Chapter Text
Wind.
Wind and water and cold.
Rain.
It's dark. He can't see. Even when he reaches out he can't see what he's reaching for, lost to the black rain.
Thunder cracks. Lightning that lights up nothing flashes, like a shock through his bones or an impression in his mind. He doesn't even know how he knows it's lightning when he can't see it.
Something brushes his arm, cold and scratchy. He hears crying. A child crying.
A wordless plea for help, reverberating everywhere around him. It echoes and he can't figure out where it's coming from.
He drops. He can't scream, his lungs strangled as he tumbles across a ground he can't even see.
"Grian...?"
It echoes once, twice, a hundred times in his ears, and he looks around to find nothing. He tries to call back but his words stick in his throat, choking him.
Darkness is all he can see. The rain freezes him down to his bones, painful and numbing, and he wants nothing more than to cry out.
It's so cold.
All he can hear is crying beneath the rain.
And a voice.
A voice.
Screaming. Something’s screaming in the distance, coming closer- closer still, closer, screaming and his heart races at the anger and fear and utter devastation, and it’s coming right at him-
He gasps and sits up, wings flaring out behind him as he looks around, eyes sharp. He stares out into the dark room, tracing over the desk and chair, to the wardrobe and the table in the corner- the dark curtains blocking out any trace of sunlight.
Their room. He's in their room.
His wings relax and brush across the edge of his nest of blankets. It's silent, not a sign of an intruder- no voices calling out at him, no one calling his name, no one screaming.
Something shifts next to him and he turns to look at his lovers, lying together on the other side of the bed. Mumbo’s arm lies limply over Scar’s side, the Elf curled close to his chest as they both sleep soundly, hardly even affected by Grian's disturbance.
Grian smiles softly and settles down behind Scar, curling a wing over them both- like a blanket, a shield from the rest of the world.
(From prying eyes and unwelcome voices.)
Mumbo shifts and lifts his hand enough for Grian to snuggle closer. Mumbo's arm is heavy and limp with exhaustion and sleep, a comforting weight on his side, and Grian presses a gentle kiss to Scar's shoulder.
He closes his eyes again, listening to them breathe.
(Rain.)
Something nags at him.
(Wrong.)
His feathers ruffle and he opens his eyes, waiting.
(Cold.)
Breathing. Soft, steady breathing. Sleep. Peace.
(Crying.)
He swallows and pushes himself up onto his elbow, peering closer at Mumbo and Scar. He can't see Scar's face hiding against Mumbo's shirt and Mumbo’s face is relaxed- peaceful, unalarmed. His eyes scan over them both, taking in their loose grips and sleep-heavy forms.
It takes him a moment. It takes him a moment longer than it should have, but he realizes what's wrong when he touches his hand to Scar's back.
The muscles there are tense, drawn taut like a loaded bow string, and through the cloth Grian can feel the cold rolling off of his skin.
Grian's breath catches, his peace blown away in an instant. He leans over, carefully tugging Scar away from Mumbo.
Scar's expression is a strange combination of calm and uncomfortable, tense but not pained. His breaths are steady but now, Grian realizes, they're shallow yet slow- almost unnaturally so, paired with his short breaths.
(Relaxed and tensed are not two expressions that should go together. Shallow and slow are not two breaths that should go together.)
“Scar?” he says softly, gently tugging on the sleeve of Scar’s sleeping gown. “Scar, love? Wake up, Scar.”
The Elf doesn’t wake, and Grian grips his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Scar!” he calls a little louder, and Mumbo’s breath hitches and he shifts with a soft groan. Grian pays him no mind, focused more on how Scar doesn’t react at all. “Scar, please wake up,” he almost begs.
“Wha’...” Mumbo mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Gri’... ‘s wrong?”
“Something’s wrong with Scar,” Grian answers, finally looking over at him, and Mumbo blinks. It takes a second but Grian can see the moment his words sink in, the Vampire pushing himself up and leaning over to look at Scar. “He won’t wake up and his breathing’s weird, he looks- like he’s- I don’t know, it’s really really weird.”
Mumbo gently brushes his fingers across Scar’s cheek before settling it on the side of his neck- pulse, Grian’s brain supplies. “Love, could you put your hand on his forehead? To check for a temperature- I run cold, you both always feel warm to me,” Mumbo says softly, and Grian does as asked, gently pressing his palm against Scar’s forehead.
“He doesn’t feel feverish,” Grian tells him. “Feels normal to me...”
“I wish I could say the same about his pulse,” Mumbo says, frowning. “It’s much too slow for either Human or Elf... dear, oh dear...”
Grian swallows, trying to push down the well of panic in his chest. Scar has a future, he reminds himself. A second and third anniversary. That means at least three years. He’s going to be fine. He has to.
(But the future is never guaranteed.)
Mumbo moves his hand and lightly touches Scar’s arm, drawing Grian’s attention to it- and the glyphs, exposed for them to see as they so rarely are, glowing dim and faint. His eyes flicker to the rose on Mumbo’s forearm, finding it just as dim as its match.
“His magic,” Grian says softly. “It must be restabilizing.”
“Except restabilizing isn’t supposed to look like this,” Mumbo says, mindlessly tracing one of the glyphs. “It increases his magic, so...”
“... Why are the glyphs dim,” Grian finishes slowly, swallowing past the fear in his throat. “Like his magic’s low...”
Mumbo breathes out softly, pushing the blankets off of himself and standing up out of bed. Grian looks up, frowning. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back. I need to test something,” Mumbo says, grabbing the coat he’d discarded that morning- not bothering to dress completely, just pulling it over his nightshirt. “But I need to fetch the instrument to test it... I don’t own one, you see- never had a reason to monitor someone’s magic levels.”
Because he’s never lived with other Supernaturals, Grian thinks as Mumbo steps away into a shadow. He looks back at Scar. “You’re going to be fine,” he says softly, confident if not for the waver in his voice. He traces the shape of Scar’s face with his talons and tries not to let it twist his heart when Scar doesn’t lean into his touch. Of course he won’t, Grian knows- because Scar is nowhere near conscious right now.
He doesn’t know what he can do, so he carefully lies down next to Scar and curls his wing over him, pulling him closer to him. “Just fine,” he repeats breathlessly. “Because like I told you, you can’t die before me. You can’t. And if I’m a god now, that- that means I’m immortal, yeah? I won’t die, not- not unless something goes very wrong. And that means you’re not allowed to die. No, I won’t let you. I don’t know much about gods and rules but- well, I’ve never been one for rules, anyway. You know that. So I think it doesn’t much matter, really- rules or no rules, you can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”
As if Grian really knows enough about his magic to even try to defy Fate itself, but Grian doesn’t care. He presses his face into Scar’s hair, breathing in the sweet scent of his shampoo- freshly washed barely a day before, when they first arrived home. His heart settles somewhat at the familiar scent, his fear easing just a bit. He’s not ready to let this go. He doesn’t think he ever will be.
He knows he’s a selfish man, and he isn’t surprised to discover he’s also a selfish god.
You’re mine. That means I won’t let you go.
Scar shifts. Grian snaps to attention and sits up slightly, watching as Scar’s expression tightens. A small sound- a groan, or something akin to it- escapes his lips and the calm tension turns to pained discomfort.
“...ubbo?” Scar utters, barely audible, and Grian swallows.
“Tubbo left this morning, Scar,” he says softly, and Scar’s eyes open- barely a crack, just enough to peer blearily up at him. “He’s on his way to L’Manberg. Remember?”
Scar blinks slowly, and Grian can’t help but notice how unusually pale he looks. “...llie... time...?”
“Jellie’s still with Impulse,” Grian tells him. “You haven’t gone back to your shop since we came home, haven’t had time to pick her up.”
“... Wha... t’m issit?” Scar manages, voice thick and almost slurred. “Wh...”
“It’s barely past noon,” Grian says. Scar stares at him blankly for several moments before recognition lights up in his eyes. Scar moves sluggishly and starts to sit up, an incoherent mumble on his tongue, but Grian quickly catches him and pushes him back down. Scar falls back a little heavily, weakly, and makes a vague sound of discontent. “Sorry, my love, but you should stay lying down... your shop is being handled just as it’s been this past week, everything’s okay.”
Scar struggles only a moment before he goes limp again, tilting his head over. His eyes scan the room, searching through the dark. “...mbo...”
“Mumbo’s stepped out for a moment, he’ll be right back,” Grian assures Scar. “Come on, Scar- focus on me, okay?” Grian gently tilts Scar’s face back towards him. “Tell me, love- can you tell me what’s going on?”
Scar stares at him and Grian thinks, for just a moment, that beyond knowing he’s here, Scar simply isn’t aware of... anything, really. He’s hearing him yet isn’t quite understanding.
Absent.
The Elf breathes out slowly. “I’unno...” he mumbles finally, and Grian feels only slight relief at the response- he understands, to some degree. He’s here.
“...urts...”
“I know,” Grian says softly, brushing loose strands of hair out of Scar’s face. He knows Scar won’t remember any of this, but even if, for the moment, his words can comfort Scar... “It’ll be okay, I promise. Mumbo will be back soon... we’ll figure this out...”
Scar doesn’t respond, instead closing his eyes. Grian’s wings flutter nervously, but he only waits a few minutes more before Mumbo is stepping into the room. Grian looks up at him and the shining sphere he holds in his hand.
“What is that?” Grian asks, brow furrowing.
“It’s a magic monitor,” Mumbo answers, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. He gently takes Scar’s hand and presses the sphere against his palm, closing his fingers around it. Grian watches how Mumbo holds Scar’s hand, careful to not brush his own fingers against the sphere now, and the reddish-black inky color of the sphere fades away like smoke, replaced with a dim gold.
“How does it work?” he asks, frowning and leaning over. He doesn’t move his hand from Scar’s face.
“It- uh, it sort of... tunes in, I suppose, to the person touching it- their core, you know,” Mumbo explains hesitantly. “I’m not completely certain, if I’m honest- I’ve never used one before, but Cleo explained a bit how it’ll work.”
“You got it from Cleo?”
“I did,” Mumbo sighs. “Swallowed my pride but at least they didn’t make me beg,” he almost mutters, eyes on the sphere alone. “Mind you, I would have if I had to...”
Grian can hear the truth in Mumbo’s voice- because we need to be able to monitor Scar’s magic. No price would be too much right now, he thinks, because Scar is as Fae as he is Human, and either extreme...
“So let me guess,” he says quietly, “the more opaque the color, the stronger the magic.”
“Right,” Mumbo says.
“And the more transparent, the weaker?”
“In one.”
The sphere shimmers, brightening before dimming again- like a spark that dies halfway, a wave that breaks before it can crest. He swallows. “And if it keeps changing?”
Mumbo doesn’t answer for a moment- just a tense moment, and Grian feels his heart drop into his stomach. He watches, waiting, and finally Mumbo says, “Then it’s most likely Flux.”
“Flux,” Grian repeats quietly. He remembers Scar talking about Flux- remembers it all too well. “Magic Fluctuation...”
He remembers Scar saying how it would have killed him.
(It killed his father.)
“Right,” Mumbo says. He breathes in, shaky and afraid, and Grian reaches out to him, his talons brushing against Mumbo’s arm. “Flux. His Core was disrupted and now it’s struggling, and his magic will fluctuate between magic highs and lows while attempting to stabilize. It’s- well, it’s, ah... it’s...”
“Dangerous for him.”
Grian doesn’t need Mumbo to confirm it. He can tell just by the way Mumbo avoids looking him in the eyes- can hear the worry fear sadness, can feel the distress. He breathes in deeply, holds it for three seconds and lets it out in a long sigh.
“He’ll be okay,” Grian says confidently, and now Mumbo looks up at him. “He’s got us and we won’t let him go, will we?”
Mumbo blinks and nods, straightening up just a bit. “Of course not,” he agrees, as if they don’t both know this ailment has already almost taken Scar from them before.
(As if a constant rise and fall of magic, a battle inside as his core fights to stabilize itself into a usable and steady state, isn’t almost certainly fatal for a Human Elf.)
Grian breathes. “Alright,” he starts, standing up out of bed and crossing his arms. “We’ve got the ambrosia Tubbo left behind, magic artifacts, a magic monitor, and we have our wits.”
He looks at Mumbo and Scar- Mumbo, leaning over Scar and holding his hand gently around the sphere, looking up at him with tired but determined eyes, and Scar with his eyes closed and breathing shallow, face too pale and completely unaware. He looks at them and feels his heart clench- but this time he won’t be useless.
This time, he won’t just stand on the sidelines and worry.
(He’s going to do something about it.)
“So let’s figure it out.”