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They found Grian, tied to a tree, three weeks after he had first been taken.
They’d left him there, sitting on the ground with his arms yanked above his head by ropes. His fingers were broken and bruised, exposed arms bruised and slashed up. There were cuts on his forearms, blood running from them. Head tipped forwards, chin resting against his collarbone, Grian wasn’t even moving.
As soon as Scar was close enough to see the blood, he knew something was wrong. This was going to be a tough situation. There was blood everywhere, more than he had thought at first glance. It wasn’t just his arms. There was blood soaking the grass beneath him, his clothes—all of it. He’d known it would be bad. The Watchers had taken Grian. They were going to hurt him. They were going to try and destroy him. All of the Hermits had known that it was going to be a messy situation, a bloody situation. Gem and False were in the Hermit Infirmary, preparing with Keralis and Joe’s help. Everyone else was scouring the server for Grian and the Watchers, wherever they were. (They’d found Grian—the Watchers, though…no. He wasn’t going to focus on that.)
Sprinting to Grian’s side, Scar skidded in the bloody grass. “Oh, blimmin’ hell—” Behind him, Joel retched. Scar’s hands hovered over Grian’s stomach.
He was shredded. “Grian?” He croaked, looking at Grian’s face. His face was bruised. The left side of his jaw was painted purple and black, swelling began to form on his cheekbone. Worse, there were gashes, deep and bloody and rending through his skin and clothes like he was made of paper, running from the bottom of Grian’s jaw to his hips. Scar grimaced. Pulling off his own cloak, as careful as possible, Scar spread it over Grian’s front. It would at least keep him warm and keep him from being too embarrassed. There was nothing to be ashamed of, he was hurt and they all had been hurt and all knew what happened, but…anyways. It didn’t matter. Getting Grian back to the infirmary so he could get treated was more important.
Suddenly, Etho was there. Scar flinched away, turning to look at him. Glancing over, Etho turned back to Scar and felt over Grian’s head and neck, then drew a hand down his spine. His brows furrowed. “Etho?”
“No spinal injuries. Joel, set up the stretcher for me, now. Scar, if he wakes up, keep him calm.” Nodding, Scar turned back to Grian, focusing on his face. Reaching up, he gently touched the right side of Grian’s face.
Grian whimpered in pain.
“Grian.” Scar whispered. Pushing himself up, Etho sliced through the ropes holding Grian’s wrists above his head. Slowly, he eased his arms down. As he did, Scar eased their friend to the ground. Wings rumpled, Grian let out another low whimper. His lips parted, he started panting for breath. A shake ran through him. “Hey, hey, easy.”
Head falling into the crook of Scar’s arm, Grian gasped. He tipped his head back, the muscles in his neck tightening as he struggled to inhale. Teeth gritted, he wheezed. Gently, Scar fixed his cloak around him. Etho’s hands wandered over Grian’s sides, slipping under the cloak Scar had put over him. In his arms, Scar felt him flinching.
“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Bending down, Scar kissed the top of his husband’s head. Dark eyes snapped open, wide and panicked. Suddenly, he clawed at Scar’s hands. His eyes flicked across Scar’s face. “You’re okay, I got you.”
At Grian’s side, Etho moved his hand down and then froze.
“Scar—” Grian wheezed in a breath. Tears ran down his face.
“Hey, I got you. You’re going to be okay.”
“It’s not—I’m not worried about me—” Grian choked out. Crying harder, he stared up at Scar. In his chest, Scar felt his heart sinking. Something was wrong. “Scar, I—I’m pregnant.”
His blood chilled.
Etho looked at him. You know, Scar realized. Glancing down at Etho’s hand as he pulled it out from under the cloak, covered in blood, he saw the blood. You just found out, too. He turned back to Grian. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re both going to be fine.”
Shaking his head, sobbing, Grian added, “You—you have to save the baby. If you have to pick, save them, I don’t—”
“We’re not going to have to choose. Joel, how’s that stretcher coming?” He asked, glancing back. Turning, Joel nodded. The stretcher was ready. “Good. Etho, help me carry him. We’re using the portal. Joel, run back to the others and tell them now, we need to prep the operating room."
"Right." Joel said. With a glance back at Grian, Joel shook his head, launched off a firework, and took off. Gently, Scar turned back to his husband and, with Etho’s help, lifted him up and hurried him to the stretcher.
“Save them, they don’t deserve this, please—” Grian sobbed, holding onto his arm. Tears ran down his bruised face, “Scar, please, you have to promise me you’ll save them.”
“I will.” Scar said. In his mind, he added, and we’ll save you, too. I swear it. He thought. As he settled Grian down, taking the handles at the front of the stretcher, he shared a look with Etho. There was a conversation shared between them with looks only. He didn’t even have to ask Etho.
They started hurrying towards the portal. On the stretcher, hands settled over his belly, Grian sobbed.
Cleo was used to seeing blood.
She wasn’t used to pulling babies out of her friends, though. When Joel had come back, screaming about finding Grian, blood, and a baby. Keralis had managed to get an explanation out of him. Joel, Etho, and Scar had found Grian tied to a tree. He was badly wounded. Worse, he was pregnant, which, horrifically, might have been the only reason the Watchers let him go.
Grian was brought in by Etho and Scar not even a minute after they had prepared the operating room. When they brought him in, he’d passed out—she wasn’t sure if it was from blood loss or the panic or the pain. It didn’t matter. He stirred briefly, shook his head and grabbed Scar’s hand as they settled him down, because Scar wasn’t going anywhere. His clothes were bloody—not her favorite for an operating room but none of this was ideal, anyways. “Scar—Scar, you have to—you have to save the baby. Please, you have to—” Grian shook his head, tears running down his face as Gem pressed the oxygen mask to it, shushing him. “Please, you need to save them, it’s not their fault—”
“Grian, I need you to count back from ten. It’s going to be okay,” Gem said, brushing her fingers through his hair and glancing at the anesthetic levels. Shaking his head, Grian whimpered, held tighter to Scar’s hand.
“Choose them, please, please just choose them not me—” Grian’s eyes fluttered and he drifted off, still begging Scar.
Looking Cleo dead in the eyes, features sharper than she’d ever seen, Scar said, “If you have to pick, then you save him.”
“We’ll save both,” She replied. Turning, she demanded, “Xisuma! Check his code, how far along is he?”
Barely a moment passed. “Thirty-five weeks!”
“Eight months,” Cleo hummed, tilted her head to the side as she focused on stemming some of the bleeding. “Late preterm. Most common for premature babies, means bigger risk of RSV so we’ll make sure everyone gets their shots and then that Baby gets the shots as well. Joel, bring the incubator into the room! Gem, focus on anesthetics. Impulse, Tango, you’ve got the steadiest hands—help me with the surgery. I want Bdubs bringing potions and Skizz brewing more, and Doc—there’s formula packs in my room, donations for that one clinic. They won’t mind if we have to use some for one of ours. Scar, you stay right where you are and don’t look.” She turned back to Grian, adding to herself, “Good thing I learned how to do Cesareans.”
The surgery to get the baby out was simple. Joel hurried over, bringing the incubator and then darting off to help Doc find the formula and then serve as runner. As they worked, Impulse and Tango glanced at her. They handed her forceps as she asked for them, scalpels and scissors and anything else she needed.
Thankfully, when they pulled the Baby out, she was fine. They knew she was fine because she began crying. It was soft, but also one of the best sounds that Cleo had heard. She toweled the baby off, checked Baby over quickly, and then hurriedly handed her off to Joel to put in the incubator with instructions. He nodded, followed them immediately.
Then, she turned her focus back to Grian. Scar’s eyes were on his baby, his hand was still in his husband’s. The concern was palpable. “He’s going to be fine, Scar.” Cleo reassured. “Free reign to use potions as necessary, and without the placenta he’s going to have more blood to focus on himself instead of Baby.”
“Right, right.” He murmured, still looking at his baby. “Is she—”
“Fifteen inches, five pounds.” Everyone glanced at her. “Same weight as the fake babies I make. They’re all five pounds, she’s about five pounds. Good weight for someone her size, don’t worry. We’ll figure things out. She should be fine.”
Compared to the concern about Baby not surviving, Grian’s surgery was both much simpler and so much worse.
With Baby out, they could use more potions. She relocated Grian’s shoulders and his wings. Pumped him full of health and strength, added in regen once those were through. Fix the broken bones, stitch up the whip lacerations to his front and back, give him some IVs. Totally fine. His left cheekbone was broken, his arms had breaks everywhere so she had to splint those. He was dehydrated and starved.
He’d be fine.
The baby quieted down, being handled by Bdubs with some baby-safe potions. Scar was still looking at her. He was holding Grian’s hand still.
Cleo focused on fixing Grian up, letting Bdubs—their resident baby doctor—work.
Grian woke up a few days later, and Scar was right there with him.
Frowning, Grian looked at him. “The baby—” He started.
“She’s fine.” Scar replied. “Late preterm. Bdubs and Cleo have her for testing, they’re making sure that she doesn’t have anything wrong with her.”
“She made it?” Grian asked, eyes widening slightly. He tried to push himself up, then winced and dropped back down. Holding his arm, Scar tightened his grip on his hand. “What—what’s—where—”
“We got you back and then into surgery, I’m sure you remember that. You have Cleo to thank, by the way, she delivered the baby."
"The baby?” Grian shook his head, “You said she. It’s a girl? She’s a girl?”
“Healthy baby girl. Little bit early. That’s okay.” Nodding, Grian winced and looked down at his arms. He slowly took in his injuries, the splints. Quietly, there was a knock at the door. Turning, Scar called, “Come in!”
Cleo walked into the room, holding their baby. Seeing Grian awake, she smiled. “Hello, Grian.”
“Did I mess up already? I didn’t even know she was a possibility, I didn’t know I was pregnant, I didn’t—” He reached out for their daughter when Cleo approached, then pulled his hands away in hesitation. His face twisted. Looking at her, he swallowed and then pulled back further. “I didn’t know. I—I wasn’t drinking, was I? Was I having too much coffee?”
“Grian,” Cleo started.
“I can’t even remember. Oh, Scar, I’ve been eating so much fish lately.” He ran his hands into his hair, tangling his splinted fingers there. “What if I hurt her? What if I—”
“Grian.”
“What if I did something to her? What if she’s sick?” Grian kept rambling. Turning to look at Cleo, Scar sighed. He reached over and touched his husband’s arm. Flinching, Grian closed his mouth. He turned to meet Scar’s gaze. Then, he looked back at Cleo, following Scar’s example.
Handing Grian the baby, Cleo said, “You did the best you could with the information that you had, Grian. That’s all you could do. Besides, we checked her, and she doesn’t have anything wrong. She’s perfectly healthy, just a bit early.”
“Does she—does she have wings?” Grian asked, rasping, as he cradled Baby closer. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me if she’s avian or not, but—but avians have such different food requirements—”
Cleo pulled a bottle from her bag, helping Grian cradle the baby even with his splinted fingers and arms, then hold the bottle to Baby’s face. Scar watched happily. “She’s an avian! She’s got your wings. Or, just wings in general.”
“She has wings.” He exhaled softly. Shaking, he glanced over at Scar, eyes wide. “Our daughter has wings.”
“She does. Hold on, like this.” Scar helped him, moving the bottle for Grian. Baby began to drink eagerly. Smiling, Scar glanced at his husband. Grian’s eyes were so soft, he was looking down at Baby like she was his entire world. “Don’t worry, you’re going to get to hold her plenty. She’s not going anywhere.”
Nodding, Grian smiled softly. “You need a name, Baby.” He whispered softly. Sniffing, eyes watering, he glanced at Scar. “We gotta name her. Unless you have?”
“I wanted to wait until you wake up.” He said, looking down at their daughter. She was a few days old, she was their beautiful little bald grubworm, and she still didn’t have a name. She was perfect. “And I think you should name her. At least her first name.”
“Lavender.” Grian said immediately. “I want to name her Lavender.”
Healing. Scar remembered. Leaning over, he kissed Grian’s hair. His husband leaned into him. “Lavender. I like that.”
“You give her a middle name.” Grian said, nudging Scar with his shoulder and smiling at him. Then, he turned back to Lavender, watching her eat. Humming, Scar tilted his head to the side, resting his cheek against Grian’s hair.
“Brinna.” He replied. “It’s an Irish name, means, ah…‘little raven’, among other things. Like noble and strong.”
“Lavender Brinna. I like that.” Grian hummed.
In his arms, Lavender hiccupped loudly.