Archive of Our Own ^beta

Falling. Flailing. Crashing.

Scar wakes up with a start realizing very quickly that one he’s now red a faint voice in his head somewhere telling him to kill and two that Grian…Well, he doesn’t know about Grian. He rushes out darting through trees quickly trying to get back to the scorching sand. Leaves and grass brush against his tattered skin as his legs pump him forward. He stops for a moment clutching his chest before thinking about how stupid it is to rush back to Grian, a green life while he was red. Grian wasn’t in his debt anymore. Why would he have stayed at Monopoly Mountain to wait for Scar?

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a patch of bright beautiful flowers. At least he had a gift if Grian did end up staying. He smiles slightly as he thinks of Grian waiting for him to come back. The thought passes his smile turning only to a memory. He crouches, one knee on the ground to stabilize him, the other still raised in case he needs to run. His fingers dance around the delicate petals ever so softly almost as if he was stroking through soft hair. Red and purple are what he’s drawn to the red, reminding him of Grian’s oh-so-beautiful wings and signature red jumper, the purple being a faint itch of the past somewhere in his brain.

He’s starting to think he’s been out in the open for too long, the paranoia seeping back into his bones. His knees crack as he stands and brushes off the grass stains, ripped shorts clinging to his thighs from the morning dew. Carefully placing the stout and amethystine flowers in his belt loops he turns out of the quaint forest. The sun beats down on his scarred skin, burning it ever so slightly. He dreads the familiar sight of the pale sand and cacti. With a sigh, his feet carry him towards the tall mountain moving as though he was just out for a stroll. The sting of metal in his mouth was gone by now, dried by the heat raining on him.

Grian’s small figure sits in the distance; the only indication that he wasn’t a figment of imagination was the wind rustling his dirty blonde hair. Scar gets choked up, eyes stinging with sand, and the start of tears. He hadn’t noticed Scar yet. That much was obvious. Suddenly his ears flutter picking up noise behind him, an avian trait but first and foremost the result of being put in a death game. Scar sees Grian whip around pulling out his diamond sword. He falters, legs rooted to the ground as Grian gets up almost tripping over the sand beneath him. Even from here, he can see that his face is blotchy from now-dried tears. Grian sprints. Scar feels himself sprint not even sure when his legs started moving.

They collide, Grian getting buried in Scar’s chest, the smell of sweat and something sweeter clinging to him. He sobs clutching onto Scar like a lifeline. Scar stands hands carding through his hair letting a few tears slip himself. Grian’s a wreck not knowing what to do with his limbs, the crying and heat pounding down on his energy. He looks up. Scar sees the fear behind the beautiful coffee eyes. He’s scared to find out if it’s because of him or his death moments prior. He releases Scar tightly wringing his hands in his sweater. Scar takes this chance to grab the now slightly squashed flowers reaching out his hands in Grian’s direction.
Grian stares. His eyes seeming closer to tears once more. He turns, his voice hoarse as he says he can’t take them. Scar’s hands lower, his eyes fluttering, heart heavy with lead. He should’ve expected this yet it still pains him. Grian didn’t want him, why would he? Grian turns again now head hung as Scar whispers a simple apology. For some reason, Grian does the same.

They both start back towards the mountain in silence save for the wind singing around them. Grian can’t stop sparring glances in Scar’s direction though the magnetic force around him twisting Grian’s head forcefully back. He hates the guilt spilling down his throat like poison. They reach the door of Monopoly Mountain, what once was a warm and comforting building now hollow and cold. It’s odd how things can do that, feel cold, send chills even in the heat of the desert. Grian guesses that's just how things feel once you’ve witnessed death firsthand. Scar moves carefully around the house like prey trying not to wake a beast. Grian knows deep down that he’s the beast. When night falls and they’re both stuck in the same tattered bed together, Scar obnoxiously snoring next to him he feels empty.

He stands, feet hitting the cool sand under him and sinking slightly. He fumbles through the dark house sparing a glance back towards the makeshift bedroom. There on the entry table sit the stupid flowers. Of course, Scar couldn’t have known what they meant but Grian did and that pained him more. The beautiful lavender spirals glimmer under the moon shining through the “windows” they have. First love, He remembers along with the bright red poppies being a symbol of death remembrance. God, Scar couldn’t just not hit right on the nail. He picks up the poor things and can’t help but find a vase to put them in. If he takes them back to bed carefully putting them on the bedside table no one needs to know. He shuffles back into the warmth of the covers next to Scar awake but not willing to get back up.

Thinking for minutes, seconds, hours. Finally, conscience slipping his eyes dropping hands entwined with the taller man he fell back into sleep. He’d get Scar out of this wretched place built by his former companions if he had to tear teeth and flesh off his own body.

And he did.