Chapter Text
Grian had never been one to follow the rules, considering his tendency to pull pranks and his identity, which was rather.. frowned upon, in his community. This was the farthest he had gone, though. He was almost scared.
‘Grian the Fearless? Scared? Never.’ His sister would say, but she wasn’t here now, and she wasn’t there when he needed her most. Her indifference was almost more painful than the hatred he faced. He shoved the mental image of her eyes turned down as his mother shouted at him to the back of his mind, the words still ringing in his ears. That’s why he was here today—a final act of defiance.
It didn’t really make sense in his mind when he thought about it. He almost hoped he might die here and his family might finally realize they were wrong. He knew that would never happen, but it felt right coming here, and it was too late now anyway.
Nobody would know if he was here. He had told no one, not even Mumbo, who he told everything. Not that he’d receive the letter for a day or two, not since he’d moved, a piece of Grian taken with him.
They probably wouldn’t even notice if he went missing at first. If he happened to get into trouble, it would likely be too late by the time they realized. He was probably going to regret this; he knew that. But he was just so tired; he just wanted them to see him as he was. This was his final act of defiance, and he wasn’t turning back.
Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice the thicket creeping up on him, and he trips and falls flat on his face. Cursing quietly under his breath, he sits up on his knees, brushing himself off, and notices how dark it has suddenly gotten.
His lantern had gone out.
It was dark.
Really dark.
Grian peers around him. It’s hard to see anything but the looming silhouettes of the surrounding trees. It’s impossible to see even the moon or the stars through the leaves. It’s eerie, but strangely peaceful. As far as he can tell, other than the scrapes on his palms and knees, he’s fine.
If he wants to head back, though, now’s the chance. He better get up and move before he loses track of where he last came from. He doesn't, though, because he hears something—a rustling in the bushes. Maybe it’s his head, the dark, and the shapes of the trees. It’s windy; it could be the wind.
He knows it isn’t, even before a figure steps out from the thicket, handsome face framed by long brunette hair and stray strands falling from a low, messy bun. Scars mar his tanned skin, his forest green eyes glimmer, illuminated by a small but bright ball of light he holds in his hands.
Most obvious of all are the strange markings twining around his hands, pointed ears, and long tail tipped by a tuft of brown hair. ‘A witch,’ Grian thinks, his eyes widening. He’s.. quite pretty.
Grian scrambles backward, grappling for his lantern and bracing himself for whatever comes next.
The witch stares at him for a moment before narrowing his eyes. “Are you a human?” He asks, cocking his head, “What in the world are you doing so far out here?” He chuckles, stepping towards Grian, stumbling over the bushes. Grian should run; he should really run. Witches are murderers, cruel and relentless. They killed so many; they killed his father.
He can’t force himself to move as the witch draws closer until he’s only a foot away. The witch pauses and looks him over. Grian doesn’t dare move.
“You can put the lantern down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
If Grian’s chest weren’t so tight with fear and guilt, he would’ve laughed.
Surely this witch knows the stories and knows that Grian must know the stories.
Yes, the murders happened over eighteen years ago. Yes, Grian was only weeks old when it happened, but even the children of his village knew and wouldn’t dare draw near the woods.
The witch must think he’s stupid.
‘Maybe he’s right,’ a voice in Grian’s head rings out, and he knows it’s true.
He has to be stupid for doing something as foolish as entering the woods, and at night, no less. He’s stupid, and this witch is going to kill him.
He’s going to die, and he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t want to die because even if Pearl never talks to him and his mother hates him, Mumbo is still there. He’s not really gone; he’s just moved. They still send each other letters, and Mumbo tells stories of the things he’s done, while Grian complains about how boring it is without him. It’s not perfect, but he has Mumbo.
He doesn’t want to die at all, not really.
It’s too late, though, isn’t it?
It’s too late.
“All right, not putting down the lantern, are we? Uhm.. alright, it’s dark, and it’s cold. Why don’t you come inside, and I can give you some tea and cookies that I’ve made? How does that sound?”
Grian can’t breathe. He’s terrified, and this witch is offering tea and cookies.
He still doesn’t move.
“Uhm..” the witch says again, reaching up to push the lantern down with one finger, no longer threatening to beat him over the head. Grian lets him.
Grian flinches when the witch reaches a hand towards him, but lets a breath out when he realizes he’s just offering to take his hand. He hesitantly takes it and marvels at how gentle his hands are, despite their scarred and calloused state. The witch offers a kind smile and turns, leading Grian back into the brush from where he came in.
He’s going to die. That’s how this works. He’d known the risks when he’d come here, and he’d ignored the warnings. He bites back a bitter laugh. ‘Maybe I’ll be useful to somebody,’ he thinks darkly, ‘even in a lifeless state.’
He knows about what the witches do with their victims: boil their blood, whittle their bones, crush their teeth into powdered spells. He wonders for a moment what he’ll be used to do; he hopes it's something nice enough, like growing flowers or creating more balls of light like the one the witch holds in his hand.
He’s distracted from his grim thoughts by a faint, warm glow peeking through the thicket. “Welcome!” The witch whispers to him, smiling.
He’s led into a small clearing amidst the trees, illuminated by hundreds of small glowing lights. They hover and dance in the air around them, and Grian can’t help but gape in awe.
The clearing is full of flowers, rustling in the night breeze. Wind chimes sing from the porch of a small cottage in the middle of the clearing. A small gray cat peers out one of the windows where bunches of dried herbs hang.
The witch leads him down a small, beaten path towards the house. When they reach the door, the witch snaps his fingers, and the door creaks open, light bathing Grian in a warm glow. “Humans first,” the witch giggles. Grian doesn’t laugh along, but he does step inside.
The house is small, but cozy. The walls, floors, and ceiling are made of honey-colored wood. Drying herbs, glistening crystals, and charms hang from the rafters. A small kitchen sits off to one side, with counters, a washbasin, and shelves cluttered with food and what Grian assumes are witchy supplies and things. Off to the other side, a table and chairs, just as cluttered with books and papers, if not more.
“Apologies for the mess!” The witch calls back to him, stepping further into the house. “Don’t get many visitors; also, it’s the middle of the night!” Grian takes a moment to look around the house; it’s nice, despite the chaos on the tabletops.
“It’s.. fine..” he murmurs. The witch’s head shoots in his direction and gives him a grin. “He speaks!” He claps his hands together. “Now then, introductions. I’m Scar, Scar Goodtimes! You are..” He sticks both hands out, and Grian allows him to take his hand. “Grian,” he murmurs, noticing how much larger Scar’s hands are than his and how warm they feel around his cool fingers. “Grian! What a nice name.” Grian looks up at him with his painfully genuine smile. “Thanks..” he breathes, still wary of the witch and unsure of the situation.
“Yes! Of course, now.. tea! And cookies! And the reason you’re scrambling around the woods at this unholy hour!” Scar pats one of the seats settled around the table. Grian sits. “Uhm..” Grian mumbles out, “I’m not really sure anymore..”
Scar turns toward him and quirks a brow. "Well, I’d hoped you’d have a good reason. I mean.. sneaking into the woods? In the middle of the night?” He shakes his head disapprovingly and says, "I don’t want to spook you, but you could’ve died, Grian.”
Grian nods knowingly. “I know..” he murmurs. The witch gives him another weird look, “alright, you make yourself comfy; I’ll get us some snacks, and then we can talk.” Scar doesn’t look back at him again until he’s coming over to the table with two mugs and some cookies. They’re floating through the air, and settle themselves in front of Grian as Scar takes a seat across from him.
“So, my friend, talk to me.” Scar says, smiling. Grian scoffs and smirks at his demand: “I don’t know you. Why should I?” He crosses his arms, glaring across the table.
Scar pouts, and Grian feels some bitter sense of satisfaction. “I just saved you from the woods, and you won’t even tell me why you’re out here?”
Grian shrugs. “Maybe it’s personal.” He snaps, taking the mug into his hands and sipping. It’s too hot, and it scalds his throat. He savors the pain and doesn’t look back up at Scar.
He senses movement in his peripherals. The cat he saw in the window before padding over to him. He reaches down to let her sniff his fingers; she touches her nose to his palm before butting her head against his hand. Grian gives her a small smile and starts stroking her.
“Jellie likes you..” Scar hums from where he’s sitting.
Grian hums back quizzically, but he doesn’t look up.
“Jellie, the cat. She likes you.”
“Oh..”
He doesn’t stop petting her, but he does glance back up at Scar and sees him, head resting in his palm. His features display a gentle, painfully fond smile. He grins and waves with his free hand when he notices Grian staring.
“What?” Grian bites.
“Nothing, just watching?”
“Why?”
The witch giggles again, an infuriatingly cheerful sound.
“You’re cute.”
Grian feels his face heat up, and he looks back down at Jellie.
"So... you still haven’t told me why you were out in the woods.” Scar says, settling his hands on the table, his face more serious now.
“I said it was private, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Why should I?”
Scar sighs, and he settles back in his chair a bit. “I know something’s wrong with you, Grian, and yes, we’re strangers, but I have a feeling there’s something you need to talk about.” Scar’s face is pulled into an expression of gentle and genuine concern: “It might not mean much to you coming from a witch like me, but I will listen if that’s something you’d be interested in.”
Grian scoffs, “Nothing’s wrong with me. And I don’t want to talk.” Grian hisses. Scar sighs again, “okay.. at least eat some cookies.” Grian grudgingly grabs one of the sweets and resumes his petting. Biting into it, Grian has to admit it’s good. Melting in his mouth, it still holds a trace of warmth. Maybe that’s another witch thing.
“How is it?” Scar asks knowingly.
“S’ good..” Grian mumbles, frustration clear in his tone.
“I know.” Scar grins at him.
“Shut up..” he mutters back.
Scar is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “I really think you should talk to someone,” he says. Grian wishes he would let it go. “I don’t have anyone to talk to,” he responds, his gaze hardening.
Scar is silent again. “Nobody? Not a friend or a family member?” Grian shakes his head. “My mom hates me; my sister could care less; Mumbo is gone.” Grian pauses. “Now that I think about it, that kind of is the problem. You can see my predicament, I hope.”
“That sounds tough.”
“It is.” He admits.
“Again, it might not mean much, seeing as you don’t know anything about me beyond my name, but I’m here, and I’ll listen.” Scar murmurs and reaches across the table, making to take his hand. Grian flinches and glares. Scar’s face softens.
“Why do you care?” Grian growls.
“I’ve got all night.” Scar shrugs.
•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•
“And then she says I’m looking for attention!” Grian cries out, snapping into another cookie. “Attention is the last thing I’ve ever wanted! I literally just want to live my life!”
Scar is listening intently to Grian as he rambles on. He’s not sure exactly what his mother is so mad about, but he listens nonetheless. He knows how good it feels to just have someone nod along as you vent about your problems. It’s an experience he's shared more than once with Cub.
It was surprising to Scar how quickly he’d managed to get Grian to open up. He knew he was good, but he didn’t know he was that good. Maybe it’s the cookies, or his impeccably charming smile.
As Grian pauses to take a breath and glares intently at the tray in front of him, Scar breaks in. “What’s your mom so mad about anyways?”
Grian’s face darkens, and he looks away.
“That’s something you won’t be getting me to talk about.”
Scar knew he had pushed it too far, so he only nods his head and pushes the tray closer, urging Grian to continue. He doesn’t; instead, he looks up at Scar and asks, “Am I going to get to go home?” He looks sad now, almost.
Scar’s eyes widen in surprise, and he responds, flabbergasted. “Of course you get to go home, Gri! What makes you think you wouldn’t?”
Grian looks up at him and scoffs.
“You know the stories. I felt it might be safe to assume you were going to kill me. Also, what did you just call me?” He waves a cookie at Scar.
"Okay, firstoff all, those stories aren’t necessarily.. true. And second of all, I called you ‘Gri.’”
“Wow,” Grian laughs, “I’ve known you.. what.. half an hour?” Scar shakes his head. “Two hours now,” he corrects and Grian’s eyes widen. “I’ve been talking that long?”
Scar giggles and raises a hand to his lips. “You were certainly on a rampage there!” Grian looks down at the cat, now purring contentedly in his lap, sheepishly and whispers, “sorry..”
“You’re fine, I was the one who told you to talk anyways. I can’t complain.
“That’s fair.” Grian grins.
Scar grins back.
“Are you tired?” Scar asks, leaning in closer to Grian. He shrugs in response, “a little bit. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“You’re welcome to the bed if you’d like, you should get some rest.” We’ll have to get going early in the morning if we don’t want to be caught.” At that, Grian’s eyes widen.
“Caught? God, I’m sorry for being such a pain..” Scar quickly shakes his head in protest.
“You’re fine; I’m glad you got to talk about what’s been bothering you.”
“Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Of course, anytime.”
Grian looks back up at Scar quizzically. “Do you mean that?” He asks, referring to Scar’s previous statement. Scar grins and shrugs.
Shortly after that, Grian accepts Scar’s offer and heads off to bed. He insists on taking the couch, though, and lays down to sleep.
In the morning, he’s in the bed nonetheless.
•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•
As soon as the sun rises, Scar is quick to fetch Grian up from the bed (which Grian is very annoyed to find himself in) before promptly leading him out the door. He takes a few cookies along for the road, too, which Grian is very happy about. Maybe it’s enough to convince him to forgive and forget about being moved to the bed.
It’s not.
It isn’t long before the edge of the woods is clear in the distance. Scar and Grian chat the whole way there, about the little things, like their cats, and the bigger things, like how pissed Grian’s mom would be.
Their conversation doesn’t stop until they reach the very edge, and as much as they’d both hate to admit it, they’re in no rush to part ways.
Before stepping away and waving his goodbyes, Grian wraps Scar in a tight hug, which Scar happily returns.
“Thank you..” Grian murmurs as Scar smiles gently.
“It was my pleasure,” the witch responds.
Grian pulls back then and waves before stepping onto the path along the woods’ edge and making his way home.
Scar smiles and waves sadly in return; he just hopes Grian will be okay and that his mom won’t be too mad.
He’s glad he could help, though; it’s been a while since he’s been seen as anything more than a nuisance.
•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•
As soon as Grian finds his way home, his mother’s anger is quickly evident. Scolding him for vanishing without a word, complaining about how she’d had to make dinner all by herself since Pearl was busy.
Grian doesn’t mention that he’d almost died.
He just heads to his room as soon as her screaming fit subsides.
The first thing Grian does is find a piece of parchment, which he swiftly begins scribbling onto, a frantic retelling of how he’d made a new friend and was hoping to see him again tomorrow. He doesn’t mention that his friend saved him from the imminent danger that lurks in the woods or that his friend is a witch.
He can’t stop now; he’s going to see Scar tomorrow and find out what Scar meant when he said, ‘The stories aren’t necessarily true.’ Maybe he’ll finally get some answers.
•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•
Grian shows up at Scar’s front door a day later.
Scar stares at him wide eyed.
“I just couldn’t stay away.”