wc: 3677 (holy cow-)

see bottom of chapter for tws, please do check them if you think you might need to

Grian was definitely fine.

No, he did not need help. No, he could figure this out on his own. He always could, he always managed to pull everything together, and he did not need anything but his own two hands.

Although, right now, as Grian sat curled and panting against the wall surrounded by dozing Hermits in the dark, he wasn't sure about any of that at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands lying limp against the floor at his sides, clenching and unclenching, as Grian sucked in wheezing breaths. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Would he die, tomorrow?

It's not about me, Grian realized, as silent tears slipped from his eyelashes and his hand reached up to grasp at his pounding heart. I did all that, back then, to survive. Now, I'm doing this even though I could die. He barely bit back the sob in the back of his throat, bowing his head so low that his chin almost brushed his chest. What would they do if they knew I only do this for revenge now? What if they knew that I'm-

Not a hero. Grian was not a hero. He was not everything they built him up to be, and when he eventually would come crashing back down from broken wings (wings wings wings, always wings), what would they do?

It all came down to tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Would he die, tomorrow?

He'd heard all the stories, of men who gave their lives for passion and love and great causes. Who looked death in the eyes and challenged it to take them, and when it did, uttered no complaint. Grian knew he couldn't do that, wouldn't do that, and the only times he'd accepted it, he'd begged for it. With a shuddering breath, Grian let his head loll against the wall, teeth bared in a grimace as sweat rolled down his jaw.

He'd begged for death, back then. Tomorrow. Would he die, tomorrow?

~~~

Experiment 01.

The words bounced in Grian's head, mocking and echoing, carelessly thrown around by the Watchers that dragged him down the hall, kicking and fighting. Am I going to die? Grian thought hopelessly, throwing callous prayers to winds. It would be a thought repeated many times.

The guards lifted him into the air, and Grian couldn't help the noise of surprise and fear that crawled, guttural, from his throat. He was thrown unceremoniously against a stiff gurney, heavy straps looping around his arms and legs, and Grian wondered what they would do if he vomited on them.

The room was dark and stank of blood.

Grian tipped his head to the side, panting and still straining his arms against their bonds, old admin magic sparking uselessly as he fought. There was another gurney next to him, he realized belatedly, and the admin on it turned his head to meet Grian's wide eyes.

"ʖᒷ⊣╎リ," someone said, voice echoing and undecipherable. All the guards stepped back in unison, movements too rigid and masks glowing too bright for it to be natural; in one fluid motion, they snapped their wings back and bowed their heads.

Grian couldn't see what was happening, only heard two pairs of footsteps and the strained groans of himself and all the other prisoners. It was quiet.

And then an admin screamed, guttural and primal and desperate. Grian whipped his head to the right, managing to make out a shape writhing and squirming as something glowing shredded its way through the man's body. Bile rose in his throat as the shouts continued, pain and fear entwined in one morbid patchwork quilt.

Unrelenting, the two pairs of footsteps moved again, and Grian could hear someone pleading, desperate no's and stop's cutting through the cries of the other man, before they joined together into one duet of agony.

Grian squeezed his eyes shut, desperately wishing he could just wake up from this nightmare, but as the screams of the first man died away and the cries of the man directly next to him began, the sweet relief of blinking open to familiar ceilings became less and less likely, until a needle was stabbing into his arm and fire entered his veins.

Time was a concept, and death was simply an event of life, but Grian desperately wished that both would move quicker- anything more than this agony that clawed its way through his bloodstream and sunk its teeth into his stomach and organs- help, help me - he spat blood, and felt it gush from his nose, and it hurt, it hurt so bad- fire and molten lava curled around his organs, something sharp carving at his bones-

Please, kill me, he pleaded, begged whatever gods there were, but there was no response.

When Grian finally opened his eyes, the flames dying down, he was the only one alive.

The experiments would not end there.

~~~

Somehow, waiting for death was more terrifying than when it arrived.

Grian learned this as Xeluph injected foreign serums into his veins, with his arms stretched out to the sides in the iron grip of chains. As a familiar healer with short white hair and lips curved into a slight frown stood in front of the door to his cell, Xeluph smiled.

Words in another language were told to the healer before Xeluph snapped his fingers, and Grian went unceremoniously crashing to the ground, the chains having snapped back. He stared up, eyes wide and tearing and chest shuddering with heaves, and hated how Xeluph knew he wouldn't try to run. He hated even more that Xeluph was right.

"You'll be like us," Xeluph whispered, the english making Grian flinch downwards, hands braced against the ground. Without another word, the Watcher turned and left, leaving Grian quivering on the floor as the woman stared at him pityingly.

Hello.

Grian jumped, eyes landing on the healer. She was staring into the walk behind him, face bearing no sign of being the one who had spoken.

Yes, it's the healer talking to you.

At this point, Grian had no emotion left to be surprised. Can you hear me?

Yes, she replied.

What's going to happen to me? Grian asked, and he hated the weakness the thought betrayed.

You're going to-

And then the pain hit.

Grian screamed, limbs immediately loosening so that he collapsed completely against the ground, fingers clenching and teeth snapping together in a groaning grimace. Hot fire tore across his back and his heart and his hands, lava seeping into the cracks, and he cried and shivered and screamed.

Help me, please, he begged the healer in his head, barely managing to amalgamate the emotions in his mind into a thought. Make it stop, I don't- I don't want to-

As his chest wracked with sobs, Grian considered the ending to the sentence. Die? Would he die? Is that what he didn't want?

His eyes sank closed, all the willpower leaving his battered body. Maybe, he should...

No, said the foreign voice, stern and loud. Grian twisted on the ground, gasping as the pain subsided for a few moments. If you give up, they win.

Help me, Grian begged again, already feeling his back begin to burn again. Something was in there, pushing against muscle and bone and sines to burst out.

I have strict orders not to move until it's done, the healer replied, and somehow she sounded apologetic.

Grian couldn't help his scream as the things in his back burst, pushing and tearing- his back arched and he spat blood, and when his eyes opened, he nearly screamed again to see that it was colored a familiar purple; bright violet splattered against cement floors.

It's going to be okay.

No, it's not, Grian couldn't help but think as he writhed. He wanted it to stop, he missed his friends, he missed his family, he missed trees and sun and joy. He wanted to die. If he died, would he join them? The mother he never met, the lives the Watchers had took? It would be better than the eternal hell of pain he was living in, wondering what new tortures each day would birth. He quivered, spitting blood and bile, crying out as his vision blurred and tinted, head splitting under the pressure of a thousand hammers-

I know it hurts, but-

No you don't, Grian replied forcefully, teeth bared in a grimace, groaning as his heart burned.

There was a pause, filled with a shout of pain as his back spasmed.

No, I don't, came the healer's voice, soft and sad.

Grian screamed, and the wings burst through.

~~~

"Get up!" Xeluph spat.

Grian couldn't keep down his groan, pressing one palm against the floor and another against his face, grimacing as he tasted blood on his tongue. Xeluph kicked, a steel boot colliding heavily with his ribs, and Grian choked as the air rushed out of his windpipe and he was sent sprawling back.

"You're pathetic," Xeluph growled, measured steps drawing closer again as Grian pushed himself into a squatting stance.

Grian spat the blood out of his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. So I've heard, he thought miserably, trembling legs straightening and fists clenching. He barely managed to drag his mind away from his screaming ribs and aching muscles and set it on Xeluph, who was already moving.

Grunting, he barely managed to duck as Xeluph's hand swung right where his neck used to be, rolling out of the way of a measured kick. He rolled once, and again, as hit after hit came crashing down on his shadows- it was not at all fair, but when had the Watchers ever been fair?

Grian didn't manage to dodge the last hit, a hand jabbing straight into his core and sending him spluttering for air on the ground. A hand tightened around his neck, and Grian grasped at it, mouth opening in a fruitless attempt for air.

"Are you running or fighting?" Xeluph yelled, tightening his grip, and Grian blinked his eyes shut as to not let the tears in his eyes fall. Black spots bloomed in his vision as the lack of oxygen begin to catch up to him, and he smacked at Xeluph's arm with more fervor but less strength. A choked sound escaped his lips, panic taking root as he pulled at Xeluph's unrelenting hand with growing desperation.

"You will never be anything great," Xeluph growled, and as the seconds dragged slowly, Grian believed him.

When his vision fizzled out, Grian hoped desperately that he wouldn't wake up again.

~~~

There was a boom.

It rattled the walls and shook the ground, books quivering on tables and candles tipping over. Xelqua's feet widened in a stabilizing stance, glancing around for a source, heart beginning to pound with worry.

"Calm," the Leader advised, his voice steady. He hummed, cocking his head and thinking, long white strands of hair slipping past his mask. "I suspect you'll have to go soon." His voice was heavy, like something was wrong, and Xelqua frowned.

"Is everything okay?" Xelqua asked, and the Leader smiled.

"Everything is perfect, actually," he said gently. "But before they come get you, I have something."

Xelqua winced at the thought of Xeluph and the stone faced guards that accompanied him. "Yes, sir?" he said, and hated how easily the Galactic rolled off his tongue.

Something was pressed into his hand, and Xelqua opened his palm to see a... small stick.

"What's this?" Xelqua asked, looking up into the clean porcelain of the Leader's mask.

"It enlarges and becomes a staff," the Leader explained, sounding a bit amused. "Go ahead, try-" He paused and listened. "Actually, perhaps at a later time. Although you may need it soon."

"What?" Xelqua said, before the door slammed open and Xeluph and the guards came marching in. He raised his face towards the Leader, hoping the uncovered half of his face conveyed his confusion, as harsh hands grabbed his arms and wings and dragged him backwards and back towards his cell. The Leader didn't respond at all, and when Xelqua managed to stumble properly back to his feet, the door had already closed.

"Back to your cell," Xeluph snapped. "Hurry!"

The guards' paces quickened, feathers ruffling, and Xelqua barely managed to keep moving with them, hands tugging at him from all different directions. Xelqua could hear scuffle and movement from above them, sounds that seemed to be- fighting?

He lifted his head towards where the sounds seemed to be coming from, mouth opening slightly, and received a prompt smack across the back of the head.

"Keep moving forward!" Xeluph hissed, and Xelqua kept down his groan, and then the ceiling exploded.

Sky. Blue sky.

Xelqua inhaled, whirled, and slammed his fist into a guard's face.

~~~

Grian screamed.

Xeluph's mouth was twisted in a sick smile, mouth wrapped around Grian's forearms and glowing with heat, the smell of burning flesh thick in Grian's nostrils. It hurt, it hurt-

"How could you leave, Xelqua?" Xeluph demanded, sizzling fingers grabbing Grian's chin and jerking it towards him. "Don't you know that I'll always get you back? You will serve your purpose here. You will become a Watcher, and there will not be any resistance."

He finally let go, turning around and moving towards the door. Grian fell forwards and hit the floor, hands bound behind his back and legs probably broken, tears pooling between his eyes and the concrete. It hurt. He'd had refuge, and now-

He gasped, lungs restricting and windpipe closing. This was real. He was back in the grasp of the Watchers, of Xeluph, and they were angry. Why me? Grian begged. Why can't I just die? Anything is better than this hellhole.

Guards stepped forward and hauled him upwards, their hands rough on his bleeding and bruised and burnt torso, and he couldn't surpress a groan of pain. Blinking away tears, Grian grit his teeth and tried to pull himself together. He needed a plan, a way to get out, and it wouldn't come together if he just let himself get thrown around by the Watchers.

(Although, if he didn't get out, he would never stand up to the Watchers. They were too much, even if he was physically strong enough, his mind would force itself into submission under Xeluph's cold mask.)

With a glance upwards, Grian realized they were back at his cell. His cell, still stained with his own blood, and gods he might go crazy if he had to-

The bars closed behind him. Grian couldn't breathe.

And he didn't breathe, and probably moved in and out of consciousness, but the world was spinning and tilting and he wanted to scream but his mind knew that if you show weakness they will hurt you but no one was here to see but-

The next few days passed similarly. Painfully, slowly, adding scars to his already massive collection.

Every time the knife came down, Grian hoped desperately hoped it would land in his chest, or his neck.

He was in the cell, new blood painting the floor. There was a sharp shard in his arm, and his fingers were wrapped around it. He yanked it out.

Escape.

Trembling, heart thumping with something akin to hope, Grian held the point to his neck. Two fingers prodded his jugular, breathing, pulsing. Before anything could stop it, Grian pulled.

Blood, so much, and Grian smiled. When the black crept into his vision, he welcomed it with open arms.

He woke up later, sparks dancing along the edges of a cut that burned, his own body refusing to let itself die. The shard was gone.

"No," he breathed, fingers coming up to grope around where the cut had healed just enough so that he wouldn't die, because he wasn't dead, but the edges remained stubbornly open. "No, no, no, no-"

He wanted to die. Why couldn't he die? Why couldn't he have the one thing-

Someone was shaking him. When had he closed his eyes?

"...rian?"

He latched onto the voice, pulling, trying to get out of the wretched clutches of a painful memory. I'm here, his brain screamed, soundless.

The hand landed on his wrist, and Grian was already instinctually sinking downwards and shrinking in on himself. He opened his mouth, and when he had a better grasp on his vocal cords, muttered his apologies.

"What are you-" said the voice again, and Grian tried to blink his eyes open but he couldn't breathe because he was going to die, they were going to punish him again, he was going to die-

"Hey, you are not going to die, just- damn it- breathe with me, or something-" A hand guided Grian's own palm to a chest, inflating or deflating dramatically. "There, feel that? Copy it for me, please?"

Grian's eyes cracked open, staring straight at an empty hallway's opposite wall, blurry and spinning. He found himself obeying, inhaling and exhaling in a shallow imitation of the breathing of- a green man in a torn lab coat?

Ah. Doc.

Grian moved his other palm against the ground, registering that he was sitting against a wall and not in the room with the Hermits. After a few moments of trying to recollect himself, he said hoarsely, "How did you move me here?"

Doc straightened, crossing his arms over his chest and mechanical eye whirring. "Is that what you are worried about?"

Grian closed his eyes, focusing on his shuddering breaths, before saying, "Are you the only one awake?" The room finally seemed to settle in one place, doubles in his vision combining into one singular image.

"Yes, I-" Doc paused, then seemed to take on some kind of frustrated attitude. "Come on, man. I don't think that's important here."

He reached out, hand open, and Grian's heart leapt. With no sound but the rustling of fabric and a sharp inhale, Grian threw his hands up and braced himself- from- from what?

"...ian. Grian. Sorry."

Grian blinked his eyes open slowly, letting his hands drop to his sides as his cheeks burned with shame. "No, I- I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up and all."

Doc stared at him for a few seconds, smoke curling gently from his nose, and Grian tasted gunpowder on the air. "Grian, it's- it's okay. Are we not going to talk about what I woke up to?"

"Please don't," Grian managed, stubbornly looking anywhere but in Doc's eyes. The creeper hybrid scrutinized him for a little longer, scratching a bit idly at his beard, before sighing.

"Stay right here," Doc instructed, hands flitting towards Grian for a moment before (wisely) deciding against it. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you-"

He was already gone. Grian counted one hundred forty three seconds before he was back again, this time with somebody else, and Grian winced.

Ren looked incredibly groggy, eyes squinting in the dim lights of the hallway and shoulder length hair wild. His tail moved idly behind him as he approached, ears twitching. "What's up, Grian?"

Grian stared at him. "Um. N-nothing." His breathing had smoothed over, but knowing another person was here already seemed to speed up his heart.

"He's much more equipped to handle this than I am," Doc explained bluntly, coming up behind Ren. Ren's tail sped up to a wag as he grinned.

"Always glad to help a friend!" Ren chirped, dropping himself to sit next to Grian. "Mind if I touch you?"

Yes, I mind. "No," Grian rasped, tipping his head back against the wall and staring at the ceiling.

They sat in silence for a bit, Ren humming a bit and Doc clearing his throat every few seconds. Grian took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

"Y-"

"Stop right there," Ren said gently. "Before you say it, is it an apology?"

"I-" Grian swallowed. "..Yes, but-"

"Then I don't wanna hear it," Ren concluded, smiling softly. "You didn't do anything wrong, just weren't... feeling great, hm?"

"You could say that," Grian murmured.

A beat. "Grian, we're- fighting, in less than twenty four hours."

Grian's heart skipped a beat. "Yes." Tomorrow. Would he die, tomorrow?

"Are you sure-?" Ren began, but Grian turned to him, eyes wide, and his expression was probably wild enough to cut him off.

"Yes," Grian snapped. "We're not postponing this for- for a, a what, a breakdown?"

"A panic attack," Ren corrected. "It's not a thing you just wave off, Grian. And from what Doc said, I-" He breathed in, out. "Are you sure you're in the right state?"

"Yes," Grian said immediately. "I have to."

"That's not what I was asking," Ren said, looking forlorn.

Grian bit his lip. "Look, I promise I'll- I'll talk to someone. When this is all over. But it's wartime, it's messy, it's-" His breath was coming short again, and Grian paused, trying to tame the heavin of his chest. Ren caught on, slowly taking Grian's hand and rubbing a thumb over his palm. "I just have to get through this."

"Grian..." Doc started, then trailed off. "Are you sure-"

"Gods, yes," Grian snapped, then made a face of regret. "Sorry. Just. On edge."

"It's okay!" Ren chirped. "I guess we can't do anything to stop you, but take care of yourself, okay man?" He patted Grian's arm assuringly. "If you ever need help, Rendoc got you covered!" He stood and held a hand out to Grian, and after a moment, Grian accepted it, a hesitant smile creeping onto his face.

"Thank you," Grian said. And he meant it. He could remember, vividly, the sharp edge of glass on his throat, he could remember the longing, and the desire.

But they were all memories. Past tense, gone. Grian was better now, he had- maybe a motivation based dominantly on revenge, yes, but not just survival. There was a purpose, and whether he wanted to or not, and whether deep down it was for the same reasons or not, he would achieve the goal. Right? Because if he didn't, then he would die.

For now, there was no time for existential crisises or the like. They needed to prepare. It was time to fight.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Would he die, tomorrow?

tws: suicidal ideation, a lot of suicidal themes, suicide attempt- please take care of yourself guys <33

this chapter is a lot thicker and heavier than i ever expected, but i'm glad and also kinda nervous that we're actually gonna start fighting in these upcoming chapters. thank you so much for 60k reads!!

thank you so much for reading! have a good day or night, wherever you are! see you next week!

-Ete