Seren

Grian doesn’t understand what’s going on. Scar is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking as confused as ever, and Grian’s just standing in the middle of the small room, unsure what to do. How hard could he have hit his head? How bad of a concussion could he have?

What could even cause Scar to lose his memories just like that?

He decides to make some tea, as promised. He isn’t sure Scar would have any in his house. He’ll try to come up with something nevertheless. He goes downstairs, looks for a pot to boil water in, and searches the cabinets and chests for herbs.

The space is crumbled; everywhere he looks, there is a chest left open. He manages through the mess; he soon finds a small bag of what could be tea. He fills the pot with water, sets it on the small stove, and waits.

Then, he hears a rather concerning “Ow!” from upstairs. He snaps his head towards the direction from which the sound came and rushes up the ladder to see what has happened. He sees Scar still sitting on the edge of his bed, but now holding his head in his hands as if he were in pain.

“Scar, what happened?” He asks, carefully approaching the other man.

The other takes a minute to respond, but then comes his answer: “Grian, I just had the weirdest dream. And I have the most horrible headache now. Ow.”

What?

“Scar, you’re awake, you couldn’t have dreamt,” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Scar lets go of his head and looks up at him, eyes expressing confusion.

“What? No, I’m not joking, I dreamt I was in a circus!”

A circus? What is he even on about?

Grian shakes his head. He really doesn’t have time for these antics. He wanted to take Scar to Tango’s base, to show him what Tango has been working on, how the mountains have started forming, and-

But Scar looks as serious as ever. Grian thinks Scar has never looked this serious in both of their entire lives.

He starts wondering if Scar’s actually sick, or something. If the impact of his landing has actually left him with a concussion.

Then, Scar starts speaking again, still holding his head in his palms, shoulders shrunk, and Grian thinks he looks-

He looks as if he were actually in pain.

“Grian, my head hurts. So badly, and I-“ his words stutter, and he looks up at Grian, squinting. “We were back in the desert.”

We?

“We?” Grian voices his thoughts, but then stays silent. He doesn’t expect an answer.

He still gets one. “Yes!” Scar says. “We were back in the ring and- But I felt like I wasn’t in my body, I felt as if… I don’t know and then I woke up on your dock, and we were fishing, and I got the Mending Book and-“

“Scar, woah,” Grian approaches him, thinking Scar’s hands are in his own. He sits next to him on the bed. “Slow down.”

Scar inhales and winces as if it hurts. Grian forgets about the tea brewing downstairs.

Scar gulps, trying to find the right words. He turns to look at Grian, and there are tears in the corner of his eyes, and Grian wants nothing else to do but to reach forward and sweep them away, leaving no trace on his scarred cheek.

“I did dream. I don’t know for how long,” he sighs. “I was out in front of Rusty, and I don’t even remember what I was doing. I think I was looking for something in one of the chests, but then I felt a sharp pain in my head, and I started… dreaming? It was as if my memories were possessed by someone else, and I had no control over my body and-“

“Breath,” Grian says, his voice not above a whisper. He still hasn’t let go of the other’s hands. He isn’t planning to.

Scar does as Grian says.

“I dreamt about you,” Scar simply says, and Grian grips his hands a little tighter. But he lets Scar continue. “First, we were back in the desert. In the cactus ring. All I could feel was the sand beneath my body, and you were apologizing endlessly. Then you delivered the final blow.”

Grian winces. He doesn’t like to remember that moment. It wasn’t his best, and he feels guilt making a home in his stomach, inviting itself in like an old friend.

“Then, we were on your dock, fishing,” Scar says, and a small smile starts forming in the corner of his lips. Grian thinks back to Magic Mountain, too. He doesn’t miss the smell of fish, though. “And I got the book, and Cub was there. He was laughing, but I couldn’t say anything, and you stabbed me, and everything went black.”

Grian tears his gaze away from Scar’s. Not a great moment, either.

He feels Scar’s hands loosening in his grip. He doesn’t want to let go of them, but he will if Scar wants to.

“Then I was in the field after I won the whole secret thingy. I can’t remember anything else but the scent of flowers.”

“And then?” Grian asks. He wants to reach out again.

“I was here. And then you flew into me, and I hit my head, and that’s all I can remember.”

“Do you remember walking back here?” Grian asks, and Scar shakes his head, now silent. “What I said to you?”

“No,” Scar sighs, and with a sudden move, he lies down on his bed. “My head started to hurt.”

“Yeah, that checks out,” Grian turns his gaze away from the other.

Grian sits still for a moment, wondering what it could all mean. Did Scar eat something weird? Drink something weird? Maybe he could bring him some potions, at least to make his headache go away.

He has seen Scar in a lot of weird situations; he has seen him forget things: entire conversations, plans they made the day before. But never like this, never like as if he weren’t in his own body.

That’s not just a bump to the head.

Grian exhales softly, dragging a hand down his face.

Scar makes a noise from the bed, something between a groan and a laugh. “And do you know those little animated stars that dance around your head when you hit it too hard?”

Grian almost laughs. “That has never happened to anyone before, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, it definitely did,” Scar’s grin could be heard before it could be seen. “I saw them. I mean, not like actually, but I saw a bunch of stars and- I don’t know. It’s kind of silly.”

Grian turns his body towards Scar. “What?”

Scar stays silent for a minute. He shifts a little, bringing his arm over his eyes to block the light out, almost hiding.

From me? Grian thinks.

“I can still feel the sand between my fingers.”

Grian almost chokes on his own spit. He closes his eyes and thinks that’s wrong. He doesn’t think about these memories anymore; he used to, but if he still did, the thoughts might have eaten him alive.

Every time a memory of their last moments from the cactus ring flashes behind his eyes, it feels as if every spine of every cactus in this world would poke under his skin.

He feels his wings flutter. He feels nervous, all of a sudden.

What could all this mean? Possessed? That’s ridiculous; no one has ever mentioned something like this happening to them. So why did it happen to Scar? Why was he suddenly dreaming of these memories?

It mustn’t have been a dream. It must have been a nightmare.

To feel Grian’s knuckles cracking his skull open, to feel the blade of his sword in his back, gauging him open, to sit in a field of flowers, all alone. Alone, at the edge of the universe.

Grian feels like crying. But he doesn’t. He won’t, not in front of Scar. Maybe when he is alone in his own home, under the end crystals, in the corner of his bedroom, or hiding under his blanket.

“Grian,” Scar’s voice snaps him out of it.

He turns towards the other man. He almost barks out an annoyed ‘What?’.

“You’re doing it again,” Scar says simply, lifting his arms so his eyes could meet Grian’s.

“Doing what?” Grian’s voice is weak. He feels awful. And he wasn’t the one experiencing all of this. So why is he feeling awful?

“That thing where you spiral into ten different worst-case scenarios and don’t say any of them out loud.”

Despite the situation, Grian huffs out a small laugh. Scar is back to his old self, already making jokes, given the situation. His Scar is back. “I don’t do that.”

“You absolutely do.”

Scar grins. But as soon as he does, he winces like even smiling is too much effort. He sighs, “Bad idea.”

Grian shifts closer, instinct overriding everything else. He reaches for a pillow, offering it for Scar to put under his head. “Here. Don’t move so much.”

“Yes, doctor.” Scar mutters and slowly lifts his head until Grian places it under his head. Then, he lies back down, letting his eyes fall shut.

Carefully, Grian reaches out again. Slower this time, giving Scar time to pull away if he wants to. But Grian knows he won’t.

Grian’s fingers settle around Scar’s wrist, grounding, checking. Reassuring himself, he’s still here. In his own bed, between his pillows and blankets.

“Tea’s probably boiling over,” Grian speaks after a moment. Scar doesn’t open his eyes.

“Tragic,” Scar hums. He must be exhausted, Grian thinks.

“Yeah, well. You’re probably concussed, so I feel like that’s slightly more important than burning down your base.”

“Debatable.”

For a second, the bantering almost feels normal.

He decides to stand, letting his fingers fall from Scar’s skin. He thinks it’s wrong. But as soon as he does, Scar reaches out to him, grasping his hand.

“Don’t go too far.” Scar says, quieter now. It doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Grian stills.

“I won’t,” he breaths, just as quietly.

He means it. He really does.

Grian shifts, crossing his leg on the bed. His thigh is pressed into Scar’s leg. Who cares about the tea at this point?

He doesn’t lie back on the bed; he watches Scar as his breathing evens out a little. Not quite asleep, too careful for that.

Is he scared of dreaming?

Minutes that feel like hours pass. Every now and then, Scar’s fingers twitch against his blanket, like he’s trying to grab onto something that isn’t there.

Grian watches it happen. Counts the seconds between each breath without meaning to.

Somewhere downstairs, the faint, angry hiss of boiling water starts to creep into the silence. Grian ignores it.

“Grian?” Scar murmurs after a while, voice rough around the edges.

“I’m here,” he answers.

“You’re real, right?”

Grian pushes himself closer to Scar, further into the bed. “Last time I checked.”

Scar shifts, closer to Grian. “Just making sure.”

“Scar,” the other’s name drips from his tongue like sweet honey. He leans forward, bringing his hands to Scar’s face, cupping his cheeks. Just slightly, careful not to hurt him. “Look at me.”

Scar takes a second, like it costs him something, but he does. He pries his eyes open, unfocused at first, then slowly settles on Grian.

“There you go,” Grian says, quieter. “See? I’m real. Brilliant, smart, incredibly good-looking-“

Scar huffs out a laugh, interrupting him. “You wish.”

“Very much not a dream.” Grian finishes, ignoring Scar.

Scar studies him for a moment longer than necessary, as if he were trying to memorize Grian’s face.

“Okay.” He says.

Downstairs, something whistles. Grian flinches. The tea.

Grian hesitates, but still doesn’t let go of Scar’s face. He looks back at the ladder, then back at Scar.

Scar doesn’t say anything this time, but his eyes follow the movement. There’s something uncertain in them now. Something small and quiet and afraid.

Grian sighs, and before his movements register, he lets go of Scar. It feels ever so wrong. “I’ll be two seconds,” Grian says. “Don’t- move. Don’t pass out. Just don’t do anything dramatic.”

Scar manages a faint smile. “No promises.”

Grian stands, but before he can fully step away, Scar’s hand catches his sleeve.

Not tight, just enough to make Grian still in his steps.

He looks back down at the other. “Two seconds,” he repeats, softer this time.

Scar slowly lets go of him.

Grian doesn’t waste a second. He ducks down the ladder, almost flies over to the stove in a quick motion, getting the pot off of it before it could make a mess. The smell of the herbs fills the entire kitchen area.

He grabs two cups, pours some tea into them, and immediately heads back upstairs.

He is fast, too fast maybe, but when he reaches the top of the ladder and sees Scar where he has left him, still on the bed, still breathing, something loosens in his chest.

“See?” He reaches the bed and claims his spot next to Scar. “Two seconds, not more than that.”

Scar hums in acknowledgment and tries to sit up on the bed. He doesn’t get far, though; he gasps slightly, and his head falls back down into the pillows. Grian shakes his head, and instead of offering Scar his tea, he places both of the cups down on a chest’s surface nearby. They’re still too hot to drink, anyway.

As soon as he is back between the pillows, Scar’s arms find their way around his middle in an awkward hug, fingers clinging to his sweater like a lifeline. He scoots closer to the other so Scar wouldn’t have to, and he immediately buries his face in the red fabric. Grian lets him. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m tired,” Scar muffles into his sweater, and Grian finds himself smiling. He looks so peaceful like this. He always does, when they are under the same blanket, breathing evenly as sleep takes him away. Scar huffs out a little laugh, more to himself than to anything Grian has said, and Grian wonders what he might be thinking about.

Because, as far as he’s aware, there is nothing funny about this situation.

He looks down at the man in his lap. He acts before he can think, letting his hand find the dark brown curls. He weaves his fingers between the strands as if trying to soothe Scar’s pain away.

“I think you should sleep,” Grian murmurs, voice trying to be as soft as possible. Scar murmurs back something in return, but Grian doesn’t quite catch it.

Scar shifts closer at that, if that’s even possible, his grip tightening for just a second before settling again. His breath ghosts through the fabric of Grian’s sweater, uneven at first, then gradually finding a rhythm.

Grian thinks he could get used to this.

He finds himself lying back again, letting his head hit the pillows. Scar shifts slowly and carefully until his head rests on Grian’s chest. It’s uncomfortable for Grian’s wings, but he doesn’t mind. He would never give this up.

The tea has gone cold, but he couldn’t care less. Scar is fast asleep, most likely exhausted, and all Grian could care about is that he rests.

And that he doesn’t dream anymore. Especially not about the past, their past.