Work Text:
It was almost universally accepted that Grian was a Watcher. The faint purple specks that surrounded him constantly, the feeling of being watched and judged whenever someone interacted with him, the eyes that glowing from the shadows beyond him, and a multitude of other strange happenings around Grian inspired a multitude of red-string conspiracy boards to form.
Unbeknownst to those who proliferated the theory, though, Grian was not a Watcher.
He was, however, favored by many Watchers, which, of course, led to him being incredibly annoyed by the Watchers.
They showed up whenever he tried to build something, grouping around him and clamoring for attention.
Voices, whispers that only he could hear screaming into his sensitive ears, telling tales of what others were doing, requesting one thing or another, always talking over each other on and on.
Some even offered advice for his builds, which he quickly incorporated. If he faced a building or coloring dilemma, he had hundreds, maybe even thousands of opinions to ask for, which was always useful.
They braided their own feathers into his, tainting the brilliant colors with their own glowing purple. Sometimes it made Grian sick, looking at the feathers and being reminded of what they did to him, but it also gave him. . .assurance, of a sort.
The thought that someone was always there, Watching out for him, alerting him of goingson, was part comforting and part terrifying.
At first, the terrifying, overwhelming, part had taken over him, making him double-check his every move, emotion, and thought. He was unused to the curse, tainted by his own fears and insecurities.
But now, years after the Watchers chose him, he thought of them more as a blessing. They helped him, provided security, made sure he never felt alone or scared.
For every Watcher that contributed to his anxieties, there was a stack of others, rushing forth to drown out the negative one, overtaking its painful voice with their own soothing ones.
Sometimes, they hurt his friends, the other hermits, but, when they did, Grian was able to still them. The years had let him develop his own power over them, his own ways of placating and, on occasion, intimidating and cowing them.
After all, they were his Watchers, and he knew, deep in his code, that he could vanish from them if he really wanted to. But he didn’t, because they were his.