Chapter Text
Darkness…
That's how it started…
Of course, that's what a lot of Grian’s dreams often consisted of:
Just, floating endlessly–soothingly–in the void.
And if he was fully honest with himself, it felt good, to just drift into nothingness after a long (more often than not, energetic) day.
But this one was different…
It didn't seem like just that.
The heavy silence was… unnerving, this time.
And then–
a flash of purple.
His feet tumbled backwards in a panic as his vision quickly cleared and locked onto–
No–
It-it couldn't be–
It was…
A Watcher stood before him, its face twisting into a crooked “smile”.
Somehow, Grian managed to keep from falling.
He wished he didn’t.
His heart was thrashing against his chest like a caged animal.
Blood rushed to his head as his vision swam.
He felt like—oh gosh, he felt like he was suffocating!
And it only got worse, as even more tall, cloaked figures morphed into sight,
their knife-like wings protruding much farther than his own multi-colored ones physically could.
They were closing in, like wolves.
Their forms spilling around him like ink, until he was swallowed by the darkness yet again.
The air felt almost too thick to breathe, as he pulled and twisted and squirmed…
He-he squirmed!
Just–it was just what they would've wanted–
To see him squirm–like the pest he was.
Nonetheless, the shadows seemed to melt away the second something akin to a groan croaked from his burning throat.
Now, he stood there staring down a more familiar pair of eyes.
(or should i say… two)
“Mumbo…”
It seemed like the only word he could pull from his throat.
“S-Scar…”
The two names held a less-than-relived tone as he eyed them up and down.
The shorter, stockier, scar ridden man leaned heavily against his lanky, shaking companion.
A dark presence seemed to haunt their wild, unyielding eyes.
Keep going down…
Grian’s gaze moved past his friend’s face—
And down to their–
Oh–oh gosh–his heart ached at the sight of–
Wounds–
Painted all over their seemingly-thin and pale bodies were gashes and cuts of all sizes and depth–made by what?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t care!
(He only cared about protecting them right now)
Some form of blood seemed to cover nearly every inch of their wounded vessels…
Ho–how?
Did the–did the Watchers do this?!
Were they going to–
Before he finished the thought, his entire being already lunged towards his friends…
His friends–
Who jolted back at the sight of the quick movement–
Wha–why?
His shock and confusion only rose as Mumbo hastily swung out his diamond sword,
the pale violet light catching its smooth surface.
And yet its end didn't seem to point anywhere behind him.
It–it seemed to be–
Pointing a–at–
Him…
His stomach seemed to twist and turn more as he looked to see Scar, putting his bloodied fists out and moving his posture into a somewhat-of-a-fighting stance.
Grian just stood there, like a dumb-founded bird, trying to process–
Why?
Everything seemed to go underwater as the barely-understood, muffled shouts (threats?) from the two filtered through his ears like sand.
This seemed to go on for who-knows-how-long–
Until one word cut through like a blade.
“—monster!”
Monster…
The title seemed to come from his mustached friend–
Maybe scar–
He couldn't tell…
It was like a mist had been lifted as his hearing cleared–
And his head spun.
He knew it best not to get any closer to them, for his fear of pain was nagging him like a dog.
This is a dream–
But his frazzled mind couldn't stop spiraling and asking why?
Why are they afraid of him?
This has to be a dream–
His breathing came in short, choppy pants, as he tried again to reach out to them–
To get them to say something–
Explain something–
Dream dream dream dream dream dream–
But it all froze to a halt as–for the first time–he stared at his hands–
They didn't seem to be his hands though–
He could hardly keep himself from vomiting as he flexed his would-be fingers.
only to hear–
Click, click, click.
He didn't need to ask “why?” because unlike every other charade so far, this one was as plain as daylight.
His “fingers” were like daggers, the cold texture meant to kill–
…
Staining like ink, shadow crept up most of his arm, engulfing it in pitch black.
No–
No no no no–
It can't be true–
Get away–
He wanted t–had to get away, from everything–
From them.
The moment he turned, though, he was face-to-face with–
Himself…
(was it himself?)
The jagged shred of a shattered mirror eerily hovered just at eye level, as Grian (grian?) stared at the eyes reflected inside.
They were pure black, save for the nearly glowing violet pupils,
Almost like smoke, the darkness trailed from his eyes and wisped back and forth almost mockingly.
He let his jaw completely unhinge, he didn't care if it risked letting the vomit rising from his throat spill out.
In fact, he wanted it to, he wanted to do anything to look away.
That had been a mistake.
Fangs like crude thorns hung solely from his mouth, as a forked tongue kept behind them.
(avians usually have subtle fangs, but not to this extent)
His wings, out of sheer instinct, fled to cover this horror he can't seem to escape.
It only made things worse–
The bright and lively parrot wings from before were replaced with cosmic-like ones, doubled like angel’s wings.
Like Watcher wings–
He felt like he was being crushed.
Mumbo–
Scar–
Hurt them–
No no no–
Dream dream–
Wake up–
It cant–
“Monster” an unknown voice hissed in his ear.
“How dare you”.
His breathing sped up until he could hardly hear his own voice.
Whispers and insults repeated around him, chanting his worst fears.
He– he couldn't–
He couldn't take it–
He shoved his claws into his head, slapping them onto his ears.
“It's all your fau–” the final whisper was cut off by a bloodcurdling, monstrous scream that ripped through the heavy air.
Grian had collapsed to his knees, folding as far as he could into himself.
Crying, screaming–
Monster monster–
“No!” he managed through tears–
But the floor seemed more… familiar.
What?
Whe–where am–
Oh…
After a few less than shaky breaths, he scouted the environment around him.
His base–
He was at his base–
And it was late at night–
“O-oh” he muttered under his barely even breath.
He let his hands–
Hands…
He let his hands feel the cold concrete floor, it was subtly moist.
There seemed to be some bile near where he sat, mixed with a small puddle of most likely tears.
It seems he fell off of his bed during the nightmare, and cried…
He winced at the thought, why was he so sensitive at something that wasn't even real?
But it felt real–
It felt so real–
Still, he managed to stop it as he wiped his face with his dark grey undershirt.
He wished he was wearing his sweater, maybe he’d feel better…
His bright wings twitched and shivered as he checked himself for injuries that he may have caused during his sleep.
“They really need preening, don't they?” he grumbled to himself, a rhetorical question.
He shoved his normal hands into his sandy brown hair and coo’d in frustration.
He's awake now, why try to go to sleep when he knows how it will end.
So he shoved on his prized sweater and got to work building…