Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Scar lay there in the nest, listening as the avians talked.

“Oh no.” That was the new voice, Grian. The embarrassment was overpowering.

“Oh yes.” Jimmy replied, no end to the humour in his voice. It took all of Scar’s willpower to keep from sniggering. “I’m going to give you so much flack for this. You really went and strong-armed the literal king to be in your flock, do you understand just how hilarious that is?”

“I want to die. Jimmy, kill me.”

“No can do, you’re stuck here now. Better prepare yourself for a conversation with his majesty.”

“I can’t believe this.”

The moment was too perfect. Scar opened his eyes and sat up, stretching as if he had just woken. It wasn’t too far from the truth. “What can’t you believe?”

Grian screeched, the sound jolting everyone awake. Scar brought his hands to his ears, but the noise was done by the time they got there. Martyn rolled over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Void, Grian. Get yourself together.” he grumbled.

Scar held back a laugh as Grian spluttered.

“Get myself together?” he cried, finding his words before promptly losing them again. "I– you–" 

He fell silent, looking at Scar, his face red. Scar could feel the embarrassment laced with trepidation flowing off him. He gave an apologetic smile.

“Glad to have you back. Grian, right?”

“…yes.” Grian looked down. “Thanks.”

There was an uncertainty, and Scar knew he was the cause of it. He shifted and pushed himself up to stand.

“I’ll give you some space, shall I? If you need me, you know where to find me.” He smiled as he turned to leave, making his way to the door. The room relaxed slightly behind him, but he didn’t mind too much. Scar was, in a way, still a stranger.

“Did I seriously…?” Grian trailed off and gave a high-pitched groan. “I feel like you guys set me up or something.”

“That’d be great.” Martyn’s voice came. “No Grian, we managed to sneak inside the palace and befriend the king just to play a prank on you.”

“I’d believe it.”

Grian's grumbling faded out behind Scar as he strode down the hallway. It was good to see Grian out of his instincts. He hadn’t given off any feelings of distress, but Scar still worried. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was worried about, but he worried– enough to feel the relief when the avian was up and coherent.

Grian hovered outside the door. He knew he needed to talk to the king– to Scar, but the thought scared him more than he wanted to admit. He reached out a hand to knock, emboldened by the hazy memories from his weeks in his instincts.

"Come in!" the voice called. The king ’s voice. Grian pushed the door open and shuffled inside, holding his arms for comfort. Scar looked up at him and smiled warmly, and it helped put him at ease. "Hello Grian!"

"Hello." Grian replied nervously. His hands moved to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. His instincts were happy with Scar's presence, and his memories insisted he was safe, but he still couldn't help but be on edge.

"Come in! Take a seat! Make yourself comfortable!" He was so energetic. He was so bubbly.

Grian stepped farther in the room, slowly making his way in to perch on a chair. He watched warily as Scar moved to sit beside him.

"How are you?"

"Good. –I'm… well." He was in the palace. If he was going to speak, he needed to do so properly. Grian looked up just long enough to see the pained look on Scar's face. "…thanks– Thank you."

When Scar spoke again, it was softer.

"You know you're safe here, right?" he asked, holding out a hand in an offer of contact.

Grian looked up at him. He knew he was safe. Scar had saved him. He remembered that.

"I… yeah." He looked down again. "Sorry."

"Hey, no, it's alright." Scar's voice was calm and gentle. "You've been out of it for a while, and things weren't great before that. Take all the time you need."

Grian took a few deep breaths before starting.

"Thanks. Erm, thanks for helping me." His speech was slow and halting, a knot in his chest telling him to be quiet, stop talking, he was in the presence of someone like them . "You've been… very kind. To me and my flock. I'm… I'm not sure why." Only when he was done speaking did he peel his eyes from the floor. Scar's face fell in something like pity.

He didn't even mean to say that last part. Don't question it, especially not the mercies. Just take it so they don't replace it with something worse.

"Why? You were in a bad situation. I may not know the specifics, but I could tell it wasn't good. Of course I helped. I had to help."

"You didn't have to." Grian mumbled.

Scar sighed. "No, maybe not, but if I didn't, I'd be as bad as they were."

Were . 

The word echoed in Grian's ears. If Scar said anything after that, Grian didn't hear it.

"Are they… are the Watchers… are–"

"They're gone. They'll never hurt you again." Scar assured him. Grian felt the relief, but the knot was still in his stomach, stubbornly refusing to leave. Scar was like them. But he wasn't, was he? He was kind, but he was also the king. The king couldn’t– wouldn’t– be kind, would he? 

Grian's mouth moved, trying to form a sentence without his permission.

"Are you… do… are you going…"

"I'm not going to hurt you either."

Grian thought he heard tears in his voice, but maybe those were his own. Scar took his hand. It was soft and warm and calming. He held it lightly, giving Grian the chance to pull away if he wished. He didn't.

"You're safe here,” Scar continued. “I promise. No one is going to hurt you. You won't have to do anything you don't want to."

The words slowly sunk in, and the knot in his chest snapped. Grian fell against him with a sob of relief. He could feel Scar's arms wrap around him in an embrace, fingers gently brushing his feathers. His mind slipped back to that barely-conscious time in the throne room months ago. He remembered how kind Scar was, how gentle, how angry. That anger wasn't at him, but to protect him. From that moment on, he was safe. He was safe now. He leaned fully into Scar's lap, giving a warble of relief.

"They were so mad. They were always so mad." He hiccuped, tears flowing freely. "I– I trembled too much, I wasn't fast enough, they were bored, or had a bad day, or– or… there was always something. I couldn't sleep, they barely let me eat, they– they… it hurt so much."

"I know." Scar whispered.

"–and when I bruised or stumbled or cried, they only got more angry, and it just kept getting worse…"

"I know. I'm so sorry it took us so long."

"It just kept getting worse."

"I know. I'm sorry." Scar choked, his hands rubbing Grian's back. He tried to focus on the movement, taking a shuddering breath.

"And– and the whole time… my flock… and the war… and I couldn't warn them. I couldn't protect them. I'd never even know if they died."

Scar's hands froze for just a moment, making Grian's heart skip a beat.

“The war isn't real." Scar spoke softly, as if he was afraid to say it. "It… oh, I'm so sorry I made you worry."

Grian pulled away to search his face. "There… there is no war?"

"There never was one." Scar's voice was full of regret. "I made it up to test the Watchers, and I… I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you. I wanted so badly to tell you."

"They're safe." Grian was too relieved to feel mad or betrayed. He collapsed back into Scar’s lap. "They're safe."

"They're safe." Scar echoed, his fingers back to combing through feathers. "You're safe. Everything is ok."

They sat for a long time, embracing. Grian could feel Scar's own tears soaking into his shoulder. He was so warm. He was so gentle. He wasn’t angry. He was flock, and he didn't mind. From here on out, everything was going to be alright. As his breathing settled, Grian pulled his wings around them and churred with content.

Scar's chest shook gently with a light chuckle. "You're not going all bird mode on me again, are you?" he asked, muffled by the hug.

"No, I…" Grian gave a small laugh. "No." He pulled away, and he smiled as he looked in Scar's face. "Thank you."

Scar took his hands into his own.

"How are you feeling? Wings and fingers and everything heal ok?"

Grian's hands twitched. They had broken his fingers. He almost forgot about that.

He almost forgot about that. Nothing hurt. Nothing was broken, nothing was raw, nothing was sore, nothing except from his bird-like sleeping positions. He felt better than he ever had in his entire life.

"Good. I'm… I'm feeling great." The smile was such a welcome shape on his face. He huffed a laugh. "I can't imagine I was easy to deal with, while I was bird-brain. B and Martyn and Pearl always give Jimmy and I a hard time afterwards, and they're used to our shenanigans."

Scar chuckled. "It certainly helped once Jimmy and the rest of your flock showed up, and he could get some understanding through to you. But we got you to sit still enough that we could check your wounds. Mumbo was preening just about full-time to keep you quiet."

Grian sniggered at the thought. He would have felt bad for being a nuisance, but he enjoyed it too much. He hadn't been able to bother his friends in so long. It was good to know he could still do it even while not fully conscious.

His eyes traced the room and his smile faded for a moment.

"Do my friends know how bad it was?"

Scar tilted his head in question. Grian looked down.

"Do they know what it was like? Did you tell them what… they … were like?"

"…They know you were in a bad place. I haven't said much more than that, but there's a lot I'm sure they're able to guess."

"I just…" his eyes flickered back up to meet Scar’s. "I don't want them to worry. I know they'll already feel bad they couldn't help me, and I don't want them to feel worse."

Scar's eyes were sad, but he smiled. "Of course."

"Thanks."

The conversation fell silent, like a table after a good meal. Grian looked around again, his eyes settling on Scar's desk.

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"Nah, nah you're good. I wasn't doing anything," Scar said with a glance to his desk. He scowled. "Nothing important, anyway."

"Are you putting off your kingly duties?" Grian asked, suspicious. A surprised look flickered across Scar's face, but he didn't give the chance to contemplate it.

"Of course not. Are you hungry?"

"Well, not like I'd been before."

Scar raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"Ok yeah, a little." Grian admitted.

Scar clapped his hands together, the sound making Grian jump.

"Fantastic, me too. Let's get something to eat."

Chapter Text

"Go on ahead, I'll catch you down there." Scar crossed to his desk and rearranged his papers. "I just want to clean things up here first."

Grian got up but paused at the door. "I don't know where I'm going."

"Oh!" Scar looked up in surprise. "Oh, of course you don't. I'm sorry. I've gotten so used to your friends that I forgot you haven't exactly been present." He turned back to his desk. "There's a dining room of sorts for casual stuff. Go down the stairs. It opens into a hallway at the bottom; you'll want to head right then take the second door on the left."  

Scar shuffled a stack of papers into a drawer, pausing for a second. "Or just wait a moment and I'll show you. That'd probably be easier, huh?"

"Just a little." Grian replied with a small smile. He wandered closer to look at the files. "What are all those anyway?"

"These?” Scar looked up to see what he was referring to. “Boring politics things. Reports, requests, proposals, complaints. They can be a pain, but they're important. Gotta be well-informed." He trailed off with a sigh. "It's what I spend most of my time doing, going through these." He tapped a stack of papers against the desk to line the sheets up, then plopped them down definitely.

"Now. let's get some food, yes?"

Scar led him out the door and headed down the spiraling stairs. Grian made to follow, but Scar was having none of it, walking slowly– slower than he needed to– to ensure they were side by side. Scar was rambling about what sounded to be some noble family drama, but most of it went over Grian’s head. Instead, he watched the floor, walls, and ceiling, his eyes taking in the unfamiliar hallway. Grian couldn’t help but note that Scar took a different route than he described, but he quickly realized the reason when they paused at the door he recognized to be his– or at least where he was staying for the time being. Scar knocked on the door before sticking his head in.

"Hey guys! We were going to get some lunch, if any of you wanted to join in."

BigB popped up and joined them at the door, nudging Grian.

"So how'd it go? How was your chat with our favorite palace-dwelling pushover?"

"Hey," Scar protested. "I'll have you know I am not a pushover."

"Mhm, which is why five beggars have been living in your royal mansion for weeks now." Pearl didn't spare a glance as she pushed through to lead them back to the dining hall.

Scar shook his head. "Nah, that's because I'm so kind hearted."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Martyn laughed.

Grian couldn't help it. Something sat ill at ease. It was banter. It was friendly banter. It was the way his flock always talked to each other, but he couldn't help the anxiety in his stomach. Surely that kind of talk would get them in trouble.

As if noticing his pause, Jimmy sidled up next to him.

"Don't worry, he can take a joke. We wouldn't let him become flock if he couldn't."

"I'm not worried." Grian scoffed.

"Sure, bud." 

Jimmy could see through him. Grian hated to think that he had gotten so out of sorts that even Jimmy knew what he was thinking, but right now he was glad for it. It was banter. It was flock. No one was hurt or in danger. Grian let himself sink into familiar ground, thanking Jimmy with a light elbow to the arm. 

"He's also a total pushover." Jimmy added, raising his voice for the others to hear.

"I am not!” Scar cried, turning to face them. “I am big and manly and powerful." 

"I think he's intimidated." BigB commented.

"It's probably because of Pearl." Jimmy said.

"It's ok if you're scared of Pearl," Martyn laughed. "Everyone's scared of Pearl."

"I'm not scared of Pearl!" Scar protested.

"You should be." Grian added. "She's a menace when she wants to be."

"Not you too," Scar groaned. "Ok, fine, maybe I'm a little scared of Pearl. But just a bit!"

Pearl chuckled evilly.

"Use this power for good only." Scar warned lightly, rounding on her.

"Of course! I would only ever do good things." Pearl replied with a smile that promised otherwise.

They turned into the dining room. Like everything else in the palace, it was big and beautiful and elaborate and a little bit intimidating. The table was long and polished and carved, flanked by chairs that were just as ornate. Midday sun filtered through the windows, teasing the gardens beyond. At the sight, Grian felt an itch in his wings, the urge to feel the breeze through his feathers. But first he was hungry.

Everyone spilled around the table, picking their upholstered seats like they were their own. Grian lingered in the doorway. None of this felt real.

"Come sit with me?" Scar asked, motioning to the chair beside his. Grian took it, but not without glancing at the others. Jimmy was grinning like he was up to no good. Grian was sure it was true.

"I'm gonna go talk to the kitchens. Sandwiches sound good?" Jimmy asked. There was a murmur of consensus, and he paused at the door on the far end of the room. "No spilling the tea without me, you hear?" he warned before disappearing into the kitchens. He popped back out a moment later, taking his seat eagerly.

"So how was your chat with the king? Has he sentenced you to death yet?"

Grian snorted. "You wish."

"Nah, we need you around." Martyn commented. "If you didn't end up here, we'd still all be in the streets."

"You're right. He's the one Scar likes." BigB replied.

"Oh shush, I like all of you."

"Aw, are you saying you're not just keeping the rest of us around to make Grian happy?" Pearl teased.

"If he wanted me happy, he'd kick the rest of you out." Grian replied.

The words hung in his ears for a moment. He glanced at Scar. "Not actually though." he hastily added.

Scar smiled warmly. "Oh, don't worry, I know all about this sarcasm thing."

"It's been fun teaching him." Pearl added.

"I already knew about sarcasm!" Scar protested. "You need it to get through all those meetings."

"Sure."

Scar opened his mouth to reply, but he thought better of it, his face turning to a pout instead.

"You seem to know my flock pretty well." A smile tugged at Grian's lips.

Scar shrugged. "It has been seven weeks or so."

"'cause you're a pushover" Pearl sung.

"I am not!"

"You totally are."

Martyn turned to Grian. "I swear, the reason he's got guards isn't for protection, but to stop him from handing over the kingdom to the first person who asks for it."

Scar grumbled, his face in his hands. "You guys weren't this annoying before."

Grian raised his eyebrows. "You all must have been on your best behavior, then."

"We were saving up for when you finally decided to join us." Jimmy replied.

Grian was about to give another comment, but before he could do so, the doors opened to the kitchen again. Lunch was ready. Grian could only sit and stare at the food as it was laid out. There were meats and cheeses and fruits he could only dream of. Everything looked amazing— it must be, if he was never allowed to have such things— but it was just too much. There were too many rich options he wasn't sure he should have.

"Here, try this." Jimmy said, passing him a sandwich at the indecision. 

Grian shot him a look, his attention kicking back into gear. "As if I'd trust anything you say. I bet that's inedible."

"It's totally edible." Jimmy laughed. "Whether you can stomach it is another question."

Grian graced his opinion with a wing to the face. "I can stomach more than you. I can't even count the number of times you've waited until I tried something first before eating it."

"Aw, there's the Grian we know and love." Pearl cooed, not giving Jimmy the chance to respond.

"You know, when we came to get you, they said you hadn't even bitten anyone." Martyn added. "We were starting to worry it might not actually be you."

"I'm gonna bite someone soon if you all aren't careful." Grian shot back.

There was a scraping sound as Scar scooted his chair away.

Grian peeled his sandwich apart, inspecting the contents carefully. There was bacon, some other kind of meat— turkey, possibly?— a few different cheeses, lettuce or some other leafy green, and a strange greyish-white paste. Grian looked up, eyebrows raised.

"They have this weird goop that makes everything better." Jimmy explained excitedly. "Trust me, it makes everything so good."

Grian sighed, reassembled his sandwich, and took a bite. It was good. It was rich with more flavours than Grian could count— pleasant flavors, not like the sharp, twisted sweetness of rotting fruit. The bread itself was godly— soft and fluffy and certainly not stale. It took quite a bit of control to not stuff the entire thing in his mouth at once.

"Wow." Some part of him was distantly aware that he shouldn't talk while eating, but manners seemed so unimportant when faced with the reality of this sandwich.

"It's good, right?" Jimmy asked.

Grian turned to Scar, swallowing down enough that he could form words. "Do you always eat like this?" It was a stupid question. Of course the king ate this well.

Scar laughed, clapping a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Just you wait."

"Here, try this. You'll like it." Pearl said, tossing him a fruit. At least, Grian assumed it was a fruit. It came from the fruit bowl, but it was unlike any fruit he had ever seen. It was rather small, fitting in his palm comfortably, covered with a tough brown fuzz. Grian weighed it in his hand for a moment. It definitely did not look edible.

"Do I—"

"Just bite into it. Eat it like an apple." Scar instructed.

Grian glanced at him before complying.

His reaction was immediate. The skin was tough, the fuzz scratching against his tongue and palate. The soft flesh inside was sour , and the flavor flooded his mouth, attacking the minute scratches left by the fibers. Grian spit it out immediately, glaring around the table at his friends as they erupted into laughter.  

"Oh, that was fabulous ." Martyn choked out.

"Your face ."

Grian scowled. "I'm kicking you out of the nest. All of you."

"Oh, but come on, it was so funny." Scar grinned.

Grian rounded on him. "Don't you have some code of basic decency that you have to follow?"

"Oh yes." Scar assured, eyes growing wide. "But nowhere does it outlaw pranking people with kiwi. I can show you, if you want, the book of Good Manners."

"You all are a bad influence on him." Grian said, turning back to his sandwich. It still tasted good, thank goodness.

"Someone had to teach this man the ways of civilization." Jimmy replied.

"Someone had to teach you hooligans the ways of civilization." Scar countered.

"Hooligans?" Pearl laughed. "Did you just say hooligans?"

"What's wrong with hooligans?"

"Nothing, it's a great word." Pearl replied with a snicker.

"Grian, I swear, they've been like this non-stop." Scar complained.

"Do you think I'm gonna save you?"

"Well—"

"It's not gonna happen."

Scar sighed, resigned. "Just eat your sandwich, will you?"

"Gladly." Grian took another bite of his sandwich, staring at the remnants of the fruit on his plate. Before he could be stopped, he dropped it in Jimmy’s lap with a fluid motion. 

"Hey" Jimmy protested, dumping the fruit onto his own plate. He glared at Grian.

"There's no way that's a real fruit." Grian said, dismissing the look. 

"It's totally a real fruit. You just normally peel it first." Pearl leaned over to grab the remaining kiwi. She scooped the flesh out with a spoon and popped it into her mouth.

"Rude!" Jimmy gasped. "I was gonna have that!"

"No you weren't." Pearl shrugged.

"You never know, I could have decided I like them now."

"Well maybe I should have let you have it, and then I could watch you pretend you like them."

Grian fell quiet, enjoying his sandwich and relishing in the banter. He missed this. He missed them. It was so much better than he remembered it being. It felt weird to be here , to be sitting next to the king, but he was with his flock. He was happy. They were all happy. All was well.

For now.

A small part of him dreaded when this would end, and they'd be back on the streets. It wasn’t even a question of if– the king had been kind, but now Grian had recovered. They would be sent on their way, left to rebuild the crude life they lived before. It had been weeks, and their camp almost certainly had been taken over by now. He wasn't looking forward to finding a new one. Hopefully they could at least convince Scar to send them with some extra food and blankets.

"So! Any plans for this afternoon?" Scar asked, his cheery voice cutting through Grian's thoughts.

"I'm gonna start a revolt."

Grian said it without thinking, his brain catching up a moment too late. He glanced at Scar, but the man was grinning.

"That didn't take long." BigB commented.

"Neither will the revolt. He'll crumple the moment you say 'please.'" Martyn added, jerking his head at Scar.

"Oh my god." Scar leaned back in his chair, glaring at the ceiling. Suddenly, he snapped back to attention. "Oh! You guys need to give Grian a tour!"

"'You guys', what, do you not want to do it yourself?" Martyn asked.

"Oh, I'd love to. But alas, I have work that needs doing."

Grian looked over. "I thought you said I wasn't interrupting anything!"

"—anything important." Scar quickly  corrected. Grian couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Still, there's only so long that I can get away with ignoring it."

"He makes it sound like he actually does work." Jimmy teased.

"I do do work!" Scar huffed. "At least, I do when I'm not distracted."

"And how often are you distracted?"

"A lot more since you guys showed up."

"And whose fault is that?"

"I get it, I get it, it's mine." Scar pouted, glaring at the scraps on his plate. His face tightened into a resolute frown, and after a moment he pushed himself out of his chair. "Fine. I'll be good. I'll go get things done."

"I mean, you don't have to. You could join us in showing Grian around." Jimmy grinned.

Scar pointed a finger at him. "Don't tempt me."

"Go do your work, Scar." Pearl instructed.

"Yes yes, I'm going." Scar took a few steps towards the door before pausing and turning back around. "Oh and Grian, if you find you're missing anything or want anything for your room, just let me know!"

Grian stared after him, unthinking, as Scar left. The door closed behind him, and Grian's thoughts clicked into place. He got up and ran to the door, slipping out into the hallway and catching Scar before he had the chance to get far. The man turned around at the sound of the door.

"Did I forget something?"

"What? No. Well, maybe." Grian shook his head to clear the thought. "No, I, erm…"

The words caught in his throat. Scar just looked at him patiently. Grian took a breath and restarted.

"You made it sound like we'd be staying here." He spoke quickly. "Jimmy said something about that, too, but… Are you not kicking us out now that I'm awake?"

"Of course not!" Scar was affronted. "Why would I kick you out?"

Grian opened his mouth to reply— they were beggars; hooligans, as he so aptly put it; they were as far as you could get from nobility— but he thought better of it. It didn't matter if they were from the streets. Scar knew, and he didn't care.

"We can stay here." Grian asked again, just to be sure.

"Of course."

"Indefinitely?"

"Yep!"

Scar paused, tapping his finger on his cane. "Well, I suppose you don't need to stay here if you don't want to. I figured it was better than your previous living arrangements, but if you wanted to leave, I wouldn't stop you." His tone sank at the possibility.

A smile crept onto Grian's face. "You actually like having us around?"

"Well, I don't know." Scar spluttered. "It just wouldn't be proper to make you leave. Jimmy told us Mumbo and I are part of your flock now, and I've heard how important flock is to avians, and just, well, it wouldn't be right to deprive you, not after everything you've been through."

"Uh huh. You sure it's not because you've become attached?"

"Of course not." Scar brushed the question off, starting off down the hallway again.

"And how do you think you became part of the flock?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know. I'm not an expert on avians."

"You know you're gonna like me a lot less now that I'm actually lucid?"

"You can't be worse than the others."

"Are you sure about that?" Grian liked the idea of the challenge.

Scar turned around and smiled, his expression fond. "You have no idea how refreshing you guys are after a long day of politics."

Scar waved before turning back down the hall. Grian retreated back to the dining room, his face stuck in a grin as he began brainstorming ideas for how to get everyone back after the kiwi. Scar may be the king, but he was also flock. As far as Grian was concerned, he had been given express permission to be a nuisance. This was going to be so much fun.

Chapter Text

It had been going well. It had been going so well. He was fine , he was laughing with his flock, they'd been telling him all about everything he'd missed in the past few months. He had only been paying half attention, opting to chase after Jimmy instead; the ideas for mischief he could cause were bubbling up in his mind…

He had been happy and relaxed and home and now he couldn't breathe. It felt like before, with those bindings across his wings and chest. He fought against the instinct to puff his feathers up. He forced them flat, tight against his back. If he made his wings small, he'd have more room to breathe, and he needed to breathe; he needed to breathe; he needed to breathe; he—

"Grian?"

He couldn't identify whose voice it was. It should be flock— he was with flock, wasn't he? He was with flock, he was safe, he was safe, he was safe; why was he panicking; why was he choking back the distressed chirps—

"Are— are you ok? Can you hear me?"

Grian forced a jerky nod. He could hear them. He was fine. He was fine ; he should be fine; it didn't matter that it was this room; it was the room where he had to stand quiet and still and terrified and in pain for hours , but that didn't matter, cause he was safe and with flock and the war didn't exist and—

There were hands on his shoulders, and Grian realized he was still nodding. He shuddered to a stop and tried to focus on the face in front of him. It was Jimmy's face. It was Jimmy's face, and behind it were the others, and behind them were those horrible walls that shouldn't have turned him into this trembling mess; nothing ever even happened here, it was always when they got back—

"Grian, what happened?"

Grian closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound. It was Pearl's voice. He was pretty sure it was Pearl's voice. There was that weird sort of edge to it. It was a good voice; he missed that voice; if They had their way he wouldn't have ever heard that voice again—

"Outside?"

Martyn. That was Martyn's voice. Martyn was suggesting they go outside. Outside was good. Outside was safe. Outside was where he could run if they looked away for a second too long; outside was home ; he hadn't been outside, truly outside in so long ; he was going to die if he stayed trapped in here where the air was still and the walls were closed around him and he didn't even remember what the sun felt like—

"Let's head outside, yeah?"

That was Jimmy this time, talking softly, as if to a child. Grian was like a child, he was weak and broken and shaking and—

The hands on his shoulders shifted, and they were guiding him forwards. A wing was draped around his back, brushing against his own, and he couldn't help but jolt, even though he knew it was Jimmy. It was Jimmy, not Them with their cold, groping, unfeeling hands; it wasn't them; he didn't have to worry about feathers being ripped from his skin; he—

Grian's eyes shot open as his foot caught and he felt himself pitch forwards. Arms caught him quickly, and he clutched them like a lifeline— warm, calloused skin—

Careful. Ok?

At Jimmy's concerned chirps, Grian lost the ability to hold his own in. 

Flock help danger scared

The sounds tumbled out before he could stop them. He was with flock; they wouldn't mind his sounds, but he was senseless; there was no danger; there was no danger; he was just freaking out because of that stupid room, he—

Flock safe breathe

It helped. Grian liked to think it helped. He liked to think it didn't need to. He liked to think he was strong— he was looking after the others, not the other way around. Everything he went through only made him stronger, only made him tougher. It made him cautious, more cautious, a good kind of cautious that keeps him from getting in over his head. No, he wasn't scared; he was just being careful; he was fine, which was why he was shaking and hyperventilating and could barely process what was going on around him.

"Breathe. Deep breaths."

Grian wanted to scream that he was trying. He didn't. He was held back by something , by his lack of air, by the knowledge that his flock was just trying to help, by that horrible need They drilled into him to be quiet and still and to follow orders. He really broke quite easily, didn't he? They were able to crumple him into a shivering wreck. Now they were gone— he knew they were gone, Scar promised him, and for some reason he trusted Scar— they were gone, and they were still hurting him. He was still hurting— hurting? He wasn't hurt, he was just panicking; he was perfectly safe but he still couldn't keep himself together—

There was grass under his talons. When was there grass? How long did it take him to realize they were no longer in the confines of the hallway? He knew he had been walking, but it didn't feel like it. It was like he was moving beyond his control. In retrospect, he wasn't really surprised. He couldn't control anything. Even before it all, he couldn't control anything; he could only push himself through the tragedies, dragging the others with him as he went.

"We're gonna sit down here, ok?"

He didn't realize when they had pulled him to a stop, either. Had they pulled him to a stop? Or had he stopped of his own accord? He didn't like this weird distance he had from his senses. It had helped before, back when it made everything hurt a bit less, but now… now it was just another sign of everything They did. He hated how it felt, so he sank to the ground slowly, intentionally, unsteadily. Hands were helping him down. He wasn't paying enough attention; he didn't know whose hands they were, but—

There were hands on his wings, teasing them open, displaying them, picking out which feathers to pull—

The hands were gone, and Grian snapped his wings to his back, hugging them against his spine. He wished they weren't back there where he couldn't protect them. He wished they weren't there for everyone to see, to gawk at, to calculate his value as a specimen.

"Sorry, I was trying to help."

That was Jimmy, stumbling over his words. The hands must have been Jimmy, too. Grian knew it had to have been. It had to have been him or another of the flock. So why did his muscles have to tense? Why did his feathers have to bristle against hands that cared for them? Why couldn't he just be ok now that he was safe?

"Grian, it's gonna be a lot easier to breathe if you open your wings."

BigB, this time. His face was centered in his vision. It was twisted in a concerned frown. He was crouched in front of him, his arms resting on his knees. Pearl and Martyn were there too, and behind them were trees and bushes and flowers. They were in the gardens. They must be in the gardens. That would explain the grass under his feet. Jimmy must be behind him. Jimmy had his back. He'd made sure he was safe. He'd make sure no one would touch him, no one but flock. Grian had to trust that.

He closed his eyes, ducked his head, and opened his wings. He stretched them shakily, laying them in the grass behind. The sunlight was warm on his feathers, soaking into the brown hues. Grian stretched his arms in front of him, bracing against the ground. He tried to focus on the sensation, on the pleasant warmth of the sun, the soft grass under his legs and wings and hands, the feel of the outside air through his hair and feathers and against his skin. He tried to focus on his flock and not the way he was kept from them for so long. He tried to focus on his wings and not the way they always seemed to be bound or on display. It didn't matter. He was here now. He was here , but he was safe. He was here, and he was safe. He was safe.

"That's it. Are you ok?"

Grian didn't know how to answer that question. He didn't know if he could answer. 

"Should we get Scar?"

Grian could tell the question wasn't directed at him. He could tell by the way Pearl's voice was low and quiet, the way it was filled with a business-like concern. "Just cause Scar's got his vex things. He might know what to do."

…what to do about him . Grian was painfully aware that he was the source of their concern. He was painfully aware they didn't know how to help. He didn't know how to help. He'd never broken down like this. He didn't know how to stop breaking. He was always too busy making sure the others were safe and sheltered and fed, and now he was useless, unable to even pull himself together.

"I'm fine."

His words surprised him. The only way Grian could tell they were his was the vibration he could feel in his throat. His eyes flickered open, and he stared at the grass in front of him, between his hands. He tried to think about each and every blade of grass and not the words he said. He tried not to think about how it was a blatant lie. He knew it, and he knew they knew it too.

"Are you sure?"

That was Pearl in her disbelieving tone. Grian wanted to say yes. He was fine. He had to be fine. He had to be fine for them.

"No."

That surprised him, too. He wasn't supposed to say that. He wasn't supposed to be breaking, and if he was, the last thing he should do is admit it.

"Sorry, I—" He was with flock; they would keep him safe; they would keep him safe; they— "I don't know. I'm sorry, I don't know." His voice was shaking. He hated how much it was shaking.

And then there were arms around him. They were warm and tight and strong in a comforting way, protecting him, supporting him, holding him together. He was looking over a shoulder. He was looking over B's shoulder. B was hugging him. 

"It's ok." BigB murmured into his hair. "You're ok."

"Sorry, I don't—"

"Shh." He hummed, low, his chest rumbling. Grian held him tight, refusing to let go.

"Sorry, it's stupid" Grian was so painfully aware how stupid it was, the way a simple room had shaken him so badly. A lifetime ago, he would have scoffed or marvelled at that hall instead. He would have stared at the paintings and carvings and all other frivolities. Maybe he did. He didn't remember what he first felt when he came to the palace. 

He didn't even realize the silence until he could feel B take a breath to break it. 

"Maybe." It was Martyn who spoke instead. "But it is you we're talking about, so I'm not sure what you were expecting."

Grian couldn't help the huff of laughter as it pushed its way from his lungs. His eyes darted up and settled on Martyn's face. He wore a small, cautious smile. Grian turned, tucking his face into BigB's neck. He gave one last squeeze before finally letting go. 

"You ok now?" Jimmy asked, his worried face joining the others' in front of him. 

Grian wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks with the heel of his hand. Was he ok? He felt like he shouldn't be. He was breaking and crying and panicking and… and Martyn made a stupid joke. Martyn made a stupid joke, and now everything seemed to snap back into place. Things weren't in focus, but they were in place. 

"I, um," Grian wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Maybe? I don't know."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Pearl asked as she sat in front of him. 

"I don't know. I… I forgot where I was, or… something."

"Well that's what the tour is for, knucklehead." Jimmy gave a small smile.

Grian glared through his puffy eyes. It was a familiar gesture, a comforting gesture. He liked glaring. He wanted to glare at Jimmy for the rest of his life. 

"Are you good to go on?" Jimmy continued. "Or…"

Grian wove his hands into the grass, twining the blades around his fingers.  "Can we just stay here for a bit?" he asked quietly. 

"Of course. Yeah." Jimmy didn't hesitate in his affirmation.

"Do you need anything?" BigB asked. "Water, or a blanket, or something?"

"I think I'm ok." Grian closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the spring sun. Some distant part of him was aware of the missed opportunity for a joke. He could've— he would've— asked for a pony, or a five-course meal, or something else equally ridiculous. He was distantly aware that he could probably actually get those things now.

"Do we need to burn the palace down?" Martyn asked. Grian's eyes shot open as he turned to look at him. 

"What?"

The other shrugged. "I dunno, something spooked you, and you did mention planning a riot. We can burn this place down if you need."

"I wasn't spooked . I was exercising aggressive caution."

"Seriously though, if this place is a problem…"

"Or if there's anyone else who's hurt you…" Pearl's lips pursed in doubt. "Scar hasn't, has he?"

"No, he's— Scar's fine." Grian closed his eyes into the sunlight again. "They're all fine."

"Good." Grian could almost feel Pearl cross her arms resolutely. He breathed deeply, feeling the air and the grass and the sun. The sunlight felt so good, so right, so missed. He cracked an eye open.

"…but if we were to do a bit of arson…" he prompted. He was grasping for normalcy, but if the others noticed the waver in his voice, they didn't mention it.

"The palace is mostly stone, but the carpets and tapestries will burn with enough coaxing." BigB provided. "Furniture, too. Made of good, old wood."

Grian laid back in the grass, splaying his arms and wings. A trill hummed in his throat.

"Good to know."

Chapter Text

"What doing?"

Grian hovered in the doorway, amused as Scar startled and dropped his brush. He turned around in his spot at the counter— at the vanity , nobles called it— and looked up with a grin. 

"Grian!"

The avian drifted over. "Is that… makeup?"

"Hard to believe I need a little help to look so good?" Scar chuckled. 

"More like, hard to believe that you can't manage it, even with help." Grian scoffed playfully. He stared down at the counter, full of palettes and paints and brushes for a canvas of skin. He heard an eager intake of breath, looking up in time to see Scar's eyes widen with excitement.

"Do you want to try? Can I do you up?"

Grian stared at him, Scar's own foundation uneven and unabashedly forgotten. 

"I'll be gentle! And you can take it off if you don't like it. Come on, it'll be fun!"

Scar's excitement was contagious, thick enough Grian was convinced he could taste it. It spoke through his trepidation, promising to wash away fading memories of hidden bruises. Grian narrowed his eyes in response, but his decision was already made.

"Please?" Scar looked up at him with those puppy dog eyes. Grian was sure he must have some distant traces of dog hybrid lineage in there somewhere.

"Yeah, alright." Grian sighed. Scar beamed. He quickly vacated his chair, pushing Grian in to take his place. 

"Ok ok ok, you're going to look amazin' ."

Grian raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I don't already?"

"Well," Scar floundered. "You do, I wouldn't have you any other way—"

The eyebrow raised farther.

"—but it's fun to just do things up a little! Bring things to life!"

"Are you saying I look dead inside?"

"Well…" Scar faltered. "I mean, yeah, sometimes. You eyes, Grian, they're so dark! It's unnatural!"

"Are you going to finish your own?"

Scar's hand darted up to his face, hovering as he took another look in the mirror. He waved the question away. 

"Eh, I'll take care of that later. You first!"

Scar slid a bowl of water over, dipped a washcloth in it, and began wiping Grian's face. He patted it dry with a towel, Grian spluttering as some fuzz made its way into his mouth. Scar grimaced an apology, then spread on some lotion. It was cool and smooth against Grian's skin. Scar scrambled for his foundation and held it up, comparing against Grian's skin. He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"A little dark. Let me find one that matches better."

Before Grian knew it, Scar was gone, leaving Grian sitting forlornly at the vanity. He stared at everything laid out for a moment before grabbing all the brushes and shoving them in his pocket. 

He waited.

Scar wasn't back yet, so Grian got up and poked through the drawers and cabinets in the room. There was nothing too interesting, though that itself was a difficult conclusion to reach due to the absolute mess everything was in. 

Scar burst back into the room, burdened with a handful of cases that he dumped on the counter. He steered Grian back into the chair and began checking the foundations against his skin tone. 

"I wasn't going to do anything fancy, just spruce things up a little bit, add some accents…" Scar paused, chosen makeup in hand, and stared at the counter blankly. "What happened to my brushes? I swear I had brushes."

The drawers opened and closed as Scar rifled through them. Grian watched on, his face the picture of innocence. After a moment, Scar sighed, defeated. 

"Wait here, I'm gonna go grab some new ones, since the ones I had apparently disappeared."

He was gone the next moment, and Grian cackled. He shoveled the brushes back out of his pocket and onto the counter. He tried to wrestle his glee under control, managing to tame it to a smirk by the time Scar returned with a new handful of brushes. He moved to set them down and froze upon seeing the others. 

"No, no, those weren't there."

"I don't know how you missed them, Scar."

"No, they weren't there. You can't do this to me." Scar asserted. Grian giggled. 

Scar, forgetting which foundation he had chosen, checked them all against Grian's skin again before finally getting to work. The brush was soft and light and gentle.

"Just for that, I'm gonna do something fancy instead." Scar grumbled as he dusted foundation onto Grian's nose and cheeks and forehead.

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"You know full well what I'm talking about. Now stop moving, you'll make me mess up."

"You'll do that with or without my help."

"Shush you, I'm an artist." 

Scar traded out the brush for a pencil of eyeliner. He rested his hand on Grian's cheek, the pencil's tip dangerously close to his eye. Involuntarily, he tried and failed to focus on it. Scar froze, then retreated. 

"Maybe not." he mumbled.

"It's ok." Grian said. Scar looked at him doubtfully. 

"You sure?"

Grian shrugged. "Go ahead." Scar brought the pencil back up to Grian's eye.

"Look down?"

Grian obliged, and Scar gently traced his eyelids. He felt Scar stretch out the corners and stifled a laugh. 

"Are you giving me wings?"

Scar had the audacity to look sheepish. "I thought it'd be fitting."

Grian could only laugh.

Next was lipstick, once Scar picked out a shade. He spread it on, then patted his own lips together in an indication to do the same. Grian, eager to be difficult, stared at him incredulously. 

"What are you doing."

"You gotta *mumumum your lips together!"

It took a moment before Grian could do so, as he needed to stop laughing first.

Finally was blush, dusted lightly onto his nose and along his cheekbones. Scar backed away, letting Grian look into the mirror. 

"How does it look?"

A few different responses vied for attention in Grian's head, but he stuck with the honest one. 

"Beautiful, Scar."

Scar beamed. "See? That wasn't too bad. If you want to take it off, you can dab some of the stuff from that bottle onto a cloth and just wipe it off." Scar instructed, gesturing with his head to a bottle against the wall. "I won't be insulted. Though I'd love it if you could let me show the others first?"

Grian sighed, fond. "Anything for you, Scar."

"Now scootch, I need to finish mine."

They traded spots, and Grian perched on an empty section of the counter to watch Scar work. He rambled about the importance of accenting the eyes and lips and using little splashes of colour to help make things pop. 

"Were my eyes already perfect?" Grian teased as Scar put extra paints around his own. Scar paused to stare at him blankly.

"Grian, if I gave you eyeshadow and mascara, your eyes would become black holes in your face."

"Oh, but wings are fine?"

"Well of course, you're an avian after all."

" Scar ." Grian laughed.

"What? It's true!"

Scar finally finished with his own makeup, and he set his tools down and pushed them to the back of the counter.

"Done?" Grian asked.

Scar frowned as he peered into the mirror. "I smudged my left eye, but it'll have to do."

"You look fine, Scar." Grian sighed as he rolled his eyes. Scar looked up at him and brightened.

"Let's go show the others!"

"If we must."

"Come on come on come on, I wanna see what they think!" Scar exclaimed as he popped up. Grian slipped off the counter and trailed after him. He couldn't help the amusement that wormed its way onto his face.

Chapter Text

One of the things Scar noticed were their eating habits. There was something about what they chose to eat that somehow stuck with him. He didn't expect them to be picky in any sense of the word, but there was more to it than that. They weren't like nobles with clear likes and dislikes, used to the ability to choose. No, they would eat whatever was in front of them, though anything new was accompanied with a hesitation veiled with bravado. 

In fact, they always ate everything . It had taken Scar some getting used to, always asking if they needed more until he realized they just… did that. They just ate everything. The meal wasn't complete unless they cleared their plates. He noted with amusement the way they'd eat off each other's plates, passing off the parts they didn't like or finishing for one another if they got full. It was maybe just a little bit adorable. 

There were other things, too, like how they were almost always together. They shared a nest, they shared meals, they seemed to share most moments of the day. Once it became clear that they'd be staying, the offer was opened of separate rooms, but they politely declined, citing their preference to nest together. Looking at the mess of limbs and feathers and cuddles, Scar couldn't blame them. He joined them, most nights. Even if they weren’t all together at once, it was rare to find one of them alone. A part of Scar wondered how much of that was already their usual behavior, and how much of that was brought around since Grian had been… forcefully employed. 

They never asked for anything. They hardly   ever asked for anything. —No, that wasn't right, either. They would ask for things, but there was something distinctly different about it. Most of the requests made were facetious, made as a joke or to poke fun at the excess they now had access to. It was rare that he heard them honestly ask for something; needs and wants often went unaddressed. The times they did ask, it was with a low voice, pulling Scar or Mumbo or Impulse off to the side. 

…They were working on that. Scar would ask every so often if they needed anything. At some point, Pearl pointed out that they were used to "need" referring only to basic necessities— food, water, and warmth. After that, Scar was sure to ask if they wanted anything either. Sometimes, he could actually get an answer out of them.

But they certainly held onto things. Extra fruit and dinner rolls were slipped into pockets for later. Their pockets seemed to always be full, in fact. Scar didn't know what all they kept on themselves, but they seemed to always have what they needed, as well as bits of their shared hoard. There was plenty of space in their room, but small valuables were gently bundled into their pockets with everything else deemed important. Never for use, always for safekeeping. 

Their past marred every part of their life, Scar had realized with a twist of sadness. Their life was peppered with unconscious (or maybe even fully conscious) habits to protect and to scavenge. The worst was when Scar needed to ask for something. There was an imbalance of power he was reminded of when they were so quick to help. He wouldn't complain, but he couldn't help but wonder if they were alright, if they knew he could wait. 

But at the same time, it didn't seem to matter. They laughed and pranked and brought a vibrant energy that Scar loved. There was a life that— he wouldn't say he thought it couldn't exist here, but he had certainly been bogged down for a while. And while he still had all of his kingly duties, it wasn't that bad, not when he could join the flock for cuddles. (He was actually part of the flock. He still had trouble believing that.) 

Long story short, Scar loved them. He didn't love the conditions they became acquainted in, but hey, he was one for silver linings. Luckily no one cared when he had an extra soft spot for Grian. They teased him about it, sure, but they didn't really care. It was nice.

Life in the palace was strange.

It didn't escape Grian's notice that people were nice, here. He had a strange feeling in his chest when he came across servants (there was still a part of him that automatically thought of them as other servants), but they seemed… happy. They would give him smiles that were soft and genuine, and they were always addressed with "please" and "thank you". Grian couldn't read people very well, but the cautious eye he kept for pain or fear only ever caught nervousness. They were treated well. He supposed it made sense, but it was foreign all the same.

Grian prided himself in his ability to deal with anything life threw at him. He had certainly been doing a decent job at it so far, managing to keep himself and his flock alive. But he didn't expect this. He didn't expect any of this, but for the first time, the unexpected was… good. It was nice. There was maybe still a part of him that was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that anxiety was getting smaller and quieter every day.

It was helped by the way Scar was such a softie. Grian very quickly came to know the man and how he was so different from the king he assumed he must be. For one thing, he was infatuated with his cat. To be fair, Jellie was a very good cat. She apparently still pouted every now and then about having to share Scar's affection, but he supposed it balanced out with the fact that there were more people to give her scritches and treats.

Scar himself was rather adorable at times, somehow losing all eloquence he kept for meetings and speeches. The man was astonishingly bad at words for a nobleman, enough to make Grian notice, laugh, and sometimes cringe. 

The man was awkward and bashful— Grian noticed how he always hesitated to join the nest as if he wasn't sure he was allowed. The thought was ridiculous— Scar was flock, for crying out loud— but at the same time, he couldn't deny that small, anxious part of him that it put to ease. Beyond his kindness, Scar respected Grian's space. He respected all of their space, despite not needing to. It was comforting on the bad days, on the paranoid days. 

Speaking of comforts, there was the sparkling black stone Impulse had promised him. It was so smooth to the touch, with a weight and shape that was just so pleasant to hold. The way it glittered in the sunlight enraptured him. He always had it on him, tucked into his pocket where he could keep it safe— where it could keep him safe. The Watchers were gone; they couldn't see him anyway, but he still kept the stone on him nonetheless. Impulse noticed, and had taken him to a jeweler to get it fashioned into a pendant. The weight sat against his sternum like a shield. 

The weirdest part was that nothing was expected of them. No one cared if they just did nothing all day. They didn't need to work, they didn't need to scavenge, they didn't need to do anything. Instead, they could do such things as learning new skills. BigB took to baking like a house on fire. Pearl had ended up as some sort of advisor, which sounded horribly soul-sucking. Grian was glad it wasn't him, and he suspected everyone else was too. Martyn… Grian wasn't sure what Martyn was doing a lot of the time, but he certainly did read a lot. Recently, Jimmy had been training as a squire, which was hilarious to watch. As for Grian himself, he discovered this wonderful thing called 'procrastination', and was somehow constantly doing it without having anything to put off.

And finally, there's Mumbo. There wasn't that much he could even say about Mumbo, the guy was just great. He was also constantly making something, which he must not have been doing a good job of, because somehow it would always break by nature of being in the same room as Grian. The mustachioed man was his favorite part about this new life, although Scar came close whenever he got— for lack of a better term— bamboozled. Grian did not expect these people to have a sense of humor. He did not expect palace life to be this entertaining. 

Grian was, predictably, the last one in the nest. In the soft blue glow of Scar's night light, he blearily tried to count the number of heads. He could see Scar, Martyn, BigB, and Mumbo's, though Impulse's sword against the wall and Jimmy's wing splayed over the others clued him in to the last two's presence. Everyone was here, which was probably why Grian ran into no trouble while unscrewing the doorknobs up and down the hallway.

He closed the door softly, tucked the screwdriver away where no one would find it, and slipped into his nightclothes. The nest was inviting, with tangled limbs and chests rising and falling in deep staggered breaths. He crawled into the spot left for him, the others shifting slightly in their sleep to accommodate. He lay on his side, head rested on Scar's stomach, and wings stretched across the rest of the nest. His feet were just a little cold, so he wormed them deeper to tuck under Impulse's back.

Grian felt more than heard the rumble of a low hum, and Scar's hand raised to comb through his hair. He looked up, and Scar met his eyes with a fond, sleepy smile. Grian closed his eyes, letting sleep pull at him. 

"Thanks for letting us take over your home." He mumbled. 

Scar hummed, running his fingers through Grian's hair. "Thanks for sticking around."

"It's nice here."

"So are you."

There was a shuffle that could only be a misplaced kick meant to voice displeasure at the noise. Grian said nothing else, only smiled and sunk deeper in the nest. He could certainly get used to this.