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puhpandas · 11 months ago

Text

Between The Lines

(7,832 words)

Tony thinks that there's something about Freddy and Bonnie that make them seem closer and different than the other Glamrocks. It takes him a while to realize that there isn't on the outside like he thought, and that maybe, he just sees himself and Gregory in them. And that a certain drawing Gregory has given to him might tell him that Gregory had the same idea.

Greg and Ellis had looked like kids in a candy shop when theyd entered the West Arcade for the first time since the Pizzaplex reopened.

Just like all the banners strung about have advertised, theres brand new arcades and games to try out around the place. The place is fuller, not only due to the sheer amount of guests, especially because of the return of Bonnie, but also because of all of the new cabinets taking up space.

Tony had been content just following his friends as they floundered over what game to play first. They had such big smiles on their faces while wandering around... itd been nice seeing them like that. Tony knows Gregory has been having trouble lately. The whole GGY thing takes a toll on him, even after it's been over for months. He's not much different, but... Greg definitely has it worse. Tony's just glad he's loosening up for this.

Even Tony, who hadn't ever really cared for arcade games, can notice just how many new games have been added to the Faz-Cade. Every step brings his attention to a new cabinet here, another one there, all with new themes and art he's never seen before.

Despite how much he likes to be aware of everything around him, he usually can only focus on one thing at a time. His friends voices are only background noise to him while he gazes at all of the new sights in the Faz-Cade. They're saying something about grinding for points and scores, but Tony cant focus when he's just admiring some particularly cool art.

Subconsciously, his body stops along with his friends when they suddenly quit walking to admire some other cabinet. He startles at the change, and goes to open his mouth, a question already on his tongue.

But he never gets it out. His head doesnt turn, and his eyes catch onto a certain arcade game to their right that's angled directly for the cabinet art to be staring right at him.

The bright and contrasting colors of the two characters in the drawing are all he needs to see to recognize them at first glance.

It's a drawing of Freddy and Bonnie; the colors bright and art angled to look dynamic on the curve of the games' outer shape. Its brand new art, Tony's sure of it. Theres been multiple of Bonnie across the Plex so far since he's returned.

He would know.

Freddy and Bonnie... Tony doesnt know why, but he just cant stop looking at the art of them on the cabinet. They're shoulder to shoulder, bodies leaned onto each other and looking at eachother from the corner of their eyes. Not their instruments or who would be the viewer... eachother.

Its like they're in their own little world, Tony thinks. He doesn't know why he thinks that. He's never noticed a difference before. Is there even one? Has there ever been this kind of closeness in promotional art with characters like Roxy and Monty or Chica and Freddy?

Maybe he should get another opinion. He tilts his head, never taking his eyes off of the art on the cabinet over. "Hey, guys? Does this art of Freddy and Bonnie look--"

"Midnight Motorist!" He's cut off mid sentence by Ellis' exclamation. Ellis takes off from his side, and it finally tears Tony's eyes off of the drawing of Freddy and Bonnie. He races to a cabinet a few over and is bouncing in place looking it over. "I cant believe this is one of the new ones they added!"

Gregory is the next to leave his side after that, heading to join Ellis at the cabinet and blabbering on about something himself. But Tony finds it hard to listen when his mind is still stuck on the brand new official Freddy and Bonnie art for some reason.

He shakes it off, leaving it for another time. He knows sometimes his curiosity can take over his brain in the middle of something sometimes. He just... doesn't understand what there is to be curious about this time. It doesn't eat away at him like curiosity does to him every time, though. This time doesnt feel the same.

He shakes it off again, this time shaking his head physically for good measure. Later. He thinks. He leaves the cabinet and joins his friends by Midnight Motorist, and begins to catch their conversation.

"Do you think we can get the first high scores on it?" Greg is asking when Tony gets there. Theres a kind of rare wicked grin on his face. "Just imagine. Setting an example for everyone else before they can even try themselves."

Ellis huffs a laugh, and eyes Tony when he stands beside Greg. "Hey," Ellis grins. "Wanna watch me set the first high score ever on Midnight Motorist?"

Tony smiles, eyeing the completely empty Best Players screen. "Sure."

To Tony's suprise, Gregory let's Ellis play first and waits his turn until he's done. Ellis steps up to the cabinet, and Tony is content watching Ellis get to know the game and his steadily racking points.

The two of them have formed a little huddle around Ellis' shoulder. His shoulder. For some reason, Tony and Gregory arent on each side like they should be. Theyve decided to squish into the left side of the cabinet and watch from there.

Why? Tony's thinking. Theres a weird feeling in his stomach that he cant identify. Why didnt they split up? They're shoulder to shoulder and theyre pressed so close together Tony is hyper aware of Greg's presence.

He feels his voice reverberate through his own arm and it makes Tony's cheeks burn and his thoughts scramble to come up with a reason.

He cant find one, he realizes. The chimes and music of the game in front of him kind of fade into the background while he tries to think about it more. His brain runs at a million miles an hour, and hes half aware of the thoughts in his head and half aware of how his heart is hammering in his chest at the same time.

Its confusing to him why he cares so much. Why this one little simple action has made his thoughts run so wild.

But while searching for why he and Greg are so close instead of far apart, for some reason, in response, his mind conjures up the art of Freddy and Bonnie.

"Yeah!" Greg cheers beside him, and Tony startles slightly, his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt as he comes back down to earth. His voice is right in his ear and Tony doesnt know what the weird feeling in his stomach is. "You got this, Ellis!"

He breathes out, deep but quiet and slow. He tries not to be obvious, but after the past few months, he shouldn't be suprised when Greg somehow notices.

He twists his neck over to look Tony's way, and Tony makes himself look back. Theres concern swimming in Gregory's eyes that Tony's so familiar with from over the past few months. When Tony would be struggling with the GGY incident and Greg would try his hardest to help him.

"Hey," Gregory asks, voice hushed and soft. Despite the loud button presses and the music coming from the cabinet just besides them, Gregory's voice reaches him so clearly. "are you okay?"

Tony doesnt respond immediately. He just stares, and ignores the twinge in his neck from how hes leaning his head back from the proximity. For some reason, he flounders for words.

"Uh, yeah." He says after a second, offering a smile. "I'm, uh, okay, Greg. Don't worry about me."

Gregory doesn't respond immediately, just looking at him a bit longer. Despite the inches of height Tony has on Gregory, his presence just feels bigger. Tony dares to flick his eyes, and deep blue meets gold.

Another moment of silence passes, and it feels like it drags on forever. Then, Greg nods. "Kay." He says, then turns back to the cabinet screen.

And that's that.

The feeling in his stomach doesnt go away, and along with the exchange neither do the thoughts. He tries to focus on Ellis' high score and having a good time with his friends, but he keeps being aware of his arm pressed against Greg's and the way that hes so close to him.

He doesnt know what's going on. He doesn't have anything to think about it that isnt jumbled and incomprehensible, so he tries to leave it for another day. He takes a breath, calming himself and the storm thats going on inside of him that's leaving him wondering and confused, and watches the car move back and forth on the road on the screen in front of him.

During it all, flashes of blue and orange keep appearing in his minds eye.

If theres one thing Tony had missed since getting Gregory back, its seeing Greg enjoy his art.

He'd never taken it too seriously, just drawn the Glamrocks and himself and his friends a few times, and always just for fun. But that's the point, isnt it? Tony... Tony may take his writing seriously, but that doesnt mean Greg would have to take his art seriously. That's something Tony's learned the past few months.

That you should appreciate chilling and having fun while it happens. GGY wasnt something easy to come back from. It wasnt easy to have seemingly recovered very fast from his attack and gone back to school while still grappling with what happened. Especially after it'd only taken a day or two for the real Greg to show up at his house and tell him what really happened.

The point is, Greg hasnt really touched a pencil and paper in a while. At least... not that Tony's seen.

He understands. He really does. Even Tony hadn't touched writing for a little while after... everything happened. He needed time to process everything, and writing was just never something he'd wanted to do, despite it being something he has fun with.

Greg just needed time, is all. But even Tony couldnt stay away from writing forever. He's picked it back up relatively recently. He just wishes Gregory would do.

Which is why when he goes over to Greg's house; a small apartment where he lives with Vanessa, Tony immediately is drawn to the sight of colorful paper and pencils on Greg's desk.

And on one page, two very distinct colorful characters standing next to eachother peeking under a couple other papers.

"You're drawing again." Tony says with a smile when he walks over to Greg's desk.

Gregory doesnt respond respond right away. It gives more time to Tony to just admire some of the newest art Greg's drawn obviously recently. Theres some of himself, some of people he knows, like Vanessa and even him and Ellis, one of a girl he doesnt recognize, and lots of Freddy.

But Tony's eyes keep being drawn to the orange and blue peeking out from under the more recent papers, and his right arm twitches, wanting to reach for the paper and pull it out to look at it.

It's a strange urge, one that doesn't feel quite like curiosity but has no other name Tony could put to it. It gets the better of him, and before Greg can utter a word from behind him, Tony reaches out and pulls on the corner to slip it out from under the others.

"Wait!" Greg yells from behind him. It's a little loud, and when Tony turns around, he looks a little sheepish, along with something else Tony doesnt have time to put a finger on. "Uh, which one is that?"

Tony raises a brow, but he let's his eyes fall back on the drawing of Freddy and Bonnie. He holds it out to Greg, trying to smile. "Uh, this one."

Gregory doesnt say anything, just walking up to his side and looking at the drawing himself. Theres an expression Tony cant place on Greg's face, and he cant help but feel like hes maybe done something wrong.

"I'm sorry," Tony blurts out, lowering the drawing. His brows furrow as he turns to look at Gregory. "should I have, uh, should I have not looked at your drawings without asking?"

Immediately, Gregory's shaking his head, waving a hand. "Uh. No. You're fine." He says slowly, and he's glancing at his desk and the corkboard hung above it with old and new drawings hung on it.

"I display them myself. Its..." Greg trails off, looking deep in thought for only a split second before he says, "it's... okay for you to see them."

Tony's quiet for a second, but his heads nodding and hes blinking shortly after. "Okay, good."

"Here." Greg says, coming up to him with a new small smile on his face; usually, all of Greg's smiles are small, so Tony can notice when ones real or not. This one... it's real, but also a little... nervous? Theres an undertone to it that Tony cant place, but any thoughts he could have had about it wash way when Greg's standing next to him again, bringing up the page in his hand he'd held out of sight back in view with a gentle hand. "You can see it."

Tony holds the page like its porcelain glass, his grip gentle and careful. Greg has the other side, and the paper is longways; meaning Greg's pressed against his shoulder again.

It... theres that weird feeling, again. But Tony doesnt really pay it any mind right now. He just admires the drawing Greg's offered him to see and takes in all the details.

In the soft sunlight of Gregory's window, it gives him plenty good view to see the art. Its good. Its really good. Tony knows Greg is a good artist, but... this is better than he thought it would be. Tony takes in the details, the line strokes and the color choices and even the little blocks signature in the corner of the page. He smiles instinctively.

"Its... good." He mumbles, voice quiet, but earnest. The drawing is of Freddy and Bonnie, colors bright and popping like they were on the arcade cabinet back at the Faz-Cade. This reminds him of then, Tony realizes. The drawing is similar, and... it gives him that same feeling. That same wonder if theres something else there between Freddy and Bonnie.

They're standing beside eachother, and the pose isnt as dynamic at the cabinets was. They're facing forward, but looking at eachother. They have one arm on each instrument, but the others that are in-between eachother just... hang limply. It makes Tony's brows furrow. It doesn't fit with the pose Greg was going for.

This whole time, Tony realizes, Greg had been watching his reaction. He suddenly becomes aware of Gregory looking at him and how hes holding the other side of the page and how their shoulders are pressed together. How their hands are hanging limply next to eachother. His fingers twitch and burn, and so does his face.

"You like it?" Greg is asking, and Tony tries to ignore that exact same strange feeling in his stomach he's been having to answer him. His mouth feels heavy and locked shut, and he stammers.

"Ye-Yeah!" He manages, managing to keep looking away from Greg's eyes and at the drawing in front of him. He smiles, and it's real when he says, "Its-- Its great, Greg. Its amazing."

But then Gregory is silent for a second too long, and Tony dares to glance over. It's the exact same time Gregory switches his gaze to the drawing and shifts his body.

Greg takes his hand off of the page, pushing it gently with both towards Tony's chest. Theres a smile that stretches wide across his cheeks when he says, "Its yours."

Immediately, Tony sputters. "What? But--" He gapes. "Yo-You dont have to do that--"

"Its fine." Greg cuts him off, smiling at him. Tony finds himself going quiet and staring. "I... uh... I drew it for you in the first place."

Tony gapes, unfurling the paper from his chest with a gentle grip. He takes another look at it, feeling something warm bloom in his chest. His fingers shake and tremble as he holds the paper in-between his fingers. Just, admiring it again. The orange and blue of Freddy and Bonnie.

"You did?" Tony asks, softer than silk. It's barely above a whisper.

Greg nods in front of him, smile still on his face. It dissolves into a small chuckle. "Dont act so suprised."

Tony shakes his head, whipping his head up. "I'm not!" He says, but his eyes find the drawing again quickly after. It's like hes unable to look away. The drawing... it feels different now, knowing it was made for him. "Its-- its just... really cool, Greg. I love it. I really do."

Gregory goes silent again, this time for longer than a second or two. Tony glances up, and barely catches a blank stare from Greg for a split second, like he'd been thinking about something. It's gone in an instant, and Gregory's smiling at him again, looking at him with yellow-gold eyes that seem to be shining in the light from his window.

"I'm..." He trails off. "I'm glad."

"I'll treasure it." Tony promises, holding the page closer to his face. Theres even highlights in their eyes as they look at eachother in the drawing. "I promise. I wont let anything happen to it, either."

This time, Tony looks up just in time to see Gregory smile softly, and say "I know."

Despite Bonnie being Tony's favorite, he's never actually gotten to meet him face to face.

He would be lying if he said he had liked him before his disappearance. It sounds bad, but... Tony hadnt ever cared much for the animatronic characters. It was Bonnie's sudden vanishing that caused Tony to gain interest in Fazbears brand and characters and history and why they would retire him if they meant to. And so abruptly at that.

But... after reading up and seeing all of the history and different iterations of the characters and their merch and art and brand and evolution... he maybe got a little interested.

It goes deeper than a childish interest in the animal characters, though. He... he doesn't know how to explain it. He just feels connected to Bonnie, somehow. It's not like Freddy and Gregory. They... they have something else. But it... it feels like Tony sees more in him than the other glamrock characters. To an extent, Freddy as well. But Freddy has what he has with Gregory, and Tony doesnt feel that connection with him like he does Bonnie.

Which is why he'd been excited when Bonnie had returned in the re-opening. The bowling alley has been flipped and remodeled and the art replaced and updated since hes come back, and the place is pretty packed usually, now. Bonnie performs on his stage sometimes, and will come out and mingle with guests rarely, but Tony's never gotten a chance to talk to him.

Of course, he should have known Gregory wouldnt let it stay that way for long. Not with how he still travels across the Plex behind closed doors sometimes to see the Glamrocks often.

Which is how Greg had gotten Tony into Bonnie's greenroom in-between his schedule later in the day, when not a lot of people are at Bonnie Bowl.

Of course, Greg had always known, but... his sudden action was definitely influenced by how Tony's been talking about it, recently. How he wants to be able to talk to Bonnie alone one on one. How he's always wanted to.

Its just... Tony's been looking at the drawing Greg made him a lot lately. And it keeps reminding him over and over of how it feels like theres... more to Freddy and Bonnie. Theyve been paired together since the very beginning. It feels like theres something else intangible with them that there isnt with the other characters.

They have history. Theyve always gone together, like yin and yang. Fire and ice. Red and blue.

He's... he's just always felt a connection with Bonnie.

It doesnt feel like meeting a celebrity, when Gregory ushers him with a smile into Bonnie's greenroom and shuts the curtain behind him. He doesnt feel starstruck, or like he wants an autograph. He just wants to talk to Bonnie.

Bonnie's sitting at his mirror when Tony inches in, feeling strangely nervous and anxious and fiddling with the Bonnie keychain on his backpack. Bonnies ear twitches, the one with the earring, and then hes swiveling his chair to face him.

"Ah! You must be Tony, then." Bonnie says with a smile. Tony just stays quiet when Bonnie gets up and heads over to him, his mind running wild with what exactly it is he wants to say. "Yeah, Fred and Greg told me about ya. Said you wanted to meet me. That I'm your favorite?"

Tony nods, meeting Bonnie's eyes. "Yeah, that's right."

"Well then, its nice to meet you, Tony." Bonnie says happily, holding out a hand for Tony to shake. Tony releases the keychain and takes it without another word, shaking it politely.

It's only then that Bonnie quirks a brow at him, his ears drooping a bit. Theres a small stretch of silence where nobody says anything, and Tony feels self conscious, the nerves rising up even more.

Bonnie's kneeling down to be eye level. His ears aren't pointed straight up anymore, they're more relaxed. Bonnie looks at him, looking... concerned? Curious? And he sets a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, now." Bonnie finally says, and Tony glances back at the curtain, than at Bonnie. Bonnie fixes him with a look that's inviting and warm. "What's on your mind, Striker? I may have just met you, but Greg has told me all about ya. He told me you had questions for me and would be bombarding me with them."

Tony's shoulders droop a little more, and he feels the nerves ebb away ever so slightly when Bonnie is nothing but warm and inviting. Once again, Tony doesnt feel like hes meeting a big star. He feels like hes having a conversation with... someone he looks up to. Someone he came to ask a question.

"But you arent." Bonnie points out, not unkindly. When Tony frowns, Bonnie smiles kindly.

"You dont have to be nervous, Striker." Bonnie tells him, his voice quiet and encouraging. "Theres plenty of kids that come to us to ask us things."

"Things that..." Bonnie trails off. "they just need a little friendly advice for that they may not want to tell anyone else."

He says the end pointedly, just enough emphasis to bring it to Tony's attention. It feels so childish. It really does. It makes Tony bristle to think about, that hes a kid who needs advice, and that Bonnie already knows that. That Bonnie is using tactics he uses on young children on him. But... that's what he came for, didnt he?

It sticks out to him, though. And Tony's aware that Bonnie's tactic worked. 'Things they may not want to tell anyone else.' aka, things that Tony had wondered about in bed and at school and at the Faz-Cade when he'd think about the cabinet art or Gregorys drawing. When... when he'd felt like there was something else.

To Freddy and Bonnie. To what appears on the outside. To what there may be on the inside. To the colors orange and blue.

He opens his mouth, not quite speaking yet, and Bonnie's waiting patiently. Hes looking at him encouragingly, and Tony sighs, letting the words spill out. The big question that he's mulled over for months.

Tony takes one last glance around him, not exactly knowing why but feeling like he needs to. It feels personal, or taboo somehow. Like this needs to be kept under wraps and only for his and Bonnie's ears to hear. He grabs at his keychain again, fidgeting with it.

"Bonnie..." He manages eventually, feelings and thoughts that feel disconnected racing through his mind. The keychain gives his hands something to do, but it doesnt help much with his nerves. "Are you and Freddy... uh..."

He stammers over his words, feeling nerves fry his stomach. This is hard to say, for some reason. It feels scary. Bonnie waits, though. Still ever patient, but his head does tilt in curiosity, a quirk to his brow.

Tony opens his mouth, taking a second to continue. "Well... I just..." He trails off, and Bonnie is still looking at him. Theres a moment where Tony says nothing, and Bonnie just meets his eyes and nods, smiling.

Its okay it feels like he's saying. Tony breathes out again, and pushes past the wall he'd been hitting. "Are you two together?"

Bonnie jerks a bit, barely noticeable, but Tony had been searching for any kind of reaction, small or not. Tony watches how Bonnie's face twists in suprise for a moment, and Tony's eyes widen, his shoulders hitching up.

"I just--" He stammers, and averts his eyes when Bonnie keeps staring at him. "I notice sometimes that your promotional art has you two... uh, closer. Than the others."

Its agonizing, watching Bonnie mull over his words. His eyes twitch and look down, and it's clear he's deep in thought. Tony feels his ears burn. He feels embarrassed. It all feels scary. Why? Why does it feel like he's spilling all his deepest darkest secrets?

Tony watches carefully, holding his breath as Bonnie says nothing. He's taking his time, thinking deeply, and Tony watches Bonnie's eyes flick towards the curtain. The curtain Gregory'd promised him he'd wait for him behind.

They widen, ever so slightly, and Bonnie's eyes then look towards Tony's hands, and the keychain hes flipping between his fingers.

Bonnie stares for just a moment longer, and then he clears his throat a bit, and Tony releases the tightness in his chest when Bonnie finally responds.

"Well, Striker..." Bonnie says, voice hushed and quiet, like he's telling a secret. "Just between you and me, Freddy and I do have something going on that... may not particularly be apart of the brand characterization of us."

Tony's eyes widen. Something shoots through his chest, some sort of burning blooming feeling, and he just stares at Bonnie speechless.

There had been something going on between the lines. There had been. Just like he'd thought. Did... Does that mean that the closeness, the undertones that Tony had felt just had to be between them had been there all along? That he really was right.

But... Bonnie had said that last part with the same emphasis he'd used before, and it only just now clicks.

Tony feels something he cant place. It feels crushing, scary, like... somethings caught up to him. Like he was somehow wrong all along. Wrong about Freddy and Bonnie? Wrong about something he never ever knew why he latched onto in the first place?

"So..." He begins uncertainly, shoulders feeling heavy. He realizes he hasnt blinked this whole time, and releases the tight breath he'd been holding. His eyes flick up to Bonnie's. "The promotional art isn't any different?"

Bonnie's ears droop, and he shakes his head. Tony just looks away.

"No, buddy." Bonnie replies. He shakes him a bit, just enough to get his attention, and Tony makes himself look back at Bonnie.

He looks knowing, somehow. It makes Tony bristle. He looks like he just figured it out. But what is there to figure out? Why is Bonnie looking at him with sympathy?

Bonnie doesnt say something like Tony had been expecting him to, though. He just stands to his full height, herding Tony by his shoulders gently to go down the hallway and stand just at the mouth of the curtain. They dont go through, but stay tucked in the shadows. Tony frowns, confused.

"Might there be a reason why you saw a difference with us in the first place?" Bonnie asks, a whisper. He nudges him, and Tony, despite the confusion and how his question begins to weigh on him, joins him in peering through the gap in the curtain.

Tony's not really sure why Bonnie's brought him over here; it's just Gregory and Freddy on the other side, and Tony cant help but feel a little bit of impatient-ness mix with the confusion inside of him, because Bonnie obviously knows something that Tony doesnt and its killing him.

But any remarks over it he bites down, and he tries to decipher the reasoning himself. There obviously is one, after all.

Tony just watches, looking for whatever Bonnie may be getting at. Gregory's faced half away from the curtain, talking to Freddy about something, and he doesnt notice Tony's observing him. Tony watches Gregory's face; theres a smile that goes as wide as to crinkle the corner of his eyes, and it dissolves into laughter soon after. He looks amused, like the funniest joke in the world was just told, and Freddy laughs heartily next to him.

Theres that weird feeling in his chest that been eating away at him again. The one he always gets around Greg and if he gets to looking at the drawing he gave him. The one of Freddy and Bonnie. Or if he remembers the cabinet art.

Tony just watches. He watches and is aware that Gregory barely ever smiles like that and that it makes his eyes sparkle, and it's like the gold in them shimmers even more. How it curves around his cheeks and even after it dissipates a bit, the contentment is still there. He watches him speak and how it flashes his teeth and his home-cut, shaggy hair kinda falls over his face like a curtain and he has to brush it out of the way with a hand. Theres the scar on his face that travels up his jaw and the sharpness to his eyes and the curve of his nose and--

Oh.

He's long let go of the Bonnie keychain by now, but now, it weighs heavy on him. Suddenly he's all too aware of its presence, and Gregory's Freddy backpack that Tony can see on his back through the gap of the curtain.

Flashes of the cabinet art at the Faz-Cade and Gregory's drawing run laps through his mind. It makes sense, now. His mind is so jumbled he cant get a thought through, but he still knows what they're all saying. He feels it.

Freddy and Bonnie, the two always paired together that Tony saw a certain closeness between. Bonnie, who had always been Tony's favorite. Freddy, who is Greg's favorite. Who he draws all the time and has bonded with and who he's connected with.

Tony's always felt connected to Bonnie.

"Oh." Tony says outwardly, barely louder than a whisper. His voice cracks in the middle.

Bonnie tries to squeeze his shoulder, to open his mouth and say something, but Tony gently shoves him off, walking out of his hold and stumbling closer the curtain.

"Im--" He stammers, not knowing what to think. "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I-- thank you for this, but--" He sighs out, and it feels a little wet. He ignores Bonnie's worried expression and pushes open the curtain with one arm. "Ive-- I've got to go."

Bonnie doesn't try to stop him. He doesnt yell for him, ask him to wait, nothing. Tony appreciates it. Maybe that knowing look hed given him means he understands.

"Hey." Greg greets him on the outside, just like he said he would. Hes smiling, Freddy backpack still on his shoulders, but it drops a bit when he sees his face.

"Tony?" He asks, softer and less enthusiastic. "Are you--"

"I'm fine." Tony cuts him off, ignoring the guilt curling in his stomach when he walks past both Greg and Freddy. He needs-- he can't think right now. He doesnt know what to do. "Im-- I'm okay. I uh, just think im gonna go home."

Theres no response for a second until Greg goes "Oh." Its a little flat, and one hundred percent sounds disappointed and worried all in one. The guilt gets worse. "Are you--"

"I'm okay." Tony insists, and the tightness in his chest and rapidness of his thoughts dont go away. Greg doesnt get to ask again, because Tony's almost running away, now.

He can feel Greg and Freddys eyes on his back as he leaves Bonnie Bowl, not knowing how to feel.

Tony hasnt told Gregory.

How is he supposed to? He-- he hasnt even processed it himself. He doesnt know what to think or how to feel. He doesnt like not being able to think.

Every time he tries, it all gets jumbled and his brain twists in knots. He doesnt need to think to know. To know what it all meant and that he'd always felt this way. Since he'd gotten to know the real Greg.

That those moments where he and Gregory would be close where he'd have those weird feelings were because he liked him. He still does. He likes him. A lot.

He likes him and he'd-- Tony had always seen more in Bonnie and Freddy because he saw more in him and Gregory. Its always been that way. He's always felt closer to Greg. He's... he's the Freddy to his Bonnie.

The thought makes Tony's brain freeze up again. He blinks, feeling his arms burn from being sprawled out on the bed and holding them up for so long. He groans, long and drawn out, feeling lost.

His stomach does somersaults and his face burns when he looks at the drawing again. He's stared at it a lot already. Not only today, but since he got it. Its felt... special, to him. Now he knows why. That this drawing Greg gifted him always felt like it held something deeper. Something that... only Tony saw. That no one else would.

He grips the paper with his fingers, staring longingly at the art. It feels like hes getting a headache, lying flat on his back and straining his arms just to hold the drawing up in the air. He stares at the pencil lines and the colors and how Freddy and Bonnie's shoulders are pressed together and their hands are still awkwardly limp from where they fall by their waists.

Tony frowns, always feeling off about that part. It never fit in correctly. It never felt intentional. Not like everything about Gregory's art always has. It had always left Tony wondering. Like how he had with the feeling in his stomach and Freddy and Bonnie's official art.

He sighs, his arms drooping slightly from the strain. Today was a school day, and Tony hadn't gone with Greg to his house like he usually does. He's barely talked to him since his exchange with Bonnie. He doesn't want to avoid, him, he just... doesnt know what to say.

He doesnt know if he should tell him. Tony has always felt that he and Greg felt different, but he has no idea if Gregory does. Tony had been wrong about it being intentional in the art at the Plex. He'd created it himself because he saw himself in it. He doesnt want to-- to mess things up with Greg. He doesnt want Gregory to have never felt the same.

His brows furrow and he frowns as he readies himself to leave it for today, like he usually does. He takes a last long look at the drawing, eyeing Freddy and Bonnie's hands again, and how they look forced and awkward, and starts to drop his arms.

It's the afternoon, and the sun is setting and just at the right position to shine through his blinds and onto his bed. The blinds are almost fully shut, but the sun peeks through the cracks, shining on the back of the paper and highlighting the details of the drawing.

Tony wouldnt have paid it any mind if it hadn't revealed something hes never seen, never, about the drawing he's spent so long looking at.

He does a double take. Then a triple. Then some more for good measure. He blinks, and scrambles up on his arms to sit upright so he can see it better.

His eyes widen, and his stomach feels floaty. The same feeling from the cabinet art and when he and Greg will sit close to eachother at lunch and let their shoulders and knees touch or, stand closer to eachother than they should blooms in his stomach.

The sun, shining bright and golden through his window, illuminates the blank paper space adjacent to Freddy and Bonnie's hands in Gregory's drawing. They're bending awkwardly, out of the way, and it gives him room to see the faded lines besides Freddy and Bonnie's hands.

It starts from the wrist and the lines show up even through the marker Greg had used to color their hands with. It fits, Tony thinks, with the pose. With the original pose. This way, it doesnt feel forced or awkward. It looks like how it had intended to be from the start.

Because with the sun shining behind it and showing through the color and pen that had carefully covered it up, Tony sees faded pencil lines that before, had connected Freddy and Bonnie's hands.

His face becomes warm, and he just looks, feeling something blooms in his chest. Hope? Disbelief? Excitement? His brain short circuits and he's only feeling right now. He feels how sparks are flying in his stomach and it feels a little less impossible than before.

I... uh... I drew it for you in the first place.

This is how it had always been intended. For Freddy and Bonnie to be holding hands. Theres nothing else it could have been. It had always been unintentional in the Plex art. Always just created from Tony's own relation. But this... Greg wanted this. He wanted to draw Freddy and Bonnie holding hands and for that closeness to be more than an undertone. More than intangible.

Tony feels breathless. His arms and hands shake, and the paper in front of him shakes along with it. He doesnt care, though. The sun is still illuminating what Greg had intended in his drawing all along, the drawing he made for him, and Tony feels less unsure than before. He feels like maybe he isnt alone in feeling this way at all.

The next day, after a long night and day at school, Tony goes with Greg to his house.

The drawing sits heavy in his backpack. unfolded unfolded because he'd never want to crease it and he doesnt want the pencil lines to suddenly disappear, either. He handles it like porcelain glass, like itll slip through his fingers if he let's it go too much.

Even Ellis had noticed him acting weird, and Tony noticed Greg looking at him concerned from the corner of his eye. He knows why. He's been distant lately. But... at school today, Tony hadn't felt afraid of Greg. Of messing things up with him. He'd felt the warmth spread through his face and his stomach and fireworks go off and his face stretch in a grin when he'd seen him the first time that day. And he'd felt it times ten all over again when Greg had smiled back.

He wont lose him. Tony knows this. He'd spend all night and all day mulling it over. Greg feels the same. He'd felt the closeness like I had. He'd.. he erased it. He was scared, like I am now.

It feels different, walking into Greg's room. He hasnt been there in a couple days, but it feels almost similar to when he'd walked into Bonnie's greenroom. He knows now that it had been because he knew, deep down. It felt like he was about to confess something then. He pretty much had, saying that Bonnie and Freddy were together out loud.

It's not as far down, anymore. It's not buried underneath characterization branding and pencil lines and marker strokes and only revealed if the light hits it right. It wont stay under wraps. Not after today.

Tony becomes hyper aware of the bag on his back immediately after the door closes on them. Greg walks into his room first, slinging his bag off of his back and kicking his shoes off and talking about watching something, together, or writing like they always do, but Tony isnt listening. He's just balling up the hem of his green corduroy jacket in his hands and staring at the carpet and thinking about the colors orange and blue.

"Tony?" Greg asks him. Tony startles, looking up at Greg. Hes sitting on the edge of his bed, with concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?"

Tony opens his mouth, but theres no words on his tongue. He stands there silently for a moment, and he thinks about the drawing again. He knows it's time. The sun is peeking through Greg's blinds. His backpack and the knowledge that the drawing is inside and his Bonnie keychain weigh on him.

His eyes flick for a split second to Greg's backpack and his sneakers, and then he clears his throat, his mouth feeling dry. "Greg, can I show you something?"

Gregory tilts his head, looking a little worried. He jerks, patting the bed beside him. "Uh, yeah, of course."

Tony swings his own backpack off of his shoulders as he makes his way next to Gregory, but its gentler. Careful about the easily crinkleable paper inside. Pencil lines that have already been attempted to be erased.

It only fully sets in when he sits down next to Gregory on the bed, and he chose to sit close enough that their arms are flush against eachother and Tony's face gets warm. He doesnt fight it. He just unzips his backpack and carefully reaches in, grabbing ahold of the corner with light fingers.

He pulls it out, and Gregory looks suprised next to him, if not also a little but confused. Tony's face is still warm, and his fingers shake and tremble, and he turns his neck to face Gregory.

They're really close like this, and Tony's eyes widen and he has to fight to not look away. His heart hammers a hundred miles an hour in his chest, but he keeps his gaze on Greg's eyes. Gold meets blue, and they stay staring at eachother. Tony hopes deeply that Gregory gets the hint. That he understands.

Nothing, yet. Not a peep. Just a silent moment. Theres closeness now, Tony thinks. Closeness that feels carefully not one sided. That feels mutual. So after another moment, he forces himself to look away, pointing the paper at the wall and smoothing out the corners. Gregory follows his movements, still having not made a sound.

Tony doesnt, either. He just holds the paper up to the window on Greg's wall, or rather the beams of golden light shining through it, and just like how it did in Tony's room, it illuminates the pencil lines around the white of the paper.

Lines that had been hidden. That are being revealed now, brought to the surface because Gregory didnt have to be afraid. Becuase its mutual. It feels less like it was erased, now, and more like it was drawn in invisible ink. Blank to the naked eye, but the two of them know. Greg knows, he has to. He hid it himself. And Tony... well, Tony wasnt crazy for feeling that there was something between the lines all this time, has he? Not when there literally have been.

Tony looks at it for a moment, feeling like it's all being brought up to the surface. He feels connected to Gregory, right now. Like this isnt some big reveal. That its just an acknowledging of feelings. I know. Tony's trying to say. I always have, and now I know that you did, too.

He moves his gaze to Greg, who's staring wide eyed but almost blank faced at the paper. His lips are parted slightly, but other than that, he just looks... shocked. Suprised.

Scared

Tony's scared, too. But not in the way Greg is. Tony's nervous, and afraid, and excited, but Greg doesnt know if Tony knows. If he thinks the closeness is mutual.

He does.

He takes the leap, fire in his chest and on his face and sparks flying from where Greg's shoulder is pressed against his. "Maybe..." He begins, slow and quiet. He looks at Greg, meeting his eyes, and he points a finger at the lines that originally portrayed hands laced together. "...Bonnie and Freddy would like to hold hands. You know, like... in the promotional art".

Theres a fleeting moment of silence where Tony's words just hang in the air. Like in the promotional art, because Tony knows Gregory noticed, too. He knows he felt the same connection Tony had. He knows that he knows. He sets the paper down in his lap, no longer feeling like its needed. His hand lies on his leg, carefully positioned in-between them, like Greg's is.

Then, Greg stops looking so scared, and he meets Tony's eyes. The sun from his window makes them shine like gold, and Tony keeps ahold of his gaze. He hopes desperately that those few words were enough, that a moment like this that cant be shattered by big declarations gets across.

But then, Greg breaks from his eyes first, looking downwards, and Tony follows his gaze.

"Like in the promotional art." Gregory agrees. Tony watches as Gregorys hand twitches, and no matter how slow or agonizing, it moves to lace together with Tonys.

Tony doesnt dare smile, or laugh, or make a peep. He doesnt dare shatter the moment. His chest blooms and explodes with sparks and fireworks, and he knows. He knows that its requited. That Gregory knows, as well. That orange and blue go good together and that he was never wrong about there being something else there.

His head whips up from their hands to look at Greg's face again, and Gregory is looking at him already. Theres red on his face, too, like Tony knows there is on his own. Tony dares to use his thumb to brush against Greg's hand, and Gregory's eyes dart downwards for just a moment, before meeting his again.

Then, without a word, Greg smiles slowly. It's big and it stretches across his cheeks and crinkles his eyes at the corners. And Tony let's a grin appear on his own face.

The drawing sits in his lap, and a ray of sunshine continues to showcase the faded indents of pencil drawing laced together hands. Tony squeezes once, then twice, and shifts his hold to be tighter and more secure. Greg does the same.

ao3 link

#hope this works #this is a long oneshot LOL #u can go to the ao3 link to see more thoughts and stuff i had to say abt this fic #beckory #my fics #pandas writes #oneshot #gregory #tony #gregtony #ggy #PLS tell me if the size of this oneshot messed up tumbkr formatting in any way LOL #between the lines

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angeart · 3 months ago

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Aaaaange, why doesn't Scar feel safe at that moment? More Tease pretty please? -🎀

oh i can do more than tease for this one :3c

[1,2k ramble + 8,5k rp snippets]

you know how we talked about the post-return situation, with the hermits raising potential allegations against scar? worried that he might be hurting grian, that their relationship is not safe?

that is pre-wedding. that is before scar proposes, but he already has plans to. he's always dreamed of a big, fancy wedding. it'd be picturesque and grand and wonderful! there'd be lots of flowers and music, laughter and dancing. and they'd be surrounded by friends who would be happy for them.

all of this is actively crumbling in scar's hands as hermits shy away from him as if he was dangerous and unpredictable. they're wary, unsure. they no longer see their cheerful, clumsy, harmless friend. they see an unfamilair vex.

they are not happy for them. and, right now, they do not approve of their relationship either.

scar thinks this is not how home should feel like. this is not what he wants. and he doesn't know how to convince them that he's not that scarecrow they have constructed from their lack of understanding. he doesn't know how to get through this.

but it's more than that, right? all their concerns, however well meaning, also make grian spiral. there's so much stress put on the two of them suddenly, their relationship straining.

none of this was ever meant to happen like this.

it's at a point when grian starts finding his stability, after that big breakdown, that scar decides he's done hiding and running, too. if he has to convince everyone to like him again, then he will. he'll fight for this. he'll do his best so that they can overcome this.

him and grian decide to host a little sleepover. for selected hermits! that way, they'll be opening themselves up to others. they want to try and show the others who they are now. to invite them back in. to let them get to know them all over again.

they arrange for it to happen within a week or so, as they still have to make a dedicated room for it. it's a lot of people to hang out and sleep!

they dedice to repurpose their old bunker. yes, the one they constructed shortly post-rescue. the one that was their hideout, their safe place.

it's underground, its walls drenched with anxiety and uncertainty. grian itches from it all, now used to spend time in their nest-tower, high up above the ground. underground feels stifling, all of a sudden. it feels wrong.

the first thing scar does is break the ceiling, to make a big skylight. it's left open for now, sand smelting into glass.

they struggle with the concept of hosting an event for many people. they can't seem to remember what they need. desperately, they try to figure out ways to make the place seem cozy and non-threatening, both for show and for their own sanity.

they talk about a little flower patch in the middle, right underneath the skylight. something bright and nice smelling and alive. they talk about mood lighting, about fairy lights and a fireplace. and—

they talk about sleeping arrangements.

grian says he doesn't want to make a big nest. he... doesn't want the others in their nest.

they're not flock.

they no longer feel like family.

so instead, they try to figure out how many beds they need. except, grian still wants a nest! for him and scar. and, maybe that's good! that'll be another stepping stone, showing the others the new them. who they are. what they now need. things like that!

while scar is tasked with making the small garden, grian goes off and gathers things for beds. he starts making them, quickly becomes overwhelmed, and instead starts putting together a big net that will hold their nest-bed suspended in the air.

he might be ignoring some symptoms of sickness that he simply brushes off as stress. a bit of tension. a couple of anxious, sleepless nights. it's fine.

(it isn't fine.)

it's when they take a break that grian finds himself too lightheaded and needs to lie down.

it's only about half an hour or so later, in the middle of them talking about some of scar's previous relationship experiences, that grian starts to feel really dizzy.

he has a fever.

and he succumbs to it fast after this.

scar wants to take him to the nest upstairs, but grian says he is too nauseous to be moved, so scar does the next best thing: cocoons grian's shivering, curled up form in blankets.

and he messages the hermits.

the hermits, who think he might be doing bad things to grian.

he tells them they need to postpone the sleepover.

he tells them grian is sick.

he asks for soup, but says not to come inside.

it... doesn't sound good. it rings some alarm bells in the heads of those hermits that are Very Concerned and Very Confused and maybe a notch paranoid. but scar stops replying. he's busy dealing with a sick grian.

and hoo boy.

grian's fever climbs sharply and mercilessly, making him delirious and disoriented. he can't tell where or when they are. he keeps talking about things that have already happened. he asks if the world is ending again. he thinks him and scar will be tossed to different servers this time. he asks for [REDACTED]. he asks for flock. he asks for kane and nico, where are they????

scar's heart is splintering and tearing to shreds as he tries to keep a grip, navigating heartache and mirror panic, trying to calm grian down.

it's at this time there comes a knock at their door.

scar can't deal with the others. not right now. not now, not now, not now.

they don't ask for permission to come in. they don't take silence as a no.

grian chirps in distress, from beffudled memories alone, and— they're worried. they can't leave it be.

they find the hole that was meant to, eventually, be a skylight.

they drop down.

mumbo, worried out of his mind. tango, here to help. impulse, last-minute joining them just to keep things reined in.

scar knows grian is out of it. he knows grian didn't want anyone else in their nest.

these are intruders.

and all grian registers are voices. all he thinks of are hunters. he sobs, terrified.

but to the others? scar's shifting into a vex form, flickering and dangerous, clutching grian who's making distressed noises, shielding him from sight.

they need to check up on grian, but they're not allowed any closer.

of course this escalates messily. and scar's afraid and hurting, but he needs to protect grian, and they aren't seeing him anyway. they don't see that he's scared. they don't see that he's cornered and helpless. they don't understand grian's current headspace, or his experiences that dictate his feverish panic.

and there's no space to explain.

... you know what. have the rp bits. as a treat <3 (this starts at the impromptu end of conversation about scar's past relationships, just for context.)

i decided not to redact some bits, for your enrichment. and to feed into the chaos. you're welcome :3c

------ RP STARTS HERE ------

SCAR

Scar takes another moment just to run his fingers over Grian’s forehead, then back into his hair, carefully folding his bangs back. In a lot of ways, early days with Grian were like that. Sharing their passions, enjoying each other’s company, nothing but fleeting touches between them that Scar would be left thinking about for days.

He thinks he may have always been a hopeless romantic.

But is it really hopeless if the man of his dreams is here before him now? Curled up in his lap and cooing so soft?

Scar hums, pleased, even if he obviously wishes the sickness weren’t part of it.

“Eventually she was invited to some exclusive server, real far off. She didn’t know when she’d be able to see me next, so… we decided to go ahead and split.” Scar says it all so casually, because it truly was a mutual decision. One of the few relationships that ended with no misunderstandings or disappointments.

Well, it was still a little sad, but they knew it was for the best.

She didn’t want to leave Scar waiting, and he wanted her to feel open to exploring her relationships to the fullest with her new server mates.

“I knew dating was always sort of secondary to her. Not as important as her art. She could do without it easily, especially if she was going somewhere with a bunch of other artists.” Scar looks down, carrying that soft smile and directing it toward Grian. “And she wanted me to be able to move on, so I could eventually meet, as she called it, the One.” He grins, remembering that being her exact phrasing. “…and that’s you.” Scar flushes a bit at his own cheesiness. “I know it.”

GRIAN

grian sighs softly at the touch through his hair, relaxing even through his shivers. his teeth chatter a little, a small frown forming between his eyebrows, but it softens a little as scar continues talking.

he tries to slot the information somewhere in his head. that this was an amicable breakup, brought on by insurmountable distance, diverging life paths. that this is something scar can still remember fondly. that this person had every trust that scar will find someone right for him, and that scar is convinced that someone is grian.

but somehow, his thoughts snag and loop, a faulty wire somewhere. distance and far away servers. distance and—

all of a sudden, he's thinking about the apocalypse that took everything from them. everything but each other, eventually.

he thinks of distance, and a faraway server.

and scar not being with him in that scary place, or grian not being there with scar.

he takes a sharp breath, head shifting and eyes opening. his gaze is feverish and intense as it finds scar. "i would've look'd for you ev'rywhere," he says, hushed but urgent, completely nonsensical.

SCAR

Scar tilts his head, confused. He can tell what Grian is saying is drenched in adoration, but it feels misplaced, like it doesn’t belong here in this particular conversation.

Scar isn’t so sure he’s going to get an explanation with Grian in this state.

“I’m right here,” Scar decides to say instead, voice soft like flower petals placed over his skin, hoping to ease whatever tension is lingering in Grian’s thoughts.

His thumb brushes just in front of Grian’s earwing, not quite touching, but grazing over those tiny feathers that permeate his skin.

“Right here.”

GRIAN

grian's gaze softens, some intensity fizzing out, even if the feverishness stays. "right here," he parrots in a weary but fond whisper, audibly relief laced. his eyes close again and he tilts his head further, chasing the touch of scar's gentle fingers.

SCAR

Scar’s glad to see Grian close his eyes, knowing he likely needs the rest. To think he was building beds and nets when he was slowly succumbing to a fever just makes Scar sad.

“For good, too,” Scar adds on, humming. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He sees his communicator buzz— it had been a few times during his story— and wonders if that means soup is here already. With a name like soup group, maybe they had it ready-to-cook.

Slowly, he shifts one hand over to take it, just to make sure he was clear about not entering the house. He’s careful to maintain soft patterns with his other, not wishing to disturb his mate.

GRIAN

for good. that sounds wonderful. it feels like a nest built around him.

grian coos, velvety and quiet, nuzzling weakly against scar. he feels him shift, but the attention to such details is slippery to grian's mind, especially as scar's touch remains on him, tracing gentle patterns.

SCAR

Scar stills for a second upon reading his messages, only drawn back into focus by the soft coo that escapes his mate’s lips. He’s quick to continue his soothing, setting the communicator down atop a half-squished pillow with a plop.

<PearlescentMoon whispers to you> Soup delivery!

<GeminiTay whispers to you> Anybody home?

<Skizzleman> anybody seen G?

<impulseSV> Skizz

<impulseSV> Don’t

<Mumbo> Did something happen??

<GeminiTay> He’s just sick!

<Tango> …sick huh?

<impulseSV> Here we go again…

GRIAN

with no idea about the turmoil spreading across the server-wide chat, grian stays curled up, leaning on scar. the silence stretches, making the space feel heavier somehow, time oddly slippery.

grian doesn't like it.

he lets out another coo, this one less stable. there's a questioning edge, something insecure and sorrowful and afraid.

SCAR

Scar blinks rapidly, eyelashes fluttering a bit as he tries to recalibrate. He can't bother with that nonsense right now, Grian needs him. That's his only priority.

"You okay, G?" Scar asks, carefully curating his voice with his practiced honeyed tones. "Soup's at the doorstep. Should be fine to leave it there, though."

GRIAN

soup's here?

grian forgot all about the soup. why's it at the doorstep?

he can't think.

he lets out another coo, pitched similarly to the last.

SCAR

"...Are you hungry?" Scar tries to guess. "I told them to leave it there for now. I'm sure it'll stay hot."

GRIAN

grian's getting increasingly more confused. who brought the soup?

they're... underground, right?

there's this horrible moment when grian can't tell where they are. or when.

"... why d'n't they c'me in?" he murmurs, thinking feverishly about flock. about nico and kane, and their worried faces.

SCAR

"You...you said you didn't want anyone in the nest?" Scar replies, nervous now.

Did he misinterpret that? Did he just cause turmoil in the chat for no reason?

GRIAN

grian looks at scar again, his gaze unfocused even as he searches scar's expression for answers that evade him. he's so confused. flock is allowed in the nest?

he chirps, unable to put the mess of his feverish, disoriented thoughts into words.

SCAR

"Shoot," Scar says, doubting his actions now. "I—I can message them again? I think the messages from Pearl and Gem were only a few minutes ago—"

GRIAN

grian stiffens, his eyes widening with more confusion.

peal and gem?

it takes him an odd, hollow moment to place those names, and then he's unthinkingly moving, rolling over, chirping in a higher pitch. the cocoon of blankets tangles around him, keeping him right where he is, unable to flare out and flap his wings.

SCAR

Scar is about a moment away from grabbing the communicator when Grian begins thrashing, and he quickly shifts to cradling him with his arms, trying to keep him in place. "Hey, heyyy, whoa... easy there, birdie, what's wrong?" Scar tries to imitate a small chirp, trying to say that it's okay if Grian can only make noises. He'll try to interpret to his best ability.

ANGE ( :D )

GRIAN

grian breathes heavily from that small amount of exertion, completely placated by scar's tight hold and the familiar rumble of his voice. dark spots blotch out his vision, and he lets himself go limp, cradled by scar's arms. safe. safe, safe, safe.

his head is so jumbled, and everything feels like a horrible dream. they're underground. there's meant to be flock here. there's meant to be—

with eyes flooding with confused tears, he whimpers. "scar?" his voice is hoarse, breaking midway through. "where's avi?"

LINK

SCAR

Scar's huddled over Grian, as if he wanted to shield him from the world. (He does.) He keeps his grip firm and shushes him softly, trying to reign him in as much as he can so he can get some sort of coherent answer, when—

Oh.

Oh no.

"Where's—" Scar chokes out, completely caught off guard by the question. He pulls away, catching sight of those tears, and suddenly his eyes are stinging as well. "I—Grian, we're..." He can't answer that. He can't, he can't. "Grian we're home."

GRIAN

grian's gaze jumps between scar's eyes. incoherency threads through his veins, spilling across his nervous system. the word home makes no sense to him.

he chirps, a quiet, mournful, quivery sound. confused and afraid.

LINK

SCAR

Scar chews at his lip, trying very hard not to lose himself to the sudden flood of panic that surged through him at those words, not to mention the sheer misery of it all as well.

"We're not there, Grian," he continues to try. "We're home. We're—"

He hears knocking at their door upstairs.

Scar's ears twitch, honestly unsure if Grian will hear it as well with how Scar is huddled over him and with the less acute hearing.

Muffled voices pool in from beyond the stairs.

...not gonna answer. ... just wants to be sure ... if it makes him feel better...

"...on Hermitcraft," Scar finishes, the word almost bitter on his tongue.

GRIAN

"i— but—" grian's oblivious to knocking or potential intruders. he sniffles, a tear falling free. he's shaking, the fever ravaging, the world gently spinning off axis around him.

he thinks scar looks a bit panicked, and it just pushes him deeper into his disoriented confusion. because— aren't they hiding? from danger? aren't they in a hideout? in a bunker, or a cave? aren't they in a nest that's incredibly makeshift, put together in a rush?

... isn't there meant to be flock here?

he chirps again, louder, still that higher pitch. fear sears through the sound, his breath turning rapid as his heart beats wildly against his ribs, even as fever presses the heavy weight of exhaustion right over his chest.

he's scared, because he can't remember. he can't remember what happened—

"where are they?" he insists, his voice verging a sob. "where is flock?"

SCAR

Scar thinks the voices stopped for a second after Grian chirps, and the reality of the giant hole in the ceiling sets in on Scar all at once. All they’d have to do is walk about the back and there’d be nothing keeping anyone from seeing the two of them.

Scar’s wings flare out around Grian as an instinctive shield.

Grian is asking about flock, and…

Well, the reality of that is that there is none here, Scar concludes dismally.

Grian didn’t want the hermits in their nest when they were constructing the party room. Grian asked for Avi. Grian’s probably thinking about Kane and Nico, too.

The hermits haven’t gotten there. They don’t know avian-brained Grian.

“[REDACTED],” Scar answers, trying to give Grian a shred of reality to grasp onto. [REDACTED]

GRIAN

[REDACTED]?

grian's mind spins, the same way the room spins around him. he feels as if the whole ground tilted with them on it. there's sea underneath the raft of the floor.

he feels sick.

he wants to close his eyes, but he finds himself staring at scar, helpless. floatingly, he remembers words about distance and faraway servers, and he thinks of hermitcraft imploding, whole chunks being lifted up into the air.

his stomach twists and lurches. the spinny feeling makes him think even more vividly of those floating chunks. maybe they're on one now?

he ducks, as if the ground really moved from underneath them. he tries to paw at scar, but his hands are still trapped, and it just makes him thrash again against the blankets, whimpering.

he wants his flock. he doesn't understand where they are.

"call them back," he whimpers. "call— avi. can— avi can come too?" he pauses, his breath stuttering as he looks up at scar with so much pleading.

he wants a bird flock. he wants to tuck him in the middle of the makeshift nest and make sure he's safe.

SCAR

Scar stares at Grian, heart actively tearing itself apart at his words and tears threatening to fall.

He hears footsteps.

He can’t do this. If they find them he’s not going to be able to untangle all of this in time, he—

“They’ll be back,” he lies, chest aching. “Shhh, shhh, listen, they’ll be back, okay?”

The words taste like acid on his tongue, burning his throat like rotten bile.

“You’re sick, Gri, let me take care of you,” Scar pleas, shutting out his surroundings so he can focus. Focus. Grian’s the only thing that matters. “Why don’t we go upstairs? If— if you puke on me, fine, I just— you should have a bath. And more blankets. And Mr. Beak.”

And medicine on his way up. And soup.

And away from the approaching hermits. Away from danger.

GRIAN

"they'll... be back?" grian repeats, in the smallest voice, each syllable threatening to snap and let it all crumble. he sniffles, another tear tumbling down his cheek as the confusion continues to tear a path through him like wildfire.

scar says their flock will be back.

he says grian is sick, and oh, maybe the world isn't ending, then?

grian feels weird. everything's fuzzy and nonsensical, memories fading and time slipping and everything melting together.

there's a sob, and it takes grian a moment to realise it came from it. "it— it feels like—" his body shakes and trembles, barely a separate thing from the shivers. he's curling up again, making himself small. with a ragged breath and tears glistening in his eyes, he looks at scar, completely missing his point about upstairs and a bath and mr beak. what leaves his lips instead is a question that's white-hot, shaking him to his core. "scar...? is the world ending again?"

SCAR / MUMBO

“What—“ Scar is reeling from all of this. It doesn’t feel unlike being trapped in a cramped terracotta bunker listening to Grian murmur thoughts of death and despair. “No, Grian, the world isn’t ending.”

Scar thinks he knew how to handle this better once upon a time.

This world has ironically shaken his confidence.

“We’re perfectly safe.” Scar continues. “We’re in our home— our house that we built.”

“Grian?” comes a voice from above, causing Scar to bristle.

His eyes flick upward and catch sight of a nervous pair of eyes peeking over the dirt hole.

Scar does not want to talk to Mumbo right now.

GRIAN

grian's eyes close and he blindly curls towards scar, deeper into his hold, lost and despondent. nothing makes sense, not even scar's reassurances.

out of all the words scar says, grian wants to hold onto one the most: safe.

and yet incoherent threats continue sinking teeth into grian's flesh. sending panic signals about how he's weak if he's sick, and they're a target, and they can't run from danger. about how their flock is missing. about how they might be hurtled into different, faraway servers this time, and— and grian doesn't know how to survive without scar, and—

he sobs loudly, his breaths becoming erratic. he hears his name, but it's not scar's voice, and he flinches hard, whimpering, until some instinct catches up and tells him to run. to grab scar and abandon the nest.

he tries to flap his wings, but finds them bound.

he doesn't process that sensation right, pitching straight into memories of traps and nets, chirping high pitched and distressed. the blankets don't hold too hard, but he just can't figure them out, unaware of what they even are.

SCAR / OTHERS

“Grian!” Mumbo exclaims, calling the attention of his other unwelcome companions.

Scar snarls, luckily muted and hidden from view by his bright wings. This is not what he needs right now. This is not what Grian needs. He needs peace and quiet and warmth and soft things—

Scar hurries to try to still Grian, shushing him as calmly as he can manage. “Hey, hey, Grian, it’s me, it’s okay, shhhh, please calm down.”

Grian said he felt nauseous. This has to be about the worst thing possible for him.

“Scar, what’s—“ Mumbo is babbling, sounding nearly as panicked as Grian. Scar doesn’t care about that though.

He thinks maybe Mumbo has fallen onto his knees up there. He thinks he might be considering popping down into their space.

Scar is not having that.

Strangers are not allowed in the nest, get out, get out.

“Grian, look at me,” Scar tries, urgent and insistent. “We’re safe, we’re okay, I— I’m gonna take you upstairs.”

“Whoa there, skippy, I don’t think you should be taking him anywhere!” comes Tango of all people.

Scar eyes glow a faint blue, feeling cornered, while all of his body language shifts into that of defensive and protective, wrapped around Grian fully with his wings blocking the intruders from view.

He desperately attempts to lift.

GRIAN

grian sobs, quieter, against scar's soft, frantic shushes. he wants to believe that everything's okay, but scar doesn't sound okay, and there are all these other voices, rising up and loud, coming closer.

scar pleads for grian to look at him, and dizzily, he does, his eyesight blurred by hot tears. he's breathing too fast, which is just inviting more lightheadedness; he shakes in scar's grip, whimpering as scar repeats the promises that they're okay.

desperately, grian tries to hold onto that.

he chirps, still distressed but now also pleading, a sound meant only for scar's ears but all too loud and grating to not be heard by anyone else in the vicinity.

his wings still feel so horribly bound.

he chokes on a sob. "scar, help."

he needs to be freed and— and they need to run, right? they need to go? scar says they'll go upstairs. grian tries to get his hands free, wanting to hold onto him, but he's bundled up too tight in scar's arms to really manage with his feeble strength.

his stomach churns, acidic, turning and twisting with the uptick of stress and panic. he sobs again, terrified that they're about to be caught.

SCAR / OTHERS

Focus, Scar thinks frantically. Focus, focus.

He can’t let the anger from the intrusion overcome him. He can’t get defensive here, even if he’s certain one unwelcome step into their makeshift nest will set him off.

Grian is squirming in his arms, chirping as he relives some phantom experience, and Scar knows this can’t look good. He has to stay calm, he has to keep him under control.

But then Grian begs for his help and it’s like the mirage shatters around him, except this time it’s reality fragmenting before his very eyes, twisting and mutating into something horrible and so much more dire.

Grian’s sobbing, but for a second Scar sees him despondent, face torn open and wings drenched in blood. He hears voices and it’s like white noise, a vague threat, unwelcome.

Scar looks around frantically.

He doesn’t know which way Nadia is—

“Scar, buddy, hey, why dontcha just put Grian down and we can aaaaaall relax—“

Scar’s wings flare out to their full span, one dipping over Grian as a shield. No one can see him. No one can ogle those feathers. No one, no one.

“Sc–Scar, what’s going on?”

Scar sees movement. Someone jumps down and instantly he’s crouched low, holding Grian tighter as his eyes glow blue.

“Scar…”

He’s supposed to be calm, he’s supposed to be gentle, he’s failing, he’s failing, but he can’t let them near—

Scar’s entire body flickers blue and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Stay back,” he strains through sharpened teeth, voice low like a snarl. “You—“

(You aren’t welcome here.)

(You’re making things worse.)

(You’re lucky I don’t slay you right here and now.)

Scar’s voice breaks, desperate and frightened by his own shattering psyche. “You’re scaring him.”

GRIAN / OTHERS

the sense of danger continues building up around grian, fueling his fear, overexerting his already sickness-weakened body. his heart continues ramming a fast, painful rhythm, and the ache across his chest just serves to make grian more scared.

scar's hold on him is firm, and grian doesn't know whether to feel comfort (he's protected, it's okay, scar's got him), or more panic (there's a threat, scar can't fight if he's gripping grian, why aren't they running?) choking on sobs that he's unable to stop, grian presses his forehead into scar's shoulder; the heat of his fever can surely be felt through scar's shirt, scalding hot. there's a familiar, faint tingling, something grian's learned to attune himself to and recognise—the electrifying current of scar's magic, a warning, a preparation. a wing slings in front of grian like a glowing shield.

mumbo's standing in the bunker, jolting still at scar's accusation and the display of his vex magic. "i'm scaring him?" he stammers, incredulous and not understanding. "mate, i think he's asking to be let go," he hazards, navigating the distressing pitch of chirps and sobs with anxious misguidedness.

tango's now crouching at the edge of the hole, also intending to descend. "yeah, just let us see him. you've got nothing to hide, right? why make this worse?"

a third pair of footsteps makes it to the unfinished skylight, peering down at the situation with a tense "uhoh," trying to read what exactly is happening here. he isn't sure yet, but some alarm in his head goes off.

with straining breaths through his sobs, grian's dizziness only gets worse. even as he's securely held, he can't escape the violent sensation of the world spinning fast. his stomach tightens, burning with acid, stress overloading all of grian's already muddied senses. there are voices around him, louder, closer, but they don't process right; they're just an incoherent noise, a call of hunters saying we found them, making everything collapse in on him and scar. it feels like they're surrounded and, fearfully, grian presses himself further against scar, burrowing in as much as he can with all his limbs still tangled into the blanket net.

he should've been more careful.

he shouldn't have triggered the trap.

his eyes are tightly shut, overflowing with tears. behind his closed eyelids, he can see, vividly, avi's terrified look as he's caught in another trap.

a vile kind of panic spreads through him, sharper and more damaging than the previous one, drawing a terrified chirp out of him. the sound breaks on a sob like waves violently crashing into a jagged cliffside, and he desperately tries to take a breath through it all. to speak.

it's awful; he's so horribly lightheaded and nothing makes sense. but he has to— he has to say this, has to make sure scar hears, has to beg for this one thing above all else. he chokes out, wobbly and halting and small enough to be coherent only for scar, and only if he can spare enough attention to listen. "ple— please don't— don't le— leave him behind—"

SCAR / OTHERS

Scar tenses, briefly glancing down at Grian as he wonders whether or not he truly has been misinterpreting it all, if Grian wants to be let go like Mumbo claims. But no, Scar can feel that feverish haze pressed into his shoulder, desperate and clingy, and his expression sharpens, eyes narrowing in Mumbo’s direction.

No, Mumbo knows nothing.

Still, Scar shrinks under Tango’s accusations, reminding him that he ought to have nothing to hide. He doesn’t, just— he can’t let them see. He can’t let anyone see the tears and the panic and the bright violet hues.

Scar knows he’s being irrational but his wings simply won’t budge, one flung out in some innate danger response and the other curled around like a very necessary shield. They twitch but don’t move.

All Scar can manage is to turn them slightly transparent. A barely willing compromise.

Even his vision is flickering blue.

…Grian’s words make him see white.

He’s vividly tossed back in time, hobbled over and bloodied, barely hanging on, watching as [REDACTED]

Grian’s begging him not to let history repeat itself, he knows, he—

Scar takes a stumbling step backward, blankets curling around his feet and threatening to drag him down.

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not go going anywhere, pal,” Tango insists as he leaps down to join Mumbo, carefully touching his shoulder in solidarity. He’s jittery here, not liking he prospect of staring down an angry vex in the slightest, a totem gripped in his other hand. “We’re just here to help.”

Tears break past Scar’s eyes and he hiccups, struggling to stay above water, barely grappling with reality as it continues to shatter before him.

He can’t do this alone. He’s scared, he’s slipping, he’s making it all worse.

He… he should have nothing to hide.

“He’s sick,” Scar pleads again, voice hoarse and not at all his own. Blue wisps escape with every word. “He–e has a fever, he’s not— he’s not thinking straight.”

God, are they going to believe that?

Do they believe anything he says? That a crazed vex says?

Scar looks at Grian again, desperation hanging off his tongue. “Grian, you— I—“ He doesn’t even want to suggest it, but they probably need to hear from him. “We…we’re safe, okay? I promise, I… d-do you want me to put you down?”

GRIAN / OTHERS

scar's suggestion is the only thing grian hears with any semblance of coherency, and it makes his lungs spasm and his heart ache. he shakes his head in panic, forehead still pressed against scar, the sharp motion rapidly destabilising the world around him until it spins in a nauseating blur. "no no no don't leave, please, don't don't don't," he chokes out, crying.

the sharpness of that reaction freezes mumbo, sends everything in him careening into doubt.

it's this moment impulse takes his cue to join in. he jumps down, touching tango's arm just as tango is taking a breath to speak, feet moving to step forwards. impulse stops him, gently, even as tension drips from his voice. "tango, wait."

grian's sobs fill the air; the transparency of scar's wings doesn't offer much more clarity. all impulse can tell is that the avian is shaking.

but his eyes draw higher, meeting scar's. his gaze softens at the sight of tears, and he lifts his hands up placatingly, the gesture feeling like lowering of a weapon. "scar." his voice is quiet, just loud enough to be heard. he tries to keep it calm, even as his nerves are fraying with the situation. "you aren't going to run off with him anywhere, right? it's okay. we won't hurt you guys."

mumbo's eyes widen at that, gaze whipping from impulse to scar—for the first time noting the tears in the vex's eyes. "oh, gosh, no, we aren't here to hurt anyone!" he echoes, distraught.

SCAR / OTHERS

Scar tightens his grip, pulling Grian up higher and whispering soft nothings, assuring him that he’ll stay, that he hears him, he wouldn’t leave him, not ever.

Scar tenses up when yet another person enters their space, but visibly relaxes when he recognizes Impulse’s voice, something steady and yielding to the way that he speaks. It’s the only voice that doesn’t distort into that of a hunter’s call in Scar’s rattled mind.

Slowly, Scar pulls his leg back in, shaking as he gives up on the half-step he was taking away. “I… I know that,” he fibs, because part of him doesn’t believe them. “But Grian doesn’t. N–not right now.”

Tango appears unconvinced, making a short grumbling sound that Impulse cuts off with a light shove.

Impulse recognizes this scene. Maybe it’s just the flicker of Scar’s wings, but Grian appears to have that same glossed over look in his eye that he had the day they found them— unrecognizing, inconsolable.

It isn’t good.

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian's sobs quiet down a little at the soft assurances, but the world keeps swirling and swimming.

mumbo lets out a choked noise, not willing to reconcile with the idea that grian might not recognise them as safe—despite all the hints of their early days on the server post-rescue. he thinks of grian, bruised and bitten and flinching, and he can't let this go. he can't. "please," he begs. "i just want to see him."

impulse looks at mumbo, then back at scar. he's holding out his arm, in case the others would have the stupid thought of moving forwards.

he needs to bargain here, and it's hard.

he tries to hold onto the way scar let pearl at least somewhat close, that day when they pulled scar and grian from that awful world, grian's wing tangled in a horrible trap that tore at it. pearl wasn't allowed to touch, but she was allowed to help, and maybe they could arrive at something similar here, too.

"scar...?" impulse says, gentle and calm again. (it's only the smallest of wobbles that betrays him.) "do you think you could sit down? you don't have to let go of him, just, let us see? we don't have to come close." and then, after a breath, he tentatively pushes with another suggestion: "i think if you're calm about it, it might help him calm down too. you don't have to get away from him."

"yes he does!" tango protests.

impulse whips to face him. "tango!" he snaps back.

grian flinches in scar's arms at the raised tones, letting out another loud, terrified chirp, curling into scar for protection. he's back to sobbing louder, all of scar's comfort undone in one swift go.

SCAR

Scar’s wings sag the slightest bit, drawn in by the soft promises Impulse is laying out, but still hesitant to follow.

Sitting down would mean giving up an easy escape route. They could be lying. He could be cornered. This could all be a ploy to get him to lower his guard.

Tango’s outburst does not help settle that fear.

Scar grits his teeth together, a few stray tears falling as he struggles to form words. “Stop yelling,” he demands, light blue magic slipping past sharpened teeth.

He’s back to soothing Grian, not yet yielding and not at all regarding Mumbo’s request.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, okay? I’m—“ He looks over the three pairs of eyes— fearful, disdainful, concerned— and focuses in on Impulse. “They’re… friends.” (Not flock.) “I’m just gonna… kneel down here, okay?” (A small compromise.)

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian continues crying, albeit a little bit quieter again. just a notch. it's hard to tell if scar's soothing is working, or if he's just tiring himself out.

tango, to his credit, seems a bit alarmed by the reaction he's gotten. but he is still relentlessly wary, suspicious of this whole situation.

impulse can tell, and it keeps him tense. he wishes he could just tell tango and mumbo to leave, but he knows they wouldn't budge. not now. not when things are like this.

he holds back a sigh, looking grian's way. "yeah, we're friends," he echoes, soft, trying to sound harmless and encouraging.

he isn't even sure grian's listening to him. he isn't sure he can recognise his voice. it feels awful.

he doesn't think tango and mumbo realise the extent of what's happening. that if grian's mind is scrambled with the sickness, he might not be mentally present here. on hermitcraft. he might be stuck somewhere else entirely, and the thought of it pains impulse.

the least they can do is play along.

the least he can do is try to deescalate this whole thing.

"c'mon," he tugs at tango and mumbo, voice low. "let's sit down."

"wh— i don't want—" tango starts in protest, but impulse holds his gaze, steady.

"shh," he reminds him, shutting tango up.

"oh gosh," mumbo lets out, wobbly, and slowly lowers himself down to the floor.

impulse does the same, dragging tango down with him.

"see?" impulse looks back at scar, trying to offer a small smile. "we're not gonna go closer if you guys aren't ready. we're at the same level here. it's okay." he's willing to be patient here, but he worries that tango and mumbo might not be.

SCAR

Scar stares for a long moment, fidgeting between trust and opportunity, wondering if he could run. If he could take them down if they’re going to make themselves vulnerable like this.

His ears twitch with alarm at the mere thought, catching himself before he can spiral further into delusion.

Carefully, he lowers himself to the ground, knelt down on both knees so he could easily spring back into action.

“We aren’t ready,” Scar confirms, warily eyeing the lot of them.

His eyes are still bright blue, though slightly less fiery. His chest flickers occasionally, a warm white light. His wing lowers by only an inch.

He allows himself one moment of weakness, eyes flicking back down toward the shivering avian in his arms. “… I promise a warm bath after this, okay?” he whispers, though his voice carries, still too ragged from pressed together fangs. “W–we’re gonna be fine.”

GRIAN / OTHERS

impulse nods. he knows they aren't ready, but he hopes hearing that helps the others settle too. "we'll wait. take it slow. make sure he's okay," he coaxes, tone soft. hoping, desperately, that tango and mumbo won't mess this up. that they understand and will follow his lead. "we're not getting any closer. you have space." he pauses, and then he adds, a bit of heartache slipping into his voice: "you're safe, i promise."

grian recognises that they went down, slow and controlled. scar's hold is still tight and secure, and he's talking to him softly, and grian scrambles to understand what's happening. they're... not in danger anymore? scar says they're going to be fine.

with a tired coo, grian nuzzles into his shoulder. he trusts him, even as he still sniffles, tears dripping down.

his body feels awful, and his wings twitch, only to find themselves still tangled. it's that sensation that prompts another miserable sob from him, albeit less panic-driven. "take it off," he pleads, begging scar to untangle the trap that restricts him. "take it— scar, hurts," he whines.

the blanket doesn't actually hurt. his body aches from the fever and extertion, but his head tells him that pressure against his wings ought to be painful, and so that's what it is. the fear mistranslates into pain—or maybe just inevitability of the pain if this goes on, he isn't actually sure—the memories more vivid than reality itself.

SCAR

Scar nods slowly, wings lowering just a little bit more. He can see the tension actively begin to roll off of Mumbo, but for some reason that doesn’t comfort Scar in the slightest.

He tries to offer gratitude toward Impulse in some way, but then his attention is dragged back to Grian, ears flicking as he grows rigid and attentive once more.

“Take…?” Scar questions, looking Grian over in confusion before it finally clicks. “The— oh.”

He shifts a little, resting Grian’s weight firmly on his legs, and slowly peels away a few layers of blankets, trying to simply loosen them up and allow for his wings to slip free.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Scar assures him, voice already growing much softer, no more wisps escaping when he speaks. “There you go… ‘m sorry.”

GRIAN / OTHERS

it's the word hurts on grian's tongue that has mumbo jolting, and impulse has to react fast, grabbing him and keeping him still. "stay calm," he hisses under his breath, quiet enough to be intended only for their trio.

"do you really expect us just to sit here," tango hisses back, "when grian just said he's being hurt?"

impulse exhales, long and tense. "that's not what he said. and he asked scar to fix it. he said," he stresses, somehow still managing to keep his voice hushed and low, "he wants scar to stay near him. so sit. still. and wait."

grian, in the meanwhile, squirms as the blanket layers gets peeled off, feeling the pressure relent. he breathes out, a bit more steadily, forehead still firmly against scar. some of his crying tapers off once he can twitch his wings and feel no resistance—and the loosened blankets let his hands free, too. he uses this immediately to grab onto scar's shirt, depletedly holding on.

"thanks." he sniffles. and then he asks, feeling small and vulnerable, his heart still frightened: "are we safe...?"

SCAR

“Yes,” Scar replies, even if he doesn’t feel safe in the slightest. He feels under attack, though perhaps at least not physically. “…we’re having a sitting party.”

It’s a bit of a nonsensical thing to say, but Scar is trying desperately to reel himself in here. His eyes are only barely green, a blue sheen still hiding them away. He feels tense and uneasy, watching Tango in particular now with narrowed vision.

It flicks to Mumbo, accusatory in his stare. “I said we didn’t want visitors,” Scar states, guarded. “So why are you here?”

GRIAN

it is a bit nonsensical, the words sitting party taking a while to slot in grian's mind. but if they're having a party, that means there is someone else, right? the memories of the confusing, threatening voices feels fuzzy to grian. the danger has passed, the hunters are gone. they wouldn't be sitting down, wings released, having a party of all things otherwise—and scar confirmed they're safe.

which means...

maybe scar called them over, like grian asked?

he relaxes a little bit more, even as he still continues to wade his confusion. "flock...?" he asks in a tiny coo.

he's leaning his head on scar's shoulder, staring blankly off in the direction of scar's other shoulder, not focused on anything in particular. his vision still swims.

SCAR

“… Friends,” Scar corrects, because they’re not. “… They’re just—“ Scar swallows down some bitterness, trying to stay calm. “—worried about you.”

And then he looks back to Mumbo, eyes glowing a bit brighter again as he waits for his answer.

(They’re worried about Grian. Not him. Unless being worried of him counts.)

GRIAN / OTHERS

"mhn?" grian makes a confused sound at the word friends. it doesn't want to slot anywhere in his head. who?

mumbo, in the meanwhile, shrinks under scar's sharp attention. "we were worried," he offers, nothing more than a repeat of what scar's just said himself.

tango steps in, pointing out: "you said he was sick. we wanted to check in on him."

SCAR

Scar’s ears droop at Grian’s clear inability to recognize the concept. But frankly, he doesn’t blame him.

With a sigh, Scar scans the three of them again, looking them over for any sign of trouble, but he notes a distinct lack of anything, which makes him frown.

“So, what? Did you bring medicine?” he asks rhetorically, because he knows the answer. “Soup? Blankets? Bath salts?”

His eyes narrow with each question.

OTHERS

there's a very clear faltering across the whole group. they exchange glances, slightly nervous.

"i— we—" mumbo stammers, face flushing. he's suddenly feeling very uneasy. chastised. he stares at the bundle scar's holding, what he at first was so sure was a distressed avian probably really just a feverish one, and it makes him deflate. he didn't think past the anxiety enough to consider that scar might be telling the truth. (he's still not sure. he still needs to see grian, properly. he still wants to check.) (but the scales of probability are tipping in a way that makes him feel off balance and out of place.)

impulse sighs. he didn't have time to stop them long enough to ask them to be sensible and bring something for grian if he truly is sick. he is here as a chaperone and—oh boy is he glad he came. he can't imagine how this would've panned out otherwise.

"you weren't replying on the comms," tango soldiers through, still frowning, still a touch confrontational. he doesn't like the way scar's looking at him. doesn't like all his sharp edges. doesn't like the feeling that scar's still hiding something. "we didn't know what you need." he pulls slightly back, straightening up. "do you need anything?" he challenges. there already was a soup delivery by the front door, and it certainly doesn't seem like they're low on blankets.

SCAR

“I was a little preoccupied,” Scar replies dryly, frustrated that he’s still being questioned. “I’d think it’s customary to bring at least some sort of gift,” Scar continues to pry, not letting it go. Not letting it slide that they clearly came here out of fear instead of assistance. “But sure, sure, we certainly wouldn’t say no to some minty bath salts or some tea leaves.”

Scar briefly wonders if that’s all it would take to make this unwelcome trio leave. He doubts it.

“Or, you know, some peace and quiet so he can get some rest,” Scar concludes, tight jawed and eyebrows furrowed. At least his eyes are back to green.

OTHERS

mumbo recognises that they're being thrown out, but it just makes him dig his heels in. "we can bring some tea, but— but scar—"

it's tango who breaks this line drawn in the sand again, encroaching on a minefield territory. "we still haven't seen grian." because this sliver they can see right now doesn't count. it doesn't say anything about whether or not grian's hurt, underneath it all. even if grian begs for scar to be close. honestly, tango doesn't consider grian the best judge of that right now. unhealthy attachments exist!

SCAR

Scar exhales through his nose, slow and barely steady.

Reluctantly, he lowers his wing, allowing an unobstructed gaze, though he makes no effort to close the distance between them. He doesn’t want that line broken.

“…happy?”

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian registers scar's wing falling away, and it makes him feel oddly exposed. grian isn't sure to whom; scar said their flock isn't here, but that they're safe. still, he ducks, hiding his face in scar's chest. that way, he can pretend he's still shielded. that way, he can pretend the world can't hurt him. (the way he can feel scar's breaths is just a nice, soothing bonus. scar's right here, alive, right next to him. perfectly in reach, as grian's fingers tug at him.) (he closes his eyes, willing the surroundings to stop tipping around them. his feathers fluff up lightly.)

mumbo makes another strangled noise, and he moves as if to stand up, compelled to go closer. to check. to—

to be there.

grian's his friend, and there wasn't a time when mumbo wasn't allowed to be near. to take care of him when he feels unwell.

with blankets and grian's wings still firmly in the way, and grian's whole body turned away from them, mumbo still can't see anything. so no, he isn't happy.

"... grian?" he tries, calling out to him, coaxing him to look his way as he gets up to his wobbly feet.

SCAR

Scar bristles again, wings twitching as he instinctively growls, low and mercifully non-threatening, but it certainly doesn’t sound that way to an untrained ear.

These are untrained ears.

Scar registers the flinch in varying degrees from all three of them, and his ears twitch, then droop again in shame.

He can’t do this. He can’t let someone else close. It doesn’t matter how fidgety and awkward Mumbo is, Scar doesn’t trust him to come close.

Mumbo who says foolish things; Mumbo who looks at him like a stranger; Mumbo who cares so much that Scar can’t help but feel strangled by it as it weaves around him, passing him by and threatening to smother Grian in his disturbed state.

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian makes an inquisitive mewl, a soft and small sound, unworried at scar's growl. he knows it's not threatening, so he just gently prods, inquiring as to what's wrong. what's bothering scar?

pointedly, he doesn't react to mumbo's call at all. as if he didn't even register it.

tango's rising to his feet now, too, but impulse puts a hand on his shoulder.

it doesn't deter tango, and they both stand up. still far away, but in a way the three of them are now towering over kneeling scar, looking down with varying emotions.

"we'll get you some tea," impulse says, quiet, measured. he's looking directly at scar. he's trying to tell him that he sees him. that he doesn't blame him, no matter how stifling and explosive this situation is turning out to be.

"impulse!" tango squeaks, indignant, protesting. "he's hiding something!"

impulse's gaze cuts sharply to tango. "keep your voice down!" he hisses, frowning, then sighs. he understands they're anxious, but lines do need to be drawn.

for grian's sake as well as for scar's.

impulse looks back at scar, tries to soften all the jaggedness from his pooling tension. "do you think you can get him to sleep? rest a little?" he suggests. "we will come back with the tea. if grian's asleep— we can look at him then? so he won't be scared of us?" he bites at his lip, and then adds: "just look. and we can help if you'll need anything else from us, yeah?" it's a gentle proposal, an attempt to find a tightrope that won't send them all careening towards some awful abyss.

SCAR

Scar feels so horribly small knelt down like this in front of people that are seemingly hellbent on misinterpreting his every move. His wings fall to the ground at the insinuation of him hiding something once again.

He’s not. He’s hiding Grian maybe, but he was scared— he asked for help and this is how Scar would help…

Scar trembles under the spotlight of their gazes, even if Impulse’s is softer. He feels like he can’t move— like he isn’t allowed.

“I… I want him to rest,” Scar agrees weakly, nodding once in exhausted misery. “You… yeah. You can check on him then.”

He still hates it. Hates the idea of someone in their nest. Hates that he’s still being more or less monitored, hates that he can’t be trusted with what he knows best.

Scar looks down to Grian, eyes big, barely holding back the fear that seeps into that forest green. “Can I take you upstairs? …nest?”

GRIAN / OTHERS

impulse softens further at scar's agreement, hearing the fatigue and defeat in his voice. it makes his heart ache, even more when he thinks about everyone else overlooking that. "alright... thank you, scar," he says gently.

then his eyes flick to find the exit, realising they're going to have to walk past.

"can we... leave? or do you want us to wait until you go first?" impulse checks nervously, gaze jumping between scar and the avian he's cradling. he has a feeling scar doesn't want them here any longer than necessary, but impulse isn't sure if getting closer only for the sake of walking out is what he needs.

"or we can dirt pillar up," mumbo suggests with a nervous little laugh, attempting nonchalance and jokes, even as everything in him still rails against this. he's drawn forward, towards grian, like a moth to a flame. he wants to check him over, touch his skin, care for him. he doesn't realise he's completely disregarding scar in this scenario. doesn't realise he sees him as nothing but a mad guard dog, standing in his way for no reason.

"you're giving up?" tango huffs, tail swishing.

"i— what?" mumbo laughs again, more nervously this time. "we'll be back."

"what, so he can cover up his tracks?" tango pushes, frowning. all too aware that a potion or two are enough to hide most injuries. and an asleep grian can't answer any check-up questions.

it's impulse who growls now. "tango. scar isn't our enemy. he's our friend. maybe you should start treating him as such."

"i— wh— but—" tango stammers, completely taken off guard, ears pulling low.

grian, in the meanwhile, reacts to scar's careful, gentle question. his unfocused gaze lifts up, seeking to anchor in familiar green, feeling fragmented and vulnerable and still sick. "nest," he echoes, impossibly sad and hopeful, yearning. he sniffles, not paying their surroundings any attention; the memories still swirl through him, and nothing quite feels real.

nothing but scar.

he tips forward, wraps his arms around scar's shoulders in a weak hug, clinging to him in a position that makes it easy to carry him.

"... can the bucket come with us?" he half-jokes hoarsely.

SCAR

Turns out it doesn’t feel good being spoken about like he isn’t right there, and Scar finds himself slumping forward in defeat, misery seeping deep into his bones.

His chest flickers once more, eyes clouded with a blue fog that only fades when Grian wraps his arms around. Grian, who does trust him and is deserving of his love and attention.

Wretchedly, Scar swallows down his anxieties, does his best to ignore the unwelcome surroundings. He doesn’t even provide them an answer, instead leaning down to kiss Grian’s (still dreadfully warm) forehead.

“Anything you need, G,” he croaks, rising on incredibly wobbly feet and hooking the handle of the bucket with his pinky.

Wordlessly, he turns his back to his intruders and begins walking upstairs, unable to bear their presence any longer. His wings flick and tremble, uncomfortable being exposed to what he still inevitably seems as enemies.

(It’s only fair considering how he’s actively antagonized.)

“So sorry about all this moving around…” Scar continues murmuring, feeling entirely off balance, but managing to stay steady only because Grian is in his arms. “We’ll get nice and comfy, alright? And our guests can bring the soup in.”

That’s the only acknowledgment they get.

GRIAN

grian lets out a soft noise at the kiss, a mix of comforted and still absolutely miserable. he isn't sure if he feels hot or cold, and his body aches. the nausea is ever-present, making any move a wretched matter, especially when coupled with his still spinning head.

he tries to hold onto scar a bit firmer, but his strength isn't there. he groans, whimpering. "slow," he pleads, not knowing how else to mitigate this.

he really doesn't want to puke if he can help it. although maybe having it over would feel better than this.

SCAR

“Slow,” Scar parrots, purposely stilling himself for a moment before continuing at a steadier pace. He didn’t realize he was rushing, honestly, but it makes sense.

He wants those eyes off of his back.

He thinks he hears the sound of pillaring blocks, and that’s likely for the best.

“Nice and slow,” he confirms again, trying to keep Grian level once they’re past the steps.

aaaand i’ll wrap it up with that. :3