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Today has been ruthless and tiresome, running around and avoiding danger like a wicked waltz. Grian had spent most of this dance stuck in a figurative cage, the chains wounding tight ends around his soul and heart. He was in immense pain, whole body swimming with the sharp sting of torture.
He was a puppet on an invisible string, his movements not his own. His thoughts are a continuation stream of punishment, like a river flowing to the inwards of an erupting volcano. He didn’t want to be where he was now, straddling the knees of the man he loves.
Scar had Grians arms held high, grip smooth yet forceful. “C’mon Gri… fight it.” Scar hushed, the mask with an inbuilt voice changer making his words sizzle.
Grian didn’t want this, he didn’t want to drive the knife into his lover’s stomach. He didn’t want to twist it. He didn’t want Scars blood on his hands. But he certainly wanted Necromancer gone. He missed the man he once was, care free and oblivious to the world's knives.
He’d been hurt so much, the tingle in his finger tips was evident of that. The bruises and cuts scattered across his being was evidence of that fact, his eyes stung with tears. He didn’t want to kill Scar.
“I can’t..” he gasped, pushing his arms farther down. He met the restraint of Scars hands in his forearms, “Ringmaster.. I can’t.” He cried, fingers gripping the blades handle tighter.
“Block them out. Come on Grian,” Scar said through grunts, tightening his grasp against Grians wrist carefully. The hand on his broken arm was lighter than the other. “Fight it.” He said again through gritted teeth.
He felt like a cornered animal, shaking from withdrawal of the medicine the G’s gave him. Sweat beading down his brow and a tight expression on his face, he just wanted this to be over. He wanted to go home, see his cats, sleep and finally be with the people he loved. But all strays eventually bare their teeth, widening their frames to seem bigger than they are.
“Do it.” Necromancer hissed through teeth, leaned against the table full of deadly weapons. “Grian,” they cooed. “Don’t be like that. We both know you want to.”
“Shut up.” Grian mumbled, fighting the invisible chains. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want Scars blood soaking his hands. “Shut up.”
“Stop disobeying my order and just kill him already!” Necromancer yelled, voice tight with pain and anger. “End it.”
Deep down Grian felt something break, like the leash around his heart shattered into a million pieces. The ‘hero’ behind them, far from view, groaned. Tumbling down to their knees. He knew what this was, it was freedom. He wanted to run out that door, flee everything, run away from his pain. But he knew that couldn’t happen until this was over.
“Give me the knife, Grian.” Scar hissed, rearranging his grasp.
“Let go. Please.” He begged, letting his hand covered by a splint fall. Tears slipped from his eyes, a knowing thought burrowing deep within his head.
He smiled sadly down at his lover, and Scar knew that look. So he let go, freeing Grian once again from a long suffered grasp. “I knew you could do it.” He couldn’t see the man’s smile, but he knew from the way the skin around his green eyes crinkled.
“Stupid. This is all- stupid!” Necromancer yelled through a hiss, voice taunt with unseen pain. “Why couldn’t you just listen- you stupid… stupid vet.” Grian glanced at the veiled hero, they were crumpled on the wooden floor of the stage. If the situation was something different , he might have thought it was beautiful.
The part of Necromancers face that he could see was covered in blood, their skin gaunt and pale. Much like his own, they both look disheveled. But for different reasons, one of them was just trying to live. While the other was fighting for that same purpose.
Maybe the thoughts that were running through his head were stupid, it was regretful and made him feel guilty. Burrowing its seed deep within Grians mind like a tree screeching to sprout. All Grian could think about was driving the knife, held loosely in his palm, straight into their neck. It could have shocked him if he were sober, if his body was functioning properly. But it wasn’t, he was high on pain meds and adrenaline. He wanted this to be over.
It felt like treating an ill animal, one beyond too sick to continue on. If he imagined that he was freeing them then maybe he’d feel less guilty. He couldn’t stop his next movements, moving on overdrive and stumbling steps. He tilted and pulled towards them, gazing upon their body covered by a lacy black dress. He was glad that the blood wouldn’t show too much.
“I’m so sorry…” he whispered as he knelt down, but he didn’t mean those words. He didn’t mean the quiver in his voice. He didn’t mean the tight expression on his face. He was angry, the blood running through his veins felt hot and burnt beneath his skin.
Necromancer looked up at him, and if he looked hard enough he could see their face beneath the veil. But it didn’t matter. “What…”
“Grian. What are you doing?” Scar spoke with a grunt. If Grian looked over at him, he might have seen him sitting up.
He lifted the knife in a shaky grasp, finding the hero’s shoulder for stability. He didn’t even think about his next movement before slamming the sharp metal deep within their neck. Didn’t dare to feel bad about the blood fleeing with desperation. Didn’t dare to listen to the gurgle of Nercromancer. He drove it in again, ensuring that this would be their end.
He drove the knife back one last time. He knew what he did was wrong, yet he didn’t feel an ounce of shame. No guilt or regret, just pure blissful relief. His hand was covered in Scarlett, if he looked in a mirror he’d see splatters of the same liquid coating his face and shirt. Yet he just felt relief.
“They’re um… I think they’re dead now.” He spoke breathlessly, looking down at the display of Necromancer dead and bloodied. The way the blood spilled out of their neck and nose was scenic, creating a dark halo of red, black and ginger.
“Jesus Grian,” Scar huffed, concerned and admiring, making a potion of his words. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Grian finally broke his gaze with Necromancers body, getting up from his knelt down position to walk back to the man he loved dearly. “Can we go home now?”
“I- yeah, yeah of course.” Scar stood on shaky legs, crutch being pushed down as he came up. “C’mon.”
Grian handed Scar the small knife back, returning it to its original owner. It too was covered in blood, webbing off the blade as droplets dripped.
The pair walked up stairs with a struggle, aches and exhaustion replacing their bone marrow. “What you did, I’m sorry it got to that point. It was hot but- you shouldn’t have to live remembering that.” Scar glanced at Grian as they struggled up the steps.
“It’s fine,” he smiled at the scarred man, the lighting making his green eyes a swampy hue. “Is it wrong that I’m relieved? I thought that I’d be.. I don't know. Regretful maybe?” It was an honest question, he really did want to know.
“Oh, it might be the adrenaline. It makes us do crazy stuff, but Grian.” He sighed before looking away, focusing on the multitude of steps. “I don’t blame you, and I certainly don’t think what you did was wrong.”
“And honestly, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I did.” Amusement Parked its car into his tone, a low and hushed chuckle. They were at the heavy door now, Grian reached to open it. It flew open with a bang before he could get a grasp at the knob.
“Oh my god.” A familiar voice spoke with breathless clarity, her pink hair tied into a bun. The other stood next to her was taller and blond. “Oh thank goodness you’re okay.” Lizzie spoke, placing a hand on his shoulder and wrapping him into a tight hug.
Her chest aggravated his ribs, causing a wave of pain as Jimmy joined in. He’d bear it if it meant reconnecting with the two, it was a warm embrace. Echoing past grief and relief. “Hey, be careful, he’s still hurt.” Scar broke the solemn silence, the hug falling with it.
“Why are you covered in blood?” Jimmy said, gazing at the droplets covering Grian. He knew what the blond saw, a once innocent man now covered in someone else’s blood. He held a worried glint in his eyes, the hand by his side twitching to either embrace him once more or to wipe the blood away.
“It’s not mine, well most. I um-“ he tried to push the words out through the damn in his throat, it was as if admitting his actions would make him feel guilty. Remorseful, but he didn’t feel any of those things. He felt good and happy, free. “I killed Necromancer.”
They just looked at him, shock in their eyes. He still couldn’t feel bad, saying it was confirmation. Confirmation that he was able to do the things he thought against not even last month. If he was honest with himself, he enjoyed driving that knife in and out of Necromancers neck.
“Let’s get you home.” It was said with such hesitation, like breaking the bubble that was silence would cause unfortunate consequences. But Jimmy just looked at him, moving past the blood. He said it with such care, why’d he have to look at Grian like nothing was wrong.
-
They were walking through halls, avoiding the front as flames engulfed the atmosphere. Even from their position he could smell the burn, the tangy air filling his lungs. The three Bamboozlers walked around him, shoulders high as a ladder.
“Hey.” Lizzie moved to stand next to him, fixing her pace as they walked. “I’m sorry, if we were quicker.. you wouldn’t have had to do that.” He assumed she was referring to the blood soaking his clothes, he could feel droplets drying into a dark crust on his face.
“It’s okay, I don’t blame anyone.” It felt like a dream, being able to walk next to her and talk. “And don’t blame yourself, there was no way you could have expected this to happen.”
“Yeah well, I can’t help but to blame myself. We should have been more careful, especially after the park incident.” He could feel the regret filling her veins from here. The way Lizzie avoided making eye contact, the way she held herself.
“And Terra. I should have told you,” she spared a quick glance before looking away, it seemed like a ping pong game. “If I had just told you.” Her voice was tight, shoulders rising with tension.
“Would that have changed anything though? I’ve learnt a lot these past few weeks, and no way would I ever blame you or think it was your fault. Telling me who Terra used to be wouldn’t have changed shit.” Grian spoke with care, it was the truth. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the G’s. The blame fell onto Daybreak, Terra, Blackhole, Morphiling, and Necromancer who was dead by the fault of Grian's hands.
Each step radiated a sharp jolt through his body, the pain medication fully wearing off and leaving a deep tingle into his fingertips. Yet the adrenaline still lingered, it absorbed his being. Making his head fuzzy and heart racing.
“You keep surprising me,” she said with a hint of a chuckle. “I’m proud, and I’m happy. I’m happy we got you back, yes not in proper shape but… I’m glad we found you alive.”
“I’m not done supporting your questionable life choices, I’ve grown to get used to it.” He smiled up at her, sharing a friendly smile.
“I swear just last month you were yelling at us for our hobby’s.” He was glad that brought a laugh to her lips, Lizzie deserved to be happy. She deserved to spend time with the hero she loves, she doesn’t deserve to drown in the endless pool of guilt.
“Yeah I probably was.” Laughing caused the blood nearest his mouth to crack, it felt tight and crumbly. Evidence of his rage, and his freedom.
“Hey Grian,” Lizzie spoke, staring at him with fondness and pride. “You look pretty badass right now.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he smiled wider. His chest felt tight with happiness and excitement, yet sore. Every movement he kept remembering his broken ribs, but he didn’t mind it. “You too, Liz.”
-
Everything had gone to shit. They were so close, so close to getting home. Until Terra showed up and separated them in a maze of veins and roots. They could deal with that, it was a maze. Navigating shouldn’t have been hard with Scar by his side. But life keeps throwing punches, now the two of them are struggling with Morphling.
Scar was pinned to the ground by Morphlings foot and sizzling staff, a threat of electrocution. Grian knew second hand the damage a staff like that could do. It could fry nerves and damage organs, especially with the location it was pointed.
Grian was crumpled on the ground, pain making a home in his body. He felt lightheaded, like the world fell onto him. His arm and chest pulsed with burn, the pain causing a deep rooted fire. It wasn’t a sharp sting or a dull beat, just intense heat.
It wasn’t just the pain that made his heart pound for freedom, it was rage. Grian was infuriated and angry, breath tight with every pull. He was never familiar with this sensation, the shake of his hands or the ricketing of his head. It was so new to him, yet so friendly.
He embraced it, welcoming the rage inside. If he had a choice to stop this he would take it. A distraction was needed, but he needs to get back onto his feet and plant them. Become focused and not let the adrenaline or pain guide his thoughts, he was no longer a puppet. And he was sick of this dance.
With a grunt he pushed up, using the ever moving roots to guide him to his feet. It was a tricky task, yet he faced it with determination. Stealing a handful of dirt on his way up, he pulled and pulled until he was a rocking ship.
When he was sure he could stay rooted to the ground, he yelled. “Hey Morphling!” When the blue haired man looked into his direction he pulled his arm back and threw the dirt and rocks. Aiming for his face, it was successful. His target thrashed and clawed at his face, moving his focus away from Scar.
Grian knelt down quickly, pulling the crutch that fell earlier up with him. He fixed his grasp, tightening his palms around the cold metal. It was a familiar moment, taking him back to the auditorium. Taking him back to when he stabbed Necromancer over and over again. And he allowed it to take over, to fuel his ever growing hatred of the hero stumbling in front of him.
“You stupid- Medling vet!” Morphling hollered, just like Necromancer. “If you just- ugh! You’re meant to be weak. Some stupid and worthless Vet!” He could tell the hero was losing it. Losing his composure and finally letting a wild rage run rampant. “Drop dead already.”
It felt like a forest fire, rage growing from person to person. Igniting the fire and letting it grow bigger and taller, like unkept grass in an untouched field.
So Grian swung. Sharing his rage and agony with his tormenter. Mirroring the same anger and pain towards the man who inflicted it. The crutch landed towards Morphling with a sickening blow, the sound ricocheting towards the sky and soaring like a bird. He tumbled and fell, clutching his side with deep whilsted breath.
Grian broke Morphlings rib.
Something broke in his mind, an unsettling feeling making way. Like a switch to a light bulb, the second he hit Morphling he knew what it was. Grian was no longer a cowering animal, tucked tightly in a corner. He was no longer prey, he was predator. Holding himself tall, composure tight and calmed. He wanted nothing more than Morphlings blood coating the thin sheet of snow. He wanted to double down and inflict more pain than he was forced to endure.
Morphling glared at him, dirt coating his face. A pure hatred plastered on the man’s face as he stared, wiping the dirt off. “Oh you little shit.” He spat, “I was nice to you. I could have kept you starved and weak yet here we are! If you had just listened and allowed the plan to move forward, none of this would’ve happened.” Morphling kept spewing words, allowing them to flow out like a stream of water. Grian couldn’t help the grin that split his lips.
“I’d watch what you say next, hero.” Scar grunted as he got up, standing behind Morphling. He looked like an intimidating shadow, letting the fog surround him. He spoke with such intensity, glaring holes into the back of the hero’s head.
He understood now why it felt so good to let his anger rise. Let it take over, it was a bubbling concoction. Mixing with all his emotions and surfacing brighter and louder. His very being was taken over by the urge to kill once again, and it felt good. He understands.
He wasn’t the man he used to be, the man who cared deeply for animals and human life. The man who would be afraid of death and viewing it. He was replaced, replaced by the man standing here now. The man who wanted to drive a hero’s skull into the ground. He never thought bloodlust would feel so good.
“You’re not so innocent. Judging by the blood that stains you, you are just as bad as the people you surround yourself with.” Grian saw a glow swallow Morphling, brightening the dark sky and shadows. It hurt his eyes, forcing him to blink and look away.
“Shit!” He heard Scar yell, finally when the light dampened. Grian moved his gaze from the spot where Morphling once was, now towards Scars leg. A blue snake coiled around the fabric, its jaw dislocated and posture ready to strike.
And if Grian knew anything, Morphling definitely didn’t choose a non venomous snake. But he knew a lot about reptiles, he was a vet. So he ran towards the scarred man, kneeling down to grab at the snake. Wrapping his fingers tightly around the neck of the serpent, using two fingers to hold its jaw wide open. It thrashed and twisted, squirming to get free.
The light returned, causing Grian to lose focus on his grip. Yet he didn't let go, the smooth scales under his finger tips morphed into textured fabric. When Grian opened his eyes he didn’t see a snake, he saw Morphling. His fist tightened against his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.
He didn’t register when he threw down Morphling, nor when he pinned him down. All he could see was his face below his, and a fist bashing against the man’s cheek and nose. He felt breathless, gasping in breaths as he hit. Teeth clenched and fist pounding over and over again. The noise when his fist connected to Morphlings face was gruesome, a sharp crack. A loud bash and a dull echo.
He realised it was him, him who was beating up Morphling. He could hear muffled voices and hands trying to pry him off, one hitting his arm and face while the other set was trying to get him off of Morphling. It was as if the sounds of him punching Morphling was all he could hear, like he was wearing headphones. His knuckles hurt, stung as he kept punching. Over and over again. A repeated wave of anger and frustration channeling his fist, creating power in each hit.
Why was it so hard to breathe?
“Grian! Grian he’s had enough! C’mon,” a familiar voice yelled beside him, breaking his trance. He didn’t know how long he sat there, punching Morphlings face. But it was now bloodied and wet with the red liquid, the man’s eyes were half closed and lidded. Mouth slightly open with a crack in the thin skin. “He’s dead. You can stop now.”
He just kept staring. The sight below him was all he could look at, the mangled face of someone he had once trusted. He never knew the man personally, but he was a hero who was well known. A hero who was said to have saved many, he just kept looking at Morphling.
“He’s dead.” Scars distorted voice spoke again, hooking his arms around his middle and pulling him away from the body. His feet felt wobbly as he was forced to stand, he felt a deep sting on his knuckles. As he glanced down he could see the skin had broken.
It was like before, he didn’t feel anything but pain and relief. Like murdering others was the best outcome, maybe in a different world he wouldn’t be the direct cause. He wouldn’t have been the person to spill blood.
-
Weeks after the rescue mission Grian still didn’t feel guilty. Even when he was stuck in a bland hospital room located in the hero’s agency. Not even when he got home to his cats, not even when he was watching Scar cook dinner.
“Can I help with anything?” He wondered, hovering around the counters and scarred man.
“Oh Grian, you’d find some way to mess up.” Scar said with humour, drawing out a laugh from Grian.
“Now how would I do that?” He enquired.
“I’m not sure, but you certainly have a way of being a disaster in the kitchen.” It was a normal conversation, like what happened not a few weeks ago wasn’t even an event in their lives.
“Well excuse me, I’ve gotta have some flaws.” He grinned, saying the statement with fake seriousness.
Once Scar was done with dinner, they sat down and began eating. He loved these moments in the day, where he could stare at the man across him. Forgetting all the struggles they’ve faced, and just letting the world wash away around them. Scar pushed a box towards Grain, smiling at him with a toothy grin.
“Open it.”
So he did, face falling into a silken smile. Adoration filling its way into his heart. What layed in the box was a silver watch, its hands adjusted correctly. “Scar,” it was the same watch he was given many months ago. The same watch that was broken. “Wait you didn’t steal this right?”
“No, no. I bought it, I had Tango take me to get it today.” The smile that graced Scars lips never fell. Standing strong, looking like a beautiful trophy.
“But you were with me all day.”
“I may have lied about checking an aisle. Tango made sure to be quick taking me to the mall, you didn’t even notice.” Grian felt a dip in the metal when he picked the watch up, so he flipped it around. What he saw on the surface made him smile.
I love you.
-scar
“I love you too.” As he said that, he stood up from his chair. Walking over to Scar and turning on some music. “I believe I promised you a dance earlier.” Holding a hand out, Scar accepted.
They danced till they couldn’t, till their muscles burnt with wear. But the love they felt for each other never burnt away. It was a forever tick, one that would never fade out. And it’s all Grian could ask for.