Archive of Our Own

Grian got the call that they’d found Scar at 3 am. 

He hadn’t been sleeping, of course - he hadn’t slept in weeks at that point, not since Scar had been taken. How was he supposed to, when his husband, the love of his life wasn’t in his rightful place beside him in bed? How was he supposed to rest when his dreams were full of the terrified expression on his lover’s face as he’d sat, bound, in that horrible, rickety chair in some dim basement? How was he supposed to live with himself knowing that Scar was out there, being tortured and held against his will because of Grian, and he was doing nothing to find him?

Not that he had a choice, anyway - not with the guards stationed outside his house 24/7 to prevent him from doing just that. He cast a glance at them as he stepped off the porch, not bothering to make sure the door was locked behind him. He didn’t care if he got robbed. There was nothing behind that door that he cared about - not with Scar gone. 

But oh, Jellie…Scar would be so upset if he finally got back home and Jellie had somehow escaped due to Grian’s carelessness ( always Grian’s carelessness; that’s what had gotten them into this whole mess, wasn’t it?). After everything he’d undoubtedly been through at the hands of his captors…losing Jellie was the last thing he needed. Grian doubled back, ignoring the way his rabbity-quick heart demanded that he fly to Scar, that nothing mattered but getting to his side. At least the guards weren’t trying to stop him from leaving - he assumed that they’d gotten the same call he did, and knew that this time, he was allowed to go after Scar. This time, he was allowed to rescue him - to bring him home. 

He hadn’t been when they sent the first video. 

Scar had been missing for a week then - just missing, though they all knew what missing meant in Grian’s line of work. An entire week without his husband - a week spent pacing the office of the hero commissioner, going over every minute detail again and again, even when they offered no clarification, no hope. The day Scar had disappeared had just been…a day, a day like any other. There’d been virtually nothing abnormal about it. Grian had gotten up like usual, had showered and dressed and kissed Scar like usual, had stopped at his favorite local coffee shop to pick up a drink, and had discretely changed into his hero clothes in the employee bathroom (thanks, Joel) like usual, had turned up late to the debriefing session like usual…none of it had been out of the ordinary, not in the slightest. Not until he’d come home to an empty apartment, long after Scar would have normally returned home from work. Not until his husband hadn’t answered any of his (several dozen) increasingly panicked phone calls and texts. Not until a quick call to the animal shelter had confirmed that he’d never showed up for his shift that day. 

It had been 3 am then, too, when Grian had shown up on Impulse’s doorstep, begging for a search party to be sent out to find him, to find his Scar. The hero commissioner had welcomed him in with open arms and a mug of warm tea and somehow gotten him to calm down just enough to explain the situation. Several useless phone calls later (nobody knew anything, nobody knew anything, there’d been no ransoms made or calls placed to give them even the slightest inkling of what was happening, of who had taken him), Impulse had asked Grian the question he’d so dreaded hearing.

“Did he…Scar, did he know?”

“No. I thought it would be safer if he didn’t.”

Safer. What a joke. Grian had been so naive, then, so stupid to think that his lover would be spared by his ignorance. If Grian had really loved him, he would have let him go years ago. He would have never married him in the first place. If Grian was less selfish, then maybe, Scar would be safe - with someone else, someone who wasn’t Grian, someone who wasn’t actively endangering him with every breath he took. So when the ransom video came in, demanding that “Xelqua” turn himself over to face justice at the hands of his enemies in exchange for the safe return of his husband - he’d immediately tried to do just that. Nothing else mattered as he watched Scar’s wide, terrified eyes stare into the blurry camera, blood matting his gorgeous, long hair to his forehead. Nothing else mattered but getting him back, and keeping him safe, even if that safety came from Grian’s demise at the hands of the mismatched group of villains. 

Grian didn’t remember much from that night, not really. The stress of the week prior combined with the proof that Scar was being hurt because of him had sent him into a spiral, something feral, something dangerous. He only really remembered snippets before he’d woken up in his own bed, his house surrounded by guards. Not to keep him safe, no - but to keep him in, to keep him from going on a rampage to punish everyone who had taken his husband from him. He’d attacked Impulse - that was one thing that he did remember, with no small amount of shame. But the hero commissioner had just been another person keeping him from Scar, in the moment - logic and reasoning heavy on his tongue as Grian had demanded to be allowed to turn himself in. He couldn’t, Impulse had argued, voice low and placating - he couldn’t. The city needed him. The hero commission needed him. They’d find Scar another way. No, Grian had argued back, wings spread to their full width and talons extended. No, no - they needed to guarantee Scar’s safety now, and if Grian had to give up his life to make it happen then he would, and Impulse had no say over it. 

Unfortunately, Impulse did have a say - a say and a small army of other heroes (as well as an entire security task force) with which to implement it. 

But now, after weeks of being held like a prisoner in his own home, of numerous attempted (and failed) escapes, of countless nights spent collapsed on the bathroom floor, sobbing and begging for Scar to still be alive - they’d found him. They’d found him, he was alive, he was safe. And Grian…Grian would never let him out of his sight again. 

The flight to the hospital was short but unbearably nauseating. He couldn’t even enjoy finally taking to the skies and stretching out his wings under the oppressive anxiety of what was to come. What state would Scar be in? Would he be happy to see Grian? Angry? Betrayed? Would Grian be able to kiss him, like he’d been fantasizing about for weeks? Would Scar want nothing to do with him, after everything that had happened? He wouldn’t be okay, that much was certain, not after weeks of abuse at the hands of Grian’s enemies - but Grian would love him regardless, would love him and nurse him back to health in both body and mind, regardless of how long it would take. It was the least he could do, for the man he loved, after he’d subjected him to such cruelty. And after that, if he wanted to never speak to Grian again, well…Grian would let him go. It would be better, in the end, for Scar to part from Grian’s side. Safer. Even if it killed Grian in the process. 

There were guards stationed outside of every door he walked through, once he entered the hospital - the sliding front doors, the narrow door to the elevator…even the heavy, glass door he had to be buzzed through leading into the unit Scar was being held in. Impulse was waiting for him in the hall, staring blankly into the cup of coffee in his hand. Grian couldn’t really blame him, even if the same exhaustion didn’t tug at his own bones - not in any way that mattered. It was, after all, 3 am.

“Impulse,” Grian started, wincing as his voice came out rough and hoarse from misuse. 

Impulse’s head snapped up, then, and he shot Grian a sheepish grin - something half-guilty, half-embarrassed. The grin quickly faded, however, as he took in the avian before him. Grian couldn’t find it in himself to care - let Impulse judge him all he wanted. Maybe Impulse should have the love of his life kidnapped too, then held at gunpoint to prevent him from rescuing them, just to see how he fared. 

No. He’d never wish this on anyone else. Not even his worst enemy.

(Well…maybe on the people who took Scar)

“Jesus, G, you look terrible,” Impulse responded, taking a step forward. “Have you…have you not been sleeping? Or…or eating…?”

“Ask your guards. They should know.”

The taller man deflated at that, avoiding Grian’s gaze. Good. He should feel guilty. Grian hoped that guilt consumed him. 

“It was for your safety. We both know that Scar wouldn’t have wanted you to -,”

“If I ever hear you speak his name again in my presence,” Grian interrupted, icy rage bubbling up in his chest. “I’m going to kill you. Where is he?”

Impulse hesitated, then nodded towards the door adjacent to him - a simple, plain white thing, with no markings or embellishments other than a number 3 on a plastic plaque below a small window. Grian’s heart clenched in his chest as he took it in, feeling suddenly unstable on his feet. Scar was there - Scar was there, the only thing that was keeping him from his husband was a single door, and yet…he couldn’t move.

“How is he?” He asked, grasping at straws to buy himself time to calm his pounding heart. “Is he…is he awake?”

“Awake and alert,” Impulse responded. “He’s…he’s not quite…all there. But…he kept asking about you. That was the first thing out of his mouth when they found him - your name. He’ll be glad to see you. Physically, he’s…he’s alright. He’s got some broken ribs and a couple of new scars to boot. They want to keep him for a few days for observation, just to get him hydrated and whatnot before sending him home. Oh, um…they also want to have him undergo a psych evaluation, after…after everything. He’ll be referred to a specialist who will meet with him once or twice a week to help him…cope. We’ll keep up 24/7 surveillance on your house, too - they were able to capture everyone involved, but…you can never be too careful. The commission will cover everything, of course, I…Grian, I’m so sorry.”

“Apologize to him. Not me. You don’t get to apologize to me.”

“Of course. I’ll…I’ll give you some privacy. You have my number if you need me. Please let me know if anything comes up.”

Impulse rocked forward on his heels, then backward, seemingly debating on adding to his original statement. 

“I…I know you said you wanted to quit when we got…um…when we got him back, but I…I really think that -,”

“Goodbye, Impulse.”

“Yeah. Okay. Goodnight, Grian.”

Impulse disappeared around the corner. The hallway was quiet. Grian was alone. 

Or, alone as he could be, with two guards stationed on either side of the hall, shooting glances at the nurses that got a little too close with no clear reason to. He sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. 

Get over yourself. The man you love needs you. You have some audacity, right now, being afraid to see him. If anything, he should be afraid of you.

Okay. He could do this. Scar needed him. 

He swallowed the fear and the bile that had risen in the back of his throat and turned the handle on the door separating from him and his husband. It was cold underneath his grasp - too cold, he noted duly, just like his body was too cold from the anger and terror spilling out of his veins. Then Scar was there, looking smaller than he’d ever seen him, all manner of IVs and monitoring devices hooked up to him - and Grian felt a burst of warmth overcome the chill. Even now, even as wide, green eyes met his own, even as they didn’t light up the way they normally would, even as there was something detached and broken behind his pupils - Scar still made him feel warm. He hated it and loved it at the same time. He didn’t deserve warmth, not after everything - but here Scar was, still giving it to him, even unconsciously. 

Truth be told, there was nothing warm about Scar’s appearance, not right now. The man himself was trembling (though clearly trying to hide it, as evidenced by the way he straightened up a little as Grian entered the room) and his skin had a sickly, grey pallor to it that the avian had never seen before. There were bandages peeking out from under the collar of his hospital gown and wrapped around his arms, a sight that had the nausea making a sudden return in Grian’s throat. He had done this. He had been the reason that Scar had gotten hurt. It was a mistake, maybe, being here - maybe, Scar didn’t want him here, maybe, Scar wanted him to leave but was too kind to say anything, maybe, those blissful years of marriage meant nothing under the destructive hammer of Grian’s lies and betrayal. He opened his mouth to apologize - to beg for forgiveness, to plead for Scar’s mercy, his grace - but Scar spoke first, and oh, the way his voice trembled so violently despite how he tried to keep it level felt like daggers to the chest. 

“H-Hi, b-birdie,” Scar spoke, raising a shaking hand to offer Grian a little wave. “H-H-Haven’t s-seen you ‘r-round these p-parts before. C-Come here o-often?”

Grian tried to respond in kind, he really did - if Scar’s way of coping with everything was to joke and flirt and pretend like they were meeting up at a coffee shop and not the hospital after weeks apart, then he’d be damned if he took that from him - but a small, broken sob fell from his lips instead, and it was game over. One minute, he was standing by the door, trembling from the effort of holding his tears at bay - and the next he was climbing into bed with his husband, pulling him into his arms and weeping openly into his hair. All the while, a steady thrum of hatred beat in his chest - for the people who had taken Scar from him, for Impulse, for himself. Why couldn’t he keep it together? Why couldn’t he be strong, for Scar? His husband had gone stiff underneath him, breaths teetering on too shallow, even if he was petting Grian’s hair haltingly - and why was Scar reassuring him? Scar had been the one to be taken, Scar had been the one to be tortured and held captive for weeks. God, Grian was pathetic. 

He pulled back with a sniffle, heart sinking in his chest as he clocked the way Scar flinched at the sound, looking rather like a wounded animal convinced that it was about to meet its imminent demise. This close to his lover, he could see the full extent of the damage - the way his eyes were glossy and glazed over, the way his attention darted from place to place at the slightest sound or movement…the dazed, false smile plastered on his face as he looked down at Grian, his hand trembling in the avian’s own.

“H-Hi, handsome,” He greeted, but his voice sounded distant, sounded wrong. “Didn’t think I’d ever s-see you again if I’m being h-honest. Um. S-Sorry, I…I didn’t know you were the X-Xelqua. Can’t remember if you told me and I f-forgot - sorry if I did. You know me, good ol’ f-forgetful. Haha. A-Anyway, how are y-you?”

“Scar,” Grian breathed, but Scar’s eyes widened - panic seeping out from behind pinpoint pupils - and he continued, mindlessly squeezing the other’s hand in a repeated pattern. 

“N-No offense, you k-kind of look like shit. Worse t-than me, and that’s saying s-something! I’m sorry f…for worrying you, b-but I’m okay now, I’m f-fine, b-buncha guys stormed in a-and now I’m here, and you’re h-here too, wow, I…are you real? Sorry, sorry, s-stupid question, haha. Dreamt a-about you a lot, w-when they let me sleep, c-could never tell if you were r-really there or not. U-Um, sorry…can we go home? O-Or we can stay h-here, if you’d like, I-I’m not c-complaining! This b-bed sure is comfy! Haha!”

“Scar -”

“O-Oh, how's Jellie? S-She miss me? I-I bet she d-didn’t even notice I w-was gone, s-silly thing. G-Got to spend lots of g-good quality t-time with her dad, huh? Her dad w-whose a hero! I had n-no idea, haha, I thought y-you just worked at an office o-or something. Maybe that’s on m-me for not paying e-enough attention. Sorry - sorry. I’ll p-pay more attention in the future. U-Unless you don’t w-want me to! I-If you want privacy t-that’s fine too. C-Can we go home? I…I…I…”

He fell silent, staring at Grian with wide, vacant eyes, and Grian had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep another strangled sob from escaping. He didn’t know what to do - didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make it better. Scar wasn’t…himself, and maybe it had been selfish of Grian to want him to be, after everything. Or…or he was himself, he was just as Grian had remembered - silly and rambling and absolutely gorgeous, even against the stark white of the hospital bed - but it felt…fake. It felt like a front. It felt like it wasn’t actually him, not anymore - it felt like he was clinging to the remnants of who he was once, to anything he could get his shaking hands on to keep from losing himself completely. It felt fragile. Grian didn’t know how to fix it.

“In a couple of days,” He whispered, digging fingernails into the palm of his free hand as he watched Scar visibly deflate at the answer. “They…they have to make sure you’re okay, first. Scar, I…I’m so s-”

“O-Okay,” Scar rushed, the words spilling from his lips and threatening to drown both himself and Grian. “N-No worries! A-As long as you’re h-here - oh, I…I guess y-you might need to g-get back to w-work at some point, s-silly me, um…a-are you planning on l-leaving soon…? I guess it’s g-gonna be morning in a bit here, after all - or I think, anyway, d-don’t got the best grasp on time anymore, I…I…do you have to leave soon?”

“No - no, Scar, I’m not leaving you here, I’m never leaving your side again, I pro-,”

“G-Great! It’s okay if you d-do, I’d imagine it’d be q-quite boring sitting here with me all d-day, when you have all your h-hero stuff to get done. Oh, d-did you get a chance to w-water the plants in the w-window while I was…while…I…I…um, i-it’s okay if you didn’t, they were probably going to die a-anyway, at some point, I don’t h-have a green thumb like some people we know. O-Oh, how are Etho and Bdubs…? B-Back from their honeymoon? I-I guess so, huh? I hope they h-had a good time, I know Bdubs w-was worried about Etho getting t-too sunburnt since they were g-going to be at the beach the whole t-time, haha. R-Reminds me of our honeymoon - y-you made me put on sunscreen every time w-we walked outside! Haha! A-And then you were the one w-who got sunburnt by the end a-anyway…”

Grian listened to Scar ramble - felt his malnourished body tremble against Grian’s own - and felt sick. What had they done to him…? How could they have done anything to him…? How dare they have done anything to him? Scar was perfect - he was perfect; always so full of life and love and joy and now…now it was like he was a poor imitation of himself. Grian didn’t care, per se, he loved Scar then and now, no matter how himself Scar was - but Scar was in pain, he was hurting, he had been through the unthinkable and he was just…pretending it hadn’t happened. For his own sake? Or…or for Grian’s? Grian felt the hand of self-loathing curl around his heart once more, squeezing painfully, and distantly wondered if he could have a heart attack from grief. 

Maybe it would get better - maybe Scar would get placed with a good therapist, and he’d be able to address everything that had happened, everything that he’d been through. Or…maybe it would never get better. Maybe Scar would never recover - maybe he’d always be a shell of himself, twitching and jolting at every little noise, shying away from Grian’s touch when he thought the avian wasn’t paying attention. Maybe Grian’s very presence was preventing him from recovering - maybe he only served to remind Scar of everything that he’d finally, finally been rescued from. 

Scar rambled, and Grian listened. He wasn’t sure what else he could do, anyway. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

They fell into a new normal. 

Scar continued pretending everything was fine. Grian continued to allow him. Scar continued pretending that he didn’t flinch away from Grian’s touch every time the avian reached out. Grian stopped reaching out. Scar continued to jump at every little noise, every tiny movement. Grian pretended to not notice. Scar’s wedding ring was missing - presumably taken by his captors and pawned - and sometimes, Grian would catch him staring at the remaining band on Grian’s finger, something unreadable on his face. Grian stopped wearing his wedding band. There were times when Scar would go silent, and Grian would almost catch a glimpse of the real Scar - the new Scar, someone terrified and quiet and so painfully lost - but just as quickly as the mask would drop, Scar would be pulling a new one on, and Grian would find himself nearly dizzy with whiplash. 

Scar didn’t sleep once the entire time they were in the hospital.

Neither did Grian. 

The psychiatrist they assigned him seemed nice, at least - she had pulled Grian aside the night after Scar had been rescued to introduce herself and suggest that it might be helpful if Grian, too, started seeing someone - both for his own wellbeing and to show Scar that it was okay to need help after going through something traumatic. Grian had almost laughed at that. He didn’t need therapy - Scar did. He had no right to need therapy. He was the reason that Scar needed therapy. He hadn’t been through anything traumatic - Scar had. 

Still. If it would help Scar, he’d try anything.

The day he finally, finally got to bring Scar home was…difficult. He’d flown there, of course, so he had to call a car to get them home. He realized that had been a mistake almost immediately - Scar had spiraled into what he could only describe as a panic attack the moment the car door slammed shut behind him and Grian had watched with a sinking pit in his stomach as the taller practically wrenched the door open again and tumbled out onto the sidewalk, breathlessly suggesting that they just walk home, given that it was so nice out! He’d complied, of course, but…walking hadn’t been that much better, not really. The hospital had been located in the heart of the city, and what should have been a thirty-minute walk turned into an hour, with Scar struggling to breathe on multiple occasions from nothing other than sheer terror. Everything seemed to scare him, even as much as he insisted that he was just short of breath from not exercising in so long, or that he’d had a big lunch, or any number of other nonsensical excuses. Grian didn’t prod. He’d just stopped when Scar asked, held his hand when Scar requested, and shot furious, threatening glares at anyone who dared to look at them funny. 

The days went by. Scar didn’t get better. If anything, it felt like he was getting worse. 

Grian didn’t go to work - of course he didn’t, he’d promised that he’d never leave Scar’s side again and he’d meant it - but he didn’t know what to do, most of the time. Scar was becoming more and more withdrawn as the days passed - the mask slipping more and more frequently to reveal horrifying glimpses of nothingness underneath. Grian would catch him disassociating for hours on end, just sitting on the couch with Jellie in his lap and staring blankly into nothingness. But whenever he’d speak, or reach out, Scar would jump like he’d been slapped and stammer out a whole host of nearly incoherent apologies. He wasn’t sleeping, either, not really, not enough for his body to heal properly. On the off chance that Grian was able to fall asleep (the terror that he’d wake up and Scar would be gone again occasionally giving way to exhaustion), he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find Scar just staring at him, as if worried that he was going to disappear. He never really knew what to say, those nights, except to hold out his arms and allow his husband to choose if he wanted to crawl into them or not. Somehow, Scar shaking his head and remaining stiff on his side of the bed never hurt any less no matter how many times the rejection occurred. 

At least he was eating. At least he was drinking. At least he was here. At least he was alive.

The rambling hadn’t stopped, either - every moment that Scar wasn’t dissociating, he was talking about this or that, as if desperate to fill the silence between them with something. Grian would respond back, of course, but the moment the discussion veered too close to something serious, Scar would take over, going off on a monologue about something or other and barely letting Grian get in a word edgewise. He felt helpless - so helpless, so useless. This wasn’t at all how he’d expected his reunion with his husband to go. He’d expected more tears, for one. He’d expected to bear the weight of Scar’s pain for him - or at least help - not to watch as the love of his life insisted on shouldering it himself, on sinking it deep into his skin and refusing to acknowledge it even when it dripped from his pores. More than anything, though, Grian felt selfish for expecting at all. 

One thing was for sure: they couldn’t go on like this. 

It came to a head two weeks after they’d returned home, one warm, summer night at 3 am. 

Grian woke up alone.

Grian woke up alone, and immediately, he couldn’t breathe - his chest clogged with spiraling, swirling panic. Scar was gone. Scar was gone, Scar wasn’t there, Scar had been taken again, Grian had failed again, and selfishly, the avian’s first thought was that he couldn’t handle losing him again.  

Quiet retching cut off his panic before it could progress too far, and Grian realized in a daze that the bathroom light in the guest bathroom across the hall was on. Why was Scar using the guest bathroom…? They had their own bathroom, a step away - why had he opted to venture across the hall to use the one in the guest room? Why was he throwing up…? Was he okay? Was something wrong? Was he sick?

Grian rose shakily to his feet and found himself padding across the hall, anxiety brewing in the pit of his stomach. If Scar was sick, why hadn’t he woken Grian up? He’d always wake Grian up when he’d get sick, even if for no other reason than to crawl into his husband’s arms to seek comfort. Did he not want Grian to know…? Should Grian…go back to bed? Should he keep pretending, like he’d been doing so faithfully the past few weeks?

The retching came again, louder this time, and followed immediately with a weak sob, and Grian pulled open the door to the bathroom without a second thought. Scar was hurting. Scar needed him. He couldn’t let him down, not again, never again. 

The sight that greeted him almost made him wish he had kept pretending, even for just a minute longer. 

Scar was curled up on the cold tile, hunched over the toilet and trembling violently as he coughed and retched up what Grian could only assume had been their dinner. His long hair was draping forward, sticking messily to his face and the seat of the toilet, and he was sobbing, choking on vomit and his own tears. He looked so small - smaller even than he had in the hospital bed - and so terrified that Grian felt his heart shatter into a million pieces in his chest. A sob of his own rose in his throat; he tried to slam a hand over his mouth to muffle it, so as not to startle his lover, but it was too late, and Scar was flinching violently and scrambling backward, wedging himself in the corner and holding trembling hands up in front of his face. 

“I’m sorry,” He choked, retching softly as bile dribbled down his chin. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t - please, please don’t hurt me, please - I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Grian stood, frozen in the doorway, feeling for all the world like someone had pulled the rug out from under him. This was it, then. This was the make-or-break moment - the tipping point. He had three options, now. He could keep pretending - he could allow Scar to keep pretending, could leave him in a puddle of his own vomit and fear and pretend that none of this had ever happened. He could run - he could give in to the voices that shouted that this was all his fault, that he was the reason Scar was trembling against the floor in their guest bathroom, and that he needed to let Scar go if he wanted him to heal. Or he could try to help - try to help Scar pick up the pieces, try to hold him together, try to convince him to let Grian carry part of his burden. 

In the end, he chose Scar. He’d always choose Scar. 

He moved forward, holding out a hand placatingly, and knelt in front of his lover. The man whimpered in response, drawing himself into an even tighter ball, and Grian realized with a jolt that he might not recognize Grian, not right now, not like this. Okay. Alright. That was okay. He was a hero - or used to be if Impulse would hurry up and respond to the letter of resignation he’d mailed on the day they’d returned home - he knew how to help people who had been through traumatic events. He took a deep breath, letting his own eyes flutter closed for a second before opening them again, a new determination filling his veins. 

“Hey, handsome,” He started, softly, Scar’s responding whimper sending tears to his eyes. “Hey - hey, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. It’s me - it’s Grian, it’s your husband. I love you - I love you so much - everything’s going to be okay, alright? Just listen to my voice. You’re not…you’re not there, not anymore. It’s just you and me, right now. We’re in the guest bedroom - you know, the one Mumbo and Cub hooked up in that one time? Yeah, that one. Remember how much we teased them before they finally ended up getting together? And then they had to go and steal our thunder and get engaged a week before we got married - typical. Anyway, um…we’re in that bathroom. Can I touch you? It’s okay if I can’t, just nod or shake your head, alright? I’d just be holding your hand, for now. Is that okay?”

A hesitant nod later, and Scar’s sweaty, trembling hand was in Grian’s. The avian wasted no time rubbing little patterns into his lover’s palm, mindless shapes that he hoped would help ground his lover. 

“Thank you, handsome. I’m just going to keep talking for now, alright? Focus on me, just focus on me. Everything’s okay. Oh, guess who texted me earlier? Bdubs! Apparently, he and Etho adopted a cat, and Bdubs is mad because it likes Etho better than him, or something like that. The cat’s really cute; I’ll have to show you later. Not as cute as Jellie, though. Oh, we need to order more of her treats, later, or she’ll get really grumpy. Maybe we can try a new flavor or something, to spice it up a little. Though then we run the risk of her hating what we get and refusing to eat it….she’s so picky these days. Spoiled, I say.”

He continued like this for several minutes, relief weighing heavy in his chest as the brilliant green eyes fixed on him became clearer and clearer as the moments passed. But with the clarity came the tears, streaming down Scar’s face silently and dripping into his lap. It was almost painful to not pull his husband into his arms, then - to not hold him, to not kiss him - but Grian knew that he needed to wait. He needed to wait until Scar was comfortable with it. He needed to wait until Scar initiated it. He’d hurt the other enough - he didn’t need to add to that pain. 

And then, horrifyingly, the mask began to slip back on. 

Scar straightened minutely, his expression shifting and something fragile being pulled up and over his eyes, shielding the brokenness and vulnerability - and Grian felt like crying. No - no, this wasn’t what he wanted, this wasn’t good, this wasn’t healthy…! He needed Scar - the real Scar, the broken Scar to stay, so he could help him…! He felt his breath catch in his throat as that familiar, fake smile curled around Scar’s lips, as the other pulled his hand back to rest by his side and away from Grian. It felt like he was losing him all over again in that moment, as the other stood and moved to the toilet, flushing it silently and rinsing his face off in the sink, and yet all he could do was stare, dumbly, from his spot on the floor - stare and watch as his lover drifted away from him again.

“Scar,” He whispered. “Scar, please, just…just stay. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, silly,” Scar chirped back, faux cheer dripping from his lips. “It’s late! We should get some sleep. C’mon!”

Grian couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed, the wind knocked completely out of his lungs. Scar looked down at him, the faintest hint of concern flashing across his eyes.

“Grian?”

“Stop.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!” 

He couldn’t breathe - he couldn’t breathe, he was suffocating in his heartbreak as shaking hands wound into his own blonde curls and tugged. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be breaking down like this. It wasn’t fair to Scar. It was selfish - it was selfish, it was cruel, he needed to be strong for Scar, he needed to be someone Scar could rely on, not…not this. Not a trembling, sobbing mess of a man, wings tucked tightly to his back in anguish. His vision was blurred - he couldn’t see Scar anymore, and for one horrifying moment, he thought that Scar had left him. That his lover had finally cracked - that he’d finally realized that all Grian was good for was hurt, and decided that enough was enough. He let out a whimper, something weak and bent in the shape of Scar’s name, and immediately felt trembling arms encircle his shoulders.

“I’m here,” came Scar’s voice, cracked and fractured around the edges. “I’m here - I’ve got you. I’m sorry. I’m here.”

Grian wailed, weeks’ worth of pent-up loathing and fear and anguish escaping him in a tidal wave, and buried his face into his lover’s neck. Garbled apologies spilled out and over Scar’s skin - apologies for not telling him about his work, apologies for not keeping him safe, apologies for not being strong enough to save him, apologies for still not being strong enough, even now. At some point, he realized that Scar was crying, too - desperately, painful sobs as he held Grian ever tighter against his chest and clutched the back of his shirt like he was afraid that Grian would pull away - and Grian only pulled him closer, in response. He was sure they were a sight - two grown men collapsed on the floor, clinging to each other and choking on their sorrow - but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. It was just him and Scar - just the two of them, and they were safe in each other’s arms, in the home they’d created together. 

“I’m sorry,” He wept again, his chest wrenching painfully. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe. This is my fault. This is all my fault.”

“Grian,” Scar sobbed back, shivering in Grian’s hold. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t throw me away. I’m sorry - I’m trying, I’m trying to be okay, there’s just too much - there’s so much, I can’t eat, I keep throwing up everything, I’m sorry - I’m so afraid - I’m so scared, I’m so scared all of the time, I’m sorry - I know I’m weak, I know, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me - please don’t make me go back, I promise I can be better, I swear, I won’t - I won’t be a l-liability, I promise.”

Grian pulled back a little, did his best to blink the tears out of his eyes, and cupped his lover’s face in his hands - noting distantly that for the first time since his rescue, Scar didn’t flinch. Was that really what he thought…? That Grian saw him as a liability? A burden? Something to be cast out, to be thrown away?

“Never,” He choked. “Never, never, I would never. Is that - is that what they told you? That I left you there? That I…that I didn’t come for you because I d-didn’t want you…?”

Scar hesitated, tears spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks before nodding, once, and Grian let out a strangled sob at the confirmation.

“They told me I w-was a liability,” His lover responded, weakly. “They said - they said you were b-better off without me. Stronger. They…they took my w-wedding ring, they took the only thing I had of you t-to hold onto. They…they d-did so much, Grian, they did so much, I….they hurt me, they hurt me and they told me you didn’t l-love me anymore a-and I started to believe them, I’m so sorry, I started to believe them! ”

He dissolved into tears again, burying his face in Grian’s shoulder, and the avian joined him, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled Scar closer, closer. He felt like he was breaking - like something deep inside of him had fractured, irreversibly - but he thought that maybe Scar felt the same. Maybe, if they could be broken together, it would be okay. Maybe, if they could stay like this, clinging to each other and seeking out what comfort they could in the other’s arms…it would be okay. Maybe, they were allowed to be broken, after everything. 

“I love you,” He cried, pressing a kiss against the side of Scar’s hair. “I love you - I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you - they wouldn’t let me, they wouldn’t fucking let me, I…I tried, I tried so many times to find you, but they wouldn’t let me, t-they had guards watching me, I...I’m so sorry. I’m never going back to work for the commission again. Never, never. You never have to go back to the animal shelter, either, w-we can just stay here, a-and be together. W-We’ll get you a new wedding ring too, we’ll f-find you a new one. It’s safe here. We’re safe here, Scar, I-I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let you get hurt again. I k-know I failed, I know this is all my fault a-and if you want to leave me you c-can, but I…I love you. I love you, and I promise, I swear that I’ll never let you get hurt again.”

Scar pulled away then, and a small, terrified whine escaped Grian’s lips - Scar was leaving, after everything, Scar was going to leave - before suddenly, Scar’s were against his own, and he was kissing Grian, and oh, everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. He had Scar - Scar was safe, Scar was here, Scar was alive, Scar loved him. The kiss was salty, and messy, and short, and Scar looked a little dazed when he pulled away - but it felt like coming home. It felt like hope. It felt like forgiveness. It felt like…trust.

“I love you,” Scar whispered, and Grian only wept harder as he felt the other relax into his arms for the first time in weeks. “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Hey! G! Where do you want this one?”

“Oh, uh…Scar, where did you say you wanted the box with all of Jellie’s stuff?”

“Bedroom, sweetheart.”

“Bedroom, Mumbo.”

“What, no sweetheart for me?”

“I think that’s Cub’s job.”

“What’s my job?” Cub asked, poking his head in through the front door, glasses askew on his face. Mumbo snickered, reaching out to adjust his husband’s glasses before planting a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Nothing, dear. Don’t worry about it.”

Cub grumbled something unintelligible, then disappeared into the bedroom. Grian turned towards Scar and mimed throwing up, to which his lover laughed loudly.

“Gross - they’re worse than us. How is that even possible? We’ve been together for longer.”

“Skill issue,” Mumbo responded, smugly. “Get on our level.”

“HEY! Did you guys get the party started without us?”

Bdubs was standing in the doorway now, his arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed. Etho appeared behind him moments later and peered into the living room, nodding in approval.  

“This place is nice. Good location, too.”

“Thanks!”

“HEY! DON’T IGNORE ME!”

“I don’t think anyone is capable of ignoring you, babe,” Etho mused, resting his chin on the top of Bdubs’ head, much to the shorter's chagrin. “You’re too loud.”

“I’M NOT LOUD! TAKE THAT BACK!”

Grian snickered, picking up one of the boxes off the floor and heading toward the guest bedroom. In the end, they hadn’t been able to stay at their old house, as nice as it had been. There were just…too many memories there that were too painful, for the both of them. As it turned out, Scar had been grabbed right off of the porch - a horrific, traumatizing memory that haunted him every time he stepped out of the door. Grian, too, didn’t hold their former home in the highest regard - so used to being watched there, being observed that he found his hair standing on edge at seemingly random intervals. In the end, both of their therapists had agreed that they needed a fresh start, and who were they to argue with trained professionals? 

Strangely enough, Impulse had been the most helpful in finding a new place for them to live. He’d reached out with a couple of recommendations and an offer to pull some strings to get them somewhere nicer than they could afford - and Grian had accepted, after some discussion with Scar. The avian never went back to work for the commission, and Impulse never asked him to. Their relationship was still strained, but…they were working on it. 

After his initial breakdown, Scar had started making progress - actual progress, bit by bit, inch by inch, week by week. Grian, too, had agreed to see a therapist, after a (unfortunately) memorable spiral in which he’d passed out from lack of oxygen mid-panic attack in the grocery store after he couldn’t find Scar for just a minute too long. Apparently that “wasn’t normal” and “he’d been through a traumatic event too” or something like that. 

Either way. Things were looking up, for both of them, and Grian couldn’t be more relieved. There were still hard days, sure - days where Scar spent hours curled up in bed, unable to properly distinguish between the here and now and the then and there. Days where Grian couldn’t let Scar out of his sight for more than ten seconds before he was hyperventilating and crying out for the other. But there were good days too - days where the memories weren’t as loud, where the paranoia and the panic were at a simmer and not a boil. The good days were all that mattered, anyway - and there was more good than bad, at this point, from months of hard work and tears and determination.

He set down the box on the bathroom counter, and took a moment to stretch out his wings a little, snickering under his breath at the loud arguing coming from the living room. He loved his friends - obnoxious as they could be. They had rallied around the two of them, after everything - constantly checking in and bringing over food or groceries or just themselves. Mumbo, especially, had been a rock for Grian - and he knew that Cub had been the same for Scar. 

Speaking of.

“Hey, handsome,” Grian greeted as Scar stepped into the guest room bathroom. “All good?”

“Yeah - just needed a minute.”

The avian hummed in understanding, pulling open his box and removing various items. Toothbrush, check. Toothpaste, check. Shower caddy, check. He cast a sideways glance at Scar, giving his lover a quick once-over from the corner of his eye. He did look a little antsy, but the others were being a bit loud, and his husband had never quite managed to shake his aversion to loud noises. He trusted that Scar would tell him if he needed something, or if he felt any sort of episode incoming. 

Hair ties - check. Towels - check. Ring box - check. 

Wait, what?

He stared at the small, black box in his hands with a furrowed brow. Since when had they had a ring box lying around? Grian had been the one to propose, and he hadn’t had a ring box - they’d been young, then, and the ring the avian had bought for his lover had been on the cheaper side and had come in a little bag…and then their wedding bands had come in a box, sure, but it had gotten lost in the chaos of their wedding night. What was this? Where did it come from?

Behind him, Scar cleared his throat. Grian turned, and once again, the sight of his lover on the floor of the guest room bathroom had his breath catching in his chest. Scar was kneeling, smiling up at him with a blinding grin and wet eyes, holding out a hand for the box. Grian handed it to him as if in a trance, his heart beating damn near out of his chest. Moments later, the box was open, and the avian found himself looking at the most gorgeous ring he’d seen in his life - something gold, with a green emerald nestled amongst some intricately carved golden leaves. Holy shit.

“Grian X. Goodtimes,” Scar started, then paused. “Wait - does the “X” stand for “Xelqua?”

“Y…Yes?”

“Oh. Yeah. Wow, I’m stupid. Um…anyway. Grian X. Goodtimes. My darling husband. My rock, my anchor, my safe harbor. Wow, you look so good right now. No, don’t give me that look - you look hot. I can’t wait to christen our new bed later with you.”

“Scar !” 

“Sorry, sorry. Ah…where was I? Grian. God, what a ride it’s been, huh? Truth be told, I knew that I was going to marry you from the moment I laid eyes on you - I even told Cub that, and he had the audacity to laugh at me! But I was right! In the end, I was right. I did marry you. Or, uh, I guess you were the one to propose, so…I guess you married me. Either way - it was the best decision I'd ever made, saying I do. You’ve filled my life with so much laughter and joy and love that I almost can’t stand it sometimes. A lifetime with you isn’t enough - I need like, ten, at least.”

He hesitated, then took a deep breath and continued.“When I was taken…I thought that it was the end. I thought that I’d never see you again - that I’d never be able to kiss you again or wake up and see your cute little face next to mine. And…and that hurt worse than anything they put me through. Um…but then I got out, and then I saw you again, and…and everything felt like it was going to be okay. I know that’s cheesy, and cliche, but…it’s true. You’ve…you’ve been here for me every step of the way, holding my hand. I…I can’t say how much that means to me. You’ve been so patient with me, so patient and so understanding. I’m a different person now, that’s…that’s just the truth of the matter. What I went through, it…it changed me, in a way that isn’t going to be fixed. You know this. I know this. But…that meant that this new me got to fall in love with you all over again. And god - I think I fell harder than I did the first time. This is a fresh start, right? We’ve got a new house, new jobs - new everything. It only feels right that this could be a fresh start for us, too. So…Grian, if you’ll have me…marry me again?”

And Grian…well, the only possible response he could give was to fall into Scar’s arms and kiss him senseless.