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Alone. Afraid. Abandoned.
Grian sat crumpled in the corner of the dark room hanging over the ledge of the cliff. The same dark room that took the lives of his closest friends. The same dark room that haunted him. Cursed him. Caused him to be isolated from the rest of the world.
Outside, the world seemed so big. A vast yet desolate land stretched beyond where he sat. It beckoned him to join it. Taunted him for staying. He could hear the voices of his friends and enemies on the ground. They spoke strongly of him. Some remorseful. Others tormenting.
“He must be going mad up there.”
“I wish we could help him.”
“He did it to himself really. He’s cursed.”
“Stay away from him. He’s good for nothing.”
In the past few hours he’d heard it all. Plans of murder. Plans of rescue. His ears had been fine-tuned to his surroundings, taking it all in. His instincts keeping him alert despite how truly hopeless he felt.
However, in the last half an hour or so, the gentle, distant itching coming from his back was getting harder to ignore. It was a strange sensation, like pins pricking your skin, or the kind of visceral feeling you get when having an injection. He felt the way his shoulders interlocked with his spine, feeling every single joint fold and grind against itself. He felt the way each of his feathers moved along his wings, twisting out of place and bending in ways that made him tremble. His mind was fixated on his discomfort, addicted to the feeling of his clothing scratching against his feathers. Displeasure was creeping up his spine and creating a twisting feeling in his abdomen.
Pulling himself away from the dark blackstone walls, he let one of his wings fall in front of him, hands reaching out to caress with gentle touch. In doing so he noticed the poor state they were in. Their typically vibrant display had now become dull and lifeless. He noticed the way his usually delicately preened feathers were now out of place. Rugged and messy.
He’d never really noticed his feathers becoming weathered and dying. He remembered when Mumbo and Skizz were still here. Recalling the ways they’d softly comb their hands through his wings at random intervals of the day, remembered how Mumbo would play with them in the late night, softly tugging his loose feathers as they fell to the ground and the two drifted off to sleep.
It had become such a normality to him that he’d neglected to realise how often his wings needed to be preened properly. Months had gone by since he sat down and fully committed to the act, and he was far too exhausted to do it now. His emotions weighed heavy on his shoulders, heavier than the discomfort he felt coming from his back.
Grian stood in the centre of the dark room in the sky and pondered to himself. He could hear the distant cries of his friends, laughing and cheering. He could hear the way the structure creaked beneath him under the pressure of the wind. Combined with the ways his body ached and his mind jeered it was all too much for him.
He was about to fall apart when he got a visitor.
“Grian? You there?” The voice was chipper and lively, you could tell she was smiling without ever seeing it. Coming from the doorway to his left was Lizzie. The girls vibrant pink hair shone beautifully in contrast to the dark room they were in. The way her smile created little wrinkles around her eyes, the way her eyelashes fluttered as she adjusted to the shadows of the room. It was all beautiful.
She sighed, “There you are! I was beginning to worry about you.” She began to prance about the room, idling towards him with an air of concern. As she got closer, Grian began to cower slightly, hiding his wings behind his frame and away from her careful gaze.
“You’ve been all cooped up in here all day long.” She spoke in a way that made his shoulders relax, feathers stretching outwards and smoothing. “Don’t you want to come outside for a little while? We could go prank Scott!” She giggled as she emphasized her words, a mischievous smile creeping over her expression.
Normally, Grian would’ve jumped at the opportunity, laughing along with her and beginning to plot their scheme. But at this moment he was frozen. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. The itching was growing more intense and it was harder and harder to focus on what the girl was talking about as she continued to ramble.
She continued filling the room with chatter, something about what Scar and Jimmy had been up to that day, who the newest red life was. Grian started to grimace, his shoulders rolling absentmindedly as irritating pain shot around beneath his skin. Lizzie noticed this and stopped in her tracks.
“Grian?” Her head tilted at a slight angle as she hummed a confused sound. “Are you sick…? Oh… Oh…” Her eyes carefully followed his frame, analysing every inch of him. Shoulders that sat tight and uncomfortable. Hands clenched and at his sides. Feathers tousled and out of place. Eyes searched him before landing on his face, his expression sour and bitter. Full of pain and dejection.
Watching the man stand there, disheveled and afraid, made her skin crawl. She hated seeing Grian like this. Having known him for years it was always in her best interest to keep him happy and well looked after. The Grian she knows is not who stands in front of her. He is instead a shell of that, disheveled and broken.
The man flinched as she stepped closer, hiding his wings behind his form at an attempt to dissuade her of their painfully obvious state. Despite this, she inched closer until they stood at a forearms length away. Lizzie reached towards him, taking his hands in her own, caressing over each bruised and cut knuckle with delicate care. Grian stood there mouth agape in a combination of confusion and fear. He locked eyes with the girl, her expression full of love and gentle care. “C’mon Grian, let’s take care of you.”
The walk up the hill was silent, Lizzie’s hand not once letting go of Grians. Even when they reached the Bamboozler’s base, Lizzie’s hand stayed tightly clenched around his. Together, they got comfortable on the large bed. The duvet was feather quilted, patterned with soft shades of pink. With his other hand, Grian felt over the ridges of the quilt, the feeling of it soothing him.
“Are you feeling okay, Grian?” He looked up and met her gaze with hollow eyes. He nodded, “Jus’ my wings. They hurt.” The pain in his voice struck a nerve through Lizzie’s heart, making her pout. “Can I help? I think I remember what to do from when Jimmy was younger… he showed me what to do once.” A spark of hope lit in Grians eyes. Yes, it would help soothe his pain, maybe even help him relax and feel looked after. But it all felt a bit uneasy. Was he really about to let Lizzie in? The same Lizzie he’d been pining over for years? The thought of her seeing him so vulnerable made him feel queasy. A blush rose on his cheeks and he stayed looking at the quilt duvet, nodding in agreement, “Yeah… that’d be nice. Thank you.”
Grian sat cross legged on the edge of the bed, onlooking the soft warmth of the sunset in front of him. He felt a strong muddle of emotions currently. Scared, anxious, anticipating, excited. Grieving. He missed Mumbo and Skizz more than anything in the world. A large gaping hole was left in his heart, and it really had made a physical impression on him. His hair was knotted and unruly, cuts and bruises untended for. Most noticeably was his wings though, bits and pieces of rubble and dirt clogged his feathers into a chaotic mess.
“Okay! Here we are… I managed to find some oils left from last time Jimmy did his wings.” She sat down on her knees behind him, already pulling a wing into her lap before pausing. “Are you sure you’re okay with me doing this, angel?” She could feel the way his wing fluttered in her hands and giggled softly, choosing not to comment on the reaction. Grian mumbled a quick agreement before reaching to the hem of his jumper and lifting it over his head, Lizzie helping pass his wings through the holes cut from the back of the wool.
Sitting there hunched over with his naked torso exposed felt strange and slightly nerve wracking. It wasn’t that he was self conscious, more so that nobody had ever seen him so vulnerable.
“I’m starting now. Okay, angel?” she hummed as she tipped the small bottle of oil and began to warm it in her palms. Grian responded by relaxing his wings, letting them flutter as he stretched out any knots in his muscles. Lizzie carefully took his left wing back into her grasp and smoothed over his feathers with a delicate hand. Fingers gently reaching upwards to begin.
As she began to work through the soft mess of feathers Grian sighed, his eyes closing on reflex. The sensation wasn’t a stranger to him, but it’d been so long he had forgotten how truly relaxing and sweet it all felt. A chill spread over his spine and he shuddered, his wings rippling. “Oh, are you cold? Sorry, I’ll get you a blanket.” Grian twisted his shoulders around to face her, “No! It’s- It’s okay, I don't feel cold at all. Jus’ feels nice is all.” He looked to the quilt again as his cheeks grew warm with a blush. Lizzie noted this and smiled to herself.
She reached over to his wings again and this time gently caressed the soft baby feathers that connected to his back. He shuddered again and let out a soft chirp, quickly turning to face away from her. She giggled softly and apologized for teasing him before resuming to the actual task at hand.
She gently worked through the top section of his wings, through his primaries and secondaries. She pulled clumps of debris and dirt, and tugged softly as loose feathers fell in a pile on her lap. Throughout the process of preening his wings, Grian’s sleep deprived mind was focused solely on his emotions. Guilt wrapped around his heart and tugged, making him queasy. The strong contrast between his emotional and physical states was overwhelming. Inside his mind, he was fixated on his choices. His mistakes. Where he went wrong and ruined everything for everybody. He replayed the last few weeks in his mind; being so close with Mumbo and Skizz, creating a routine around them. All for them to both die by his own creation - his own hand. He looked to his palms laying open on his lap and saw bloodstained bruises and cuts. He felt sick.
In a disgustingly sick contrast, he couldn't help but feel so loved. Soft, delicate hands caressed his feathers, plucking with gentle care. The girl behind him hummed a soft tune as she tenderly worked on the task at hand. As guilt tugged at his mind, love pulled on his heart. How was it that he could feel so worthless and so loved all at once?
A tear welled up and cascaded down his cheek, landing on the bruised and bloody mess of his palms. His voice was thick with emotion and cracked when he whispered, “...I don’t want to lose you.” Lizzie’s soft hands stopped briefly, coming to rest on her lap. “What do you mean?” She made a noise that was a mixture between confusion and humor, “I don’t think you could ever get rid of me.” Grian sniffled and brought a fist up to rub his eye of his tears. He stuttered out a sharp breath and Lizzie immediately rushed to envelop him, her arms tight around his shoulders.
They sat that way until Grians’ broken sobs muffled to quiet whimpers and sniffles. He turned around to face her and utter an apology which she quickly shushed. “You never need to apologize to me, angel.” Her hand moved to cup his reddened cheek, thumb caressing under his eye wiping a stray tear away. Grian leaned into the touch like he’d never feel anything else again. “Do you want to tell me what’s been on your mind, hun?”
A sob rose in his chest again and he took a deep breath, shaking on exhale. “I lose everyone.” He felt as his hand was lifted from the duvet and into Lizzie’s own, fingers interlocked. “Mumbo’s gone. So’s Skizz. Everyone… I can’t stop losing everyone.” Lizzie’s thumb moved to brush against his, her eyebrows furrowed as she listened. “W-what if it’s me? What if I’m the reason everyone gets hurt?” His voice cracked with another sob, thick and stuttering.
“Oh, my angel…” Lizzie moved once more to cup his cheeks, this time with both hands, tender and soft. “It could never be you.” Grians lower lip wobbled slightly as he whined, tears brimming in his eyes. “You’re so brilliant! Amazing, talented, clever, interesting, funny… I could go on and on forever…” Grians soft tears fell down his cheeks and littered Lizzie’s hands, “I don’t deserve you.” Lizzie leaned forwards and peppered a kiss to his forehead. “Of course you do, you deserve all the love the world has to offer.”
They remained that way for a while, Lizzie pressing soft kisses to his temples, his hands, his cheek. Grian slowly calming himself simply by being in her arms. “Did you want me to finish your wings, love?”
This time, Lizzie sat cross legged by Grians side, Grian laying down on his chest next to her, his wing spread across her lap as she slowly worked through it. The guilt that was tugging at his mind was now replaced by loving touch and gentle words. Lizzie’s soft brushing fingertips through his wings made his eyes burn with sleep, soft yawns escaping his lips as his eyelids flitted shut. “Sleepy?” Lizzie hummed and tilted her head down to him. Grian giggled and tried to force his eyes open, murmuring a response into the blankets underneath him. “Noo… I’m awake, promise.” Lizzie rolled her eyes, plucking another feather from his secondaries and tracing gentle circles over where his wings met his back. Grian responded by murmuring something yet again, this time completely intelligible due to his sleep ridden mind. He yawned again, his wings puffing out slightly as he stretched, Lizzie playfully swatting him before smoothing over his wings one final time.
She moved herself to lay beside him, the back of her hand coming up to caress his cheek. He stirred slightly, sleepy eyes opening to meet her own. Grian moved closer, an arm draping over Lizzie as he quickly kissed her cheek, settling back into the soft pillows of the bed and closing his eyes once more. The sun drifted below the horizon and orange skies faded to a deep blue. Grian lay against Lizzie, safe and loved in her embrace.