Work Text:
Grian never expected the war to get to this point. In all his silly birdbrain wisdom, he never thought that a silly prank could get to the point that they were having a full-on civil war over it. Of course it was all in good humor, not like some of the wars Grian had seen. One prank led to another, then another, and soon there were two teams. A silly prank led to a battle between teams and a sick diss track.
Grian may have listened to it a few times while hardening the concrete for the G-teams base. But he wouldn’t admit that to anyone on S.T.A.R.
Although based on the snickers and sly smiles sent his way when he passed anyone of the opposing team, the secret was already out.
(Curse Scar and his loose lips.)
So when the bases were finally done and they met at the flag, Grian was hoping the battle would, well, go on. He didn’t want the battle to end per se, but he knew they needed some conclusion in the end. Whether that was a winner or a declared draw, he didn’t really care. He just wanted the fun to last for a bit longer and end well.
(He had mixed feelings: technically he should be working on his first ever mega base. He feels like he’s neglecting the poor tower build. But, he was really proud of the base he had made for the prank war too, and he’d hate to see it become ruins so soon.)
What Grian didn’t expect was for TNT to drop from the sky, burning the flag and killing Mumbo, Tango, and Wels in a flurry of panic. Ash filled Grian’s nose, bitter and dry, as he gathered Tango’s dropped items before sprinting in the direction of base.
“Shots fired!?” Someone yelled as Grian ran back, turning just a bit to see Jevin readying up.
“SHOTS FIRED!” Someone else confirmed, flinging a trident just over Grian’s head. Jevin fired as well, before following Grian’s lead as he yelled for a meeting at the base. His legs ached something fierce as he flung himself into the cooled water elevator; but he wasn’t really prepared for the cold water as he started to drift upwards, thanks to the helpful bubbles. Grian just let himself float, enjoying the calm for just a moment. That was before he bumped into Cleo in the stream as she swam up, prompting Grian to swim up as well rather than just float along leisurely. They were at war, after all.
They soon filed into the sparse meeting room, Tango already having made it there as his spawn point was much closer. He was looking much more relaxed than the others, with his legs propped up and the chair tilted back with ease. His flaming tail flicked as he looked in the direction of the others.
Grian didn’t hesitate to drop Tango’s things on his lap, making him jump a bit as he sat up. That gave Grian a chance to check him and make sure he was alright, tilting his face a few directions to make sure the respawn magic hadn’t left him with any scars.
“I’m fine, you mother hen,” Tango’s sharp teeth slashed shut, subtly concealing the slight hiss he let out as Grian lightly punched the fire cat in the shoulder.
“Well, next time you decide to become ashes you can have someone else pick up your items.” Grian flicked his hair a bit as he strutted back to the head of the table. If he had a tail he already knew it'd be bouncing as he walked back. Or maybe it’d be latched on to Tango, making sure the hissy cat really was truly alright.
Thankfully he didn’t have a tail.
He wasn’t a hybrid.
Nothing decorated his back as he leaned back in the cushioned chair at the head of the table, sending a sharp pressure up his back. Not a single feather decorated his cheeks as he started to address the room.
“So, who do you think actually started-?”
“Cub. Definitely.” Cleo stated without any hesitation, waving off the question before it was fully asked.
“Agreed.” Stress nodded along with her words as they all looked at Grian. He nodded and hummed thoughtfully. ConCorp was definitely banking on the war to bring them lots of sales.
(Thank you Scar.)
“Okay, so what’s our pl-?” A fire ball hit the building, shaking it just a bit. “Scratch that, Tango, Iskall, go to, umm—”
Another impact to the glass allowed fire and shattered shards to fall in. Jevin quickly extinguished it with water as they all started to scramble out, all heading towards the bubble elevators.
“Tango, Iskall control room, do the, um, thing. Stress is with me on the battlefield and Jevin and Cleo have defensive duties. Move, move, move!” Grian called out as he dived into the reverse water elevator. Swimming down with the flow, Cleo followed him to the ground floors, both making a splash as they jumped out on the bottom floor. Giving a slight nod to the others before running and suiting up with iron and potions.
The iron armor was a rule they set in place during the early stages of the war. Just to make it a bit more fair. They didn’t buy into the quote “all’s fair in love and war.” Grian counted it as a blessing as he and Stress suited up. Stress had a bit of a problem with her armor.
“Little help, Grian?” Her voice echoed off the metallic chestplate slightly stuck in the wrong place over her head and chest.
Cleo chuckled heartlessly as she grabbed some potions before going to the stream. “Good luck with that, Stress.”
Then she hesitated for a moment: “You got her, G?”
“Yep,” Grian chuckled as he went to Stress, loosening the side straps on the iron plate so that it dropped down on her body to her chest and to her hips.
“Ooops,” Stress said as Grian laughed–a hardy laugh–as he helped her hold the chestplate up and tighten the straps, securing it more snugly on her body. And a much more reasonable place to have the armor.
“Nice job G, fits like a glove.”
“I’d hope so, we did pay Zedaph make sure they fit correctly.” Grian gave the armor a quick inspection, making sure the edges weren’t digging in anywhere, adjusting a few leather straps as he went.
“Okay, mister perfectionist. What, seeing something wrong with my handy work?” Stress teased as they went to the stables, grabbing the horses and leading them out.
“Nope, you just don’t got the expertise. You’re a baby in the art of war,” Grian jested back, hopping on the back of the horse, giving a tug and leading him closer to Stress, who hopped onto her own horse with not even a foot in the stirrup.
“Impressive.” Both of them trotted up the ramps to the roof.
“Thank you, and do you think you have an expertise in war?”
“Of course,” Grian ignored the tight feeling in his chest at those words. They should be light yet, they felt so heavy even being uttered lightheartedly into the world.
“Yeah, right. Birdbrain.” Stress started moving faster up the ramps.
“Hey!” Grian followed as the building shook from another fireball.
Both reached the top, staring at the already burning field before them. Adrenaline was already pooling in Grain’s gut and he was ready to use it. A quick nod and some shattered glass potions of slow flying potions got the two down with their steads to the flaming field. They galloped across the battlefield, stopping just before team S.T.A.R’s moat. The large stone structure towered above the G-team members as they notched their arrows and fired, switching to a trident a few times, hoping to get at least a few hits on the S.T.A.R team. Maybe even a few kills.
Grian completely overestimated their ability to be able to shoot that far above ground level. Even the tridents couldn’t go that far. It was obvious in hindsight.
“Wish I could use an elytra.” Grian redirected his horse to evade another fireball, before a different one scared his horse so much it knocked Grian off it. He puffed a bit as he sat up on his butt, looking at StressMonster as she giggled.
“That’s why we can’t, G.” Stress giggled some more as they dodged a fireball as it flew down, and then jumped off her horse to join Grian. Another fireball came between them. Grian laughed as Stress batted at her arm, extinguishing the small flames dancing up her arm. Thankfully, Grian was able to sidestep the flames as he watched Stress’s struggles.
False ran up to Stress and began batting at the flames as well. Both started batting at each other lightly, like cats, and Grian couldn’t help laughing as he tried to hit False with a trident but missed miserably.
“Grian, don’t hit me!” The sunshine blonde yelled.
“We’re at war, what- what am I supposed to do?” Grian chuckled as he prepared to fire at False again, this time giving her a moment to check on Stress before she escaped, dodging the trident.
“This isn’t over you, chicken!” Her blonde hair disappeared over the hill as she escaped.
“I’m not a chicken,” Grian yelled back before actually squawking as he dodged another fireball.
“You sure, Grian? You sure sound like it.”
“Stress, you're supposed to be on my side.” Grian chuckled along with Stress as they dodged fireball after fireball. They were leaving a trail of TNT behind them as he and Stress made a trench to hopefully draw out the other team.
“Who’s the chicken now?” Grian typed in the chat, challenging the team to come down even as the TNT blew, taking Stress with it. No one came down, but that didn’t stop Grian from firing his trident at the other team. He looked back toward their base, huddled safely behind their trench’s walls. He saw Tango in the control room, looking like a full-on army commander while yelling at Iskall to prep the cannons, his hair completely flared up in flames, before Tango started firing at the targets by locking zombies to their targets over the field, on the other side.
Each zombie had been equipped with their target's head, replacing their own to make sure that they attacked that particular target. A lovely magical feat achieved by Cleo and Grian. Gave Iskall quite the fright when they first showed him. Grian chuckled at the memory of his friend’s horrified-astonished face.
Grian thought he saw Cleo and Jevin attacking a creeper in their base, but he couldn’t be sure. He peeked over the trench, to look at S.T.A.R’s base just as a fireball came down, barely missing his face and hair, but hitting the other side of the trench. The blonde boy couldn’t really move right now, as he waited for his partner to return to the trench so they could attack again. Attacking without a partner would be certain death, or at least result in a few unnecessary burns.
So Grian allowed himself a moment to breathe, noting all the tension in his body as he lightly tugged at his magic. There was a familiar pressure on his back, just on his shoulder blades, begging to be freed, yet restrained by magic and his skin.
Air filled his nose as he rolled his shoulders back, rocking the pressure between them, searching for some relief, but finding none. Spoon, he’d need to release it at his base then soon. How long had it been anyway? How long has it been since he’d–-?
“Sup Grian,” Grian flinched as Stress reappeared at his left, interrupting his thoughts. “Getting distracted, are we?” She smirked as her brown hair rippled in the light wind.
“Nope,” Grian said through his teeth. He then spotted a certain mustached fellow, Mumbo slinking along the outskirts of S.T.A.R.’s base. Grain told Stress about the sneaking spy, and that he was going to go talk to their mole. She wished him luck as he snuck across the field to their ‘enemy’.
~~⋆~☆~⋆~~⋆~~⋆~☆~⋆~~
Grian’s meeting with Mumbo was quick, allowing for less suspicion as they both returned back to their respective teams. This mini escapade allowed Grian to see just how quickly the battle field was being destroyed while standing safely at its edge, near the center. Craters littered the ground, and small flames consumed the small patches of grass around them. It really was going to be nothing but ash soon. It was almost sad, but Grian reminded himself they all chose this spot since it was the one with the least amount of things around it.
It was the place with the least amount of significance to anyone else on the server. Grian sighed, shaking his head, reminding himself that this field wouldn’t matter in the long run, and, if it bugged him later, he could always plant something here.
He started running into the field in the direction of S.T.A.R, but stopped when he found Stress clinging onto Doc like a koala. Grian would have found it really funny if a sudden cry for ‘help’ didn’t make his lungs tighten as he looked around. Another cry and Grian was sprinting. He abandoned all his ideas of climbing onto Doc along with Stress and instead sprinted to the other side of the field, closer to S.T.A.R base. A fireball fell into his path.
“Hell,” Grian vaguely remembered describing another battle as such beforehand. This battle wouldn’t be like that. Grian had to remind himself of that. This wasn’t a serious fight, it was a game. No one was in danger. Another cry of pain pulled Grian to the moment. Shaking away the faded images of bodies long since. Images of dead strangers' bodies without names tried to turn the game field with his friends into something worse.
Into something terrifying.
It fueled Grian to run faster to his fallen friend.
“Can you guys stop firing for a second? I think someone's stuck,” Grian quickly messaged in chat while continuing his sprint—before falling face-first in a fire-pit hole. That burned through his pants just a bit.
A tiny yelp escaped his lips as he jumped out, looking around. Wacking the flames off of his pants, Grian tried to reorient himself with the field.
“Help!!” The yelling was much more desperate and it broke something in Grian to hear the pain behind the words, which is why he didn’t hesitate to break one of the rules.
All’s fair in love and war. His mind tried to reason, even if he knew deep down, it wasn’t that type of war.
He finally released the pressure on his back, tearing away the magic keeping it in place. Feeling the fabric illusion tugged away as his wings pulled from the skin of his back, spreading out as Grian began gliding over the flaming potholes with the flames licking his feathers as he flew over. Some reached higher as Grian flapped his wings, but he continued soaring over, fanning the flames as he went.
He didn’t put much effort into gliding, not needing the assistance of rockets like a normal elytra. His shoulders pushed and pulled the wings, flapping lightly to keep him just above the ground.
Silent and deadly. A master of death in a true war zone. But in this battle, he was anything but that.
Someone yelled, and Grian was certain he heard his name but he couldn’t care. He wouldn’t lose anyone in this war. He heard a yelp as he glided down, stopping just before a hole. A very deep hole with a very burned Cub. His outfit was tattered enough that red skin was showing through. Lava glowed behind him, flowing up to where Cub was perched on a crumbling cliff.
“CUB!” Grian reached in the pit, feeling the fire flick at his arm as he reached out. The fire burned his soot-covered sweater. Cub tried to reach him, but couldn’t because of the distance between them. He turned back a little, then ran quickly forward to Grian, jumping up and catching Grian’s hand with just the right momentum. Cub scraped the side of the wall and rocks fell as Cub tried to get a footing, giving some leverage to Grian.
Grian leaned back, slowly getting to his feet and dragging Cub out. Cooling air rushed down his arms as his back spasmed, and he flexed his wings as he attempted to pull his friend out of the hole.
Maybe if he hadn’t been on such an adrenaline rush, and panic, he would have noticed the obvious behavior that his wings were displaying. Not the behavior of an elytra. Not the behavior of an enchanted mechanism. The behavior of actual feathered wings. But, the need to not lose a friend had clouded his mind.
Grian’s butt hit the ground as he got Cub out of the pit. Both were panting like they were running a marathon, as they laid on ash and soot. Along with the fast flow of his breaths, Grian finally noticed his wings’ position and quickly tucked them close to his back, hoping they looked relaxed enough to be an elytra. He smoothed down his feathers, as best he could. His muscles ached as he did everything to make it seem normal, as he was not used to holding them in such an awkward position or making them so still. Grian calmly stood anyway, offering Cub his hand, when he was only halfway up. Cub grabbed hold, allowing Grian to pull him the rest of the way up.
“Thank you, Grian.”
Grian simply nodded at Cub’s words. He wanted to ask if Cub was hurt, check over his friend before returning to the war… no, the game battle. But—
“NO ELYTRAS!” A cry rang out as a trident found its place in feathers and flesh. Grian’s eyes widened, as he attempted to scream. Yet arrows landed in his back, rapidly bringing his fleeting hearts to zero. Cub yelled something as Grian’s vision flickered from the battlefield to the cold stone right by his bed, as he reached out and tumbled off his respawn point. His arms took the hit as he rolled.
Grian had just respawned in his bed, yet he was panting like the efforts of his rescue attempt were still going after he rolled onto the floor. He barely took a moment before his own hands harshly pulled his wings forward, shifting and tugging at feathers harder than he should. Some feathers continued to fall out as Grian’s eyes tried to find something solid, reassuring to hold onto. Blood, a tear in his wings, broken shafts of feathers, yet there was nothing to keep him sane, just feathers between his fingers. Red, yellow, and blue feathers. Just feathers and the slightest phantom ache of a trident's piercing in the winds, and needles in his back.
He stared. Red and yellow feathers stared back. Light blue ones layered below them, slightly green with yellow bases. He still heard his heavy breathing as he moved one of his legs out from under himself, trying to stand but falling back to his knees either way. An almost silent wet plop after plop made Grian slightly aware he was crying.
Slightly aware he was safe.
Slightly aware he was alone.
Slightly aware the wood planks below weren’t real. That they were stone.
But he saw the wood anyway, felt the hands pressing his shoulders down to the floor. Felt the older, callous hands of the elders of his village push him down.
“Grain!!” A voice cried as he tried to turn, craning his neck. He looked at the light blonde hair boy, on the bed, the boy struggling to get up, bandages wrapped around his torso. Bandage stained red, replacing the midnight wings that were supposed to be there. Wings that had been wide and proud, wings that Grian hoped his own wings would look like as he aged.
“Leave him alone.” A figure pushed the boy on the bed making him cry out in pain, as the hands on Grian, pulling him out of the room. He cried, breaking out of the elders hands to back up in a corner. Trying to stay in the back to keep his wings safe. No one can touch them if he was protected. No one!
“Run!!” His brother called.
He needs to run. He should have run.
He couldn't.
He didn’t.
They had him. Fingers tangled in his hair pulled harshly, pulling him and grabbing his shirt, flinging him to the center of the room. Pinning him down, then pulling on his arms and dragging him against the wooden floor. The elders had a plan and he could do nothing. Grian wasn’t as strong as his brother.
He never had been.
“Grian!!” They echoed.
Grian panted frantically, trying to say his older brother’s name. Somehow hoping he could somehow get the elders to stop pulling him away from his brother's room. He wanted away from his father, who pushed his brother down to the bed as he wept and silently screamed. Grian cried, hoping to stop them, but nothing changed.
He soon found himself pressed to the glass as the men above him moved, a knife appeared, and was thrust behind him, poking at his back. A press of the blade to his back made him scream. He whimpered. Crying, begging, anything to make them stop. Please, don’t. Please..
“DON'T TOUCH.”
“PLEASE DON’T TOUCH!!”
“DON’T TOUCH MY W-”
“Grian!!”
Pressure on Grian’s arms forced his own amber eyes to concentrate on deep red orbs.
“Focus on… me.”
Grian’s breaths came out in short bursts, like he was punching out at the others with his lungs. He tried to look back down to wooden floors, but a hand brought his eyes back to the red orbs. To red and pale skin.
“Focus on me, that’s it.”
He breathed carefully as he saw the man’s shoulders rise and lower as they exhaled. Focusing on the darkness of the man’s outfit rather than the seemingly endless logs of that house.
“You’re doing great, Grian.”
In and out.
In and out.
He received praise from the man as he did.
He could do it.
He’s out, he’s been out of that house for a while.
He’s safe.
Right?
In and out.
Finally Grian felt like he could see. It wasn’t just colors and blurred shapes. He blinked the tears away, only to see Mumbo’s very worried face, his black hair falling over his eyes for a second before he pushed it back. His eyes relaxed at seeing Grian’s relax first. Exhaustion began hitting Grian like a brick.
He looked down, breathing slowly again. No wood greeted him, just stone. Stone of the respawn point for the G-team. He was safe.
“Sorry,” he choked out as Mumbo gave his shoulders a light shake, looking back up.
“Grian, you are fine. You did nothing wrong.” Mumbo placed both his hands on either side of Grian’s face. “Are you okay? You were mumbling, and screaming. You flinched at every touch and-”
“I’m… fine.” Grian forced a smile, making it reach his eyes as he looked at Mumbo. He wasn’t there now, and he vowed never to go back to that place again.
“Sorry, just a bad nightmare.” He tilted his head, trying to look small and innocent and weak. He felt that way so much. It was an easy act to pull off.
“Grian.”
“Nope, I need to move.” He stood up, backing away from Mumbo, his wings tucked away from him the whole time. He barely noticed that he had cornered himself till he was away from Mumbo. “War’s over for the day right?” Mumbo just nodded, staying down on the floor, kneeling where Grian had been.
“Well, then I’m going to work on my base. It needs some love. See you, Mumbo!” Grain wasn’t proud to say he ran away, ran out of sight, but he did. Ran to his base and curled up in his sheets.
Trying to focus on the barren white walls, and boring gray paint.
Not on the panic in his heart and the knot in his stomach.
Not knowing if his friend understood what had actually happened.
Not knowing if Mumbo saw his wings and their unusual nature.
Not caring. He couldn’t put them back, not now.
He couldn’t hide his wings like he had with magic anymore, not till the ache was gone.
Till the feeling of knives in his back were gone.
Till the blade cuts were gone, no matter that they were just phantom pains.
He had lost them when he was six.
He couldn’t lose them again.
He cried himself to sleep that night for the first time in a long, long while.
~~⋆~☆~⋆~~
He heard the footsteps before he saw who they belonged to. They were light but echo-y, the way you expected dance shoes to sound in a desolate ballroom. Grian believed that with a building as tall and empty as his, it might as well be an empty, abandoned ballroom.
Red eyes greeted him as he opened his own.
“Grian.”
Grian pulled the covers over his head on cue.
“Hey, no. We need to talk.” Mumbo tried to move the blanket, but was met with Grian’s much stronger resistance. “You pesky bird.” Mumbo laughed as he tugged again lightly, before just resting his hands on what he assumed was Grian’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to talk, but let me talk. I feel like you should know what Cub has said.” Grian felt his shoulder tense and one wing puffed up the slightest bit before Grian forced it down. If it showed through the blankets, Mumbo didn’t say.
“Cub started to cause, um quite the scene on the battlefield, and we were all ready to call a cease fire for the day anyway, so we all went to investigate. He was actually cursing Rendog out. Like full-on words, not some replacements but full-on curses.” Grian let out the lightest laugh, and Mumbo elaborated more. “Yeah, you should have seen it. He was saying words that Cleo said she wouldn’t say to her own father. And we all know their relationship.” Grian snorted just a bit at that. Cleo and her father had a few problems and only recently had started to communicate again—though it was rocky and infrequent.
“But Doc and Xisuma got them to calm down. They made sure Cub wasn’t going to try and murder Ren if our backs were turned.” It became obvious that Mumbo was trying to ease the blow of something. A pain that Grain wasn’t going to survive without a buffer apparently.
“Ren started on how you broke the rules that you had helped Xisuma set. Cub interrupted a few times, but Ren managed to get out that he saw you fly and he came down to remind you of the rules.”
“But then Cub mentioned how you helped save him from burning in a few nasty ways—-because someone had put lava under the field and he was stuck with it; barely above it with no blocks to get out or rockets.”
That’s why Cubfan was in the hole. Grian felt a bit more at ease knowing that getting shot by the trident wasn’t for nothing.
That the aches and phantom touches weren’t for nothing.
“We asked Cub: ‘How did Grian get to you?’ He got quiet before saying he didn’t know.”
Oh, no.
“Xisuma pressed, but Cub said he saw something and wanted to confirm it with you. And we noticed you hadn't come back from your respawn.”
Please, Design no.
“So I found you and… Grian.”
He was shaking. He couldn’t stop it, they knew. They had to know now. They knew. What if they-
“Grian, breathe.” A hand pressed on Grian’s shoulders, grounding him as much as possible, and another hand traveled under the blanket to grip his hand.
“You back with me?” Grian didn’t answer for a bit, just breathing, trying not to shake as he focused on Mumbo’s slight friendly pressure. When he felt somewhat more prepared for the horrors that came with Mumbo’s words, only then did Grian squeeze Mumbo’s hand to let him know he was ready. Mumbo hummed a bit, slowly releasing a breath.
“I told Xisuma what I found at your spawn, and that I gathered all the feathers too. With that and Cub they… They understood and I did too. I’m sorry.” The silence dragged on. So much was implied in that silence. Cub had noticed, he had told Xisuma, Xisuma knew, Mumbo had collected his feathers. Yet one thing stood out.
“You’re sorry?” a whisper escaped Grian’s lips, as he slowly pulled the covers down to see Mumbo’s downward-pulled lips and puffy eyes. Grian kept a slight grip on Mumbo’s hand even as he emerged a little from his blanket cocoon.
“Yes, because you… you were so scared, and it was… I know why. You’re new to hermitcraft and having those—those, especially when elytras were just introduced... It must have been terrifying. Feeling like you needed to hide such a secret, and then doing something so close to your natural… instinct. You forget, you… feel whole. But then you realize that it wasn’t supposed to happen—”
Grian crawled out more and more, listening to the reasons that Mumbo listed, though not all were accurate.
“I understand not wanting to show a side that is so important to you. A side that is so vulnerable, that if it gets hurt, you will crumble. Like dust on the wind.” Red eyes met amber eyes. “I get it, Grian and I swear-” He grabbed both of Grian’s hands. “I swear on my life I won’t tell anyone till you are ready. They are your wings and you get to decide when people know about them. You get to decide when your birthright is shown to others.” Tears traveled down Mumbo’s cheeks, mirroring Grian’s own.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Grian could only describe his actions as reckless as he suddenly tackled Mumbo to the cold concrete floor, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck, holding him tight as he cried. He couldn’t stop sobbing. His wings hid their eyes from the outside world. Mumbo hesitated before wrapping his arms around Grian, just below Grian’s wings, holding on almost tighter than Grian was.
“Thank you.” Grian said between sobs.
“Anything for you.”
They stayed like that for a while. Just till Grian was ready to greet the world of sleep again. Sleeping off the news and letting it fade for a bit. Mumbo insisted on staying on the floor that night to make sure he was alright. Grian didn't disagree when the taller man brought out a blanket and pillow and wished Grian a good night.
Grian didn’t cry to sleep like before; instead Grian focused on remembering the warmth of such a careful hold, echoing back to warmer memories. Memories that gently carried him away to sleep a short while later.