Chapter Text
He was so, so cold. He wasn’t moving -
he was falling -
there was a hand on his forehead and another braced against the back of his neck -
there weren’t any hands in the place he never wanted to remember but always returned to when alone there weren’t necks there wasn’t the pull of fabric across his arms when someone tucked them under a blanket
the blanket wasn’t enough, but he turned on his side to burrow deeper nonetheless. His wings - he drew them closer around himself, determined to warm up, but a gentle grip pulled them back to lay behind him. Other hands returned to his hair and neck, fingers under his jaw for a moment before continuing something repetitive. “Shh,” their owner wasn’t far. If he’d ever learned how to reach out - he would’ve. “Back to sleep, love. Giv’it another day, alright?”
“C- cold,” he protested. His wings. If he could just - but the hands stayed, wrists at an angle that told him their person was positioned behind him. One in front, one behind… but his thoughts were scrambled enough he couldn’t pick which way to tumble from bed, to run. “Please?”
Nervous shifting behind him. “He’s really not alright, is he.” It wasn’t a question. The grip loosened for a second before changing - instead of pulling back, it relaxed. Thumbs followed the lines of his feathers. He released a shaky breath, humming at the way it felt warm and rotten in his throat.
The hand under his neck disappeared. Bottles near his head - a table? - clinked softly together. “It’s good we didn’ keep going any longer, but he’ll be on his feet soon enough-”
“No, I mean - you know what I mean. That - well.” A throat cleared. “We didn’t see it.”
“I figure we did, we just didn’ realize we did.”
Footsteps crossed behind him. A rustle of fabric. The second voice muffled, like the owner had his face against someone else’s jacket, and hushed, like he had things to say he didn’t want to. For some reason - Grian could see this with his eyes closed. A ridiculously tall frame hunched over to hide in a shorter one, if only for a moment. “I feel like a bad friend, Stress.”
“Then we all are. Then he is. You can’t beat yourself up over this one, love. He was determined to run ‘imself into the ground.”
“He was fighting it like a…” The floorboards creaked as the taller straightened. A hand returned to his shoulder, adjusting the blanket. “...a real war.”
A second hand on his shoulder, taking the first one away. Guiding. “There’s a lot I think he hasn’t told anyone.” It isn’t just you went unspoken. There were - there were more words in the air. But Grian had never learned to reach out. Didn’t know how to grab.
And he was so tired. And very cold. And there was a fire nearby, crackling, and gentle voices saying many things but very few out loud.
“Can I…?”
“Mmhm. I’ll leave ya here and False to come fix the wounds. But if you don’t come get food later, I’ll get Joe to explain the -” She laughed quietly, voice pitching deeper to imitate. “- values of a regular mealtime.”
When he finally slept, the closed eye of his mask blinked up at him.
He coughed himself awake.
Something rattled deep in his lungs at the irritation. When he twisted to lean over the edge of his bed - something was rising in his throat - the sheets around his legs and wings tangled him up and he almost fell out. One arm bracing himself against the cold floor, the other gripping the bed - he laid there and breathed for a handful of moments.
Cold floor. Bed?
He was - Grian pulled himself up to look around, the pounding in his head forcing a jagged gasp out of him. The walls were a familiar shade. This had to be Xisuma’s base. It had to be. And that meant -
The war. He was in an enemy’s base. He was at the heart of one.
Think, he told himself. Think! How did you get here??
That lousy flag. They’d been so close. And he’d - he remembered shielding Mumbo with his wings, telling his friend to run. Facing off against X, being surrounded. Getting caught. Oh no.
He gritted his teeth, doing his best to swing his legs out of bed while gripping his head desperately. He’d been caught by the enemy. He knew his rules for this, the ones he’d learned. He didn’t know if they applied to the hermits but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out, and if he was right - his own team wouldn’t come back for him. Mumbo’s situation had been. Well. A testament to the weakness They couldn’t train out of Grian.
“I can’t - they can’t -” Stars, his head. And now that he thought about it - the scratches all down his arms, back, legs. The arrow wounds between his feathers. He blinked, lowering his hands to shift one wing into his lap.
The feathers were clean and neat; at least, the ones not hidden by gently layered bandages. White, fresh. Whoever had been keeping him here while the others fought - they’d done a good job. Probably False, if her first aid skills matched her passion for fighting. And a False guarding him, while she was merciful with the patching up, did not bode well for his escape.
From his palms to above his elbows was more of the clean bandaging, only specks of blood darkening the fabric. When he curled his hands to fists, he barely felt the sting. So potions, too. They were probably the only reason he could even consider standing. Which - that was his next task. Augh.
He pushed up from the bed, shivering from both the effort and how cold he still felt. One step at a time, G, he convinced himself. The room isn’t that long, promise.
The room was, in fact, long.
Finally collapsing against the doorframe gave him a second to catch his breath, which meant more hacking coughs. He screwed up his face, waiting out the horrible burn from how shredded his throat was. Hm. Sleepless nights protecting everyone didn’t pay off well for him in the end.
Oh stars, everyone else. Had he protected them?? Was the main battle still going? How long had he been asleep for? Grian squinted in the low light of the room. He thought he could remember voices, in here. And of course False taking care of him probably meant their best fighter wasn’t on the battlefield, which meant either the battle was long over or Team STAR was so confident in their victory that they didn’t need her. Both options sucked.
And he wasn’t there to protect them from the end. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t - he wasn’t there and he couldn’t protect them because if anything he’d learned over the past few weeks, it was they didn’t feel the need to do so themselves. Who else would - who would -
Naivety was a weakness and mercy was a luxury and the moon still rose whether you lived or died and the void still chewed away the underside of the world if you bothered raising your shield or not. Those were the rules he knew. Those were the stakes he lived. He had to get back to them. It wasn’t a game anymore - not that he’d ever treated it like one. Not that he could.
There wasn’t much in this room he could use. His fingers were pale from holding the wall to keep himself upright - he let go and stepped out, stifling a quiet whine at how the ground warped and bobbed under him. Crossing as fast as he could to the table - nothing. Not even empty bottles for glass shards. No pickaxe, no axe, no sword. He didn’t have any choice.
He was so low on energy already and he didn’t want to. The thought had him biting back a childish sob. Couldn’t he ever not do things just because he didn’t want to? “It doesn’t...it doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Have to.”
Slipping to the ground in the doorway. Wings crossed behind him, fluffed with anxiety, raising instinctually. A raspy chirr in the bottom of his throat. He cradled his hands on his lap and let his eyes slip shut; only when his eyes closed did he realize how exhausted he still was, how much merely walking had taken out of him. But he shook it off and focused on his fingertips.
Natural body armor wouldn’t do him well, he was built for speed. But simple weapons - that, he could do. He breathed through the noises he couldn’t suppress, and turned the air to whispers in another tongue. When he opened his eyes - yeah. Still got it.
Sharp, void-black talons. Claws where his fingertips should be. Light dancing off them like stars between worlds. One of a selection of features he could bring to existence at will.
Ah and - the headache was ten times worse. He groaned, doubling forwards, tangling his hands in his hair carefully. The entire line of his back tensed as he rode out the swell of pain, just sitting. Just sitting.
A benefit to hurting so badly you can’t think, he supposed, when it subsided and he rocked to his knees, was not being able to think. But now: there was False in Xisuma’s base, guarding him. There were potions in his bloodstream keeping him conscious and somewhat steady, but they could run out at any second. There were the lives of his team, fates indeterminate. And there was him, kneeling, claws dug into the ground.
He stifled another cough, letting his fear stretch a grin across his face. “You’ve got this - you don’t have a choice.”
The fever didn’t help him navigate X’s place. He rarely got out of his own, before the war, to know the ins and outs of someone else’s (besides Mumbo’s, which was a given). But in the time after leaving his... room? cell? the flush in his chest rose to overtake his shoulders, neck, face. Even the tips of his ears burned, the sickly heat making it hard to keep his eyes open or his shivering down.
If he’d been sick in peacetime, maybe he would’ve had a sleepover at Mumbo’s base; maybe he’d be calling out quietly to locate his best friend. Being captured in wartime, however, meant he kept his mouth closed and his footsteps light. Hollow bird bones had never served him any better, really.
He almost stopped to catch his breath (again) when he froze at the sound of voices nearby. Soft, hushed conversation, not loud or commanding. He almost relaxed before he caught himself. I can’t let them down again, it could be False -
He stumbled closer, barely daring to make any noise. He could definitely pick out False’s voice, along with X and Impulse. Why was most of Team STAR here??
“Is that…”
“No, why would he…”
“Give me a second, I’ll check-”
Grian flattened himself against the wall as footsteps picked their way towards the corner he’d stopped in. “Hello?” A shuffle. “Grian, is that you? Are you up?”
He wouldn’t have another chance like this again, not with False away from the rest of her team. He had to take it.
Not a single expression crossed his face as he leveraged himself forwards, off the wall, to lash out at False. She flinched with just the slightest surprise before dodging and letting him stumble past. “Gri-”
He shrieked, feathers puffed and wings spread. His talons snagged the fabric of her sleep sweater as he dove for another pass. “Grian! It’s alright, it’s alright-”
If he could just take her out, their side would be weakened and his would have a chance, he couldn’t let them down again, not like his failure and capture already had. “You’re safe, I promise, we’re all in Xisuma’s base and we’re not far from the fighting-”
The mention of the possibility they were still fighting had him winding tenser, scratching where he could and screeching and scrabbling with energy he didn’t have to spare. False reached out again and again before he dipped too close and she gripped one wrist, wrestling the other into her hold not long after. She crossed her arms in a way that pinned him firmly but gently between them and her chest. “Shh. Listen. You’re going to undo all my hard bandage work, you realize?”
Her voice held a tone that meant she knew he wasn’t listening to her words but the sound of them. “Calm. There you go.” He squawked quietly, ruffled and on edge. “Don’t have that attitude with me. Try it on Stress instead, why don’t you. And to think I mixed those potions so you’d finally sleep.”
He twisted in her grip at the thought of being drugged again, but she smushed the rebellion quickly. A displeased noise as she took more of his weight with how his knees buckled slightly. “Let’s get you sitting. And I’m sure the others have a few words for you, Grian.”
His brain immediately flashed through everything he’d ever done at the anticipation in her voice. Fighting back - protecting with his wings - stars, using his wings -
False guided him (more like moved him herself) to the room she’d been in. Several eyes immediately turned to look, a mixed bag of concern and uncertainty. There were Xisuma and Impulse perched together on leftover crafting benches, Iskall and Mumbo mirrored on spare shulkers. Why were…? He shrunk back in confusion, but False still had him against her front. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Had the fight finished after all? Did he dare hope they’d come to help him? Or were they there to let the other side have him?
Iskall seemed worn down but not tired. Mumbo sat awkwardly, mustache returned. When they exchanged a glance, there was a hesitance that meant they were trying to put together his pieces.
“He’s still runnin’ his fever,” False sighed from behind him, voice muffled by feathers and exasperation. “If I let you sit, will you not fly away?” A quiet joke, but he winced and struggled with her grip. He hadn’t meant to use his wings, he promised, he had to, he had to keep Mumbo safe and he had to get away while he could, he couldn’t let them down, couldn’t let their guard down any more than it had been, he didn’t want to leave or get banned, he didn’t -
Mumbo unfolded from his perch on the shulker at that, hesitance fading instantly. “Woah, Grian, I need you to listen to me-” He twisted his arms in False’s grip still, muscles weak and energy all but faded. The fog in his head refused to let up and let him think clearly, he just knew he needed out but Mumbo didn’t stop moving forwards, hands raised and fingers spread. “Gri. Listen. I’m alright. I’m okay.”
The sob he let out caught not just himself but everyone else by surprise. “I got us captured, I lost the flag and we’ll lose the war and I broke the rules - you got hurt and I couldn’t protect you all and I tried so hard and we lose and that means -”
“It means what?” Xisuma’s approach had been in the edges of his vision, unnoticed while Mumbo drew closer at his front. “It means what, Grian?”
Not accusing. Just asking. Asking like he didn’t want to know the answer not because he didn’t care but because he did.
“It means I failed and I couldn’t keep mine safe,” he whispered. Then: “Loser's forfeit. I don’t...I don’t know what it means. Here.”
A moment of absolute silence. He resisted the urge to draw his wings around himself like a shield. False’s grip loosened a tad, but he didn’t move.
“Grian.” Xisuma stood before him, then kneeled as Grian slipped from her hold to sit on the floor. He didn’t .. have the energy for more. “Here it means - well, as long as I have the perms - here losing will never, ever mean you or anyone getting permanently, seriously hurt. You’re not in danger. You’re not in trouble, you aren't captured, nor do you have to leave. You’re fine, and nothing will change that.” The admin discarded a glove to take one of his hands, an unusual gravity to the action. “I swear. Is that clear?”
“Grian-” And that was Iskall’s accent, from over Mumbo’s shoulder. “We’re alright. It’s just you that needs the rest, hm?”
“And -” his voice came out weaker than he would’ve liked; he cleared his throat, which almost made him cough all over X’s visor but he kept it down with watery eyes. “It’s okay I used my wings? I couldn’t help it, but-”
“It’s fine. If-”
“If someone ever gives you a hassle for using them, they can talk to us,” False interjected over his shoulder. “And that’s a promise.”
Wow. Alright. Scary tone of voice he will respect and listen to. Got it.
Her laugh meant that might’ve not stayed in his head like he thought. “And if you’ll keep listening, please don’t wear yourself into nothing again, Stress can only brew so many potions t’once. Now, c’mon, more later. You need to get back to bed.”
She pulled him to his feet, holding him steady while he swayed, dizzy. From the opposite team and still taking care of him, not even holding him as a prisoner - it really hadn’t been… a war. Not like the ones he knew. And he’d taken it as far as he thought he should’ve, which was - remembering Mumbo’s hurt at the suggestion he’d been put in the line of fire by Grian, swinging his sword at Mumbo’s back, remembering the others’ worry, remembering the cruelty in his strikes and the desperation in his defenses - too far.
Who… what had he let Them make him?
Sam would - he resisted a bitter laugh. Sam would be proud, wouldn’t he.
“I’m sorry.” He met X’s eyes, then Mumbo, Iskall, False - who still held him with surprising gentleness. “I’m really sorry. I thought I had to.”
A hand on the top of his head, something very familiar otherwise he would’ve recoiled. Instead - just a simple touch. And Mumbo’s voice, quiet. “You don’t, but it’s okay. You’re my friend.”
He matched Mumbo’s eyes, steady, relieved. Then Mumbo sat back on his heels, brows drawing together. “And you’re still burning up, dude! Geez!” Grian blinked then laughed then it became a cough, expelling the air in his lungs so quickly he went light-headed. “Okay, alright, yes, off with you - False, do you need help -”
False definitely had him secure, but she grinned a bit and let the taller man assist her in hefting Grian off the floor. “Another strength, if he can manage it, I think? Iskall, would you do me a favor…” Iskall chirped off a reply in his accent, thick enough Grian’s scrambled brain couldn’t interpret. “Right. Up we get.”
His vision blacked for a second as they started back towards his original room. “Woahhh, don’t sleep just yet -”
“Aw, Mumbo, catch him, you’re tall enough -” Arms braced under his knees and shoulders, careful about his wings. False hooked her fingers around the wrist that hung limply and settled it on his chest, stepping back. “If you’ve got him…”
“Yes, I do.” Grian tangled his own fingers together, beginning to drift. “Trust you to throw us a wrench, right?”
“Sleepin’ now,” he muttered, unable to resist the pull anyways. “I’m a delight.”
“Our nuisance, more like.” But Mumbo left it at that, and his grip never faltered.
And where Grian’s fingertips laced together, there were no talons to remind him of what he’d left behind.