Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian knew something was wrong.

He knew this when Scar didn’t walk out the meeting room with the council. He knew something was wrong when the council walked out, defeated looks on their faces. He knew something was wrong when even Cub didn’t offer him a small smile. 

Something was wrong and Grian feared he knew why. 

Carefully, he opened the door. It creaked as he pushed it, slipping in.

Grian wasn’t surprised at what he found. 

Scar was still sitting at the head of the table, although his head sunk into his hands. He was just… staring off at the table. Grian didn’t think he’d ever seen the table be this busy, the once polished wooden table surface was no longer visible, covered with the papers he’d seen so much of recently. 

Although, some seats at the table were still occupied. He didn’t recognise most of them, a man with teal hair, one with a metal helmet covering their face, another with burning orange hair and sickly pale skin. And False was there, the only person he knew. 

Grian had a feeling he knew what had happened. 

He carefully walked up to Scar, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Your Majesty?”  He asked quietly, unsure if the other’s could hear him. Or anything for that matter, they all looked rather out of it. When Scar didn’t reply he tried again, leaning down to reach the other’s ear. “Scar? Are you with me?”

That seemed to break the trance the other was in as Scar’s eyes drifted up to face him. 

His back straightened as he pushed the chair back. Then, without a word, he stood up and headed to the door. Grian just watched for a second, eyebrows furrowing in confusion for a moment.

He hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on the paper covered table, one standing out against the rest. It looked to have been rolled up, creases covering it as the paper tore at the edges, cracking at the seams. 

He didn’t need to move closer to see what the underlined words in bold said. 

Grian let out a shaky exhale, pursing his lips as the words sunk in. 

He didn’t bother saying anything to the others in the room, instead, Grian followed Scar’s path.

— — — 

Grian had found Scar’s door locked and no response at his knocks and his calls out for the man went unanswered. The man had moved too quickly for Grian to catch up and now Grian was alone, wandering the halls alone. 

It was a little eerie to see the once flooded with people halls, now deserted, his footsteps echoing off each wall. It was odd to say the least, the sudden disappearnence of the guards with the deathly silence of the halls and the too clean shine the floors had and the—

Grian would be lying if he said he didn’t find the place a little creepy. 

But he didn’t stop stumbling down the corridors until he reached it.

Grian pursed his lips as his knuckles gently came in contact with the wooden door. “Mumbo? Are you in there?” His voice was quiet and shaky but when the door opened he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Mumbo blinked a couple times, his hands rubbing against his eyes as the sleepy swirls in his eyes faded away. 

“Grian? Wh– Are you okay? What happened?” Mumbo’s eyes narrowed as they laid on him, scanning him as if he were hiding something. 

Grian looked up at Mumbo, vision slightly blurry as water clung to his eyelashes and began to speak, “It happened, Mumbo.” 

The man’s eyes narrowed, “Wha— What happened? What’d you mean?” 

"It happened- It- Mumbo-" 

"What happened, Grian?"

“They declared war.”

— — —

Grian woke up slowly, his wings hanging off the bed, an ache echoing through the base of them. He was cold, more cold than usual. He groaned, reaching for one of the many blankets in his nest, only for him to return empty handed. 

Huh?

Grian peeled his eyes open.

Oh.

He was in Mumbo’s room.

The other wasn’t here though, which only worried Grian.

Had he slept in? Was he meant to be working right now? 

He didn’t know and Mumbo’s lack of clocks really helped his situation. 

Grian groaned as he pulled himself up.

He would miss the comfort of beds.

— — — 

To say the palace was busy would be an understatement. 

The place was packed with bustling people, preparations being made. Grian didn’t even recognise half the people running throughout the halls, some wearing the army uniform shouting at others, some running with trays and carts. 

He didn’t like it. 

Nevertheless, he continued trudging through the halls until he finally found Scar. 

— — — 

Scar was surrounded by people when Grian found him. A mix of nobles, generals Grian vaguely recognised and some of the council were all seated around him, watching Scar’s every move. 

The man looked… scared. 

Scar looked scared. 

But so was Grian. 

He was terrified. Terrified of the future, of the what ifs, of what would happen to them. Because they didn’t know what would happen. Sure, they could guess how it could go, they could play pretend and live in a made up fantasy where everything was going fine. They could tell each other it would be okay and they’d both be okay but, well, it—

It wasn’t going to be okay. 

It wasn’t.  

Grian didn’t know how long he would be able to play pretend, his imagination was running thin, straining with each time a false promise left his lips. 

Still, Grian plastered the fear away, back from where it came from, and stepped closer to Scar.

Then he went by and stood in his position, standing high by Scar’s side, where he belonged. 

— — — 

Two days. 

They had two days.

Two days before everything he knew would be gone. Two days before his days would consist of nothing but pain. Two days until everything would change for the worse. 

Two days until they attacked. 

Two days and Grian had never felt more unprepared for something. 

Grian had been more prepared when he had applied to become  guard, he’d been more prepared when bracing himself to talk to Tango or Joel for the first time. He’d been more prepared when he’d left the hell hole his parents had sold him to. 

Two days and Grian wanted nothing more than to curl up and pretend this wasn’t happening. 

Scar had long since closed himself up, throwing himself to long never ending meetings, or locking himself away in his study. He was a mystery to Grian now, a husk of the man Grian thought he knew. An imposter wearing Scar’s skin, some creature that had killed his Scar and tried to replace what was irreplaceable. 

And Grian missed Scar.

So he was going to do it. He could do it. He was going to and he defiantly wasn’t stalling as his knuckles hovered against the wooden door. 

Then they clashed against the wood, banging until he heard that familiar click and creek off the door opening. 

Grian didn’t wait for Scar to say anything, instead, he pushed past the man, closing the door behind him with that click.  

Then he turned, wings folding behind him, against his back whilst his arms rested against each other, crossed. 

Scar stared back at him, his eyes dull, the life and fire inside of him hiding behind his dilated pupils. There were dark circles under his eyes, eyelids half closed as he met Grian’s eyes. His hair was… well, a mess, it stuck out in all different directions with knots scattered around.

He was a mess.

“Scar.” 

That was all it took for everything to change.

The other’s lips parted as a cracked sob left, as his head came in contact with Grian’s chest. His hands instinctively wrapped around him, one landing across the other’s back and the other gently combing through his knotted hair. 

“Gri– Grian–” The other cried, leaning into him even more. 

Grian just leaned into him, pulling Scar closer whilst wrapping his wings around them. “It’s okay, you’re okay, Scar. It’s gonna be okay.” 

— — — 

The next day passed in a blur. 

Grian wasn’t sure whether he was in shock or just sleep deprived. He didn’t know if he was constantly on the verge of tears or if his vision was just blurry from now on. He didn’t know a lot of things.

But he did know the carriage was bumpy, shaking them as they moved.

Him and Scar sat in silence.

There wasn’t much to talk about, the camp had been set up by soldiers who were already there. Scar was to stay until each unit was sent off and hen he’d return to a safehouse. Grian would not follow. He was to stay and fight, which he only partly understood. He had fought it at first, but his concerns for Scar’s safety were ignored. 

So they were in silence. 

Grian wasn’t sure if it was an awkward silence, an awkwardness Grian couldn’t seem to shake. Or if it was a grief filled silence, a silence knowing nothing would ever be the same again. A heavy silence that they were both scared to break. A silence that if broken would make everything real.  

Which it shouldn’t be. 

It shouldn’t be real. 

But it was and Grian wasn’t sure he was ready to accept it. 

But ready or not, there was nothing he could do to stop his impending fate.

— — —

Grian was worried because everything was wrong.  

Everything was going wrong.

They were all ready.

The once commoners now turned soldiers were ready.

Ready for battle, for war.

Yet Grian wasn’t.

The thought of stepping out of the tent terrified him. The thought of stepping out for all of the people to see, even if they'd be focused on Scar, he couldn’t face them. He couldn’t. The thought of looking at people he knew would be dead in a matter of weeks sent something spiralling down in his stomach. He wasn’t sure he could do any of it. The thought of stepping out there and taking someone's blood, someone's life.

It was wrong.

This was all wrong.

They shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t have soldiers that were prepared for war. Mainly because they shouldn’t be going to war. It was all wrong. It was immature. It was immature for innocent people to be sent off to die because their king decided their lives were nothing but pawns in the game of chess he was meticulously playing. 

Grian hated it.

He was knocked out of his thoughts as the entrance to the tent opened, one side of it being pulled to the side as a figure walked in. Grian didn’t recognise the man, pale teal hair that looked like it could do with a brush, and probably a retouch with the dye as the man’s roots were showing. He stood tall, arms crossed and foot tutting against the floor, impatience flowing through the room. 

“Your Majesty, the, uh, the soldiers are ready for you.” The man said, a thick accent from somewhere Grian couldn’t recognise. Or he didn’t have the energy to try and focus on where he was from. 

Scar nodded beside him, eyes lingering on the ground, his mind somewhere else. 

Grian wondered if Scar felt the same as him. 

If he did, the man didn’t let it show as he stood up.

Grian had forgotten about this. Scar was supposed to do a speech, or he’d been recommended to do one for the soldiers. The council had said it was something to do with lifting their morale. Grian wasn’t sure a speech would do the trick. But nonetheless Scar was to give them a speech and then, in the morning, they left. In the morning people would leave. In the afternoon people would be dead. And the next morning people would leave. And in the afternoon more people would be dead. The cycle would repeat until something changed. 

“Grian, you coming?” Scar asked, voice hollow that once familiar cheery tone was no longer there, forming an empty void inside of the man. Grian wasn’t sure stitches would sew the cracks shut.

“Yeah, sorry.” He muttered, dragging his legs to stand and follow Scar. 

Scar didn’t move, staring at him for a second. “Y’know this is all gonna be fine. It’ll be over before you know it.” 

Grian didn’t believe Scar.

He wasn’t so sure Scar believed himself either.

Still, he nodded numbly. “People are waiting on you.” He said, looking up. He noticed the teal haired man was no longer in the tent with them. He hadn’t noticed him leave. 

Scar inhaled, he didn’t say anything as he pulled the fabric of the tent back and stepped out. 

Grian followed because what else would he do? 

What other purposes did he have other than to follow Scar?

— — —

The sun is setting when Scar talks after what felt like hours of silence. The man had been shuffling through some papers for the past hour? And Grian had not a clue what was on some of them. He knew one, mainly because when he’d asked Scar had told him. 

It had been a list of names in each regiment. 

The man had said it would be best if he didn't know which unit his friends were in, he had said that for planning it would only interfere and create a bias for some units. A bias that he couldn’t have. A bias that could cause more unnecessary deaths.

So he hadn’t looked.

Grian wasn’t sure he preferred not knowing, having a dark smog blinding him from seeing what the future would behold for his friends. 

“-rian? You with me, birdie?” Scar asked quietly. He nodded, mind falling blank because what was there to think about other than the impending doom of them all. “I… I think it might help if you said-” Scar cut himself off, breathing in slowly and composing himself. “-If you said some… goodbyes to some people. Before it’s- well, y’know.” 

Oh.

He hadn’t really thought about that.  

He hadn’t even thought that his friends were also here. 

“...Yeah, I should go… see them.” He muttered, standing up as he left the tent. 

Maybe Scar had replied to him, maybe he hadn’t. Grian didn’t know, he hadn’t stayed around for a response. 

What he did know was that the sun was setting, and whilst the golden glow across the fields of tents did make them look a little nicer and brighten up the place, it was going to get dark soon. And soon it would be morning. And soon some people would be dead.

Grian didn’t know where his friends were, or if they were all even in the same tent. But as he looked around, the chance of him actually finding his friends was looking slimmer and slimmer, the hundreds of identical tents all blurring into one. 

His eyes scanned the place, from that teal haired man slipping into a tent besides Scar’s, to two men he didn’t recognise happily chatting away, one of them throwing their heads back as they cackled with laughter. To that familiar ginger hair slipping away into a tent-

Grian was moving before he knew it, legs striding as he followed the hair.

He didn’t hesitate to throw the fabric door open, slipping inside. 

The first thing he noticed was the atmosphere. Tense and thick. Gem was sitting, knees up with her arms resting on them at the end of a bed? It was a sleeping bag with some padding underneath. It certainly did not look comfortable. Joel was next to her, a sour look on his face. Bdubs was laying flat on his back, groaning every few moments, staring up at the ceiling blankly. He frowned at the lack of Tango’s presence and at the empty bed, a bag hastily having been thrown onto it. 

“I see someone decided to join us.” Gem huffed, an empty smile on her face.

The others turned to him, Bdubs sitting up slowly and joining them, leaning on Joel’s ‘bed’. Grian sat besides Gem. 

None of them spoke for a moment, a pile of eyes lingering on the floor. 

Then Joel spoke, quiet and full of sorrow. “So, tomorrow ey?”

Grian nodded slowly, “Tomorrow.”

Gem let out a shaky exhale, “Grian, what’s… what’s gonna happen tomorrow?” 

He had known it would be coming. He had known someone would ask that question, it had been enevitable. 

But god did every bone inside of him want to hide away and not answer it. 

“Do you know which reigments are going first and where?” Bdubs snapped quickly, eyes hardening on him. Then he spoke again, harsher and more demanding. “Do you know where Dogwarts soilders are pos-”

“Ignore him, G. He’s sulking.” Joel interupted, giving Bdubs a glance, narrowing his eyes on the man. “Etho’s with… well y’know. He’s just upset about it.” 

Somewhere in his memory, he briefly remembered Bdubs mentioning how he had been seeing a guy off in Dogwarts a couple years back. Bdubs hadn’t mentioned a name then but it was nice to be able to put a name to a faceless person in his head. 

He offered the man a sorrowful smile. “I’m sorry Bdubs. I hope you two see each other after this is over.” While Grian wasn’t sure it helped the man, it was the best he could offer him. 

Bdubs didn’t say anything.

“I um, I don’t know much that would sooth your worries.” He murmured, eyes gazing down to the ground once again. “I know that one unit is to be sent off north at dawn,” he swallowed a thick lump of fear in his throat. “And I know that it doesn’t… doesn’t look good.”  

Gem nodded shalllowly beside him. “And which- Which unit is that?” She asked slowly, voice thick and unravelling her emotions and words slowly. “Is it one of our units?” 

Grian inhaled slowly. “I… I was told to not know your units, in case it causes bias during meetings or causilties effect… y’know.”

The air around them seemed to freeze, growing colder and colder, biting at his fingertips. His wings twitched uncomfortably behind him, curling into his back tightly, almost trying to sink back into his skin as if they had never been there. The eyes that burned his feathers only seemed to encourage it, helping the limbs force there way under his skin. He winced as some fell from the limb, falling to the dusty floor, coating them in a layer of grim. He suposed he’d been meaning to pull them but he’d have rather done it himself.

He wasn’t sure he could take it for any longer.

“So, who’s your roommate?” He asked, eyes lingering on the empty bed in the corner of the tent, a small bag laid on top of it, the fabric sinking in on itself. 

“Some guy, blond ‘air, an avian, he seemed alright. Was a bit distracted though, ran out talking about a Scott guy. You know who that is?”

Grian huffed, heart pausing for a moment as blond hair and golden yellow canary wings flashed in his mind. He pushed the thoughts of the dead man away. Maybe he’d see him when this was all over. Maybe he’d see both of them, maybe they’d welcome him, be happy to see him. Or maybe they’d throw him down to the firey pits of hell where he belonged.  

Grian didn’t know what they’d think of him for leaving them.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No Joel, I don’t know every guy who’s here.” He muttered.

Joel sighed, “God you are boring.”

He smiled, eyes glancing to the tent door. 

The sun had set, allowing the blanket of darkness to overtake the world. 

“I ought to return before the lack of my presence is noticed.” Grian hesitated

Gem nodded, “See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, see you soon.”

— — — 

“You know it’ll be over before you know it.” Scott hummed, his fingers carefully rearranging the feathers, gently collecting the few that fell from the limb. 

Jimmy nodded, putting all his energy in not melting at the other’s touch. “Yeah, it’ll all go back to normal after this, right?” 

Scott nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be able to pay off the flower shop and the house. And I’ll have more days off after this so I’ll help out with the customers.” The other murrmered, slowly lifting his hands from his wings. 

Jimmy smiled, “Yeah, maybe we can try and move out of the apartment as well. The mold can’t be doing us any good.” He tried to add some humidity to his laugh but it did nothing, the dry raw emotions fall out. 

Scott smiled, his eyes having a far off look in them. Sadness, Jimmy noted. 

“You should— You should go to your tent. People will start to question your absance will be noticed soon.” Scott said, pulling away from the other, voice stumbing over the words. 

Jimmy paused, nodding slowly. 

He waited for Scott to say something, anything.  

But he didn’t. 

So Jimmy didn’t say anything when he turned and left.

— — — 

Jimmy wouldn’t lie and say he was nervous to go back to the tent. 

Sue him for not wanting to go into a room full of strangers and awkwardly wait for orders to do something. 

But, he didn’t really have any choice in what he did, so as the sun began to finally set, he pulled the tents door back and stepped in, nodding at the group of people he didn’t know. 

The group's heads all turned to him, eyes piercing throuhg his skull. Still, he offered the group a smile, or the best he could offer given the situation. Luckily, most of them seemed to smile back, one of them shifting and motioning for him to join them. 

He hesitated only for a moment, sitting slightly further back from the man. 

“Hey, uh, sorry for kinda running out earlier. Had to go see someone.” He chuckled, althought the smile didn’t stay as images of Scott flashed across his mind. Images of the man he loved. 

“I’m Jimmy.” 

— — —

“You think it’s a good idea, Gri?” Scar muttered, moving more of the counters in one direction. 

They’d been at this for at leats an hour, Scar moving the counters back and forth, constantly asking for Grian’s opinion, all whilst he sat there, really unsure on anything Scar was offering him. Because Grian wasn’t the one to ask about this, he didn’t know what would be a good ove or what could catch out Dogwart’s soilders. He didn’t know anything about it. Honestly, False should have been here, or that teal haired man who’s name Grian was yet to figure out. They should have been here, helping Scar because Grian was certainly not much help. 

“Um, I’m not sure.” His eyes scanned the table again, the flimsy map spread across, counters meretriciously placed around, marking soldier's positions. The counter’s Scar was talking about sat off to the left, on the outside of the map. Some green counters sat off to the right of them. More than the red ones. And while he knew it was just an estimate or guess of how many there would be, he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Maybe you should have more soldiers there,” he pointed to the green counters, “So that if those Dogwart’s soldiers attack they aren’t incredibly outnumbered.” 

Scar hummed, shifting more red counters around. “Good call.” Then Scar leaned back, his lips parting as a yawn broke through. “We should get some rest.” he muttered, standing up, outstretching an arm. Grian took it without hesitation. He wanted nothing more than that. “Gonna be a while till we can have some alone time again.” 

Grian frowned, leaning into the touch as Scar pulled him away from the make-shift table to the ‘beds’. It wasn’t much different from the ones the other’s had, only there looked to be an extra few layers between the rocky ground and the sleeping bag. It wasn’t much more comfortable either, each rock on the larger side poking through the padding, but alas it was better than nothing. 

He didn’t voice his thoughts, they had bigger issues.

Scar pulled them down to the bed, Grian spreading his wings over the other, curling into Scar. He winced as a rock dug into his side, yet Grian didn’t bother trying to nudge it from under the padding. He would rather focus on the other rather than the rock.

“Grian.” 

His eyes fluttered up, meeting Scar’s emerald eyes. Grian missed the shine they once held, the mischief that ones hid behind the bright green, he missed the way Scar would show his emotions through them, how they bled through into his eyes. He missed it. Because now they were a dull emerald. Dull and lacking the once held happiness. 

“Scar.”

They didn’t say much more, both curling up on the other, melting into the warmth Scar provided him. Because the howling winds outside seemed determined to send his hairs on edge and bumps to rise on his skin. Luckily, Scar welcomed him, an arm draped over him whilst Grian’s wing wrapped around them both. 

Grian wasn’t sure when his eyes fluttered to a close or when his breathing evened by Scar’s side. He didn’t know when Scar’s arm grew limp around him or when his wings subconsciously curled around the other more. 

All he did know was that Scar was there and that was all that mattered.

— — —

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—

— — — 

Chapter Text

“How far away is the wreckage?” 

Grian knew it wasn’t the right thing to ask, especially now, as they were packing up, sun in the far horizon rising slowly, it’s light filtering out through the dense trees. Everyone was tired, the bags under peoples eyes, the sound of someone letting out a long slow yawn every few seconds and the echoed groans were all tell tale signs of this. Yet Grian didn’t back down. 

Both Xisuma and Scar turned to him, one confused, tilting heir head and the other look was flooded with pity.

Pity he did not need. 

Before anyone could answer there was a yell, a familiar voice calling out for Scar. False was stood waving the man down, another person he’d seen in a meeting a day before, their bright orange hair clashing with the leaves surrounding them. Scar offered the pair a quick smile before hurrying off to speak with his summoners.

“About five miles north.” 

Huh?

“Where unit one was… stopped. It’s around five miles up north.” Xisuma muttered, eyes scanning the area around them as he pulled a nail from the dry cracked ground. 

Oh.

Five miles.

That was it. 

Five miles was what had been stood between him and his brother. What had been stood between him and his brother meeting again. Five miles—

“If your planning on going up to see it, may I recommend you leave soon. It’s not too far but… I assume you’ll be wanting to spend a while there.” Xisuma muttered, shakily inhaling. Before Grian could respond to thank the man he continued. “I’ll fill in for you, I’ll keep his majesty safe while you're away.”

Grian nodded, “I— Thank you— I need to—”

“Next base is a three hour walk—” Xisuma turned and pointed across from where they were stood. “That way, in case we aren’t here when you make it back.” 

— — — 

Grian left quietly, waving Xisuma goodbye as he left. Sure, he felt bad about leaving Scar alone, the fear that something might happen to the man was gnawing at him from the inside out but this— Grian had to do this. He had to.

Besides, Scar was safe. Xisuma had promised he’d keep him safe and Grian somewhat trusted the man now.

So he walked. Grian didn’t stop at any point, legs moving subconsciously by now as the trees came and went, the occasional crunch of a crisp leaf would knock him out of this trance-like state before he fell back into the pattern a few moments later. 

Maybe he’d gone alone for a reason, maybe he knew anyone would think this was ‘weird’ or ‘unhealthy’ or something along those lines. Maybe he knew they’d have said something by now, snapping him from this grief flooded state. And maybe that was why he had gone alone, why he’d so easily trusted Xisuma. 

Grian was knocked from his thoughts as a small snap echoed across the trees bouncing back to him. His hand leapt across his side to the hilt of his sword, drawing it from its hollister. 

The silence was eerie. The forest's trees didn’t sway, the wind having passed on with the snap.

Grian’s eyes scanned the area around him, flickering from each tree, watching and waiting for something, someone to move, to make themselves be known.

However the shadows left him unanswered, not a flicker of them sprinting to life, running at him. No glint or shine of a sharpened blade hiding, ready to attack. No sickening grin with piercing eyes threatening him. 

Nothing.  

No one was there.

Grian looked around for a final time, waiting a couple seconds before he let out a long needed sigh, his sword going back to its resting position on his hip. Grian’s hand didn’t leave its hilt.

— — — 

The silence was eerie as he wandered, the footsteps of ghosts guiding him to their graves. 

Grian didn’t overthink it too much, if he did then this would all become too real. So, nonetheless he trudged along the path carved out by those who went before him.

Alas, as much as he didn’t want to think about it, with each footstep he passed; another painful memory would resurface, a hauntingly accurate face along side it. As he passed each tree, a new beam of sunlight would spear through and land in front of him, the glint of golden feather’s catching his eye. 

He ignored it. 

Grian ignored it all until the ghosts stopped guiding him as their footsteps came to a halt.

He felt his lips part, the air evacuating from his lungs. 

He had known about what had happened, he had known there had been a landmine, that there had been damage done. It was a bomd, of course there would be damage.

Grian just hadn’t imagined it to be like this.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere. It coated the fallen leaves in a thick layer, puddling under his feet, pooling around the— 

The—

Bodies.

Too many bodies.

Grian stumbled forwards, legs feeling as if they were jelly as they crumbled at the edge of the blood bath. The dark liquid seeped into his knees, discolouring the fabric he wore. The ground was soft; growing muddy from the deep slop. 

Only it wasn’t all malleable. 

Grian shifted, lifting his knee up and hand below it. 

Then he felt it. 

A small sharp stab to the centre of his palm, an itch crackling down it.

When Grian yanked it out from the mud, brushing it against his trouser leg to somewhat clean it, everything stilled.

A simple golden feather stared back at him; small cracks running down the rachis, the plastic-like material crushed down with tiny dents missing. The once fluffed vane of it was now coated in an oily substance, sticking together in segments and separating. 

Oh.

Oh.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no—

Grian almost dropped it as his eyes snapped to the bodies around himself. He shoved the feather into a pocket before throwing himself forwards, ignoring the slip the mud offered him as he landed by the closest person. 

Grian quickly pushed the hair from the person’s face, rubbing the dried dirt from his face. The feeling that came over him was not one of relief, it was more a sense of dread. Dread as he looked over the wasteland that surrounded him, dread as he looked over what seemed to be an endless amount of bodies around him. 

Dread as his brother was nowhere in sight.

— — — 

Grian wasn’t sure how long had passed between the walk back and now, him sitting in a newly set up tent, a shimmering gloss over his eyes causing his vision to go blurry. 

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there but it didn’t matter anymore. 

Not much did. 

His eyes hadn’t moved from his hands, from the thin feather that laid encased in his grasp. The edges were crinkled, small scarlet dots decorated the feather, staining the golden glow it once had. 

His eyes didn’t leave it as the tents door was pulled open, someone stepping in. His eyes didn’t leave it as the person stepped closer to him, nor did they move once the blankets and sleeping bags dip beside him. 

Grian didn’t look over. 

Not when he was holding…

Holding…

Holding…

“Hey Birdie.” Scar whispered, an arm spreading out against his shoulders. If the contact burned like it had before, Grian failed to notice. He was failing to notice most things,  maybe it was that numb feeling spreading throughout him, infecting his mind. “What’s… Who’s feather is that?” 

“It was Jimmy’s.” The words were empty, hollow with emotion. Grian didn’t feel the words leave him, he didn’t feel his mouth opening either. 

The arm around him tensed, as Scar shakily exhaled. “I’m sorry, Gri.”

Grian didn’t know if the words even meant anything. Their weight was ignored by Grian, the meaning behind them lost, leaving him blinded by the grief that ate and consumed him from the inside out. 

“Do you… Sometimes talking helps, you know. If you want to, I’m here to listen.” Scar offered, placing his other hand upon Grian’s own. 

This time, Grian knew he wanted to talk. 

He wasn’t sure he could live with the guilt that ate away at him.

“He’s… He was my brother.”

Scar didn’t speak for a moment, the air turning a stale level of thick tension  between them. Grian wasn’t sure whether it was a chance and opportunity for him to continue speaking, or if the man simply just didn't know what to say. Either way he continued, voice wavering with emotion as he did so.

“And he— He was so selfless— and— kind and— we used to preen each other and I— I miss him—” His voice cracked with each word, throat closing in on himself. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Gri. Shh, you’re okay, it’s—” 

Grian stopped listening, the voice being drowned out by the overwhelming sounds of his own terrifying thoughts.

He…

Grian wanted his brother. He wanted his brother back, by his side, alive. He wanted to see his brother smile again, to hear his cackling laughter just once more. Grian wanted to feel that sense of pride once Jimmy had accomplished something. Grian missed the happiness that flooded him when Jimmy would present a drawing up to him, or when he’d show off his school reports to him, bragging about his grades. He missed when the three of them would take their weekly stroll that Grian said was to ‘get some fresh air’, he had failed to warn them of their parents' anger whilst they got it. He wanted it back. 

He wanted…

Grian inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as his sharp gaze met Scar’s soft eyes. 

“I want them dead.” 

The blue glint in Scar’s eyes gave him all the permission he needed. 

— — —

The sound of the river rushing past them was the only thing keeping Scott focused, keeping his mind from wandering into the darkness of sleep that called him. 

He shifted, cupping more water in one of his palms. Then he tilted Jimmy’s head, careful to avoid his face as he gently tipped the water through his hair. The cold water did nothing to wake the man from his sleep, his eyes remaining shut with the movement. Scott ignored it, as he continued to wash the dried crimson liquid out of the man’s hair, water running a deep red as it fell back into the brass stream of water. 

Scott didn’t think about any of it. He didn’t think about how the water never seemed to get any clearer, how there was, what seemed to be an endless supply of the colouring. He didn’t think about how Jimmy’s eyes were still closed. He didn’t think about how Jimmy’s breathing was slow, but he did acknowledge that it was there, that the man’s chest was still moving up and down, even if it was lethargic in its pace. 

The howling winds did nothing to sooth his worries, nor did the dark clouds that loomed nearby, threatening them with the thoughts of rainfall. Scott wouldn’t lie and say that the rain would make things better, because it wouldn’t. The rain meant the unforgiving coldness that would come and bite at them, that would come and steal their bodies' limited heat and take it for itself. It would steal the heat that they desperately needed.  

Scott supressed a shiver as another gust of wind hit him, some of the water in his palm moving with it, following its path and falling forwards onto the other’s face.

“Shit—” Scott cursed as the man’s breathing stuttered, staggering as a mic of bloodying water oxygen flowed into the man’s lungs. 

Scott was quick to twist Jimmy, pushing him to his side on the river's bank, careful to keep the man’s head up and off the dusty dirt ground, protecting him from the sharp and stabbing rocks. He ignored the rushing water that splashed his back, soaking his frozen legs as he quickly shed his own jacket. Then with shaky hands, he gently pushed the jacket underneath the man’s head. 

Scott paused for a moment, having a slow intake of oxygen flood his lungs. His eyes slipped shut, and for that moment, that single moment, there was peace. 

The calming sounds of rushing water, time flowing past them with no hesitation in sight. There was no signs that it’d wait for them to catch up. No signs that signals to him that everything would be okay in the future, that they’d manage, that they’d survive.  

Scott shook the thoughts away. He really shouldn’t be thinking like this. He should focus on the positives, focus on how they were both somehow still alive. He should focus on how lucky they were to even be here still, how that luck hadn’t spilled into the others in their unit. 

But it was a struggle when—

A splutter interrupted him, and for a moment, Scott thought someone had found them, that this was the end and their luck had run out. 

He had thought that until his eyes had opened.

Jimmy had propped himself up on his elbows, the dirt and rocks digging into his skin. He was huddled over himself though, chest heaving and panting for oxygen, as he spluttered, struggling to fight the everlasting coughing fit. 

 “Oh— Jimmy—“ Scott huddled closer to him, twisting himself in a way which caused his spine to ache and strain uncomfortably. The other continued spluttering for a moment as Scott rubbed circles against his back, doing the best he could for the man.  Scott knew it was working when the panic in his eyes was slowly being blinked away.

“… Scott?” 

He nodded, his head falling forwards slightly, being caught by the other’s shoulder. “I— God, you can’t— You cannot do that again. I— You—” 

Jimmy nodded, wet sniffles escaping him. “I— I’m sorry— I tried to get up— but—” His speech was interrupted by the ragged harsh breaths he would let in and out, wet tears dripping from his face at an alarming rate. “I couldn’t; and I couldn’t see you—”

“Shh, it’s okay, we’re alright; we’re alive. We’re gonna be alright.” Scott hummed, his attempt to sooth the man only giving a small amount of comfort. Then he looked over the man in front of him. “Where are you hurt? I have— I have some regen, not a lot though, it got hit by some shrapnel, some spilled out but there’s some left.”

His lips parted; brows creasing. “Just some burn from what I can feel. I— I think I’ll be fine.” 

He hummed, eyes peering over the other. “It’s here if you need it.” 

Then neither of them spoke for a moment, the forests everlasting silence shadowed over them, the thick branches hiding the cloudy sky from their view. 

Then Jimmy tore away from him, something pondering behind his eyes. “Scott… we aren’t— Where’s the nearest base?” 

He paused, head stuttering as he scanned the trees, hope flickering like a dying flame as the loneliness of the forest stared back at them. 

“I don’t know.” The other’s eyes widened, his breath hitching and chest tightening. Scott quickly continued before Jimmy’s thoughts could overtake them both. Scott knew how much the man could overthink; he also knew this was not the time for them to worry any more. “But we’ll find base. I think we came from that—” Scott raised his hand, pointing in the direction his mind supplied to him. Scott didn’t voice his worries, but everything was foggy. His memory was foggy. Scott wasn’t sure if they’d even come from that way. “—way. We’ll go back to base, hope they left some clues as to where they went if they’ve left.” 

Jimmy paused, eyes calculating something before he simply nodded. 

— — — 

Grian knew he should be asleep. He knew he should have been down by Scar’s side. He knew he was breaking protocol by doing this. But  here he was, perched atop one of the trees branches, but with the early sunlight wrapped around him and the gentle breeze flowing past him. 

It was nice.

He exhaled; slow and lethargic, a wave of calmness overwhelmed him as he stared off into the distance. 

The sun was bleeding into the early morning sky, the pink and orange hues seeping into the early grey. 

It was…

Grian stopped, wings twitching behind himself. 

What was—

His eyes narrowed, nose creasing up as he stared out. 

Grian inhaled once he saw them, the crisp fresh air burning his throat. 

Soldiers.

There was what looked to be hundreds of them, hundreds of them moving towards them, towards their base, towards Scar.

Grian flared his wings, turned around and sped off.

— — — 

Grian stood tall; Scar by his side, a shimmering blue pooling beneath the pair. 

While at first Grian had deeply protested against this, against Scar being here. He had pointed out the risks, of the possibilities and the what ifs of the outcomes. He had explained what would happen if Scar was put in dangers way, if Ren got to him before anyone else could. He had explained how dangerous this would be. But, alas, the man had final say in the decision, no matter Grian’s pleading with him. 

So here they were, standing high beside other soldiers. Distantly, Grian recognised one of the men along the row they stood in, the determination in his eyes seemed to flutter away; replaced by despair whilst his eyes watched the scene in front of them, watched the soldiers that approached them from the opposite side of the forest.

Grian shuddered, blinking before turning to face Scar. 

The man stared ahead, a sapphire hue to his eyes, anticipation burning inside his irises, setting them aflame. Grian briefly wondered what was going on inside the man’s head; if it was Scar in control or his hybrid side had gotten there first. 

While Grian’s questions would go unanswered, he didn’t have much longer to ponder on his thoughts. 

Scar’s head turned, eyes falling to Grian. 

Then he nodded.

— — — 

Grian grunted, the sound grating against his throat. He dug his feet into the ground, eyes meeting Scar’s as a wave of force knocking the foreign men down. Then before they could do anything, Grian’s hand scrambled to find his hand held blade. Sooner after his hand had found it, the blade flung itself towards the fallen bodies. Grian’s mind only had a mist of guilt building up as he continued.

He gave Scar a quick smile, even if he wasn’t sure the man would notice it among the crowds of faces between them.

Grian yelped as something was thrown at him, sliding against his shoulder, digging into the skin briefly. He ignored the sudden sharp pains; his eyes narrowing on the attacker. 

It was a man, a few inches taller than himself. That was all Grian had time to focus on before he drove in another attack, lunging at him full force. 

A cough made its way out his throat as he fell on his back, wings snapping out as aches of pain shot through them. He didn’t have time to process it as the man was upon him, a new blade in hand. 

Grian’s hands were moving before he could think, pushing himself over and ontop of the other. He quickly grabbed at the man’s arm, taking control over the sharpened knife and pinned it above his head, digging it into the mud. The man’s other hand scratched at his wrist, desperate pleas followed with his legs moving upwards. The man’s knees kicked forwards, the sudden force knocking Grian forwards, his face falling into the mud. 

The only stream of thoughts flowing through his head were filled with nothing good as he was turned over, a grin on the other’s face, knife in hand.  

He didn’t say anything as he raised the blade, a sickening glint in his eyes, almost as if he were in a drunken haze as the cold metal came in contact with his throat.

For a moment, Grian braced himself. 

For a moment, Grian closed his eyes. 

For a moment, Grian thought of Scar.

And then he was winded, the oxygen leaving his lungs as quickly as it entered with his rapid intakes of air. Blood spilled out from the other’s neck, a gargled splutter coming from him before he fell forwards. Grian winced as the blade was pressed against his throat, an uncomfortable amount of pressure having been applied to his vulnerable neck. Grian’s hand moved to the knife’s hilt, it having been discarded as the man fell. 

He quickly shoved the other off him; breaths coming in heavy. 

“You’re welcome!” 

A flash of orange hair sprinted past him; Gem offered a small strained smile. Although it didn’t last long as she was quickly distrancted by a forceful fist to the gut. 

Grian was pulled away from watching her as some footsteps gained on him, a new pair of boots standing behind him. 

He couldn’t wait for this to all be over.

— — — 

“That’s lower than I’d imagined.” Scar exhaled, slumping into his chair. 

Maybe Grian would have found the image more funny in another situation; Scar looking like he could fall asleep while out on royal duties. But in that scenario Grian would have just told the man to not stay up petting Jellie next time. Unfortunately Jellie was nowhere in sight, only memories of Scar using more magic than Grian had seen the man ever use. Granted, he used them so little Grian hadn’t even been aware about them until a while back. Some part of him did wonder if they were a new occurrence, the thought of Scar keeping something as big as him having magic wasn’t a comfort. 

“It’s a manageable number.” False hummed, rolling up a sheet of paper. “If everything goes to plan tomorrow afternoon we’ll split off, half the unit going with me and Xisuma. The other half will follow you two.” 

Scar didn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut as the day caught up with him. 

Grian took this as a clear sign and a way out. “Is there anything else that needs to be said?”

False nodded, holding out another rolled up document. “Those are the unaccounted soldiers' names. We aren’t sure if Dogwarts took them or…” She paused, pursing her lips and nodded. “I’m sure you understand. I’ll leave you both.” 

Grian nodded her away, plastering a smile on his face until she stepped out. 

Then he unravelled the paper. 

He skimmed over the paper, eyes glossed over as his vision started to fade. 

Yet before he could finish reading through it the darkness took over, his mind started to shut down, the names on the list blurring into one.

He didn’t get the chance to read the last name. 

He didn’t get to read Gem’s name off the list.

— — — 

“You do understand what we have tasked you with, don’t you?” Martyn spoke, his voice not swaying. He leaned over the table, reaching for something hidden behind it. Ren watched from the other side of the tent,  a sickly grin on his face. 

“I have done many jobs like this one, Sir. I understood what I was signing myself up for.” Pearl tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone, but alas she may have struggled to contain it. It was hard to do so, when it was almost overflowing from inside herself. The king had made sure that she knew what she’d signed up to, it was a constant reminder, every time she saw them they asked yet again. It was growing to be boring with time. 

The King chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, no need for the formalities, we’re all friends here, Pearl.” Ren grinned, stepping forwards to Martyn, accepting a clothed item from the man. She inhaled slowly, nodding along with the man, who was she to disagree with the king.  

Ren turned to her, movement sudden and harsh. His tail swished against the dirt floor, dust rising alongside the man’s excitement. He inhaled slowly, the grin sharpening as he held his hands out, the clothed item still hidden as it was offered over to her. 

Before she could reach forwards, the tent door was pulled open, Martyn moving quickly to their aide. Then he hurried to Ren’s side, leaning up to the man’s ear and whispering something. Ren paused,  eyes glimmering with something sinister before he nodded.

“It appears we have a fortunate slight change of plans.” Ren grinned, offering the clothed item out to her.

Pearl didn’t hesitate to uncover it this time.

It was a blade. There was nothing all too special about the actual blade. It was new, unused with its innocent shine to it, not even a single smudge on the polished metal. Its hilt however was another story. The blade had an oak base, shining perfectly against the dim lighting in the tent. Against the side of the wooden hilt was a mix of colourful gems Pearl had lacked a luxury of being able to know. All she did know was that the mix of deep scarlet reds slowly fading into a cloudy pearly white. Pearl would be able to see the Dogwarts flag from anywhere. 

Ren pushed it further towards Pearl, who took it with grace, handling the blade with the utmost care. 

Pearl bowed her head, “Thank you, Ren. It’s beautiful.” 

He smiled, “I’m glad you think so, we took our time carefully designing and creating it.” Then he shook his head. 

“It’s an honour to hold such a weapon.” 

Ren nodded. “Yes, but I do have to bring our conversation back to topic.” Pearl held in a groan. “The original plan still holds true. You are to find the king in a nearby attack and you are to aim for his heart, with the blade we have given you.” 

Pearl nodded along with the words, the blade seemed to grow heavy with guilt in her hands.

“The king shall be dead by the weeks end if you are to succeed.” 

“When I succeed.” She retorted.

Ren paused, “When you succeed then.” Then he looked over to Martyn, who nodded. “However, he has a little knight, pet— whatever you want to call him. The bird— kill it. I want them both dead. I want to stand upon their bodies and laugh as the victory overtakes us. I want to watch the life fall from their eyes. And I want you to help.” 

Pearl hadn’t shook someone’s hand quicker.

— — —

Chapter Text

Gem was no stranger to the darkness. She had spent countless nights surrounded by the empty void of the night’s sky. And at some point she had grown peace with it, she had grown accustom to its silence and the lack of response it would give her. Sure, the darkness got lonely, but she had understood how to deal with it. 

So she knew what to do when the darkness slowly started to fade, instead leaving her with a dull familiar ache that seemed to be gradually growing more incense by the second. 

Gem groaned, the sound grating against her throat, ringing throughout her ears, stabbing pains crackling through his head. She paused, a small voice in the back of her mind whispering at her to go back to the darkness, to lean into the urges to fall back into the emptiness of the endless void. 

But she couldn’t just stay here, wherever here was at least. 

Gem had to move; and soon. 

She peeled her eyes open, a slow groan escaping her lips. 

Everything just felt like too much. The sun was too bright and the river that was nearby was too loud and the wet liquid under her head was getting too sticky as it sat to dry out in the early beams of sunlight. 

Gem exhaled slowly, letting her eyes slip shut for just a moment. 

She could do this. 

Or well, she had to do this. 

In her personal opinion, this would be an embarrassing death to die by. 

Bleeding out.

Slowly bleeding out from a cut in the back of her head.

Gem refused to die like this. 

— — — 

Everything ached.

There was a dull throbbing ache pulsating throughout her body, its intensity only increasing with each step she took. 

“C’mon Gem.” She exhaled slowly, blinking. “You can do this.” She whispered to herself, making sure to keep her voice low in case there was anyone nearby. 

Gem wasn’t sure she’d be able to win a fight against anyone in this condition. 

But there were more pressing issues rather than the repetitive aches coming at her from every direction. 

— — — 

Gem didn’t know quite how she had managed to stand up, let alone follow the sounds of the water moving; but she had.

She had and it was all that mattered. 

Waves of relief echoed through her as the icy liquid rushed down her throat, the once scratchy and dry feeling disappearing, replaced with one of pure relief. 

She inhaled slowly, the water remaining slowly dripping from her cupped palms, running down her forearms. 

As the coolness settled down in her throat, a small lump formed alongside a subtle realisation.

Gem had no clue where she was.

— — —

Distantly, Pearl was sure her feet ached, she was sure that they were the cause for her muted suffering. Whether it was from the old boots she’d had for who knows how long, the souls of them peeling up in some parts, or if it was from the distance she had trekked. Although, Pearl knew she’d walked further in worse conditions before. 

But there was nothing she could do about it for a while. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, the moon climbing its way up into the empty sky and Pearl’s targets were nowhere in sight. Deeply imprinted into the muddied ground, were footsteps; a perfect path laid out for her to follow. Although, as she stumbled along the faint lines and imprints, they grew shallower, becoming blurry and merging in with the sloppy mud. 

She tried to ignore the rising panic inside of her; attempting to bury it deep within herself — to hide these emotions away from everything and everyone. Because she was The Scarlet Pearl. She didn’t get scared or panic over simple things. She didn’t worry about getting lost in a forest of all places!

However, with the looming pressure of her target's status slowly hitting her, it was starting to break through her thick shell she’d spent so long building up to protect herself. 

The King and his knight.

The most important person in Monopoly Mountain and his right hand man; and they were to be dead by her hands, by her blade. 

She wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear that overtook her mind as her task resurfaced in her thoughts. The bubbling adrenaline that could have been either one of the two. Pearl didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t tell the difference between them. 

She shoved these thoughts away, instead focusing on keeping her feet going, focusing on pushing her legs forwards, one after the other. The deeply rooted ache had been dulled by now; she didn’t know if it had truly dulled down and stopped or if she had simply grown used to its numbing presence.

Although, the more she thought about it, the more she focused on it, the more it made itself known to her. It was almost as if it was alive, the humming ache inside of her, and was fuelled by her own mind consuming thoughts that ate away at her. It was as if—

When Pearl’s feet came to a halt, a slight panic coursed through her. 

There were no footsteps to follow.

Her head snapped back, trying to relocate the ones she’d been following, only they were missing. 

There were no footsteps behind her apart from her own lonely ones. 

There were none. 

She had lost track of them. 

She had lost them. 

She had—

“Excuse me?”

Pearl’s head snapped to the source of the sound, her hand sprinting to the hilt of her sword before drawing it without hesitation, the blade only centimetres away from the person’s chest. 

It was a woman, slightly dulled bright ginger hair covering her head, strands falling — from where it had been pulled back into what looked to be a simple braid — to surround her face, neatly framing it. Her eyes had been blown wide, fear evident from their current situation, the emerald green locked onto Pearl’s own brown eyes. 

Then she noticed her uniform. 

It was a deep green jacket, the fabric fraying at the seams, a couple tears to the sides. Her trousers were in a similar condition, a few holes littering the once, or Pearl assumed it had been, matching green fabric. However it was now a mix of patch work, splotches of light cracking brown from layers of caked mud. There was a few patches that were a deep red, the colour bleeding down into the other sections. 

She wasn’t from Dogwarts.

“I— Um, you… You’re from Monopoly Mountain, right?” She paused, her voice clearly shaking as her uncertainty grew. Then her eyes moved, tracing over her face as she paused. “I… recognise you?” The statement came across as more of a question, as if she wasn’t sure if she knew Pearl or not. Which was a little ridiculous; Pearl had never seen this woman before. 

The missing footsteps.

Pearl didn’t know this woman. 

She was from Monopoly Mountain.

Pearl shouldn’t be with the enemy. 

She could get her to the targets. 

“Yep! I think I’ve seen you around before somewhere as well.” She hummed, slowly lowering her sword. “My name’s Pearl.” She offered, pushed her other hand forwards, relief flooding through her veins once the other took it with little hesitation.

“Gem, nice to meet you.” 

— — — 

Ren slouched against the chair, back aching from the lack of cushions behind him. He was waiting just a minute longer, his legs aches had long since grown dull, his body acclimatising to the everlasting feeling. Yet, as he sat down it seemed to fade away. If he could just have a minute longer then maybe—

“Excuse me, my— my lord?” 

Ren’s gaze shifted, tilting upwards to the entrance. 

A man stood, pale hair and a mask covering his face — Etho, his mind supplied — he shifted, moving his hands to lay by his side. 

“Etho, you know it’s just Ren to you.” The other laughed nervously, nodding slowly along with his words. Ren was sure he’d muttered something under his breath, but he stood too far away for the words to be heard. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a suggestion.” 

— — — 

Scar had been right about one thing; time moved fast.  

Scarily fast. 

He also grew used to this new form of life quite quickly. Maybe he had never grown out of his old habits, habits from a snippet of his life he tried to ignore, a version of his life he pretended hadn’t happened, a version of his life before Scar. A version of his life between running from the man who had ruined it and the man who had saved it. 

He tried not to think about it too much. 

But sometimes he did. Sometimes he allowed his mind to wander, allowed the questions, the hypotheticals to run freely through his mind. Sometimes he fed into these delusions, into these imaginary scenarios. That was something he had to tell himself when he thought about it too much. Imaginary. That’s all they were. Hypothetical.  

It was all situations his mind had made up to freak him out. That was all they were; lies his brain told him to scare him. 

Although, in a way it made him more grateful, it made him appreciate what had been offered to him, how one man had changed everything for him, how he wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t happened. How Grian would most likely be on the streets still, scrambling for dropped pennies or scavenging for thrown out scraps, how his fingers might have accidently fallen into a wealthy person’s pocket and some change along with it once it left. Although, that one would most likely have left him in handcuffs, curses being thrown out at him as a police carriage dragged him through the streets, the cities people sending glares full of daggers towards his direction. Thieves, shockingly, weren’t appreciated by the wealthy, or anyone really. 

 Luckily, he hadn’t needed to resort to any of that. 

Luckily, he’d found a job. 

Luckily, he’d found Scar.  

His luck couldn’t be put into words. He couldn’t explain how thankful he was for Scar, how Scar had saved him. How everything he had was because of Scar, because of the man’s generosity, his subconscious thoughts and nature. His—

“Grian!” A voice threw his thoughts away and dragged his mind and consciousness back to reality. Joel was standing at the tent's door, eyes wide, hands shaking as they rested by his side. There was a loud chatter from outside, a dark hum that came from them moving base, the dull excitement as soldiers scrabbled to hoist their shelter up before the eventual dark stuffy clouds rained over them. 

“Wha— Joel? Are you okay? What happened?” Then he paused, scanning the other for any signs or injuries or anything. When he came back with nothing, he decided to voice his concerns. “You aren’t hurt, are you? I can get Doc or someone—”

“Grian.” 

He stopped, his voice dying in his throat, no sound escaping his lips. Grian’s eyes narrowed, gaze hardening as he watched Joel stand there. As he stood, Grian started to notice the man’s appearance. Or, more so, the blatant fear that was oozing out of him, embedding a sense of panic inside of Grian. 

This time, Grian hesitated to speak again. “...Joel? What— What happened?” 

The man’s eyes severed their connection, drifting down to the dried mud ground, inspecting each crack and dent within it. 

“Gem’s gone.”

— — — 

Gone.  

She was gone.

“Wha… Joel? What do you mean?” Grian asked, inhaling sharply as he spoke almost breathless as the air left his body. The other didn’t speak for a moment, eyes glossed over and unfocused as he stared at the ground. “Joel? Gem’s not— She’s here, right?! She’s… She can’t be—” 

Joel snapped his head upwards, eyes piercing into Grian’s soul, breaking through his skin. “She’s not here.” He snapped, taking a subconscious step backwards, his hair blowing into his face from the harsh nature of the unforgiving winds. “She didn’t… She didn’t show to the count up— I don’t—”

Gem was—

She couldn’t be…

Gem wasn’t dead.

Gem wasn’t gone. 

She wasn’t.

“She’s not gone. She’s not—” 

— — —

“How’d you end up down here then?” Pearl knew it was risky to ask, she was still recovering from the shock that Gem hadn’t noticed the faint flag of Dogwarts embroidered into her uniform. Although, she had ‘fallen’ a bit ago, her hand gaining a handful of the sticky mud and ‘accidently’ falling to her shoulder to cover the red and white thread. It had worked better than she had thought it would. 

“Someone got a good hit on me earlier, right in the head. It sent me unconscious instantly, my attacker must’ve thought they’d given me a deadly blow as they left me alone.” Gem spoke loudly as she walked ahead of the pair, confidence in her strides. 

Gem had offered to walk ahead, claiming she had an idea as to where the king would have moved to. Pearl had been quick to explain she was completely lost and that it would be better if Gem did in fact lead. Pearl could only hope she actually knew where she was going. 

“Ah, I’m sorry.” She knew the words were empty, in all honesty Pearl cared very little about Gem. Which, yes, she understood how that could come across as sadistic or cruel. But Pearl had a job to do. She’d been tasked with a mission and she wasn’t going to fail. If she failed… 

Well Pearl couldn’t.  

She needed this.

For them. 

She was doing this for them.

— — —

The papers shook in his trembling hands, his eyes frantically scanning the ink. Only it seemed to be working against him, as the words moved along the page, ink seeping into the surrounding cloudy mess. 

“Is… Is she—” 

Grian ignored Joel’s stumbling words, instead trying to focus on that one word. 

Menjmitay.

“Grian, is her—”

Grian blinked, the water that had been obstructing his view dispersing. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was technically crying or not. He also wasn’t sure he cared about that enough to rethink it.

Nemjnitay.

“Answer me— Grian!”  

Fuck.

Geminitay.  

She was—

“Grian!”

— — —

“Sooo, what’s up with you?” Gem asked. She was walking beside her now, at some point having slowed down to allow Pearl to catch up. 

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you leave? Run away?” Gem didn’t look at her as she spoke, instead her eyes remained focusing on the tracks in front of them. That task being trying to find their way to camp, or in Gem’s case back to camp. 

Pearl tried to ignore Gem's question, but the piercing eyes that stabbed into her told her she couldn’t. 

“Why didn’t you?” She snapped back, causing the other to stumble in her steps. Sure, Pearl had been nothing but kind to Gem, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t snap. Pearl had a job to do after all, a job she very much intended on fulfilling. 

Gem’s eyes turned, the interrogating look’s flame dying inside her, yet her voice was flooded with the sharpness her eyes lacked. “I have people there, waiting for me; probably thinking I’m dead.” Then she looked away, confidence flickering. “You’re yet to mention anyone who’s waiting for you to come back. I don’t understand why you aren’t taking your chance to live.” 

The flash of golden wings, glimmering in the beams of the early rising sun. The eyes that somehow never seemed to dull, the sparkle never dulling no matter how hard times got. Blond hair that was always knotted, no matter how many times Pearl would comb her fingers through it to try and maintain it. 

The flash of that marron jumpy, patchy and worn down from its overuse, a few holes poking through to show for its love. The colourful wings Pearl saw in the fields of poppys, in the fiery flames she saw and in the rivers that rushed through. 

That was why she was doing this. 

They were why she was doing this. 

They were why she had done all of this. They were why the Scarlet Pearl existed, why she did these jobs, why she even accepted this current job. 

It was all for them. 

It was all so she could see them again. 

And she wasn’t going to stop until she did. 

Pearl was sure of it.

Or that's what she had been telling herself. It's what her mind had whispered to her, the small comfort of hope was enough to keep her legs moving each sunrise and brain moving just enough to keep herself alive. 

It was all for them.

— — —

“Change of plan.” Ren announced, voice cutting through the dim layer of voices that crowded around the table. Martyn stared at him from across the make-shift table, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted. Etho sat beside the man, grin clear on his face with his eyes. Ren continued before he could say anything. “We want a bargaining chip, everyone agrees on that don’t they?” 

There were quiet murmurs across the small piece of furniture, a couple of nods motioned for him to continue, although a few seemed hesitant at the thought, or maybe it was confusion. Ren thought it would be best to clear things up before he continued.

“Scar won’t listen to us if he had no real reason to; unless there’s something pushing him to listen.” He paused, glancing around the group, a small wave of nerves crashing up against him. Ren shrugged the feelings away, swallowing a thick lump in his throat. 

“What… What are you suggesting, my Lord?” Martyn spoke up in his moment of quiet. His eyes were narrowed, laced with suspicion yet the snarky grin building up on his face suggested otherwise, as if Martyn knew what he wanted, as if he were reading his mind. 

There was a small splutter, then a purposeful cough that caused Ren’s attention to drift, landing on a familiar face. 

Etho paused, waiting a moment before Martyn was also looking at him, curiosity dripping. “If I may Commander, but it’s a solid plan.”

Then the grin on Martyn’s face slowly started to fade, shifting to disbelief in his eyes. “You really think Scar cares about some objects enough to risk his life to come talk to you?” The man pointed out. “My lord, I urge you to rethink this decision.” 

Ren chuckled, shaking his head. “Me laddie, you’re mistaken. We’re not taking something.”  

The air in the tent turned stale, dropping in temperature suddenly. 

“It’s someone.”

— — —

Chapter Text

“Jimmy!” The scream tore through his throat, voice cracking. Scott pulled himself up, his attempts to steady himself on his shaking legs were futile. He groaned as he fell forwards, trying to stagger his fall in an attempt to get closer to the other. 

Scott pushed himself up again, eyes locked on the body in front of him. 

Jimmy was laying there, ash dusted over his face, smudged in places. His leg was twisted in an uncomfortable position, Scott gasped his legs pushing themselves to move quicker. He fell to his knees as he reached the avian, a cracked sob tearing through him. 

"No—" He breathed, hands scrabbling over the other's head, gently pulling it up onto his lap. "Jimmy, you need—" 

Scott paused, his voice quickly dying as something seeped through his trousers. A thick substance slowly staining everything in its path. 

Everything caved in all at once. 

"Jimmy, open your eyes! Jimmy, Jim—" 

Scott lifted his head, his hand moving under it, gently feeling the once blond hair for the source. 

Then his hand stopped, something blocking his way past to the other side of the blonde head. Scott lowered his gaze, shifting his head to view what was the issue. 

"No... No you aren't—" 

A large metal piece sat, comfortably wedged into the avian's skull. 

"No— I can't—"

"Scott? Shh, Scott?" 

He gasped, heaving air into his lifeless lungs. It burned, the desperation for the oxygen he so desperatly craved, the way he took in too much of the air at once. The way the burn was unpleasent, sending blinding lightning down his throat. 

There was a hand on his back, gently rubbing in repetitive circles, massaging the tense muscle under the skin. "Shh, it's me, Jimmy. I'm here," Jimmy— Jimmy— whispered. 

As soon as his mind had stopped racing, finally allowing him to process what was happening his body snapped around, to face him, to face Jimmy.

"Shh, I'm here. It's just us, shh." Jimmy whispered, leaning closer to him once Scott allowed him to. His hand moved across the other's back, slowly stopping once it reached the back of his head. Something inside of him relaxed as his hand passed across the muddied hair with somewhat ease, the tension in his shoulders dispersing, head falling into the crook of Jimmy's neck. His other hand had fallen to his wrist, a gentle finger over the other's pulse, the steady beating of it bringing as much comfort as it could offer him. 

"Jimmy— Jimmy—" He gasped out, small quiet sobs escaping him. 

Jimmy wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. "It's okay, we're okay." The man hummed, chin resting upon Scott's hair. "See, I'm alive, I'm here, we're both here." 

Scott nodded against the man’s chest, ear pressed up against him. The faint sound of his heartbeat was there, just audible and just bringing him enough comfort.

“I’m sorry— I don’t— I didn’t mean to wake you.” The sound of his voice felt wrong, it was hoarse and dry, grating his vocal chords. 

Jimmy shook his head above Scott’s own, rubbing careful shapes upon his back. “No, no, don’t apologise for that; it’s okay. You didn’t wake me; I was already up.” Then jimmy went quiet, the hand 

Time passed slowly, the pair sticking together, sat on a thin sleeping bag that attempted to protect them from the rocky ground. Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, or talk or even move from their current position. He was comfortable, his boyfriend’s arm’s around him, his own around the other. 

But Scott knew better. 

— — — 

“—And then we attack?” 

False nodded, pursing her lips. Her hands resting on her hips, “Yes, they’ve only been based north of that village a small while; they’re unprepared.” 

The person by her side, thought for a second, before nodding, their orange hair pulled back into a messy pony tail. The longer Grian stared, the more he started to notice about them, such as their skin had a green tint, something he hadn’t noticed before when they’d both been in meetings together. 

“We should send people up ahead to scout it out then.” They suggested, leaning back. 

The reaction was immediate; disagreement spilling from each person, a mix of anger and disgust swelled up into the outrage. 

“You want to— Cleo!” False snapped, grimacing. 

Ah, that was their name.

“Wh— False, you have to understand, we have no way of knowing if they really are unprepared or if it’s another trap!” Cleo exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defence. As much as Grian wanted to disagree, they made sense. There was little point in running straight into a possible trap with such large numbers; Cleo was making the right call by requesting to send some up to scout ahead. “Sending a group or— or someone up only makes logical sense.” 

“I hate to remind you of what happened last time we sent a unit up ahead to scout the area out.” Xisuma butted in, eyebrows pinched together so tightly that Grian could see it through the man’s helmet.

Cleo stared at Xisuma for a moment, lips slightly parted as they cocked their head. “That’s exactly my point. What would have happened if we hadn’t sent a unit to scout it out?” They paused, eyes narrowing slightly as their gaze on Xisuma sharpened. “We’d all be dead.”  

That seemed to get Cleo’s point across pretty quickly.

A small shudder crept up his spine. Even though he was in agreement with Cleo, the words were still aimed at him, their poisoned edges piercing his skin, no mercy in sight. 

“They have a point, Xisuma.” Grian glanced over to his side. Scar was standing, looking down to the people surrounding him. “The council was discussing what occurred with unit one.” He paused, a flickering glance set on Grian and for a moment, there was a sickening look of grief on both of their faces. Grian wasn’t sure if Scar’s was for Scott or Jimmy. “And we have come to an agreement that someone should be sent to scout it out.” 

Both False and Xisuma didn’t respond, their mouths wired shut as Scar shut down their protests. Nothing was said for a moment, an unspoken question: Who was going?

Grian was no idiot, in fact he prided himself in having somewhat good common sense. He knew that one of the five of them would be sent on the trip; it was the only logical answer, the only logical possibility. 

And Grian knew who it would be between to go. 

Scar was immediately crossed off the list. The man wasn't to be out of Grian's sight — or anyone's in fact— because what would they do if he was attacked, if he died? The country would be in shambles, Dogwarts would attack whilst they were weak, struggling to reorganise in the mist of it all. Scar wasn't to die on the battlefield. Grian would make sure the man made it out of here, even if it cost him everything. Because if Scar didn’t make it out of here, neither would Grian. Or at least the Grian Scar knew. 

Xisuma was another who he had crossed off. The man's helmet was durable, yes. Grian knew vaguely how much the helmet could go through before the filtration systems would collapse in on themselves, before they  stopped working, before the man would struggle to breathe the air surrounding them. And maybe he was paranoid, or scared for him or just protective but he didn't want to take that risk. Because— strictly from a logistics point of view again— it made little sense to send Xisuma and have him not return and send someone else only for them to come back injured. And Grian owed the man, he couldn’t allow him to run off into a potential death sentence. 

Cleo was a difficult call. Grian knew how quick witted they were, how fast they would react to a simple small threat. They were good at keeping the soldiers in control, in keeping everyone in line. And that was a skill needed to stay at base, a skill Grian knew they couldn't lose. Whilst Cleo was good at using her voice, a sword less so. They were talented: yes. But, as much as he didn't want to admit it, Cleo wouldn't make it back if they were caught, if someone from Dogwarts picked a fight with them, Cleo wouldn't win with their voice. 

That left him and False. 

And in all honesty, False was a good call. She had brilliant reflexes, speed that even Grian struggled to keep up with at times and her stamina was unmatched within their forces. False was known for winning fights, that was something that scared Grian a little, when she got too endorsed in a fight, False did evoke droplets of fear within him. 

But False's escape route wouldn't be as easy as his. 

When no one spoke, Grian finally spoke up. "...I'll go."

The air pauses around him, Scar's head snapped to his, unmoving as he stared, lips parted, eyes wide. His head was tilted to the side, cocked over in confusion. His pupils had been blown big, fear leaking out of them, desperation clawing at him for something, anything. Another option, something else, something other than this. 

The other's that had been crowded around seemed conflicted. Whilst Grian couldn't make out Xisuma's expression clearly, he could tell the man was in agreement. As was Cleo, pursed lips that curved up into a small smile that caused her eyebrows to raise slightly. 

False was looking at him, almost a similar expression to Scar's, more leaning to the confusion. 

"Grian, as much as a good fighter I know you are," As False began, Grian didn't really need her to continue for him to understand where she was going with this. "I think it'd be best if I went. Not to disrespect you at all, but I'd stand a better chance than you against Dogwarts."

Grian nodded along, not disagreeing with her until she finished, mouth closed, eyes staring at him patiently. 

"False, how are you getting a good enough view to tell how prepared they are or what position they're in without being caught?" 

Grian saw the moment it clicked in Scar's head as the fight within him disbursed, face relaxing for a moment as his hand crept out to the side, gently resting whilst it held onto Grian's own. 

It took an extra few moments for False to come to a realisation.

"Oh. I— Yeah, that... That makes sense. As much as I want to disagree and go myself, you should go." She says.

Grian nodded, trying to hide the part of him that was upset at her reaction. Because there was a part of him— small as it was— that wanted her to disagree, for her to fight him on it. A part of him wanted False to go instead, wanted her to go whilst Grian stayed here, stayed with Scar. because that very same part of him was scared for the man. Yes, Grian knew Scar could hold himself in a fight, he had seen many a times and paired with the man's vexes abilities? Scar was a force to be reckoned with. 

But that did nothing to calm Grian's nerves.

— — —

If Grian thought hard enough, he could still feel Scar's lips on his own. He could still remember their warmth, the love seeping through the other as they got closer. He could still remember how the man had looked at him, how he'd held him close before waving him off, before sending him away. 

Grian shook his head, wings beating slowly, to keep as quiet as he could. It was awkward, flapping his wings just enough to keep himself moving but with too little force to stop any loud sounds while also avoiding any of the tree branches or trunks. And on top of all of that he was on lookout for Dogwarts. 

Sure it took effort, but people were counting on him. People were counting on him and Grian wouldn't— didn't— fail. 

———

Scar's anxiety was through the roof. Even if the roof was quite low and almost touching his head, grazing on it if he stood tall. And he was pretty sure nothing would silence it until Grian came back. His instincts were loud, crying out with worry as Grian had gone to the enemy's base. That was where he was. No matter how much Scar wanted to pretend he was just out on a flight or on a walk or with his friends if they were still here. 

No, Grian was about to walk into his potential death. 

And Scar had let him. 

Yes, he had been incredibly upset at the suggestion, he had protested but he knew Grian was stubborn. He knew Grian would fight until he got what he wanted. That also brought some comfort to him. Grian was stubborn. He wouldn't do something he didn't want to. He wouldn't fight against them, he wouldn't help Dogwarts if he was captured. 

As panic overtook his mind at the latter thought, he reminded himself of the 'if'. Because Grian was strong, he was capable. He would come back later, no injuries in sight and say it was clear. He said they were safe to continue, that he had been safe. 

Because that was the only thing Scar cared about.

———

They hadn't spoken about it since he had woken up. Neither had spoken about Scott's abrupt awakening, about his panicked pleas, whispers of what had happened. Neither spoke about Jimmy's quiet comforts, about how his instincts had taken over at the sight of Scott in need. 

Neither of them had spoken about it and deep down it was killing Jimmy. 

He didn't like not knowing what was going on inside Scott's head. They were always open with each other, before all of this. Secrets were a thing of the past between them. And Jimmy liked that, it kept things simple, kept things quiet. Kept things the way Jimmy liked things. 

But now, Scott was a closed chest, key twisted and turned and thrown away.

It was an unfamiliar feeling. Uncertainty was creeping up on him as they trotted along, Scott brushing past brambles with spikes on them or nettles that threatened to sting them. It only seemed to get closer, its breaths hot against his neck, clawing at his throat as Scott stayed silent. 

They were heading north, in hopes of finding civilization. Scott had mentioned something about a village being nearby, but with all that had occurred within the past week or so, Jimmy wasn't so sure the man had been thinking correctly. Because the forest seemed to be endless, the trees sprouted up from the ground as they came into view, growing up into full size by the time they got within hand's reach from it.

Jimmy didn't voice his worries. 

Scott knew what he was doing. Hopefully. Well, he always knew what he was doing, no matter what happened, Scott would guide him through it. Scott was always there for him, there to support him. 

So why was this different? 

A small part of him tried to tell him it wasn't, that this was just how Scott acted, that this would only be until they found this village, and then the man would unlock the chest he had hidden his emotions away in. Maybe if he told himself that the weight on his back would settle down, maybe it'd disappear and the sickening pressure would lighten up. 

Maybe. 

———

Grian watched. 

He stayed perched up, hidden by branches and leaves, watching. 

There— down below him— was Dogwarts base. Tents all lined up, some of them were patchy, a small hole at the top in one, another was missing a pole. Some were yet to even be put up, horses yet to be detached from the wagons that trailed along behind them. However there was a larger tent to the back, a guard posted outside it, hand resting on the hilt of it, eyes scanning the area. 

As Grian watched the guard, he almost threw himself off the branch he was carefully balancing on as the guard's eyes wandered over to where he was. He forced his mouth shut as the eyes pierced through the leaves, which probably weren't doing all that much for him in this position. 

Still, he stayed put, his hand stuck to his mouth, keeping any stray noises quiet, dampening the sounds as much as he could with the shaking tremors that shuddered over him constantly. 

Grian didn't look back over where the guard was posted, he didn't move at all. He could only hope the guard didn't either, could only hope the guard wouldn't take another step closer, another step to get a better look, to have a clearer view of what he thought he'd seen, what he believed to be his imagination, his mind playing careless tricks on him. 

Another sound left his throat as his wing flapped, desperate for him to take flight and run. Desperate for him to escape from this place, for him to leave and find Scar, find Pearl or Jimmy or—

Grian shook his head, mentally curing himself for think of the two. 

They weren’t coming to help him, they were gone.

He ran a shaky hand down his feathers, then, carefully, he held the limb still, attempting to dull the sounds of the helpless flaps that he could do little to control. 

Nonetheless, he stayed put, quiet and shaking. He stayed until the sun's bright shine shifted to a dim light, barely breaching through the trees patches of leaves and the branches sticking out, patterns draping over the forest floor. 

Grian felt his head move without a thought, eyes glancing back over the place. the guard was long since gone, where to Grian wasn't sure but he wasn't posted outside the larger tent where Ren hopefully was. As he looked around he started to notice a few more tents having popped up, some scattered around the other smaller ones whilst some were methodically ordered around behind the larger one, protecting it.

Yet the place looked to be deserted, not a single soul in sight. 

Grian turned, opened his wings and with one flap he fled.

———

Scar was pacing when False came in. 

there was that dull aching feeling inside of him that he just couldn't seem to get rid of. The feeling that plagued him no matter how far he traveled, how far he ran it was always behind him. 

However, it seemed to take a step away when False came in, followed but Cleo and Xisuma and—

Grian.

The effect was immediate as relief crashed into him so suddenly he swore it knocked the air from him, legs shaking as he met with the avian's dark eyes. 

He was safe. 

He was safe.

That was all Scar needed to know. 

"You two can deal with this later," Xisuma butted in before he could get a word out. Scar's brows furrows, mouth opening ready to object to the man before he cuts him off once again. "I know that look in your eyes, your majesty; you aren't fooling anyone here." 

Scar didn't respond to that one, instead he stepped over to his seat, slumping down; Grian beside him. 

"They're still setting up." Is what Grian opens with. "I didn't see Ren directly, but there's a guard posted outside one tent, I assume he's based there."

Cleo nodded along, their orange hair tied back neatly behind their head. "So we attack during the night, catch them by surprise." They suggested.

When no one argued, Scar nodded.

———

The walk was tedious. It was long, the end never in sight. 

Honestly, Grian wished that everyone could fly because the journey had been a quarter of the time it had taken them to walk it. 

But it wasn't a time to complain. 

He wasn't like a certain someone. 

"—and I just don't see why we all have to go, y'know Grian you should really just let us all stay back, there were finally no rocks under my sleeping bag!" Joel groaned, dragging the ocasional word out into a long whine. 

As much as he wanted to pretend to hate this aspect of Joel's personality he couldn't. Sometimes, it was a nice change, a light humour to distract himself from the dangers of what they were about to walk into. 

Deep down, Grian appreciated it. 

But he would never tell the man that. His ego was already high, if it grew the world would only suffer more than it did. 

"—Bdubs, you agree, don't you?" Joel continued, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm being shown from the others around him. 

Bdubs was marching next to Joel, his head constantly hung low and mood dampened. Grian wasn't sure if it was from hearing the news about Gem or about his boyfriend Grian had heard about. Nonetheless, the man picked his head up, blinking at Joel before he spoke. "Oh yes, sure. I agree with you." 

Joel huffed and opened his mouth again, leaning forwards to look beyond Bdubs where he assumed Tango was.

Only, Grian didn't pay any attention to it, the words being drowned out by the sound of something in the distance. His legs slowed down, falling behind Joel, Bdubs and Tango. He weaved his way from the crowd until he stepped out of the perfectly formed lines, soldiers marching up one by one in a single file order, dull chatter being passed around, meaningless words echoing across the trees. 

He could see Scar stop, consider something for a moment, before he made his way over towards Grian. 

Nothing was said for a moment, Scar stood by his side silently, soldiers footsteps continuing, twigs breaking and leaves crunching. 

He couldn’t…

He needed…

“Scar, halt their movement.” 

Grian didn’t need to give the man any more convincing as he yelled out a command. The effect was immediate, soldiers froze in their positions. No one spoke and for a moment, Grian wondered if his ears were lying to him, playing mind tricks onto—

Snap.

That was all he needed. 

They weren’t alone.

———

Jimmy was wrong.

He been wrong. 

Scott had known where they were as it turned out, although Jimmy still would have appreciated it if the man would relearn his communication skills just a little bit. was that too much to ask for?

As they escaped the darkness of the forest, leaving the shadows alone with no one to taunt and the eerie creaking of the trees in the harsh winds on their own, they stepped into the street.

The village was quaint, small with a rocky pebbled path leading the way inside to its heart. The houses and buildings surrounding them overhung above them, the shadows in the corners mocking Jimmy, sending him small taunts Scott didn't pick up on. 

Still, he stayed put by Scott's side, following as the man walked up to a vendor. 

The pop up shop was smaller than most, selling small bouquets of flowers, one was a handful of roses, the deep blood red dripping down onto the stem, staining it. There was another of small dahlias, a mix of black and whites contrasting each other. 

He didn't listen to Scott's and the woman's conversation, but when Scott turned to leave, he followed.

It was later when the sun was gone from the sky when Jimmy asked what the man had asked about. 

"I was figuring out where we are." The other murdered, leaning into his side more. "We're at the east side of the border, just a few miles west and we should regroup with the rest if everything has gone to plan." 

Jimmy nodded, eyes falling shut.

———

Everything ached, deep rooted waves of dull pain that he had been forced to get used to rather quickly. 

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he’d realised they weren’t alone, but the moon was high in the sky, stars dotted around and decorating the pitch black sky. 

Grian groaned, sloppily dodging a fist that had been thrown in his direction. His sword burned at his side, begging to be used again, its pleas only being answered as he lifted it out of its hollister and plunged it into the other's chest. 

He had no time to watch the life fall from their eyes, no time to watch as they took their last breath and no time to watch and make sure they were dead. 

He had no time between each attacker, as another lunged for him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. The man grunted, hair long enough that his fringe would obstruct his vision, drooping down and dangling above his eyes. Grian would make sure he went quick as he was pushed to the dirt floor. A cough mustered its way up his throat as Grian pushed himself up, knocking the other from their feet. Then he was above the other, knocking the air from their chest before their neck made a crackling snap.

He didn't wait around, his wings opening and aiding him in his ascend up before he was standing up right, mouth open and heaving in air. 

Grian didn't wait around for long, charging to a Dogwarts soldier he noticed pinning a someone he briefly recognised. Or at least they had a similar uniform on. 

He didn't hesitate to dig his blade into one of the pairs backs, spearing him, blood spraying out of their body as they withered on the blade. Grian wasted no time as he pushed the person off the blade, prepared to use it against the other circling their victim. 

As he pushed the body off, there was a sudden force upon him, the air knocked away from him and face pushed into the bloodied pile of leaves and mud. He coughed before— what Grian assumed must have been a knee— was dug into his back, just in between his wings. 

The person above him yelled out something before there was more around him, more grabbing at him. His wrists had hands pinning them down, ankles and knees having pressure applied to. He was rendered useless. 

The battle around them seemed to continue as they... didn't kill him? 

The people around him didn't do anything to him. 

They didn't do anything to him. 

Terror was evoked inside of him, rippling throughout his body, feathers standing up and on edge as a hand pinned them down as well.

They weren't killing him. 

They weren't killing him.

They weren’t—

Grian didn't like this. He didn't want—

"You have outdone yourselves!" A voice echoed across the field, a voice that Grian knew, a voice that meant danger. 

Footsteps crunched the dried up leaves under their feet as they circled him, like predator to prey before stopping in front of him, where when Grian looked up, he could get a perfect view of the threatening man.

Ren stood above him, his gaze lowered down to meet his own, anger burning brightly. The man's eyes were narrow, yet pupils were blown wide with satisfaction. A grin, coming from ear to ear was plastered across his face, razor sharp teeth threatening him as the poked through the thin grin. As he took a step forwards, the cloak behind him dragged along, the bottoms just grazing along the floor. Which was honestly disgusting if Grian were honest, the ends of the cape were covered in clumps of dried red mud and leaves. 

Grian felt a little sick. He didn't know if it was from fear or the condition of such a beautiful cape. 

"My, my, my look what the cat dragged in." Ren hissed, his aggression dripping into his voice and words. Then he took another step closer, crouched down and gripped his chin with such force a small whine escaped his throat. He mourned the future bruise he was sure to receive. 

"Back off." 

Ren didn't reply to Grian's threat. He didn't back off, in fact he did nothing of the sorts, instead the man looked him up and down, a pitiful expression on his face. 

Then, without any warning, his head was buried under the puddles of mud. Grian gasped in surprise, causing the bloodied mud to slip into his mouth. Then it slowly started to slide down his throat, clumps of dried blood sticking to the walls of his throat. It only caused him to gag, bile rising from his stomach. His mouth opened back up in reflex, allowing more of the thick substance to enter again. 

Fear was the only thing running through his veins, his blood had long since gone cold, frozen in place as the air left him. 

This was where he would die, wasn't it? 

He would die from a puddle of mud, completely helpless as people pinned him down. 

Grian gasped for air as his hair was pulled back up, a small coughing fit expelling the blood, leaves and mud from his throat. It hurt, coughing seemed to rearrange the clumps, the dry scratchy leaves sharp edges carving against his sensitive throat. 

"Oh, doesn't seem like a good idea to talk back now, does it?"

This time, Grian didn't speak back. He wasn't sure if he could, not with the uncontrollable coughs he let out. But even if he could, something inside of him told him he wouldn't dare.

"Ah, see, you're already learning!" The man exclaimed, the wolf-like ears on his head twitching. 

Grian ignored Ren, eyes wandering. The once burning fire of hope was slowly melting down to a dying flame, flickering on and off as he came back empty handed. 

They were alone. 

There was no one—

His breathing stuttered, heart's beating slowing down. 

Across the field of bodies, stood Scar. 

Scar stood, and even from a distance Grian could make out his face. His eyes wide, fear leaking from him as his hands shook by his side. With lips parted, Grian couldn't tell if something was said, his lip reading had never been that good. 

With a shaky breath, Grian parted his own lips, mouthing out the words. As he did, Scar's expressions changed immediately, shifting to one of desperation.

I love—

Darkness consumed Grian as his eyes closed.

———

Chapter Text

Sleep seemed to be evading Jimmy. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed, no matter how loud his calls for the darkness were, no matter how much he tried to drift off. Nothing seemed to work. The darkness was nowhere to see, the light filtering it out, sifting it out from the corners. 

After what had felt like an hour, Jimmy peeled his eyes open. 

The moon was high in the sky, staring mockingly down at him. If it could talk, Jimmy was sure the moon would be laughing down at him. 

He glanced over to his side. 

Scott was fast asleep, a sleeping bag scrunched up around his legs. He wasn't sure how much warmth the thin material was providing for the man, as every few seconds a spine enduring shiver would echo through his body. 

Jimmy pursed his lips, eyes sticking to his boyfriend for a moment too long. Maybe it was a little creepy.

He let out a small groan as he pushed himself up, elbows digging into the ground. Which, in all honesty, hurt more than laying down did as they dug into a particularly sharp rock, stabbing him through the thin fabric. Some twigs have been twisted and were stuck upright, small spikes piercing through the sleeping bag and his uniform. He wondered how Scott managed to sleep on all this.

He was quick to push himself upright, now sitting. It wasn't the most comfortable, the sleeping bag now scrunched up and straining around him, pulling against him too tight for comfort.

Before Jimmy could do anything to solve the issue, something in the distance caught his attention. 

Shouting. 

It was a distinct sound, the shouts of orders being yelled, commands being passed down. Figures of authority giving demands. 

It was people. 

Jimmy pulled himself out the bag, spreading it out over the other. A small smile crept up on him as the shivering stopped. He leant down, pressing his lips to the man's forehead. "I'll be back in a few, Scott." He whispered. 

There was a small voice in the back of his head, that sounded an awful lot like Scott— telling him this was a terrible idea, that he should stay put or wake Scott and they go together. 

Jimmy had never been one to listen to that voice though. 

His knees cracked as he took a step, slow and steady breaths as he kept moving. The sounds of shouts got louder for a moment, a faint glow of light from atop the hill. 

Jimmy's  eyes narrowed as he slowed his pace, falling to the floor as he got closer to the top. He pulled himself to a tree, clinging to it as he poked his head around it, peering down to the source of it all. 

It was as if frozen water had been thrown over his head.

Dogwarts soldiers. 

They were moving, all with purpose. A small crowd formed in the centre. The soldiers looked tired, some of their heads dropping low, shoulders sagging. While some looked alive and well, eyes wide and grinning from ear to ear, weapons discarded in a pile off to the side. 

Then they stepped apart. 

Oh.

They were— 

Him and Scott needed to move. And fast.

King Ren stood, gaze flickering across the crowd, then it fluttered up across the horizon. Jimmy threw himself back against the tree, a hand smacking against his mouth to keep his breathing as quiet as he could. 

As soon as he felt the piercing gaze of Ren off him, he fell to the ground, keeping close to it. 

Jimmy didn’t look back as he ran.

— — —

Gem had never appreciated cold water more than right now. She was careful to fill up her small little bottle that hung by her side after she finished gulping it down. 

Look, it had been awhile since she'd had a chance to drink fresh cold water. Back at camp, any water they got would turn to a lukewarm within a couple hours, it was a nice change. 

Pearl seemed to think the same thing as she cupped the cool liquid with her hands, bringing it up to her face. When her hands were brought back down, trails of dirtied mud dripped down her face, dried mud finally budging from where it had been caked onto the other's face. 

Gem didn't hesitate to splash water onto her own, rubbing at the skin until the water came back clear and she moved onto her clothes, scrubbing as much dried mud off as she could. 

While they didn't come back completely clean and they looked nowhere as good as they had new, it was a start. And Gem would rather walk around in a scruffy looking uniform than a muddied one.

She also figured that Pearl would feel the same. 

Gem shuffled closer to her, until she was able to cup some water and start pushing the mud off the fabric. When Pearl glanced over, and shrugged she continued, scrubbing the fabric raw. 

Then Pearl looked over again, the feeling of eyes on her soul was never something Gem could get used to.

"G—Gem, look at me." Pearl stuttered, trying to keep herself together, holding in a... laugh? 

She glanced up for a moment as Pearl stared at her. Gem had never noticed how dark her eyes were. 

"You— You have something right—" Gem gasped as Pearl had cupped some water— cold, freezing water— and threw it at her face, leaving it to drip down her chin. "—There." 

Oh, Gem was going to kill her. 

She brought her arm up, wiping the remaining water from her face. Then, kicked at the river water, pushing it upwards to Pearl's lap.

The reaction was instant, Pearl retaliating quickly, throwing more water to Gem. It drenched her hair, causing it to stick to her forehead, small droplets falling down her already wet face. 

Gem's eyes narrowed, "Oh you are so on." She didn't hesitate to throw herself at Pearl and then sideways. The water rippled around them, where Pearl had landed beneath Gem, her hair floating outwards. 

Pearl chuckled, her ears twisting into a deep red as she attempted to cover her face from Gem. "Gem!" 

She had little less than a second before she could react as suddenly Pearl was on top of her, her clothes soaked through. This was one way to get the mud out of them. 

"How do you like it now?" Pearl grinned, face red. Gem was sure hers was a similar colour. She let her eyes wander as the water was pushed around them, slowly shifting to a muddied brown.

“Oh you—”

— — — 

"—Scott, c'mon, we—" Wha— "We gotta go." 

Scott blinked, sleep still clinging to his eyes, dragging them back down, pulling him to sleep. "Wha— Jimmy what? It's the middle of the night." And he would very much like to be asleep right now. 

Jimmy nodded, pulling a sleep bag off of the top of him. Scott wasn't quite sure why Jimmy had given him his own, lord knows it wasn't warm. He made sure to scold the man for it later on. 

Jimmy shook his head. "Over that hill— you see the light?" The avian didn't wait for Scott to respond to him before he continued. "It's— That's Dogwarts base." 

Any remains of sleep that had clung to him were no longer there as Scott was up. "What?" He paused, eyes focusing on the horizon of the hill. Scott's eyes narrowed in on the dim lights. "Oh— Okay, yeah, we should— go, lets—"

— — —

Scar was going to murder them. 

None of them would be safe. He would make sure of it. He would make sure their deaths were slow, he would make sure they felt the pain they deserved. Scar was going to make sure of it. 

"Look, your Majesty, I understand that maybe you don't want to do this, but..." Cleo started, voice trailing to a slow stop once she met Scar's eyes. 

"No, go on Cleo. Tell me." Scar insisted, something not quite human seeping into his voice. 

Scar wasn't sure how much of a bold speaker Cleo was in this moment. 

"Your Majesty, we think it would be best if you listened." Xisuma's voice didn't drop, his sternness was something Scar could usually rely on, it was something his voice always carried, something that never left Xisuma. 

"Oh, no I'm listening." Scar muttered, leaning forwards. "Tell me what I should do right now. Tell me that I should just sit back and relax. Tell me I should start thinking of the worst." He pressed. “Tell me.”

Xisuma inhaled slowly, "There's no point in telling you to sit back and relax, your Majesty, that'd be a waste of breath." Then he paused, seemingly thinking over his words. Xisuma glanced over to Cleo, who nodded slowly. Scar braced himself for Xisuma's next words. "However, I think it may be best if you... prepared for the worst." 

Silence.

Complete silence.

No one spoke, the eerie quiet was not something they had gotten any of in the past week or so. It was odd for there to be so much of it to go around. Scar was sure he'd be jealous of it later on.

Even if he wanted to break the silence, no words could come to his mind. No words to fight Xisuma, no words to bring him any sense of comfort in this situation Scar had nightmares about. There was no light in his moment of darkness, the silence giving him not a drop of comfort to grab onto, to hold onto. Instead it let him drop into the darkness, endlessly falling for an eternity with no one to come and save him. 

And for a moment, Scar considered closing his eyes, allowing the darkness to take over him. He considered letting the darkness win, letting himself fall without a fight.

That thought was soon cut from him by a voice.

"We— um we thought it might be better if you gave it some thought." False stood from her chair, pushing it back under the makeshift table, a small attempt at politeness. "And spoke to someone familiar." 

Huh?

Xisuma and Cleo were standing now, making their way out of the tent, closing the door behind them, the fabric flapped in the gentle breeze, allowing Scar to get a glimpse of the outside. People were there, some moving, carrying creates and boxes of supplies, others were standing in small groups, disusing something. There was one group stood in a small circle, in the centre one guy stood, clearly showing off a type of trick or something. Scar couldn't see what he was doing, something blocking the door.

"Scar." 

Scar didn't look up. 

Two people called him that. 

Two people could call him that. 

One who Scar would do anything to see again, the other who wouldn't be here. The other who should be anywhere but here. 

"C'mon, it can't be comfortable there." The voice said calmly, too calm for this, for what had happened. A small voice in his head suggested maybe the man didn’t know what had happened, maybe he wasn’t aware of the nightmare that had come to life. 

There was a set of hands on his shoulders, gently moving him, guiding him to the side. Then he was pushed down to the ground, where a small makeshift mattress sat, unused. 

The person sat beside him, a hand resting on Scar's own, rubbing different shapes with different sizes on the top of it. The gentle movement did help him relax a little, even if it was a small gesture. 

"There we go." They said, "I— er— I haven't been told what happened, Scar, and it might help me if I know what's wrong so I can help."

Scar pulled his head up, the task taking up more energy than he thought it would have. Keeping his eyes open was a whole task in itself. Still, he pushed through the waves of exhaustion as his eyes met the others.

Mumbo stared back, red warm eyes watching him. He stilled for a moment, blinking slowly before he freed Scar’s hand from his own. The man leaned forwards, pulling Scar to do the same as arms were pulled around him. 

It was— well, awkward. 

Scar had never known Mumbo to be the physical touch type, in all the years he had known him, he could count the number of times they had hugged or touched on purpose on one hand. And while it wasn’t a sensation he was used to with Mumbo, the gesture didn’t go unnoticed or uncared for. 

Scar blinked, and then the other was gone, retreating back to sit shoulder to shoulder with him. 

“Talk to me Scar.” Mumbo murmured, looking to the ground. “What— What happened out there?”

Scar’s stomach twisted inside him, shaking and churning any acid, burning his throat. The thought of speaking only made the bile rise higher. Nonetheless, he parted his lips, the words on the tip of his tongue. 

Only to be stolen from him, that bile creeping up and dragging them back down and taking their place. Scar gave Mumbo no warning before he fell forwards, gagging on the words as they fell from his mouth, the acidic taste burning the back of his throat. 

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back up after a moment. “...Scar?” 

Scar inhaled slowly, the taste of his words lingering in his mouth and bleeding into his speech.

“They took him.”

— — — 

"How far south did they say it was?" Jimmy questioned, groaning slightly as the landscape didn't seem to flatten out any time soon. 

"Not too sure, but we should be getting close." Yeah no kidding, the sun was in the centre of the sky. They'd been walking since Jimmy had woken Scott up and had had maybe one small break. 

If his feet weren't secure on his ankles, he was sure they would have fallen off. 

"Oh, I can hear your thoughts from over here, Jim. We—" Scott grinned, although it looked sad. Jimmy missed the grins Scott used to have before they'd been sent here. 

They didn't speak after that. Jimmy wasn't sure if his words were appreciated, he also wasn't sure how Scott's stress would do with his useless rambling. 

So he stayed quiet, just for a bit.

He had planned on staying at it as well, only, something dragged his attention away. 

Crunch. 

Scott took another step. 

"...Scott?" 

The man stopped, twisting his head back to face him. 

"There's—" He began before something else stopped his speech. 

A voice.

"Scott?" 

Both heads snapped to the sound. 

In the distance, stood... Well Jimmy didn't know who it was, they stood far in the distance, an identical uniform to Scott on. A familiar flag embroidered upon the cloth. 

Scott's eyes had been snapped open, no longer sunken and lifeless but hope was newly flooded into them, a flame flickering into hope. His hands twitched by his side, one reaching back, palm opening, fingers ready to clasp Jimmy’s own. 

He wrapped his own dead cold fingers with Scott’s warm ones. 

“Cleo!”

— — — 

Pearl was soaked. Her hair was dripping, separating into sections as knots— she knew she’d hate herself later for allowing to happen— were forming. Her clothes stuck to her skin, the uncomfortable feeling seeping in as the adrenaline slowly faded.

She was still kneeling above Gem, heaving in oxygen like it was her last day to live— which might not be a lie, that was certainly not a comforting thought. The other was panting, ears a deep shade of crimson as a grin spread across her face. Her skin was a pearly cream, any trace of dirt was gone, erased from existence. Shiny green eyes stared up at her. 

“You wanna call it quits yet?” Pearl exhaled. Gem’s smile must have been contagious as Pearl felt a similar one on her own face. 

Gem shook her head, eyes trailing along Pearl. “I don’t know, might have to…” 

The grin faded from Gem’s face, the crimson shade shifting, the blood draining from her. Her eyes grew unnaturally wide, as her expression slowly faded, no hints of the smile they had been sharing, a new form of terror as her lips parted and were no longer as wide to her ears. 

Then Gem slowly started to push herself backwards, water rushing over her head as she went against the harsh current until she got away from and out of Pearl’s grasp, pushing herself up on her elbows. Gem’s hand moved slowly, so slow Pearl almost didn’t see it, almost didn’t notice it. 

Until her hand clasped the sword's hilt and she raised the weapon, the tip of the blade inches away from her neck.

Had she—

“...Gem?” 

Pearl followed Gem’s wide scared eyes, slowly tracing where they had trailed her until they finally landed on the source.

Right there, on her chest was that familiar crest, the familiar symbol, the flag that called a claim on her. There was no longer a thick layer of dried mud upon it, covering it up, instead it stood out against the deep green fabric, the red and white flag shining out. Gem’s eyes stained onto the flag, the fear burned into the pale thread. 

Oh shit—

———

Scott had refused to leave his boyfriend’s side. 

Of course Scar understood this, if he saw Grian again, that man would not be leaving his side ever. 

However, Scar couldn’t imagine Scott’s refusal was helping the medics do their job. As one of them had twisted themselves to reach a particularly bad burn on Scott’s side. The man hissed as the medic muttered an apology, though their hands kept moving, applying more of the cream on it. 

The other man was in a similar position, shirt pulled up as a burn stretched across his chest. The skin had peeled back around the edges of it, some splotches of pus oozing out of it slowly. 

Scar turned his head away from that. He didn’t need to be ill again. 

“Where’s your friend, your majesty?” Scott spoke up, breaking the silence between them. Scar was grateful the man had, he didn’t want to intrude any longer on the couple but he needed to speak with Scott and he hadn’t wanted to push him to speaking when he wasn’t ready. 

He swallowed a lump in his throat, it sluggishly falling down. “He— Dogwart’s took him.” Both of their faces fell. Scar fought to keep his steady. “There’s no point dwelling on it. Ren will face the consequences for this sooner or later.” 

Scott nodded, lips pointed upwards. “I’m glad to hear.” 

The medics paused for a moment, then stepped back and walked out of the tent. Scar paid no mind to them, stepping closer to the pair. 

“How did you two survive?” Scar didn’t have to tell them what he was talking about. 

“We were both further from the explosion than others. I managed to conscious long enough to get us away from the fires and shrapnel.” 

Scar nodded, but before he could say anything the other man turned, back to him as he whispered something to Scott. 

The man’s hair was overgrown, ends choppy. His arm had been placed in a splint, a wing with golden feathers wrapped in bandages and his leg—

Golden feathers.

He wasn’t—

This was—

“...Jimmy?”

— — —

Everything hurt, aches throughout his body, rippling from one point to another. The skin between his wings was particularly bad, what must have been a bruise having formed, a light pressure being applied to it as his wings were folded up against his back. 

A soft whimper escaped him as he attempted to shift his wings, attempting to relieve himself of some of the pressure. Although it came to no avail as the limbs were stuck, something wrapped around them keeping them firmly in place against his back. 

What?

Why couldn't—

Grian's eyes snapped open, blinking a couple times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of this... cell? 

What had—

Oh.

Oh.

It all came rushing back to him, his mind almost unable to keep up with the pace the memories were coming back to him. Flashes of the fight, of soldiers pinning him down, of Ren towering over him. Flashes of Scar.

The floor was cobbled with rocky stones, uneven in every part of the small box, the walls the exact same, with the occasional crack in a rock. All the walls, minus one. Minus the one in front of him, thick iron bars sat, cemented into the flooring. Not a single scratch had been applied to the dull metal. They all came together on one side, a lock on the outside of the cell, no key in sight. 

There was no way out of this.

Grian pulled himself up, his wings straining behind him. His hands were tied together, rope burning into his raw skin. No different position relieved the shooting pains the rope rubs gave him. His legs had been left untouched, although Grian wasn’t sure it would do him much good. What use were his legs without his wings, without his freedom?

He shook the thoughts away. He couldn’t loose hope now of all times. 

Grian pulled his wrist up, straining his neck uncomfortably as his eyes scanned the knot. It was… well Grian didn’t know the types of knots and their names, but he knew this one looked complicated. There were many loops, and twists of the rope and]

There was no way of undoing it without his hands. 

Shit.

Okay, no, this was fine. Grian was fine, there was nothing wrong. 

He just needed to—

“Ah, it seems the pet has awoken!” 

Grian didn’t look at the man. He knew what would be there to greet him, and Grian didn’t want to feed into the sick man’s fantasy's. 

“Not even going to look at me?” The man clicked his tongue, then let out a long extended sigh. “Well then, Grian,” 

The door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed, the clinking of boots against the cold cobbled stone flooring. A hand was on his shoulder, quicker before he could react. Then another was on his chin, gripping it tight enough Grian was unsure if the future bruise would ever heal. 

Brown eyes met his own, the cold stare from Ren meeting him. 

“Let’s have some fun.” 

— — —

Chapter Text

“Look, Gem, I can— I can explain—”

Gem pushed herself up, sword still hovering over Pearl’s bare throat. She made a small noise, a strangled cry. Gem didn’t acknowledge it, instead she focused on steadying her wobbly feet, swaying as the water crashed into her ankles, knocking and chipping at her balance. Still she stood tall, sword shaking.

“Explain what?” She spat, eyes narrowing. Her face was pale now, the faint hints of crimson having run from her cheeks. “Explain how you lied? Explain how you were going to kill me?” 

“Huh— Wha— Gem— I wouldn’t—” She spluttered the words out without thinking, clawing at a chance to grip onto something.

Gem’s face twisted— contorting into something of frustration. “You wouldn’t, huh? How am I meant to know that? How am I meant to believe you, Pearl?!” She raised the blade, taking another slow and careful step backwards. 

For a moment, Pearl wasn’t sure what to say, her tongue had run dry with words, and mind was too tired to think. 

She didn’t know how to get out of this.

She didn’t know how to make it better. 

Pearl didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t know what Gem wanted her to say. It was a mystery to her if the woman wanted an apology for Pearl’s lies, for leading her on a wild goose chase. Or if she wanted an explanation, because what was Pearl meant to say? Oh yeah, I’ve been hired to assasinate your king, but don’t worry I’ll leave you alone! Like she’d believe that. 

Or maybe she wanted revenge. Maybe she wanted to thrust that sword forwards, and plunge it into her heart. Maybe she wanted to watch the blood piur form her enemys body, watch as her skin twisted in emotions and slowly fade into a snowy pale shade. 

“—you aren’t even listening!” The other spluttered. She was standing a few steps back now, her legs trembling and the grip on her blade was slipping. “Y—You need to—”

Pearl inhaled slowly, shuddering as the crispy air assaulted the back of her throat. 

She could do this.

“Gem,” Pearl spoke softly, her hands raised by her head. She took a small step, wincing as Gem took another back onto the stream's bank, trees littering the area behind her. “I have no intention of harming you.” 

Pearl took another step, this time onto the stream's bank.

“I— You shouldn’t—” Gem stuttered, wincing as her back hit the bark of a tree. The sword slipped from her shaking grasp. “I’ll— I’ll kill—”

Pearl pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No you won’t. You won’t hurt me and I won’t hurt you, like we’ve been doing for the past few days.” 

Gem’s eyes widened impossibly so, fear spreading and leaking from them as she took another step closer. “How do I—”

“Look, Gem, you don’t know where you’re going.” Pearl inhaled slowly as she spoke, the lie already burning at her tongue as the words formed at the back of her throat. “I… I do.” The words came out, cracked with the truth threatening to spill. “So, you need me.” 

Something swirled around Gem’s mind for a moment, until realisation dawned on her, stabbing her sharp and unapologetic with its blade. 

Gem just nodded, hesitating as her eyes left Pearl and onto their surroundings. “Why… Why do you need me?”

She exhaled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Well, I’m going to need an alibi.” 

— — — 

Grian had underestimated how much a punch could hurt. He was pretty sure he had already heard his nose crack and break a while ago, so he wasn't sure what Ren was acomplishing by hitting him there, except for maybe flushing out any remaining hope in not having a broken nose. Grian wasn't complaining though, there were worse case senarios that could happen; having a broken nose and two black eyes wasn't the worst. 

"You know you want to give in." Ren spoke low, voice dipping into a snarl. Grian continued to hold his glare pointed to the man, every few seconds redirecting it to Martyn, who stood behind him, some form of weapon pointed at the back of his skull. Grian assumed it was meant to scare him. 

"You and all your friends can go to hell." He spat, eyes lingering on Ren for a moment as they drifted to the outside of the cell. 

Two stood there; one wearing a mask, covering his mouth and it rose up his face to cover his nose. He had a headband, a small metal piece on the front with a pattern that was obstructed by the man's snowy pale hair. He didn’t wear a uniform, instead, he had a green — what Grian assumed to be an item for protection — vest layered over a simple plain shirt.

The other stood tall, arms by his side and a sly grin on his face, teeth almost poking out. The man wore a suit although Grian wasn't sure how long he'd been wearing it as the arms and sleeves of it had been torn off, hazzardly discarded. Scars had ripped through the man's skin, tearing away up his arm leaving their marks there for anyone to see. He hated that they reminded him of Scar.

Grian was quickly reminded that he was not meant to be looking anywhere by Ren as a swift kick was presented to his already aching back. Unceasingly serrating pains spread out throughout his back A small cracked chirp escaped, trembling as his feather's puffed in the restraints. Laughter echoed above him as shame coiled in his gut.

"You don't need to pay any attention to them." Ren murrmered, taking a step closer to him. "You should be focusing on answering my question." He paused, eyes trailing along Grian's figure. 

He shivered under the gaze, bracing himself for a stray kick. 

"I don't know anything." He grunted, tensing his body as a boot came in contact with his stomach causing a small cry to leave him. 

Ren tutted, shaking his head slowly. “Lying will get you nowhere, little bird.” 

“I’m not—” 

Another kick to his back, this time it was higher, high enough that Martyn’s boot caught some feathers, dragging them down with him. Water was quick to pool in his eyes as the limb burned red where the feathers had been plucked. He made no sound, he wouldn’t give them any more satisfaction.

“Tell me where it is, tell me what it is.” Ren started and Grian really did not want to listen to another notorious villain speech, he understood it already, this guy was bad, he was going to get what he wanted no matter the cost, Grian was going to be hurt if he didn’t comply. He understood what was going to happen.

“Tell me what makes the great King Scar tick.” 

And for once, Grian didn’t know what to say. 

What was he even meant to answer it with? 

And why was that what Ren wanted to know? 

Was he meant to tell him how Scar got deathly protective of the people he loved? How when his vex side came out, Scar was no force to underestimate. How Scar would do anything for someone he cared for? About Scar’s underlying burning loyalty for those people. Was that what Ren wanted? 

Even then, what did he plan to do with that? Take more people until Scar was left alone, nothing btu the company of his own echoed voice. Was Grian meant to doom Scar to a life of misery because he couldn’t handle a few kicks? Even if he was, Grian wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not to Scar.

“Fine, if you won’t talk we can find someone else who will.” Ren muttered, pausing for a moment, eyes lighting up with something Grian didn’t like the look of. “You’ve got friends right, Tango, Bdubs, Geminitay?” 

Grian’s face had never fallen quicker. His lips parted, dry and cracked, “No, they don’t—”

Ren turned, motioning for the other to exit the cell. Martyn did, careful to get a final hit on his back before leaving, causing a rippling hot pain through his limb. The two others let Martyn pass by, and even with a mask covering his face, Grian could see the… disturbed? look on the white haired man's face. Or he’d at least paused to think about what Ren had muttered quietly.

As Ren went to leave, he paused, twisting his head back to Grian. “I suppose they may not be a good source of information.” 

Grian wasn’t sure if the emotion coiling and twisting knots in his gut was relief or dread.

“I hear that the king's gotten a visitor in your absence.” 

What—

“Maybe Mumbo will be of more use to us than you.” 

No—

“No! He’s not—”

Ren didn’t stop to listen, opening the door.

“No—”

— — — 

Pearl couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all going to go wrong. 

Maybe she should’ve left Gem the moment she found out Pearl had lied. That would have been easier, sure maybe — if Gem managed to find her way back on her own — that the King and his little companion would be speficalluy prepared fro Pearl herself. But she really would have avoided this situation. 

“What do you need an alibi for?” 

It was the one question Gem hadn’t dropped, not since she’d started moving and Gem had followed her, blindly ‘trusting’ her. That’s what Gem had claimed at least, but with her hand steadily resting on the hilt of her sword, Pearl wasn’t sure she believed the woman’s words. 

Pearl huffed, shaking her head. “That’s none of your business.”

“Pearl, you’re going to use me as an alibi. I at least want to know what you’ve done that I’m needed for.” She groaned, an accusatory tone accompanying her.

“I’ve not done anything yet.” Is what Pearl ends up replying with. Instead of making up some lie, something small that might seem reasonable for her to not want it to trace back to her. Or maybe something bigger, a definate solid reason as to why Pearl needed Gem. but no, she chose the omniscient option, the option flooded with questions and empty with answers.

Gem didn’t seem satisfied with her answer as she was quick to protest. “What does that mean?!” 

Pearl didn’t stop walking, even as Gem’s voice got louder and the panic creapt in. 

“Pearl! What does—”

She didn’t stop, even if she wasn’t sure where she was going. 

“Pearl!”

— — —

Grian thinks the worst thing about this is the boredom. 

The unknown.

The darkness.

There was nothing to distract himself with here; the bricked stone walls offered no comfort. The only faint source of it he could find came from his own mind, fake whispers that it’d be alright, that he'd get out. The voice was faint and growing hoarse; its words growing into questions as the clock ticked onwards.  

Would he even be able to escape? 

The bars were thick; padlocked from the outside and the key was nowhere to be seen. Grian had only seen Martyn unlock the door, and if the man kept the key on his person constantly, Grian had more issues than he had thought. 

Besides, even if he was able to get through the issue of the door, he still had no idea where he was. Because they weren’t in Dogwarts’s camp, not with the stone walls and iron bars. He was somewhere in Dogwarts; a place Grian had never visited before. So even if he did escape, he was sure to be caught by a guard or soldier wandering the streets. 

Unless…

It was a stupid idea. Ridiculous even. None of them would even consider it. 

Execpt… 

Grian shook the thoughts away. Clinging onto a tht=read of hope was useless, it’d snap before he could pull himself onto it. He’d wrap it around his mind, convince himself it was possible only to be let down when he tried it. 

It was all futile. 

Grian didn’t look from the ground, the stones were ridged, edges sharp and paining every part of him they came in contact with. It was torturous which was maybe why they’d picked this cell for him. Maybe Ren didn’t want him to have anything good while he was here. Maybe— 

Grian shook his head, of course it was on purpose. Ren was internally messed up, Martyn just as well. 

Grian ran his fingers against the stone, the stinging pains made him feel something, anything other than the stabbing aches from his wings and ribs. He groaned, keping his voice low. 

Then, he brought one of his wings forwards. The feathers were messed up, some crumbled in on themselves, bending and poking at the sensitive skin beneath the patchy feathers. Some of it had been rubbed raw with his feather’s constant scraping against it, beads of blood forming, as others fell, caking onto his other feathers. 

Grian’s fingers cradled through the feathers, dull aches reenlighting with the fiery sensations he had been trying to avoid. A small cry climbed and clawed its way out his throat as he forced a bent feather out, blood freely flowing from the gap it left. 

It hurt.

Grian inhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering shut slowly. He could still feel the fingers there, ghostly faint, trailing along his wings. 

Scar was next to him, warmth radiating off his body, slowly seeping in through Grian’s ice frozen walls. The man didn’t speak as his fingers continued, slow and gentle, filling with a loving emotion that seeped off the tips of his fingers.

They were in his nest, the walls protectung them, rising high next to the pair. The fire was burning loudly, flames rising higher and higher than the last. Everything else was… blurry. No matter how much he tried to focus he couldn’t make out what was behind them.

Then there was a low hum, a tune carefully intertwined with each note, bouncing off and falling back down before launching itself back up. Grian tilted his head, his shoulders gradually falling down as any remaining tension seeped out of him, trickling from the spots where Scar had touched. 

The gentle rhythm was everything Grian needed, it was distracting, pulling his mind away from whatever was going on in his reality. Because he didn't need any of that. Not if Scar was here, singing low and gentle notes. 

The man didn't stop, even as his voice cracked, or fingers stuttered over a feather before it was pulled with such care that Grian almost didn't notice. He didn't even hesitate or pause when the chirps echoed around the room, and as his eyes fluttered shut to the sounds of his own chirps and the humming of Scar's voice nothing changed with the other. 

After a few moments, and when Grian could feel himself lazily slip into the fierce grip of sleep, the hands and hum came to a sudden stop. 

"You shouldn't sleep." Scar's voice projected. It was... off though. It lacked any emotion, none of the love or cheer or joy was there, instead it was a monotone sound, scraping against his mind with unfamiliarity.

"Huh? Scar what—" he murrmered, peeling his eyes back, blinking away the sleep that had a small trace of a claim on him. 

He turned around to face the other after there was no reply, deafening silence greeting his concern and questions. Scar sat there, like he'd believed. He looked like he should, deep rich brown hair sat upon his head, the scars that plastered his face, crawling over his nose and against his jaw line. However, the glossed over eyes and dissconected look on them told him otherwise. 

Grian chuckled nervously, his breath frosting over as he exhaled. Which was... wrong. There was a blazing fire right behind Scar. His eyes flickered down, the hairs on his arms had risen, as if they were ready to run at any given moment. That was wrong. 

It shouldn't be...

"It doesn't matter what should or shouldn't be." Scar's voice echoed out. empty and dull of any emotions. 

...What—

"None of it matters, Grian."

“Scar what do you—”

Scar’s eyes moved, almost clock-like as they ticked around the room before finally landing on him. The man’s mouth curved with an uncanny smile approaching as his teeth poked out. “This isn’t real Grian.” 

He paused, eyes widing with realisation, as the tension leapt upon him and panic crumbled down over him. He could feel his lips part, mutters of fear tumbling out. “No, no— nonono—” 

There was a salty taste in his mouth, his vision growing more and more blurry. Yet he could still make out Scar. He could still make out the sickening grin the man held with his unconscious eyes. 

The room around them faltered, the fire had been doused, its flames frozen over as an uncomfortable chill came over him. 

“None of it’s real.” 

— — —