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Grian doesn't exactly know why the Watchers did what They did; put him in some sort of unconscious state for an entire day while the rest of the world continues moving like normal. He doesn't even think he's done anything remotely deserving.
Maybe They just like seeing him lose. They hold him to this podium of success, and have practically carved it into his head that he has to keep Scar alive in order to win. But still, They do things like this that make Grian think they don't really like seeing him on the winning side.
Even after he killed Scar. He has never won that title. He lost, more than anything. Sand never feels the same between his fingers after that day.
Whatever the reason, Grian doesn't quite care to find out, it had seemed to affect him physically more than anything.
He was made aware of his deaths, and his time lost, which would explain the new burn scars lining his neck and arms when he awoke. He wasn't too fussed about losing time, though, what really made his feathers ruffle was well- his wings .
He was also explained to that, on multiple occasions, he was stolen . He was dragged around on a Llama by a few people, Scar included, and definitely didn't lose most of the air from his lungs when faded memories of Pizza flashed in his brain.
He had been pushed through tunnels and kept in different holes underground, which was what explained his wings being caked with debris and grime.
It was an awful feeling to wake up to; feeling every grit brush uncomfortably between the blacks and reds of his feathers.
It had left Grian nearly stunned, unable to move properly at the sensation of dirt between his feathers.
He had preened his wings here before, it was no new sight. He preened them the first night they really settled, just picking out leaves and other twigs that might've found their way into his wings back when he had gone adventuring out on his own.
But this was different . Never have he had this much filth stuck in his feathers since the dark nights of 3rd Life.
He almost laughs. Did he really think he could go that entire time without preening once? He was probably crazier than Scar, now that he thinks about it.
And– Scar. Back in Double life he'd usually help Grian preen. He'd offer an extra hand when he would notice Grian struggle, and the avian hadn't rejected him once.
Scar didn't know, but Grian had already put his full trust in him a long time ago.
Now, though? Him and Scar were basically on other sides of the world. There wasn't exactly an option of asking Scar for help anymore.
He had removed that dumb leather jacket Joel and Timmy insisted they make to match, tossing it somewhere on a chest nearby for now as he sat on their nest of blankets and pillows.
Having a new group everytime wasn't foreign here, moreso the norm for every new game. For Grian, however, it was a bit harder letting go of those people you spent so long with.
He knows it's his bird instincts, those that want to stick by his closest friends and family like he'll never see them again. People to protect. His flock.
Scar was his flock, back in 3rd Life, and even though he hasn't truly shown it since, Grian has always considered him part of it.
The Southernlands were his next flock, and a much bigger, proper one at that.
Having his brother there seemed to help solidify it, but it was too destined to fall apart.
Even worse, they had exiled Grian without batting an eye. He had never felt so betrayed in all his life.
His mind is cruel to remind him of when Scar let Bdubs take his Yellow Life. Seeing him out of the corner of his eye just stand and watch as Bdubs plunged a sword through Grians chest.
And in Double Life, well- it felt like home, really.
He was honestly terrified when he had found out he was linked with Scar, but overtime he quickly grew attached to the role.
Was he a good soulmate? Far from it. The only argument he truly had was that he wanted to protect Scar by staying as far away from him as possible. But he could never really achieve that, because as an avian you're not supposed to abandon your flock.
And now? Now he has his family as his flock, and he doesn't think he ever wants to leave it.
Though he's never let Joel preen his wings, he knows he'll need the help.
The debris in his wings is almost overwhelming, and Grian thinks he can feel every grain.
He doesn't want to move his hands or arms because the sand and the dirt with rub further against his wings and it'll send those stupid shocks of adrenaline and anxiety straight to his heart.
He has handfuls of fabric held in a white knuckle grip as he holds his wings still behind him, thinking fast and hard about what he can do..
There's sand coating his feathers and he thinks it's better off this way, just letting them slowly get worse and more useless as they drag across the dunes. He really knows he shouldn't, that he should pay more attention to them, but he can't bring himself to care.
"Are your feathers supposed to look like that?"
Grian turns his head enough to make out Scars face in the dark. He was supposed to be upstairs asleep, he hadn't accidentally woken him, had he?
"What?" Grian squints. Scar's face is split in half. The moon casts an ethereal glow on his left cheek, while candlelight burns a bright orange along the right.
"They look bent and stuff," Scar elaborates, stepping closer. "Did something happen?"
Grians eyes drift to his wings and– he hadn't quite realized what a sore sight they were.
"Oh." Was all that he could muster, because frankly, it was a bit embarrassing.
"So, that's not normal?" Scar sits down next to him, making himself comfortable in Grians small bundle of blankets.
"No." Grian mumbles.
"Have you preened them at all?" Scar tilts his head as he asks, red eyes moving to stare at Grians face now.
Grians silence seems to be enough of an answer for the Red Life.
"Do you want help?"
The question almost sounds foreign, Grian nearly asks for Scar to repeat himself. But the candlelight fully illuminates Scars face now, and it's warm. His red eyes, which have sent shivers down people's spines or scared them back to the confines of their bases, look warm . They look genuine.
"Okay." Grian nods before he stretches out his wing for Scar. "Just- just take out any loose feathers. A light tug should do the trick. If it doesn't feel loose just put it back into place is all. And- y'know, get any sand out if you can." Grian instructs quietly, as if there were someone else around who might've heard. But he only wanted Scar to hear. He only wanted Scar to help.
Scar hums and nods his head, carefully running his hand along Grians dark feathers.
He doesn't think anyone else has ever touched his wings, but he also doesn't think it'd be anyone other than Scar.
It's a slow start, with hesitance and caution, before Scar gets a handle on what he's doing and grows comfortable with cleaning up Grians wing.
And Grian appreciates it. It makes him feel at home. Being able to be vulnerable with his flock- his partner, in this game of death and blood and inevitable betrayal.
He would like to stay like this forever, he thinks when Scar and Grian both eventually drift off for the night, side by side.
"Grian?"
Grian gets snapped back into reality in an instant, blinking rapidly and twisting his head at the call of his name.
Jimmy and Joel are beside him, eyeing him carefully behind the lenses of their glasses.
"You alright?" Jimmy asks as Joel moves his glasses to sit on top of his hair.
Grian stares at them for a long moment, before muttering; "I need help preening."
He watches as Jimmy's demeanor physically relaxes, and he too takes his glasses to move them over his head.
"When- yesterday, when I was asleep, I guess a bunch of stuff got into my wings." Grian adds. "And– and I can't preen them myself."
Albeit it was a bit embarrassing to admit, especially to his avian brother, but he hoped with that connection Jimmy might have a sort of understanding.
The canary nods easily. "Okay." He smiles and sits down next to Grian. "Both wings, yeah?"
Grian just nods as Joel sits on his left.
"I've never done this before." Joel says tensely, glancing between Jimmy and Grian.
"If Jimmy can do it, you'll be just fine." Grian grins, and he hears his brother stammer next to him.
"It's easy, though. Just- just take out any loose feathers, move the not loose ones back into place, and get all the dirt out." The avian waves a dismissive hand at the brunette.
"Wait- so I pull the feathers from your wing?" Joel raises an incredulous brow, staring at Grian as if he had an extra set of eyes.
"Yeah, you'll feel 'em." Grian shrugs.
"Okay..." Joel hums, and looks at Grians wing while chewing his lip.
Grian lets out a slow breath as he carefully moves his wings towards his brothers, biting his tongue with his teeth as the feeling of dirt shifting between his feathers.
"We'll get'cha all cleaned up and good as new. Don'tchu worry, G." Jimmy says, already moving to clean up the wing splayed out over his lap.
And he believes them, he does. He might have to assure Joel that what he's doing isn't hurting Grian, and is instead bringing him much relief instead. He might have to help Jimmy move a feather or two back into its right spot, because even after all this time he's still a bit unsure. He'll feel himself grow tired after an hour or so of just feeling gentle hands between his feathers, combing out sand and debris.
And when he can feel himself breathe again, move his wings without feeling a tinge or shock up his spine, he lets out a long sigh of relief as he lays back in his nest of blankets.
It's just late enough to consider sleeping, and Jimmy and Joel don't seem too against joining him.
So they do. They lay at his sides after placing their glasses and jackets somewhere Grian doesn't pay attention to, getting comfortable in the nest Grian had built on their second night of the game.
Joel had lightly poked fun, but he wasn't opposed, and had helped for a minute or two before running to fend off mobs lingering in the dark.
Grian knows this flock won't last forever, or even long, for that matter. But he can enjoy the time he has now, just like every other time, because it's all he has.
Even if he knows they'll all run out of time at some point.