Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian was just your average guy.

He worked eight hours a day, nine to five, five days a week. He had Saturdays and Sundays off, a nice apartment, a wonderful roommate, and, to top it all off, two adorable, wonderful, beautiful little cats named Pearl and Maui. He was more average than average, if that was a thing, especially now, as he strolled down his street on an average winter evening. He sighed, turning to head down a frequently used alleyway.

What degree of average was it to be an ex-villain? Or, well, raised by villains, he thought to himself. Besides, the average guy didn't have wings. Nor would they be an avian, much less a parrot hybrid.

Continuing his pensive stroll, he watched as soft flakes of snow slowly drifted silently down from the sky, blanketing the ground as he walked.

And then something caught his eye.

He hesitated, eyeing the hooded figure approaching him... swiftly. Hm. His instincts had begun to scream particularly loudly as he shrugged it off; they were probably just out for an average stroll (much like he was): probably someone from his very average street. Yeah... that was about as much as he could expect from his very average area.

He did not expect to be suddenly pinned against the wall, a cold blade pressed to his throat, in a matter of only a few seconds. "I—"
"Don't you dare say anything, Watcher," the man snarled, forcing the knife to dig deeper. "I'm the one with the knife right now," he added. Grian mentally cursed himself for not reacting quicker. Instead, he froze and watched — huh, how ironic — the other. "You," the stranger said. "I waited for you! And you never came — I waited for all of you! And none of you ever came!" He paused and looked Grian in the eye. "Tell me, Watcher," he spat. "Look into my eyes. Do you recognise me?"

And Grian did.

Oh, how he remembered brilliantly green eyes — eyes that always seemed to twinkle with mischief and joy; how they seemed never to spill any tears, nor dim with unhappiness; how they lit up in delight at every smile and compliment; how they stared at him with the most heart-wrenching betrayed gaze and pleaded, begged for him to—

"I'll — I'll turn you in to the heroes," he stammered, quickly shoving that memory down, and he winced as he heard that achingly familiar laugh that tore its way out of Hotguy's throat, because he knew — and he knew Hotguy knew he knew — the sheer irony of that statement.

"I'll bet they'll be more than happy for you to come waltzing into their headquarters," Hotguy chuckled bitterly. "But I won't let you do that. Even death is too good for you."

Grian's eyes widened.

"But, anyway, that comes after I have this... talk with you." Hotguy narrowed his own eyes and shifted the knife ever so slightly. "I want to know why you left me all those years ago — left to whatever fate the heroes had for me."

"Look, Scar—" he began.

"DON'T USE THAT NAME!" Hotguy roared, the dagger grazing Grian's throat. "Don't you dare," he added, breathing heavily as he leaned in. Their noses were now barely centimetres apart. "Scar died on that day," Hotguy continued, something straining in his voice. "I go by another name now. But you don't need to know what that is."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Hotguy," Grian said, raising his palms slowly in an attempt to placate the other. "I should have never left you — I was an idiot. And I'm so sorry." His heart was thumping wildly against his chest, yet he continued. "But, Hotguy," he tried to reason, "we never knew that they'd ever anticipate—"

"You really think that makes you redeemable?" Hotguy asked. "They removed my fangs - they sawed off my wings—"

"I'm sorry, but—"

"And worst of all, you still got away with the crime while the knife was in my back! You used me as bait and left me there while I was still there with the sharks!"

Grian could see those pools of green shimmering with unshed tears, and it twisted his heart in a way that he hadn't felt for a long while.

"I thought we were friends. We grew up together!" Hotguy said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"It wasn't just— the others said to leave you, Sc— Hotguy!" Grian protested, noting how Hotugy's grip on the knife was beginning to slacken. "Why are you coming after me?"

"Because I thought you'd come back for me!" the other yelled. "I TRUSTED you, Grian!" His voice broke at the end.

"And you trusted them too," Grian said. "They raised you... us."

There was a beat of silence, and then Hotguy spoke up. "I've taken care of them," he said nonchalantly. "Some better than others."

Grian wasn't sure what he quite meant by that.

"And I'll do the same for you, too–"

And with that, Grian dodged, snapping his head to the side before throwing his fist forwards, catching Hotguy in the jaw, and watched as the hero stumbled back.

He didn't wait any longer.

Leaping forward, Grian swung his fist again, but Hotguy blocked it with his hand and sent a well-aimed kick in Grian's direction. Stepping round the hero, Grian dodged and then leapt onto his back.

Hotguy was panicking, he could tell, as Grian wrapped his hands around the man's throat. His wings flared out behind him, his coat flying off and landing in the snow as the feathered appendages freed themselves. He could feel him struggling, desperately trying to pry his fingers off his throat.

Wait: Grian frowned... didn't Hotguy have a–

He let out a yell as a sharp pain bloomed in his side, and he let go on reflex, falling into the snow beside his coat. Grimacing, his mind thought of how this would be one hell of an injury to explain to Mumbo, before his thoughts were interrupted by more pressing matters, such as Hotguy's knife suddenly bearing down on him, right now, for example. Pushing Mumbo out of his mind, he rolled over, and suddenly a new thought struck him as he realised he may not even make it back to Mumbo if this carried on for much longer.

A low, cheap, back-handed trick snaked into his mind as he remembered a small, significant detail from their shared past, and he rolled over, his side protesting, and dodged one of Hotguy's swings. For the next, he was ready. When the cold glint of the dagger appeared in his peripheral vision, he caught Hotugy's wrist and twisted it, forcing the blade out of the latter's hand. In three swift moves, he thrust his arm forward and hooked the back of the hero's knee before yanking.

And then he stabbed.

He was almost atop Hotguy, his wings' efforts being the only thing that gave him any means of an advantage. He swung down, into one of the hero's legs, right beneath the knee. Then again, and again, and again.

All the while, he could hear Hotguy struggling to escape the vice-like grip Grian had on his throat, while with the other hand, he mangled both of the hero's braces.

Grian suddenly let go. Arm limp. He dropped the knife.

From where he knelt, he could see Hotguy lying in the snow, breathing hard as he glared up at the sky.

His shoulder hurt.

"You — you — you witherslitch," Hotguy hissed, not moving his gaze from the clouds above. "Why — how — what the hell was that?" He could hear the anger brewing in Hotguy's voice — the curse was enough to tell him — but for now, he simply sat there, in the snow. "Of all the dirtiest, cheapest, filthiest—" the hero stopped, muffling a small sound of pain.

Grian could hear his phone ringing, probably Mumbo asking where the hell he was and why he wasn't back yet. Worrywart. It was fine; he'd be back home soon.

"I know," Grian said quietly, calmly, carefully, concealing the remorse in his voice. He knew he had been unfair, and he knew Hotguy had every reason to want to tear him into little shreds. "You would've killed me, Hotguy." He stood up, walking over to where his coat lay a few feet away. Picking up his phone, he saw the call was from Mumbo, meaning he'd been right then. "And I have people waiting for me to get back," he continued uselessly. He turned to face away from Hotguy, his mind in a mess, a single thought barely able to make itself clear.

A tear began to slide down his face. Slowly, he began to walk away, hands in his pockets. Then, he paused.

"I'm sorry, Scar," he said, and his voice finally broke.

[Warning it may get a bit graphic! Skip to the line starting: "He started and suddenly realised"]

Then: pain. Grian screamed, feeling the cruel twist of the dagger as it tore into his back. Panicked gasps escaped him as he frantically tried to twist away, but hands pulled his feet out from under him, and suddenly something was grabbing his hair and forcing his head down into the snow—

—he couldn't breathe. For what seemed like forever, he choked on the snow, the cold seeping into his clothes, his skin, into his lungs, and then his head was yanked up, and he managed to gasp in some air before it was shoved down again, and before he knew it, he was yanked up once more.

Panting, he squeezed his eyes shut, snow clinging to his lashes and feeling like tiny needles on his face. A warm breath suddenly grazed his ear, and he heard a voice whisper:

"I told you not to call me that."

The next few seconds flashed by.

Grian let out an inhuman cry, turning on his back and pulling Hotguy down on him. And suddenly he felt a warm liquid burst from his throat and out of his mouth, before trickling down his face.

His wings wrapped tightly against Scar Hotguy as Grian twisted his arm to take the knife out of himself, blood spraying as he pulled. With sheer willpower he rolled over, sat up, and swung the knife once–

– twice –

– three times down into Hotguy's chest. And then he lifted it a fourth time and plunged it deep into his own, right where it had been earlier.

Grian fell.

Like the snowflakes—onto the ground, turning red as they absorbed the droplets of his blood. Or perhaps it was Scar's, dripping from his mouth and staining the snow red.

He started and suddenly realised that Scar was looking at him. His eyes still had that same light they had six years ago, and a soft smile was on his lips as he blinked at Grian.

One thought became clear before he remembered the last time Scar had looked at him like that: the last moments of your life always feel like the longest. And in those moments, when Grian remembered, it certainly felt very true, and he remembered the day that everything had started to go wrong.

Chapter Text

“Fellas,” Ren said, clapping his hands together. “I sure hope you remember what the plan was, because I don’t.”
Grian rolled his eyes, before realising he too, in fact, did not know what the okan was either. Scar was out of the question. Etho was sighing, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Beef folded his arms before saying, “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”
"Beef,” Scar said, turning on his ‘pester puppy dog eyes’. “I, of course, paid very close attention to Xisuma’s speech, but, uh,” he paused, glancing at a few certain people, “for the sake of those who have poor memory, could you please explain. Please?” He turned the power all the way to maximum, his eyes wide and innocent.

Beef scowled.

“Sweetfaces, do not worry! Papa K will save the day!” Keralis said, shoving Beef to the side playfully. “Mean old–”
“Bloodhound, you’ll be waiting up the tower, ready to give the signal to attack,” Cleo cut in, as she approached them. “Watcher and Vex will be at the foot of the tower to lure the heroes out.” Grian and Scar nodded, flashing excited grins at each other.
Cleo tacked on, “Shade, you will be hiding in the alleys along the east side—right over there, see?” Etho nodded, then stepped back into the shadows, seemingly disappearing. Beef turned to quickly head in the same direction.
“Keralis?”
“Yes, sweetcheeks?”
“Get your sweetcheeks up that flat over there,” Cleo said sharply.
“Yes, sweetface.”

Cleo sighed, gesturing for Scar and Grian to come over to her. “Now,” she began. “Do not separate from each other no matter what happens — and do not engage. Your job is to help create a scene while the others go inside to rescue the other hybrids.”
“Yes’m,” the two chorused dutifully.
“Remember: don’t actually fight the heroes. They’ll easily beat you—no, Scar, don’t ask about any what-ifs because there will be none, you understand?”
“Ayup,” he said, grinning.
“Okay,” Cleo smiled. “Stay safe, all right?”
“Yes, mom!” Scar chirped, grabbing Grian’s hand and pulling him away, giggling.

That was the last time Grian had heard him properly laugh.

He gazed at Scar, whose eyes had begun to spill tears that ran down his face, mixing with his blood, before dripping onto the snow.

If Grian could cry, he would have.

But his throat made no noise besides a wet gurgle, and gosh—he hurt so much he could barely think.

“I see one,” Grian whispered, noticing a small movement in one of the empty streets. “If we’re quick, we could probably get them.”
Scar shook his head. “Cleo said not to engage at all,” he said.
“It’ll be fine,” Grian replied, dismissing Scar’s concerns with a wave. “Besides, we’re not alone. The others are around for backup.” At this, Scar looked ahead uncertainly, an uneasy feeling settling over his stomach. Grian smiled reassuringly.

Cleo watched and cursed under her breath as she saw the two creeping closer to the unsuspecting hero. “For goodness' sake!” she muttered, and then her heart dropped as she saw Hypnosis join the other hero. “X,” she said, turning her comm. link on, “we have an issue—”
Suddenly, Ren’s voice came flooding through, filled with urgency. “Dudes. Teknik is here! And- K: behind you, six o’clock, Aqueas!”
Cleo turned, scanning her own surroundings to see if any heroes were here where she was. "Hey, Beans!” cried a familiar, unwelcome voice. “We have company!”
“Rude,” Cleo retorted. “I don’t recall inviting anyone over.” She took out her daggers, pistol resting at her hip in a belt. Then, on the comm link, she said, “Let’s kick some butt.”

Grian lunged forward to attack Chronos with his dagger. He did not get very far, for Hypnosis came from behind, with a potion of what he assumed was weakness.

And precisely then everything went to hell.

Flash!

He saw a gun aimed at his head before someone tackled Hypnosis away from him.

Flash!

So many people were shouting; his head was hurting; why was he so dizzy again? Then someone grabbed his shoulder, shoving a bottle against his lips and forcing milk down his throat, and he tasted something else in his mouth: something coppery.

Cleo had told him and Scar to stick together, but where was Scar?

Grian shook his head as the dizziness subsided and glanced around, before his heart stopped beating in horror.

Ren was sprawled on the ground, neck at an awkward angle, eyes glazed over and unseeing: dead.

Flash!

He wanted to run, but Cleo was screaming at him in his ear to stay where he was and help Scar, but he wanted to run, he needed to run—there was too much noise, too much sound, and where was Scar anyway and where was his gun and why couldn’t he—

Flash!

WHERE WAS SCAR?

Flash!

He saw him: struggling on the ground beneath Aqueas, screaming inhuman screams as his wings were pinned in place by two spikes of ice; his eyes were glowing a bright, vivid blue, and his claws wreaked havoc on the hero’s torso. Cleo was tearing off Teknik’s arm, trying to reach Scar. He could hear someone gasping for breath and turned to see Etho staggering towards him, eyes wide, clutching at his mangled side.

Etho was scared.

Grian was scared.

With trembling hands, he raised his gun, trying to filter out Keralis’ voice yelling at him to do something, and he saw Scar continue struggling, despite the ice pinning the latter down. 

Damn it, Grian! Shoot! He needed to shoot! Why weren’t his hands working?

Beef’s voice flooded his comm. “Symmetry, Doc, Watcher, anyone hearing this: run. We couldn’t get the prisoners out in time, someone—someone snitched on us. They all knew we were coming.” Beef’s voice shook. “If you’re hearing this, run. X is half dead, w—we need to leave.”

Grian dropped his gun and stepped back.

Flash!

He could see Cleo lying in a pool of her own blood. Etho had disappeared.

He saw Aqueas hauling up Scar, who had begun to yell in protest, still trying to escape.

He took another step back as Scar’s panicked gaze suddenly landed on him.

Flash!

Was Scar screaming at him? His eyes were wide, begging, pleading, terrified and he heard his name being screamed over and over—

Flash!

Where was everyone?

Flash!

He looked into Scar’s eyes — those deep pools of green that screamed so much hurt and pain and betrayal and—

Flash!

He ran. And he heard Scar scream a final time before there was silence.

[tw for graphic description]

Grian stared into those empty eyes, which were devoid of any spark now.

Dull.

Something bubbled its way up his mouth and burst, droplets of red spraying everywhere. He closed his eyes. From somewhere distant, he could hear his phone ringing.

Two bodies lay next to each other on a blanket of red. Snow softly fell, just like all the other days of that winter, and buried the hero and the villain together.