Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's an odd case, Scar will admit. Usually, something like this wouldn't even fall under his jurisdiction – Hotguy is a glorified celebrity to the royal court, and he knows it. As nice as the trust is, it won't last.

Still, the change of pace isn't all bad. He’s gotten to put real strategy on the table, taken part in undercover operations, and engaged in all sorts of bargaining. Surely King Ren has a reason, but it hasn't shown its face yet, so for now at least, Scar will play his part.

Except, it’s gotten a little more complicated than he’d thought it would.

He’d never expected it to be a particularly heart-warming case – it’s the Watchers for void's sake, it was never going to be light. But it hadn't been personal.

Now, Scar lands once more on the promenade, long since deserted at such an hour. 

As usual, he stands at the railing, attention locked onto the sky above as if the streetlights don’t drown out all but the brightest stars.

On appearance alone, he’s an avian hybrid – tawny wings held limply to his back, dressed smartly in a red sweater over a button-up and black trousers – normal, if nothing more.

If Scar were only passing through, he wouldn't think twice. Sure, it’s odd for a civilian to be out so late, but not illegal. Scar knows better, settling a few feet away at the railings.

“Any updates?” Grian asks, dark eyes fixed on the horizon.

“No.” Scar sighs, unable to tear his gaze from the man beside him. In the low light, he almost looks whole, only betrayed by the stray glow of an overhead light “We’re getting closer, though. Any day now.”

Grian hums thoughtfully, a small, strained smile finding his lips, “Good.”

And it is good. They're getting closer to ending the Watchers' reign over the city, operating from the shadows for far longer than Ren’s been in power. It’s more than just good.

But, more selfishly, he isn't sure what it means for Grian.

He’s always seemed almost resigned to it, and Scar thinks he understands why. Whatever happens from here is out of his hands; all he can do is tell Scar what he knows and wait. 

Once the case is over and all non-disclosure agreements are settled, Grian’s missing person case will need to be closed. And Scar will have to tell his surviving family (namely, the two siblings he can find. There doesn't seem to be anyone else) that the search has been for nothing. 30-odd years, yet Grian Xelqua doesn't appear a day over 24, no older than they’d once known him to be.

He knows if the takedown of his own murderers hinged on his fuzzy recollections of a lifetime long forgone, he’d be a little antsy too, even if he tries to charade as if he isn't. Scar can see it in his eyes, in the way he shifts his weight in some leftover anxious tell he never shook.

It makes his heart ache to see him smother it. He’s dead! Only Scar has been able to see him at all! If there’s any time to let go of one's inhibitions and let loose, he’d think it’d be now.

How much is just Grian’s nature, Scar may never know, but sometimes he catches glimpses of something more than a statistic he’s only growing more keenly aware of. He’ll laugh – unrestrained and real – before he stops, gaze glassy and foreign and wrong.

If he were alive, maybe they’d stand a chance. Scar could coax him out of his shell, show him there’s more to the world than whatever they did to him, and rebuild in the ashes. 

But he isn’t. And Scar should’ve never gotten this emotionally involved in this case.

“Can I ask for something?” Grian asks so quietly he nearly misses it.

Anything – he almost says, before remembering who they are, what they’re doing. Instead, Scar puts on a mocking imitation of his best Hotguy grin as he says, “You just did.”

Grian scoffs, batting him with his wing. It goes right through Scar, sending a chill up his spine.

Still, he laughs, relishing in the way Grian’s features soften for a moment, gentle and tired in the flickering, yellowed light. It’s gone a moment later, but it lingers in Scar’s mind regardless.

“Don’t tell Pearl and Timmy why I left.” Within an instant, the light mood is gone again “They can’t… I’ve hurt them enough.”

Pearl Moon and Jimmy Solidarity, if he’s remembering correctly. It’s easier for now, while Scar hasn’t seen their faces, before he’s had to break the news and see the grief set in. Grian’s siblings, despite their differing surnames. They left the city that took their brother a long time ago; Scar can’t really blame them. 

“Grian…” Scar sighs, for lack of better words. He has no problem complying; he’s certain even now Grian knows them better than he does, no point tearing open more old wounds than he has to. It’s the way he says it that gets him, though – As if they’d see it how Grian seems to, and not how it’s looked to Scar (and Cub and Bdubs and Cleo- The list goes on.) “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, Scar. You know it was.” He chokes slightly. He can’t cry anymore, but the waver to his voice, almost spoken through gritted teeth, tells Scar he’d be on the verge of it if he could “I left them alone, I was supposed to be there for them and I… I wanted too much. It was selfish, I knew it was, and I still left.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserved to die, G!” Scar waves vaguely with his hands, unsure how to emphasise his statement.

“Maybe it does.” Grian whispers, almost lost to the night, “And now I’m being punished for wanting something they were never really going to give me and… And now I’m stuck here.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Scar is speaking before the thought is even fully formed. Grian’s distress is almost palpable in the air, every part the scared, vulnerable person the Watchers lured to his doom “I don’t care if you were selfish – Everyone’s selfish! I’m selfish all the time, what do you think this job is!? – You still deserved better. No one should have to die like that.”

Grian doesn’t believe him. He knows he won’t, even as he says it, but it’s all he can do.

He’s never given the full details – always stumbling over his actual demise. But Scar gets the picture. They were never really going to let him join them, a lamb led to slaughter against its own better judgment because it’s been promised eternity atop the altar.

It feels wrong to compare him to a lamb. He’s a person – was a person, still is to some degree – but it fits far too well.

Scar should be desensitised by now. He isn’t. Every day, it’s getting harder to stomach.

“We’ll find you, y’know?” Scar swallows the lump in his throat, pushing away the unsettled feeling the subject ignites in his stomach “You’ll get a proper grave and closure, and it won’t… Hurt anymore.”

Scar can’t truly promise that. But it sounds right in the air.

Even if they do by some miracle find what’s left of his body, who knows if he’ll ever be truly put to rest, or if the place he’s sent will be anything more than nothing forever. Still, it has to be better than this. Better than waiting forever, untethered and listless, watching the city beyond the river move on as if he were never really part of it.

He sees a thousand thoughts race through Grian’s head, but when he finally speaks, it’s gentle, light in a way that’s become almost foreign “Would you visit, if they do?”

“Every day.” Scar promises, because he will.

Grian hums, a soft, contented smile finding his lips. A small comfort, if nothing more.

Scar wishes there was something more he could promise, but this already feels like too much. He can’t bring him back, can’t take down the whole organisation with his own hands, can’t tell his siblings some grand (completely made up) tale about the adventures Grian’s been on, and how he can’t return because he’s wanted in too many countries, but that he still loves and misses them.

Even if he never gets a grave, he can always come here. Maybe bring some flowers, trinkets, candles – anything, really.

When he turns, Grian’s gaze is on him – truly on him. Dark and abyssal, yet containing the entire universe all at once. In another lifetime, maybe he’d have been able to see it for real, without the promenade visible through his skin, with sunlight cradling his features. 

He can’t, though.

In this lifetime, Scar will leave lilacs at his gravestone, and learn the favourite books and drawing techniques of Pearl, and pet a cat named Norman when he visits a city due north of his own – once foreign, now all too familiar. 

Grian won’t know, but Scar will tell him anyway.