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Scar isn't sure how it started.
Maybe it was as far back as four years ago, the day where they first met. It'd been a night like any other, where he'd been out late and decided to visit a nearby gas station. Grian had been there too, which eventually lead to the two of them bumping into each other between aisles. Grian had seemed so tired, then, fresh off training and not a fully fledged hunter yet. Dark circles under his eyes yet friendly and easy to banter with despite the late hour.
Or, it was when they'd eventually started dating, a full year of quiet pining and building tension that often lead nowhere later. That magical moment when Scar had stumbled over his words and Grian had burst out laughing, spilling his coffee all over the table but kissing him anyway.
Maybe it was neither of those. Maybe it'd only started on that less magical day, seven months ago. The one where Grian had opened the door after a long night of work to their shared apartment and discovered their kitchen stained with blood, Scar's fangs already deep into Mumbo's neck. His best friend who was supposed to have left hours ago.
It wasn't a planned attack, of course. He'd really only intended to take a small bite — not kill him — but that wasn't how Grian had seen it. No. He'd been furious. Terrified.
So, Scar muses, maybe it had been the fear in his eyes as he'd realized that the thing he'd spent his whole life hunting had been right under his nose the whole time. The monster under his bed— in his bed, even. That Scar was a vampire.
Not that he personally thought that had to change anything. He'd fallen for Grian regardless of his loyalty to the VPI.
He wonders if that was where this new fascination for his ex-lover had come from. It's new in the way that it's unlike anything he's experienced before in his long undead life. A different flavor to the same old feeling of love he's grown tired of many centuries ago. Scar isn't sure how to describe it, but it's all consuming and sometimes even a little overwhelming. Impossible to get away from, how much he loves Grian. Despite knowing, logically, that he is someone Scar should've killed by now.
What can he say? He may be a vampire, but he's always been a big fan of the sun.
Mumbo survived, of course. He'd never intended to end his life that night, and so he hadn't — he has self-control after all — but he will admit that it hadn't been a controlled feeding. Neither had the one after he'd escaped prison and found himself drawn to Grian's apartment, but he feels he's atoned for that one.
Scar leans back in his chair, feet on the table before him pushing it backwards so that it's balancing on just two legs. It's a rather precarious position, but precariousness is not something that's ever bothered him before. His continued stay in the old manor he's been renovating for the past few weeks is evidence enough of that.
It's almost not worth it. It's disappointingly empty at all hours, darkness clinging to the walls and blood staining the floors that he can't be bothered to clean up. Every little sound echoes against the walls, and he finds himself missing the warmth of his old apartment more often than not.
Still. He will not leave just yet.
It's been a full month since he last saw his beloved, now, his only visitors being nameless individuals hired by the VPI to either kill him or take him back to that dreaded place they call the Ward. Scar always kills them before they get the chance, of course — and of course, Grian isn't with them. Not after that very first party of hunters.
He knows he couldn't have scared him away (Grian is tougher than that), but he still occasionally worries that might be the case. It's hard wanting someone so badly that wants nothing to do with you anymore. Although Scar isn't sure he fully believes that.
He lets out a sigh. If he'd known that would've been the last time in a while, he would've cherished it more.
The fireplace crackles, echoing through the room. Scar thinks back to the night he first escaped, and the feeling of getting to sink his teeth into Grian's neck for the first time in such an agonizingly long time. The taste of his very essence in Scar's mouth, filling his empty pit of a stomach with that shimmering red goodness.
It's got a very specific taste, Grian's blood. Sweet at first, yet bitter in its aftertaste. It's almost like a trap, that way, how it lures it's way into your system before it starts souring, soon becoming far too much to hold onto. It's an addictive thought. Weirdly, Scar sees it as somewhat of a challenge.
It's not anything new to him. Much like a bird, you can't keep Grian in one place for long before he starts becoming uncomfortable with his comfort — and then he simply has to do something about it. He'd be a fool to delude himself into believing their relationship didn't have ups and downs. They'd worked through it in the past, so why should this be any different? Scar doesn't think it has to be.
Perhaps the sight of Scar's fangs inches deep in his childhood best friend's neck created another one of those things — and it just so happened to end with Grian choosing his duty over his partner. It's not exactly difficult to understand, if he really thinks about it. A vampire hunter dating a vampire essentially traps him in a spot where he has to either lie to his peers for the rest of time or make one difficult decision.
The bird must fly, and so, the cage is kicked to the ground.
Scar lets his gaze travel to the ceiling, eyes tracing the patterns the cracked stone above created. The fireplace typically provides a small amount of light in the room, but with his nocturnal sight, the light feels almost sterile.
He thinks back to their conversations. When it comes to Grian, it's more about the things he doesn't say rather than what he does — because what he does say is the things that are easy for him to say, and those are often also things he doesn't really mean.
Of course, there are exceptions to this rule — but it's true more often than not, and when it's not, it's not very difficult to tell.
For example, Grian has never said he hates Scar.
He can work with that
Scar lets out a sigh. It's too bad how deeply rooted his resentment against vampires seem to have gotten, initially planted there by VPI directors and trainers, a seed of weeds growing in Scar's absence. He'll admit he hadn't been a fan of Grian's occupation while they'd still been together, but contary to his dear bird, he's not one to decide what his partners should or shouldn't do. He'd let Grian leave the other day, after all.
Still. He wishes Grian would come by at least one more time. As much as Scar loves his new freedom, he loves the silence and loneliness a lot less. Unfortunately, being one of the few to successfully escape the Ward means he can't afford taking any risks.
Well. No risks, besides continuing to stay in a place the VPI has already traced him down to and has been consistently sending fresh hunting parties once every couple of hours to attempt recapturing him. It only serves to prove the point he made the other day further;
The VPI doesn't value it's hunters. It only seeks to use them, sending them blindly to meet their ends through a plan that has already been proven unsuccessful and dangerous. Part of him does feel bad, but he also can't quite bring himself to leave the manor. If Grian does end up changing his mind, he wouldn't know where to find him. Scar can't have that.
So really, he's trapped between a rock and a hard place. Forced to continue killing these nameless hunters or go back to what's widely considered hell on earth. Scar can attest to that label. As to why the directors keep sending new squads of hunters into the forest without changing their approach even slightly, he can't fully understand — but hey. Not his monkeys, not his circus.
It's surprisingly good timing, then, when his sensitive ears picks up the distant sound of footsteps coming through the forest, suddenly drawing him out of his musings.
Scar stands up from the chair immediately, walking up to the crackling fireplace to dump the bucket of water resting nearby over it. The flames die out a moment later, and he directs his attention to the candles in the window. He's done this song and dance too many times to count, stealing a glance out of one of the windows, spotting a team of four hunters slowly approaching the manor through the woods.
His mind races at the thought of one of them being Grian, and it only speeds up once he spots a head of curly blonde hair among the group — only for the hunter to look up and clearly be just another nameless stranger.
Scar let's out a tortured sigh, preparing for another pointless, boring fight. He doesn't even anticipate the meal anymore, previous attacks (if you can even call it that) providing him with bottles and bottles of blood filling his cupboard. There's no point anymore, but alas, he can't stop them from flocking to his doorstep like sheep.
The hunters reach his door a moment later — and unlike previous groups, they actually enter through the front door rather than the back. Immediately, Scar realizes that that they're much less experienced than his beloved, so Scar decides to take mercy on them and make it quick.
And it really is quick. He teleports himself downstairs, ending up behind all four of them as they attempt to sneak their way up the stairs. Quickly yet silently, he grabs onto one of the hunter's arms and slams them into the ground. Typically what follows is an outburst of anger and want for revenge as they foolishly believe having numbers on him will change the outcome — but Scar's tired, and he doesn't even give the other hunters the chance to react to their dead comrade before he's on them as well.
Fangs pierce skin here, talons tear through someone's throat there. There's a bit of screaming, but then the venom takes effect and she goes quiet. One hunter tries to grab Scar's leg, but Scar kicks him in the face — and then he's silent, too.
Just as fast as the fight had started, it's over. Scar hums contemplatively, scanning the four new bodies covering the entrance floor. He doesn't really have the energy to save their blood in bottles and then dispose of them like he usually does, but he also can't leave them here with a good conscience.
He lets out another laborious sigh before crouching down onto the floor, getting to work. Work that involves inspecting the bodies and the state they're in. Deciding what's worth saving and what's best to throw out.
Predictably, what's worth saving isn't a lot. Barely anything at all, actually, aside from the set of diamond earrings one of the female hunters are wearing. He's only got one of his ears pierced, but he saves both in case Grian wants it, or if he ends up needing it in the future.
Scar gets through the first three hunters rather easily after that, not finding anything else. Once he gets to the last of the group, however, he notices a piece of paper sticking out from one of the pockets inside of their jacket. Scar squints, picking the paper up and unfolding it to reveal what seems to be a note of some kind.
Scar.
If you see this, it's gone too far. Meet me at the gas station.
- P
Scar nearly falls backwards with the sheer surprise of seeing the familiar handwriting on the page. And then he feels almost giddy, like a school boy before his first prom. Only, he's never been to prom, and it's been ages since he attended school.
He can't help but smirk seeing the tiny little P written at the end. There's no mistaking that it's Grian who wrote it. He's clever, making it small to the degree an untrained eye would have a hard time spotting it, and using an entirely different initial so that it can't be traced back to him. P for poultry, a name once functioning as an alter ego to redirect blame whenever a prank worked particularly well.
Faintly, Scar finds himself wondering how Grian was able to sneak the note into the hunter's pocket without him noticing.
He stands up, note still held tight in his closed hand. P never specified a certain time for them to meet up (though knowing Grian, it's definitely as soon as possible), but this mess won't clean up itself. Neither will the mess on Scar's clothes.
He should probably get changed.
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It doesn't take Scar very long to get to the gas station.
Conveniently, it's located at the very edge of town — remarkably close to the dark forest. The moon is still high in the sky, so Scar would wager a guess that it's about midnight to 1AM. This means the chance of the gas station not being completely empty of people is still considerably high, which he knows is a well thought out safety measure — but he figures he shouldn't complain. He'd take anything that man gives him.
Fortunately, the gas station in question is half abandoned anyway. Scar sees it in the distance as he stalks closer, avoiding the flickering street lights to stick in the shadows. Once he's close enough to where the beaming lights of the gas station are inevitable, he goes invisible.
It's not that he doesn't trust Grian. It's just that with the way things are, he unfortunately can't bring himself to do trust him. So he supposes he doesn't.
He spots Grian leaning against the vending machine just as he feels his energy start depleting, and he hurries his steps. Of course, that results in Grian's trained senses picking up on him — and a moment later, he's standing there on high alert, weapon in hand.
"Scar?"
Scar let's out a sigh, and lets the invisibility fall away with a smile.
"What's gone too far?" he asks, and Grian turns to him right away.
His expression is serious (it's always serious, these days) and he's pointing the knife at him once again. Scar eyes it with a raised brow, and Grian puts it away with a huff.
"The growing pile of bodies in your manor, maybe," Grian says, and he says it in that prickly tone of his. The one he typically uses when he's being sarcastic, but Scar can't quite deduce why the topic of him murdering his coworkers could possibly warrant such a tone being used.
Then again, Grian's very prone to getting his words out in a different way than he intends.
"Yeah?" Scar asks, and he doesn't mean to sound so cocky until it's already happened. By then, it's too late. "It's a problem now?"
Grian looks slightly disturbed. "Yes, Scar. Killing people is, in fact, a problem."
Scar resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he knows that, but it's not that weird he'd thought Grian believed the opposite due to his passivity the last time they spoke. He could very well have interfered and let his co-workers walk away free — Scar would've stopped if he'd said so — but he hadn't. He'd watched as Scar ripped their throats out in complete silence.
It'd been kind of hot, actually.
"Noted," he replies breezily, which only really serves to make Grian even more disturbed based on the way his expression twists. "Could've told me that earlier, y'know."
Grian blinks, and then he seems to catch up. "Scar, that was— Why do you need me to tell you what's wrong and right anyway?"
Scar chooses to focus on the thing Grian was about to say before he changed his mind. "What was it? Was it different?"
Now Grian just looks uncomfortable. "Answer my question."
"No, no, no, no," Scar shakes his head, feeling rather intrigued all of a sudden. "Did you want them to die? Did they deserve it?"
"What? Scar, that's not—" Grian starts, before cutting himself off. "That's… really weird, man. Obviously they didn't deserve it."
Scar leans in, smug. "But you did want them to die, right? I know you're capable of telling me off when you want to."
Grian's throat bobs as he swallows, and he looks away, avoiding Scar's eyes. Scar thinks that's answer enough, so he nods slowly, letting out a long whistle.
"Wow. I didn't know you had it in you."
Dark brown eyes pin him in an instant. "I don't."
Chuckling, Scar lifts his hands in the air. "Okay, okay. Got it."
Grian continues glaring at him, a long beat of silence passing between them. Scar eyes him for a long moment, taking in each and every one of his features and committing them to memory. He needs to brush his hair, or at least do something about the tangles that has gathered in it. Scar knows that maintaining curly hair is a lot of work, but he'd imagine it's even more work if you don't keep up with doing it. The dark circles under his eyes would suggest that Grian hasn't been taking very well of himself at all lately — and he suddenly feels bad.
He knows Grian probably slept a lot better when he knew Scar was locked away. That being said, going back to the Ward is among the few things he won't do for Grian's sake.
The weight in his pocket suddenly jumps to the forefront of his mind, and Scar reaches down to fish out the extra diamond earring. He knows Grian's gaze is already locked on his hand — nothing escapes him — so he gives it an extra second before he lifts his hand to reveal what it is. Just adding an extra layer of drama to it all.
When Grian realizes that it's not some elaborate weapon and, in fact, just an earring — he appears confused, brows knitting together.
"Where'd you get that?"
Scar can't help the fond smile from spreading on his face. He shrugs. "Oh, you know. Here and there."
"Right," Grian says, taking a step forward just to push Scar's open palm back towards him. He looks away for a moment, before looking up and finally, finally meeting his gaze again. "What happened to you?"
Now it's Scar's turn to be confused. "Um. I got bitten a few years ago and—"
"No, not that," Grian cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I— Look. I'd like to think I wasn't dating a serial killer. Where is this coming from?"
Ah.
Scar frowns. "Hey. I wouldn't have to kill them if your boss would stop sending people after me. It's self defense."
Grian goes quiet for a long moment. Gaze fixed to the asphalt below their feet. "Could you try not defending yourself?"
"What, and go back to being locked up?" Scar questions, and he sounds just as appalled as he feels this time. "No way. You have no idea what—"
"I don't care, okay?" Grian snaps, and it catches Scar off guard enough for him to stumble slightly. "I need you— I need all of this to stop."
Scar blinks. Grian raises an eyebrow, and he nods, pretending to understand despite reality being the opposite. Grian ignores him, a hand covering his face as he starts to pace around the parking lot.
"I thought stepping away from your whole thing would solve it, and I could go back to living in peace like I have been for the past few months — happily, by the way — but instead what's happened is that innocent people get sent to deal with you and end up getting killed and it's my fault because they don't know what they're getting into and it should be me going except I can't but the directors refuse to have you running around freely and so they just keep sending people towards their graves and I want it to stop."
He stops pacing, fixing Scar with a glare that seems almost desperate this time.
"Alright?"
Scar nods again, slowly. "Right."
"They won't listen to me, Scar," Grian sighs, gritting his teeth. "And it's gone too far. So I need you to stop."
Grimacing, it's Scar's turn to avoid eye contact. "G…"
"Don't give me that," Grian nearly snaps again. "You didn't kill anyone when we were together. There are ways to avoid it. I know there is."
"Yeah, animal blood, but—"
"So go back to that! Go back to animal blood."
"If you'd let me finish," Scar sighs. "Animal blood really only works as a temporary solution because it's not even close to being as nutritious. You kinda just end up starving anyway, and then…"
He cuts himself off with a grimace as Grian goes very still. Seemingly catching the suspiciously Mumbo-shaped puzzle pieces that are being put down.
"What about blood banks?" he asks, and Scar knows he already knows the answer to that question.
Still, he decides to humor him. "They don't give out blood to vampires, G. Come on."
"How would they know?"
Scar presses his lips into a thin line. "They know."
Another beat of silence passes. Grian stares at the ground, not moving an inch. Scar suddenly remembers he's still holding the diamond earring in his hand, and he moves to put it back in his pocket. It's a shame his gift wasn't appreciated, but alas. Grian's stubborn, but Scar is just as persuasive.
"What if you feed from me?"
Scar looks back at Grian, suddenly dragged out of his thoughts. It takes another second or so before the words register — and when they do, he can't fully help his jaw from falling open.
"From you?" he asks, rather dumbly.
Grian looks up at him, something resolute in his eyes. "Yeah. It worked last time, right?"
Scar finds himself fumbling with his words. It's too much to process all at once, and he feels a little like a fawn on ice. Limbs slipping from underneath him, sending him careening to the ground.
"I… Didn't you hate that?" is all he manages to get out, and Grian rolls his eyes.
"Well, yeah. Because it wasn't consensual."
He says it like it's obvious. Scar has a hard time deciding if anything is obvious at the moment, his mind still reeling from the initial proposal. He isn't fully sure if Grian understands the full meaning of what he's saying, actually — but he has also spent his whole life studying vampires.
Surely he would know the definition of a thrall and how that works.
Right?
"G, I don't think you—" he starts, cutting himself off as he stumbles over his words. "Do you know what you're asking right now?"
"I'm willing to risk it," is the reply Grian gives him, and if Scar had a heart it would have stopped right then and there. "I don't care anymore."
That's…
Scar hums. It's not quite how he'd imagined this would happen — but it's not like he's going to complain about it. This is what he wanted, after all. Grian choosing him again, only this time fully aware of what it means and the risk he's taking.
Still, he feels it necessary to ask again. Give him an out, if he wants it.
"Are you sure?" Scar asks, and he says it slowly as to emphasize how important of a question it is. "Because there's no takesies-backsies with this sorta stuff."
Grian just nods. "Yeah. I'm sure."
Scar feels a little dizzy all of a sudden. Or like he's had a little too much to drink, which is funny considering alcohol doesn't affect him. Still, he feels drunk out of his mind
He blinks, snapping back into himself again.
Scar reaches out a hand towards Grian — only for Grian to grab his wrist, stopping him.
"Promise me you'll be reasonable. Don't overdo it."
Scar nods slowly, understanding. He smiles. "You have my word."
He does mean it, because he wasn't planning on taking that much blood anyway. This isn't an act of revenge like last time. No, this is consensual.
God.
Grian is kind of looking around like an anxious rabbit, dark gaze jumping from place to place, scanning their surroundings in search of something. Scar decides to do the same, wondering if there's any security cameras around he might be worried about.
Not that it would make much of a difference. One of them can't appear on camera.
"Should we go somewhere else?" he asks, feeling fairly certain that's what Grian's worried about.
"I— Maybe," Grian lets out, his voice tight. "I'm going to pass out, right?"
Scar shrugs. "Depends on how tolerant you are."
When Grian responds by glaring at him, he lets out a small snort. "You probably will."
"Right," Grian sighs. "God. I have no idea why I'm trusting you like this."
"Oh, you missed me," Scar answers easily, winking at him.
His expression turns grim. "Yeah. In your dreams."
Scar waves a dismissive hand. "You're in my dreams all the time. Hey, why don't I take you on a little trip to the edge of the forest right over there?"
Grian scowls, following his gaze to the treeline he'd initially come from. His face morphs into a grimace. "That's a terrible idea."
"Do you have a better one?" Scar asks, looking back at him.
With a sigh, he shakes his head. "I guess not."
"Alright!"
Without further ado, he grabs the man's arm and transports them both to the edge of the forest. It's a strange feeling that took him a long time to get used to, the feeling of your atoms moving at such lightning speed mortal eyes can't even register it. Once you get used to it, though, it's just fun.
Grian is not used to it.
Scar lets out a laugh as he sees his dizzied expression through the darkness of the forest covering them both. "You good?"
"Scar, get this over with before I change my mind."
Scar blinks, the laugh turning sheepish. "Right."
He scans the area around them, finding a tree behind Grian that seems sturdy enough. A lot of the trees around this area are old and frail, so the thick log feels almost magical in comparison. Like it was planted there for this exact moment. Scar licks his lips, reaching out a hand to gently lead Grian towards it. He makes sure to be extra careful, knowing Grian can't see through the darkness the way he can.
He tries to imagine the scenario from Grian's perspective. He's been told his eyes glow in the dark sometimes. Is he just seeing a pair of glowing red eyes floating in the dark as his back hits a large tree and he's boxed in? Man, what a thought.
It's with that image that he finally leans down, letting his fangs sink into Grian's shoulder. Piercing the skin, finding the veins beneath with practiced precision as the venom is ejected into his system — and it only takes about half a second until Scar can feel him practically melt against him, head lulling to the side as it takes effect.
The venom really only functions this way to make feeding a less headache inducing experience, but Scar is unsure whether he likes this part of feeding more or the main course. Grian's blood tastes just as he remembers, only this time it's sweeter at the start than last time. He can't tell if it's the bond, or simply something having changed since then — but at the moment, he isn't too concerned with finding out which one it is.
No. Not when he's got Grian right here, comfortable and pliant in his arms. He thinks he does like this part the most after all.
Red nectar coating his tongue, Scar tries to imagine the aftermath of this. A thrall bond forming with the bird that can't stay still. He can't imagine it sticking, but the thought sure is lovely. For now, he decides to bask in the mere fact that Grian chose this. Chose him. What comes after matters in due time, and Grian's holding on remarkably well for all of his anxious displays and exhausted demeanor.
Again. Credit where credit's due.
Grian lets out a small whine against his ears, and God. He'll have to make sure to show his gratitude later. This is infinitely better than drinking from a boring old bottle.
It is all too soon that Scar makes the executive decision to withdraw his teeth, leaving his dear bird balancing on shaky legs on uneven terrain, still in darkness. The sun is on the way up, though, and Scar knows he'll need to get his hours of sleep in. Fortunately, the VPI living quarters aren't all that far away from the location and he's able to get them both there with surprising ease.
In a mirror of a night from a few weeks ago, Scar cleans the wound the bite created and helps Grian out of his clothes,his pajamas. Lays him down in his bed before sending a text from his phone to his boss letting her know he's gotten sick and will be taking the day off.
Leaving is such a torturous decision, and part of him wonders if he should stay — but he knows Grian wouldn't want him to, and with that knowledge in mind, he eventually manages. Flicking the lights off, he closes the door and steps out onto the balcony. There, he lets himself transform into his bat form.
And then he's gone again. When Grian wakes up again, he could almost pretend nothing even happened.
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