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It had happened too many times already. Grian woke up, heart pounding, sweat beading on his forehead, hands trembling and mind racing as he tried to distance himself from the images in his mind.
When most people had a nightmare it was easy enough to move on. Most people could remind themselves that it wasn’t real, that it was all just a dream, the images would fade away to nothing and sleep would come once again. Except, for Grian, that wasn’t the case. Third Life had been real. The dreams were memories, not stories, and every night he saw the same things flash before his eyes: Scar dying, Ren rising to power, Cleo, Etho, Impulse - so many of his friends had died because of him.
Yet here they all were again, a new server, a safe server, where they built and mined and laughed and smiled without a care in the world. It was as if everyone else had forgotten.
But Grian couldn’t forget the hell he’d been through. He didn’t know if it was because he’d created the server, or because he’d been the last to die (and even though he wasn’t in that world any more, he would never rid his fists of Scar’s blood), but he couldn’t shake the memories from him even in this life.
Grian forced himself to sit up, pushed aside his blankets, and clambered from his bed as he attempted to push the wave of nausea and guilt to one side. It was raining - he could hear the gentle sound of water colliding with windows outside his starter base - which meant he wasn’t going to be going outside. Grian knew his luck - he’d go out for a spot of fighting and the rain would become a lightning storm. No, it would be best if he just went mining. He’d be safe in the mines, even if he was exhausted. There was no way in hell he was going back to sleep.
In fact, if he had any say in the matter, then he would never go back to sleep. It was a surefire way to avoid the nightmares, and if he kept himself busy enough then the thoughts of what happened would have no time to intrude. He was sure that, eventually, he’d get used to not sleeping, right?
He changed out of his pyjamas, pulling on his signature red jumper and some iron armour, before heading down the staircase he’d made from the back of his base, silk touch pick in hand.
He’d be fine.
# # #
The season was getting off to a great start. Scar was neighbours with Grian again - even if his friend was a little off.
Off, really, was an understatement.
Every time Scar had smiled or waved at Grian in the last week, the other had looked despondent. He’d quickly scurried away, deliberately gone out of his way to avoid him, and with his starter base now looking in good shape he intended on seeking out his friend and seeing just why he was acting so strangely. The issue now was that he had to find Grian, and while they weren’t in the thick rainforest like last season, they were still surrounded entirely by trees - dark oak this time around - and it was difficult to find the man when he was trying to remain hidden.
The first and easiest plan that came to mind was to visit his base. If Grian was anywhere, it would make sense that he was there.
So that was where Scar went. He followed the dirt path he’d dug through the trees, hands in his pockets as he hummed and looked around at the new world. His mind was full of ideas, bubbling with potential, and he couldn’t wait to get started.
At least, while he said he couldn’t wait, the task on hand was still the most important: finding Grian and figuring out what was wrong with him. If he wasn’t at his base then he’d be nearby collecting wood, or he’d be in the mine that led down from the back of his home. Grian hadn’t only been hiding from him, but from all the Hermits, and it led him to believe that he wouldn’t have strayed too far from his home.
The walk didn’t take particularly long - that was the benefit of being neighbours - but any worries that Scar had initially held for his friend doubled, perhaps tripled, or even quadrupled when he found himself looking at Grian’s base.
He’d been here once, on the first day to work on the path, so he hadn’t seen how much it had changed in the meantime. Last season it had been the Hobbit Hole - beautiful and detailed with a couple of farms to get him started. This season, it didn’t look like much had been built beyond a basic structure. There were no farms - not even food - and what had been built looked shoddy. The wood was splintering and the stone was crumbling.
“Grian?” Scar called out, unmoving for a moment as he took it all in. Whatever was going on, it was so much worse than he first thought and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Of course, in calling out his friend’s name he didn’t know what he expected, but when Grian didn’t reply he wasn’t surprised. What did surprise him, however, was the shout that came from behind. Looking back and up, into the trees above, Scar saw a flash of movement - the glint of a sword and shaking of branches. He was briefly fooled into believing that there was a monumental battle in the canopy, but upon closer examination he saw that wasn’t the case at all.
Grian was lashing out with his sword, dripping with sweat as he fought. He had dark eyes beneath his eyes and his token red jumper hung from his torso loosely. He looked utterly exhausted, he looked ill, and Scar’s worry for him peaked. He didn’t know how long he’d been awake, but Scar knew that he needed to get him down as soon as possible (yet with Grian looking like this, he wasn’t even sure how to approach the man).
Of course, the world made that easier for him in a moment when Grian - still confidently swinging his sword despite his body being sluggish and weak - made a misstep. In the blink of an eye, Scar went from standing and staring at his friend in shock to catching (just) a far too light body in his arms. It wasn’t as if he went around picking his fellow hermits up, and he knew that Grian was a smaller man than he, but even he could tell that this was too little weight in his arms. Grian, the moment he realised what had happened, tried to scarper, but Scar wasn’t about to let him go and only tightened his grip under his arms and legs.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Scar asked, trying to sound upbeat and cheerful. Maybe acting normally would help Grian speak about whatever was going on. He’d been trying to hide it, and Scar felt that drawing more attention to it would only close him off more. He needed to find out now, before something worse happened to his friend, but he had to go about that carefully.
“There were Phantoms.” Grian replied, his words a little slurred as he spoke. “A dozen or so, I had to fight.”
Scar frowned, wrinkling his nose as he quickly pulled Grian’s statement apart.
Firstly, there had been no monsters. It was day - not dawn, when things would burn, or dusk when things would begin to creep out from the undergrowth - but day. Secondly, Scar believed that there had been a dozen Phantoms at some point. Grian looked exhausted, and the only thing that would explain that, the delirium, and his speech would be a lack of sleep. But why hadn’t he been sleeping? Even when he was working as hard as he could on a project, the first night of Phantom’s was enough of a reminder to take care of himself every once in a while - a dozen suggested that Grian hadn’t slept in a long time, and if it had been that long it was a deliberate attempt to avoid sleep.
It was unhealthy, he could die if he didn’t sleep (and while he would respawn, the process was painful and one any hermit would want to avoid as much as possible), and so the order of Scar’s priorities changed.
He needed to get Grian back to physical health. He needed food, water, and rest. Then, and only then, would he begin to ask what was going on. At least now it would be a little easier to coerce the man into doing just those things.
“You’re coming with me.” Scar said. He didn’t wait for a response (though he did hear a pathetic mumble of ‘but my base--’ that was muffled against his chest), instead starting quickly back home. His leather boots thudded against the ground, the weight in his arms became a little heavier, and he tried not to think about the situation he was in.
His friend was hurting, the last thing Grian needed was Scar thinking about how nice it felt to hold him so close…
By the time they arrived in Scar’s home, Grian had completely given up protesting. Scar had expected him to attempt to flee when he’d placed him down on his bed but instead the younger only rolled onto his side and curled his legs up to his chest. He looked comfortable, but his eyes were bloodshot and wide open. His body was relaxed in bed, but his face was filled with fright.
“Can you get some sleep for me, Grian?” Scar asked quietly. “A nap? I’ll get food and water for you when you wake up, and I’ve got some spare clean clothes you can change into, but--”
“I can’t.” He admitted weakly. “And I’m sorry for everything.”
“Sorry?” Scar asked, brows furrowing, and Grian quickly continued.
“You don’t remember. No one remembers. I’d think it was a dream if I didn’t still have the mark.”
“The m--” Scar was cut off, Grian jolting to sit upright and roll one sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and holding out his arm, hand balled up into a fist. There was a lot to unpack - a number of cuts that Scar couldn’t tell if Grian had made himself or if they were the result of a fight (and with the state his friend was in, it could have easily been either) - but what drew his attention was the bright red tally mark. There were two others beside it, they were faded and almost the same colour as his skin but Scar could see a faint yellow hue shading in the middle tally, and a faint green hue on the left.
“No one else remembers. It was horrible, we were at war with our friends, I killed you. I killed you
twice.
You died and I won and it was all my fault and--”
Grian spoke fast, stumbling over his words, and Scar watched as fear turned into desperation - a need to be believed - turned to tears. He stopped speaking, he gasped for air, and he let out a sob that would crack even the coldest of hearts.
Scar didn’t have a cold heart, and the sound shattered his completely.
He didn’t hesitate before he joined Grian on the bed, his arms immediately coming to wrap around his friend as tightly as he physically could, his nose pressing against his shoulder and his eyes squeezing shut.
“G, I forgive you.” He muttered quietly. In all honesty, Grian was right, he had no idea what he was talking about, but he could tell just how much it had affected him and he hoped that his words would do something to lessen whatever guilt Grian still had. Whether the world was real or just a horrific nightmare, the pain that Grian felt was real and Scar would do anything to make it go away.
“I don’t deserve--”
“But I do. I do forgive you. You’re my best friend.” Scar swallowed, biting his bottom lip and pulling back just enough to look at Grian’s face. His cheeks were red and wet with tears, emotions bottled up for weeks pouring out uncontrollably, and it made Scar’s stomach churn. He wanted to help so much more than he could - he wanted to tell Grian how much the man meant to him - but now was hardly the time for heartfelt confessions.
“Whatever happened, I know you wouldn’t have done it to hurt me. I know if you did, it wouldn’t have been on purpose. And even if you did, you’re the most important person in my life. My neighbour, my friend, my ally. If killing me helped you get out, I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you’re here, now. I’m glad that whatever happened in that world, it’s over. We’re here together again, and whatever happened there won’t change any of that.”
The sobs continued, more strained now than before, and Scar could feel the fabric of his shirt wet as Grian leant forward for contact and comfort.
“I’m here.” Scar whispered as gently as he could, his hands slowly moving up and down against Grian’s back to offer everything he could. If he wanted more, Scar would move mountains for him. If Grian requested it, Scar would rearrange the stars in the night sky until he was satisfied. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
As Grian continued to cry, to let out everything he had been holding in, Scar continued his gentle affirmations. He only stopped when the sobs became quiet sniffles and he then sat in silence, not letting his friend go. At some point, the two went from sitting to lying down, with Grian’s head on Scar’s chest - as if his breathing was helping to calm him down.
When Grian spoke again, his voice was hoarse and quiet. He still hadn’t eaten or slept in days, he was still weak, but he sounded a little more like himself than before. At least, until Scar realised what he said.
“Stay with me.”
He’d never heard Grian so vulnerable. Whatever he remembered, it was so much worse than Scar could picture, and if he’d been through this hell then he was glad he didn’t remember it.
“Of course.” Scar replied with ease. The work on his base could wait another day, everything he needed to do could be done later. If Grian needed him to stay, he would. “You’re safe now, get some sleep. I won’t leave you.”
They were already lying down and Grian was clearly content with his pillow agreeing to stay. His eyes closed, his breathing slowed, and Scar risked moving one hand to comb through his hair. At first he reasoned it was because he could see a few knots from Grian’s recent lack of self care, but after a few minutes it was nothing more than indulgence. Grian didn’t complain. In fact, Grian only uttered two more quiet words as he fell off the cliff edge of exhaustion and finally began to sleep.
“Love you.”
Scar just smiled to himself, closing his own eyes as his movements became smaller and slower and he too began to drift off.
Maybe he responded, maybe he didn’t, but the words didn’t need to be spoken now: Scar would have plenty more time to say them.