Work Text:
The soft sounds of snoring filled the night air, just audible over the chirping of insects and distant calls of owls perched in the canopy. The wind blew through the trees, knocking their branches together in gentle percussion. Scar found himself lying awake often on these nights, listening.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep. It was early enough in the game that there were no worries of surprise attacks, and the hunger wild card had thankfully worn off. That had kept them all awake, munching on leaves and rocks in an attempt to satiate their endless appetites, but the Bamboozlers were full now on a well-deserved meal of actual food.
No, he wasn’t awake out of fear. It was out of contentment.
Scar didn’t have the best track record with making friends in these games. The last game had been the worst—months of coming home from distrustful glances and arrows in the back to sunflower fields and an empty house. He knew it didn't mean anything—what happened in the games stayed in the games—but.
But.
That is to say, he’d grown used to being alone, and now he wasn’t. If he rolled over onto his side, he would see Lizzie and Jimmy, only a few blocks away. They’d be huddled underneath their pink blankets, matching his own, and when he went to sleep the next night, and the next one, and the night after that, they would keep being there, chests rising and falling with their breath, until they were all dead and not a moment before then.
He let his eyes slip closed, pulling his blankets tighter around himself. The “death” part should be more concerning, but by your sixth death game, you stopped caring as much.
Lizzie sighed in her sleep, shifting in her bed next to his. That wasn’t enough to worry him. He’d spent enough time now listening to his teammates sleep to know Lizzie moved throughout the night.
The crack of a twig breaking and quick draw of breath was, though.
Scar’s eyes snapped open as he sat up in bed. In diamond armor over a bright red sweater, the intruder was hardly subtle. Grian had frozen in place about halfway across the clearing to Scar, his feathers fluffed up behind him.
“Well, hello there,” Scar whispered. Grian’s eyes remained trained on Scar’s, a deep black that would have been unnerving in the darkness if Scar didn’t know the man so well.
When Grian still didn’t move, Scar beckoned him over with a wave of his hand. Grian spared a glance at the sleeping forms of Scar’s teammates as he passed, bootsteps silent against the grass.
He stopped at the side of Scar’s bed. “I didn’t think you would be awake,” he said, as if that was an explanation.
“A couple minutes later and I would’ve been. Bad luck with that stick, really,” Scar replied. “Or, good luck for me, I guess. What brings you here this late?”
“Just goin’ for a walk.” Grian turned his head to the side, his fingers idly playing with the straps of his chestplate. From this angle, it was hard to see his expression, but Scar recognized the firm line of his mouth. “Insomnia. You know how it is.”
“Of course, of course." Scar gave him an easy smile. This song and dance was not unfamiliar. "The other Sub Ones giving you trouble? Or is it the Floaters, now?”
“We’re the Spanners, actually. Got tired of changing our name with each wild card.” Tugging the strap between his fingers tight, Grian finally let Scar see his face, an odd desperation in his eyes. “Can I crash here tonight?”
Scar blinked back at him. It wasn’t unlike Grian to do something like this as a joke, simply to test how his friends would react. But there was no hint of a smirk on his face, none of that upward lilt in his voice that spelled mischief.
“We only have the three beds,” Scar started, not sure where to even begin. “And I mean, it’s a bit hard to read in this lighting, but you’re on zero out of one hundred on the reputation board. That’s not a bed-sharing amount of reputation.”
“But, Scar,” Grian whined, his voice growing louder. Jimmy’s breath hitched from down the row of beds.
Scar leaned forward and pressed a finger to Grian’s lips. Once he heard Jimmy settle back into his steady breathing, safely in the grasp of sleep, he removed his finger, ignoring the annoyed set of Grian’s eyebrows.
He shifted over in bed slightly and patted the empty space next to him. “If you’re gonna talk, sit down. We can stay quieter that way.”
Grian nodded, lowering himself onto his bed. His wings brushed against Scar’s fingertips, but neither made any attempt to change positions.
“As I was saying,” he whispered, much softer. “Mumbo and Skizz and I are all holed up in one of the little caves down in the cliff, and I can’t get a wink of sleep. It’s awful. Please?”
“Unless I’m getting that lovely diamond armor, that’s a no,” Scar said, flashing Grian a grin. “Besides, your cave’s gotta be way better than up here. Sleeping under the cherry blossoms is nice until you wake up with petals in your mouth.”
Grian snorted at that, the first normal reaction Scar had gotten out of him, but his expression remained strained. His gaze dropped to his lap with a sigh, his face fully hidden from Scar.
“Look, I didn’t want to say it, but it’s— Being in a tight space underground, knowing there’s a whole base above me? It makes me too anxious to sleep. I can't help it. Stupid avian instinct thing.”
“Ah,” Scar said, voice carefully neutral. “I see.”
The first time Grian had mentioned instincts to him had been in the desert.
They’d known each other for some time then, but it was their first time living in such close quarters, practically on top of each other in the home Grian had built for them on Monopoly Mountain. Scar no longer remembered why he had been in Grian’s room (being nosy? Grabbing something for him from his chest?), but he remembered seeing the tangle of blankets and sheets balled up in the center of the bed.
“Grian,” he’d laughed, “did a tornado hit your bed? This is a mess.”
Grian had poked his head through the doorway, frowning. “Hey, it works for me! Not like anyone’s gonna see it.”
“Dude, your pillow’s at the foot of the bed. How do you even do that?”
“It’s—” Scar had watched as Grian’s cheeks reddened and he looked down at his feet, his wings curling forward to hide his face. “It’s an avian thing, okay? Nesting instincts or, something like that. It feels wrong to make the blankets all neat every morning.”
Scar had fumbled over his words trying to apologize, and Grian had laughed and said he wasn’t close with any other avians, so he could hardly be expected to know better, and that had been that.
Grian rarely brought the topic of instincts up, and only ever when it was the two of them. It made sense. If it were Scar, he’d hardly want to advertise that he felt a constant urge to be sleeping curled up with the people he was closest to (revealed halfway into the first game) or to steal and wear articles of their clothing (spit out under duress when Scar had caught him poaching his bandana when they were soulmates). He accepted that with Grian, this information came on a need-to-know basis, and filed away what morsels his friend was willing to share.
Which was why, when the avian decidedly not in his good favor said he couldn’t sleep in the caves, Scar didn’t question it.
“Ah,” he said again, as the realization hit him. “And the diamond armor—you’ve been down in the mines a lot recently, too, haven’t you?”
“Yep,” Grian replied, popping the “p”. “Worth it, but man, was that unpleasant.”
Scar placed a hand on Grian’s shoulder, rubbing back and forth with his thumb. “I know I was saying all that stuff about the reputation board, but if you really can’t sleep, you can stay here. I can’t exactly make you an extra bed this time of night, but—”
“Perfect.” Grian was already stripping off his armor, the set disappearing into his inventory in the blink of an eye.
Scar lifted the covers and allowed Grian to slip in beside him. With one wing tucked against his back and the other extended to wrap around Scar, he snuggled into the pillow and let out a contented sigh.
“Comfortable?” Scar asked, like it was even a question. They both knew Grian slept better with other people, his flock instincts apparently making it easier to relax.
Grian didn’t bother with a response, simply pulling Scar closer to him.
“You know, this would be an easier fit if you were still sub-one,” Scar whispered, earning him a kick in the shins. He laughed, settling into the embrace as his eyes fluttered shut.
He was awake long enough to hear when Grian’s breath slowed and evened out, and then he was asleep, too.
In the morning, Grian was gone. Scar would have thought it all a particularly vivid dream if it weren’t for the stray red feather he found nestled in his sheets.
The day passed uneventfully. He gathered resources with Jimmy and Lizzie and worked on sewing his carnival outfit, hoping to have it finished before the next wildcard triggered and his rollercoaster ceased to be a priority.
That night, Scar was awoken by Grian climbing into bed with him. He said nothing, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and feeling the weight of a wing around him in kind before dropping back to sleep.
And so it continued.
Then came the snails.
Scar died a lot to dear eSCARgo, which he wasn’t ashamed to admit, because his communicator was constantly buzzing with messages from everyone else dying to their snails. The server was in chaos, and Jimmy was trying to get a kill to get off of yellow, and somewhere in there Grian died.
One thing Scar hadn’t considered in their sleeping arrangement was that Grian’s spawn would be set to his bed.
Only a minute after Grian’s death message flashed across his screen, he was faced with the man rolling out of Scar’s bed. “Jimmy, you can’t be killing Skizz. He’s yellow, not dark green!”
Jimmy jumped at Scar’s side, wings flaring out behind him. “Hello? Grian? What are you doing here?”
“Yelling at you, because I just died while I was trying to figure out your situation.” Grian marched up to Jimmy, his own wings fluffing up. He poked Jimmy in the chest. “Dirty cheater.”
“I was aiming for Mumbo!”
“That’s still against the rules!”
The argument devolved from there as more of the Spanners made the trek up the mountain, and then their snails arrived and everyone scattered once more. That was one good thing about the snails: they gave everyone a convenient distraction from Grian having respawned in Scar’s bed.
That was about the only good thing, though, because a short time later eSCARgo put Scar on red.
His blood coursed with the all too familiar desire for death. It was one of the many modifications on the servers, designed to make the games more fair or exciting for whoever it was that watched them, or whatever the real reason was. Grian certainly didn't add them, from the pained look that sometimes crossed his face on clear days perfect for flying, but Scar couldn't complain. If someone wanted to give him a reprieve from the fatigue and painful flare-ups that plagued his daily life, they could be his guest.
All the same, he was well practiced at thinking around the red haze by now. It merely left his hands trembling and the blood pumping in his ears as he slipped into bed for the night. He could make his kill list in the morning. For now, he needed to rest.
A twig snapped towards the entrance to their base.
Scar bolted upright, bracing for an ambush, before he saw the red sweater and relaxed. It was only Grian, holding the two broken halves of a stick in his hands. He tossed them to the ground as he approached, notably not carrying a weapon.
As usual, he sat on the edge of Scar’s bed and began to remove his armor. “Sorry. Didn’t want to surprise you and get a sword through the stomach for my troubles,” Grian whispered, lips curling up in a smile.
“Please, I’m hardly that impulsive,” Scar answered back. “Though if you start screaming like those awful snails, I can’t make any promises.”
Grian groaned, likely remembering his own death. “If I never have to hear another ‘oo-wee’, it’ll be too soon.”
There was no hesitation as Grian squeezed into bed next to Scar. He tucked his arm beneath his head, wings shifting as they relaxed against Scar’s chest.
Grian really shouldn’t have been so comfortable. His armor was off, and his back was to Scar, and Scar was red and Grian was green and that should have been warning enough. The corner of his mind corrupted by the red was whispering, so quiet he could almost tune it out, that it would be so easy to grab one of Grian’s wings and snap the fragile bones in half, then pull out his sword and finish the job, or maybe let him get away just so Scar could chase him down the mountain, or maybe—
“What’s up?” Grian asked, jolting Scar out of his thoughts. He had rolled over in bed to face Scar, their noses mere inches apart.
“Nothing,” Scar lied. “We should get some sleep.”
Grian silently glared at him, those dark pupils scanning every corner of Scar’s face for he wasn’t sure what. This must be what books feel like being read, he thought, except at least they didn’t have to stare their reader down the whole time.
Eventually, he couldn’t stand it. “Okay, okay, yeesh. You win. I’m— you realize I’m red now, right?”
There was a smug grin on Grian’s face, and if Scar was a pettier man, that would have been enough to get him on the kill list. “I’ve noticed. So what?”
“So, why are you cozying up with me?” Scar hissed, attempting to gesture with his hand and only succeeding in hitting Grian in the stomach. “I could kill you.”
Grian hummed. “Well, one, as we’ve established, I can’t help it, and two, I know you. Killing people in their sleep doesn’t have enough pizazz.”
Scar opened his mouth to protest, only to find Grian was infuriatingly right. Grian’s smirk grew even wider, and he smacked Scar on the head lightly.
“Now stop being stupid and let me sleep,” Grian said, rolling back over in bed.
“You’re the worst,” Scar muttered. He couldn’t hear Grian’s laughter, but he could feel his shoulders shaking against him, and he felt his own lips quirk up in a smile.
He’d be well within his rights to kill Grian over this, but that would have to wait for later.
Jimmy beat him to the punch.
It was a beautiful test of the rollercoaster of death concept, and a successful one at that. If asked to describe Grian and Mumbo’s state, the terms “vaporized” and “smithereens” might have come to mind. Fistfuls of loose cherry petals had rained down on them from the impact, the sound of the blast ringing clear even on the mountaintop.
As soon as the death messages hit their communicators, Jimmy was dashing back up the mountain towards Scar and Lizzie. “I did it! I did it! Bam!”
“Bam! That was incredible!” Scar shouted. “That’s gotta be one of the best kills I’ve ever seen.”
Jimmy laughed, the excitement of the kill coloring it more maniacal than usual. “Did you see how they just— bam!” He spread his arms and wings out as wide as he could, mimicking the explosion.
“Bam!” Lizzie called back, pumping her fist in the air.
Scar wasn’t sure if Jimmy leaped into his arms or if Scar scooped him up. Maybe both—in the giddiness of sweet, sweet victory, the Bamboozlers had been united, mind, body, and soul. Either way, Jimmy was soon sitting on Scar’s shoulders as Scar paraded him around the Bamlands to the sound of Lizzie’s cheering. It was a good thing Jimmy’s bones were so light, the added weight little that Scar’s bamboo cane couldn’t compensate for.
In his joy, he didn’t notice the player respawn on his bed.
As Scar turned to make another lap of their base, he almost ran straight into Grian. Scar screamed, falling backwards.
If he hadn’t been carrying an entire person on his shoulders, he might have kept his balance. As it was, all he could do was flail his arms as he toppled over on top of Jimmy, who let out a shriek of his own. His cane tumbled to the ground a moment after them, thumping quietly into the grass.
Grian stood over them with his arms folded, looking rather unimpressed. “You have made an absolute enemy out of me.”
Jimmy pushed Scar off of him with a groan, frowning up at Grian. “Grian, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be back at spawn.”
“Time’s going fast!” Scar said, perhaps a bit too loudly. He scrambled to sit up as well and reached out to grab his cane, though he didn’t try to stand just yet. “He must’ve run here real quick so he could yell at us, because he’s upset about your absolutely brilliant play. Right?”
Grian raised an eyebrow at him. It had the desired effect. Of the two of them, Scar felt he was certainly the more practiced manipulator. He was also the one currently on the ground with grass stains on his pants and, to his dismay, whose hat had flown a good five blocks away.
His teammates did not help his case.
“Did you not notice him respawn in your bed, Scar?” Lizzie asked, pointing at the bed in question. Rising to his knees, Scar could see the divot in the blankets from where Grian had gotten up. He dropped back to the ground immediately afterward, the chill at potentially being caught doing… whatever he and Grian were doing sucking all the energy out of him.
Jimmy did a double-take at the bed, jaw going slack. “Wait, he’s been sleeping in our beds again? That’s creepy! When are you even doing this?”
“At night, like a normal person,” Grian replied coolly. “Anyways, I need to go meet up with the other person you just murdered. Your days are numbered, Tim.” He drew a line across his throat as he walked backwards towards the entrance to the base.
Jimmy shivered beside Scar, his wings knocking into Scar’s back. “Oh lord, I’m so screwed. Guys, I need to go into hiding.”
Standing up, Scar took a few shaky steps over to collect his fallen hat. “He’s only talking. After a kill like that, nobody’ll be coming after you for a while.”
“I dunno,” Lizzie said. She leaned back against their crafting bench, a hand coming to stroke her chin in thought. “It’s Grian, and he has been sleeping in our beds, apparently. You might be dead meat before long.”
This did not reassure Jimmy. He fell back onto the ground, letting out a low moan of terror. “I’m dead. I’m so dead. He’s gonna kill me in my sleep.” His wings wrapped around his body and his arms rose to cover his face, forming the world’s least effective shield.
It was not the atmosphere Scar wanted for the Bamboozlers after a victory, but he’d been the one to let Grian into his bed at night. He only had himself to blame.
“So, about the whole bed thing?" Casually, the most casually anyone had ever done anything, Scar brushed the dirt and cherry petals off of his boater hat. "You guys don’t need to worry about that. Grian’s just been sleeping with me.”
With his gaze focused on his hat, he couldn’t see his teammates’ expressions, but he could hear the breath catch in Jimmy’s throat.
“You two are— that is, by ‘sleeping with’ you mean, sharing a bed?” Lizzie said, voice a note higher than usual.
“Yeah? As opposed to— oh.” Scar felt his face flush. He set his hat on his head, not even caring that it was crooked, and frantically waved his hands in front of him, his cane coming dangerously close to hitting Jimmy. “No no no no no, not that, God, no! Why would you imply that!”
Jimmy had uncovered his face to watch Scar, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth even as he dodged a particularly close swipe. “You’re the one who said it like that! Also, what?”
“Agreed. What?” Lizzie cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing to slits as she regarded Scar. “This isn't some weird scheme to betray us, is it? ‘Cuz I’m not giving you any more gunpowder if it is.”
“It’s— hmm, okay. Lemme think of how to explain this.” Scar looked out at the bamboo surrounding them, trying to ignore his teammates for the time being.
Because, well, this wasn’t really his thing to talk about, was it? Grian had always been so shy about his instincts, and he never brought it up outside of the games. It would be plain rude for Scar to go sharing that information at the drop of a hat. Scar lied and spilled secrets all the time, but that was part of the game. This? This wasn’t.
At the same time, he couldn’t not explain why he’d been letting their enemy sleep in his bed every night. Lizzie was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for her answer, and even Jimmy had managed to overcome his fear of death enough to sit up and let his wings relax behind him.
Wait. Hold on a second. He might be the biggest genius to have ever lived.
“Jimmy, you know how you’re an avian, right?” Scar started. With his confidence back, he fell into the familiar cadence of a man selling a story. Hopefully, his Bamboozlers would be able to read between the lines.
Jimmy sat up straighter at the question, like a child being called on unexpectedly by their teacher. “I mean, yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m getting there! So as an avian, you have to deal with different things than humans do. Like your wings. And so your brain is… maybe wired a little bit differently.” Scar knocked a hand against his head for emphasis.
“I feel like I’m being called stupid,” Jimmy muttered, sending Lizzie into a fit of giggles.
“No, hold on, that’s not what I said! It’s just— sometimes you might, potentially, have impulses, or, or feelings, that maybe humans don’t.”
Jimmy was squinting at Scar, brows furrowed in obvious conclusion. “I suppose?”
Scar had hoped he'd be quicker on the draw, but it had been a hectic couple of minutes. Maybe he needed it spelled out a bit clearer.
“Right. So, maybe in a death game, it’s a little overwhelming, and you need a friend to help you deal with all that. You getting what I’m putting down?” Scar leaned forward and raised his eyebrows, praying that was enough to clue Jimmy in.
It was not. Jimmy shook his head. “No, I’m not. Where’s Grian come into this again?”
“Yeah, and you still haven’t said if you’re betraying us or not. Kinda suspicious,” Lizzie agreed. There was a smile picking at the corner of her mouth that hinted she wasn’t actually suspicious, but she clearly wasn’t ready to let the topic go anytime soon.
Scar sighed and pinched his forehead. “Okay, okay. First, I’m not betraying you! And second—I’m trying not to be too obvious about this, so you’ll have to guess what I’m implying. Jimmy—and this is gonna sound weird—but imagine you’re in a cave. How do you feel?”
To his credit, Jimmy didn’t question it. He blinked, mouth opening and closing a few times before he found his words. “Uh, tired, I guess? I always get tired mining. Maybe cold? Or stressed because of the mobs? But if it’s a lush cave, those are pretty, so I wouldn’t much mind, then. Might feel calm, even.”
Hmm. This was not going as planned. “But you wouldn’t feel claustrophobic? Hate being cut off from the sky?” Scar pressed.
“Not particularly?”
“Okay, this isn’t working. New question! Someone is yelling at you to make your bed. How do you feel?”
This time, Lizzie cut in before Jimmy could answer. “Why would anyone be yelling at him? His bed’s plenty neat.” She pointed to Jimmy’s bed, the closest of the three to the entrance of the base, and sure enough, it was neatly made, more than Scar’s own.
Things were starting to veer off track, but Scar didn’t have time to examine that too closely. “It’s really not my place to say, but this isn’t making sense, so fine. I’m gonna come out and say it.” He paused for effect, because even when having serious conversations with your teammates, dramatic tension was important.
“Grian’s been sleeping wi— sharing a bed with me because his avian instincts were acting up.”
There was a pause. Then, Jimmy burst out laughing.
His peals of laughter echoed throughout the base. Scar wouldn’t have been surprised if the Spanners could hear him from their bridges. Jimmy was clutching at his stomach as he leaned forward, gasping for air, and now the warning signs were really flashing in Scar’s head.
When Jimmy got his composure back, he wheezed out, “I’m sorry, Grian’s what?”
“His avian instincts?” Scar said, his voice smaller than it had been a minute ago.
That only set Jimmy off again, and he had to fight for breath for a few seconds before he could get his reply out. “Pff— Avian instincts? Mate, there’s no such thing.”
Well, that didn’t make sense.
If Grian was lying about the instincts, that would mean he did everything on purpose. And what would he gain from sleeping in Scar’s bed every night, despite supposedly being enemies? A chance to tease Scar, maybe ruffle some feathers with his teammates. Grian was smart. Surely, he wouldn’t have put himself in that much danger to mess with Scar a little bit.
With the cat out of the bag, Scar figured he could push back on Jimmy as much as he wanted. “No, Grian’s been telling me about his instincts for ages! Maybe he’s just a different type of avian than you are.”
“That’s not remotely how any of this works,” Jimmy replied with a grin. “That’s like saying you make your little reputation boards because of your human instinct to, uh…” He snapped his fingers as he trailed off, trying and failing to complete his analogy.
“To organize social relationships within a clear hierarchy,” Lizzie supplied easily, her tone not even betraying the absurdity of the premise.
“Sure! So Scar, you do all that because of your ‘human instincts,’ but Lizzie and the lot are all a different type of human from you, so that’s why they don’t display their friend lists in their base.”
Scar furrowed his brows. “That’s wrong, though. Humans aren’t like that.”
“That’s my point, dude!” Jimmy leaped to his feet, his wings flaring out behind him. His voice was tipping from amused to exasperated, which wasn’t exactly a welcome development in the middle of what had been, up until now, a fairly pleasant confrontation. “Avian, human, whatever—nobody’s instincts force them to cuddle with people.”
“But Grian wouldn’t lie to me.” Scar paused and considered his and Grian’s many years of friendship. “Never mind, he would one hundred percent lie to me. But not for no reason. Why else would he have been sneaking up here every night?”
“Because he’s a— a sick man who delights in others’ suffering.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call sharing a bed with him suffering. You snore louder than him.”
“Hey!”
“Boys, boys,” Lizzie said, interrupting the argument they were quickly threatening to derail. “Let’s stay on topic here. We can go back to insulting Jimmy later—”
“Thanks for the support,” Jimmy muttered.
“—But right now we need to focus on what Grian is up to, because Scar, whatever you’re doing? Very weird.” Lizzie pressed her palms together and pointed them at Scar, her face twisted into a frown. It would have been offensive if she wasn’t, objectively, kind of right. “However! If you were actually betraying us, you’d have a much better lie prepared.”
Scar nodded at that. A good lie was one he himself could believe was true, but the more he tried to explain the whole bed situation, the more he doubted his own explanations. It was hardly the direction he’d intended to take.
Pushing herself off the crafting bench she had been resting on, Lizzie began pacing the length of the grass in front of them. With her arms folded behind her back, she was the picture of a detective at work. “Grian is using his ‘instincts’ to share a bed with Scar, but we can’t assume that’s all he’s using them for. Scar, when else has he mentioned these so-called instincts?”
“When I ribbed him about how his bed was messy, he said he couldn’t make it because of his nesting instincts,” Scar replied, counting the instances out on his fingers. “He asked me to go mining for him because caving made him claustrophobic—”
“I’m not gonna lie, this sounds like he’s just trying to avoid his chores,” Jimmy commented from the sidelines.
Scar raised a hand to silence him. “That’s not all! A while back, he’d steal my clothes—little things like a bandana or a necklace—and say it was flock instincts. And I remember his thing with buttons being part of this as well, though now that I think about it, that has nothing to do with anything, so… maybe scratch that one.”
“I see, I see.” Lizzie slowed her steps as she neared where Scar and Jimmy were standing. With a dramatic flair Scar dearly admired, she spun on her heel to face them, planting both hands on her hips. “I believe we’ve found an answer to this mystery.”
After a second, Scar realized she was waiting for someone to ask the question. “What’s the answer?”
“The answer is… basically, what Jimmy said.” The drama disappeared from Lizzie’s posture in an instant as her hands dropped to her sides. “He’s using his ‘instincts’ as an all-purpose excuse to do whatever weird things he wants.”
“Seriously?” Scar deadpanned, staring between his two teammates. “Oh, he is so dead.”
Scar’s kill on Grian wasn’t without repercussions.
Gone from this world too soon, his reputation board was cruelly blown up, and Grian didn’t even have the heart to call them even after that. Not that Scar was letting that bother him in the slightest. He and his teammates were all on green when time finally returned to normal, meaning they could sleep easy for the first night in a long while.
His teammates were, as usual, asleep before him. Lizzie had even nodded off before the sun had fully set in the sky, tuckered out from dodging countless attempts on her life. Soft snoring and the rustling of the bamboo in the wind filled the air, but not so completely that he missed the familiar footsteps at the entrance to their base.
Grian, with his new light green name tag projected over his head, marched over to Scar’s bed. He was glaring at Scar as he did so, his wings held tense like he was ready for a fight, but still he returned to Scar’s bedside.
Normally, Scar would have scooted over to let Grian in, but this time he didn’t. From his spot propped up against the headboard, he gave Grian a smile dripping in poison, raising his eyebrows. “Back so soon, huh? I thought I was dead to you.”
“You still are,” Grian shot back. When Scar showed no signs of moving, he took matters into his own hands, plopping down on the sliver of empty space on the mattress and shucking off his armor. “But it's instincts, so I can’t help it. Now move before I make you.”
“You can’t help it, you say?” Scar narrowed his eyes, watching the minute twitch of Grian’s mouth at being scrutinized. “It’s funny, because I was talking to Jimmy today, and he said avians don’t have instincts like that.”
Grian’s hands tightened around the blankets underneath them, the sort of unconscious response that meant Scar had him. Still, he tried to keep his face neutral, all expression draining out of it to be replaced with an artificially calm mask. “That’s just Timmy pulling your leg. Don’t listen to him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Silence stretched between them as Scar let Grian stew in the suspicion. For all the years he’d messed with Scar, he deserved a bit of his own medicine. Grian quickly dropped Scar’s gaze, staring at some of the flower petals on the ground.
“I think Jimmy knows exactly what he’s talking about,” Scar pressed, his voice rumbling low in his throat. “I think you have been taking advantage of my kindness for years to get out of doing chores you didn’t like, or as a little prank on me, and now I’ve caught you.”
“It’s not—” Grian whispered, the words dying on his tongue as he took a deep breath. His wings had ruffled out behind him, partially obscuring Scar’s view. It was a mirror image of every other time instincts had come up between the two of them, and Scar was almost ready to back off and apologize when he realized the mattress was shaking beneath him.
Grian leaned forward, out of the cover of his wings, just long enough for Scar to catch the smirk on his face.
Oh, that absolute bastard.
Scar kicked Grian as best he could, which, from under the blankets, was more of a nudge than anything else. “You jerk!” he hissed, though he couldn’t help the matching smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re laughing at me. You've been laughing this whole time!”
Grian doubled over, giggles escaping from his lips. “It’s just— Scar— How'd it take you this long to realize!” No longer able to hold himself back, he collapsed half on top of Scar, the laughter pouring out of him hardly muffled by the blankets.
Unsurprisingly, this was enough to wake the Bamboozlers. Lizzie groaned from the bed next to him, raising an arm to cover her eyes while Jimmy sat up in the far bed, squinting blearily at the commotion. Scar felt his face heat up at the newfound audience.
“Grian, be quiet or you’ll wake the whole server,” Scar said, shaking his bedmate’s shoulders in a vain attempt to get him to quiet down. It at least got him to lift his head from Scar’s blankets, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t stay quiet for more than a second, though, collapsing back into breathless laughter in Scar’s lap.
Jimmy slunk out of bed towards Scar and Grian, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dim torchlight. “Oi, Grian. You are an evil, evil man, you know that?”
The accusation was enough to force Grian to collect himself, though he still couldn’t contain a few stray chuckles. “You’re the evil one, Jim. I had a good thing going here!”
“‘S not my fault you got caught telling obvious lies!” Jimmy shouted back, his wings flaring out wide behind him. They cast shadows over Scar’s bed, making his teammate look far more intimidating than he did in most circumstances.
Still, Scar had to object on a matter of personal honor. “They weren’t that obvious—”
“Oh, yes, they were, Scar,” Grian cut him off, reaching out a hand to ruffle Scar’s hair, which Scar knocked off immediately. He clicked his tongue and turned to glare at Jimmy, stabbing a finger at him. “But you didn’t need to point them out! It was none of your business.”
“None of my business? He’s my teammate! You’re sleeping in our base!”
“I'm not trying to kill anyone!”
“And how was I supposed to know that when all you do is act weird?”
Grian and Jimmy were practically at each other’s throats, Grian having climbed over Scar to get in Jimmy’s face. Despite the unofficial ceasefire between wild cards, Scar was getting worried that he’d have to break up a fight when Lizzie did it for him.
A pillow hit Jimmy in the back of the head, causing him to yank his wings in and spin around. Lizzie was half out of bed, one foot dangling onto the ground and one arm stretched out in front of her. Her hair was unkempt from sleep, which only added to the slightly crazed look in her eyes.
“I have spent the past who knows how long running around this server trying not to die,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re going to yell, go do it at someone else’s base and let me sleep. Thank you.”
Jimmy winced at the reprimand. He bent down and dusted the grass off of Lizzie’s pillow before returning it to her. “Sorry, we’ll be quiet now.” The glare he sent to Scar and Grian as he returned to his own bed was a clear message—they were included in that “we”.
After all the noise, the night was far too still to Scar, the breeze in the trees that had seemed so loud now barely registering. Grian seemed to feel the same way, his wings held tense where he crouched on Scar’s bed. Neither of them moved until the other two Bamboozlers fell back to sleep, which, thankfully, didn’t take more than a few minutes.
Grian sighed when a snore finally came from Jimmy’s bed and eased off of Scar, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the mattress. “I guess I’ll be going, then. No point staying if the jig is up.” He gave Scar a weak smile and moved to stand up.
“Wait.” Scar’s hand was reaching out to grasp at Grian’s hand before he was even conscious of it, tugging his friend back down onto the bed. The words were a struggle to piece together, too many conflicting emotions rising up too late at night, but he settled on, “I don’t mind sleeping with you.”
When he got no response, he continued, his thumb rubbing circles along Grian’s wrist. “There’s so much different during the games, you know? The world doesn’t work the same, your friends can’t be trusted. It’s… nice to have a reminder that there’s more than this.”
It was nice to have a reminder that, when the winner was decided, he and Grian would still have each other’s backs, in the ways that mattered.
That he would never truly be alone.
Scar let his hand drop from Grian’s arm and shifted to the side, making room next to him on the bed. He didn’t watch Grian’s expression as his companion lay down on his back beside him. It felt vulnerable enough putting these thoughts to words; he didn’t need the added pressure of Grian watching his unschooled expression, of having to watch Grian’s own reactions.
Feathers poked into his sides, but he didn’t complain. He simply watched the darkened forms of the cherry blossoms against the starry sky, the soft glow of the torches flickering across their branches.
“I don’t dislike Mumbo or Skizz, y’know?” Grian whispered to him, his voice rough. Scar didn't say anything yet. His explanation was coming, just in its own time.
“But sometimes I need a break from them. It’s like a full-time job keeping them alive, and back at the start, they were so suspicious of me for literally no reason! It was absolutely infuriating.”
Scar hummed. “I think I know the feeling.” A smile cracked his lips as Grian elbowed him, hushed laughter spilling out of him. Neither of them cared about the enchanting table incident anymore, but it was fun to pretend at holding grudges, sometimes.
A strong gust of wind blew petals from the trees, sending them drifting down onto Grian and Scar. Grian rolled over onto his side, pushing himself up with one elbow to look down into Scar’s eyes. “Is this really okay?”
“What, sharing a bed?” Scar asked. He reached a hand up, pulling a stray petal from Grian’s hair. “I don’t mind. I’d like to, even. It’s comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Grian grumbled, but his gaze was fond. He flopped down onto the bed, wriggling his way under the covers and into his normal spot by Scar’s side.
Scar shuddered as that first wing gently wrapped around him, the sensation feeling like so much more now that he knew it was deliberate, that Grian chose to do it. Not to be outdone, he slid an arm around Grian’s waist and delighted in the way his friend relaxed against him.
“You know,” he murmured against Grian’s hair, “people will definitely wanna use this against us. Trap our bed. Try and turn your team against you.”
“Can’t do that if my team dies first,” Grian whispered back, drawing a chuckle from Scar. “Now, shh. Less talking, more sleeping.”
That, he could do. His eyes drifted shut, and before he could feel the rise and fall of Grian's chest against him go gentle with sleep, he was out.