Chapter Text
The winds howled outside the tent, too many voices echoed through the harsh twists and turns of the air, commanders yellings cutting through some. False was also talking — or rather, yelling whislt holding some papers up to Scar who looked conflicted.
“We should take those men to the northern border now! Get any stragglers on the way and try and push them out.” False explained, pointing at the paper to what Grian assumed to be a group with a list of names he was yet to look over. He hadn’t looked for what group Gem or Joel had been thrown in. Or where Tango and Bdubs had ended up. He didnt know. Grian wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Maybe being naive was better, not knowing if his friends were seconds away from death. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.
“No, it’s a trap, False.” One of the other commanders snapped. Grian hadn’t met him before, a dark helmet covering his face, different from everyone else’s.
False shook her head. “It’s not a trap! We send them up front, ensure its safe and then the rest follow!” She hissed, the papers falling onto the small table Grian hadn’t noticed.
“That’s one of the most idiotic things I've heard, False! It’s a trap. People are going to die. We don’t have the numbers for a suicide mission!” The other groaned.
Grian stepped beside Scar who was staring at the papers intensely, eyes firmly focused on a letter. Grian’s eyes glanced over the papers.
What if Joel was in the first group? What if Gem was there? What if Bdubs or Tango were there?
He pursed his lips, fighting the urges to look at them, to glance at them.
He couldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
“What do you suggest then Xisuma?” Another snapped from the doorway, wiping wet teal hair from his forehead. “Because right now, we have soldiers ready for action now.” Grian’s stare lingered on the man for slightly too long, his eyes shining with determination yet… grief? Grian wondered if he or the man would live long enough for him to find out why.
The man — Xisuma — sighed. “Fine, send the first group out, Scott.”
“Your Majesty, anything else to add before we move?” The man — Scott — asked, bowing his head down, swallowing a thick lump in his throat. He seemed to hesitate to speak, fighting a battle with his own voice.
“I’m unsure on the numbers, False.” Scar hummed, eyes finally leaving the papers. “Unit A has some good soldiers in, I’m unsure if it would be wise to send that regiment out and leave us defensless here. What if it is a trap like Xisuma says? I think sending soilders on a possible suicide mission isn’t a good idea.”
False groaned again. “I understand that Your Majesty but we just don’t-“
Suicide mission.
It was a suicide mission.
Soldiers were being sent on a suicide mission. They were being sent off expecting battle, only to be met with a trap. A trap which would kill them all. A trap that Scott was being sent to. And, whilst Grian didn’t know Scott all too well, he certainly didn’t wish death upon them.
Suicide mission.
“I’ll send an update once we reach the end point.” Scott said, flicking through a small pile of papers. “Should it not reach this base, I wish you the best of luck in further attacks.”
Scar inhaled slowly, raising his head towards Scott before nodding. “I hope to see you again Scott.” He pursed his lips, “If anything happens, is there anything you would want to be passed on to anyone?” Grian didn’t miss the way Scar’s voice shook.
Scott shook his head. “My partner is in the same unit as me. He’s all I have.”
A solemn energy was set as Grian’s eyes fell to the floor, tilting his head downwards.
Scott left without another word, storming past their tent. A small silence fell between them.
Grian wasn’t sure what it was that filled the air, but it was heavy. Heavy and thick, deeply flooded with regrets and guilt yet he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was a final goodbye to the man who had left, determination in his eyes. Eyes that would soon be lifeless if he completed his mission.
Lifeless.
His stomach churned, twisting in on itself as the others didn’t do anything.
Scott would be dead by morning.
Quietly, Grian made a promise to bury Scott with the man he loved, two headstones side by side, flowers decorating the graves.
He hoped Scott would forgive him.
— — —
Jimmy walked quickly, pace fast, head hung low. The metal at his side burning against him, the fabric offering no protection against it.
Scott walked ahead, striding through the forest with purpose, scouting the grounds around them. Every so often, a stick would crack under someone’s foot and he would halt in position, head snapping to find the culprit. The man’s shoulders were in a constant state of tension, raised high along with his head.
Jimmy feared the worst.
While he and the rest of the people in his unit hadn’t been told what their purpose was, Jimmy knew it wasn’t good.
Scott avoiding him wasn’t good either.
So, as quietly as he could, and whilst drawing out as little attention to himself as possible, he attempted to catch up to Scott.
Unfortunately, subtlety was never Jimmy’s forte.
“Jimmy, if you need to say something to me, say it.”
Jimmy knew Scott probably didn’t mean to snap, he knew the man was facing an absurd amount of pressure, enough that it was impressive he was yet to crumble under it. But it still hurt his heart to hear the man snap out of anger, frustration, at him.
Not because he was hurt that Scott would snap at him, that he was angry at him. But because he was angry and frustrated. Jimmy knew the walls Scott had built up, once high and sturdy, were no longer the same, time being its greatest enemy as it tore away at some of the decaying bricks. He knew that Scott shielded his emotions away from strangers, from unwanted people, keepings his weaknesses to those he trusted. It was an unusual thing to hear such raw emotion come from him, displayed for anyone to hear.
“I, um, I wanted to know what exactly the point of this mission is.” He spoke quietly, unsure if Scott would want him to bring any attention to the forgotten question that others had meant to ask.
Scott inhaled slowly, eyes scanning the walk ahead, a calculating look in his eyes as he placed a hand on Jimmy’s wrist. Then the man stopped walking.
Jimmy winced as the soldiers behind them came to a halt.
“Continue marching! Three miles north and one east!” Scott yelled, pointing in the direction they had previously been walking. Jimmy stayed put, the firm hand on his wrist almost comforting.
Scott didn’t move as the soldiers continued passing them, a determined look on his face.
Then, as the last row stepped out of earshot, Scott started to move. Jimmy shuffled, stumbling as Scott practically dragged him into motion.
“I love you, Jimmy.”
“Wha—”
“I— I love you, and I just— I need you to know that. Please, Jimmy, tell me you know it.”
Oh.
They weren’t—
They weren’t making it out of here.
Maybe that realisation should have come as more of a shock than it did. Maybe it should have felt like a slap in the face, like he had been winded, kicked down. It should have stopped him, frozen his limbs, his blood cooling down.
Instead, Jimmy found it as a dull ache in his body, something that had always been there, but he had only just paid attention to it. Maybe he should have realised this earlier. Maybe then it would have been a shock. But Jimmy… Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to feel anything. His fate had long since been sealed, the moment he had been conscripted his destiny had been foretold by the prophecies, written out by those in a higher power than himself.
“Scott? What—” Jimmy was cut off by a small snap, something ahead of them twitching and breaking. Jimmy wasn’t phased by it, a small stick must have been stepped on by another soldier.
Unfortunately, Scott didn’t seem to think that.
Without hesitation, Scott’s hand left Jimmy’s wrist and snapped to the hilt of his sword, raising it ever so slightly. His eyes were blown wide with fear, as he unconsciously took a step in front of Jimmy.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment, neither of them spoke as thick air sluggish was pumped into their lungs after who knows how long. The seconds passed by slowly, almost sickly slow, as Scott turned to him, blinking quickly.
“Ah, sorry about that. I’m not sure what happened there.” Scott laughed nervously, stepping back beside him, hand leaving the hilt.
Maybe if Jimmy didn’t know Scott as well as he did, or if this was his first time ever speaking to the man, then maybe he’d believe him. Maybe he’d accept the man’s words and leave it at that. But Jimmy knew Scott. He knew the man who was standing beside him. Jimmy knew Scott better than he knew himself, even with the man’s lack of predictability, Jimmy always knew what eh would do in a situation. He knew how to tell if Scott was lying, if Scott was trying to cover something up.
And Scott was certainly trying to cov—
“It’s a trap.”
Wha—
“We’re being sent up to scout it out, check if the area would be good for us to approach. Make sure there aren’t any landmines in the area or anything.” Scott muttered, eyes flickering towards Jimmy, a gloss covering them.
Landmines?
Oh.
Oh.
“I don’t— I don’t think—”
Click.
Scott went quiet.
Tick.
Everyone went quiet.
Tick.
“...Scott, wha—”
Tick.
Everything went quiet.
Still.
Nothing happened,
The first thing Jimmy registered was the heat. The burning and underdeveloped blistered bubbling under his skin, seeping down into his blood. The white hot flames that ate away at his skin, tickling him as they melted gently melted his flesh.
His body screamed at him, pleading with him to move, to run away. But he couldn’t. His mind wouldn’t listen to him, nothing would listen to him. Everything was too foggy for him to focus, his thoughts were sluggish, moving slowly.
Copper liquid swirled around his mouth, dripping out to his chin, staining anything in its way. Jimmy wasn’t sure why his ears were ringing so intently, but the pounding in his head was only increasing.
His eyes peeled open, almost growing numb as he did so.
Everything was bright, the flickering burning flames attacked his eyes, sending strikes of aching through him.
It hurt.
He didn’t…
Jimmy wasn’t sure he could do anything, not with the aching pains and small whimpers escaping him. He couldn’t—
Oh gods—
Scott.
He had to find—
— — —
Grian was tired, unbelievably tired. Every movement sent waving aches of dull fatigue through his system. His eyes felt like they were going to snap shut any minute now, and never open again. Strangely he didn’t find anything inside him twinge at that thought. Maybe that was something he should think about in more detail.
He also wasn’t sure they had time to do that.
“Your majesty?” A voice— Xisuma, his brain supplied— echoed from outside the tent. “There’s some things we want to go over, if you have the time.”
Grian watched as Scar paused for a moment, something shifting inside of him before he stepped away and out of the tent.
Then he was alone.
— — —
Scar knew exactly what Xisuma wanted.
He didn’t know if it was from one single thing or all of it together, but with his shaken voice, tilting from too high all the way to too low, the way the man’s hands were held behind his back, pressed together to stop the way they shook ever so slightly.
He knew what this conversation would be about.
Scar also knew it wouldn’t be good.
“Your majesty.” Xisuma tilted his head downwards, imitating a small bow.
Scar smiled, although there was no happiness behind it. “...Have we— Was there any—” He exhaled slowly, “Any updates on the unit?”
Xisuma didn’t say anything for a moment, and Scar felt something crumble inside of him.
Of course he’d know it would be a possibility, that this would have been a likely scenario they’d find themselves in if he’d sent Scott and the unit away. Yet, it didn’t do anything to help dampen the waves of guilt that washed over him. The guilt that ate at him every second of the day, slowly taking over him until he was nothing but a small pile of bones.
“A few soldiers and I went up to scout up ahead.” Xisuma muttered, “Shrapnel covered the forest, luckily the fires were maintained and we managed to put them out. We rounded up the casualties and collected their badge numbers.”
Was Scott—
“The ones closer to the source were… mangled. It would have been impossible for us to tell who they were. Their tags were completely destroyed, no way of identification.”
Oh.
Scott was—
“We counted them all up. A couple are missing, we don’t know if the bodies were thrown too far away or if they got completely torn up by the landmine or covered by the other soldiers but—”
“There’s a chance Scott survived?” Scar didn’t like interrupting people, but he thought this was an appropriate moment to do so. Xisuma didn’t reply for a moment. “Xisuma, there’s a chance right?”
When Xisuma’s head turned from side to side and no words were spoken, Scar turned and walked away.
— — —
Loneliness wasn’t something Grian was used to.
His parents never gave him a moment to himself, constant torment from them, a constant responsibility to protect his siblings, to stop anything from dampening the innocence in their eyes. Once he had left them, his master had never given him any freedom once he was to himself. A bird in a cage. He had been nothing more than a trophy on a wall.
But it had been different at the castle. He’d had his friends, people he could rely on, reasons he wouldn’t be lonely. Then he met Scar. Scar who had brightened his world, Scar who had never left his side. Scar who had his back.
He had all of them.
But now he didn’t.
Now he was alone.
Even if it was only for a moment, the darkness of his own presence ate away at him. It was haunting him, memories plastering against his mind, taunting him with their small remarks.
Grian inhaled slowly, opening his eyes.
Then they laid on some paper.
It was old, scrunched up, the corners tearing away and giving in to the everlasting pleading of the world's cruelty. Yet, even with its age, the small font was still visible, the ink bleeding out of its once given lines and infiltrating onto the crinkled paper.
Even with the age, the words were still eligible.
A list, he realised as his eyes scanned down the page. Time seemed to slow as he realised what it was, what the meaningful ink splotches meant.
Regiment One.
Shubble, Shelby.
Owenge, Juice.
Solidarity, Jimmy.
Gla—
Grian blinked. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
He knew he was tired, he knew the lack of sleep was getting to him and that his nest was in the palace not here, with him and Scar. But seeing things? Grian thought he’d left that in the past. He thought he’d left that back when he’d first escaped, back when he was weak and vulnerable. Which he wasn’t now.
So, Grian blinked and let his eyes wander back up to the top of the crumpled document.
Regiment One.
Shubble, Shelby.
Owenge, Juice.
Solidarity, Jimmy.
Gl—
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
His eyes stayed pinned to the name, burning through the clear lie on the paper.
Solidarity, Jimmy.
Jimmy.
Jimmy.
Jimmy.
He was-
He was here.
Alive.
His brother was alive. His brother had made it out. Jimmy had gotten out of the hell hole, had clawed his way out of the pits of the graves their parents had dug for them and survived.
He was alive.
Voices were no longer muffled by the thin cloth of the tent, as the winds raced through the opening and crashed into him, nearly knocking him from his shaking legs. Then another person stepped in, and another and—
Grian’s legs shaking became too much all of a sudden, as his knees crashed against the dry dirt. There was a shout, distant and muffled by the sound of his own screaming mind, pleas that ran with no response, demands he couldn’t meet, questions that Grian would do anything to have an answer to.
His shoulder burned as a hand laid on it, trying to steady him. Yet the attempted comfort was useless as his body mindlessly flinched away from the contact, fleeing from what his heart yearned for.
“—rian?”
Jimmy.
Jimmy was alive.
His brother, his flock, was alive. Walking around and Grian was just— Sitting here! He wasn’t…
“It’s not a trap!”
“Sending soldiers on a possible suicide mission isn’t a good idea. ”
Scar inhaled slowly, raising his head towards Scott before nodding.
“I hope to see you again Scott.”
Somehow, more oxygen ran from his lungs, deflating them within his chest. His gasps and pleas were ignored by his mind as his mouth was locked shut, the key thrown away. Thoughts and questions and prayers raced across his mind, haunting his every second.
Traps.
Suicide mission.
Regiment one would be dead by dawn.
Dead.
They would be lifeless if they completed their mission.
Lifeless.
Oh.
Lifeless.
Dead.
It was a suicide mission.
Scott would be dead by dawn.
Jimmy would be dead by dawn.
His brother would be dead.
His brother whom he had only just gotten back. His brother who didn’t even know he was here, alive. His brother who he’d last seen as a child, face red and puffy as tears streamed down it, broken and cracked pleas for their situation to change. His brother who Grian had left.
Abandoned.
Grian flinched as a sound left his mouth, broken and cracked, all too like one his brother had let out, one Jimmy had let out. It was dry as it scraped its way out of his throat, clawing its way up and out, fighting against anything in its way to stop it.
“Scar.” Grian knew it was him that spoke, he knew the voice had come from him yet it sounded so far away. He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure why everything was burning, his clothes sticking to his skin, pressing against him tightly, stopping his heaving chest from taking in the desperately needed oxygen.
Grian dragged his heavy head to the side, blinking away the blurry vision as he set sight on Scar.
“Scar, help—” Grian choked on the words his eyes glued to that stupid paper with his brother's name on.
“Grian, what’s— What happened? Are you hurt? Did you—” Scar’s voice was cut off by a half choked cry from Grian. He leaned down, crouching beside him, hand hesitating as it hovered above Grian’s hand.
Grian wasn’t sure if he could even get out another word, the last burning his mouth, the stick still crackling down his throat.
“Songbird? I need you to breathe—”
He couldn’t, not when his brother was dead—
“—in, c’mon, you can do it. In… and out. Yes, that’s it—”
Grian wasn’t even sure he was breathing, or if he had been doing anything different than before, but Scar said he was doing something good, so he continued doing whatever it was.
Scar brought his hand down, slowly resting upon Grian’s, rubbing small circles on it.
“There we go, do you think you can explain what happened?” Scar whispered, bringing the other’s hand closer to him.
No—
Words were too much. Everything was too much.
Instead, Grian lifted his shaking hand and pushed the crumbled paper into Scar’s chest. He carefully unfolded the sheet, eyes softening.
“Gri, it’s okay. I’m sure Scott will be okay.” Scar whispered, rubbing that familiar motion against his skin. “Xisuma went up to the site, they didn’t find Scott’s body among the wreckage, or his tag. He— There’s a chance—”
“Wreckage?”
Scar inhaled, “There was a landmine, it was set off and… It wasn’t…”
“...Jimmy!”
The sob tore through him, as he fell forwards. Scar was quick to reach forwards and stop him from hitting the floor but it didn’t matter.
Not when Jimmy was dead.
His brother, his flock, was dead.
“Songbird, Birdie, it’s okay, I’m sure Jimmy’s okay. The wreckage was only small, we’ll look through the casualty list, there’s a few names missing. It might be—”
Grian shook as he fell into Scar’s body, sobs tearing through him.
It hurt.
He hadn’t thought the grief would hurt like this, that it would ripple through his entire body, sending waves of pain and guilt. Grian didn’t remember it hurting like this before, maybe it was because there was some hope before, hope that their parents would have spared his siblings, that they would make it out. And Jimmy had. Only the hope that had fuelled him, kept him going, was running out. It had been strained and stretched thin until it snapped. Until he saw that name.
The last thing on Grian’s mind was the familiar golden wings, brown longing eyes staining his mind.
— — —
Scott wasn’t sure if anything was real. Not with the pounding feeling in his head, or the immense pressure against his arm. His legs felt… Numb. He couldn’t feel them, which really should have set off more alarm bells, but it didn’t.
In fact, Scott was struggling to think about anything. Everything was too foggy, his mind was clouding up, the smell of smoke filling his nose, burning his eyes—
Smoke.
Fire.
Scott groaned as he pulled his eyes back open. Yet as soon as they were he wished he never had.
Blood coated everything. His hands were stained with a thick layer of the sticky liquid, clumps clotting and drying up. There was a thin puddle beneath him, and Scott didn’t need to look down to see the deep red seeping into the rocks below him. Although Scott was pretty sure he could tell where that had come from, the lightning that crackled throughout his arm. He couldn’t tell what was his flesh, hidden by coats of blood, or what was shrapnel, shards of what had been discarded into his mangled limb.
Scott groaned, eyes scanning his surroundings.
Beyond the caked layers of blood, laid the bodies of soldier's he once knew. Soldiers he had briefly spoken to, words of praise, encouragement, lies. Words to keep them going.
All for what?
For their journey to be over within a few seconds.
For their lives to come to an end.
For their…
Lives coming to an end.
Lives—
The soldiers were dead.
The—
Oh.
Oh.
Jimmy—
Scott pushed his head up, eyes flicking through the lifeless bodies he was surrounded by. If determination wasn’t pumping through his veins, maybe he’d feel sick at his lack of empathy to these people. But Scott was too focused on finding Jimmy.
Jimmy.
Jimmy.
Ji—
— — —