's a habit.” Grian says pointedly. He does force his feathers to lay flat– he had barely registered that they’d fluffed in the first place. He doesn’t want to escalate anything, that much is for certain. Scar gives him an understanding nod. 

“Fair.” He concedes. Grian awkwardly shuffles from foot to foot. 

“So, um.” He starts, forcing himself to meet the dragon’s gaze. The cat-like pupils are mildly unsettling, but Grian moves past that. He steadies his breathing, forcing the next sentence out. “I’m sorry for trying to steal from you. I’ll just be on my way now, and you’ll never have to hear from me again.” Grian starts to walk toward the cave’s exit. Scar moves to cut him off. Grian stops suddenly, the familiar terror rising back in his throat. 

“Wait.” Scar says, his wings flaring. Grian instinctively reaches for a dagger that he knows isn’t there, glaring at the dragon. Scar clears his throat awkwardly, tucking his wings in again, realizing his mistake. “Sorry. But you can’t go.” 

“Am I your prisoner or something?” Grian demands, indignant. Or a meal. That is still a possibility. Scar shakes his head rapidly.

“No! Nothing like that.” He assures. “You just aren’t fit to travel.” Grian looks at his bandaged wing, noticing the pale pink stain against the bandage. He turns back to Scar, pursing his lips. 

“I can make it.” He says finally. Scar gives him a bewildered look, clearly taken off guard by the response. 

“That injury almost killed you.” The dragon said. “It would be stupid if you tried to leave before it’s fully healed. I’d bet you already reopened it just by moving then.” Grian winces at his words, hearing the veracity embedded within. 

He knows Scar is right. But he doesn’t want to stay. 

“I can make it.” Grian insists again. “I’ve probably dealt with worse.” 

“That seems like a terrible idea.” Scar deadpans. “Why are you so hellbent on leaving? Have I seriously given you any reason to doubt me?” Grian stops, the unspoken words lingering between them. Except for what he is, no. 

Grian logically has no reason to doubt Scar’s intentions. But he still does. It’s just who he is, compounded by what Scar is. 

“Well, why do you want to help me?” Grian shoots back, staying defensive. “I tried to steal from you.” 

“Then you can repay me by not hurting yourself anymore and sticking around until that injury is healed.” Scar refutes, his voice even. “That seems fair. It’s my only request.” Grian wants to bury his head in his hands, but is too on edge to take his gaze off Scar. Of course he wants to help. Of course his request is for him to stay to heal. 

“But I can leave once I’m alright?” Grian asks tentatively. Scar nods. 

“Yep. I won’t stop you.” Grian exhales slowly. He isn’t sure what he can do to combat the situation. He’s sure Scar won’t relent until he agrees to stay; he might as well concede now. Besides, As much as it pains him to admit it, his wing is starting to sting. Scar was probably right about him reopening it with his abrupt movements. 

“Fine.” Grian says, crossing his arms. “I’m stuck here until my wing heals. Then what do we do now?” 

“Why don’t you start by introducing yourself?” Scar suggests. Grian hesitates, worrying his lip. He supposes it would only be fair, seeing as Scar gave him his name. He isn’t sure why he’s anxious at the prospect– maybe it’s a product of his lack of trust. Nonetheless, he sighs, forcing a neutral expression across his face. 

“Grian.” He says finally. Scar extends a hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Grian.” He eyes the dragon’s hand, before slowly taking it. He shakes it once, drawing his hand back quickly. 

“I can give you a proper tour if you want.” Scar offers. Grian shrugs, not really sure if he can refuse anyway. It’s not like he has anything better to do except wait around and mope. 

“Alright.” He pushes past Scar, entering the main cave. Grian freezes in his tracks as he sees something he knows was not there the first time he entered this lair. He can feel his fight or flight kicking in again. Gods know this stress isn’t good for his health, but he didn’t exactly ask to be surrounded by creatures that have ample motivation to kill him. 

“Scar.” Grian says, his voice hushed. “Is that a giant cat?” Scar follows his gaze, resting on the same grey blob that’s sat itself in the center of the room. 

“Oh!” Scar hits the side of his head with his hand. “I forgot to tell you about Jellie!” Grian glances between him and the giant cat, Jellie, and sighs. 

Gods, he hopes his wing heals fast. 

—

Scar notices two things immediately about the avian– Grian. 

The first is that he’s horrible at taking care of himself. He’s too eager to leave, too eager to try and fly even though his wing is still healing. He clearly wants to get as far away as possible, but is in no state to do so. 

He wants to ask why he’s so willing to neglect himself to flee. But he has a feeling it won’t go over very well. 

Scar lets it lie. The avian already doesn’t trust him. He sees no reason to make it worse. 

But it is curious. Scar doesn’t think he’s ever seen an avian with that little self-respect before. From what he knows, avians are proud creatures. But Grian seems to be the opposite– he seems to hate himself. No avian would ever try to jeopardize their wings in the way he does. He has a carelessness about him, one that Scar would be has gotten him in trouble before. 

The second observation is that he’s always nervous. 

Whenever Scar even walks in the same area as him (which happens frequently, as his cave has four ‘rooms’ at best), Grian immediately stiffens. It’s as if he’s waiting on a fight. Waiting for some other shoe to drop. Scar had recognized his constant apprehension when they first met, but it’s only seemed to amplify since he woke up. 

Scar finds that odd. He would’ve thought Grian would at least believe he truly doesn’t mean to hurt him. But the avian is still scared of him. Scar isn’t sure what he can do to earn his trust. It seems like Grian’s insistent on staying as far away from him as possible. It’s an unachievable feat, really; Scar only leaves the cave when he has to and Grian can’t , so their paths continue to cross. 

He’s so quiet too. He never speaks, keeping completely silent. Scar supposes he hasn’t tried to talk to him yet, but he isn’t sure what to say. Grian barely answered his questions when he first woke up, and now more than ever he seems stuck in his self-inflicted silence. 

Honestly, Scar is fairly certain at this point this is how it’s going to be until his wing heals. Silence and awkward mistrust. Scar doesn’t know if should even try to speak to him. Grian seems pretty set in his ways, unable to trust him and certainly opposed to any conversation. Scar doesn’t think he’s a quitter, but he might give up on this one.

That’s not necessarily quitting either. It’s not like he’s truly tried since the avian woke up. Maybe Scar’s a little scared of Grian too. 

But Scar figures he should try to be a hospitable host. But seeing the avian’s jumpiness has deterred him from trying to talk to him thus far. Scar knows it isn’t exactly polite, but what else can he do? It’s a constant tug-of-war in his mind, trying to decide what to do. 

Scar finds himself weighing his option in regards to talking to the avian when he sees Grian sitting at the foot of the cave. His injured wing is outstretched, bandages looking clean. A good sign; the slow bleeding had fully stopped, and Grian wasn’t moving around enough to tear it back open. Scar breathes a small sigh of relief at that. The injury could’ve turned so much worse. It could’ve kept getting worse. 

Scar is surprised at the relief he feels at Grian’s survival and visible recovery. He really didn’t think he would end up caring if the avian lived or died, but here he is. 

“Hello there.” Scar decides to finally break the chill, sitting down next to the avian. He’s picked a spot close to the exit, watching the birds fly from tree to tree. Scar can’t help but feel bad for him at that moment. It’s impossible to tell what he’s feeling, besides that familiar wall of obvious anxiety he throws up. Grian glances over at him, eyes narrowing briefly. Scar tries not to take offense at the obvious mistrust. Relax. He’s looked at you like that since he met you. 

“Hi.” Grian says finally, the avian tucking his wings in close. Scar cheers mentally, excited to have gotten a response. That was honestly more than he was expecting. Now if he can just coax a conversation, maybe the tension will start to ease. 

“So.” Scar says, leaning against the cave wall. “Nice view, huh?” Grian shrugs, edging closer to the other side of the cave. 

“I could do without the bones.” He says dryly. Scar chuckles at that. He supposes he’s never had anyone to critique his decor before, but it makes sense why the obvious flaw would be the remains strewn at the front. 

“Jellie’s bad at cleaning up after herself.” Scar admits. Grian seems to relax at that, laughing softly.

“You’d honestly hide the cave better without them.” The avian says. “The only reason I found this place was because of the bone.” Scar gasps, mock-offended.

“You assumed this was where the dragon lived because of a couple of bones?” He lays one hand across his forehead. “I’m hurt.” Grian genuinely smiles at that. Scar is mildly surprised at how the conversation seemed to ease some tension– but he’s not complaining. 

“Sorry about that.” Grian rests his head against the tunnel’s wall. 

“Well, good to know.” Scar looks out at the bones, nodding thoughtfully. Grian makes a good point. The bones are a little obvious. “I’ll tell Jellie to clean them up.” 

“Good luck getting that… cat to do what you want.” Grian says. 

“Nah, she’s a sweetheart when you get to know her.” Scar waves him off. He hesitates before he speaks again. Oh, well. “I’m sure you’re not so bad either.” Grian quiets suddenly, whatever glimmer of ease disappearing behind his familiar walls. Scar resists a sigh. Expected, but still disappointing. 

“Sure.” Grian says coolly. But his words lack the bite from before. Scar stands slowly, looking out toward the forest. 

“I should probably go, uh, get food.” He stumbles slightly, picking a random task. Grian nods, not moving from his seat against the cave wall. Scar steps out of the cave, nodding to himself. 

It’s not much but it’s a start. Maybe he can get the avian to trust him after all. 

—

Grian really wasn’t intending on talking to Scar. 

It was arguably a stupid idea doomed to fail from the get-go, but Grian had been determined not to interact. He honestly didn’t want to deal with any turmoil that could arise from it. It was easier to stay detached, stay mistrustful, stay away. 

But Scar talked to him. They had a conversation that was light, one where Grian actually laughed. It felt wrong afterward. But when Scar left, Grian found himself smiling at the thought of that stupid conversation. It was ridiculous, but it still made him laugh. 

Grian became even more determined to avoid him after that. Scar had the opposite idea. The dragon kept popping up out of nowhere and asking him all sorts of random questions. What his favorite color is. What his favorite season is. What his hobbies, besides thievery, were. 

He tried not to answer at first. Grian tried to stay quiet, but the more Scar spoke, the more infectious his personality became. Grian started to want to talk to him, that he wanted to be around Scar. He began to find himself relaxing. 

It was wrong. He shouldn’t be getting comfortable around anyone, much less a dragon. 

But at this point, it’s more effort for him to shut down. He’s beginning to see no point in not talking to Scar. The dragon has been less and less deterred the more Grian speaks to him. He also finds that their conversations are lasting longer. Grian isn’t sure how he feels about it. 

It was so simple when everything started. Now he finds himself slowly gaining this pseudo trust for the dragon. Scar has kept his promise and hasn’t hurt him. Paranoia still creeps into Grian’s mind, unreasonable, yet there all the same. Betrayals run through his mind, amplified by whatever silence lingers between conversations. 

Grian never should’ve talked to him. Now he’s stuck with this blooming trust and awful paranoia. He knows he’ll bubble over at some point, demanding again to know what Scar wants. That moment happens not long after his revelation, when they’re talking about flowers.

Scar likes lavenders and poppies. Grian suddenly can’t take it and shuts down. 

“Why are you helping me?” Grian demands, cutting Scar off as he talks aimlessly about the plants. “Seriously. You– you shouldn’t be. I can’t figure it out.” Scar looks almost hurt by the sudden outburst, the dragon’s tail stilling suddenly. 

“Do I have to have a reason?” Scar asks softly. “Maybe I just want to help.” 

“Nobody’s that kind.” The words are out of Grian’s mouth before he can comprehend what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter. It was the path he was going down anyway; might as well continue. “Everybody always wants something. I can’t figure it out and it’s killing me.” Scar is quiet for a moment, the dragon looking at him thoughtfully. 

“I don’t know who made you like this.” He finally says. “But I hope they got what they deserved.” Grian stares at him dubiously. Part of him wants to break down sobbing, out of confusion, frustration, and one other emotion he can’t pinpoint. But he doesn’t, instead sitting numbly. 

“What?” He asks, his throat feeling very tight. 

“I don’t know your past.” Scar continues, his voice shockingly warm. “But clearly, you’ve… gone through something. I can’t make you trust me, but I really don’t know why you can’t at this point.” Grian’s throat bobs as he stares at his hands. 

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t trust him. Scar has given him no reason not to. He’s saved his life and given him a place to heal. He talks on his terms, is kind to him when he certainly doesn’t deserve it. Grian broke into his home. He tried to steal from him.

Scar’s shown him unconditional kindness. Grian’s shut him out. 

He can’t explain it. He knows he has a reason. He hates his reason, but he knows it does justify why he can’t just let him in. Trust doesn’t come easy to him. 

But maybe he can try. This is as good of a time as any. Grian lifts his gaze slowly. 

“You promise you won’t try to hurt me?” Grian knows it’s a repetitive question, but he wants to hear it again. Scar smiles at him, his gaze still warm. It’s welcoming in a way Grian can’t describe, but he’s so happy to have it nonetheless. 

“I won’t betray you.” Scar says earnestly. “I promise I want to help.” Grian says nothing for a long moment, before finally nodding. He’s shocked, but he finds that he is starting to believe his words.

“Okay.” 

It’s a start. At the very least, it’s a start. 

—

“Scar, your cat is in the way.” Scar sighs, turning to face the avian. As great as it’s been that Grian is actually talking to him, the one complaint he’d have is the way he acts around Jellie. The avian completely freezes up, and then in some manner asks Scar to move the cat. 

It makes sense that he’s terrified of Jellie. Birds and cats aren’t known for getting along. But it’s getting a little annoying. Jellie did help Grian out (even if he doesn’t know it). The two should hypothetically be able to get along.

“Grian.” Scar begins, bracing himself for the inevitable argument. “It really has been great to get to know you. But I have to ask you a question.” The avian gives him a wary look, as if sensing what the conversation was going to be about. 

“Yeah?” He says tersely. 

“Why are you scared of Jellie?” Scar asks. “She also hasn’t done anything remotely threatening toward you.” Grian shrugs, backing out of the room. Oh no, not again. 

“She’s a giant cat.” Grian says, his voice very matter-of-fact. “She left the bones outside your den. Who wouldn’t be scared of her?” Scar can admit: that is a good point. Anyone who didn’t know Jellie would probably be scared of her. But she and Grian had been coexisting for a few days. If anything was going to happen, it would have by now. 

“Come on, if you trust me, you can trust her, too.” Scar encourages. “Watch, I bet if you walk over to her, she’ll be super nice to you.” Grian lifts an eyebrow, looking wholly unconvinced. 

“And if she isn’t?” He asks pointedly. Scar sighs.

“I can’t have you walking on eggshells around her.” He admits. “Come on. Please, will you say hi to her? Consider it part of your debt, or whatever.” Grian scrunches up his nose, looking extremely unhappy at the arrangement. But he sighs, smooths his shirt down, and nods. 

“Fine.” He says through gritted teeth. Scar steps aside, allowing the avian to enter the main cave where Jellie awaits. 

Honestly, this is a good test. If Jellie likes Grian, then that definitely confirms he’s a decent guy. Scar observes from the corner, really hoping this doesn’t break his promise. 

“Nice kitty.” Grian mutters, cautiously approaching the cat. Jellie gives him an unimpressed look, before yawning. Scar winces as her teeth become visible. He honestly wouldn’t blame Grian if he backed out at that moment. But to his credit, the avian sticks with it. 

Jellie stalks forward, eyeing Grian. The avian quits walking, keeping his gaze firmly on the cat. Jellie tilts her head, sniffing the avian’s wing. Grian looks mildly surprised, glancing over at Scar.

“What is she doing?” He asks, his voice hushed. 

“Oh! Right.” Scar clicks his tongue. “She brought some of the herbs to heal you when you were dying from an infection.” Grian stares at him incredulously. 

“I don’t even know how to respond to that.” He mutters. Scar can’t help but chuckle at that. Jellie meows, pawing at Grian’s leg. She rubs up against him, the action so sudden Scar nearly misses it. Still, he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it. Good. Grian’s officially Jellie approved.

Grian seems to have relaxed as well, and Scar doesn’t miss the smile that lights up his face as he hesitantly starts petting the cat. 

“You’re not so bad, are you?” Grian says softly, scratching between Jellie’s ears. Scar rolls his eyes. 

“Took you long enough.” He says, although his words lack any bite; Scar can’t help but smile. 

–

Grian is slowly finding that Scar is fun to be around. 

He’s loud, he’s quick, and he’s funny. 

Grian likes talking to him. He also trusts him. 

Scar hasn’t gone back on his promise. He’s taken care of Grian, continues to shelter him, help him with his wing, and give him a home.

Home. That’s a funny word. 

Grian shakes it off. That wasn’t right. This isn’t home. This is a place to recover, to rest. 

But he can’t deny it’s the closest thing to home he’s felt in a very long time. 

–

Scar knew Grian wasn’t a bad person underneath all the exterior. 

The more the avian talked to him, the more he found himself liking him. 

Scar’s just relieved he opened up. He had hoped to like Grian, but it would’ve been good enough just to hear him talk. The tension had been killing him, and to see it slowly dissipate was the best feeling in the world. 

Jellie liked Grian too, which was great. Ever since that interaction, the two had started to get along. Scar liked seeing it. He liked this. 

Scar knows it isn’t forever. But he’s always been someone who’s preferred to live in the present. 

—

“Do you ever just like to fly?” Grian asks. Scar glances over at him. Grian can’t tear his gaze off the sky long enough to meet the dragon’s gaze. It’s been so long since he’s flown and it’s agonizing. He misses the way the wind whipped through his hair, how he could skim the clouds, the beauty of the blue as he tried to touch the stars. 

Grian really hopes his wings heals soon. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take being grounded. 

“Yes.” The dragon says. “It’s always nice.”

“I miss it so much.” Grian confesses. Scar nods, understanding in his eyes. Grian knows Scar probably understands what he’s feeling better than anyone else. To have wings but to be forced to keep them folded, to stay away from the sky– it’s the worst feeling in the world. 

Grian’s probably lucky Scar does understand that emotion.

“It would be fun to fly with you.” Scar says. “You know, when we aren’t chasing each other.” Grian laughs at that, smiling at the thought. 

“Yeah,” He says, finding that he believes the words. “It would be.” 

—

“I think I’ll be able to fly soon.” Grian announces, flexing his injured wing. The bandage is still wrapped around the wound, as a precaution. He winces, only slightly. Whatever pain the action caused him does nothing to dissuade the smile on his face. Scar manages a grin back, ignoring the way his stomach sinks. 

“That’s great!” He says, his voice bright. It feels fake. Grian smiles widely. It’s the happiest Scar has ever seen the avian. 

And yet, Scar can’t help but be a little… sad. 

Scar has to admit he’s grown fond of the avian. Even Jellie liked Grian. When the avian finally started to talk to him, Scar found that he genuinely liked him. He liked having him around. He had interesting thoughts and was just fun to talk to. 

Scar still hasn’t found out about Grian’s past. But he finds himself with a strange protectiveness toward him. He wants to keep him safe from whatever monsters come after him, past and future.

It’s easy to blame it on his instincts. Dragons find what is precious to them and hold that close. Letting that go, whatever it may be, is completely against what is natural to him. 

But Scar made a promise. He would never go back on that, no matter how painful that may be. He knows that trying to convince Grian to stay, to try and keep him around would only make the avian miserable. He doesn’t want that. 

As important as Grian is to him, he has to let him go. It’s almost painful to think about, but Scar has to come to terms with it. His wing is almost healed. Soon enough, he’ll be on his way. Life will settle back into its normalcy. It’s not what Scar wants, but he has to let it go back to how it was. 

He squeezes his eyes shut at the idea. His heart twists at the future. Gods, Grian does matter to him. 

Grian is precious to him. Scar could laugh at the irony. The avian came to steal from his hoard, but only managed to end up part of it. 

“I can’t wait to fly again.” Grian says, his voice dreamy. He has that look in his eyes, when he’s imagining something grand. It makes him look at peace, whatever tension that was bothering him is eradicated by whatever dream he’s invested in. Scar loves seeing him happy. It makes him smile too. 

“I’m sure it’ll be great, I'm excited.” Scar says. He’s only half-lying. He pushes down the sadness. 

This was always how it was going to happen. Grian may be important to him, but he’s certain the avian wants nothing more than to spread his wings and fly away, never looking back. 

—

Grian huffs as he stares at the rain outside, wind ripping at the trees shrouding the cave. It’s a miserable day. The sun hasn’t been out once, instead completely hidden by the rain clouds that refuse to ease. He sighs, shaking his head. As much as he’s growing to enjoy Scar’s company, he was really hoping today would be the day he could check his wing and try to fly. 

“This sucks.” He mutters out loud, running a hand through his hair. The back of mind twinges, reminding him of the delicate time table he’s on with Ren. Since neither the bandits nor the dragon worked out, he’s going to have to go back to the village eventually and figure something out. 

Right? 

Grian shakes the thought off before it digresses further. Even if he could run away, he still thinks Ren would find him. He could certainly find him here, the dragon’s cave too close to the city for comfort. 

“Hey.” Scar’s voice interrupts his thoughts. Grian blinks rapidly, his stupor broken. He turns to see the dragon at the foot of the tunnel, peering past him at the storm. “What’re you doing up here?”

“Daydreaming.” Grian says with a lofty sigh. “The rain ruined my plans.”

“Oh.” Scar replies. Grian can’t put his finger on what exactly his tone is. He shrugs it off. Scar looks back at Grian, tail twitching. “Do you wanna get away from the rain?” 

“That’s probably wise.” Grian says with a small sigh. He hates how his plans got completely ruined, but he supposes he’ll make due. It makes no sense to stand at the cave’s opening, wistfully staring out at the rain. He can always try to fly tomorrow. 

“Come on, I lit a fire and everything.” Scar gestures him over, smiling brightly. Grian gives him a half smile, nodding in affirmation before turning away from the storm. He descends into the tunnel, emerging into the main cave. Jellie’s already asleep by the tiny fire, the giant cat curled up into a ball. Grian lightly steps over her, neatly sitting down next to Scar. 

He looks at the fire, embers cheerfully crackling. Grian tilts his head, suddenly wondering how exactly Scar managed to light this fire. Logically, it was probably using flint, but Grian asks the question associated with the fire before he makes the connection. 

“So, are you actually a dragon?” The question comes out of Grian’s mouth before he can stop himself. Scar turns to him, tilting his head. Grian winces. He had that question since he met the nonhuman; clearly, he has dragon attributes, but Grian has yet to see him as the beast described in the wanted poster. 

“What do you mean by that?” Scar asks, sounding genuinely confused. Grian purses his lips together.

“Like, um.” Grian struggles to phrase the explanation, trying to think of how to best put the description without accidentally offending him. “A giant lizard? With wings? Who can breathe fire?” 

That probably wasn’t the best option. Grian regrets it immediately. But Scar laughs, seeming to take Grian’s poor dragon illustration in stride. 

“That’s complicated.” Scar admits. “Sometimes.” It’s Grian’s turn to be confused. He blinks at Scar, trying to put the pieces together. 

“Are you a shapeshifter?” He asks. Grian’s heard of those creatures, monsters who could inexplicably take the form of whatever they wanted. Scar shakes his head. 

“Not exactly.” He says. “It’s more like a family curse.” Grian hums. 

“So you have a relative who got turned into a dragon?” He asks, snapping his fingers. Scar chuckles again, clearly finding the entire conversation amusing. 

“If you want to think of it that way, sure.” Scar concedes. “My family got cursed by some angry witch, and now every direct descendant of whichever idiot pissed her off is a dragon. But she was nice enough to let us… maintain our own appearances.” Grian decides not to pry, already finding Scar’s family history confusing enough. 

It makes sense though. He can imagine an overeager treasure thief attempting to rob a witch, who decided an appropriate punishment would be to turn the offending party into a treasure hoarding monster. 

“Well, that’s an interesting family history at least.” Grian offers with a small grin. “I’m sure family reunions would be fun.” Scar rolls his eyes, his tail sweeping the cave floor. 

“Yeah, they probably would have been something.” Scar admits, taping his fingers against the rocks. “Except I’m the only living member left.” Grian can feel the atmosphere shift, the lighthearted conversation taking a bitter turn. Grian looks away, sighing softly. 

“Well, that’s something we share.” He says softly. Scar gives him a soft smile, eyes flickering with compassion. 

“Yeah.” He agrees. “I miss them sometimes. But it’s been a long time since they died. I kinda think I’m better off alone.” Scar stretches his wings. Grian nods, sensing the abrupt end. Whatever Scar feels toward his family, he has no desire to revisit. Grian can respect that. 

He hates talking about his flock. It reminds him of how he failed and what he can never have again.  

“But I am glad I met you.” Scar adds suddenly, nudging Grian with his wing. “It’s been nice to get to know you.” Grian is surprised to say he shares the sentiment. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he met the dragon; he can say with certainty he thought it would be very different then what it turned out to be. 

He didn’t expect to find a friend, someone who he’s slowly finding he can trust more and more. 

Grian smiles back at him, scooting closer. He wraps his wing around Scar’s shoulders, giving him a pseudo hug. 

“Me too.” He admits. “It’s been good to meet you, Scar.” 

Grian doesn’t know how long this friendship will last. He doesn’t know when he’ll eventually leave. His life awaits him, his debt awaits him. 

But he’s certainly glad to have Scar while he can. 

Chapter Text

“Todays the day.” Grian declares. “I can feel it.” Scar yawns next to him, the dragon stretching dramatically. 

“I don’t see why you woke me up so early to take the bandage off.” Scar mutters, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Grian grins sheepishly. He does feel bad for that, but he’s just eager to take to the sky again. It’s been so long, and he aches to fly. Especially because he’s certain his wing’s healed and ready to go. 

“I’ve been grounded for weeks, Scar.” Grian says, practically hopping over the entrance of the cave. “It’s been brutal.” 

“Fair enough.” Scar concedes, coming to a stop next to him. “Alright, just hold still while I take it off.” Grian forces himself to stay put, even though he wants nothing more than to leap into the clearing and take off, finally able to reach the horizon again. 

He waits patiently as Scar fumbles with the  bandage, the dragon working carefully as to not damage any of his feathers. Grian drums his fingers against his leg, the only outlet for his energy. 

“Alright.” Scar steps back. “You should be good.” Grian slowly extends the wing, the feathers that had been kept under wraps reaching toward the sun. The injury from the impalement was practically gone, instead replaced by regrowing feathers and minimal scar tissue. 

Grian grins, unable to keep the joy from bubbling up in a cheerful chirp. He immediately slams a hand over his mouth. 

Sometimes he absolutely hates how involuntary those noises are. His face reddens with embarrassment seconds later, bowing his head in shame. 

Meanwhile, Scar laughs softly, although the sound lacks any malice. Grian risks a glance up to see his eyes twinkling with delight. “Lighten up, feathers. You chirped a lot in your sleep.” Grian’s flush only spread, and he groans as he buries his face in his hands. 

“Of course I did.” He mumbles. “It’s so…embarrassing.” Scar shrugs, patting his shoulder. 

“It’s kind of cute.” He says brightly. Grian gives him a withering stare. 

“Yeah.” He deadpans. Secretly, he can admit it is nice to hear those chirps complimented. He’s always afraid that they’re annoying; it’s why he tries so hard not to let any instincts win in public. The less avian he appears around towns, the better. But every once in a while, he can’t control his sounds, and typically the bird noise makes whatever situation he’s in worse. 

But not here. Scar doesn’t seem to care, and for some reason, that makes Grian feel that much more at ease. 

Gods, who would have thought? A dragon able to make him relax for the first time in literal years. 

“Anyway.” Grian clears his throat, stepping lightly out into the clearing. He combs his feathers absentmindedly, straightening some of the ones that were dislodged by the gauze. He’ll probably have to preen them soon; he’s been neglecting that task. 

As he stands, prepared to take to the skies, he hesitates. He glances at the newly formed scar, his feathers still growing around it. What if it happens again? Grian blinks, turning his gaze away. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Scar leans against the cave wall, waving his hand. Grian gives him a withering glare, snapping his wings open. 

“It’s been a minute!” He protests. Scar gives him a melodramatic sigh, the dragon walking over to him. 

“And you woke me up at dawn just wait?” He teases. Grian’s about to shoot back a response when Scar takes his hand. “C’mon. I’ll fly with you.” 

“What?” Grian asks as Scar opens his wings. 

“Clearly you’re nervous, so I’ll fly with you.” The dragon says brightly. Grian opens his mouth to retort that no he is not nervous, just making sure that he’s prepared— 

Oh. He might be nervous. 

Scar slowly lifts off, gently tugging Grian’s arm. Grian opens his own wings and matches his pace. His muscles already ache from disuse, but he pushes through the pulsing pain. He’ll be sore tomorrow, that’s for sure. 

“I’ve got to build my strength back up.” He mutters. Scar nods, still holding his hand. 

“Just focus on me.” He says. “I won’t let you fall.” Grian clutches his hand tighter, his wings flapping as he keeps pace with Scar. 

“We’re gonna just float around the clearing.” The dragon says. “Just trust me. Focus on your wings.” Grian nods, letting Scar navigate. He tilts his wings with the wind, feeling the movements, going through the motions as Scar leads the way. 

He feels almost like a fledgling again, learning how to fly for the first time. He supposes in a way, he is. Grian’s never been grounded for more than a few days; he’s certain that he was stuck on earth this time for at least two weeks, if not more. It pains him to admit it, but of course it’s taking him time to fly again. 

“Easy.” Scar breathes as Grian falters. He nods, focusing on the movements. He slowly begins to get more comfortable, the fear from earlier dissipating. 

Scar guides him around the clearing, banking through the turns. Grian finds the longer he stays in the air, wing rushing through his hair and feathers, his confidence grows. The aching from earlier is a dull memory. Scar gently releases his hands, drifting back. Grian floats for a moment, before extending his wings and flying up. 

He pushes himself higher and higher, breaking the tree line and touching the clouds. He breaks through the minimal layer, the dawn sky turning blue the higher he gets. 

Grian breathes a small sigh of excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he flips to his back, hands outstretched as he skims the clouds and dives back down. He snaps his wings open and catches the air, slowing his descent. Scar’s already waiting on the forest floor, the dragon shielding his eyes from the sun as he watches Grian glide back down. 

Grian takes Scar hand as he lands, letting the dragon help him drift back to the forest floor. He feels exhilarated, his heart thrumming wildly with adrenaline and joy. 

As he grins at Scar, his expression falters as he sees a hint of sadness in Scar’s eyes.

“Well.” The dragon says with a small laugh. “You’re all healed up. You’re free to go.” Grian hesitates, looking back at the forest, away from the cave. He knows he should thank Scar and take off, go back and square his debt and resume where he left out. 

But he doesn’t want to. Not yet. 

“Well, I uh, maybe I should stay for a day or two.” Grian says quickly, stumbling over his words. “Just to make sure.” Scar gives him a half smile, the dragon dropping his hand. 

“That sounds good to me.” Scar says, almost sounding happy. Grian follows him back in the cave, refusing to look back at the forest. He’ll just stay for a bit longer. 

—

Grian’s been procrastinating on leaving. He isn’t sure why, but the longer he stays with Scar, the less inclined he is to take off for the city. 

He doesn’t want to face Ren. He doesn’t want to deal with his life just yet. He’s perfectly happy in this bliss, he’s come to realize. Even if it’s little more than a dream, a mirage that’ll eventually shatter, Grian is happier here than he’s been in a very long time. 

Scar has made no move to kick him out either. Even though it’s apparent that Grian is fully healed and in no danger of dying, Scar doesn’t chase Grian off or even drop hints that he wants him to leave. In fact, it’s almost been the opposite. 

Or maybe he’s just hoping for it to be that way. Scar’s probably getting impatient with him. 

“Why hello there.” Scar plops down next to Grian, seated at the maw of the cave. It’s reminiscent of the first real, tranquil conversation they had. He looks back on that memory fondly, something he didn’t expect to happen. 

“Hello, Scar.” He greets. Grian leans back, staring up at the sky. It’s impossibly blue today, clouds wishing lazily across the sapphire backdrop. The pines on the outside of the clearing reach up, deep greens touching the cerulean sky. Birds flit through the trees, singing merry songs of freedom. 

Grian thinks it’s much prettier than his city ever was. 

He loves it out here. It’s untouched by society, akin to the wilderness he used to call home. His smile falters. This can’t be like his old home, because this isn’t his new home. 

Grian looks away, studying the grey flooring. He has to make a decision soon. He has to rip himself away from this life and go back to where he belongs. 

He swallows thickly, his throat tight. He looks back up, opening his mouth to finally bring it up with Scar when he freezes. 

The birds aren’t singing anymore. Scar gives him a curious look, sensing his sudden shift. 

“Feathers?” He asks cautiously. “Is everything alright?” Grian turns his head away, narrowing his eyes. He peers around the cave, the grove behind it suddenly looking much more sinister. 

“Grian?” Scar asks again, his tone much more urgent. 

“Scar.” Grian says, doing his best to keep his voice calm, “I think someone’s here.” The dragon immediately tenses, his eyes flashing eerily similar to a hunting cat’s. Grian swears the birdsong is gone, and he can feel that crawling sensation of someone watching him. 

Scar stands up, his tail sweeping the ground. Grian faintly wonders if he’ll finally see the full extent of his curse. He has yet to see Scar as the original curse describes– and Scar has been very minimal in what he lets Grian know. 

“You’re right.” Scar whispers, turning his attention to the forest behind them. “I’ll check it out.” Before Grian can protest, he picks his way around the cave, moving silently. Grian sighs, stepping into the clearing.

He opens his wings to take off; it would be a better vantage point from the sky. But before he can, he hears a shout. Grian immediately dashes toward the sound, only for the underbrush to practically explode. 

Scar bursts out from it, throwing a red cloaked human to the ground. The intruder leaps to their feet in seconds, twisting out of the way as Scar jumps toward them. He comes to a rest at Grian’s side, his eyes narrowed as his tail lashes. 

Grian reaches for his dagger, slowly pulling it out as the human brushes themself off. The intruder turns, eyes glinting with amusement. 

“Who are you?” Scar snarls. Grian’s never seen him this on edge. He thinks back to their meeting, how easy going he’d been. He hadn’t been concerned in the slightest, yet now he seems scared. Grian’s unsettled by it, but refuses to lose his clear head. 

“Nobody.” The human says, smoothing her cloak down. She looks up, and Grian can see a jagged scar running from her eye to her cheek, looking very similar to a claw mark. 

“Then why are you here?” Scar demands. The human looks past him, keeping eye contact with Grian. 

“Hunting.” She answers smoothly. “And I think it’s coming to an end.” Grian ruffles his feathers, not liking her response in the slightest. Scar growls again, the noise predatory in nature.

“I’d recommend getting out of here.” Scar says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You’re outnumbered. And you don’t want to tangle with us.” Grian nods, trying to look intimidating. 

“You’re assuming I’m alone.” The human says, drawing her sword. As if on cue, the bushes behind him rustle. Grian turns, seeing two other figures emerge. He winces as he recognizes them. Great. 

The bandits. Of course. Grian thought he’d been rid of them, but apparently they’re still running rampant. And now either after Scar or him. 

“Look what we have here.” One of them says with a laugh. He thinks it’s the one who he almost killed — Tango? — Grian doesn’t remember—  “A bird and a dragon. That’s almost the start to a joke, don’t you think Jimmy?” The other one laughs, the sound far too calm for the situation at hand. Grian glares at him, doing his best to stay calm. His wings itch at the thought of their last encounter, the net clinging to his feathers and how close he’d come to an awful fate. 

“You are not welcome here.” Scar says coolly. “Get out.” 

The three humans aren’t deterred by his clear threat, instead joining together and encircling him and Grian. They each draw their weapons, iron scraping the sheathes. The blades glint in the harsh sun, polished silver sending a shiver down Grian’s spine. He already feels outmatched. 

Scar’s claws twitch, his eyes darting around as he watches each movement carefully. Grian flares his wings, keeping a close eye on the two bandits in particular. He won’t underestimate them again. He knows exactly how crafty they can be. 

The red cloaked human is the first to make a move. She charges at Scar, joined by one of the other bandits. Grian whirls on them, intending to help Scar fight the two off, when he feels a weight slam into his side. 

Grian yelps as he’s knocked over, one of the bandits tackling him. It’s the same one from before, the one who cornered him in the alley. The one who has a vendetta. Grian grabs his wrist before he can plunge his sword down, releasing him suddenly as he rolls out of the way. He leaps to his feet, wings fluffed up as he draws his own knife. 

“You won’t get so lucky this time.” The bandit — Jimmy, that’s his name — taunts, blue eyes shining with malice. 

“I was going to say the same to you.” Grian retorts, lunging forward. The bandit side steps, leaving Grian to pivot and block a sudden strike from his sword. He ducks away, sweeping his leg out in an attempt to trip Jimmy. He leaps back, circling behind Grian as he twists to face him. 

The bandit moves like a shark, circling and circling. He doesn’t strike immediately, instead looking for openings. Looking for weaknesses. Grian can’t give him any. The panic is setting in; he doesn’t know what the man’s next move is going to be. He grits his teeth and attacks first. His dagger makes contact with empty air, and the bandit takes the opportunity to grab his shoulder and bring his sword to Grian’s neck. Grian kicks back with his wings before he can, forcing Jimmy to release him.

The bandit wipes blood from his nose, his mask dislodged by Grian’s escape. The anger glinting in his eyes is brighter now; he clearly expected this to be an easy fight. Grian grins at him, unable to keep his smugness at bay.

“What? You scared?” He taunts, mocking the bandit’s early jibes. “ Luck finally running out?” Jimmy says nothing. Grian sees his arm twitch, the only indicator before he charges at him again, brandishing his sword with a new fury. Grian jumps to the right, only for the bandit to wheel on and stab forward. Grian catches the attack with his sword barely able to keep the point from striking his chest. 

The bandit dances back. Grian flares his wings, drifting further away from the attacker as well. He doesn’t let him circle, this time matching his movements. Jimmy jolts forward and back, trying to fake him out. Grian watches with careful eyes, waiting for him to lunge. He’s clearly trying to test his patience, wear him down until he makes a mistake. Grian’s almost ashamed to admit that it’s working. 

Jimmy moves quickly, closing the distance between the two of them. Grian prepares for an attack, blocking the first strike with ease. He keeps his gaze firmly on the bandit’s eyes, watching for any hint of his next movement. He can feel himself stepping back, being driven away from the safety of the clearing. Grian brushes the rock wall with his foot, spreading his wings instinctively. He takes off quickly, intending to soar over the bandit’s head.

But he was ready. His hand snakes out and grabs Grian’s shoe, yanking him back down to the earth. He hits the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Before he can get up, he feels weight on his chest, pinning him snuggly against the earth. 

“Sorry birdie.” The blade is pressed against his throat, almost pressed deep enough to draw blood. “But we need that ransom.” Grian scrambles against the bandit, desperately reaching for anything to defend himself with. 

It’s useless. Grian shuts his eyes, waiting for the sting, the pain, and then for nothing at all— 

The weight is knocked off of him suddenly, leaving only a thin cut where the knife had been pressed against his throat. Grian opens his eyes, sitting up sharply. 

“Oh, gods.” He breathes as he catches sight of the shadow towering over the clearing. He follows the shadow up, until he sees what– who is casting it. 

—

Scar throws the first attacker off, snarling as he swings with his claws at the second. He hits one of them with his tail, causing the red cloaked human to leap back. He lunges forward, talon catching the cloak. It tears under his claws, the human going down. 

Scar leaps forward again, only to be yanked back by the other human. He narrowly avoids his sword, although part of it catches his chest, his shirt ripping. The pain isn’t enough to be concerned about, but he hisses as he ducks out of the way. He hears the other human get up, turning quickly to press his back against the cave.

The two circle him like wolves, eager for the kill. Scar can feel the panic rising, the dragon rising. He fights it back, telling himself it’s fine, he can get out of this easily. Two humans, easy to take. 

He isn’t keen on shifting to the dragon today. Scar still isn’t sure how he’ll be around Grian. He isn’t ready to find out. But he might not have a choice. 

“Funny. I didn’t think it would be this easy to defeat a dragon.” The red cloaked human says, her eyes glinting. Scar doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he keeps his attention wholly focused on the second human. 

He seems more unsure of himself. Less confident in victory. 

Scar goes for him first. He raises his sword, only for Scar to pivot around him. He rams his wing into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Leaping over him, he spreads his wings and circles around the other human, landing behind her. 

She turns on him, only to be met with Scar’s talons catching her arm. She drops the sword suddenly, shocked by the ferocity of the attack. Scar looms over her, but before he can finish her off, he hears a pained noise. His head snaps up, and his breath catches.

Grian . Scar can see the human pressing his sword to the avian’s throat, he can see Grian trying to fight him off, but the human clearly has the upper hand. No .

He can’t let Grian die. 

Scar runs forward, as he does, he feels the familiar shift. He can feel his mind being swallowed, animalistic instinct beginning to seep through his brain. His only thoughts are to protect his treasure.

When he knocks the human away from the avian, Scar towers over him, wings flared in the sun, snarling louder than an earthquake. His talons scrape the earth, and the “dragon” consumes him.

—

“Scar.” He manages to say. A dragon. Not the “dragon” Grian’s grown used to. But a fully grown, fully fledged dragon. Green scales glittering in the sun, mixed with muddy browns and dull blues. The dragon is snarling at the bandits, hate clear in his demeanor. 

“They weren’t kidding about the dragon, boys!” The lead bandit shouts, attention completely off of Grian. The other two raise their shields, clearly prepared for battle. Scar roars again.

Grian doesn’t know how to feel. 

He watches, forgotten by the bandits. He steps away slowly, seeing the dragon attack the humans who dared intrude on his home. He watches the fight take shape, the humans working to fight off the beast. It looks straight out of a fairytale, except Grian finds himself rooting for the supposed monster. 

But he also finds himself with unshakable, absolute terror. He watches the fighting get worse, swords and teeth gnashing together in awful sounds, pained noises and angry battle cries rising through the fray. Grian watches, practically faded into the backdrop. The dragon rears his head up, throwing the red cloaked human from his back. The bandit who attacked Grian lunges for his throat. The dragon hits him aside with his claws. 

The fight drags on. He swallows thickly, his hands shaking. His vision blurs. He doesn’t want to be here, he can’t stay here. 

Grian knows what he does next is cowardice. It’s what he did when his flock was attacked, and it’s what he’s doing as Scar fights off the three bandits. 

Grian snaps his wings open and takes off, flying into the forest as fast as he can. He doesn’t stop until the roars and screams are mute, distant memories, and the birds are singing again. He has to get back to the city. 

And yet, the back of his mind begs him to turn around, to go back and help Scar. But Grian shoves the thought aside and keeps flying. He feels torn, but he has to decide. And he’s deciding to go back where he belongs. 

He’s always been more of a survivor. 

He’s always been too selfish. 

—

Grian’s wings ache when he finally lands, the outskirts of the city within sight. Cobbled towers lurch toward the horizon, scraping the top of the sky with pointed spires. The city walls wrap protectively around the town, defending it from the outside. 

It’s supposed to be Grian’s home. He’s supposed to be happy to be back here. 

And yet, all he feels is dread when he gazes on those familiar walls. They look more like a cage than anything akin to a protection.

Grian takes one hesitant step down the hill, still not breaking from the tree line. He doesn’t know why it’s suddenly so difficult to walk back through those gates. He’s told himself over and over again it would just be worse for him if he tried to leave. He has nothing waiting for him in the outside world, so why bother trying to destroy what little he has?

Grian finds himself placing emphasis on the little. He pauses again, his hands curling into fists as he feels resentment bloom in his chest. 

He thought he belonged here. He thought this is where he needs to be. Grian thought he had to stay in this city, had to try and join the society, and had to build a life that he isn’t meant to lead. The whole time he was flying back, he kept telling himself it was the right thing to do. Yet as he surveys the outskirts, Grian is slowly realizing that he is wrong. 

This is stupid. He shouldn’t be going back. 

Grian has nothing here. The thought makes him flinch, so violently that he steps backward. He stares at the walls, his mind suddenly devoid of any desire to walk toward them.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave? Wouldn’t it be easier to abandon this disaster he calls a life? Wouldn’t it be easier to walk away? 

Grian doesn’t know. He worries his lip as he stares at the cobblestone walls, unblinking and lost in his own world. He crosses his arms, foot tapping the ground. He’s suddenly reminded of how much he hates these boots. They cling to his talons, but he has to wear them. He has to hide as much of himself as he can. He has to be as human as possible.

For what? It’s not like he’s human passing either way. His wings make sure of that. 

Grian shakes his head, his chest tight. This should be a quick decision. He should walk to the gate and walk into the city, walk to Ren and ask for forgiveness, then walk on with his life. 

But why should he have to walk? His wings twitch involuntarily, gold feathers catching in the dappled sun. Grian waited so long to be able to fly again. He healed for days, itching for the chance to soar. For what? To go back to his old, monotonous, and frankly depressing life? 

And Scar. Grian looks away at the thought of the dragon, guilt eating at the corners of his mind. He ran in the middle of a fight, and now he’s seriously thinking about abandoning him all together without so much as a goodbye. 

Grian’s trying to go back to a city that wants him gone. From a city that hates him. He’s trying to run back to that, run away from the best place he’s been in years. 

Scar showed him kindness. Why is he throwing that away? Why is he trying to run from the one person who’s genuinely made him feel loved? 

Everywhere else, Grian’s met with disdain and disgust. He’s greeted with sneers and loathing, contempt and outright hate. He’s never understood it. He never will. But still, he tried to force himself into a society that will never accept him.

But Scar did. Scar, despite everything Grian did to wrong him, showed him mercy and compassion. 

And Grian is trying to throw that away. For what? Returning to a hell of his own making? 

The questions swirl around his mind, his own doubt at his former certainty chipping away. He can feel his resolve crumpling. Begging him to turn around and abandon his “home.” Grian wonders if he can even call it that. It never felt like a home, not really. 

Grian never had a chance to live the life he wanted there. Hell, he’s not had the chance for years. When the hunters destroyed his flock, Grian went to that society that did that. It was out of desperation, but he isn’t desperate anymore. He doesn’t need to stay. 

He’s felt like he’s been tied to the endless cities and towns, tied down by debt, tied down by fear. Grian tried to justify staying, tried to convince himself that the only way he could survive was to give up his past. 

No. He’s not doing that anymore. Grian takes a deep breath and backs away, turning from the cobbled walls and wooden houses, turning his back on the life he’d been forced to lead. He lets the foliage conceal him, shadowing his form as he picks his way through the woods. 

A small, nagging part of his mind reminds him of Ren. Dogwarts was still expecting his debt. They still want their dues. Ren had made it clear time and time again that they would find him wherever he ran. Grian shakes the thought off, scolding himself for his gullibility. 

They won't find him where he’s going. Grian isn’t going to let that insistent fear control his choice anymore. 

Scar’s shown him there’s more to life. He won’t stay in this cage anymore. 

Let Ren come after him. He finds he doesn’t care anymore. Grian squares his shoulders, spreading his wings again. He’s going home. 

—

“Scar?” Grian calls hesitantly, landing outside the dragon’s cave. He can see scorch marks from the fight earlier, charred earth cracking under Grian’s feet. He looks up from it, turning in a full circle as he searches for the dragon. 

“Scar?” He says again, this time raising his voice. A sudden fear seizes him, so irrational that he wants to slap himself. What if they killed him? What if they actually did it? Grian tries to shake it off, reminding himself that the last he saw from the trio was them fleeing, but they easily could’ve doubled back in the time it took for Grian to turn around and— 

No. He shuts down the train of thought. Nobody is dense enough to attack a dragon twice. Scar probably took care of them anyway. 

Grian starts walking toward the cave, ignoring the fresh scratches against the rock walls. Gods, this is agonizing. He’s shocked at how scared he is for the dragon. 

It’s illogical. But the fact that Scar isn’t here worries him. The weight of that fear presses on his chest, sinking against his heart like a stone. 

“C’mon, where are you?” Grian mutters to himself, still looking around the outsides of the cave. He knows that Scar would have responded to his yelling if he was here, but he has nothing else to do. Grian doesn’t want to leave the cave to search the forest, lest Scar comes back. But sitting here, waiting, is almost worse .

Grian paces the clearing for what feels like hours. He’s surprised he hasn’t seen Jellie either– but from his time here so far, he knows the cat likes to come and go as she pleases. Chances are, she heard the fighting and is laying low until the worst of it’s over. Grian sighs. It would almost be nice to have her company. 

It was stupid to run. But it had all been too much to handle. Perhaps if Grian had been certain he wanted to stay, if he hadn’t still been wavering on his choices, he wouldn’t have fled. But he did, and now he’s facing the consequences. The unknown results press against the peripherals of his mind as more time passes, all sorts of what-ifs blooming from the nagging worry. 

He finally forces himself to stop pacing, sitting on top of the cave. Grian dangles his legs over the edge, fingers drumming against the rock. He surveys the clearing, seeing the full extent of the damage. The only solace to his anxiety is he sees no bodies. Unless they took them all. 

Gods, he can’t believe how worried he is. No matter how much he tells himself that Scar is a dragon and it would be impossible for a couple of humans to kill him, he just doesn’t know. Dragonslayers exist. It is incredibly difficult and incredibly unlikely, but it is possible to kill a dragon. 

Grian sighs, purging the thoughts from his mind. He knows he’s in a cycle; he tells himself not to worry and then gets caught in a pit of anxiety. Grian has to shake it off. He might give himself a heart attack if he keeps this train of thought up. 

In the meantime, he kicks his boots off. He honestly doesn’t know why he didn’t do it outside the city. Grian stretches his talons for what feels like the first time in years. Maybe this’ll make forest flying just a bit easier since now he’ll be able to actually grab the branches. 

Grian stares intently out into the woods for what feels like hours. The sun slowly arcs down toward the horizon, the sky shifting from brilliant blue to gold, orange hues beginning to color the atmosphere. It’s a beautiful sunset; but it just contributes to Grian’s worry. 

Scar should be back by now. He shouldn’t be out there for this long. Maybe he should go check the city and see if anyone is singing songs of a recently-slayed dragon. Grian fumbles with his options, mentally weighing each one. 

Just as he decides to stand up, the trees rustle. Grian immediately perks up, hopping down from the cave roof. His talons click against the rock, a sound he hasn’t heard in years . He slowly circles toward the noise, not entirely sure what made it. As much as he wants to hope it was Scar, it could be anything. 

“Scar?” He calls, his voice quivering ever so slightly. “Is that you?” The trees rustle again, and Grian thinks he hears someone call back. He stands up a little straighter, trying to curb his excitement. For all he knows, he could be hallucinating from exhaustion and false hope. He has to see Scar to know he’s okay. 

“Scar!” Grian says again, this time more certain. 

“Grian?” A familiar voice meets his shout, soon followed by a familiar face popping out from the bushes. Grian’s wings sag with relief as Scar picks his way out of the brush. His shirt is in tatters, his face scuffed, but his eyes are sparkling and he’s alive. 

“Scar.” Grian manages out, the solace so strong he’s exhausted by it. He manages a smile at Scar, breathing deeply as his nerves relax for the first time that day. He starts to step forward, only for Scar to run at him, practically leaping toward him. 

“You’re not dead!” Grian’s swept up in a tight hug, Scar practically lifting him off his feet. Grian yelps indignitaly, but can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He says. Scar releases him, the relief in his eyes palatable. 

“I thought—“ He starts to say, rubbing his face. “I thought they killed you. Or something. I lost them in the woods, and then you were gone too.” Grian’s heart twists with guilt. He hadn’t meant to put Scar through so much panic. 

“I’m so sorry.” Grian says quickly, unable to hold Scar’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” 

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Scar shakes his head, still smiling. Grian wants to cry on the spot, but instead ops for a disbelieving laugh and smile. Scar laughs too, before hugging him again. Grian rolls his eyes, hugging the dragon back. 

“You dragons.” He says lightly, his words teasing, “so clingy.” 

“Only with our treasure.” Scar quips back. Grian blinks, surprised at his words. 

“Treasure?” He parrots. Scar nods, eyes still sparkling. 

“Treasure.” He affirms. Grian feels his smile grow, this time stepping out of the hug and turning away to wipe his eyes. Yep. Right decision to come back. He takes a steadying breath, keeping his emotions at bay. It’s so rare he finds himself happy, that he finds himself bursting with joy instead of sadness. 

It’s a nice change of pace. Grian could definitely get used to this. 

He turns back to Scar, noticing for the first time a gash on his forehead. Grian stares at him incredulously, wondering how long that was there. Scar, seeming oblivious to Grian’s sudden concern, is still grinning. 

“Scar.” Grian says, unable to keep a bit of amusement out of his voice. “Is your head alright?” Scar blinks, reaching up and touching the scratch. He winces, before nodding. 

“Never better!” He declares brightly. Grian lifts a brow, unconvinced. 

“Did that happen during the fight?” He asks, placing his hands on his hips. Scar purses his lips, nervously chuckling. 

“It was three on one…” He trails off sheepishly. 

“And you didn’t clean it up?” Grian continues. 

“Hey! I was looking for you!” Scar protests. “I had to make sure they didn’t pull a fast one.” Grian hums, another burst of guilt seizing him. He pushes it away; he’ll have time to feel guilty over his actions later.  

“I’m flattered I was important enough that you neglected your health, but I would’ve really rather you took care of yourself.” He says, not unkindly. Scar throws his hands up in the air, looking very exasperated. 

“That’s what I kept saying to you!” He says with a dramatic sigh. Grian can feel a flush creeping up his face, laughing softly. 

“Alright.” He says finally, conceding his point. “I can see how that would be annoying.” Scar gives him a satisfied smirk. 

“Does this mean you’ll listen to me if you get hurt again?” The dragon prods. Grian rolls his eyes, shoving him lightly. 

“We’ll just have to keep each other in check.” He replies, grabbing Scar’s arm. The dragon looks mildly surprised, tilting his head. Grian meets his gaze, equally confused. “What?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Scar asks, his voice hesitant. 

“I don’t know. Take care of each other? Make sure we don’t die?” Grian offers with a shrug. 

“So.” Scar begins to ask, breaking into a grin, “does this mean you want to stay?” Grian gives him a half-smile. 

“Maybe for a few more days.” He says, although he has a suspicion it might be a bit longer than that. “Now come on, let’s get you patched up.” 

Chapter Text

When Grian wakes up, he’s surprised by the warmth. 

He’s used to waking up cold, the streets always having an unshakable chill. But the cave is warm, staying heated throughout the night. 

Grian’s been sleeping in the main cave, taking one of the random chairs that dots the floor. It’s not the most comfortable, but it works. Scar’s asked if he wants a proper bed or something, but Grian’s declined. So far. He’s still working on the “ashamed to ask for any assistance” mentality. 

Still, it’s much more comfortable than anything he’s used to. Grian rolls out of the chair, yawning as he stretches his wings. It’s nice to wake up without fear, without the constant terror that this might be his last day waking up. Instead, he can leisurely take his time, fully shaking off the lingering effects of sleep before having to start his day. 

Grian crosses the cave, humming to himself. He supposes while he’s up he should try and do something productive. Maybe make some food. That might be nice. 

He hits a roadblock almost immediately. Grian can’t find any food. 

He looks through the entire main cave, behind and through some of the random boxes, in crannies, everywhere he can think of. Grian can even see the perfect spot to store those supplies, but it’s empty. He even risks poking his head in the horde, trying to see if Scar deemed it valuable enough to guard with his treasure. 

Nothing. It’s practically a wasteland. 

He sits back on his heels, circling the cave again. Grian continues to search, although it’s just him looking in the same place over and over again. He feels through some of the nooks more thoroughly, even though he knows that there’s nothing here. 

He hears shuffling from one of the off-caves as Scar wakes up, the dragon eventually appearing in the main cave. He barely bats an eye at Grian’s searching. 

“Morning, feathers.” He greets. Grian glanced back at him, on his tiptoes as he feels one of the topmost shelves. 

“Good morning.” He returns the pleasantries, still in vain trying to find even a crumb. Scar watches him, and Grian can practically feel the amusement rolling off him in waves. 

“Whatcha doing?” Scar asks finally. 

“Scar.” Grian says, stepping back from the “shelves.” “Where do you keep your food?” Grian figures he should know where it is by now. Scar had mostly prepared meals or brought back various fruits and vegetables, but Grian can’t find anything stored anywhere. It’s mildly frustrating. 

“About that.” Scar says with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t really preserve food.” Grian turns to him, blinking. 

“Why?” He asks, incredulous. The idea of not storing any extra food is absurd to him. Scar coughs into his arm. 

“I usually just… hunt? Or forge? And I used to live by myself?” Grian sighs, though the action lacks any malice. He turns back to the natural crevices in the cave wall, nodding to himself. 

“We’ll have to fix that.” He mutters out loud. “Do you have anything we can eat? At all?” Scar ponders his question, before jumping toward the cave door. 

“I’ll just go get some stuff I’ll be back soon bye!” His words are a jumbled mess, to which Grian can’t help but laugh. He had meant to do something nice for Scar, but it seems that it’s turning into a group effort. Though Grian doesn’t know what he was expecting. If Scar lets him, he might modify parts of the cave to make it a little more… homey. 

Grian waits for Scar to return, poking around the cave. Most of it is an extension of the horde, with random trinkets and furniture strung around the room. He really needs to ask Scar about how he got the chairs. There has to be a story there. 

Scar shuffles back into the cave a little while later, setting an array of plants on the cave’s floor. Grian kneels down next to them, examining the berries and various other vegetables he managed to find. He shouldn’t be surprised; they are in a forest. These plants that Grian used to think were luxuries grow everywhere here.

“Do you just gather food every day?” Grian asks. Scar shakes his head, still looking sheepish over the state of his food supplies. Grian doesn’t blame him; honestly, he has no idea how he would treat storage if he lived with a flock instead bouncing from human town to human town. 

“No. Well, yes. Sometimes, Jellie brings back food.” The cat meows, as if in confirmation. She sits in the corner of the cave, as if she had just arrived. Which she must’ve, considering Grian hadn’t seen her before. She flicks an ear before padding out of the cave. Grian smiles over at her, chuckling softly. 

“Not surprising.” He says, turning back to the dragon. “She’s really attached to you, huh?” Scar nods proudly. 

“I have that effect on people.” He declares, flopping one hand dramatically across his forehead. “Nobody can resist my natural charisma.” Grian rolls his eyes, examining the various plants Scar brought back. 

“Sure.” He says, mind already on the next topic. “I’m thinking you can use these crevices to hold food.” Grian runs his hand over the hollowed cave wall. Scar nods, listening intently. 

“And since you can make fire, preserving some of the more perishable items shouldn’t be too bad.” Grian can admit that his time in the human cities served him well. He knows how to make basic meals and foods. Maybe he can snag a pot or something in the future or start tending a garden. 

Long term plans. He’s still new here. 

“Oh, this’ll make winter much easier.” Scar says thoughtfully. “Less of a struggle to find things.” Grian nods. He’s happy it’s summer; that gives him and Scar six months to prepare. Winters were hard enough in the cities alone, and out in the wilderness could easily prove to be much worse. 

Grian turns from Scar, taking some of the fruits and arranging them on the shelves. It’s  all a hypothetical for now, but he can start to lay out what it might look like. 

He enjoys this, the idea of having a project. One that he wants to do, instead of being forced to take jobs out of pure necessity. Grian wants to contribute here. It’s a nice feeling. 

Grian shifts slightly, his wings fluttering behind him. He winces at the sudden discomfort, so sharp it makes his vision blur momentarily. He shakes his head, swaying lightly. His wings hurt. That’s not good. That’s never good. 

“Hey, are your wings okay?” Grian snaps his wings back, pivoting quickly to face Scar directly. He doesn’t need to look back at his feathers to know what he’s talking about. They’ve been a mess since he arrived and haven’t gotten better. Grian can feel all the dirt and grime in what feels like each joint, his wings itching and stinging with the sensations. 

But that doesn’t mean he wants it pointed out. The opposite, in fact. 

Grian’s always hated comments around his wings. Outside of most avians getting very upset when the state of their wings is brought up, Grian’s always been sensitive about the topic. Even compliments feel threatening, demeaning in some sick way. So he can’t stand the comments. They make his skin crawl, and make him even more aware of whatever problem his wings are having at that moment. 

Grian knows he needs to preen his wings. Badly. But at this point, the task is so daunting he’s afraid to even get started. Not to mention the state it’ll leave him in. 

“They’re fine.” He says in a clipped tone, turning away. Grian can feel his cheeks heat up with shame; the fact that his wings are so noticeably bad bothers him. 

“Are you sure?” Scar asks. “There’s a twig right here—“ Grian whirls on him, catching his hand before he can touch his wings. Scar freezes, meeting Grian’s furious gaze. 

“Don’t.” He snaps, his voice deathly quiet. “Don’t touch my wings.” Scar nods, looking almost frightened. Grian lets his arm go, stepping away. His heart is pounding in chest, so wildly he practically feels it rattling around. He slowly steps away, legs trembling from the burst of emotion. 

“Grian?” Scar asks, his voice gentle. “Is everything okay?” Grian looks around the cave, sweat beading his brow. A mess, all a mess, he’s a mess. 

“I need to get some air.” He mutters, brushing past Scar. He keeps his gaze firmly on the ground as he exits, ignoring the look of confusion and distress that bores into his back. He feels scrutinized, he just needs to breathe. 

Grian sits down in the clearing, steading his breathing. Slowly, he extends his wing, surveying all the dust caking the inner layer alone. He runs one hand through the feathers, wincing as a chunk of dirt dislodges in his hand. His wing quivers with the effort of keeping it extended, the stinging pain making it hard to focus.

He drops it with a sigh, running one hand through his hair. Grian could honestly cry. He knows he has to take care of his wings, but doesn’t want to ask for help. 

But he can’t do it on his own. Grian exhales slowly, looking back toward the cave. Grian supposes this will be the biggest act of trust he can give. 

—

Scar’s never preened wings before. Hell, this is the first time he’s actually seen an avian, let alone get close to one’s wings. But when Grian approached him after breakfast, he could see the genuine distress in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.” Grian says, sounding sincerely apologetic. “It’s– my wings– they’re a sensitive topic.” Scar raises a hand, shaking his head. 

“No need to worry.” He assures. “I get it. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Grian gives him a half smile. 

“I appreciate that.” He says earnestly. “But you were right. My wings…” Grian trails off, the avian looking away as if he’s ashamed of something. Scar waits patiently, not wanting to force the avian to answer anything he doesn’t want to. 

Grian turns back to him, eyes apologetic. He opens his mouth then closes it, holding up a hand, asking him to wait. Scar still says nothing. He won’t rush the avian into talking about something that’s clearly bothering him. 

“My wings are a mess.” Grian says quickly, his words blurring together. “And I’m overwhelmed. Trying to preen them on my own.” Scar nods, taking in the information. 

“Okay.” He says. Grian glances back at his feathers, which Scar can see from his spot that some of them are visibly twisted out of shape. The avian turns back to him, wringing his hands together. 

“Will you help me preen them?” Grian asks, his voice quiet. Scar isn’t sure he heard him correctly; he knows that an avian asking someone else to preen their wings is a huge sign of trust. 

“Pardon?” Scar clarifies, still not sure he believes what he heard. 

“Can you help me preen my wings?” Grian repeats, this time louder. Scar nods instantly. 

“Of course.” He responds brightly. “I’ve never done it before, so—“ 

“I can teach you.” Grian says quickly, his wings twitching. “I’d just like to get this over with.” 

“Okay.” Scar says, making sure his voice is as tender as possible. He can tell this has weight for Grian, something he’s only doing because he has to. “Where do you wanna do it?” 

“Main cave is fine.” Grian mumbles, adjusting his sleeves. He sits down in the center of the floor, talons folded neatly. Scar settles down behind him as Grian extends his wings. “Just…” he trails off, hesitating. 

“Yeah?” Scar asks patiently. Grian visibly swallows, his face creased with worry.

“Preening left—  leaves me vulnerable.” Grian mutters, still looking very uncomfortable. “I hate doing it. I’m always scared that when I’m… out of it, something will happen.” Scar practically feels his heart twist in his chest. That isn’t right at all. Grian shouldn’t have to be afraid to take care of himself.

“I promise you that nothing will happen while I’m around, okay?” Scar assures gently. Grian nods, casting him a genuinely soft look. 

“Okay.” He says, gentle smile across his face. Scar can still the anxiety written in his expression, but he still splays his wings, feathers extended fully. 

“Woah.” Scar breathes, staring at them. Grian winces. 

“That bad?” He asks, shame creeping into his voice. Scar shakes his head. 

“No.” He says, mesmerized by the seemingly endless swath of colors. “They’re beautiful.” 

“You think so?” Grian asks, and Scar is surprised to hear the blatant shock in his voice.

“I do.” Scar affirms, pulling his gaze off Grian’s wings to meet his eyes. “I think everything about you is beautiful.” Grian doesn’t reply, but his wings flutter ever so slightly. Scar smirks. It’s funny to see the avian flustered; he tries to hide it, but he honestly does a terrible job at it. 

“Anyway.” Grian says, “The most important thing is to clean all the dirt out. And straightening my feathers so they don’t break or anything. Make sure to pull out broken feathers.” 

“Will it hurt?” Scar asks nervously. 

“No.” Grian replies earnestly. “It’s the opposite. The broken feathers might sting, but otherwise preening is… it’s fine.” Scar nods. Grian turns away, sitting perfectly still. “You can start whenever.” 

Scar hesitantly touches Grian’s left wing. The avian stiffens, visibly forcing himself to relax. He nods once, not even looking back at him. Scar begins to comb his hand through, feeling the dirt that dislodges from his touch. 

He gets to work, moving slowly at first. The last thing he wants to do is accidentally hurt Grian. Scar meticulously checks each feather, careful to move at an even pace. As he continues cleaning, it slowly gets easier. More natural. Grian sometimes flexes his wing when a piece of muck is cleared or sighs softly when a feather is slotted back into place. 

The first chirp is met with an embarrassed twitch of Grian’s wings. Scar, while mildly surprised, ignores it, smiling to himself. Scar continues to clean the feathers, careful to clean the grime without pulling out any healthy feathers. He can’t begin to imagine how uncomfortable Grian must’ve been, all the dirt dislodged by his hands enough to fill a barrel. He continues on, straightening the crooked feathers.

The avian chirps again when Scar scrapes a particularly large chunk of dirt. He imagines it’s from the tree, but given the implication of Grian’s neglect of his wings, it could’ve been there for much longer. 

The longer Scar preens his wings, the more vocal and relaxed Grian becomes. The occasional chirp turns into a variety of cooing, trilling, and chirping. The avian also moves closer, Scar chuckling softly.

It was nice to see Grian this relaxed. He hopes that this proves to him once and for all that Scar just wanted to protect and help him. He understands the big risk Grian’s taking by allowing him to preen his wings. Scar takes it in stride, making sure to clean every single speck of dirt and adjust every feather perfectly. He’s careful around the new scar, careful not to touch that area. He could be paranoid, but he doesn’t even want to risk hurting Grian. 

As Scar sits back, Grian folds his wings in. He’s still cooing, his movements less stiff and face softened into a delirious smile. Scar grins at him as the avian turns to look at him, round eyes blinking slowly. 

“All better.” Scar says with a thumbs up. “How you feeling?” Grian doesn’t answer right away, adjusting his wings just so. Scar nervously wrings his hands together. Maybe he did make a mistake. 

Scar’s suddenly surprised when the avian leans back, practically falling into him. He looks tired, but all the stress and worry lines melted away in his euphoric state. The avian chirps softly, the noise warm. 

Scar can’t help but purr. The noise rumbles in the back of his throat, so sudden he didn’t expect it. It’s been so long since he’s purred, since he had a reason to. But now he finds himself smiling, feeling light. Feeling happy. 

“You c’n purr?” The words are slurred, Grian’s question full of amusement. His eyes flutter open briefly, lazy smile still present on his face. Scar chuckles, his face heating up. 

“Yeah.” He manages out, forcing the low rumbling to stop. “It’s part of the curse.” 

“I don’t think it’s part of any curse.” Grian declares, his words remarkably clear. “I think it’s cute.” Scar blinks, his tail twitching. 

“Isn’t that nice, we affirm each other’s weird noise quirks.” Scar says with another laugh. His purring involuntarily resumes, Grian closing his eyes again. Scar isn’t surprised when his breathing even out and he falls asleep in his arms. 

“Someone was tired, huh?” He murmurs. Scar doesn’t want to move, afraid to wake the avian. He’s pretty sure that this is the first peaceful sleep Grian’s gotten in a long time— who is he to disrupt it? Besides, he has nowhere better to be.

Scar’s perfectly happy with all he has here.

—

Honestly, Ren had quit caring about the debt. Sure, he in passing put a bounty on the avian’s head, but he didn’t assume anyone to take it too seriously. After all, Ren just assumed he was dead and did it for his own formality’s sake. 

He had heard from Scott that Grian was desperate. That he was thinking of hunting the dragon. And when he vanished from town and didn’t return, Ren assumed he met his end at the claws of the beast. A shame, but not unsurprising. Ren had always been impressed he’d lasted as long as he had.

Then again, a lot of people would say the same about Ren. Surviving a pack of werewolves supposedly unscarred, local spellmaster, and generally regarded as the “defender of the city,” he’s surprised he isn’t six feet under either. But Ren didn’t get to his position by sitting still. He worked hard to rise to where he is now. 

He also supposes his affliction is easier to hide than an avian’s. Regardless, Ren has made a life for himself. He’s well off and losing one insignificant debtor realistically impacts him very little. 

But sitting in the tavern, Ren realizes a much bigger game is at play. An opportunity, a discovery . 

Ren sits with Martyn, neither of them speaking. Ren likes to come to the tavern to scope out prospective business partners, buyers, or even targets. The tavern is central to every affair in town. If Ren wants information, this is the place to be. He listens for an opportunity, patiently waiting through the night for a chance to arise. 

“I dunno about tonight.” Martyn shifts in his seat, Ren’s right hand man glancing around. “It seems like it's only the regulars.” 

“The night’s young.” Ren chides. Martyn sighs, slumping forward. 

“I barely slept last night.” Martyn complains. “I was busy with the moon and all–” Ren shushes him, waving his hand to silence him. He appreciates Martyn, but he doesn’t want any mention of the previous night’s entanglements brought up in any manner. To his credit, Martyn quits talking, but still looks surly. 

Ren sighs. He’ll probably send Martyn home early tonight. He can take care of himself either way, and Martyn is right. He’s owed a night of proper rest. 

“Just a little bit longer.” He promises. Martyn nods curtly. He goes back to listening, his eyes half shut. Ren chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Maybe Martyn will just fall asleep here instead. Ren turns his attention back to the tavern itself, conversations swirling around the space. Picking out the best bits to listen in on has never been a struggle for Ren. A lot of the talking simmers down to white noise, mindless chattering that has no real relevance to what he wants. 

He just has to be patient. At the very least, he’ll get some interesting city gossip tonight. 

“It was always a stupid idea.” Ren perks his ears, straining to hear the conversation. There are two men sitting at a nearby table, conversing in hushed, angry tones. Both of them are clearly battered, exhausted from whatever journey they returned from. Interesting. Ren stands up, slowly inching his way over to them. He wants to hear more before he interjects. 

“Did you really think it was going to go any other way?” The second man asks, dejectedly slumped against the table. “Seriously Jimmy, we were hunting a bird who was rumored to have gone after a dragon.” Ren stills. So someone had taken the bounty seriously. 

“How was I supposed to know he made friends with the bloody beast?” The first one– Jimmy– exclaims. “Tango. I’m not a prophet.” Ren isn’t sure he’s hearing the words correctly. Friend with a dragon? Impossible. Dragons are solitary creatures. And if Grian was after its treasure or the beast itself, there’s no way he would’ve survived. 

“And clearly you lack any sense. Pearl was right when she stormed off.” Tango retorts. “You kept attacking that thing. Which only became that thing because you attacked the avian!” Jimmy audibly groans, pressing his head into his hands. 

“That was the bounty we were after!” He snaps. “The bird! Not the dragon!” Ren stares at the two, incredulous. This can’t seriously be true. But if it is, then things are about to get very interesting. 

“Did you maybe think that incapacitating the dragon - thing should have been our first move?” Tango demands. 

“I thought that getting the avian and just running would’ve worked.” Jimmy grumbles. Tango sighs, looking on the verge of a mental breakdown. 

“Well, there’s our problem.” He mumbles through his hands. “Communication.” Ren bites back a laugh. Given the circumstances, he finds these two mildly comical. He can’t help but agree with Tango. 

Nor can he help but get an idea from him. 

Ren hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. The dragon had been little more than a rumor, a story used to keep children in bed and give fools an errand to chase. But clearly, the beast existed. Ren thinks he could make use of it. 

He hates to admit it, but it’s been harder to keep his own secrets from the public eye. As his business grows, as his influence spreads, competitors are eager to find whatever dirt they can on him. Some of his personal details would be devastating if they were to be revealed. But perhaps, if Ren were to architect the downfall of the dragon, the public opinion of him would be overwhelmingly positive– and stay that way. 

Grian being acquaintances with the dragon is also interesting. Perhaps Ren could kill two birds with one stone. Settle the debt and become a city hero, all while protecting himself. 

All Ren needs to do is get the two men to lead him to the dragon. Which is arguably the hardest part, given how thoroughly defeated they clearly were. 

At the very least, Ren is a trier. He’ll hound the two to help him, until they finally cave if it comes to it. 

“Gentlemen.” Ren says, clearing his throat as he walks over. Jimmy’s head snaps up, immediate distrust in his gaze. Tango is a little slower to move, but still meets his gaze with exhausted, irritated eyes. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion.” 

“How nice.” Jimmy mutters, obviously hostile. “Can we help you?” Ren grins at him. 

“Yes, actually.” He continues. Ren keeps his voice light. In order to keep these two on board, he has to be as non-threatening as possible. “I need your help.” 

“Don’t say it.” Tango groans, already sensing where the conversation was about to turn. Ren snaps his fingers, acting as though he forgot an important piece of information. 

“Did I forget to introduce myself?” He asks, knowing full well he held the information until he felt the time was right. “Apologies. I’m Ren.” 

“As in, the head of Dogwarts?” Jimmy asks, sounding mildly surprised. “Fancy meeting you here.” Ren smirks, nodding. Good. His status certainly will add weight to his proposition. Already, he sees Jimmy give Tango a side-eye, before turning back to Ren. 

“So you went after the avian I posted a bounty for, yes?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“Yeah.” Jimmy answers, shrugging. “Didn’t exactly go to plan.” Tango snorts, hiding his expression behind his hand. Ren ignores the action, instead focusing on Jimmy. He’ll be the easier one to sway, he’s almost certain of it. 

“But you ran into a dragon?” He continues. Tango crosses his arms, eyes flickering. Jimmy nods hesitantly. 

“What about it?” He asks cautiously. “Do you even believe us?” 

“I do.” Ren says with a smile. “It must have been quite the experience.” He circles around the table, placing his hand on Tango’s shoulder. The other man flinches, yanking away. Jimmy glares at him. 

“It was.” Jimmy says coolly. “And we’d prefer to leave it alone.” Ren tsks, shaking his head slightly.

“I understand.” Ren says. “Truly. But boys, have you considered the possibility that maybe you were just… ill-prepared?” 

“I think that sums it up nicely.” Tango snaps sarcastically. “Neither of us were expecting a dragon.”

“Maybe all you needed was more preparation. More support.” Ren offers. “Both of which I can offer.” Jimmy barks out a laugh, sounding genuinely amused. 

“Are you suggesting we go back to that death trap?” He asks, mocking sneer across his face. “Because if so, you’re on your own.” Ren holds up his hand. 

“I’m not asking you to get involved.” He says. “I’m asking you to lead me there.” Jimmy and Tango both start laughing. Ren patiently waits for the laughter to die down, walking to stand at the front of the table again. 

“You can’t be serious.” Jimmy retorts. Ren shrugs. He respects the hesitance in the two. He’s frankly impressed they made it back from the dragon in one piece. All the more reason to try and loop them in. 

“I am. I want to hunt this beast.” He says, ignoring the way Jimmy’s face falls back to his tense mask. “I just need to find it. You know where it is. So why don’t we go find this dragon of yours?” Ren asks, leaning against the table. Tango gives him an incredulous look. 

“Are you insane?” He asks bluntly. “Do you have a death wish?” Ren snorts, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Maybe.” He chides, standing up straight. “But if we have a big group, we could take the beast.” Jimmy leans back, looking thoughtful. Tango glances over at him, his demeanor darkening. 

“You can't seriously be considering this.” His partner says, looking rather worn out at the prospect. Ren grins. All he has to do is convince one of them. And it seems Jimmy is quite willing to assist him. 

“You’ll get Dogwarts to help?” Jimmy asks, eyes flashing with a challenge. Ren grins at him, placing his hand over his heart. He gives him a stark nod. 

“We have stakes in this too.” Ren explains. “We’d — I’d be more than willing to provide assistance.” Jimmy looks over at Tango, almost pleading with him. Tango buries his head in his hands. 

“Why do you want to do this?” He mumbles. “There are easier jobs! Ones that are less deadly!” Jimmy shakes his shoulder. 

“Because think of the reward.” Jimmy argues. “And getting revenge for those… defeats.” Tango sighs, slumping back in the chair. 

“You were just opposed to this five minutes ago.” He protests weakly. 

“We don’t have to fight it.” Jimmy points out, casting a glance at Ren. “Right?”

“Correct.” He vows. Ren is being honest; he doesn’t need these two to join the attack. All he needs is the location. 

“And we get paid?” Tango asks, leaning forward, hands clasped neatly on the table. Ren smiles. He’s surprised they hadn’t asked sooner. 

“Of course.” Ren says, placing his right hand over his heart. “Your services will be compensated.” Tango purses his lips, before glancing over at Jimmy. 

“You’re sure?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah.” Jimmy affirms. Tango sighs. 

“Fine.” He says starkly. “But if you get us killed, I will be haunting you.” Jimmy laughs, the sound surprisingly tender. Ren finds the exchange almost heartwarming. 

“It’ll be fine.” He assures. Jimmy turns back to Ren, standing up and extending his hand. “You get your men. We’ll lead you back to the lair.” Ren grins, taking his hand and shaking it once. 

“Wonderful. I’ll meet you at the city gates at dawn.” Ren walks away from the two, leaving them to process what just happened. Martyn waits for him at their table, looking mildly horrified. 

“The dragon ?” He hisses the second Ren sits back down. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Ah, but you’re forgetting something.” Ren counters Martyn. The plan already begins clicking into place, pieces coming together to form a masterpiece. “The bird.” 

“So?” Martyn shrugs, looking confused. “What about him?” 

“The dragon clearly hasn’t killed him.” Ren says, fingers drumming against the table. “Meaning we could have some leverage.” Martyn lifts a brow. 

“What do we have to gain from this?” He prods. 

“Citywide glory. Treasure. You name it.” Ren lists. “Less scrutiny.” Martyn hums. He ponders Ren’s words, before bowing his head in defeat. He shakes it with a small chuckle, before rising to meet his gaze. 

“You’re insane.” He says. “You know that?” 

“So I’ve been told.” Ren says, adjusting his glasses. 

“This has a lot of risks.” Martyn continues. 

“But think of the rewards .” Ren counters. 

“I hope this doesn’t get us killed.” Martyn mutters. 

“Not if we play our cards right.” Ren smiles, leaning forward. Martyn sighs. 

“Alright. I’ll get my affairs in order then prepare.” He says, standing up. “Let’s hope you’re right.” Ren grins at him. 

“I usually am.” He says, clapping Martyn’s back. “Go get some rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” 

Chapter Text

“Surely we’re almost there.” Ren says, less of a question and more of a comment. Jimmy glances back at him with a terse nod, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Tango shoots a glance at him, as if sensing the tension rising. 

Jimmy knew working with Ren would be frustrating, but he didn’t expect to get so irritated so quickly. Scott had warned him that Ren could be overbearing at times, kind of like a dog with a bone when he had a task. He’s supposedly hyper-focused on whatever he needs to get done, for better or for worse.

Right now, Jimmy’s leaning toward that worse. 

Leading Ren and his small army to the dragon was his choice, granted, but maybe Jimmy should have thought things through before he accepted. In his defense, Ren was persuasive and promised retribution. He was keen on getting paid to finish the job, especially if said job was reduced to him just pointing at a cave and saying “good luck.”

Although, he can tell that Tango's nervous. His partner keeps wringing his hands together, casting looks at the sky as if the dragon might drop down on top of them. Jimmy doesn’t blame him. He’d fought the dragon when he was less… dragon-y and watched it transform before his eyes. All while Jimmy had gone after the avian. 

That stupid bird. 

Jimmy shakes it off, huffing. It doesn’t matter. That avian is lucky, pure and simple. How was Jimmy supposed to know he made friends with a dragon? It should have been an easy hit. Track the avian down– which they did, especially with the help of Pearl – and take him back, dead or alive. But now they’ve gotten themselves tangled in this big mess, all because they stumbled on the dragon. 

Things never needed to be this complicated. Sure, living a life on the run isn’t ideal, but usually they make it work. Usually. 

It’s Jimmy’s fault that he and Tango ended up where they are now. They’ve had to resort to thievery and bounties to stay afloat, pay off the soldiers, and whatever other curveballs are thrown their way. 

Jimmy finds the “mythical beast hunting” disgusting at its core, but he can’t deny it’s the quickest way to make money. Money triumphs morals nowadays, so he’s shoved his so far down his heart that he barely flinches when a job is done anymore. It’s kill or be killed, sacrifice or be sacrificed.

It’s a depressing way to view the world, but he is what he was made. Tango and him both know the costs if they fail. They both know the costs if they aren’t selfish, if they can’t do what must be done. 

So Jimmy keeps walking. He’ll lead this entire army to the dragon. He doesn’t care what happens. He only needs one of them to make it out to get paid. The thought isn’t exactly pleasant, but it’s the bleak truth.

There’s no way Jimmy’s going to face that beast again. He’s just going to watch, let it ride out. He hopes Ren wins, sure, but he just doesn’t know. Dragons are unpredictable and strong. Even with the mini army that Ren managed to raise, it’s dicey in Jimmy’s opinion. 

Tango clearly feels the same way. He keeps throwing worried glances back, silently taking notes on each volunteer that dared to show up. Each time he turns away, the worry lines on his face deepens. Jimmy sighs. At least both of them clearly have similar opinions. 

If things get hairy, run. Hope someone survives. Get paid and skip town since this one seems to be nothing but bad luck. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tango whispers, his voice barely audible. Jimmy nods once, picking his way over a fallen tree. 

“Think of the reward.” He says softly. Tango huffs, sliding off the tree.

“That’s what you always say.” He points out, his partner clearly unhappy with the current situation. Jimmy doesn’t blame him. Tango had argued with him about when they left the tavern. Jimmy had convinced him it would be worth it– or so he thought. Tango’s expression conveys the second thoughts he’s having. Jimmy wishes he could back out, for his sake, but they’re too deep in the woods. The best thing to do is stick it out. 

“I know.” Jimmy murmurs. “But we don’t have to fight it. We can run whenever you want, okay?” Tango purses his lips, but nods curtly. 

Jimmy turns back to the path, mentally noting the broken branches. They’ve almost made it. Jimmy can feel his heart starting to beat faster and faster, a sign of his fear beginning to clamp down on his chest. Gods, he does not want to be here. But he tells himself what he told Tango, repeating it like a mantra. 

The reward. Skipping town. Stabilized for just a little longer. 

The tree line slowly begins to thin, great pines giving way to a mini, circular meadow. Jimmy stops just short of where it breaks. He shifts, planting himself firmly behind a tree. Tango does the same, clinging to his side. Jimmy gives him the most reassuring smile he can muster. 

It’s alright, he tries to say. Tango gives him a half smile in return. 

“Well?” Ren says, his voice notably quieter. Jimmy faces him, extending one arm toward the cave that looms at the edge of the meadow. Your funeral, he thinks as he gives Ren a thin lipped smile. 

“Welcome to the dragon’s lair.” 

–

Grian can see him, standing at the edge of the clearing. Red cloak thrown over his shoulder, sword in hand, planted in the dirt. He stares forward, directly at the cave. His glasses abandoned, his merciless eyes staring into the inky abyss where Grian stands just out of sight.

It’s just like his nightmares. 

Scar stands silently at his side, the dragon having been the first to wake Grian up and whisper pained warnings of unwanted visitation. Grian rose quickly, ready to fight until he saw who was waiting. 

Of course. Of course Ren’s here. 

He feels like he’s going to throw up. 

“Scar.” Grian breathes, his voice shaky. “I'm so sorry.” He manages the apology, his stomach turning even more as he speaks. Scar glances at him, cleary confused. 

“It— do you—“ The question hangs in the balance, unspoken words lingering in the atmosphere. Grian nods. 

Scar doesn’t press for answers. He just takes Grian’s hand and squeezes it once. 

“Don’t worry.” He murmurs. “It’ll be okay.” Grian wants to believe him. But he can see the shadows behind Ren and knows he is not alone. 

Jellie stalks from the cave entrance, the giant cat practically appearing out of nowhere. Grian shoots her a glance. It’s almost worse that she’s around for this. 

This should not be happening. Ren should not be standing at the clearing. 

But he is. And Grian knows him and Scar and Jellie have to face him. He knows he has to step out of the cave and fight. Ren isn’t going to leave. Either way, there’s a fight looming. Scar gently tugs him forward. 

“We’ll drive them away.” He says with a small smile. “Don’t worry.” Grian nods. He wants to believe him, but somehow can’t fully bring himself to. 

He knows Ren. He knows he won’t relent until he gets what he wants. But he still walks out with Scar, meeting Ren’s gaze with as much hate as he can muster.

“Hello, Grian.” Ren greets him first, giving him a wave. “Fancy seeing you alive.” Grian can’t even muster a tight lipped smile. He just stares at him, resisting the urge to step behind Scar.

The dragon clearly senses the tension. He lifts his chin, wings flaring slightly. Grian exhales shakily, his gaze drifting to the ground.  

“Why are you here?” Scar asks pointedly. Ren lifts his gaze, shield still at his side. 

“I think you know.” He retorts. Grian notes the sheer amount of men with him, lining his side and some still shaded by the tree line. A creeping sensation of fear begins to crawl up his spine. A bad feeling, a worry that Scar was wrong about it being okay. 

“To slay me? To take my treasure?” Scar replies, dark humor clouding his tone. Ren gives him a grim smile. 

“Something like that.” They’re trying to provoke him. Of course. Grian risks a glance over at Scar, whose face is practically made of stone. His tail lashes, his outrage clear.

He’s going to defend his home. Even horribly outnumbered, Scar’s still going to fight. Grian knows he’ll shift to the dragon any second— of course it’ll provide some advantage, but looking at the assembled soldiers he thinks the outcome is going to be the same regardless.

Grian drags his dagger slowly, flipping it in his hands. He knows he can’t do much against a mini army, but he can damn sure try. Even as every instinct in him screams to run, he refuses.

“You come to my home.” Scar begins, his voice dangerously quiet. “You threaten me. You threaten my family. You prepare to attack me. Why?” Ren doesn’t reply immediately. He looks back at the assembled men, before turning to Scar. 

“For honor.” He says simply. “For glory. I won’t pretend it’s anything else.” 

“You call this honor?” Scar gestures at the scene, clearly repulsed. “You’re attacking us unprovoked. We have done nothing to you.” To his credit, Ren doesn’t flinch at the outburst. He continues to meet the dragon’s gaze evenly, unfazed. 

“That’s the burden you bear.” He says bluntly. “And my burden is to slay you.” Scar laughs, the sound dark.

“Good luck with that.” He draws himself up. “Last chance to leave.” Ren shakes his head, sword drawn. 

Jellie hissed at his side, the cat’s teeth bared. Her fangs snap at Ren and the humans, tail bristled. Ren barely reacts, practically waving the giant cat off.

Grian clasps his hands together, breathing shaky. He knows this could easily be a lost cause. Part of him wants to strike a deal. Maybe if he goes with Ren, he’ll buy time for Scar and Jellie to get out of here before the humans come back. 

But Grian knows it’s futile. This isn’t about him anymore. He’s faded to a backdrop, and under any other circumstance he would be elated. But now, it’s causing someone he cares about to get hurt. Now, it could get Scar killed. 

Jellie hisses once, Scar glancing at her once. Grian watches as he walks forward, the entire army flinching back as he does. Grian follows him, standing to the side, forcing himself to be ready for whatever happens next.

Scar barely exits the cave when he changes. The noise sounds like rocks breaking, almost indescribable. He settles for calling it “cracking,” but even that doesn’t feel right. Grian hadn’t seen it last time, eyes shut as he waited for death. But now, he watches the dragon take shape, Scar becoming something else entirely. 

The cracking sounds continue to crescendo, until the dragon is standing over the soldiers. Grian grins to himself. Maybe they have a fighting chance.

He hopes they have a fighting chance.

He turns, catching Ren’s eye. Grian can’t help but be disappointed by the lack of fear. Of course. There’s a gleam of excitement instead, the Dogwarts leader elated to be fighting the beast. 

Scar meets him in seconds, the dragon furious. Grian can tell this is different then last time, different then fighting the bandits. Perhaps Scar feels the same, sinking feeling as Grian does. Perhaps he doubts his own ability to win, too. 

But still, the might of the beast is enough to startle the soldiers. Grian grins at his own opponents, pushing away his feelings of fear. At the very least, he can act confident. Scar roars again, and Grian prepares to attack. 

The humans yell at each other, orders all lost in the pounding thrumming of adrenaline. Grian’s own senses are muffled by his heartbeat, the rhythm of battle slowly starting to work its way through his skin. 

Ren faces the dragon directly, Martyn in tow. Grian can see the humans splitting off, the true merit of the attackers revealed. Some are breaking toward him. He drops into a fighting stance, swallowing thickly. He can’t let his anxiety overtake him. He can’t doubt that they won’t win. 

Grian wastes no time swinging his dagger, still stained from his last “invasion,” cutting deep into the first attacker. He knows his attacks are weak, meager in their strength and all too ineffective in the long run, but he refuses to go down without fighting. 

He supposes he has it easier; he’s not a dragon. He’s only being attacked by the stragglers, the ones who find it far too terrifying to face Scar. Grian glances over at the dragon, momentarily taken off guard by the aggression of the fight. 

Every human is bleeding, Scar is bleeding. Claws tear against metal, roars and yells and screams all combine into one cacophony. 

Grian waits with baited breath, watching as sword after sword clashes with talons and claws and tail. He watches, both him and his opponents distracted by the intensity of the dragon. 

It’s out of a fairytale. Right down to Scar wavering, his movements getting slower.

Grian’s aware of his attackers streaming past him, joining the fight. He steps to follow, to help Scar, when a pained howl stops him. Fresh blood glinting in the sun, a jagged line crossing the dragon’s cheek down his neck. Not deep, but painful . 

Grian can see so many wounds, all exposing blood to the greedy humans. They cheer in delight, all while Grian’s stomach churns. Another roar. Another cheer. A cycle. 

Scar falling was the last thing he expected. 

That’s a lie. He knew it was coming, but it does nothing to ease the shock he still feels. 

Grian could only watch as the dragon finally caved from exhaustion, injuries, something, broke him. The invaders could sense their victory, heavy chains clattering as they pass from hand to hand. Grian wants to move. He wants to run toward them, to stop this, but his legs refuse to work.

Jellie, on the other hand, races past him, intent on attacking the humans. Grian can practically sense the anguish and outrage rolling off the cat. He snaps out of his horror and races forward, wings flapping as he grabs Jellie’s scruff. He giant cat yelps, snarling at him. Grian shakes his head, dragging her behind one of the trees. 

The battle is lost. Scar– a dragon – has been defeated. There’s no way he’s making it out, but maybe he can save Jellie. 

"Jellie, you need to go." Grian whips around to the giant cat, whose teeth are bared and stained crimson. He can see how badly she wants to keep defending Scar, to defend her home, but Grian knows deep down it's a lost cause. It's only a matter of time before he stops fighting too. 

At least he has a prayer of surviving. Jellie would be dead before the final crossbow was laid to rest.

The cat pauses, practically mewling at him. Grian shakes his head, glancing out from behind the tree he'd taken Jellie to. The soldiers would find him soon. Or he'd go back to the fight in a final stand. Either way, Scar would never forgive him if Jellie died.

"Please." Grian says softly. "For Scar." The cat bows her head. Grian can practically see her pondering her options, wheels turning in her head. He can hear the shouting getting closer and closer, his heart pumping his chest. "You have to go." 

Jellie looks up, ears flatten. She bumps her nose into Grian's hand, rubbing against him once before bounding off into the forest. The shadows swallow her up, hiding her from the prying eyes of the civilized world. He breathes a small sigh of relief just as an arrow flings itself past his head once more.

Grian turns, wings flared as he dodges another attack. Some of the humans, led by Martyn, have turned away from restraining Scar and focused on him. Grian shifts left, before throwing himself forward. He kicks one of the attackers down, whipping around to attack the second one as quickly as he can. 

He knows his fight is futile. The second he messes up, the second he falls, he’ll be done. 

So Grian is going to do as much damage as he possibly can until then. 

He drives his dagger forward, between the makeshift chestplate of the soldier and piercing deep. He doesn’t watch the aftermath, instead wheeling on the next intruder, the next person who dared to invade his home and tear his life apart again. 

Grian elbows one of the humans trying to corner him, ducking as they swing down. He sweeps his wing out, catching him on the fan of feathers. He knows it’ll be hell to preen later, but it was worth it to see the human practically fall on their own sword. 

Grian finds himself lost in the battle, senses overrun by the thrill of the fight. He doesn’t know who he ends, he doesn’t know anything about them except that they are destroying his life. That  is enough to keep him going, to keep him enthralled in the bloodlust. Everything is a haze of anger, everything one fluid motion driven by instinct alone. He keeps fighting, almost in a trance. 

He lasts longer than he expected to. Grian almost comes to believe he has a fighting chance. Up until he goes to stand from dodging a strike, only to be met with a sword to his face. He tries to jump back, only for his back to hit a stone wall. Of course. 

Martyn points his sword at Grian’s neck, shaking his head once. “Don’t.” He says softly. “Just come with me.” It’s all too familiar, the situation something he’d grown accustomed to back in the city. The words are almost worse to hear now, when he’s had a taste of freedom. 

But Grian still nods, knowing the fight is lost.

Martyn says nothing, simply reaching out and grabbing Grian’s arm. He just guides him to Ren, standing in the center of the clearing. It takes every ounce of Grian’s self control to not start fighting again. As much as he wants to lash out, get revenge, do something, he knows he can’t. It would only lead to a worse fate for him and Scar. 

Ren doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares silently, waiting. Grian weighs his options as Ren turns back to Scar, the dragon completely unconscious at the edge of the clearing. Grian’s heart twists at the sight, disgusted and depressed at the same time. He swallows thickly, shifting his attention back to Ren.

“Ren, please.” Grian pleads, yanking his arm out of Martyn’s grip. “You don’t have to do this.” The other man turns to him, face unreadable. His eyes glint with an emotion akin to pity, as if he feels anything but contempt toward Grian. 

“We all have to face monsters.” Ren says, meeting his gaze evenly. “Sometimes our own. And it all comes down to how you keep yourself alive.” 

“Scar didn’t do anything.” Grian snaps back, his voice murderous. Ren looks at the dragon, still fighting against the irons chaining him to the earth. He sighs. 

“Perhaps not.” He says. Grian thinks he’s imagining the tint of sadness in his voice. “But it’s easier to catch the beast in plain sight, isn’t it?” 

“What are you even talking about?” Grian asks, incredulous. His rage bubbles over, so sharp he grits his teeth and latches his accusatory gaze onto Ren. “You’re the only monster I see here.”

“You have no idea.” The Dogwarts leader retorts, his voice sullen. “And you never will. You’ll never understand why I do what I do.” Grian spits at his feet. 

“You’ve got that right.” He practically snarls. Ren doesn’t react right away. He just shifts his gaze, meeting Martyn’s silently. 

“You really care about the dragon, don’t you?” Ren asks, his tone guarded. Grian can feel his wings ruffling as his anger rises, his frustration at the situation and the stupid question becoming overwhelming.

“Yes.” He snaps back. “And of course you had to wreck my life some more, huh? It wasn’t enough to drive me to the point of having to find him?” 

Grian doesn’t regret meeting Scar. Not anymore. But he can’t deny that it’s because of Ren he had to find the dragon. It’s frustrating to think about; how the best change in his life was brought about because of someone who was --  is hellbent on taking away everything he loves. 

“Then you would do anything for him?” Ren asks with a sigh, looking back at the dragon, then turning back to Grian. 

“Yes.” Grian blurts out. He regrets answering almost immediately. He knows it’s a set up. He knows there’s some horrible lurking reason that Ren asked. But he’s on the verge of tears and wants to do whatever he can to defend Scar, but he’s powerless— 

Grian’s spiraling thoughts stop as soon as he sees the shears in his hand, immediately going still as Ren steps closer. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, eyeing the other warily. The Dogwarts leader passes the shears from hand to hand, metal catching the fiery glow of sunrise. 

“I can’t have you coming after me.” Ren says finally. “You’re too much of a liability.” Grian glares at him, trying to fight back the inkling of fear rising in his heart. 

“So— what are you—“ He demands, making no effort to curb the hostility lacing his voice. The situation keeps getting worse, and frankly Grian has nothing to lose. 

“Flightless birds aren’t threats.” His tone is cool, matter of fact. Grian’s breath catches. His wing is forced open. The shears snap open. 

Oh. 

Maybe there’s always further to fall.  

—

Jimmy watches from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed. The fighting had certainly been something to observe. He was grateful not to have been involved this time around. Tango certainly felt the same, flinching when the sounds of battle got far too close for comfort.

Jimmy had circled the clearing, selecting one of the flanking sides to watch the fight. Neither the cave nor the army backed the section he observed from, so he suspected it would be one of the safest spots to stay in. Tango had still been ready to bolt at any second. 

Neither of them had guessed the battle would end in the way it did. Dogwarts did overrun the dragon. It collapsed under the pressure, bleeding from multiple wounds. Jimmy watched as they chained it and dragged it out of the forest, back toward the city. He had no idea what fate was in store for it– but he supposes he would find out when he went to collect the reward for his service. 

Jimmy’s not entirely sure why Ren decided to take the dragon alive– presumably. Jimmy’s fairly certain he saw it still breathing. He supposes he has his plans, and as long as it doesn’t get him or Tango killed he doesn’t care. He couldn’t care. 

But what happened to the avian was far more shocking. 

Jimmy doesn’t have morals, not like he used to. He’s willing to kill almost anyone for the right price. It’s not the best way to live, but he can rest easy knowing he’s able to take care of both himself and Tango. But he also knows there are some things that not even he is sure he could do and still be able to sleep at night. 

Jimmy knows that it’s kinder to kill a bird then render it flightless. That’s practically sentencing it to a slow, drawn out death. A bird that cannot fly is useless. And for what he’s heard, avians are no different.

He could never take an avian’s wings. He could never clip them. He could never render one flightless and not put them out of their misery afterward. Jimmy isn’t an avian, but rumor has it that an avian would rather die than be rendered flightless. Especially avians without a flock to care for them while they heal. 

Jimmy doesn’t know how much of that is true, but seeing the way the avian fought back as his wings were clipped certainly made him think so. The miserable pleas for mercy were enough to tell him that this fate is something that haunts this avian’s dreams. 

They leave him in the center of the clearing. He makes no move to chase after them, even as they take the dragon away. He just sits there, trembling. Jimmy looks on, then looks away. Tango stands silently next to him. Neither of them can find the words to speak. 

“Let’s go.” Jimmy says, keeping his tone even. He can’t let any horror seep into his voice– it would be hypocritical. It’s strange, really. He doesn’t know why he feels slighted on this avian’s behalf. He’s fought this avian, he’s tried to kill this avian. And yet he pities him now, seeing the broken feathers. It’s wrong on multiple levels, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jimmy can’t bring himself to get involved. 

“What about him?” Tango asks, his voice heavy. The rest of the question remains unspoken. Can he survive without his wings intact? Both him and Jimmy already know the answer. Both of them know what Jimmy is going to say. 

“It’s not our problem.” He says, turning away. He doesn’t disagree with Tango — it is almost crueler to clip an avian’s wings then to outright kill them. He doesn’t think the avian stands much of a chance, especially now that the dragon is gone. But he can’t do anything to help. 

The most mercy he can offer is to walk away. 

—

Feathers are strewn around him. The wind moves the tattered remains in circles, taunting him with their former glory. The glory he had worked so hard to restore. The glory that had once again been ripped away by a force he collided with. 

He had fought. He fought against Ren and Martyn and all the others but it was pointless. The minutes had passed in both an agonizing eternity and too quick for Grian to recount. It was a blur, the shock of it all making it impossible to process. He had felt the shears cutting away at his feathers and practically blacked out after that.

When his senses returned, the clearing was abandoned.

Grian hasn’t moved from his spot in the center of the clearing. He feels too numb. If he stands up, he fears his legs will fold under him and he’ll collapse again.

He thinks he was crying at one point. His face is crusted with dry tears, his eyes stinging. Grian takes another shaky breath. 

They took Scar away. Grian doesn’t even know if he’s alive or if they took back a dragon’s corpse. 

The thought nauseates him even more. He doubled over, stomach turning so violently he thinks he’s going to throw up. 

He curls his wings closer, shivering. His tattered wings, his wings that were his but now aren’t. Grian bites back a sob. 

He sits for what feels like hours, shaking in the center of the clearing. Grian knows he can’t stay here. He knows he has to bring himself to stand up and walk out the clearing. He has to get out of here and find somewhere to go.

But he doesn’t want to. It’s just a world of hurt waiting for him, a life that’s once again lost direction. 

It dawns on him at once, and he doesn’t fight back the tears this time. 

He’s lost his flock again . 

Grian decides to sit for a while longer. He can’t move yet, not after that realization. 

The sun is halfway across the sky when he finally stands. His talons dig into the dirt as he takes on hesitant step forward. The urge to open his wings and fly is overwhelming, yet he knows he can’t. 

Grian can scarcely believe any of this happened. It feels like a sick nightmare, a fever dream brought out of his mind in some diseased state. 

But he knows it’s real. He knows the blood splatters, the torn scales, the cut feathers are all real.

Grian shakily takes a step. Then another. And another. He keeps walking, forcing himself to move when everything in him screams to collapse again. 

Instead, he abandons the clearing. He abandons the home he made, that he made with Scar, and begins to stumble back toward the city. He doesn’t want to go back. He loathes the idea of returning to what used to be, especially with clipped wings. But he doesn’t know what choices he has left.

The forest is silent as Grian walks through it, hazy as he does. The trees blur together in green and brown blobs, his vision still fuzzy from the shock. He pushes through it, continuing to walk. Grian can’t afford a break down right now.

The outskirts of the city come into view slowly, looming ominously against the tree line. Grian stares at it blankly, remembering the last time he stood at the gates. He promised never to come back. And yet, here he is. With no choice.

Grian wants to turn around and leave. He wants to run as far away as he can, never coming back. But he has no choice but to stay. Where is he supposed to go? With Scar’s fate unknown and his wings clipped, he can’t do anything .  

He slips in the open the gate, keeping his head down as he walks. Grian doesn’t even have his cloak to hide his wings, the shawl having gone missing when he first met Scar. His wings are on full display, golden feathers clipped. It’s worse than if his wings were healthy .

Grian tucks his wings close to his back. He keeps walking, hands shaking as he does. He feels eyes scrutinizing him, whispers amplified by his own paranoia.

And on top of all that, all he can think about is Scar. 

He can hear faded words about a dragon. The dragon. Victorious, vicious statements. All happy to see the beast vanquished. It makes Grian want to cry.

He still doesn’t know what happened to him. He still doesn’t know what he can do.

So Grian keeps walking. He lets his aimless, pained thoughts carry him through the city. He circled the outskirts, spiraling toward the center.

He passes the tavern where it all starts. Grian sees the owner standing outside, straightening one of the signs. Grian turns away, unable to bite back the sudden surge of temper. 

Gods, how did he get here? 

He’s alone again. He found a family because of his actions, and he lost it because of his past. Grian laughs bitterly, shaking his head. Fitting. He’s only ever been self-destructive and a coward.

He couldn’t even save Scar today. Instead, he got his wings clipped. Instead, he watched as they took him away.

Grian continues to pace the city, listlessly walking the streets like a ghost as the sun gets lower and lower. He’ll have to find shelter soon. He scoffs at that. Realistically, Grian’ll probably just have to go back to sleeping on the streets. It’s just like old times, he supposes. 

He continues to hear whispers. People giving him the side eye, hatred leaking off of them. Grian’s surprised by how much he notices it. He supposes at one point, it became a norm. Then he met Scar, who didn’t treat him that way.

Now he’s gone. Now it’s back to his old routine. It makes his heart twist. He swallows back tears. Gods, he can’t cry. 

He finally slows his pace, coming to a rest on a street’s corner. He doesn’t recognize where he is; no matter. Grian knows he’s back in his own hell. 

Grian glances up, eyes locking on a slip of paper pinned to the wall. His breath catches as he sees the first word, eyes widening. On the one hand, he knows what happened to Scar. On the other hand, this fate might be so worse. 

“Oh, no.” He breathes, hands balled into tight fists. The notice has been hastily painted, ink splattered haphazardly against parchment. A declaration of victory, at least that’s it’s intent. To Grian, it’s just another reminder of what he’s lost. 

He feels sick. His stomach aches as bile rises in his throat, the cheerful declaration of murder laden in bold text. 

Dragonslaying. First in years. The arena at sundown. 

This is all his fault. 

Scar’s alive, for what? Just to be killed? He’s probably in the arena now, waiting for his fate to be sealed. Grian grabs the paper, clutching it tightly. 

Scar is going to die. He can’t do anything. 

Scar is going to die. He can’t do anything.

Scar is going to die. He—

No. 

Grian rips the paper in half. He lets the parchment flutter down around his feet, soaked in the puddles of the streets. He steps on one of the remains as he walks away, turning toward the city center. 

He is not letting it end this easily. He is not letting Scar go this easily. Something snaps in him, the cold depression turning into stark, hot anger. 

Anger he’s going to use. Grian’s always looked out for himself first, tried to survive at the cost of everyone else. But he’s done. He can’t keep living that way. Scar wouldn’t leave him to be slaughtered, and Grian refuses to do the same to him.  

He may be flightless, but he isn’t helpless. 

For once in his life, Grian is not going to run away. 

Chapter Text

Grian’s talon collides with a puddle, sending water splashing over the street. He could care less about both the street and his soaked foot. He doesn’t have time. 

He doesn’t have an advantage. Nothing about this situation is preferable for him or Scar. Grian can’t fly, and gods know what state the dragon’s in. 

Frankly, it’ll take a miracle for anything about this to go well. Grian’s making choices on the fly, barely taking the time to consider the consequences of his actions. 

Then again, he’s decided that a life without Scar isn’t worth living. Grian would rather go down trying to free him then run away again. 

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. It won’t do him any good to “wish” or “go down the rabbit hole of what-ifs.” Grian has to focus on what he knows and then figure out what to do. 

The last time he saw the arena, it was crawling with both fighters trying to test their luck and guards trying to prevent disruptions. If Grian is going to succeed, he needs to get as many of them out of the picture as he can. While trying to sneak in.

Grian can’t be in two places at once, as much as he wishes he could. He’s not even sure his first idea will work. Distracting the guards and making it to the arena might be too much for him to handle on his own. He slows his pace.

He doesn’t have much time to figure this out. The sun’s slow descent is weighing in the back of his mind, a constant stressor as he tries to think of a solution. 

Grian begins to pace the streets, wings fluttering behind him. Gods, even if he could fly, this would be a challenge. Trying to free Scar with the gladiators already in the ring will be hard enough. But if all the soldiers can attack, then he’s going to die. 

There’s got to be a solution. 

He supposes he could always risk going alone, but he’d prefer not to. Grian sighs, rubbing his face with his hand. 

His eyes catch movement, figures walking with their heads down on the other side of the street, engaged in quiet discussion. Grian recognizes them instantly. 

The two bandits. Bounty hunters might be more appropriate, seeing as they came after him for a bounty.  

A bounty. They work for money. 

Grian knows the idea he’s forming is objectively bad . But it’s perhaps the only thing he can do. 

It might get him killed. But if he can convince the two to work with him, it’ll make his uphill climb a little less steep. 

Grian makes the decision quickly, setting off after the bandits. He tails them through the streets, waiting for them to turn down an ally. Somewhere secluded where they can talk.

Or he can get murdered. That could also happen.

Grian follows the pair as they finally duck down a side street. The walls close in, making his heart beat a little faster. As much as he wants to, he can’t afford to back out. So Grian clears his throat and hopes for the best as the bandits turn around, mixtures of shock and disbelief immediately reflected in their eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” The first bandit– Jimmy, if Grian remembers correctly– demands. “Why are you following us?” Grian makes a split second decision to raise his hands, trying to signal he means no harm. 

“It was an accident.” He says earnestly. “I just saw you and–”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” The second one, Tango, interrupts. His voice is guarded, his hand already resting on his sheathed dagger. Grian forces himself to remain pleasant, wings fluttering behind him. 

“I need your help.” He blurts out. Jimmy raises a brow.

“You what?” He practically demands. Grian puts his hands down, electing to cross them. He can practically feel the clock ticking as he tracks the sun, watching it get lower and lower with every passing second. 

“I need you to help me rescue S– the dragon.” He clarifies. Tango buries his face in his hands instantly.

“Not the dragon again.” He practically cries. Grian tilts his head, confused. Jimmy waves him off, a warning written in his face. Grian decides not to think about the implications. He does need their help. 

“What do you mean?” Jimmy asks. Tango snaps his gaze up, giving his partner an incredulous look. 

“Jimmy, please. Don’t–” Jimmy shushes him just as realization dawns on his face. He nods, pursing his lips. Grian sighs. Don’t ask. 

“I need you to cause a distraction or something.” Grian says hastily. “There’s a lot of spare guards, or soldiers, or whatever they are. Just lingering outside the arena. If I’m going to succeed, I need to get them preoccupied.”

“You’re pretty bold to ask us for help.” Jimmy says, lifting his chin. “Suppose we agree. What’s in it for us?” Grian hesitates. He logically knew that would be the question. But he isn’t sure what he has to offer. 

He supposes there’s no harm in lying or at least pretending to strike an honest deal. Given the fact that these two have tried to kill him twice and he’s working to rescue a dragon, he has a feeling if he can trick the two it won’t have devastating consequences.

“Treasure.” Grian blurts out. “I can pay you.” 

“Ren paid us.” Jimmy says coolly. “You think you can top him?” Grian shrugs, sweat beading the back of his neck. Keep the lie going.

“Yeah. But I can’t until we get the dragon out.” He responds, his tone as calm as he could make it. Jimmy hums, still looking unconvinced. Tango, on the other hand, has a surprisingly thoughtful look on his face. 

“I think—“ Jimmy starts to say. Tango grabs his arm. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He asks, his tone pleasant. Jimmy purses his lips, but nods. Tango turns to Grian, holding his hand up. “One second.” 

Grian watches as he pulls his partner back into the alley, whispering to him. Grian strains to hear what’s being said, ultimately giving up as their voices stay quiet. He rocks back on his talons, noting the hand gestures that fly every once and a while. 

He casts another haphazard glance up at the sun. If this doesn’t hurry up, he’ll have to take his chances alone. 

Grian’s about to leave when the two bandits turn back to him, wearing matching expressions of nothing. Stony faces that make Grian nervous. It occurs to him that they could decide to betray him or attack him while he’s “defenseless.” 

Gods, another wave of irritation hits him the second he thinks about his wings. His poor feathers— self-consciousness creeps into his mind. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take for his feathers to grow back. He doesn’t want to. He can’t afford a mental spiral, not now. 

“So?” He forces a placid smile to cross his face. Tango gives Jimmy a nod.

“We’ll take your offer.” He says. Grian breathes a small sigh of relief, extending his hand. 

“Thank you.” He says. Part of him wishes he could guarantee payment— but he’s mostly happy he’s, by some act of the gods, convinced the two to work with him. 

“Alright.” Tango says, taking his hand and shaking it once. “What did you have in mind?” Grian gives him a cheeky grin, unable to help himself. 

“How do you feel about arson?” 

–

The arena sits in the center of the city, and Grian hears it before he sees it. The sounds are like thunder, cheers and gasps of excitement exploding from the dome. The noises are a pulse, thrumming through the city streets. The low reverberation is terrifying, but Grian refuses to let it dissuade him. 

He’s worked too hard to remake his life to be scared by a little noise. 

Grian jogs through the city, pausing as he reaches the center. The city is carved like a circle, each one getting smaller and smaller until it reaches a pinnacle. The amphitheater, the colosseum, the arena. Stone and marble combining into something horrifying and beautiful all at the same time, elegant and savage rolled into one.Where all events are held, uniting the inhabitants of this godforsaken town. Around the circular building rest regular homes– and a bell tower. 

The bell tower, which should be high enough for Grian to hypothetically glide to the arena’s topmost layer and then the stadium itself. 

Grian’s never had to deal with clipped wings before. He’s never had to force himself to relearn mechanics of flight. He knows he’s incapable of actually getting airborne, but he should be able to use his wings to cross some distances. It’s a risk, but he’s absolutely willing to try.

Especially if Tango and Jimmy hold their end of the bargain. Distract the guards, cause a scene. Burn something down. Grian told them he didn’t care what they did. Just get as many “gladiators” away from the arena as they can. The rest is up to him. 

And hopefully he’ll never come back here. Grian knows he’ll either escape with Scar or die on the arena floor beside him. 

Grian shakes the latter thought away as he ascends the tower. The entrance was blissfully empty, and he can only assume the keeper is away. Probably at the arena like everyone else. The stone is cool to touch. Grian keeps one hand against the tower’s side as he climbs, not fully trusting his footing. Especially with an axe strapped to his back. 

Tango said it would be his best bet for what he needed. He was surprised with how helpful the bandit had decided to be, but wasn’t in a position to question him too closely. Grian decided to trust him on that. He just has to hope it isn’t a mistake. 

He pushes open the door at the top of the tower, stepping out onto the platform. The bronze bell stares back, silent as death. Grian carefully makes his way past it, careful not to disturb its slumber. He doesn’t need to accidentally ring it and alert soldiers he’s up here. That would be hard to explain.

Grian settles on the edge of the platform, practically crouched in the window. He has a clear shot to the stadium; he just has to pray he has enough velocity to make it. Grian cautiously spreads his wings, making sure he has enough space to extend them fully. 

He peers out the window, watching intently. Grian has to wait for the two bandits to do whatever it was they planned before he can make his move. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, knowing that his fate and action lie in the hands of people who’ve tried to kill him twice. 

Grian sighs. It’s not ideal, but as long as they come through, it won’t matter. He just has to be patient–

As if on cue, Grian’s attention is snapped out of his thoughts as smoke fills the air. He turns slightly, seeing one of the houses to his right slowly being consumed by fire. He blinks, then splits into a grin. Of course they burnt something down. Grian sees Tango slipping away behind the fire, tossing his torch at one of the unlit houses. The bandit doesn’t see him, but Grian gives him a mini salute. 

Perhaps the two aren’t as bad as he thought. Grian supposes that as long as they leave him alone after this mess is over, he can consider them ending on neutral terms. 

But he certainly does not have time to dwell on the complex relationship he’s developed with the two criminals. Instead, he takes a deep breath, readies himself, and throws himself out the window. 

Grian wants to try and flap his wings. It’s an instinct that swells up in his mind, especially as the ground gets closer. But he doesn't, instead using his wings to catch what little breeze he can. The arena is so close; he can’t mess it up by doing something stupid. The axe is already weighing him down, enough that he might not make it. 

As if on cue, Grian’s hands collide with the side of the arena, fingers and talons digging in as he snaps his wings shut. He almost made it to the top. He begins to hoist himself up, heart pounding wildly as he does. Each movement is terrifying. One wrong move and he could fall. 

The crowd is so loud it hurts his head. Grian shakes the noise off, ignoring the vibrations in his palm. He focuses on climbing. He can practically taste the top. He just has to keep going. 

Grian manages to half-roll over the top of the arena, landing “gracefully” on his feet on the outside of the interior seating. The dome is barely covered, and with the guards distracted by his unconventional allies, now is his chance. He yanks his hood up, and runs toward the arena. Grian hops over the chain link fence, startling the spectators as he practically leaps down the stone seats. 

He ignores the frightened yelps, instead spreading his tattered wings and gliding into the arena. Grian may not be able to fly, but he can still use his wings as a parachute. He dives down to the sandy arena floor, landing three point and snapping his wings in. 

The axe Tango gave him weighs heavy on his back. Grian may not be used to such a heavy weapon, but he can still utilize it as a defense. Besides, its main purpose isn’t combat. 

He has to free Scar. 

Scar’s legs have been chained to the arena, ensuring he can’t escape. The iron is thick, keeping him from tearing the links or moving quickly. Grian is fairly sure if he hits them enough times with an axe they’ll shatter— but the key is how fast he can get the job done. 

His life is very much at stake, too. Scar’s opponents won’t hesitate to cut him down. Grian draws the battle axe, balancing it in his hands. This certainly isn’t the most convenient time to be learning how to use a new weapon, but he’ll make due. 

The gladiators all seem to freeze in shock as Grian faces them. He gives them a mock salute, before turning and running toward the dragon. He hears shouts behind him, but doesn’t bother turning back. They’ll have to fight him where he decides to stop. 

Grian reaches Scar’s side, ramming his axe into the first set of chains as he does. His grip tightens on the axe as his momentum swings him forward, spinning him with his back to the dragon. 

Scar huffs behind him, the sound a mixture of disbelief and dismay. You shouldn’t be here, he seems to say. Grian throws a glance back at him, a wiry smile creeping across his face. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He says, smirking. “I wasn’t going to just leave you.” Grian dislodges the axe with a grunt, raising it over his head and swinging down again. The indent made by the first strike deepens, almost cutting clean through. Grian drives the axe further down, hearing the metal snap beneath the iron blade. 

Scar lifts his nearly freed left forearm, claws flexing. He nudges Grian, still clearly irritated he showed up. Grian bonks his claw with his wing, rolling his eyes. 

“You aren’t allowed to die. Not when I can do something about it.” He says, the statement a mixture of scolding and a promise. Scar gives him what Grian thinks is a smile— but he isn’t sure, given as it’s mostly just Scar’s fangs on display. 

Grian’s snapped out of the moment by a yell, instinctively raising his axe as one of the gladiators finally reaches him. Grian rolls out of the way as his opponent’s own weapon swings down, leaving deep scuff marks in the sand. Grian bounces to his feet, talons curling in the ground. He exhales sharply as he dodges another erratic attack, whirling his own axe to cut deep into the gladiator’s back. He collapses against the sand and does not stir. 

Grian narrows his eyes, hefting his weapon and sliding across the arena. Scar’s not as big as he expected for a dragon— but he certainly takes up space. The chains are spread out enough that he will have to risk exposing himself whenever he succeeds in breaking one. 

Scar snarls at some of the approaching attackers, using his free claw to bat any of them who approach from the left away. Grian ignores the sounds, instead raises his axe. He slams it down, the sound of metal biting metal harsh against his ears. The crack it leaves is significantly smaller than the first time, but it’s still a start. 

Whatever he does, he can’t quit swinging. 

Grian knows that it would be significantly easier if he could just get Scar to shift back . But he isn’t exactly sure if that’s possible in this situation. The stress, the fight, there’s no way. So Grian will do all he can to break the chains so they can at the very least escape.

Grian hasn’t exactly thought through the aftermath of freeing Scar. He hopes they’ll be able to make it out, but he just doesn’t know. He can’t afford to let his mind think past the moment he’s in; if he lets the anxiety in, he won’t succeed in his current task and the future won’t matter. He steadies himself and yanks his axe up, letting gravity carry it down again and again. 

He practically throws himself on the second chain, hacking away. It breaks just as Grian’s attacked again. He swings his axe up, catching his opponent off guard. He hears a crack, not bothering to check the damage done. He slams his shoulder into his second assailant, knocking them over. Scar catches them in his free claw.

Grian turns and runs to the back to the final two chains. He can practically taste victory, so close to freedom. Considering he had basically no plan, this is going remarkably well. He buries the axe in the third chain, hearing Scar roar as he defends the attacks from the front. 

Grian’s gaze shifts slightly, catching sight of arena exits. He needs to be wary. Someone could take him off guard. Even with Scar protecting him, he has to work fast. 

He’s beginning to understand why Tango likes this weapon. It’s making quick enough work of the chains, much better than a sword could. It’s hard to handle, sure, but at least he can protect himself with it. 

Grian feels the chain cracking under the weight of his weapon, a smile elicited by the damage. Every shatter means he’s closer to victory. When the third chain snaps, he wastes no time running to the final one. He slides down next to it, embedding the axe deep in the metal. 

He yanks the axe up, only to find it stuck in the metal. Grian winces, a sudden bolt of panic running through him. Not now. He curls his fingers around the axe and pulls again, only for the same result.

He hears steady footsteps. Oh no. Grian glances up, locking eyes with Martyn. 

It was stupid to think he wouldn’t be here. But Grian keeps his hands around the axe, still desperately trying to free it. Especially now if he has to fight him .

Martyn approaches him slowly, his eyes flickering as he tracks Grian’s motions. Grian slowly stands, eyeing the final chain. He paces closer, Grian jumping back, dislodging the axe as he does. 

It turns into a game of cat and mouse. Martyn jolts forward, Grian leaps back. He finds himself being driven further away from the chain, back to the center of the arena.

He glares at Martyn, hefting his axe. Grian takes a step forward, only for Martyn to swing at him. He stumbles back, steadying himself. He barely has time to jump back again, practically planting himself right in front of Scar.

Martyn walks closer, his movements unhurried. Grian feels sweat dripping down the back of his neck. 

He doesn’t know if he can beat Martyn. 

He feels Scar stir behind him.

Martyn plants his feet and races toward him.

Scar’s claw shoots out, slamming into Martyn. Grian watches as he’s flung back, the force knocking him clean off his feet. Martyn lands against the arena’s edge. He doesn’t get up. 

Grian turns away from the man, part of him hoping he’s just unconscious. Martyn’s always followed Ren loyally, and despite everything he’s done, Grian can’t bring himself to hate him. 

No matter. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, he slams the axe into the final chain, intending to raise it again. He doesn’t have time to waste— 

The arrow stings, biting into his shoulder. Grian yelps, instinctively curling his fingers around the arrow and yanking . It didn’t go too deep, but blood still wells where the arrowhead pierced his skin. He drops it to the ground, forcing himself to ignore the pain. 

It’s nothing. It’s fine. It’s nothing. 

Grian turns back to the final chain, gritting his teeth as his shoulder screams in protest. He lifts the axe again, hefting it over his head. His arms shake with the effort, fatigue amplified by the fresh injury. 

As his axe hits the metal, Grian feels something slam into his side. He sprawls against the floor, wind knocked out of him. Grian throws himself to his feet, barely avoiding a sword through his skull. 

Ren swings at him again, his motions wild. Grian hears Scar roar, the dragon trying to twist against his remaining chain. Grian knows he can do very little, still restrained. 

Ren has always been his demon to face. 

Grian gives him a wild grin, unable to help himself. He’s not letting Ren intimidate him anymore. He’s not letting Ren keep him from freedom anymore. 

Ren raises his sword, glaring at him. His gaze is dark, more hostile than Grian’s ever seen. He wants to kill him. 

Grian glares right back, remaining feathers ruffled. He curls his hands into fists, his weapon still buried in the chains. He knows he’s disadvantaged, but the white hot fury thrumming through his veins could very well carry him to victory. 

“You really have to be everywhere, don’t you?” Grian snaps, jumping back as Ren swings again. “Just can’t stay away?”

“You’re the one who came back.” Ren retorts coolly. “I gave you a chance to walk away.”

“You left me to die!” Grian says with a stunned laugh. “You know exactly what happens to downed avians.” Ren doesn’t respond to his accusation, instead practically pouncing on him. Grian twists, his cloak taking the major hit from the sword. He doesn’t feel any fresh pain, but with the sheer amount of adrenaline infecting his brain, he really has no way of knowing. 

Instead of dwelling on it, Grian snakes his hand out and shoves Ren harshly. He stumbles forward, planting his feet and pivoting to face Grian again. He’s ready for him, throwing himself at his unprepared opponent. He grabs Ren’s wrist and pulls him back, trying to force him to release the sword. Instead, the man pulls him forward, shaking him off and sending Grian tumbling to the ground. 

He hooks his talons around Ren’s leg, pulling him to the ground. His sword leaves his grip as he hits the ground hard. Grian leaps to his feet, kicking the sword out of reach. Ren staggers up, wiping a dribble of blood from his nose. He practically growls at him; whatever hatred Ren already had for him is amplified by ten after that. 

Grian simply gives him a cocky grin. 

He makes the first move, taking two steps and flaring his wings as he approaches Ren. His opponent grabs his arm before he can punch him, kneeing him in the stomach as he does. Grian stumbles back, doubling over at the shooting pain. He rights himself just as Ren leaps at him, hands trying to close around his throat. 

Grian shoved him aside, hands ripping at his face. Ren yelps like a wounded dog, releasing him. Grian leaps back, stance low as he cautiously circles Ren. 

His eyes dart to the axe, still embedded in the chains. Scar’s still trying to turn around, the dragon in vain to help the fight. Grian slowly begins to back toward it, scuffing the sand as he does. Ren tracks his movements, muscles visibly tensed. Grian makes the decision to make a break for the axe, to try and finish freeing Scar while he still can. 

Ren may very well kill him. But he wants to make sure Scar can escape before he does. 

Grian’s within an arm's length of the axe when he feels a weight slam into his back. Between his injured shoulder and sensitive wings, his body screams in pain, black dots circling vision. He’s aware of being flipped onto his back, hands once again around his neck. 

Grian struggles to fight back, gasping for air as he tries to find a way out of the situation. The black dots are getting bigger, his vision blurring as the grip around his neck tightens. His hands claw the ground, desperately trying to find anything to fight back with.

He ends up swiping up, releasing a cloud of sand in Ren’s eyes. The movement was accidental, done purely out of instinct, but the grime is enough to make Ren cough and sputter, releasing his grip just enough for Grian to push him away. 

He gasps for air, hacking as he draws oxygen into his lungs. Grian stays on his knees for a few seconds, before forcing himself to rise despite the vertigo that causes him to shake. He blinks rapidly, his breathing slowly steadying.

Ren begins to back away, moving toward his abandoned weapon. Grian barely bats an eye. Instead, he takes the chance to finish what he started and stumbles to the axe.

Grian manages to get to the chain link, fingers curling around the axe’s hilt. He dislodges it just as Ren sprints toward him, his sword back in his hands. Grian swings his axe upward, sending Ren off course. He can feel his balance shaking, his feet wavering in place. Grian grits his teeth and pivots, using the momentum from Ren’s failed attack to send the axe down. 

The final chain shatters under the velocity, the axe cutting through the metal link. Scar rears up, his wings fully spread and talons extended. Grian barely dodges out of the way of Ren’s attack, whipping around to parry the sword that comes swinging toward his face. 

He kicks his talon out, shoving Ren back. Grian takes that chance to launch himself at the Dogwarts leader, wings flared. Even if it’s just for show, he pulls his talons up and shoves the man down again. He feels his claws sink into his arm. Grian pushes off of him, shooting back. 

Ren staggers to his feet, his shirt torn and arm bleeding. Yet his eyes aren’t on the injury, rather trained on his shoulder. Grian follows his gaze, and inhales sharply, shocked.

Werewolf bites. He stills briefly, the scar on Ren’s shoulder sticking out. Grian snaps his gaze up, realization dawning. He knew Ren had fought werewolves— perhaps he’d been naive to assume he’d escaped unharmed. Or more importantly, unturned . 

“So that’s why you’re doing all this?” Grian asks with a tight lipped smile. “To save face?” Ren shoulders his tattered shirt back over his shoulder, trying to hide the mark. His face is noticeably pale, eyes flickering with sudden panic. 

For the first time, Grian has leverage. His grin widens, an elated giggle escaping him. Ren bristles, stepping back. Grian straightens up, planting his axe in the sand. 

“I’m willing to negotiate.” He says slyly, unable to help himself from mocking the words said to him months ago. Ren glances between him and Scar, the dragon lurking behind Grian. He lowers his head, staring the werewolf down alongside Grian. 

“Fine.” Ren says through gritted teeth. He backs away slowly, laying his sword down. Grian continues to smirk, biting back another maniacal laugh. 

“You know what we want.” He says smoothly. Ren sighs, looking away. Outside of being outnumbered, Grian knows what he’s tried to keep under wraps for years . No matter what the werewolf does, he will be under scrutiny again. Whether it be for “letting” the dragon escape or if his secret is leaked. But Grian won’t say anything if he steps aside now. Ren’s secret will stay safe, even if the public doesn’t regard him as the hero he had hoped to be. He won’t be the monster slayer, and his reputation won’t change. But it would buy him time, moreso then if he tried to kill Scar and Grian now.

“Go. Before the others get down here and I change my mind.” Ren says, his voice tight. 

“And you’ll leave us alone?” Grian confirms. Ren nods, limping toward the arena’s edge. He kneels down next to Martyn, hoisting him up and moving toward the exit. Grian watches him go, lifting his chin. He can’t help but sigh in relief, the wave of closure hitting him at once. 

He turns to Scar, who’s patiently waiting at his side. Grian pats his neck, unable to muster any other response. His mind is completely still, adrenaline the only thing keeping him on his feet. Scar nudges his good arm, blinking at him. 

Home? He seems to say. Grian nods, slumping against his side. He finds he can barely stand, the pain in his shoulder slowly becoming much more noticeable. He rests his head briefly against Scar’s side, shakily exhaling. 

“Yeah.” He says softly. “Home.” Scar lowers his head slightly, wing extended. An invitation. Grian hesitantly wavers, until Scar dips his head and practically flips him on his back. Grian hisses at the sudden motion, clinging to his neck as Scar opens his wings. He barely has time to breathe before he feels a rush of wind, and the arena begins to get smaller and smaller. 

Grian’s flown before, but he’s never experienced anything like this. He’s never held on for dear life as the ground shrinks below him. He bites back a squawk as he feels Scar turn, already beelining for the forest.

Grian wants to bury his head in Scar’s scales until they land. He doesn’t want to feel out of control as they fly. He doesn’t like the way his stomach twists with fear. 

But he still cannot look away, because the sky is where he belongs. 

Grian can feel the rhythmic beating of Scar’s wings, settling in as he gains altitude. Grian slowly lifts his head, watching the clouds get closer and closer. He can’t help the smile that creeps across his face, a sudden sense of joy overtaking him. 

They made it. They’re actually out. 

The wind whips through his hair, and he throws his hands to the wind. Grian barks out a laugh, beaming as the city fades to nothing, the clouds eating it whole. He extends his wings, the breeze streaking through his feathers. 

He’s going home. Him and Scar– they’re going home. 

–

Grian has never been happier to see the cave. He slides off Scar’s back as he lands, stumbling away. His vision swims from pain and blood loss, yet the sheer euphoria of success keeps him smiling.

He did it. They did it. 

Grian turns to Scar, who has relaxed significantly since clearing the city. His eyes are calm, the anger and fear replaced by serenity. Grian smiles at him, wet laugh escaping his throat. 

The second Scar’s scales retract and he’s sitting on the ground, shirt once again torn and looking very disheveled, Grian drops to his knees next to him and pulls him into a tight hug. 

He doesn’t mean to start crying, but when the first tear drips down his face, he starts sobbing. Uncontrollable hiccups and rolling tears stream down his face, the release of days of stress. Grian feels Scar’s arms around him and swears the dragon is crying too. 

He presses his forehead against Scar’s, just relieved to feel him He’s here, not dead, not some trophy for the city to parade around. Scar made it out, and so did Grian. He sobs harder at that thought, the realization that they both are okay. 

“It’s okay.” Scar’s voice wavers slightly, his own tone wet with emotion. “It’s all okay.” 

“We’re home.” Grian manages out with another sob, mixed with a small laugh. Elation, pure joy to be here . Alive. Together. 

“Your wings…” Scar murmurs, suddenly. Grian shakes his head, refusing to think about that right now. He just clutches Scar tighter, choosing to stay in the moment.

“They’ll grow back.” He mutters, burying his face in Scar’s shoulder. “Gods, I was so scared I lost you.” Scar stiffens slightly, before pulling his head back slightly to look Grian in the eyes.

“I…” Scar trails off, his voice thick with emotion. “I was worried about you. The entire time. You weren’t there when I woke up, I thought— I thought they killed you.” Grian manages a half-smile, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

He’s never had someone care this much about him before. He's forgotten what it feels like to have the crushing, swelling emotion of concern wrapped around his heart. He’s forgotten what it feels like to be loved. 

“They’ve tried.” Grian mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t keep me down, though.” Scar nods, wings folding around the two of them. Grian finds that his shaking slowly lessens the longer he sits with Scar, the stress and adrenaline leaving his body. The realization that they’re safe is enough to calm him down. 

Grian can’t find the words to speak. He’s crying again, but doesn’t bother trying to stop. He’s just happy to be here, alive, with Scar. 

“I really hope they didn’t mess with the cave.” Grian says, half to himself. “We might have to find a new place to live.” It would suck to have to relocate, but it might be for the best. Besides, Scar’s horde might be decimated. The dragon shrugs, barely batting an eye at their home. 

“I don’t care about that. You’re the only treasure that matters.” Scar mumbles, still holding him close. “I– just– if anything had happened–” Grian shakes his head, a thousand feelings welling up in his throat. 

“But it didn’t.” He says quietly. “And we’re both okay.” Scar presses his forehead against Grian’s again. 

“Thank you.” Scar says, one hand gently cupping his cheek. Grian intertwines his fingers with Scar’s, leaning into the touch. “For saving my life.” 

“Always.” Grian promises, his voice sincere. “I will always fight for you.” Scar’s smile softens, his eyes still glistening with emotion. 

“Me too.” He responds, slowly rising to his feet. Grian moves to stand, only for the pain in his shoulder to cause him to fail. He flinches, looking at the blood staining his shirt. He’s pretty sure Ren did nick his back, slowly becoming more aware of the discomfort from his injuries. 

“Grian?” Scar asks, his voice immediately laced with concern. “Are you okay?” Grian debates lying, his old habits refusing to die. He hesitates briefly, before glancing up and shaking his head. 

“No.” He affirms out loud, meeting Scar’s gaze. The dragon kneels down next to him. 

“Let me help you.” Scar says, taking his hands. The words are layered, a thousand meanings piled into four simple words. It makes his heart warm, a simple feeling of trust working its way through his mind. Grian manages a smile through his tears, nodding once.

“Okay.” Grian manages to say. He leans against Scar’s arm, letting the dragon help him toward the cave. Helping him home . 

His flock is small, unconventional, but Grian couldn’t ask for someone better to share his life with.