#watcher scott

“You’re one of Them,” Grian stated flatly, dark eyes narrowed into slits as he kept his attention on Scott.

His muscles tensed as he stopped what he was doing, though he wasn’t necessarily surprised at Grian’s comment. Scott had been wondering how long it would be until they had this conversation, until Grian realized that Scott was– used to be one of Them. 

Scott straightened up, but not before letting an annoyed sound somewhere between a grunt and a huff of air rise in his throat. He couldn’t sense another Player or The Watchers’ presence anywhere near here, ignoring Grian, so he allowed himself to speak freely. Scott assumed Grian did that on purpose. “Yeah, well, so are you. And I’m not one of Them. Not anymore.”

Grian hummed lowly in response, fluffing out his wings. They stared at each other in strained silence for far too long before Grian broke it. “You could always come back, you know. I’m sure They would want you again. You’ve proven yourself extremely capable.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott scoffed, crossing his arms. “And why would I do that? They don’t care about me. Void, they put me through horrors whenever they can manage. I don’t have enough power to fight them against putting me in The Games now that I’m a Player, but they would do much worse to me if they could, if I didn’t want to at least try to help our friends here. Besides, I left for a reason, Grian. Many reasons. If you were smart, you would leave too.”

Grian tightened his fists’ grip, nails digging into his palm. “You know it isn’t that simple.”

“How isn’t it that simple?” Scott’s wings bristled, irritated. “I was brought into this world as a Watcher, yet I found the strength to leave, to become a Player of my own right.”

Scott’s wings were once more tangible, made of feathers and glowing purple eyes like all Watchers of his kind, but they weren’t like that anymore. They were made of stars, only becoming more populated and strong as he evolved further into a different being. Scott wasn’t sure what he was anymore, but he wasn’t like any human or hybrid he knew, and he certainly wasn’t a Watcher. Pointed ears, cyan blue hair, stars all over his skin… a far cry from the glowing purple eyes and eye masks of his old kin.

“That isn’t supposed to be possible,” Grian whispered, sounding smaller than he usually allowed himself to be.

“There is always time for change.” Scott didn’t want to soften with pity, but he did. He’s been in Grian’s place before. He remembered what it was like to be terrified of what would happen if he were to leave. He was petrified imagining what would happen if he were to betray everything he was taught, that he knew. Scott was aware it wasn’t an easy ask, but he had to try. He would have wanted someone to try for him. “You could leave too. I… I tried to persuade you away all those years ago, but you foolishly accepted when We– They brought you into Their ranks.”

“They offered me a way out!” Grian snapped, going on the defensive. “Them accepting me was a mercy. You would have done the same if you were in my position.”

“They are bloodthirsty sadists who get off on Players’ sorrow, terror, and violence.” Scott was getting heated now. “They conduct The Games, put all of us through genuine torture, just for their entertainment! They don’t know the word ‘mercy’, Grian. They always have an alternative motive for the good They seemingly do, but you can escape. It doesn’t have to be this way for you forever.” “Yes it does,” Grian insisted, rigidly slamming down his hand to punctuate his words. “I’m indebted to them. They are- They are good to me.” “So you had to punch Scar to death in a cactus ring?” Scott raised a brow, tone harsh as he attempted to find an old wound. “Riddle your knuckles with sores? Have Scar’s blood on your hands? Is all that something you consider good for you?”

He must have found it for grief and anguish flashed on Grian’s face, yet he murmured, “That’s the price of staying a Player.”

“You have been brainwashed by Their philosophy, Grian.” Scott allowed the star wings to fade away again, finding it more comfortable than having them out. He felt more like a Player without them, even if many winged hybrid Players existed. “They don't care who gets hurt, as long as They have Their entertainment and are properly satiated. They’re gluttons for punishing others. They use you because you’re helpful, a tool to use, but you’re still an outsider. Trust me, I would know. They once talked freely around me.”

Grian didn’t answer as he mulled over Scott’s words, keening uncomfortably. Scott waited only a moment before continuing, taking the conversation in a slightly different direction, “Since you have been one of Them for a while now, I don’t know if you will still need to feed like me if you leave, but there are other emotions you can feed on. Ones not so terrible to inflict.”

He pulled at the end of his red sweater, focusing on his fingers and the way they interacted with the fabric. Grian chewed on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. “I… I don’t feed on The Games. They have me go in as a Player to make things run smoothly. They feed on some of my pain as well, but that’s fine. It makes it hurt less.”

Scott’s face contorted with confusion. “How do you feed, then? Don’t you- oh.”

Recognition struck Scott as he recalled all the silly minigames and playful resistances Grian would put on, start, or help conduct on Hermitcraft, the server he called home. Demise, Tag, The Mycelium Resistance, Hermit Challenges, need he go on? That is how Grian would feed! Outside of The Games and doing The Watchers’ will, Grian fed similarly to Scott, with the emotions a Player experiences while playing a game they consented to engage in. It was like Scott inviting people to participate in MCC, or his escape rooms, or build-and-seek, or–

Scott fed ethically, unlike The Watchers, who got their emotions immorally and through torture. Scott fed on what the Player’s freely gave. Scott fed on the Player’s joy, competitive spirit, fun, and playful annoyance. Grian did the same! There was hope for him, after all. 

“You’re not as reliant on The Watchers as I initially thought,” Scott breathed out, feeling more optimistic in Grian’s chances of escaping then he did previously. “I can help you, Grian. I can help you escape Them, but only if you let me.” Grian flattened his wings against his back, standing on guard. “Do you promise?”

“You have my word,” Scott promised, holding out his hand to seal the deal.

Grian eyed his hand, hesitant. “If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

Scott shrugged, unbothered. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.” 

And he didn’t expect anything else, knowing Grian well enough at this point. Honestly, the fact that Grian was even considering taking Scott up on his offer was a huge deal. He had been trying to sway Grian to the side of reason for quite awhile now, though a lot more subtly as to not expose himself.

Luckily for Scott, Grian only waited a half second longer before taking Scott’s outstretched hand in his. The handshake was firm, only lasting for a quick one-two before it broke.