HIATUS|| Grian Centric Oneshots, Song Fics, Angst, Fluff, H/C, and Crossovers!(

Your Real Family- inspiration above

T/W: stomach aches, panic attack, mentions/implications of: force feeding, eating plastic, throwing up, knives, abuse, not being fed properly, thoughts about dying(not exactly suicidal, just wondering if he wants to die) murder, orphans, abusive orphanages, abandonment, Sam, manipulation, PTSD, blood loss, being locked in a shed, blood, lightheadedness, child labor, food poisoning 

POV: 3rd person

Grian's stomach hurt. He didn't know why, all he knew was that there had been a party that day- or was it yesterday now, he honestly didn't know what time it was- and he had, as usual, stuffed himself with cake, soda, chicken, steak, and what ever else was served. And now, at who-knows-what-time, he had woken up with a stomach ache. 

His breathing started to speed up as he remembered when he had force fed him Toritos, plastic packaging and all. Those stomach aches were too similar to now, he knew. 

'Had there been plastic in the food yesterday? Was it food poisoning? Was he lactose intolerant? Was he allergic to something? If so, how seriously? Had he somehow found him?' 

His breathing sped up until his hands felt hot, as if being held to close to a fire, his hair was damp with sweat, mouth dry. All of a sudden he felt like throwing up, but knew, just knew, that if he did so he wouldn't be able to eat, for who knows how long. He had to keep down dinner, he had to. 

His ears perked as he detected footsteps, was it him? Had he done something to upset him? Would he finally feel the knife pierce his skin, stop his heart? Did he want it to stop? He didn't know. He knew he would die eventually, but did he want to give him the satisfaction of doing it? 

Through his spiral of thoughts he sensed a hand on his shoulder, he flinched, scrambling to hide under the bed, he cowered in the corner, the only thing visible from outside the faint glint of his eyes reflecting the light from the window. 

He quieted his breathing, knowing that at any moment he would be discovered, he would be punished, he didn't want to be punished, his hand moving protectively toward himself- No, what was he doing? That was selfish, all of this was selfish, after all, he had lost a friend too, it was his fault, not Sam's, that Taurtis was dead, after all, wasn't it he who had failed to protect him? 

As soon as he realized that his eyes were wet he quickly covered his mouth and closed his eyes, he couldn't cry, not now, not ever. Crying was selfish, and weak, and if he found him- No, nononono, he himself was to blame, not Sam, Sam had said so, he could trust Sam, right? 

There they were again, the footsteps, we're they coming closer, getting louder? He couldn't tell, to wrapped up in his mental battle. 

He didn't know who to believe, there were too many factors, too many things to think about- why did he feel like he was floating?- No, he was on the ground. But the ground was moving, shifting and weaving underneath him, why? Why was it moving? Wasn't it still just moments before? 

The footsteps, they had definitely stopped, right in front of him, what had given him away? Was he crying too loud? No, he couldn't be crying. Last time he had cried he fainted from blood-loss, fainting was even worse than crying. 

What was that?! Why was there a hand on his ankle? Was it just his imagination or was it warm and wet, the monochrome colors of the night making the red blood stand out even more? He didn't know anymore, did he ever? 

 No, nononono, he was being pulled out from under the bed again, why was he not under the bed?! The hand on his ankle, where was it, he needed to know where it was- there, attached to a tall figure. Faintly he remembered that Sam wasn't much taller than him, but in his panicked state he didn't process the information.

All he could think about were screams, the smell of blood in the air, the taste in his mouth, the shed he used to be locked in- all of a sudden he wanted fresh air, he never got fresh air with Sam, fresh air was freedom- no! He had been kept in that shed to protect him, wasn't he? 

Now he was floating again, unable to comprehend his surroundings. Finally the logical part of his brain took over, telling him that fresh air was freedom, and so he fled, up a flight of stairs he didn't even remember seeing, up and up and up, onto the roof, and finally, with his back against the sturdy walls around the access stairs, the breeze chillingly cold, forcing him to slow his breathing.

He heard footsteps on the metal stairs, but he was to focused on the stars. They had always helped him calm down, as had cold, fresh air. Refreshing water, too. Slowly, the footsteps stopped next to him, and he felt a presence sit next to him, imitating his position, back against the wall, head tilted up, knees hugged to his chest.  

The two sat there in silence, the only sound his breathing, now slow and controlled. 

Finally, he calmed down, and recognized the owner of the footsteps. Xisuma. They had been having a sleepover, he remembered, him and the rest of the hermits. He wasn't with Sam anymore. Sam couldn't manipulate him again. 

After a while, Xisuma quietly, respectfully, asked, "what happened?" Grian's first instinct was to refuse to shut up, but he felt himself breaking the walls he had built around his heart, and he opened his mouth to answer. 

"I- I woke up and my stomach h-hurt, and I didn't know why, Xisuma, do you know why?" Grian asks, a bit of his previous panic coming back. "Grian, you eat fast. That's probably why. If you ate slower than your stomach would be fine." "Oh." Grian responded, startled. "It's a habit." "why?" Xisuma asked, concerned. 

"I- I" he paused as his previous confusion faded, replaced only with anger. "I GREW UP WITH SAM, XISUMA. WITH ASSHOLE PARENTS AND THEN IN AN ORPHANAGE. YOU DIDN'T EAT FAST YOU DIDN'T EAT!" And with those long awaited words, finally the dam broke, and everything, everything that had happened spilled out of his mouth. 

By the end he was crying, and Xisuma hugged him. Grian was shocked at first. He had never been hugged before. His parents were abusive and abandoned him in Japan, of all places. After that was him, and then the orphanage, which was abusive and, he was pretty sure, broke the child labor laws.  

"I- I've never been hugged before." He admitted to Xisuma. "Well then, let's remedy that. Thank you for telling me, Grian." "Please don't tell the others!" He blurted out. "I wouldn't dream of it, Grian. They'll know when you're ready. And when you do tell them, you're gonna help us track down your parents so we can beet them up." Xisuma said, without a hint of sarcasm or humor. 

Grian smiled a real smile for what felt like the first time ever. Maybe it was. But he knew that he would be ok. After all, the hermits were his family, "my real family." He muttered faintly as he fell asleep, head resting on Xisuma's shoulder. "Your real family." Xisuma whispered back. 

1200ish words. I've had this idea for a little bit, so here ya go. Sorry bout not posting for a little bit, writer's block and burnout caught up to me :(

Hopefully I'll be back to not burnout soon, bye for now, and good unspecified time of day or night!