Chapter Text
It takes two days into the season for Cub to realize why the server's felt so quiet.
"Where's Scar?" He asks Grian the moment he finds him- Standing in knee high water, shoes placed in the sand. Cub stands at the shore and watches the way the water seems to pull at it.
"He should still be on the Life server." Grian muses, watching the water for any movement.
Cub stops, nearly asks Grian to say it again so he can be sure he's heard him properly. Then, as his words settle-
"You haven't brought him back?"
Grian closes his eyes, breathes. "Don't blame me! It's not as simple as it was with the other three. The other winners shattered their code to leave their seasons. He hasn't, yet."
He doesn't like how he says that. Yet. Like it's an inevitable tragedy. A pinprick of grief settles in Cub.
Eventually, he stumbles over to stand with Grian in the water. He looks out into the river, and while it’s not what he came for, it’s a nice moment.
GoodTimeWithScar joined the game
And then that moment ends.
—
The thing about the Life series is that no one ever comes back completely right in the head. Bodies are not made to switch their primary servers as often as Hermits do, and it does not serve them well, whether it's physical or code wise. His first few days back, he's left swimming through memories that are not quite right and leaving him with his claws out and his vision in spots.
When Scar respawns back on Hermitcraft, his skin prickles, nerves crawling and wings fluttering and shimmering in the sunlight. At first, it always feels like he’s being thrown off balance- The first sensation always hits him the hardest but today, it lasts longer than normal. He turns his head, and the next feeling that hits him is visceral and familiar. He is hungry.
Slowly, he begins to move. To find someone, food, a pair, prey. His body does well to fight against him, head spinning and something warm and taunting resting just under his skin. The world around him makes sense, there's no fight to it- It's clearly his form itself that's pushing back against it. There's a wall there, the immovable object to his irresistible force. So, he pushes harder. Vex magic is something that comes easier to him after a game, practically second nature, and so he uses it to push himself- He takes a step, then another, a pressure builds in the air like a rubber band about to snap. He lurches, falling into the dirt this time, claws dragging marks in the grass. His arms burn with pins and needles, and when he looks at them properly they're glowing bright blue, ethereal even as they are dirtied. The joints in his fingers go stiff and metal takes to his tongue. He tries again. Drags his arm through the dirt. Then the other. He takes, the lifeblood of the server beneath his claws.
When he finally brings his gaze upwards, there is Cub. He stands there, a halo of sunlight frames his head, the only visible feature of his face being his glowing eyes that seem to welcome him with the ferociousness of a lion to their mate. It’s beautiful; it’s ethereal.
And then the moment ends, with Cub practically falling to the ground to crouch in front of him, hands grasping at his face. Scar wants to press in further, to feel Cub’s nails dig into his skin, like a welcome home kiss. Vex hunt in pairs, and he’s willing to be both the prey and predator, all for Cub.
“-ar? Scar. Can you hear me?” Cub’s voice pierces through his haze, like a lighthouse shining through the foggy abyss of the night. Scar wishes- no, needs - to take Cub’s voice; keep it like the most precious gemstone. His voice is perhaps like an emerald, or a nether star.
“Scar, don’t pass out on me, stay up.”
Scar heaves with a soft whine, burying his face into Cub’s shirt, his claws digging into his back. Vex hunt in pairs, and Cub is the second half of him, something to complete his eternally broken soul.
His voice sits heavy in Scar’s head, like honey or lava- Warm and all-encompassing and full of love, but also creating a buzz just behind his eyes. Weird, he thinks distantly- he’s never gotten a headache like this.
“Grian!” Cub calls, still holding on to Scar’s trembling body. Scar vaguely recognizes that name- it sounds like something you’d name a fish. He giggles, face still smothered in Cub’s shirt, so it sounds more like he’s hyperventilating.
He hears something land near them, all wings and talons until it’s gaze lands on Scar, but he hardly has the piece of mind to panic. Grian (his mind finally supplies him with the person behind the name in its entirety) comes closer step by careful step. Scar shambles forward. Grian moves back.
The high that vex magic gives him is beginning to fade- he hates this part the most. The dimming euphoria at the end of it all. Cub is still close to him, warm and solid, and so he presses closer- Tense and more high strung than ever.
“Is he… Okay?” Grian asks in his direction, but not to him.
Cub sighs, looking down at Scar. He preens under his gaze, a soft smile managing to twitch on his lips. He loves every second of Cub’s attention bearing down upon him. “He’ll be fine, I think. We should really get him to a base, though.”
“Will you even be able to carry him?” Grian points out, as Scar slumps further against Cub, like his bones are melting away with each moment he clings to Cub. “‘Cause if not, I can get some help-”
“You’ll do for help. Just grab his legs- and whatever you do, don’t touch his back. He’ll lose it if he thinks someone’s threatening his wings.”
Grian mumbles something in agreement and with that, a pair of arms wraps around his lower half, careful to not touch his back whatsoever. He’s lifted up from the ground, still wrapped in Cub’s arms, as he’s carried off somewhere. He doesn’t care where he goes. Cub is here, he’ll keep him safe.
Everything goes dark as voices softly murmur back and forth above him.