Chapter Text
His hands do not tremble when he pours out the salt. It's to be expected of course, because Grian has been doing it for ages by now, but in the quiet of the room, it feels significant.
He takes one last look over the letters, runes, or whatever you could call those scrambled lines, and sighs. Reflexively, he bites his nail, trying to wrangle his thoughts into something that is not the quick hum of anticipation and dread.
"Scar." He does his best to keep his voice as steady as his hands, but it cracks near the end - a slight drawn-out r that nearly makes him frown. He's over this. He has to be, because there is only so much hurt his heart can take before it breaks into two identical parts. (One into his chest, and the other-)
No answer.
He growls, done with the game before it even started, and stabs his knife into the floorboard. (The white one, the one Scar had tucked into his hand 5 years ago, still dripping wet. 'Keep it for me?' He'd said, batting his long eyelashes, and Grian hadn't had the strength to say no. Scar could have asked him anything that night - his heart, his life, his soul.)
"Scar."
He's not going to play into his hands. Grian knows what Scar wants, and he's not about to stoop so low as to-
A phone ring interrupts his thoughts, and he fumbles with his jacket, careful not to drop anything that might break the circle in front of him. Here, on the tiny screen of the prepaid phone: his client, growing desperate, and Grian feels the weariness settle into his bones.
It's the seventh girl. Seven, sweet number, better than 8 and worse than 9, seven days for the Christian's God to make the world, and probably the last sacrifice needed for whatever the thing that Grian hunt has prepared.
She's been gone for 3 days now, darling Emma, 6 years old, and missing one front tooth. She'd been beaming, in the crinkled photograph shoved into his hands, she'd been happy. It's enough to make a father grow desperate, and enough to make Grian relent.
"Scar, I need you." A beat of silence. "Please."
The air fills with sulfur, and the smell Grian has come to associate with Scar, old wood thrown into the fire, ashes, and sugar makes his head spin. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know his wish has been granted.
"Well, hello there." His voice is the same as ever, warm and syrupy, honey trap for the unaware. His words are teasing, his tone familiar, and for an instant, a single second that makes his breath hitch, Grian can imagine it's his Scar standing in front of him.
He opens his eyes and stares coldly at the demon trapped in the circle of salt.
Scar doesn't let it deter him. "It's been a while hasn't it?"
"One year." Two months, and thirteen days. Crescent moons of blood on his palms, hands clenched into a fist.
"Oh sweetheart," A grin, fake. "You counted?"
Grian breaks eye contact first, not willing to entertain him more than necessary. "No."
The demon pouts. "Oh, you're no fun when you barely speak, all onomata- onamato-"
"Onomatopoeia." Grian cuts, and hates himself for playing into his hands. He needs to get back into the safe territory, the blood and the gore, the dreadful parts of chasing monsters until either them or Grian drop dead. "Stop playing." Stop pretending to be him, he wants to scream, but that got old the first hundred times he did.
He sighs. "Alright, alright, what do you need?" He doesn't bother with the flames, the heat, and the demonic grandeur. That got old too, apparently.
"I need info."
Scar tuts. "Nope!" Grian sighs, aggravated. "You don't need them, you want them. Totally different thing, dear hunter." A pause as radioactive eyes settle on him, heavy. "What do you need?"
It feels dangerous. Grian opens his mouth, ready to lie, and something inside him burns, leaving him on his knees, gasping. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, we're still in the contract stage, and lying is bad form."
He glares, and Scar does nothing but smile, no doubt reveling in the pain he caused. "Ok." He steels himself, getting up again. No way he's letting Scar tower over him. (No more than the couple inches he got on him anyway.)
It's easy to ask for the truth, he thinks bitterly, but Grian doesn't even know what he needs. (It's a lie. He needs Scar like one needs air to breathe. But this Scar wears cruelty like a crown, and Grian refuses to kneel.)
Scar is still looking at him, open and soft. The vulnerable facade doesn't have a single crack in it, and Grian wants to take it apart with his hands, with his teeth.
But there's no time. "I need you to stop playing games with me." He swallows, raw.
The tension turns denser, as if somehow gaining sentience, and Grian draws himself tall like he has nothing to lose and everything to win.
Scar steps closer, stopping a hair width shy of the salt, and extends his hand like he wants to touch but can't. It doesn't matter, because Grian can feel his touch all the same, shuddering as the ghost of his fingers trace the line of his jaw. "That's not a small thing, what you're asking of me."
"With a very high price, I assume?" Grian blinks at him, doe-eyed and sweet. As much as it pains him to see Scar, he is not above playing dirty.
The only answer is a laugh, so familiar it hurts. "Ah, you treacherous little thing!" Scar smiles, and it almost reaches his eyes. "I guess it depends on how much you're willing to give." The demon stares at him, waiting for his offer, something hungry in his eyes.
Grian weighs his chances. "One kiss." He decides, and hates the part of him that reflects the same desire.
"A fair bargain." Scar murmurs, and presses even closer.
"No!" The answer is instinctive, and Grian almost bites his own tongue as he steps back. "The- After the information." Scar's kisses can be... distracting, and he'd rather have his brain still on for whatever dreadful thing he's about to learn.
Scar licks his lips, disappointed, and Grian hates himself even more for the sharp flare of heat in his guts at the action. Amused, the demon smiles at him, deadly teeth glinting in the light.
The next thing out of his mouth puts out all of Grian's fire, a cold clinical, "She's dead."
Like it always does, the remainder of Scar's true nature drenches him in icy water, struggling to breathe through the cold. "She had a name, Scar."
He smiles, a bit sheepishly, sensing Grian's anger, and deeper still, his pain. "Sorry." He's not. He's not and this is killing Grian from the inside out.
"Stop." He chokes out, drowning on dry land. His hands clench around nothing, itching for something, anything, and he needs the world to stop spinning, he needs Scar to stop talking, to stop behaving like the one Grian loved years ago, when he still smiled at little kids and old women instead of being exclusively sweet to Grian.
It's a terrible privilege, and Grian hates it. He hates it. (Liar Liar, Pants on fire, his brain sing-songs at him, and he desperately tries to stop the burning behind his eyes.)
"Grian breathe." Scar orders, sharp, and Grian is startled into compliance. One, he looks up to Scar's concerned eyes; Two, he twists his hands into the thick fabric of his jacket (It's Scar's, left behind years ago in their shared closet, when they had both lost track of which was which.); Three, he exhales through gritted teeth, staring down Scar.
"Tell me the rest."
"Grian-"
"Tell me the rest."
Quietly, which is never a good thing with Scar, he sneers. "What if I don't?"
His pulse quickens, confusion and anger lacing his tone. "You'd break a contract? That's not like you."
"I'm only saying that a kiss full of your pain is not worth much to me."
Grian freezes, feeling something ugly rears its head inside of him. "That's fucking rich coming from you, all you ever do is cause me pain!"
Scar growls, something like a warning. "You're the one who keeps calling me."
His anger drains as fast as it came, leaving his shoulders crushed by the weight of the world. "And you keep answering."
Scar's smile is sadder than usual. "And let you slip through my fingers? I'm a demon, Grian. We're not good at letting things go." He sits on the floor, inside his pitiful little circle, and Grian mirrors him from the other side.
"C'mere." He decides, gesturing at Grian. The reaction is immediate, arms flailing around as his walls slam back up, and he hisses. "I'm NOT sitting in your lap."
With a roll of his eyes, Scar scoffs. "We did far worse back then." Grian hisses again as he desperately tries not to let the blood rush to his face. "You're safe to step into the circle, I promise." And the thing is, Grian knows. The salt and painted lines have always just been a way to stop Scar from stepping out, and never to stop Grian from stepping in.
Through the stray hairs falling onto his face, Grian narrows his eyes. He has to get the situation back under control before it derails even further. "A kiss while I'm on your lap is definitely worth more than what you gave me. I'm not cheap you know."
Scar snorts, and if Grian weren't privy to the black of his horns and the sharpness of his claws, he'd almost say Scar looked fond. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you, Scout's honor!" He presses two fingers to his heart, and the gesture would have been more meaningful if the organ was still working.
With a sigh, Grian crosses the line of salt, feeling the electricity sting his tongue, a warning some might appreciate, but Grian had always been too far gone to save.
Crawling into Scar's lap is awkward at first, and Grian almost bangs his head against his chin when he settles, feet dangling right over the edge of the line. He is tense, rigid in the way he holds his body, forcing himself to stay detached and not lose his head to the game they're playing.
(His heart might be a hopeless case.)
So focused on the metaphorical distance he's set in between them, he misses Scar's hand creeping up on him, scratching his head, right next to his ear, and Grian goes boneless with a surprised sigh. It's unfair, because even after everything, Scar still knows all the spots that make him melt. They should have changed, a factory reset after the deser- after what happened, a completely new body to go with the new life that was forced onto him.
He takes a moment just to breathe - quietly, as if the moment could break over a gust of wind. Scar lets him, a satisfied hum rumbling inside his throat as their skin brush when experienced fingers wander away from his scalp.
"It's something powerful," Scar whispers against his hair, and for a second Grian can close his eyes and pretend they're five years ago, discussing a job - when the name Scar evoked him nothing but love and the occasional twinge of annoyance when the man forgot to do the dishes. "It's operating in a 15-mile radius, the center is probably the next town over, and the ritual will be done sometime over next week." Like an elastic band snapping back to its original size, Grian blinks the sleepiness away. He can't allow himself to relax, because their deal doesn't cover what happens to Grian after the kiss if he doesn't dismiss the demon. Scar continues, nonplussed. "It's dangerous."
"To you?" Because if yes, that's a big fucking yikes.
Scar smiles, bigger fish in the pound. "Of course not. Who do you take me for?"
Grian knows this smile, crooked and unashamed, and he could cry seeing it on a demon's face. A walking memorial of what he's lost.
The need to get out gets stronger, Scar looking like he's done sharing Grian with the case, and that's his cue. "An idiot." He smiles, mean and full of teeth, before he softly kisses Scar's cheek. One kiss he'd promised, and in a swift kick he erases the runes maintaining the summoning active, sending himself tumbling to the ground as Scar pops out of existence, no doubt pissed off.
Take that, he chuckles wetly, and goes to shake away the tears, wishing for a drink.
Perhaps he'll just call this a draw.
---
The music is incredibly loud. It's a girl singing, or maybe screaming by the sound of it - it's impossible to really tell, because the speakers are dogshit, but this musical equivalent of a toddler going wild on the paint is exactly what he's been looking for tonight. Unsteadily, he sways to the beat, wondering if the next drink he's going to get will be pink or green. (Alcoholic of course, because there's no way he's not getting wasted after that.)
Pink he decides, trying to wash away the technicolor image of Scar's eyes burning into his. Fuck that guy!
The room is bursting with people, a sea of drunken bodies blending together under the lights of the nightclub. Normal him would hate this, he reflects with a hand against the wall to support his clumsy legs, but normal was thrown out the window the second Grian decided to summon Scar again, like a magician pulling a deadly chihuahua from his purse.
The thought makes him laugh. Ah, he should definitely call Scar a chihuahua to his face, the next time they meet. His stomach lurches. No, no next time. Grian will just never do it again, and if, if he just ignores it enough then it won't be his problem anymore right?
Grian is so tired of problems.
But then, it would mean not seeing Scar anymore, for the rest of his life - an unbearable ache as if the other was a limb torn apart from his body, steadfast guarantee for phantom pains. The world swims as he shakes his head with a muttered no. He'll just, he'll just do shared custody with himself. Only Scar on the week-end maybe? He downs another drink.
Stop. No more Scar. He is here to forget alllll about him and his infuriating smile. All about Scar, and the five-paragraph text he's been drafting to announce to a desperate father that her precious daughter is already 6 feet deep. Or was it 7? Grian's getting tired of numbers too.
He's getting tired of a lot of things lately.
After some time, the solution comes to him. Grian is tired so- That probably means he needs to go to sleep, right? He just needs a bed and some, some pillows! The drunken girl he's been rambling to nods, lifting her thumbs up and mouthing enthusiastically through the music 'Go get him girl!' He's not a girl, and she might have severely misunderstood the situation, but it doesn't really matter because he's leaving. He turns away from her after she offers him one last burning drink, looking for the exit through the dark.
But then it hits - if he gets back to the hotel room, that means staring at the chalk on the floor, wondering about the could have been. It's also a nasty surprise for the owner, and Grian giggles at the thought of them discovering the runes spanning over half the wooden floor. And the knife marks too. Oops.
Just as he finally gets his legs to cooperate, someone grips the back of his elbow, and he scowls, not keen on a stranger touching him.
Grian looks up, eyes blurry, and squints. His eyes meet Scar's, and he jumps. Unfortunately, the surprise does nothing for his coordination, and the move sends him sprawled on the floor with an undignified yelp. Scar watches him go down with a hard line to his face.
Half-certain he's having a heart attack, Grian blinks. "Scar?"
(He has... thoughts about Scar. Big ones, taking over at least half the gray matter of his brain, but the exact content of them slip through his fingers as if it was running water - for some reason, when Grian sees his face through the dreamy edge of his alcohol-induced daze, he thinks it covered in blood. Now if only he could remember why...
Scar is here and alive, right?)
The aforementioned man grips his forearm, cutting his thoughts short, and lifts him from the floor. Grian wraps his hands around his strong arm - a steady anchor to the ever-spinning world. Wow, he's really glad Scar came to pick him up, because this does not shape up to be an amazing night.
"Grian." He sounds... blank. Did he forget to lock the door before leaving? It's a bit worrying, and Grian stares at him in silence before a memory hits him. "You're like a chihuahua!" He triumphally says, before frowning, confused. "Uh, I forgot why."
The music still pulses through the walls, half drowning out his words, and he can feel Scar leading him outside, uncaring of his mumbled 'noo'. The harsh light of the lamposts hits him, and he sags into Scar, rubbing the strain away from his eyes.
"You're drunk." He says, not a question, not an affirmation, simply three words to open his way into a conversation.
"Hm-Hm" Grian absently hums against his arm, looking for the way he came. Embarrassingly enough, he can't find it.
"I'm lost." The realization hits him too heavily to be simply referencing his hotel room. "Scar, I'm lost." He repeats, a bit uselessly, and hopes Scar knows what to make of that.
He doesn't answer anything. This is not- Grian has to say something, it's important, but the words slip away from his tongue, and he huffs, frustrated. Scar keeps dragging him in a direction, but Grian doesn't even know where they're going, except that it's away, really far away, and Scar hasn't smiled a single time since he's been there.
"Are you lost?" Scar stills at the question, his fingers tightening painfully on his arm, white imprints betraying his shock.
Emerald eyes are staring into his, and Scar slowly speaks, an emotion to him Grian cannot name. "I think you are very, very drunk."
"Wha-"
"And that perhaps, we should have this conversation another time, preferably when you can remember how to multiply 3 by 4."
Grian squeaks, offended. (Distracted.) "I totally can do that! It's- Well you add 4 to- No wait-"
The rest of the walk is a blur.
-
Scar leads him into a hotel room, bigger than the one Grian rented, and more luxurious too. The hand steadying him lets him go against the bed, and he plops down on it with an oof.
"Can you help me?" He mumbles, trying to unclip the buttons of his jacket.
They pop easily under Scar's less fumbling hands. "Quite the bad idea you had, being drunk around me."
Grian freezes before he shrugs, a sliver of awareness slithering up his brain. (As soon as the memories float back into his mind, the pain does as well. No, he has to tell the inebriated part of him still small and lost, there is no home anymore.) "You weren't exactly in my plans tonight."
A realization, spine going straight as he grips Scar's wrists, grinding his teeth so hard the enamel creaks.
"How did you-?"
Scar chuckles, the first real thing coming from him tonight. "I made a deal with this sweet girl, her name begins with a C, something like Clara maybe?" He ponders, hand going to his chin as Grian's breath hitches in horror. "She might have been a Katie actually..."
His nails dig deep into Scar's skin, and Grian feels himself sobering by the minute. "What did you take?"
A sigh. "Why must I always be the villain in your stories?"
"Because that's what you do," He rasps, a sadness choking up his lungs. "You take and you take and you take."
Scar tilts his head, curious. "What did I ever take from you?"
Grian laughs, empty and bare, something hollow ringing in his chest. "Yourself."
His hands wrap themselves around Scar's shirt as if he could shake him out of the sins coating his skin, take his soul back from wherever it strayed. "You took his voice, you took his face, his smile." He tries not to sound desperate, but the words rattle in his throat, burning it raw as they escape. "You took him."
Scar looks at him, and Grian wishes his face looked sorrowful. He'd even settle for some hints of guilt. Instead, there is a gentle hand reaching out to smooth away the tears Grian hadn't known were there. Scar smiles, and maybe, maybe Grian can feel some kind of sadness behind it.
"You know it's me G." And Grian sobs against his chest.
"I wish it weren't." Because if it weren't, then maybe Grian could have meant the next words out of his mouth. "I hate you."
Scar holds him even as Grian fights his embrace - in this instant, shattered glass stuck in the exact moment of its fall, he is a wild animal, blind and hurt, lashing out at the unfairness of the world. It was his fault, his mistake, and something inside of him screams in agony knowing it was Scar who paid the price.
(Grian blinks to awareness, and the feeling of sand on his tongue makes him gag. There's a strangled breath underneath him, and slowly, his eyes drift down, down, down.
Against the desert sand: Scar, painted red. A smile on his face, even as his gums and teeth are full of blood. A knife, bone-white handle, held loosely in hand, unused. Scar hadn't fought back. "Sorry." He gargles, weak, and Grian, hands still clenched into bloody fists, doesn't remember how to breathe.)
"I can't." He cries, buried in Scar's neck. "I can't, I can't."
"I know." And Scar with a somber face, his victim, executioner and everything in between, Scar brings him closer.
Tomorrow, he promises himself. Tomorrow he'll chase Scar away, try to help that poor girl out of all this. He'll post that text and head over to the next town, put the eighth body in a grave.
But tonight he shakes, held together only by the burning hands flat against his skin.
---
The morning comes, and with it, sweet gifts left behind by the alcohol: one raging headache and the bitter taste of regrets.
"Eurghh" He mutters, collapsed against Scar's chest. Shirtless of course, because Scar is an infuriating, depraved man like that. Someone chuckles, and before Grian can bear his teeth in warning, a glass of water is shoved into his hands, and he blesses whoever is giving it to him. The sparking sound of static electricity, and Scar yelps. "I'd rather you didn't bless me this early in the morning."
Oh, right. It hits him in the gut, familiarity washing away as his pulse quickens. The glass tumbles to the floor, empty, forgotten, and Grian raises all of himself, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. (At least Scar took out his shoes. And his horribly skin-tight jeans. Nope, Grian doesn't need to remember that. He doesn't know if having a breakdown in front of him is better than drunken sex with Scar, but either way he's not too keen on repeating the experience. Ever.)
"What happened to the girl?" The morning light beams straight into his eyes, and he has half a mind to bury himself back into the dark of Scar's collarbone, where he doesn't hurt seeing his face smile so guiltlessly.
"What if I don't want to tell you?" Not up for mindgames this early, Grian reaches for the knife tucked into his jacket and falls short when he realizes it's on the ground somewhere in the room.
Scar, seeing the aborted motion, laughs, cruel. "A bit imprudent, leaving yourself defenseless against me, no?"
Laying his hand right above where his heart once stood, Grian remarks, cold. "I can still make you hurt."
A wistful sigh. "Doesn't love always hurt, sweetheart?"
It certainly didn't bring him any joy over the last few years. "The girl." He says, and is proud to hear his voice doesn't shake one bit.
Scar grins, lazily treading his fingers along Grian's arm. Everything is still in the room, except for the wandering fingers and Grian's chest, expanding in and out as he breathes. Scar's hand reaches up his neck, rubbing circles into the vulnerable skin here, and Grian hates himself for shuddering. The other smiles, eyes half-lidded, expression eerily similar to the one Grian wore a dozen hours ago. "One kiss?"
Unsettled, he looks around. "A bargain? We don't even have a circle."
An offended huff. "Not everything I do has to be a bargain, call that a... show of goodwill. "
Grian snorts like it's the most offensive joke he's ever heard. "Sure. I'm totally convinced here."
"You are? That's great!" The hand on his neck moves to cup his cheek, and Grian warns, even as he sinks into it with a sigh. "Scar."
Pressing right where it hurts, Scar continues. "What makes you so reluctant? We kissed before, all the time. We kissed every day, every hour, we kissed like our lives depended on it sometimes. What changed?"
Repeating himself over and over again, the definition of insanity, Grian is as truthful as he's always been in times like this - trying not to get hooked over the sharp curve of their memories. "You. You changed."
You left me behind, he doesn't say, you went where I had no chance to follow.
"Won't you love me anyways?" Scar asks, already knowing the answer.
Grian doesn't say anything at all.
Scar changes gear, slow against his skin, pleading. "Won't you let me kiss it better?"
Against Grian: his body, soft and warm, everything he'd ever want. The clock: striking 7 in the morning, too early for a heart to break. It breaks anyway, and Grian kisses him like one would kiss the cold freezing hand leading them to their end.
You are the death of me, he thinks, succumbing to the headrush of kissing Scar, and finds that he means it.
A hand climbs up his back, searing, and Grian could easily lose himself in the flames of it - that only means Scar is trying to distract him from his goal, and since they didn't strike a bargain, nothing but his words can hold him to his promise.
"The girl." He mumbles into Scar's mouth, distracted but sharp.
Green eyes narrow, and a punishing hand digs into the low of his back. "Talking about another girl in bed, what bad manners you have dear."
Silence. "What makes you want to save her so bad, Grian?"
His head falls back against Scar's shoulder, safe in the dark. "It's one more life stolen from you."
One name erased from your ledger. It's the least Grian could do when he was the one responsible for this horrific, world-ending mess. Perhaps it's only his world, and the hundreds Scar had managed to trick, but Grian had never been good at caring about realities other than his own.
(His reality, here: Scar, warm against him. The distant hums of people waking up in their hotel room. A hand, gently stroking his hair. But which of that is real, and which of that is a trick?)
Scar, knowing how stubborn Grian can be, relents. "She gives me what she deems the ugly part of her soul." Silent, Grian waits for the rest to follow. "Well, don't say I didn't try." A pause. "Of course, humans never stop thinking. Everyone knows we- humans can never be perfect, and she'll just find another thing about herself ugly. And another. And another. Eventually, she'll run out of things to give, but for now, I only have her laugh."
It's horrific. It's a fucked up bargain that has Scar's dirty paws all over it and Grian sags, energy draining out of him.
"Let the girl go." He mumbles, slumped against Scar's skin.
"I think you'll have to contract me for that." Scar retorts, voice gravel-deep against his hair. Using his elbow to prop himself up, Grian sends him a seething look.
"What," He bites. "You want my heart, my soul?"
Scar looks at him with something close to pity in his eyes. "I fear I already have that, dear."
Something in his chest gives. "Shut up." Shaking, he stumbles out of the bed, falling against the cold floor. "Shut up."
It just sounds miserable now, shoulders henched on himself as he tries to glare at Scar, but his eyes are too wide, his pulse too fast for it to have any real heat.
Scar opens his mouth, but Grian cuts him before he can aggravate the wound. "Just stop- stop talking for a little while. Please."
The six letters magic word, Scar stops, and Grian takes the time to breathe. Unforgiving, the rising sun shines brighter through the windows, basking the room in pink and yellow. He just needs to get through this, find a way to push back Scar now that the prick thinks he has an advantage, and keep his head firmly secured on his shoulders.
"Scar. What would be the deal?" Confident, refusing to acknowledge he's still on the floor, getting jealous of Scar because goddamn the thing is not heated.
The air thickens with sulfur and Grian startles. "Wait- no circle?"
Scar grins, looking all too proud of himself. "Oh, you never needed that with me, saying my name was sufficient." He's resting his head on his hand now, his elbow at a 45-degree angle.
Grian pales. "Just saying your name summons you?" Racking his brain, he tries to remember every time he cursed the other, and finds it too many times to count. Oh Gods above.
"The offer was limited, for my first- for you. I can reassure you that you are, and will be the only one with the privilege." Scar purrs, eyes glittering in amusement as Grian's head spins.
"All this time?" His voice squeaks, rising into the disbelieving high, and Scar only blinks. "Wait does it trigger if I just say the word scar? Or if I only say half of your name?"
"Everything is in the intent my dear Grian, and you got plenty of that I can guarantee."
It's too mocking for his taste, and he grinds his teeth together. "Oh, I can guarantee you something alright. It's- The first rain after three weeks of scorching sun, a bowl of food after 5 days of starving, a little girl making her first friend," Something crackles in the air and he can hear Scar sucks in a breath, but Grian continues on, relentless. "A tree growing amid the ashes, a newborn taking their first breath, a-"
"Okay, okay!" Scar raises his hands in the air, smoke coming out of his skin, probably for show since hypotheticals like that can barely sting and Scar is an unabashed drama queen. "Enough with the blessings, I'll strike you a fair deal."
He snorts but gracefully lets it go. "Your deals are always fair."
Green glows against the light of the sun. "And yet, few are ready to pay the price."
"I pay it every day." The words bitter on his tongue, and Scar's smile falls a little.
"Well, it's you." It sounds fragile, a tentative offer of peace, and Grian, a coward, takes it. "So?"
"I'll give you a chance to get her to back out of the deal, and in exchange, you'll let me go with you to find the one you're after."
"The killer of the girls?" He precises, because Grian's attention had always been divided in two, one part for the monster of the day, the week, the month, and one part a steady compass, except the North had always been Scar. As funny as it sounds, Grian is not too keen on getting the demon to help chase himself.
With a knowing smile, Scar agrees. It's an ice shard stuck against his ribs, growing larger by the minute, swallowing his chest whole, and Grian stands up, meeting the demon's gaze headfirst. "I think we have a deal."
The words crystallize and explode, tugging Grian's soul near Scar's greedy fingers, and his hand raised in the air. Grian stares at it like it might burst into flames.
Staining Scar's face: a smile, unapologetic. "This deal is a bit heavier than usual, so I'm afraid this time it's going to burn."
Understanding. His jaws tense, and Grian shakes the devil's hand. Fire. Pain. Something excruciating carves itself into his wrist and Grian gasps at the heat.
Gently, Scar nuzzles against his palm, softly kissing the familiar name burned into the thin skin of his wrist. "Possessive bastard." Grian mutters, and tries not to wonder if every poor soul who made a deal with him had that special name branded deep into their flesh.
"She lives nearby, I bet we can get breakfast before she leaves her flat." Ever since Grian met him, a sharp grin paired with sparkling green eyes, 'Hello, I think you need my help', Scar had never lost a bet.
"You're paying." He glares, searching for the rest of his clothes on the ground, absently rubbing his wrist.
---
Scar takes him to the café next door. It's an 'order and take it at the counter' type of thing, and Grian vaguely gestures at Scar to go get it, settling at the table closest to the exit.
It looks like a dingy thing, barely three tables hanging on amid the dust, but Scar always had the knack for finding hidden jewels, so Grian trusts whatever he's getting. (On their first meeting, it had been Scar who found him, pushing the door to Grian's hotel room, salesman grin on his face. Even on the worst nights, burning hot with the fever that comes from having your heart shattered into pieces too small to glue back on - there never comes a day when Grian wishes he'd locked that damned door.)
Scar comes back with something simple for his poor hangover stomach, eggs, toast, and a much-needed cup of coffee. He slides him his drink, and winks. "2 sugars but no milk." Just like it had always been.
Grian, a contrarian little shit to his core, doesn't take it. "I like them black now." Scar rolls his eyes and doesn't change the cup. He drinks it anyway.
They're sitting face to face, but the table's too small, their knees keep banging up against one another's, a brush of heat leaping at his skin through the jeans - Scar had always run hot, and Grian abnormally cold. It had been great before, a lukewarm tangle of limbs, but nowadays Grian is freezing on a bed too big for one. They brush knees, again, and he quietly curses.
"So. Was she desperate?" The clicking sound of Scar's fork stops.
"Always talking about this girl, why, I'm starting to think you like her better than me!" The woman sitting next to them startles, probably thinking it a lover's spat. A few years back, she wouldn't have been wrong.
As it is, the situation is dangerous. Neither of them were very jealous men, before, but now Grian is not so sure where Scar stands.
"What, you're gonna kill her on top of taking her soul?" The woman gasps, and Grian stares unblinkingly at her until she hurriedly leaves the building. People these days never had any concept of privacy.
"I'd let you know, dying from murder can be a natural cause." A second passes and Scar pouts. "I just thought we'd talk about something else..."
Grian turns his unblinking stare to Scar. "What, the child serial killer I'm hunting?"
"Well, no. I'd thought you'd tell me about your life, what you were doing, that sort of thing! One year is a long time you know." It was the longest Grian had ever lasted without calling him. (Short summonings barely lasting a couple of seconds - the necessary time to determine that Scar had been doing good and was the demon equivalent of alive - didn't count.
It was basically the same thing as drunk-calling your ex before abruptly hanging up, and that's a pretty normal thing to do, right? Grian is getting over him. He is.)
"You stalk me all the time."
Scar tries to fold his napkin, wanting to look distinguished, but gives up halfway through. "I call that checking up on you."
When Grian still doesn't answer, the demon smiles, razor-edged teeth on display. "What, you don't ask me what I've been doing all this time?"
His stomach instantly turns, hunger washing away as his breathing stutters, similar sound to the dying AC unit in the corner. Grian grips the butter knife, fingers white, and answers, very very quietly. "I think we should go."
---
Grian is the one who knocks on the door.
It's barely past 9, and it opens to show an average-looking girl in the middle of getting ready, mascara stick still in her hand. Seeing Scar she jumps, going to slam the door in their face, but Grian stops her last minute.
"You made a bad deal." Scar at his side gasps, indignant, but it's nothing on the look the girl wears on her face.
"What? What do you mean?" Already tired of this, Grian grits his teeth. "Do you want me to explain this outside, right in front of your neighbors?"
She pales and lets them inside. There's nothing that screams 'out of the ordinary' about her, dark brown hair and washed-out grey eyes, but after a decade hunting, Grian knows the look to them.
(Hungry.)
He cuts to the chase. "Listen to me very carefully. You made a deal, but you bit more than you chew. It just so happens that my friend here," He gestures to Scar, sat on the couch next to him. "Is willing to think it over."
She tries to speak but he shuts her down, feeling the telltale sign of a migraine rearing its head. "It is an incredibly rare opportunity. I would suggest taking it."
The words don't seem to sit well with her. "What the- Who even are you?" She takes a look at Scar then back to him, and amends her words. "What are you?"
"I'm as human as can be." Scar snorts and Grian very pointedly does not acknowledge him, even as he stomps on his foot, heel first.
The girl, predictably, gets angry. "And what makes you qualified to tell me what I should and should not bargain? I'm not regretting anything!"
Grian doesn't have time for her anger. (This whole thing was never about the girl. He doesn't even know her name. No, it was about Scar, and committing atrocities.
It was always about Scar.)
"Ok fine, you sold away your laugh, right?" She nods. "Perfect, then you won't mind smiling?"
She looks confused. "What are you even talking about?" Something like a realization hits her - Grian can see it in the frown on her face. "Wait, why am I welcoming you into my house?" She stares at them, disorientated.
"Because you need my help, even if you don't understand it yet." They all know, if only subconsciously. These days, Grian doesn't even have to look for jobs: all sorts of people come to him, almost by accident, wearing that same threadbare grimace. "If you smile, I promise I'll be out of your hair."
Her mouth opens and closes, but after a few seconds her face settles into one of concentration. She likely thinks she's indulging the local lunatic, but Scar's presence at his side probably makes her at least willing to try. After a few beats, Grian swatting Scar's hand away when the other tries to sneak into his pockets, she breaks.
"I- What?" Her whole anger deflates, and now she's left staring at her face in the mirror by her couch. "I can't." She turns to him, just on the edge of terrified. "What did you do?"
Grian laughs, bitter. "Me? Nothing. You on the other hand... You let Scar words the deal in the present tense, and now you'll keep giving him things until he's done with you." And isn't this situation so familiar.
She looks at Scar, breaking apart. His only answer is a giggle. "Oops."
"Scar." He warns, not willing to entertain his bullshit.
"You said- you said you had a way out?" She asks, very small, and part of Grian softens.
"Yes. Though I would advise you to be quick, because the thing you hate the most seems to be your teeth, and I'm sure we don't want that outcome, do we?"
He can already see the tears gathering in her eyes as she shakes her head frantically. "Ok, Scar?"
That's where the businessman persona hits, shark grin and high hands. "Well, lovely Miss, a deal is a deal, but I can at least stop it from worsening!" Scar smiles, the edge of it crinkling his eyes, and even though it feels so fake he could gag, Grian sees why they all fall for it. (They do not know his real smile - the electric sparks as his lips curve, wider on one side than another, full of sun. They do not know you as I know you.)
She looks grateful, blinking back tears. "Really?"
"Yup!" The P rolls, saccharine sweet, and Grian has to avert his eyes. "But you'll have to give up my side of the bargain too."
Her eyes widen. "No. She- She was finally..." She catches herself in the mirror and slumps on the armchair. Then, resolutely. "I'll do it."
"Oh, and you should erase the circle too, a summoning doesn't end if it's still sustained by it." Grian adds, shooting a dark glare at Scar.
"You're no fun, how am I meant to bother you then?"
"You bother me just by existing."
"Thank you, I do try." But nevertheless, Scar brings his attention back to the poor girl, watching them go back and forth. "You revoke the deal then?" The air turns hotter, and there's the sulfuric smell again.
Wordlessly, she shakes his hand, crying out in pain when the burn unwinds. "Than-"
"Don't thank me." Scar interrupts, cutting cold. "I had nothing to do with it." The cheerfulness washes away, and he goes through the door, waiting outside for Grian to come out.
Now that the overwhelming demonic presence slips away, the girl crumples to the floor, sniffling wetly. Something like guilt pokes at his heartstrings. "I'm sorry." This time, honest. "I was a bit mean to you."
She looks up. "It's alright." Then quietly. "Thank you."
It makes him startle, and out of habit, he goes through his pocket for an empty glass bottle. "Do you mind repeating that?"
"Hum. Sure." She complies, and they both watch as the bottle fills with something cloudy. "What's that?" It sounds a bit scared. Understandable, given her recent run-in with the supernatural.
He owes her at least that bit of truth. "An earnest thanks. Pretty potent."
"How does that work?" She asks, curious.
"If an emotion is strong enough, if it comes from the soul, then you can use it, especially if it's embued with an object." He clicks his nails twice against the glass, making sure it's settled. "I use those kinds of things pretty often. The Dark don't like those little blessings."
She looks impressed, and Grian has to cut her down. "I wouldn't recommend going into the business, especially since your whole..." He gestures vaguely at her face and tries not to let the irony of the situation sting him.
Then, daring. "A question for a question, what was- on your wrist?"
There's a contemplating frown on her face. "It looked like a regular burn, nothing special. Why?"
He swallows, unsure of what he should be feeling. "Nothing worrying for you." A glance at the clock tells him it's time. "I should go, wouldn't want our dear friend to grow impatient."
She shudders at the thought, and Grian gets up to leave. Halfway to the door, she calls back. "Can I ask... why do you stay with him?"
Hand jerking around the door handle, he freezes, caught off guard. Millions of answers fleet through his brain - he considers lying, considers leaving without a word, considers screaming - but after one last check to ensure that Scar is not standing next to the door, the words fall out from his tongue, clumsy, and oh so very sad. "Because I love him."
Even to his ears, it sounds miserable. You don't understand, he wants to say, I don't know where else I'd be.
He shoots her one last look on the way out and loathes the pity on her face.
---
Scar is waiting for him right outside the building.
Not in the mood to talk, Grian speeds his steps, and as always, Scar follows. The silence doesn't last for long. "You know I still have her soul right? Those things can't be exchanged willy-nilly."
Grian sighs, tired. "At least she'll be whole until the day she dies." A thought, sudden. "I didn't even catch her name."
"Does it matter?" Scar looks at him, curious.
Too exhausted to properly articulate the feeling bearing down on his bones, he simply hums. "I guess not."
---
Grian doesn't even send a glance Scar's way, focused on the road. "No. I'm not digging up a grave with you."
"Ow, why not? I dug up a grave for you once!"
Grian shoots him a venomous look. "Because I was INSIDE. Also don't think I'm not mad you didn't tell me the killer was human."
"Human, demon, what's the difference?"
Stopping the car, because this feels like a discussion Grian shouldn't be having while driving, he looks at Scar. "Go on. Tell that to me one more time." His tone feels dangerous, and Scar can feel it too.
The demon doesn't say sorry, because he would probably mean it - one of the only times in his life, well more accurately death - and an honest sorry from a creature like Scar could probably explode the car and maybe a part of the forest too, if they're not careful.
Grian taps his fingers against the wheel. "I'm not digging up some rotted dead corpse. I'm working with the living things, you know how that much death would stain my things"
"Considering I'm part of the unalive category, I consider that particularly offensive."
He snorts. "See if I care."
"Oh you do," Scar chuckles, dark. "You do."
The rest of the drive to the graveyard is spent in dead silence.
---
Trudging through the mud, Grian curses the afternoon rain. "Do we really have to do this?"
A shrug. "You're the one who wants to stop this wannabe dark sorcerer. I just said he needed the bones of someone recently deceased-"
"Who shared his blood, I know, I know. This whole blood thing is getting old. Who wants to be immortal anyway? It sucks." He scans the empty cemetery, looking for recently upturned dirt. "You think I just have to burn the body?"
Looking oddly still, Scar doesn't move from the bench he's sat on. Grian knows he can't touch the tomb of someone who's been cried over, but this is getting ridiculous. "If you get there in time. It's Sunday, the seventh day of the week and he made his seventh victim. He's obviously putting a lot of power behind the number."
The shovel is easy to find, the recent grave easier still, and Grian gets to work. After a moment, Scar interrupts, somber. "Would it be that bad?"
Caught off guard, he stills. "What?"
"To live a long, long time."
His hands tighten on the shovel. "Everyone dies."
Quiet, barely a whisper, so loud in the silence of the dead. "Even you?"
Something like nausea crawls its way up his throat, and he smiles, strained. "I-" Tries not to think of Them. Tries not to remember the way he and Scar don't look a day past 24. "I hope."
Scar looks hungry.
---
About 3 feet down, Grian swipes the awful sweat dripping down his face and sighs, looking at the time. It's getting close to 6 P.M, and he mournfully gives up on his dreams of a quiet defeat. "Scar. You're gonna stay?" He throws, deliberately nonchalant.
Scar sniffs like Grian just insulted him. "And go back on a contract?"
He rolls his eyes. "You agreed to help me find them, not to hunt. Don't take me for an idiot. I just need to know if I have to be careful with what I'm throwing around."
The look thrown his way is teasing. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't want me getting hurt?" He bats his eyelashes, unfairly long, for good measures.
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Sure." It's way too smug, but Grian is too occupied trying not to die from exhaustion to care. The TV shows made it look so damn easy. "Unless you have some Death Star-level stuff, I should be alright. It's all about intent, remember?"
He feels the need to defend himself. "I got a child's first words you know."
Impressed. "Really?" Grian nods, his turn to be smug. He goes back to the subject with forced indifference. "So you'll stay?"
"I'll stay." He confirms, serious. "As long as you need me."
Grian laughs with something close to acid on his tongue. "Good luck with that."
---
It's when midnight hits that everything goes to shit. There's the crunch of someone walking the graveyard's alleys, not bothering to be discreet, confident in their powers.
Grian draws his jacket, Scar's jacket, closer. (He had left love in there, still permeating the fabric after 5 long years. It wasn't kept only for sentimentality after all - never mind that there is stronger protection - even if it does still smell a bit like Scar, the old him, when the hint of sulfur wasn't as prominent yet.) Quietly, he wraps a red scarf around his wrist, the one unburned because he doesn't want to see what kind of mix those two things would make. It's the first cloth knit by a newly made grandma, and the energy of it hums around him.
(Not too much magic, careful, oh so careful. No one likes what happens if Grian gets too much of it underneath his skin.)
He turns to meet the man and smiles when the other notices the smell of fire. "Hello."
Hateful eyes go past his face, right to the casket burning behind him. "What did you do?"
"I guess you don't know me," He shrugs and waves his hand in the air. "You can call me Grian, I hunt down things like you."
A second, suspended in between them before the shadows suddenly solidify underneath the man's feet, and two wolves emerge, red eyes glowing in the moon. A sharp whistle and one of them sprints towards the exit, while the other throws itself to Grian, teeth first.
"You're kidding me, two familiars?" He throws himself off to the side, barely avoiding the 90-pound beast. "Scar!" He doesn't need to elaborate, and Scar takes off after the other. Wouldn't do well to leave the man an exit path.
The wolf doesn't wait for him to get up, and he has to roll on the ground - thankfully, significantly less muddy - to avoid another tackle, seeing the man trying to put out the fire from the corner of his eyes.
Good luck with that, he thinks, viciously, because he started the fire with the genuine thanks he got from the girl today, and that's bound to leave a few burns on someone as deeply entrenched in the darkness as him.
But there's no time to gloat, and he hurriedly uncaps a bottle, whispering its name as he throws it to the wolf, because blessings tend to work a little better if you recognize them for what they are. "Confessing to someone that likes you back."
The wolf yelps, fur sizzling where the bottle hit, something white and hot dribbling down its leg. Good, that'll slow it down.
Slowly, like it finally realized that Grian could be dangerous too, the wolf circles him, looking for weakness. He takes cover behind a gravestone, silently apologizing to the late Mrs Williams for any possible damage, and fumbles through his pockets, looking for another bottle.
He finds it just in time and shoves the 'first meal shared together' in the wolf's face, hissing through his teeth when a claw nicks his forearm, drawing blood.
It's not as potent as the previous one, and the wolf barely smokes, but Grian hears the telltale creak of a branch behind him, and yells. "Switch!" Before rolling backward and letting Scar take over the fight.
Brushing stray hairs away from his face - might cut it soon, getting too long to fight - he makes a beeline for the man, cursing when he sees the fire has turned to bare embers.
Scar was right to warn him. That man is powerful, something dark whispering from within him, and his 'hugging your little brother for the first time' burst into black flames before even touching him.
"I hate you." The man spits, turning to him, and the power of it explodes the stone Grian had ducked behind, leaving withered grass and scorched earth in its place. "Fuck" He mutters, pulling yet another glass bottle. The magic around him hums, trying to settle in his bones, and he can feel his vision sharpen, colors getting vivid and bright.
Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, running in what he hopes are unpredictable patterns, he shouts, throwing it as best as he can with his dominant arm out of commission. "First words of a child."
He can hear Scar's neck crack as he whips his head to look at Grian, understanding the fight is getting serious. The last wolf, twitching uncontrollably on the floor as it dies, growls with something pained.
In slow motion, he sees the bottle arc above a gravestone, falling right down on the sorcerer. It has to be enough, at least to burst the barrier around him, and Grian would almost pray if he didn't know any better.
Like the other before, it catches fire, but before Grian can lose hope, the fire curves down until it meets the man's sleeve, lighting it too.
With a relieved sigh, he runs, this time towards him. Time to end this, and with no barriers left Grian can finally get close enough.
Dodging left, he avoids the darkened nails hurled right to his face, throwing another 'thank you', this one old, straight to his eyes.
It blinds the man, just for a bit, but it doesn't make him fall, and his other hand, covered in ashes leftover from the fire, wraps itself around Grian's throat. He gasps, choked briefly by the momentum of it, before the real hurt makes itself known as the pure hatred staining them turns his skin gray and cracked.
Grian can see Scar take a step, alarmed, but he just shakes his head, jerking his neck out of the way as he ignores the stinging pain and blood dripping out of it. He's almost done, now that the man let him in close enough to finish.
Out of his pocket, flicking the blade open, Grian readies his most important weapon, the one that allowed him to survive a decade into a profession that kills by the year, a single bone-white knife small enough for the handle to fit comfortably in his palm.
("I made it myself!" Scar had said when Grian had questioned him, beaming with something proud.
"Can I see it?" He'd asked, curious to feel its weight, and Scar had handed it to him, their fingers brushing over the handle. He'd shivered then, feeling the weight of Scar's gaze on his face.
This was the first time they kissed.
---
Years later, same knife and same love in his eyes, Scar had whispered, blood dripping down his lips, his nose, and Gods, there was blood everywhere. "Keep it for me?" The blade was still tucked in, because Scar had not fought back.
Grian kisses him for the last time, and it tastes like despair and tears, iron burning on his tongue.)
Grian takes out the knife, and shoves it right into the sorcerer's chest, watching it fizzle and burn almost immediately. And, because blessings like to be named. "A sacrifice of true love." He breathes, and very carefully does not look at Scar.
The body crumples to the ground, black blood oozing out of it. The ritual undone, he will not be allowed to come back in any form. Grian stands still, dripping blood on the ground, hand still clenched tight around the knife he'd wrenched out of the man's chest.
He pants, adrenaline draining out of him, and tries not to puke at the brightness of the world. Something looks wrong, there are too many details, too many movements and he frowns, trying to see-
Softly, a hand slides around his forehead, covering an eye Grian didn't even know he had open. Immediately, the world goes back to its normal self, colors muting and time standing still. "We wouldn't want a repeat of the desert, would we?"
He shivers against Scar, still shaky from the magic. "No." He croaks, not trusting himself to speak further.
After a few more minutes steadying himself, Grian squeezes his eyes open and looks over the graveyard, sighing.
Here is the thing about killing humans: their souls may go, but the body stays.
(Here is a secret thing: after Scar took his last breath, there was no body to bury. That was how Grian knew.)
Scowling, he kicks the dead sorcerer in his legs. "I can't even use magic to make you disappear." That Scar had been there to bring Grian back to earth had been good, even if it was an awfully close call. Grian had never slipped like that in years. (Five, to be more precise, but everything always comes back to that night, so really it's not that much of a surprise.)
"Look at the bright side, you've already dug up a grave for him!"
Grian whips his head to him, still covered in blood as he growls. "Scar."
"I'll even help you! Nobody will cry over his grave, that's for sure."
He chokes a laugh and stops, wincing at the fierce pain in his throat. "Damnit" He rasps, reaching out for a bottle of water.
Scar is instantly on him, featherlight fingers trailing his neck. "Let me heal you? You need me for that, at least."
Grian stills, one hand wrapped around a plastic bottle, the other around Scar's arm. "Free of charge?"
His tone is insufferable. "For you? Always." Hot fingers reach the wound, wiping the hurt away and Grian, weak and ravenous, kisses him, full of teeth.
Scar smiles into it, thumb pressed against the quick pulse of Grian's blood.
Before he can succumb to his weakness further, Grian turns his head and closes his eyes, feeling Scar's mouth burning his cheek, then his newly healed neck. "I think that's the end of our bargain."
"Is it?" Teeth, against his skin, and Grian shudders. "Alright." The smell of sulfur takes over. "You know how to call." With those words and the slightest hint of smoke, Grian is left standing alone in the graveyard.
On his wrist, the burn: untouched. Grian thinks 'As long as you need me.' and he thinks 'Wait- no circle?' and then a thought, bright and clear with a slight hysteric tinge to it: Fuck.
(A tiny thought, buried underneath the tumultuous racket of his panic - the asshole didn't even help him with the grave)