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otherworldlyhope · 5 months

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Chapter 1: The Harsh Realities of Falling

CW: Injury/blood, violence, Scar being Scar/ Words: 4092

Grian has always felt he was too observant of a person. Whether that was a gift or a curse was hard to tell at times. During his University days it had felt like a harsh curse inflicted on him. His ability to pick up on the slightest change of emotions and movements made him constantly paranoid and unable to make friendships.

When the first wave attacked, his curse suddenly became his greatest asset.

His breaths come out in soft gasps as he ducks behind a shelving unit. He strains his ears as he clutches his knife close to him. His knuckles burn white as he waits, counting the steps in his mind.

One step, a slight drag. Another, a longer drag. A loud groan.

With a quick breath he sprang from his hiding spot, swinging the knife in his hands. It connects easily, a wet squelch filling the air at his movement. The figure in front of him sways on its feet before dropping to the floor.

Grian’s head shoots up as the thud only brings more groans and footsteps. He curses under his breath and wrenches the blade from the creature’s skull. His hands are suddenly warm, an unfortunate side effect that came with stabbing the creatures.

He sneers and sinks even lower. His footsteps stay light, barely balancing on the balls of his feet. He wants to wipe the rotten blood from his hands, but knows he doesn’t exactly have the time. The steps only get closer, coming from multiple directions. Grian’s mind is on overdrive, analyzing every noise he hears. He slowly creeps behind the register, holding his breath as he steps over cracked glass.

It barely makes a noise, but the creatures are quick to respond. Their groans get louder as he rises from his position, eyes directed at the door. His feet follow the path he lays out, jumping over fallen shelves.

The shrieks behind him only propel him further. His lungs burn as he reaches the outside world. The flickering lights of the convenience store behind him cast a shadow of his running figure on the asphalt.

His feet slap on the wet street, his breaths coming out in harsh pants. He can’t help but curse the sky as rain is pouring around him. He almost slips on multiple occasions, his leather boots barely keeping him upright. The only good thing about the rain is that it hides his footsteps well. As soon as he ducks into an alleyway the small horde following him passes without a second look. He pushes himself against the brick wall and lets out a sigh of exhaustion.

His radio crackles to life and he rushes to turn down the volume.

“Griba are you alright?”

Pearl’s voice sounds panicked. He can hear the fear in her tone, even with the crappy sound quality. He takes a look around the alley before bringing the radio to his lips.

“All good.” He says, “Ran into a pretty big horde and was cornered for a while.” He laughs quietly to himself, “The sun is going down so I think I’ll find a rooftop to stay on for the night.”

“Are you sure you can’t make it back?” An equally panicked British voice rang out. “Won’t it be dangerous at night?”

Grian chuckles to himself again, rolling his eyes at the man. Mumbo wasn’t the most stable person at times. While it was funny most of the time, it also meant the group was more cautious than they needed to be. His anxiety had saved them before though, so the group rarely dismisses his ideas.

“I’d rather travel during the day and not during a storm.” Grian reasons with the man. “I’ve got limited vision and that horde could be anywhere by now. Don't worry about me, potato boy.”

“All I do is worry about you.”

“Well that’s a you problem.”

He imagines Pearl laughing at a red faced Mumbo. Grian turns to look around the alley and his eyes narrow as he sees metal glinting in the rain. His hands quickly find the rungs of an old ladder which he begins to scale. Once on the rooftop he takes the heavy bag off his shoulders. Luckily the convenience store he found hadn’t been completely raided. There were enough pills and bandages to last at least the winter.

He had also grabbed some weird things he thought Mumbo could use from the shelves. The previous engineering major had made some of the strangest contraptions. The worst part of it was that they all somehow worked, despite looking awful.

Grian doubts he could sleep, so he moves to the edge of the building. He swings his legs over the side of the roof, looking at the streets stretching beyond him. It’s strange, seeing a once bustling city be completely still. Even after months of test runs Grian has a hard time believing what he sees is real.

The streets are barren and silent, something that still makes Grian nauseous to think about. Once upon a time he had cruised through the lively streets, him and Pearl being typical University students. Even in the early hours of the mornings the city was full of life. Now there was nothing but the patter of rain and occasional undead shrieks. Each one he hears makes him frown.

In the distance he sees the light of the Perimeter. Doc and his cronies have no fear of the undead there. They’re well defended and have plenty of manpower.

“Did you find yourself a spot?” Pearl snaps him from his thoughts with a sharp tone.

He nods, then remembers she can’t see him.

“Yeah I should be good for the night.” He says, “I’m gonna turn the radio to emergency only just in case it stops raining. Don't call unless you actually need to.”

“What if Mumbo decides to steal my pudding again?”

“You could always throw him to the undead.” Grian snickers.

“Hey!” Mumbo complains, “I didn’t know it was yours.”

“Yeah right.”

Grian flips his radio off and the arguing goes silent. His chest aches for just a moment at the quiet. Already he can hear the rain lightening. It was nice as he was soaked to the bone and can’t imagine spending the entire night under the downpour.

His legs kick lightly against the building as he glares at hunched forms crossing the street ahead. The horde has gained more members it seems, and they weren’t moving far. It’s almost comical how inhuman the undead are. Years of movies about zombies had society believing they were still slightly human.

These creatures were downright terrifying though. At first they could be mistaken for a person, until they get closer. With odd movements and limbs sticking out at unnatural angles their gaits fall between a walk and a crawl. They are fast though. Some of the older ones have evolved to be on all fours and when they start to run it is terrifying. Grian shivers as he remembers the unearthly screeches that come from the fastest ones.

The longer they are alive the worse they get. Grian could always tell which ones were from the first wave. Those were the most dangerous of them all. Grian shudders and stands quickly to shake the thoughts away. He didn’t like dwelling on the undead. They honestly freak him out.

He lays on the gravel roofing, letting stray raindrops fall onto his face. The stars have finally started to shine and Grian takes a small comfort in seeing them. The one good thing about most of the population being wiped out is that there was no light pollution.

Each night the stars are bright and clear, a hint of the galaxy coloring the sky. Grian had once spent hours learning the constellations to keep himself busy on sleepless nights.

His eyelids become heavier as he stares at the night sky. He concedes to his exhaustion, falling into a dreamless sleep.

~ ~ ~

His eyes shoot open as he hears a slight shuffle on the gravel beside his head. In seconds he is standing, holding out his knife. He blinks a few times to clear the grogginess from his eyes and when he focuses his heart drops.

At least four of them have joined him on the roof. They are newer, still shuffling slowly with outstretched hands. He scoops up his bag and casts his eyes to the ladder. The undead were blocking that path though, leaving him few options.

Luckily he had planned a second escape route last night. It just required a bit of athleticism on his part. He darts to the other side of the roof, judging the distance to the other building. His chances of making the jump aren’t the greatest, but it’s the only option he has.

He glances back at the approaching undead and takes a few steps back. With a deep breath he gives himself a running start and leaps to the nearby rooftop. He’s sure he clears it, until his ankle hits at the wrong angle and rolls.

The dread hits as he stumbles back, a sharp pain in his foot distracting him momentarily. By the time he’s realized what’s happening his other foot is over open air, and then it drops.

A strange weightlessness settles in his chest as he starts to fall. Windows fly past him in a blur and he braces himself to hit the ground. If he was lucky he would die on impact; at least that way the undead wouldn’t get to him. Unfortunately luck isn’t on his side. He lands with a sickening crunch, a searing pain ripping through his chest. Almost immediately there is warmth beneath him, and it starts to spread.

He tries to push himself up with his arms and has to choke out a scream of pain. It burns through every nerve, leaving him paralyzed on the ground. His fingers twitch as he tries to reach for his knife. If he can’t move, then he can at least take himself out first. He refuses to be turned into one of them. His movements get faster as he hears the familiar dragging footsteps of one of them.

He had never thought he would survive this forever, it was foolish. He had hoped he would last long enough to protect those he loved, but that seems unlikely now.

The problem is that he can barely feel anything. When his fingers brush his belt the last hope of an easy death leaves him. The knife is gone, probably somewhere beside him. He buries his face into the ground below, a sudden urge to cry filling him.

He had never cried once since the outbreak. He refuses to let Pearl and Mumbo see him weak as he is supposed to be their protector. He can’t help but let the tears gathering in his eyes fall though, dripping onto the concrete.

He tries to convince himself it’s from the pain.

As the steps get louder he tenses despite the dizziness it brings him. He has always wondered what it would feel like to die to an undead. It seems he will finally get an answer to his question. Just as he can feel the touch of the creature it disappears. There is a thud beside him and he cracks his eyes open to see it beside him on the ground.

“Man, that was quite a fall.” A voice echoes through the alley.

Grian turns to look up and immediately regrets the decision. The sharp pain makes him hiss and curl into himself.

“You’re still kicking aren’t you?” The voice is curious, getting closer. “How’d you manage that?”

He can only let out a groan, unable to form any words that didn’t contain a curse. They immediately spring from his lips as he feels a rough hand grab his shoulders though. He can feel himself dragged against the rough ground, his boots skidding across the concrete. A trail of blood follows him.

~ ~ ~

There’s humming. The first thing he registers is strangely Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You. It’s a jarring way to be woken up to say the least.

He sucks in a sharp breath as he wakes up. He feels unnaturally warm, sweat beading on his forehead. There’s a weight on his shoulders that he determines are blankets after a moment. Once he realizes this he is struck with confusion. Why are there blankets on him?

Suddenly the pain hits and he is reminded of the unfortunate accident leading him to bleeding out on the concrete. His entire body aches in ways he hasn’t felt since the first wave hit. He can’t even pinpoint where it’s coming from at this point, but void it hurts.

The humming turns into singing and Grian’s head protests at the noise. It’s not that the person is especially bad, it’s just far too loud for the space they’re in. Grian forces his eyes open and is greeted with a regular looking apartment. A small kitchenette is against one wall while a couch is on the other side.

The bed he is lying on lies at the end of the apartment, next to what he assumes is the bathroom. He quickly makes note of an escape route and compartmentalizes it. He closes his eyes again, his head aching at the lights above. When he opens his eyes again there is suddenly someone in front of him.

Grian jumps back and lets out a raw cry of pain as he shoves himself against the backboard. His fist springs forward, aiming directly for the person’s face. It only makes it halfway, suddenly stopping with a sharp screech of metal. His eyes snap to his wrist where there is a metal cuff connecting him to the bed frame.

“Void you scared me.” The person in front of him laughs, a hand to his chest, “You’ve got quick reflexes for someone who was halfway dead a few days ago.”

Grian supposes the man is trying to make a joke, but he doesn't find it humorous. His lips curl back in a snarl as he reaches for his knife. It’s gone though, and Grian belatedly remembers it’s probably still back at the alley.

He instead presses himself as far back as he can away from the man standing above him. He gives him a once over, his heart sinking the longer he looks.

The man is tall, much taller than Grian. He’s built well, muscles ripping beneath the skin of his arms. Oh, his arms. They’re lines with various scars. Some are small and cross each other, and others are huge and take up plenty of space themselves. His eyes follow the scars up to his face and see even more on his neck and chin.

They’re suddenly a second thought as he meets the man’s eyes. They are a blinding shade of green, seemingly twinkling despite the low light of the apartment. The two stare at each other for a second and Grian grinds his teeth together.

“Where am I?” His voice is hoarse from a long period of disuse, he clears it before speaking again. “Where did you take me?”

“Well we’re at my apartment.” The man’s voice is almost jovial. Grian’s eyes narrow as he can sense false bravado around the edges, “You must have a guardian angel because I happened to be passing just as you fell of a building.”

Grian tenses at the words, the memories of his fall returning to him. Suddenly the pain makes more sense and he only feels more uneasy.

“Yeah right.” He snaps before he can even think.

The man frowns, but it is quickly replaced with a neutral expression. Grian’s jaw tightens as his attention returns to the cuffs keeping him attached to the bed. A wave of fear passes through him as he realizes he’s effectively trapped.

“Let me go.” He hisses.

The man chuckles as he steps closer to the bedside. Grian can’t place whether it’s threatening or amused. He reaches towards Grian who freezes in place. Inside he’s screaming to fight, but knows he can’t do anything. He can only lean back as the man pushes his hair from his forehead and places his hand there.

He struggles against the cuffs holding him to the bed as he waits for the hand to go to his throat and finish it. In his mind he knows he’s being irrational, but he can’t help it. The man’s fingers brush across his skin and he stands up straight with a satisfied smile.

“See I can’t let you go.” He muses. “Your first reaction was to punch me, and second was to reach for a weapon.”

Grian flushes as he realizes just how easily he was read. He thought he was better at hiding his intentions than that.

“Not to mention you’re still pretty injured and I doubt you could even stand now.”

Grian hates to admit it, but the man is right. He can clearly feel the pain each movement brings and knows he won't be able to even get out of this apartment.

“So what’s the plan then?” Grian asks, “Turn me over to Doc and his boys? I saw the mark, I know what you are.”

Scar doesn’t have a break in his neutral expression. In fact his eyes almost light up, amused. He turns his arm, revealing the trademark tattoo. Goat horns. The raised skin of a scar distorts it, but it’s still recognizable.

“If I wanted to do that you would be at the Perimeter right now.” He says. “Not in my awesomely comfy kitted out apartment.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The question hangs in the air and the man doesn’t even look like he’s entertaining an answer. Instead he turns away, back to the kitchen.

“Do you want food?” He throws the question over his shoulder.

Grian wants to say no, but even the thought makes his stomach growl. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep, but it’s been at least a day. The sun is starting to set again. He doesn’t answer though. If the man doesn’t want to answer his questions then Grian can follow suit.

If there’s one thing he’s really good at, it’s being annoying.

Still the man brings over a bowl to him. Steam wisps from whatever is in there and the scent of something savory makes Grian’s mouth water. He reaches out to grab it, but is once again reminded of the cuffs now cutting into his circulation.

“Sorry,” The man doesn’t sound sorry though.

He instead feeds Grian who can’t help but feel embarrassed. He hadn’t been fed by someone else since he was a child, it was sort of degrading. Still, the soup is really good. There’s hints of mushroom and another flavor he can’t place. He finishes the whole bowl though, his stomach satisfied.

The man quickly gets him to drink a cup of water and once again Grian is struck with how strange it is. The man makes eye contact as he finishes and puts the cup beside the bed. Grian’s eyes linger on it for only a second before returning to the man.

“Do I get to know your name at least?” He asked, his voice sounding much better after the water. “If I’m gonna be trapped here I’d rather not refer to you as warden or something like that.”

The man’s eyes sparkle at his words and a smile overtakes his face.

“But can you imagine how funny it would be if you did?” Grian’s forehead creases at the words.

He shakes his head adamantly no. “I can just stop talking at all then.”

The man grins at his words and folds his arms. The goat tattoo is more visible and Grian has to hold back a shudder at it. The man’s eyes follow his gaze and he quickly positions his arms so it can’t be seen.

“It’s Scar.” Grian looks up to a toothy grin. “Kind of ironic I know, but it’s not like my mother could tell the future.”

“Scar. Grian tests the name out. “Interesting.”

“Well now I need yours in return.” Scar’s brows are raised.

Grian feels conflicted for just a moment. If he reveals his name there’s a very real chance he could get sent to the Perimeter. He purses his lips as he thinks.

“My name’s Griba.” Scar nods at the lie. “And no judging because your name is also weird.”

Scar snickers and starts to pull away from the bedside. He returns to the kitchen and rinses out Grian’s bowl. Grian zeroes in on the glass cup and breathes out slowly. Now that he is fed and in a comfy bed he’s really feeling everything. His ribs ache and ankle is unrelenting. He tucks his head down to feel a bandage on his cheek.

He’s honestly just in shock that he’s alive at this point. He had fallen a few stories too many, he knew he should be gone. Somehow Scar had kept him from dying though.

But he is one of Doc’s men, and Grian can’t risk it. He once again looks at the cup before focusing on Scar.

“So what’s the plan?” He repeats. “I doubt you’d waste food if you were going to kill me.”

Scar laughs and Grian notices how easy it is to get him to do so. The problem is that Grian can’t tell if it’s real or fake. He should be able to differentiate, but for some reason he can't read him at all.

“I won’t kill you.” Scar barely turns to look back, “I’m just waiting until you heal up and then we’ll move out.”

Grian blinks as he processes the words. His voice cracks as he speaks. “We?”

“Yeah of course.” Scar wipes his hands on a towel and fully faces Grian, “I saved your life, and I have no current group. I thought we could stick together for a while.”

Grian struggles to keep his face devoid of any emotions as he subtly reaches for the cup. Once his fingers have grasped it there isn’t a second of hesitation. He moves to smash the glass against Scar’s head.

Scar is quick though, and his hand reaches up to stop it. The glass shatters on impact, cutting into the man’s palm. He doesn’t grimace, his eyes still locked onto Grian’s. Grian gasps at his failed attempt though, and Scar’s bloodied hand grabs Grian’s. It squeezes until Grian drops the rest of the shards he planned to use as a weapon.

There isn’t a single emotion that registers on Scar’s face except a slight twitch of his lip. He dusts the glass of his hands as he stands.

“If you try that again I’ll have you sent straight to the Perimeter.” His voice is suddenly dark, more menacing than Grian had expected.

He straightens up, but still doesn't feel apologetic. Instead he extends his middle finger, Scar chuckling at it.

“I promise there’s no other motives here.” Scar says as he tightly wraps his hand, “I assumed that my favor to you meant that you might help me out too.”

Grian’s mouth snapped shut as he actually thought about it. If he could convince Scar to follow him to his group he could trap him there, use him against Doc. It could be a viable option.

He stews in his thoughts for a moment as Scar watches him expectantly. When Grian finally decides a small smile settles on Scar’s face as if he knows what Grian is going to say.

“Fine.” Grian says, before spitting out the last words, “And I’m sorry for that,” He motions to the glass, “I’m a pretty paranoid person and I don't like being trapped.”

“Understandable,” Scar says sharply, “You can understand why you’re cuffed though right?”

“Yeah…”

Scar laughs and surprises Grian by producing a key. He unlocks the cuffs with a sigh and pats Grian’s red wrists.

“Don't get any ideas though,” He warns, “I’m quicker than you might think.”

Grian nods as he massages his sore wrists. He no longer planned to attack him here. It was kind of an awful idea anyways. Grian doubts he can even stand, let alone make it back to the base. It’ll be easier to take Scar down with backup anyways.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he watches the man flit around the kitchen, humming various Christmas songs. Scar was definitely an interesting guy and Grian couldn’t reason him out.

#hczombieau #so hi #this has got me in a chokehold #zombie au #grian #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fic

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