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It started off small, as it always did.
Mumbo was having issues with his redstone, some bug hidden that he couldn’t find that was messing the whole contraption up, and he immediately made his way to Grian’s part of the jungle to rant about it. As always, Grian smiled and ushered him in, made him a mug of tea and nodded when he needed to, replied when he needed to, hugged him when he needed to. Helping Mumbo was second nature, and it always filled him with relief when he watched the light-bulb turn on in the man’s brain, realising the issue after talking it out before dashing off to sort it.
Only the day after did Ren drop by for a visit, visibly down about something. Only when Grian prompted him did he spill about how he’d lost his wrestling matches six times in a row, that he felt weak. So Grian had planted a hand on his shoulder and reassured him, told him there was nothing he should be worried about in that department, that you can’t go up against False and expect to win.
Grian knew the feeling, of expecting better of himself, of comparing himself to the best and being disappointed when he couldn’t meet the impossible standard he set himself.
Ren had left his hobbit hole with a much more authentic smile on his face that evening.
The third thing that happened that week was a huge charged creeper explosion that destroyed half of Grian’s base, forcing him to dedicate an entire day to repairs (gathering the resources, remembering where everything was, and placing it all back).
And by the Friday, he was just about done with everything. But, of course, he couldn’t turn away a hurt soul.
So when Cleo showed up on the Saturday morning, talking about how she hadn’t been able to make a good armour stand all week, that something was just wrong, that she’d lost any and all faith in herself—
Grian helped her.
Just as he had Mumbo, as he had Ren, and as he had himself.
He could recall a time where he’d helped pretty much everyone on the server. Scar with his constant death-loops; Jevin with adding smaller details to his builds; Tango with subtly disguising his redstone a little better; False with enchanting her gear to the optimum capacity—
Grian was the shoulder everyone knew they could lean on.
But only so much weight can be put on a taped snapped twig before it falls under the pressure.
So, the moment Cleo left, Grian locked his door, tugged the curtains closed of his every window, dug a two-by-one hole and climbed inside, picking his knees up to his chest and cradling them, resting his chin on top. It was a tight squeeze, especially with his wings out at full capacity behind him, but he couldn’t think of anything else to quieten the buzzing in his head.
The will to just fly away and never return, the guilt that came with it.
The want to help but the acknowledgement that if Grian was a lesser person his life would be so much easier.
The feeling that he had no one to speak these thoughts to.
Everyone else had Grian, but who did Grian have? Himself? The wall? His birds? No one would listen, and, if they did, Grian would just feel worse for upsetting them, for ruining their day in favour of his own selfishness.
So the hole it was.
He woke up to the sound of his door creaking open. His back ached, his wings itched more than usual, and his head was pounding. Someone was in his home, and Grian didn’t have the energy to get up and stop them.
After a moment, they spoke. “Grian?”
He perked up at that. A voice he knew, a familiar one.
A matching face peered over the hole after a moment, the wings on his head probably having peaked over the edge, and glimmering emerald eyes met his own, worry laced within them.
“What are you doing down there?”
When Grian went to speak, his mouth simply didn’t open, the words lodged in his throat. It didn’t take long for Scar to notice, quickly digging another two-by-one beside him to give them a little more space, not that they had much considering Scar’s height and muscle and Grian’s wings, but they made it work, especially when Scar shuffled closer and tugged him into a hug.
When he started crying, Grian wasn’t sure. Why he started crying was also a mystery to him, as with why he hid away in a hole in his hobbit home, but that didn’t matter too much now; what mattered was that Grian was upset and there Scar was, holding him, brushing a hand through his hair and tugging out the knots, the hand that was holding him rubbing soothing circles into his skin through his jumper.
And he was whispering, tucking his head over Grian’s and talking sweet nothings so quiet they didn’t even bounce off of the enclosed walls.
“My sweet angel,” he was whispering, and Grian couldn’t help but let out another sob, “Who hurt you? I’ll go give them a crystal to attract evil.”
Of course the shabby piece of glass would do nothing, but the seriousness in Scar’s voice brought a small giggle out of his scratched throat, Grian snuggling closer before he even realised he wanted to. He wanted Scar to hold him, close and warm and safe.
And he did. Scar held him, humming a tune Grian recognised, a tune Scar often hummed while he built, usually accompanied by fast footsteps and the sounds of wooden planks boshing together. Always with that sweet, beautiful smile on his face, too, creating a dimple on his left cheek that tugged at the scar painted across his face.
“You don’t need to talk,” Scar said eventually, squeezing Grian in reassurance once again, fingers now trailing small lines up and down his side, “But just nod or shake your head, so I know what we’re dealing with.”
Grian nodded, huddling a little closer, sniffing as he used his spare hand to wipe the tears from his face, the streams of water being immediately replaced.
“Did someone hurt you?”
Grian shook his head.
And he could’ve sworn some of the tension left Scar’s muscles at that, as if he’d been gearing himself up to give away some negatively charged crystals.
“Are you injured?”
Grian shook his head, sniffing again.
“Is this… a brain thing?”
After a moment, Grian nodded, and he felt Scar nod back, the hand threading through his hair lightly rubbing into his scalp, easing out whatever tension was left and causing a small sigh to escape him, wings fluttering a little with the movement.
“Have you been down here since Cleo left?”
So they had been talking. It was most likely that Scar noticed his absence and went around asking people of his whereabouts; the thought made Grian equal parts happy and guilty.
Because yes, someone cared about him, enough to talk to the whole server just to locate him, ensure he was okay, but equally Grian had worried him.
He didn’t want to worry Scar.
There was nothing to worry about! He was perfectly fine! Just… hiding away in a hole in the ground waiting for the dirt walls to consume him.
“Grian?”
Oh Scar had asked him a question. Slowly, he nodded. The response made the man sigh, the hand moving from his hair to lightly scratch behind his ears, right at the base of his wings, making him completely melt into Scar’s arms.
And the man froze, beginning to pull his hand away, and that spark of panic returned, Grian’s heart hammering a mile a minute.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—“
So he grabbed Scar’s hand and tugged it right back to where it left off, frozen in place.
“You… want me to…?”
And Grian looked up, meeting those gorgeous, round, emerald eyes again, eyelashes more than perfect from the angle he was looking from, brown hair mussed likely in his tizzy.
Whatever emotion was in his own eyes must have convinced him, Scar sighing with a sweet soft smile before pressing light circles to the base of his wing, Grian’s heartrate immediately slowing back down as he heaved a relieved breath.
Scar was here, Scar wasn’t leaving.
Scar was scared.
Because Grian was upset.
He’d thought that hiding would mean he would get over whatever this was and he could go back into the world a happy man, ready to help and playfully torment his friends wherever possible, yet all he’d done was worry them.
Worry Scar.
“I’m sorry.”
The hand on his wing froze.
“Sorry? You’re sorry? What for?”
“I’m—“
Meant to be better than this, stronger than this, meant to be the man at the bottom of the pillar holding everyone up on his shoulders. I’m meant to be reliable, not wish for a life where I could stomach being someone else entirely, where I could refuse to help someone and not have that clawing, aching feeling of guilt in my heart. I’m sorry for not being able to be the man everyone thinks I am, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, I’m sorry for not noticing my own downward spiral.
“I’m sorry for letting you down.”
It was the silence that made Grian look up, just in time to see Scar’s features melt, confusion and concern mixed into one beautiful glance. “Oh, Grian.” Scar murmured, and now Grian was the confused one, “You haven’t let anyone down.”
“But—“
“We’ve all been worried about you.”
And didn’t that just make everything worse?
“Sorry.”
“Stop—“ Scar started, taking a deep breath before letting his head fall back onto the dirt behind him, inevitably getting some stuck in his hair. Grian just continued to watch him, watch as he took another deep breath, as he drifted the hand from Grian’s head to his lap, as his eyes slowly shut. A smile appeared on his face, but there wasn’t much sweet about it. “Let people worry about you, it’s not a bad thing. We care, a lot, and we will worry.”
“I don’t want to worry you.”
“Well I want to worry about you.” Scar insisted, twisting a little and making his left hand drift from Grian’s waist to his lower back, the other hand moving back to his head, running soft fingers over the top of his wing and pulling a shiver out of him. Despite everything, it felt nice to be cared for, to feel cherished. “I don’t want reasons to worry, but if something’s wrong—“
“Nothing’s wrong—“
“Grian we are sat in a one-by-two. You’ve been crying since I walked in. You’ve been hiding here for three days—“
“Three days?!”
Scar’s eyes then drifted behind him slightly, obviously scanning the wings on his back, nose scrunching with something akin to annoyance. The hand on his face slowly reached to his back, running through the closer feathers for a moment, already dislodging a few strays, Grian shivering once again and consequentially falling further into Scar, burying his face into his shoulder in a bird-like attempt to be closer. Then the hand fell, and Grian could sense the moment Scar decided something.
And suddenly he was being lifted, tugging a yelp out of him as he clung to Scar, arms wrapped around the man’s neck. He was more than glad the man didn’t have his fake beard on right now because he would not have been able to take this seriously. Only once Grian was secure enough in Scar’s arms did the man get them out, taking a bite of his good old wizard fruit using some magic to lift it, teleporting them to the other side of the room, right by Grian’s nest.
Grian’s nest.
That no one had ever so much as touched.
That Scar was gently placing him into before climbing in after him, ensuring they were sat properly before resting his hands on his lap.
“Is… this okay?”
Here it was, Grian’s inevitable out.
Because Scar would never do something that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. The nest was one thing, one thing that Grian had talked about in the past, hinting to Scar that if he ever wanted to join he was welcome, but preening? It was far too intimate for a friendship, far further than Grian had ever been willing to go with someone else. Of course he wanted it, but he didn’t need it, and Scar didn’t need to take time out of his day to do something Grian could just do himself—
Except, when Grian heard the man start to stand, evidently taking the silence as a no, Grian’s wing whacked itself down on his lap, forcing (encouraging) him to stay.
Dumb wings always having a mind of their own.
“Let me know if I hurt you.” Scar huffed after a moment, voice fond and sweet and Grian wanted to keep crying, shoving his eyes into his palms as steady, callused hands slowly started threading through his feathers. Because how could Scar ever hurt him? How could Scar, the gentlest, kindest, most cautious man Grian had probably ever met hurt him? Even then, even knowing that, just the thought that Grian could say something or flap a wing or move away, that Scar would stop, that the choice to end whatever this was was in his hands made something lovely blossom in his chest.
Something warm, something forgiving, and something not entirely new.
The more Scar threaded through his wings, the looser his limbs became, and eventually Grian found himself completely bent over, legs crossed beneath himself as he rested his chin against the nest, the wings on his head drooped over his ears as his eyes fluttered shut. And then Scar was humming again, lulling them into a calmer state, a bubble forming around them that had every thought in Grian’s head fizzle away, focusing only on the hands threading through his wings.
It’s common knowledge between avians that, when a loved one preens your wings, every sense is heightened to the point where your brain can’t process and project a reaction, causing you to simply melt, to fixate on the point of contact and the person connected to it. To put that trust into someone was a big deal, and there Grian was, putting his trust into someone.
It wasn’t something he tended to do.
He tended to hide away in a hole until he felt ready to return to society.
“I’m tired, Scar.”
The hands only paused their ministrations for a moment before continuing, adding wayward feathers to the growing pile beside them in the nest. “Do you need sleep?”
“No. I’m tired.”
“… of what?”
“Of the constant pressure.” Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Always staying alert and ready in case someone showed up— knowing they would. Knowing people relied on him and not giving himself a chance to process his own issues, work through them, instead pushing them aside, adding to the stack. He couldn’t show weakness— not if people needed him—
And yet here was was, the definition of vulnerability, face finally dry after what felt like centuries of pent-up emotions pouring out of him.
And there was Scar.
Listening, holding, helping however he knew how.
There.
“Pressure from… people?”
“I think I’m making the pressure myself,” Grian grumbled back, holding back a noise when Scar’s hand drifted to the base of his wing, the spot a lot more sensitive than the ones on his head. “I can’t be relied on if I’m falling apart, and I need to be reliable— because I can’t— just— turn people away.”
They both knew he could as much as they both knew he never would.
That simply wasn’t the kind of person he was.
Yes he liked to pull pranks, mess around with his friends, call them dumb names and throw fake insults at them— but that didn’t mean he didn’t care, that he wouldn’t do everything in his power to help.
It was a fact of life.
“Well,” Scar hummed, rubbing that same spot again, this time a stilted noise breaking free from his throat, and Grian could almost feel the man grinning with pride behind him, “I’ll always be here if you need to talk or just have some support. I also have some crystals that—“
“I don’t need some dumb crystals.”
Not when I have you.
And the fact they were fake also crossed his mind.
“So you’ll come talk? When you need or want to?”
Oh Grian wanted to do a bit more than talk. Cuddle, maybe, preen his wings again, hold his hand, ki—
Maybe not quite that much. Not when Scar didn’t know.
The most he could do was promise the bare minimum. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” Scar returned, and the hands moved away from his wings, the man standing to discard of the pile of feathers into the bin by Grian’s wardrobe. And then he paused, footsteps slowing until they stopped, and Grian turned his head to face him, watch him.
The man was standing still, hands palm-up in front of himself as he looked at them, brows furrowed as he frowned. And then the arms dropped, and he turned to meet Grian’s eyes. “Do you… want me to stay?”
Grian should’ve said no.
But Scar’s words were still rattling in his mind.
Let people worry over you, it’s not a bad thing.
Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Worry— fear that Grian would close himself off again, that he’d hide somewhere deeper down where no one could find him, fear that, the moment Grian left his sights, he would never see him again.
So, instead of what he knew he should say, what he felt so deeply in his bones to be true, Grian adjusted his position so he was laying down appropriately before opening his arms, unable to help his own small smile when Scar grinned, almost running over and jumping into the nest beside him, letting Grian wrap his arms and legs around him, resting his own hand on the man’s waist as he clung a little like a sloth to a tree.
Scar was warm, solid, plus with the nest around them Grian couldn’t help but feel at home.
Maybe for the very first time.
And, maybe, he felt like he was standing on solid ground once more.