You show me how to live (I'll show you how to love) - Frost5ive, Princess_Cutie9 (2024)

Chapter 1: Pull over. Let me drive for a while.

Chapter Text

The bright LED lights of the convention hall soon fade out of view as Mumbo, Grian, and Scar exit out into the parking lot after a long day of pursuing complex engineering builds. The three of them walk towards their car, soon after Grian getting into the driver’s seat, Scar the passenger’s, and Mumbo the back seats.

As Grian buckles his seatbelt, he turns towards his two friends. “What a long day.”

“What a day!” Mumbo exclaims, clearly still riding the high of being invited to one of the most prestigious engineering and Redstone conventions in the world. “I still can’t believe this was real.”

“Well, you’d better believe it! Why else would we be sitting in a rental car in the middle of Canada!” Scar quips, quickly getting his seatbelt clicked in after accidentally getting it jammed in the door.

Grian snickers, turning his attention back to the wheel and putting the keys in the ignition. “I’m so proud of you, Mumbo. This has been a long time coming.”

Mumbo flushes a bit, fidgeting with his seatbelt a little. “Aw, c’mon, it wasn’t that impressive—”

“‘It wasn’t that impressive’,” Scar mocks, “says the person who revolutionized the world of Redstone engineering by using honey and slime to compact complex devices. I mean, I didn’t understand a single thing in that convention but I can confidently say that none of them came close to your level of craftsmanship!”

“Well, not really,” Mumbo argues, “If you had even seen Sethbling’s panel, or even Iskall’s-”

“Yeah, well, none of them are you, so yours was automatically the coolest invention there,” Grian says, a tone of finality to his voice.

Mumbo sighs and lays his head back on the seat headrest. “Alright mate, whatever you say.”

The car starts up with a quick ‘whrr’, and the three of them are quick to leave the parking lot. They’re one of the last people out of the building, so they’re ready to get back to the hotel and rest. Scar, in the meantime, reaches his hand out to the backseat to offer the aux to Mumbo. He denies it with a ‘No, thank you’ broken up by a slight yawn. Scar chuckles and pulls up a few of his own songs to play quietly in the background.

The ride is mostly silent for the next half hour, night sky twinkling with distant stars. Soon enough, however, the peace is interrupted by a slight groan from Grian. “I need to get gas,” he proclaims.

Scar grabs his phone and pulls up Google Maps in an attempt to find the nearest gas station, but before the app loads, Grian is already pulling into a roadside station and next to a pump. He looks up from his white, blinding loading screen—geeze, why does Google hate him? Do they want him to go blind?—and watches as Grian lazily steps out of the driver’s seat. He notices that his friend looks suspiciously tired for being their driver to the hotel that’s a few hours out. (Maybe, in hindsight, it would’ve been better to get a closer hotel, but the convention was so out of the way and it was the only one they could find on such late notice. Also the fact that there was a zoo nearby had nothing to do with the decision process. No influence whatsoever.)

He gets out of the car a moment later, watching Grian complete the boring process of pumping gas. Then, “You look tired.”

Slightly startled to see Scar out of the car, Grian only responds with a short, “Hm?”

“Do you want to trade? Can’t have you falling asleep at the wheel now, can we?” He chuckles at the end.

Grian looks hesitant, asking, “Are you sure you’d be alright to drive? I know that we did a lot today and I don’t want to put more stress on your legs.”

Scar shrugs. “I’ll be fine, I had a wheelchair for most of the convention anyway.”

“Should’ve been all of it…” Grian mumbles under his breath.

“Well, what are you gonna do about it? Now, c’mon give me the keys. Can’t let poor ol’ Mumbo drive. Look at him, all conked out.”

Grian chuckles at the statement before pursing his lips for one more moment in thought. He soon relents and hands over the keys. “Just, let me know if you need to switch again, ok?”

Scar smiles and nods. “Of course! Though, I’m more comfortable on these roads, so I’ll probably keep them for the rest of the drive.”

Grian rolls his eyes. “You Americans and Canadians, driving on the wrong side of the road…”

“Actually, we drive on the right side of the road, and by driving on the opposite side, you Brits are technically driving on the wrong side!”

Grian groans, but his exhaustion is rudely interrupted by the gas nozzle clicking very loudly for how late it is, signaling that the gas tank is full. Scar returns the nozzle to its holding place and sits himself into the driver’s side. Grian follows quickly after, buckling himself without problem. He then lets out a large yawn, causing himself to flush in slight embarrassment.

Scar, however, only snickers at his friend’s tiredness. “It’s alright, join Mumbo in the sweet abyss of sleep. I’ll wake you two when we get to the hotel.”

“Thanks, Scar,” Grian mumbles out, tiredness lacing his voice. Then, only a minute later, when they’re pulling out of the station, does he fully fall asleep.

“Goodnight, sleepyheads,” Scar speaks to deaf ears. The rest of the car ride is left in a peaceful quiet.

Chapter 2: This Reminded Me of You

Chapter Text

It was the final day before the battle of Dogwarts and Monopoly Mountain. The sun hangs low, just above the horizon, casting its melancholic orange glow across the plains and the hills. Ebony shadows stretch tall, silhouettes of cacti, of trees in the distance, of structures both standing and fallen, evidence of past skirmishes that left the participants reeling and retreating to regain some semblance of their defenses.

Grian sits at the edge of the tor, his legs dangling off the crumbly rock. His wings are tattered and torn, feathers sticking out every which way. There was no time to preen when he had war preparations to make. Digging holes in the sand, priming TNT minecarts, and building that bunker with the Doomsday switch. He’d been toiling in the sun for the better half of the day, whilst Scar headed out to hand out his Friendship Passes, collect resources… or something. Grian has yet to see his death message in the chat, so he can be assured that Scar is still out there spreading his friendship propaganda.

This is the first break that he’s had the whole day, and Grian sighed when he finally plopped down on the sand and relaxed his muscles. They were tense—ready to handle whatever threat came his way, if Dogwarts or a third party randomly decided to attack—and Grian winced at the crick in his neck when he rolled it.

He scans the forests and the desert for any signs of Scar. His proneness to death really sets him apart from the rest of the server, that is, other than Jimmy; they are like two peas in a pod. It really makes Grian somewhat worried when the man wasn’t back the whole afternoon, and in fact, Grian doesn’t even so much as see his silhouette even now.

“Hey, G.”

Grian screeches, leaping to his feet, his wings shot out in defence. His fight-or-flight response kicks in, sending his heart pumping in overdrive, the blood roaring through his ears as he turns to face the threat. However, the adrenaline dies down when all he’s greeted with is a sheepish Scar, one hand behind his back, the other scratching at his head.

“Oh my goodness, Scar.” Grian clutches his chest, his fingers bunching in the fabric of his sweat-soaked singlet. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Scar says between short pants of laughter. “I thought you knew I was coming!”

It suddenly occurs to Grian that maybe sitting on the tor with his back to the castle is not the best idea. After all, if Scar of all people can sneak up on him so easily…

“Whatever,” Grian huffs. “So, are you done handing out your friendship passes?”

Scar beams. “Oh, yes, of course. We’ve got the Hobbits on our side, right? And we’ve got Joel and Big B too.”

It is getting very difficult not to wonder what Scar’s got behind his back. On the one hand, Grian desperately wants to ask, because he is a curious being and curiosity generally kills the cat. Or, in this case, Grian’s ability to concentrate on what Scar’s telling him. On the other hand, he needs to focus on their mission at hand, because this is quite possibly going to determine their life and death tomorrow. Everything has to go according to plan, or else their life—and their victory—is forfeit.

“What else have you been doing? Other than securing very tenuous alliances?”

“Excuse me, these are rock-solid alliances, I’ll have you know,” Scar admonishes. Then, his expression turns sheepish. “But, uh, other than that…”

Grian sighs, not sure what he’s expecting anymore.

“Never mind. It’s fine, I got the whole desert all set up and primed,” Grian says. “Tomorrow, all you have to do is to pull the lever, and the whole desert will go kaboom. Hopefully, it’ll get all of them, but I’ll settle for two.”

Scar nods, but his attention seems to be elsewhere. Grian folds his arms, and he sighs. He tries to pretend that he’s not trying to peer behind Scar’s back.

“So, uh…” Scar scratches his head, suddenly looking sheepish, apparently noticing Grian’s efforts. “I, uh, so.”

“Uh huh,” Grian echoes. “What is it, Scar? Spit it out.”

“You know how tomorrow, everything’s going to end?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I just thought, well, it’s nice knowing you.”

“Don’t say it like that. We aren’t going to die tomorrow.” Grian may have started out as his lackey, but he certainly felt a sense of camaraderie between himself and Scar as the days passed. Whilst the thought of Scar losing his last life and freeing Grian from this lifetime of servitude was enticing at the start, their relationship has evolved to a point where Grian feels he’s in it far too deep to back out now. His primary goal has shifted—he’s going to get both himself and Scar to the end of this battle royale, no matter what it takes.

“Oh, no, I’m not saying it like that,” Scar says, waving his free hand about. “I’m just saying that I’m, um, grateful that you got me this far. I know, I know, I’m not the best player in the world, and I’ve gotten into a lot of scrapes that I probably shouldn’t.”

“At least you’re self aware,” Grian says, injecting what he hopes sounds like playfulness into his tone.

“So, I got you something, as a show of gratitude. It was fine when I picked them, but… things happened. People chased me, and… it was a whole thing, Grian. So, all I’m saying is that… I tried,” Scar finishes lamely. He holds out the bouquet of flowers from behind his back. It features several stalks of poppies and lavender, the reds and purples already wilting somewhat, and half the leaves have burnt off. Their scents are faint, if there is still any.

“Flowers,” Grian states.

“It reminded me of you, of us,” Scar says. “Remember that time I died after falling into that chasm?”

“How could I forget?” He laughed, then bawled—out of mirth or sorrow, he doesn’t remember—and then Scar returned with a similar bouquet.

“So… here. Testament to our friendship that has withstood the trials of time!” Scar holds it out to him in that bashful way, like a schoolboy presenting his crush their Valentine’s present.

Grian takes the bouquet, and he turns it around in his hand. He dips his head, sniffing at the flowers. The poppies smell sweet, like a promise of remembrance and a hopeful future ahead. The lavender holds the fragrance of serenity and the aroma of devotion. Over time, their relationship has evolved. No longer are they just friends—they share something deeper, something along the lines of partnership.

“Thanks,” is all Grian can utter, in light of the weight of this gift.

Scar brightens, akin to the golden rays of the waning sun, and he grins. He rubs his hands together, and his attention turns to the expanse of the desert. “Now, what did you want to show me? Something about explosives? TNT?”

Grian tucks the bundle of plants into his belt, and he follows Scar’s gaze. The flowers weigh heavy as he leads Scar down the tor. Each word, each gesture of his is now brimming with renewed determination, a burning resolve to get both of them through D-day as well as he can.

Chapter 3: "No, no, it's my treat."

Chapter Text

Scar sits on the edge of the Perimeter, legs dangling where there was once a field, all built by friends united by the cause of pranking Doc. They shared a lot of laughs and joy during those hours and hours of work.

The only thing he tends to feel now is nothing. His mind races but his soul is empty. He remains on high alert, still not recovered after the finale, but he can’t find that he would care enough to do anything if someone does try to attack him now. His thoughts and body are disjointed, unfamiliar in a way. The memories of Secret Life are fresh and painful. The journey home, however, remains blank in his mind

Suddenly, the soft sounds of wings soaring through the air gain Scar’s attention. He flinches at the noise, shoulders threatening to hike up, but he keeps them down. There’s no reason to worry on Hermitcraft. Nobody needs to know how he feels right now, no one needs to worry about him.

It turns out to be Grian that lands beside him. The man seems cautious and wary too, but not nearly to the extent Scar is.

Neither of them make any move to speak or break the silence, until Grian shifts and looks at Scar with a curious and confused expression. “There’s uhm- Hey Scar, did you know that there’s a…flower…growing in your hair?”

Scar looks up towards his friend, movements sluggish and without purpose. “Hm? This little thing?”

He reaches his hand up and brushes it through his hair for a moment before snagging on a stem, quickly pulling the offender out of his head. Scar flinches slightly at the pluck, and Grian looks at him with concern, but he just brushes off. Instead, he takes a look at what flower has decided to bother him today.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” Grian asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Just ‘huh.’?”

Scar lays the flower horizontally in his palm. “A Columbine. Red. Wilted.”

“Scar?”

He closes his palm on the flower, reopening his hand to find the sight of the crushed petals laying sadly on his skin. No matter, it wasn’t going to last very long anyway.

“Scar, please. Is everything alright? And what’s- what’s with the flowers, man?”

“They just started appearing.”

Grian doesn’t say anything to that right away. He decides to opt for scrutinizing everything about Scar, though. Like that’s much better. Then, “They didn’t exist before Secret Life.”

Scar snorts. “So you figured it out?”

“There’s a white flower behind your ear.” Grian says instead of responding. He

gently plucks the flower, taking care as to not cause much pain to his friend. Scar can appreciate the sentiment, but the stinging persists. “Do you know what this one is?”

Scar gives it a once over before deciding on, “a White Clover.”

“Do these flowers…do they mean anything?”

“Every flower has a meaning, Grian. It’s just how you choose to interpret it.” Scar says in lieu of the real answer he knows the avian is looking for.

However, instead of pushing for anything more, Grian simply scoots closer and wraps a wing around Scar, keeping the two of them close and warm. Scar can feel the Aloe leaf sprout from his hand. It hurts.

“Do you want Mumbo here?”

Scar looks out into the Perimeter, memories—from what feels like not so long ago and yet an eternity at the same time—present in his mind. His fellow buttercups, now disbanded.

He nods.

Grian pulls out his communicator and types something in it before putting it away again. Then, after a few beats of silence, he asks, “What happened? At…at the end. I know something went wrong because you didn’t come home after you won and I was forced away but—Scar, please, what happened?

Scar takes a deep breath, processing the question. He picks at the Aloe, thankful for the appearance of only one leaf. In its spot, though, he spots the tell-tale petals of a Lily of the Valley on his arm. “I was alone. I could only ever succeed. I could never die. I was…I was so scared.” He whispers out the last bit, unsure if he really wanted Grian to hear that or not.

The wing around him tightens and Grian presses himself closer.

A few seconds of nothing pass by, as if waiting for something. Or more so, someone.

“Hey Grian, what’s up—oh goodness gracious, is everything alright?”

Scar peeks his head to the left, watching as Mumbo settles down to the other side of him. He wants to say something, but finds his voice betrays him.

Grian speaks for him. “Hey Mumbo, thanks for coming.”

“Course! But, uh, is there anything I can do to help? You just messaged me something cryptid to get down here and now– Are we sure everything’s alright?”

Grian opens up his wing a bit, beckoning Mumbo to sit with them. “You know flowers, right? Can you help me figure this out?”

Scar freezes. Oh no, if they try to decipher the meanings of his flowers then—

“Flowers? What flowers?

“These,” Grian answers, holding out crumpled and wilted blooms from the previous plants picked. “A…columbine, a clover, a single aloe leaf, and-”

“A lily of the valley,” Mumbo finishes, brushing over the new flower on Scar’s arm. “When did these start growing?”

Silence. Then, “When I came home.”

“Hm.” Mumbo thinks for a moment, eyeing the flowers presented to him. “You said you were the villain, right? Disconnected from everyone until the very end? Disappointment, failed allyships, a yearning to be remembered—or even wanted, affection buried by grief, and loneliness. I guess Secret Life had to have impacted you significantly for you to produce these flowers.”

Scar stares at Mumbo, feelings stirring inside at the causality he was just opened up with. He feels that every lit bit of him has been forcefully torn from his heart and laid on display for the three of them to see.

“Wow,” is all Grian can state in the face of all that revelation. “I didn’t realize flowers had so many feelings to them.”

Mumbo snorts. “Yeah, these buggers tend to do that. There exists a flower and enough variants to cover everything anyone could possibly feel and more.”

Scar darts his eyes between his two buttercups besides him. He wants to say something but—

“I'm just trying to figure out, why would they make you the soil for flowers to grow in the first place?”

“Isn’t that the million dollar question,” Scar ends up grumbling out. It’s soft, though, a lot more light hearted than he had been only a few moments ago.

Grian snickers, wings ruffling as feathers becoming strewn about Scar’s person. One must fall in the vicinity of Mumbo’s face because a second later, he chokes on a feather, causing the built-up atmosphere of feelings to break in an instant.

While Mumbo’s busy trying to cough out a feather, Scar and Grian laugh at his temporary-misery, until Grian notices a new flower blooming in his hair again. When the chaos dies down, the feather finally being dislodged from Mumbo’s throat, Grian softly points out, “A yellow tulip. I know that one,” he finalizes with a smile. Scar returns the gesture.

“Would you like us to remove it?” Mumbo asks.

“I’m not– I don’t…know.”

“Does it hurt at all?”

“You can tell us if it hurts, Scar. We just want to make sure you’ll be alright,” Grian reaffirms.

A breath. Then, “Yeah. It does.”

“Physically or mentally?” Mumbo continues.

“Both,” Scar admits. It’s almost feels like he’s denying a part of himself by picking at the flowers that only wish to express whom they grow from.

“Flowers are fickle, fickle things my friend. But thankfully, your resident plant expert is here to help you.” Mumbo offers.

Much to his chagrin, however, Scar playfully scoffs at him. “These are plants that come from me, Mr. ‘bo. They’re a little more complicated than gardening.”

Mumbo raises an eyebrow at Scar before forcefully plunging his hands into the dirt. The action takes both Scar and Grian by surprise, the two flinching away from where Mumbo decided his hands would take a nice dirt bath.

“What was that for!” Scar exclaims, but only a moment later he gets his answers. “Are those—”

“You have flower magic too?!” Grian yells, jumping to examine buttercups that have just sprouted from the ground. Mumbo takes his hands out of the dirt, revealing remnants of stem, leaf, and a petal stuck to his hands.

As he begins to brush off the bits and pieces of buttercups off his hands, Mumbo looks at Grian with a slightly confused face. “...peace, love, and plants? I became a potato, this should not be surprising.”

“Woah…” Scar blurts. “So, I’m like you?”

“Yeah, I suppose so! One flower boy from being a hippie, another from…whatever happened.”

Scar snickers. “Yeah, whatever happened.”

“I can’t believe you two get flower magic while I’m stuck over here being boring!” Grian proclaims, an exaggerated pouty face adorning his self, wings drooping in faux annoyance.

“Hey, you get pretty wings, you can’t say that,” Scar rebuttals. Grian only grumbles in response.

“Here, look—” Mumbo grabs Scar’s hands and gently places them on the dirt. “They can get pretty annoying sprouting from wherever on your person, but you can always direct them to blooming from the ground instead.”

Scar’s eyes light up in excitement. “Really? I can garden through my feelings?”

Mumbo laughs at Scar’s newfound smiles. “Yes, yes, you can garden through your feelings.”

A few seconds later, short sunflowers and yellow roses start to pop out of the ground. Scar decides that instead of letting the forces that doomed him back on Secret Life to control him, he’s going to let his friends guide his path in life instead.

“Oh! Oh! Can we decorate your robe?” Grian asks, picking at one of the roses. Scar notes that it doesn’t hurt like the other flowers did.

With a small nod as confirmation, Grian starts gathering the flowers sprouted by Scar’s own hands. Mumbo joins in quickly after, and Scar tries to help, but they both tell him to just relax. It’s their treat, even if he’s the one who grew the flowers.

The two of them gently weave and braid the flower stems into the cloth of his fabric, definitely not creating holes that weren’t there prior.

Not that Scar minds. He’s just happy he has a family again.

Chapter 4: "Come here. Let me fix it."

Chapter Text

It’s not that Grian isn’t getting good at redstone. He’s actually getting really good at redstone. If the Grian two seasons ago saw him now, he would have given Season Ten Grian a pat on the back and tell him what a good job he’s done.

However, that all seems to be undermined by Scar’s presence. Like Grian, Scar’s redstone capabilities have been steadily improving. Unlike Grian, his degree of improvement can be measured only by making use of vernier calipers. Scar experiences slower growth in this regard, but that is absolutely fine. One cannot be good at everything at the same time. The only problem is that Scar’s lack of redstone understanding is rather infectious.

It’s as though Grian has never attempted to build a redstone contraption in his life as he tries to contend with piston feed tapes, T flipflops, and other redstone systems that probably have a name but he can’t be bothered to remember at the moment. He has done all this before—a small part of his brain remembers. The dust feels familiar under his fingers, and the colour of crimson has burned into the back of his mind. And yet. He cannot. Build anything functional.

It is only a two-by-two redstone door, dammit.

“I don’t think this is correct,” Scar says, pointing at a comparator.

“It’s not,” Grian agrees, biting back a groan. It’s supposed to be a repeater. How’d he mess this all up? He snatches it from the ground and replaces it with the correct component.

The door still refuses to open. Grian is on the verge of sinking to the floor, burying his head in his knees, and swearing off redstone for the rest of his life. In fact, he accomplishes the first as he struggles to rub off the redstone dust linking the piston to the block of stone that is supposed to be his door. The second, he also strikes off the list, except he ends up burying his head in a cloud of stony dust as Scar attempts to mine the block above his head to replace it with cobblestone, as though this were Scar’s door instead of his. The third, he is just five seconds away from achieving as well.

“Are you both quite all right?”

Grian peers up at the voice, relief flooding his system as he stares up into his friend’s hunk of a moustache. Mumbo’s face is shadowed as he bends over Grian, his hands behind his back. Grian can almost feel the tears springing to his eyes.

“Mumbo!” Scar cries, sprinting forth and throwing himself at their friend. Mumbo pitches forward at the impact, and, as his devastated cry mixes with Grian’s frightened one, the trio lands on a heap on the floor, with Grian crushed at the very bottom.

“Ow,” is all Grian can say.

“Mumbo!” Scar wails, still clinging to his friend and nuzzling his arm like a pitiful cat. He whines like one too. “Our redstone man! Please, you gotta help us! Everything’s going all wrong!”

“What seems to be the problem?” Mumbo asks without missing a beat as he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs. Scar still clings to him, arms wrapped around his bicep. “What are you building?”

“Oh, just… y’know, a redstone door.” Grian stands, dusting himself off. His hair is still caked in a layer of dust and gravel, and his red sweater is a duller shade than it used to be.

“A… redstone door? Not some kind of… doorbell, maybe?”

“No, not at all,” Scar says. “See, Grian here just wants a fancier exit to his Chamber of Sea Creatures—”

“Critters,” Grian corrects.

“Sea-crets,” Scar counters. “So, we decided that the best way was to build a simple redstone door.”

“But… you don’t need any of that,” Mumbo says, gesturing at the haphazard network of redstone dust, repeaters, and comparators. “And you need sticky pistons, not pistons.”

“Oh.” Grian stares at all his hard work that, quite literally, amounts to nothing. Hours spent toiling under the sun, switching components out one for the other, only to be told that none of this actually matters. He has half a mind to blame Scar for his sudden incompetence. “Mumbo, I’m telling you for your own good, you should get out of here before Scar infects you.”

“I-Infects me?” Mumbo asks, the same time Scar asks confusedly, “What did I do?”

“Never mind.” It’s much too taxing to explain this jab at Scar, and Grian does not have the mental bandwidth after spending hours toiling under the sun, switching components out one for the other, only to be told that none of it actually matters. It really does a lot to a man’s willpower.

“Come ’ere. Let me fix this,” Mumbo says, and he assumes that thinking pose that he always does. He bounces on the heel of his boots, his fingers playing with the ends of his moustache as he thinks. He then meticulously arranges the circuit and the blocks, swapping pistons out for sticky pistons, affixing pressure plates to the grass, and suchlike.

“There we go,” Mumbo says, wiping sweat from his brow. His face is as red as the dust he works with. “One piston door.”

Grian nearly sheds a few tears as he stands on the pressure plate, watching as the wood blocks are shunted aside by the pistons hidden in the stone. In fact, a small sob escapes his lips, but nothing more. “Oh my goodness! I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life!”

“Well, that’s a job well done, isn’t it, Mumbo?” Scar says, slinging his arm around Mumbo’s shoulders and announcing it like he’s had anything to do with the success of this simple, simple project.

“Yes, very well done,” Mumbo echoes with a chuckle.

Maybe, at a later date, Grian did stand in front of his door, staring out at the waning evening sun, and finally, finally, bawling to his heart’s content.

Chapter 5: "I'll walk you home."

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“For the last time, Scar, if you don’t have your papers in order—”

“I did what you asked! I even made sure it passed to gloobin-”

“Base Blooben.”

“The boobin whatever test! Grian, please-”

“You know he’s not gonna budge, mate.” Mumbo interrupts, a consolatory pat on Scar’s shoulder for good measure. “The government is a stubborn, stubborn entity.”

Scar looks back at Grian and crosses his arms. “Well– I’m stubborn too! You can’t add more paperwork I didn’t know about until I came back with everything you already asked me for! That’s like– you’ve got your own ex-post-facto law!”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment before a bell chimes from somewhere in the permit office.

“Oh, would you look at that! It’s now 3:01 on Sunday, sorry Scar! Try again next week!” Grian exclaims before walking out, racing to Pluto and making a mad dash for his home, leaving Mumbo and Scar in the dust.

Scar groans at the sight, head hung in exhaustion. “That pesky bird—”

“Don’t worry Scar. You’ll- uhm, you’ll get another shot next week?”

Scar mumbles under his breath about how stupid this is and he just wants to buy and sell mobs and-

“You ready to get going?” Mumbo asks, interrupting his inner and slightly outwardly monologue. Or, if Mumbo’s next to him, would it be a soliloquy? Do villains monologue or soliloquy? Because everyone says that they’re monologuing but shouldn’t it be-

“Scar?”

Scar breaks out of his spiraling rabbit hole and looks up at Mumbo. “Oh, yeah, sorry– I was debating the difference between monologuing and soliloquy-ing.”
Mumbo raises an eyebrow at Scar but pays no mind to that statement. “Well, no matter. I’ll see you later.”

The redstoner equips his elytra and plays with it a little to make sure it fits snuggly on his shoulders and then pulls out his rockets.

A sigh escapes Scar’s mouth as he realizes he’ll be walking home alone, it seems. Everything was so chaotic getting to the permit office that he forgot he was transportation-less until just now.

“Have a nice flight,” Scar says in lieu of a goodbye. They’ll see each other again soon, just not for the time being.

Mumbo looks back at Scar to give him a way but freezes when he sees the obvious lack of wings, but more so the lack of cOW. Maybe he’s realizing that Scar’s been doomed to walk, all alone.

“Where’s- uhm, where’s your horse?”

“cOW’s been stolen,” Scar admits, a slight frown to his face. “I’m pretty sure it was Gem’s snail, the sneaky thing. But for now, I’m horseless.”

“So you’re just going to…walk alone? I can lend you a pair of wings, if you want.”

Scar shrugs. “They’re not going to fit over my own very well. I was clipped, remember?”

Remembrance dawns on Mumbo’s face. “Right, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. Besides, it’s not the worst fate.”

Mumbo purses his lips in thought for a second before taking off his elytra and putting it away. “Well I suppose I’ll just have to walk you home.”

“Wh- I’m not a child!” Scar sputters.

“‘Course not, but you do need supervision. If you were let to roam the server unsupervised, who knows how long it’ll take for the land to get set on fire.”

Scar rolls his eyes but smiles at his friend. “I don’t know, I think you having an easier way to access the whole of the server with those fancy wings of yours is more a threat to our society.”

“Society?!” Mumbo exclaims. “Well, I’m only mildly chuffed to bits, but I suppose we’ll both have to keep an eye on each other.”

Scar huffs, “I guess we will.”

Chapter 6: "I saved a place for you."

Chapter Text

It has been the worst time ever for Scar this morning. It is the first day of school, he is starting his second year of Sixth Form, and he is, as Grian would put it, “not looking too good, fellas.”

Everything was perfectly fine until he got out of bed. He opened his eyes and he saw the sun. He heard the sound of birds chirping, and he said good morning to the family of squirrels that made a nest by his windowsill. He yawned, stretched, and he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. This was, as Scar would later blame his misfortune on, the wrong side of the bed.

He slipped on his sweater and he pitched forward, bashing his chin on the cabinet. For all intents and purposes, he should have sustained, at the very least, a hairline fracture along his chin. But if Scar has anything, it’s a strong jaw. Scar picked himself up, keeps his cool because that is what an upstanding gentleman does, and he immediately scrambles to the bathroom to get washed up.

He will never admit to using his facial cleanser as toothpaste. After spitting out the offending paste from his mouth, he squeezed an offending amount of toothpaste onto his brush and nearly choked on the excess foam that threatened to slide down his throat. He leapt out of the bathroom, threw on his clothes, realised he wore his blazer inside out, removed his blazer and wore it the right way round, and he ran out of the house without consuming a single lick of breakfast.

This is how Scar finds himself—a whirlwind of disaster—on this fine, beautiful morning. His stomach growls, presumably from the lack of anything in it. In his haste, he forgot to tie his shoelaces. In his haste, he also ends up stepping on them and landing face-first on the ground. His cheek smarts, his hair is dusted with dirt, and a group of rowdy children point and laugh at him. Scar bites back the swear word forming on his tongue as he pushes himself up and back onto his feet. He hasn't sworn for the last seventeen years. He's not going to start now—

Pain splits Scar’s face in two as a football flies at his head, slamming into his temple and nearly knocking the swear word from his throat. Scar does a three-hundred-and-sixty degrees spin worthy of an Oscar if he were a thespian and this were a movie. Unfortunately, Scar is not an actor, nor is this a performance, so he ends up sprawled on the floor again and barely keeping the expletive within the confines of his mouth. Thankfully, he manages to grind his teeth to provide an effective enamel barrier to stop it from emerging.

“Sorry!” A boy runs over, one of those typical young boys with fair hair and fair skin, wearing a raglan T-shirt and covered in bruises. His most distinctive feature is a band-aid slapped over his nose, and Scar isn’t sure if it’s because there’s an injury under there, or if it’s a fashion statement.

“It’s fine,” Scar says, whilst pretending that everything is fine. From the warmth of the liquid trailing from his nostril to his lip, he knows that he has a nosebleed. But being fine means that he doesn’t have a nosebleed, so he pretends that it is not there. The boy is either oblivious or does not care, because he grins widely at Scar as Scar hands him back his ball, and he runs back to his friends without so much as a “thank you.”

Scar trudges on to school, and he wipes at his nose, grimacing when he feels the sting. And that incident is only the start of it all. Well, it really all started when he got off the wrong side of the bed, but well, all that matters is that it started. As the Wheel of Fate turns, Scar proceeds to nearly get hit by a motorcycle, have a bird take a major crap on his shoulder, and he has to run from a very enthusiastic dog just looking for a playmate. But Scar values his life, especially when said dog is massive and it has incredibly razor teeth.

When Scar finally reaches school, dragging his feet through the gates, he’s already ready to head home and never look back. Unfortunately, due to his accumulation of misfortunes of various degrees, he is not late, but undeniably late.

Late for what, you may ask. Late to choose his seat in class. Yes, they don't change their classmates in the second year—he’ll be seeing familiar faces—but drama happens between the first year and the next and some people want to sit next to someone but not another. In other words, by the law of entropy, they're being reshuffled.

When Scar steps into the classroom, everyone else is too busy to notice his presence. Luckily, the teacher is not around yet. The room is a mess of people, and he desperately scans the chairs for an empty seat…

“Scar!”

“Hey, Scar!”

Two familiar voices call out to him. Scar breathes a visible sigh of relief when he sees two familiar faces to whom those two familiar voices belong at the back of the class. He hurries over, jostling past cliques that have definitely changed over the winter. He finally makes it to Grian and Mumbo, and they are the inseparable trio once again. Mumbo pats the empty seat next to him.

“Saved a place for you, bud.”

“Oh my gosh, you guys are the best.” Scar sinks gratefully into his chair, and he is just one second away from falling asleep on his desk and never waking up.

“It's not that I'm not glad you're here and all,” Grian says. “But there seems to be, um, some white stuff on your sleeve.”

“And you've got blood on your nose. And mouth, and chin and neck,” Mumbo points out helpfully, or unhelpfully, depending on whose perspective you’re looking through.

“It's a,” Scar says, holding a finger up, “it's a long story.”

His stomach growls in agreement.

Chapter 7: "I dreamt about you last night"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“I had a weird dream last night,” Mumbo starts, as soon as Grian places his bookbag down—not even given the grace to sit comfortably against the plastic-metal bars of the lockers.

“Oh yeah?” Grian questions, fitting snug in the corner of one locker wall to another, avoiding the unnecessarily big lock that never seems to properly close.

Scar gasps, leaning slightly over Mumbo’s chest in order to speak clearer to Grian. “Me too! You were a rat.”

Grian raises an eyebrow at Scar, and Mumbo, ever so gently, pushes Scar back away from his sternum.

“You were also a rat, Mumbo. I think we were all rats.”

Mumbo snorts at the same time Grian tries to stifle his chuckles. Then, “Well, that’s one dream down. What about you, Mr. Original Weird Dream?”

“Oh, it’s nothing as crazy as being a colony of rats,” Mumbo continues on, “but you did have a flag in your hand and you spun it pretty well—”

Grian’s eyes widen, and he tries to back away, but is blocked by the comfy corner he’s situated himself in, darn it!

Realization begins to dawn on Scar's face as to what Mumbo’s implying, and the man grins alongside the percussionist. “What about rifle, Mum-bo?”

“Yeah, he was really talented at moving with that rifle. Though, he did it himself on the head with a saber,” Mumbo adds on, face smug and words all pompous. As if Grian would join the two of them on their dancing-spinning crusade. He only has a little bit of his dignity left and he would like to keep it, thank-you-very-much.

“How were his action shots?” Scar continues to prod. The two of them snicker together at Grian’s continued torture. Big, big meanies they are.

“They were beautiful, Scar. Let me tell you that the coaches loved having him on the team—”
“Argh! Alright, I get it!” Grian cries out, hoping for their pushiness to join winter guard of all things to stop. Sure, a percussionist and clarinetist can hop on the team without much thought to their reputation, but Grian’s a trumpeter! Plus, he’s got all these AP classes and extracurriculars that he’s totally in and hasn’t just now thought about to get out of the continued harassment to join the guard-

Grian’s inner monologue is rudely interrupted by Mumbo again, but this time with a more…pleading tone. “Oh, c’mon Grian! It’ll be fun! Auditions are next week and—”

“No, no, I like my free time, and I’ve enough of staying after school to spin flags and weapons that totally won’t give me a concussion.”

“It was one time,” Scar groans, remembering the windy day that caused a practice session to turn into an aching head.

“Yeah, and watching you on the ground all dizzy was enough trauma for me.” Grian counters, a deadpan look on his face.

“It wasn’t even that serious,” Mumbo amends, “He was over-dramatic.”

“Hey!” Scar’s protest goes ignored, with Grian and Mumbo staring at each other intently. Eventually someone’s going to budge, and it’s not going to be this trumpet. They’re known for having big egos for a reason.

…but percussionists are known for standing their ground. Of course, the only able competition against Grian’s will would be Mumbo, his lifelong best friend and percussionist.

Scar gets up from his personal resting place by the lockers, walking away and leaving the two to continue their staring contest.

Grian breaks first—not because he’s weak and unable to hold eye-contact for very long, no, because he hears a certain other trumpet practicing. Practicing the concert band solo, even, and that’s when Grian suddenly realizes that he should also be practicing for that if he and Jimmy want to make it a duet.

“Sorry Mumbo, I actually have to practice trumpet! Better luck next time-” He hurriedly says as he scurries up from his corner spot.

His best friend, however, puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from proceeding temporarily. “Dude, the bell rings in 7 minutes. I don’t think you can get out your trumpet in enough time to actually get a good practice in—”

“Any practice is a good practice, Mumbo,” Grian says with a grin, quickly grabbing his trumpet from his perpetually-unlocked locker.

Mumbo retracts his hand as Grian crouches down. He looks up at his winter-guard-obsessed friend and notices that the side of his lips are pulled back in a slightly disappointed face, and… Grian feels bad. They’re seniors now, and ever since Mumbo had joined Scar in his winter guard adventures in sophom*ore year, the two of them have been begging Grian to do it with them. It’s just…not his thing, though.

Suddenly, before Grian can fully unpack his trumpet, Scar returns with a flag from the fall season in hand. “Just try it?” He asks.

After a moment of consideration, Grian relents, shoulders sagging. “Fine, but you have until the bell rings to teach and convince me.”

Scar and Mumbo noticeably brighten at Grian’s newfound willingness to at least try spinning. Maybe he should have done this earlier.

He takes the flag carefully into his hands, quickly surprised at how the weight of the thing is balanced. It's more weighted at the top near the silk—which makes sense, considering the tosses they do.

“First, you're going to put your left hand on the bottom tape, overhand,” Scar instructs, gently guiding his hand to the proper position. “Then, your right hand is going to be at the tab, underhand.”

Scar quickly describes the basics of a drop spin. Push the flag upright, let go of the left hand, keep his right hand thumb upwards, tilt down, put the left hand below the right hand inside the sill thumb down, let go of the right hand, tilt the flag back up, put the right hand a fist’s distance away from the left hand down on the pole, take off the left hand, tilt down, put the left on the tab below the right hand, and then keep continuing the motion.

The movement felt….oddly natural in his hands. Yeah, the flag kept tipping forward and backwards, almost smacking him straight in the middle of his forehead, and the silk kept getting wrapped around the pole, but each drop spin he got more steady. It became more familiar as he did it for about a minute until stopping it flat. Grian held the flag in both his palms and let it roll slightly back and forth in the concave part of his hands.

He looked up to see Scar and Mumbo smiling at him, and then finally noticed that Cub was standing a few feet away. Cub had been a part of the school color guard their sophom*ore year and came back this year to help staff. He must've talked to Scar when the clarinetist was grabbing the flag and came to watch Grian spin it.

“Looked like you were getting the hang of it. Thinking of joining winter this year?” Cub asks. As Grian stares at the staff member for a moment, Scar grabs the flag from Grian's hands, does a quick pop toss, and rolls up the flag. He can hear Mumbo chuckle at Scar's inability to not toss spin whenever there’s a flag in his hands.

Grian looks over to Mumbo, then Scar, and back to Cub, before shrugging, “I'm not sure. Guess we'll have to see.”

Chapter 8: "You can have half."

Chapter Text

They said that it was going to be the biggest, the greatest megabuild that would ever stand in Hermitcraft Season Ten. The reddest, the bluest, the grossest and the wartiest shop that could ever be in Minecraft history. Grian never thought that he and Mumbo would ever team up and sell wart blocks. Of all things.

Grian doesn't know the first thing about farming wart blocks. He doesn’t even know if it can be farmed. Although, you probably could, especially if even Wardens can be turned into mindless livestock. For now, he supposes he could just… collect them by hand. He's not sure that demand would even be enough to warrant putting in that much effort.

So, he goes to collect wart blocks in the only place he knows where they grow: the Nether. He steps through his rudimentary Nether portal, closes his eyes and waits for the whooshing noise to subside, and he finds himself standing in the hot and fiery depths of the Nether. He doesn’t like being in here any more than he likes training a frog to duel Gem, but he’s here for warts and he’s not leaving without them.

Grian gets to work. Thankfully, there is a crimson forest very near his Nether spawn, and a warped forest right next to that. The Hoglins are pesky, but they’re nothing Grian can’t handle. He runs into a pack of the things and he leaves with a handful of raw pork chops. With his trusty pickaxe, he sets about mining up the wart blocks.

Not a moment later, a welcome presence joins him with a whoosh and a soft landing. Grian brightens when he sees Mumbo folding his wings, and he wonders why he hadn’t got himself one of those.

“Mining for warts, are we?” Mumbo says.

“Wart blocks,” Grian stresses. “They’re different. I had my fill of growing warts.”

Season Seven was a thing, after all.

“Anyway,” Grian says. “Wanna mine wart blocks with me?”

It’s a joint shop, and it’s a joint effort. They work in relative silence, only yelping when a Hoglin gets too near or when a Ghast shoots a fireball from above. But they’re professional miners and crafters, and neither of them are going to let a white, tentacled menace stop them from harvesting warts. (“Wart blocks,” Grian chides.)

But being professional miners and crafters also means that they fluff their feathers up too much for their own good sometimes. Especially Grian. Risk-taker at heart and risk-maker by nature, and owing to the boring monotony of their work, he inadvertently starts a game of spleef. What he didn’t realise is that he does not possess wings. Nor does he have rockets even if he did.

“Stop that!” Mumbo cries, though there is no bite to his words. “Don't make me do this, Grian.”

“Do what?” Grian gets out between giggles, as he mines away the block of Netherrack beneath Mumbo’s feet. Thankfully, Mumbo has reflexes quick enough to leap away before it crumbles and falls to the depths below.

Mumbo whips out his pickaxe. “This!”

This is how Grian ended up tumbling headfirst into lava. In all honesty, he should have expected it. Without wings, fire resistance potions, and… not much of anything, really, he is unable to brave the onslaught of the heat and flames and succumbs with an indignant shout of “Mumbo!” with much less pain than expected of one who is burning in lava.

He awakens back at his base, his communicator beeping incessantly with Mumbo’s panicked messages. He sighs, decides that all his stuff is lost to fire, and he returns to the Nether with a set of backup equipment.

“Hey, Mumbo,” Grian sighs, seeing his friend waiting for him as soon as he enters the Nether.

“Well, well, well,” Mumbo says.

“Yeah, I know,” Grian grouches. It is his fault, but that doesn't mean that he can't be unhappy about it.

“Hope you've learnt your lesson, buddy.”

Grian sighs. “Well, all that hard work for nothing, I guess.”

“Well, actually…” Mumbo places a shulker box on the ground, and within are bundles and bundles of wart blocks. “Here. You can have half.”

“What?” Grian's jaw drops. “No, I can't accept this.”

“Why not? Well, look at it this way. We're sharing half the shop, right? This is technically our combined efforts.”

Grian presses his lips in a thin line.

“Come on,” Mumbo says, jabbing his thumb at the portal. “Let's go back and get that shop started.”

Grian beams, and warmth flows through his chest. He gestures at the portal, feeling slightly less consternated than he was before. “After you.”

The portal whooshes, and the duo finds themselves standing back at the foot of Magical Mountain. Together, they head towards the shopping district, chatting and bouncing ideas back and forth concerning what their wart shop would look like.

Chapter 9: "Watch your step"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“Argh!” Grian cries, rubbing his arm. Ok, the flag pole hitting his arm didn’t hurt that much, but it’s still a little painful! And…he still can’t catch this toss. It’s getting so frustrating , why can’t the darn flag land in his hands the way it’s supposed to! Letting Scar and Mumbo convince him to join guard was stupid and–

“Struggling with the 45?” Scar innocently asks, yet startling the living crap out of Grian.

Grian rolls his eyes towards his friend, giving a lighthearted yet annoyed glare. “What do you think?”

Scar puts his arms up in defense, “Woah there man! I’m just here to help.”

Grian’s shoulders slump, sighing in defeat. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna need a lot of it. Are you sure this toss is required for the final audition?”

With a non-committal hum, Scar grabs the flag from Grian’s hands and stirs it around for a moment. “I mean, you never know, but we’ve been practicing this audition routine for the past 2 days so I’d think they’d keep the 45 in. Besides, even if you can’t do it but you still show the passion or will to learn, there’s no way they wouldn’t let you on the team.”

“And we’d be sulking for the entire season if you weren’t chosen, and I don’t think the coaches want two of their seniors out of commission,” Mumbo pipes up from out of nowhere, almost causing Grian to jump out of his skin. How do they keep sneaking up on him like that??

“You know,” Scar says to the air while fiddling with the flag, “I don’t think this flag is weighted properly? It feels…weird?”

“Really?” Mumbo asks, nonverbally gesturing for Scar to hand over the flag. He does so almost immediately, but gives Mumbo a slight shoulder bump. Weird.

The percussionist plays with it for a moment before giving a short ‘Hm.’ Then, “I think you’re right. Do you want to give him yours?”

Scar is already in the process of handing Grian his personal flag previously given to him as a birthday present. He weighs the flag in his own hands, trying to see if he can feel the difference himself, but he’s probably just too new to understand the difference in the weighted polls.

“Well? Give it a try!” Scar encourages.

Grian hesitates for a moment before committing to a shoddy pop toss—but, it does land in his arms correctly. Then, with only slightly shaky arms, does he position the pole to toss a 45. However, before he can let the flag go, he takes a step back, arms mid-toss-position, when Mumbos’ arms steady his back and stirs Grian’s nerves even more . At least let a man finish his toss, for goodness sake!

“Woah, dude! You’ve got to watch your step, yeah?”

“The more confident you are in your stance, the more confident you’ll be in your toss. You just have to trust yourself, Gri,” Scar adds. Grian gives them both a confused look.

“Do I look like I can trust myself?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Mumbo soothes. “Just give it a go. Worst case scenario it goes flying to the left giving Scar another concussion.”

Grian pales at the thought of being the reason his friend gets a second guard concussion, squeaking out, “Worst case scenario is what—?” at the same time Scar shouts “Hey!”

Mumbo laughs at both of their shock—which, rude —and pats Grian’s shoulder in condolence. Scar just shakes his head in disappointment.

“It’s ok G-man. If the flag goes astray, I’ll block it with the faulty flag and aim it towards Mumbo.”

Mumbo sputters, quickly looking around him and realizing that Scar stole back Grian’s original flag. It puts a small smile on his face.

“Well, thanks guys, but I’m not sure if I can still try out the 45-”

“Oh, give it one more shot!” Scar encourages. “You’ve been working so hard, and you haven’t even tried it on my flag yet!”

Grian looks at Mumbo for one last confirmation that, yes, he should try this toss again, and Mumbo just meets his eyes with a thumbs up and a smile. He carefully readies himself, thinking about little gnomie by his side so he doesn’t cut the plane, and then he goes for it.

It hits the ground. But it doesn’t hit him! Which is, decidedly, a first!

“That was right there!” Scar exclaims, a beaming smile on his face. “Look at you go! Now you just need the confidence to grab it, but the flag was there!”

“Proud of you!” Mumbo emphasizes, slightly ruffling Grian’s hair.

Grian grins at his two best friends before picking up Scar’s flag. “I suppose the flag was weighted wrong.”

“Nope,” Scar immediately contradicts, popping the ‘p’ definitively. “I lied,” he smirks.

Grian gapes slightly at the man. “What even for? ” He asks, exasperated. All of that show, and for what?

“I mean, it worked, so why question it?” Mumbo defends.

Grian simply sighs in defeat.

Chapter 10: "What do you want to watch?"

Chapter Text

He didn’t get in.

Scar slumps back into his chair, and the wheels squeak as the chair rolls away from his computer. The rejection email shines bright in the dim light of his room. The acceptance letters came for both Mumbo and Grian just earlier in the week, the both of them cheering and screaming, pumping their fists into the air, hugging each other and celebrating over a nice dinner.

They applied to the same university, but it appears that Scar didn’t have what it took to get in. Mumbo and Grian’s courses were arguably harder to enter, requiring higher GCSE grades—electrical engineering and architecture certainly aren’t easy to excel in. Scar was gunning for the Theme Park Management course, but clearly, that hadn’t worked out.

That means that his friends are going to move far away. He might end up in another city or in a university closer to home. Either way, he might not get to see his friends much now, not for the next few years, at least.

His phone buzzes, and he sees that it’s a text from Grian in their Buttercups’ chat. (Their group was named such after a run-in with rival gang The Goat back in their preschool days, and they’ve never changed it since.)

Grian: hey guys, we gaming tonight?

Mumbo: Sure. Gotta work on that piglin farm

Ah. That’s right. Scar’s almost forgotten. Tonight is their Minecraft night, when they’d get together on the Buttercups’ server and get up to some shenanigans together. But the thought of seeing Grian and Mumbo, even virtually, is a stake through his heart. Just thinking about it, he can already imagine them gallivanting off across the country, going on a road trip, all whilst Scar remains rooted back here, back at home, scrambling for another university, or a college…

The phone screen blurs before his vision, and Scar hurriedly types a reply amidst sniffles and a bitten lip.

Scar: u guys go ahead im a bit tied up rn

He throws his phone across the room, and it bounces on his bed before hitting the wall with a loud thud and landing on his pillow. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth when the first teardrop rolls down his cheek. Then another, and another, till he’s sobbing into his hands, snot running down from his nostrils.

Mumbo: ooh What’s up bud?

Grian: Wow, u nvr miss gaming night tho

Scar just wants to be alone tonight. He closes the browser, and he shuts his laptop. He doesn’t even look at his messages as he crawls into bed and curls up under the covers. He loads up Twitter and Instagram, before muting his messages when each notification brings back a wave of tears. Soon, the computer screen turns black as it goes into hibernation, and Scar chooses to hibernate as well.

Eventually, he hears a knock on the door, and his mother’s voice floats in. “Scar? Are you in there?”

He doesn’t have the energy nor the mental fortitude to remove himself from the bed. Less so to explain why he has red cheeks and puffy eyes, and why he doesn’t want to go down for—he checks the time at the corner of his phone screen—dinner.

“Your friends are here to see you,” she continues.

Friends? Scar only has two friends that he bothers introducing to his parents, and it’s his guess why they may be here. Surely, him missing a day of Minecraft doesn’t warrant a stern telling-off in person, for goodness’ sake.

“Scar, could we come in?” Mumbo asks, and sudden trepidation shoots through Scar.

What should he do? Let them come in and see him like this? Scar grabs his handkerchief from his bedside table, and he dabs at the corners of his eyes, hoping to get rid of the evidence. He shoves the kerchief into his pocket, and he dredges up a smile. Tired, but still a smile nonetheless. Could at least fool them till they leave.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Scar opens the door, and… Oh, both Grian and Mumbo are here, both of them soaking wet on opposite shoulders from a rain that Scar hadn’t even realised started. Grian is carrying a plastic bag, and from what Scar can see, is a tub of ice cream.

“Hey, Scar,” Grian greets. “You alright there, buddy?”

Whatever wall Scar built for himself comes crashing down like a tsunami. The floodgates open, his nose clogs, and he’s bawling uncontrollably into his hands. Immediately, Grian’s arms are around him, and Mumbo almost drops the ice cream in panic. Scar trembles as he leans into Grian’s grip, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he chokes out.

“Oh, come on, none of that now,” Grian says, patting him on the back. “Why don’t you tell us what’s got you all teary, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” Scar says, sniffling. “It’s all good, fellas.”

“Well, uh, we’re not gonna force you or anything,” Mumbo says. “But we thought you might like some ice cream. Chocolate. Your favourite.”

“What we’re gonna do now is to all squeeze on your bed, eat this whole tub of ice cream before dinner, and watch a movie,” Grian says as a matter-of-factly. “Nope, no getting out of this one. It’s tradition, and you know it.”

And so, they do exactly as Grian said. They all got on Scar’s bed, armed with ice cream and his laptop. They make themselves comfortable, with Grian and Mumbo at Scar’s side, like protective sentinels. He doesn’t think he has the strength or heart to tell them now, but he will tell them in time. After all, they deserve to know.

“So,” Grian says, leaning forward to work Scar’s laptop. “What do you wanna watch?”

Chapter 11: "It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway."

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Scarrrrrr

Mumboooooo

Hellppppp

What? | Mumbo

Grian it’s 4am, why are you up? | Scar

Why do they hate us :((

???

They hate us??? | Mumbo

Yes! They do!!

…who’s they? | Scar

THe coaches !

The coaches hate us? | Scar

How many times do I have to tell

you?? They hate us!!!

Grian, the coaches adore you. | Mumbo

Why do you think they hate you? | Scar

Because of this stupid makeup! The

glitter keeps getting into my eyes!

Because of the glitter. You think the coaches

hate you because of the glitter. | Scar

How do you think the girls feel? | Mumbo

Terrible. Horrible. I can’t believe Gem

can stand with putting even MORE of

this stuff on her face. AND during the fall!

Please go to bed Gri | Scar

Uh.

Yeah, again, it’s 4am, why are you up? | Mumbo

Call time isn’t even until 10. You didn’t have to get up

so early even if you were trying to learn the makeup. | Scar

Hey, wait a minute, why are you two

also awake??

Notifications, big guy. And also maybe

the excitement of the first comp of the season | Mumbo

Same man. | Scar

Oh. Sorry.

It’s alright. You still struggling with the makeup? | Mumbo

I’d be happy to help you if you want to come over at

reasonable time later. 7:30? 8? | Scar

Pleeaasseee, this makeup is killing me

Whatever you say, Mr. eyeshadow | Mumbo

This a completely different eyeshadow!

It sparkles like I’m a vampire!

Keep tellin yourself that grain | Scar

I wish you had stayed asleep.

I told ya, couldn’t sleep much anyways! But

at least I wasn’t lighting up your phone | Scar

:(

Please go to bed, if I don’t get my last few aaaaaaa

hours of beauty sleep im coming for both of you. | Mumbo

Night! | Scar

Goooooood night

Chapter 12: "You can do it."

Chapter Text

Mumbo nervously adjusts his bowtie again and again in front of the mirror. He is kitted out in his performance wear—a standard tuxedo, nothing too different from what he wears on a daily basis, honestly. Just a fancier version of his suit and tie. His hair is slicked back, his face is caked with makeup, and his moustache is neatly combed.

Today is his first big show. His violin sits in its case, the wood gleaming in the light of the dressing room. He never thought he would make it this far. He always assumed that he’d be doing this for fun, playing at recitals or pubs, or doing street performances. Never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would be in the big leagues, playing on a stage as grand as the Sydney Opera House.

Needless to say, Mumbo’s hands are positively trembling. All that he’s really hoping for is not to embarrass himself. If he’s lucky, he’d pull off a successful night, and he can go home happy.

He knows that his friends would be in the audience. Grian said that they wouldn’t miss his debut in a concert for the world, and Mumbo trusts him. It’s not like he would be able to see their faces in the sea of people, but he is assured with the knowledge that they would be there, sending him silent encouragement.

At the sound of rousing applause, Mumbo glances up at the television in the corner of the dressing room. The cellist has finished her performance, and she is now preparing to leave the stage. After her, there will be a pianist, then a harpist, and then, finally, it will be his turn, right before the intermission.

Mumbo clenches and unclenches his fists, before rubbing his palms on the dry, starchy fabric of his trousers. He moves to sit next to his violin, his shoulders rigid from being tensed for so long. He rolls his neck, wincing at the sharp crick. He lets out a sigh, and he rubs at the sore spot on his nape.

His gaze lands on his gifts on the table, given to him before the performance. One of them, a small wrapped box, is from his parents. Unfortunately, they are unable to attend, as they are on the other side of the world. He appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. The other is a bouquet of yellow tulips and sunflowers, bound tightly by a ribbon, a single card attached to it.

Mumbo picks up the bouquet, and he looks down at the card. Scrawled across it in messy handwriting are the words: “You can do it!” and then, below it, “G&S.”

Mumbo’s heart flutters, and a smile spreads across his face. He can imagine them debating over which flower to buy at the florist, and he can imagine them fighting over who got to write the message, which could fit only one considering its size. His friends have come down all the way to show him support, flying from Britain and America to see him play with other talented musicians.

Well, Mumbo thinks, as he lays the bouquet back on the table, careful not to ruffle any petals or leaves, time to show them what I’ve got.

Chapter 13: "Take my jacket, it's cold outside

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Grian is cold. He is so cold—which is concerning, considering he's the chosen person to embody the sun.

So this is a problem. A problem being that he, someone who's supposed to be the sun, is cold. The solution? Bury deeper into the comforter and hopes his body starts to work properly again because being cold makes him really sad.

It makes a bit of sense, he's resigned to admit, because the sun hasn't been out in weeks.

Grian thrives on sunlight, and without it, well. Here he is, stuck in bed. Cold.

“Grian?” A voice calls out from behind his bedroom door. It's Scar, someone in their little makeshift family that's not affected by the sky being dreary. Mr. “Oh I'm the Earth and the rain let's me thrive mimimimimi”

Oh, what a life to live that's not brought down by the classic London weather. They should probably move out soon, especially if Grian is going to have to continue to suffer like this.

“Griiaaannn,” Scar calls out again. Grian mumbles out a sad response. Neither Scar nor Mumbo truly understand his pain—even Mumbo gets away from the clouds blocking his light since for some reason they like to clear enough for the moon to shine at night but not for the sun in the day! Oh, why must the Earth hate him? How could Scar do this to him–

“I made pancakes. Mumbo’s in his missing Grian hours. The pancakes are actually getting kinda cold since I thought you would wake up earlier. The kitchen’s quite sad, actually. Please come out?”

Grian perks up at the mention of pancakes. Then, quietly and with a horse voice, he asks, “Are they chocolate chip?”

Scar’s voice speaks with more vibrancy and chipper now that Grian’s given a verbal response, and answers with, “Of course! And there’s a few mickey-mouse shaped ones. Just for you. Oh, though, Mumbo ate one.

The sun huffs at his friends’ actions and carefully moves to get out of bed. However, the second he moves the large comforter off his body, the cold rushes back to his senses, almost freezing him over right then and there.

Scar must notice the sudden stop of movement and quietly asks, “Is everything ok? I’m gonna come in if you don’t respond.” Then, hesitant, “I’m really worried about you G.”

After a few seconds of silence, the door creeks open slightly and Scar pokes his head in. That’s when he must see the utter state of despair Grian is in, clutching his comforter tightly around his body, trying to stifle away the cold.

Scar lets out a soft ‘Oh’ in realization of what’s going on. “The sun’s still not out.” He says, like it’s meant to be some life-changing revelation. Or, maybe it’s not, or maybe it’s just meant to be. Whatever it is, Scar fully enters the room, coming up to Grian’s prone position, and lays a gentle hand on Grian’s forehead.

“Oh, Gri, you’re so cold. This is so much worse than I thought,” The earth says, like it devastates him to his very being, that his sun might have a cold day. Maybe it does. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, Grian is alone, and somehow much colder than he was a second ago.

Thankfully, it doesn’t last very long, as Scar returns, but this time with a plate of pancakes in his hands and a Mumbo following suit. The two of them sit on either side of Grian, pressing slightly into his shoulders. Scar holds out the pancakes and Grian happily takes his fill. Mumbo, in the meantime, takes this opportunity to rant slightly about some new show or game that’s coming out soon, just to fill the room with some noise.

He feels noticeably warmer than before.

After the pancake plate is finished, Scar suggests that they should move onto the couch to watch TV. Grian agrees, but is a little hesitant to move out from his comforter. Mumbo gives him a solution in the form of his personal coat.

The coat Grian gave him when they first became a family, in case ever were Grian too far from his moon to give him the proper warmth and light his moon needed and deserved.

Grian did not tear up. He did not get even more clingy that day, surrounded by his best friends, warm and content on the couch. Grian did not.

But he felt much warmer than he did even on a sunny day, and surely that has to say something.

Chapter 14: "Have a good day at work."

Chapter Text

It’s not an easy life, living here in the Below. Living in the chasm at the edge of the city, that is. Sunrise City was not the image of opulence that they thought it was. When they lived back in their own, cosy farming village, a life in the city promised a roof over their head, delicious food to eat, and a life more exciting and bustling than the village.

Never did they think that the city would be so expensive, sucking out all their wealth and leaving them poorer than when they arrived. When their pennies ran out, they took to the streets, with Grian and Scar thieving to survive, whilst Mumbo still held on hope that he would manage to land a job paying decent wages.

But of course, it was never going to last long, and the city doesn’t take kindly to criminals. Which is how Grian and Scar ended up being tossed to the Below, and Mumbo was punished too for associating. The Below is dark and dusty, with rickety houses built on the rocky walls, some tents and haphazard huts littering the ground. Ropes hold up crumbling bridges, planks nailed to the stone to cross from one cluster of houses to the next.

They are lucky they managed to find a small abandoned place, used to belong to a child and her and sister, before they successfully escaped this prison and never looked back. It was a little cramped, but it served its purposes, especially in housing three young adults. After getting settled in, they sought work. Work that didn’t need qualifications, didn’t need experience nor related skills.

Mumbo found a job at the baker’s. Grian ended up doing construction, particularly since these unsteady houses are very prone to falling apart. Scar got himself hired at the quarry, what with his rugged muscles apt for lifting and pushing massive amounts of stone around. He made good money, at least until he slipped and took a tumble, injuring his ankle in the process.

Now, he sits bedridden, unable to move much by himself. The girl next door was kind enough to make him a wheelchair, which is, as its name suggests, a chair with wheels, so Scar could get around. It’s not enough for him to go back to work, though.

“Remember to salt the meat,” Grian says, on one perfectly normal day. The sun has just risen over the chasm, casting its radiant rays and chasing away the shadows. There is a lot of it down here—shadows, that is—and not much light. Grian and Mumbo have awoken much earlier, made breakfast, and got dressed to tackle the day ahead.

“And to put out the laundry,” Mumbo says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scar says with a huff. He stretches, and he can feel the crick in his neck. “Don’t worry. Scar here’s got everything under control.”

Mumbo doesn’t look particularly convinced, and Grian even less so. “Sure, whatever you say, bud.”

“I’ll have a nice dinner prepared for you when you come back too, don’t you worry.”

“I don’t know. I always feel like I should worry more when you say that,” Grian says, as he puts on his hard hat, and he slides his arms through the holes in his dusty orange vest.

Scar gasps, holding his hand up to his chest. “That’s so hurtful! I hope you know that.”

Grian smirks, and Mumbo’s hand is already pushing aside the curtain of their front entrance. “Well, anyway, we’ll see you in the evening, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“You have a great day at work!”

Scar waves an enthusiastic goodbye as Grian and Mumbo leave the house. He sighs, watching as the curtain falls back into place, shielding their abode from the prying eyes of thieves. Staring down at his leg, all wrapped in bandages, he feels a sense of longing. To go back to work, to provide for their family of three. Not just relying on Grian and Mumbo.

If he were here alone, he would be dead by now. No-one here would risk helping him, not when most people here are out to get everyone else.

Scar glances out the window, and he sees the radiant rays of light streaming from the mouth of the chasm, turning the yellow stone a glorious golden. He clenches and unclenches his fists, and he wheels himself over to the pantry. Even though he’s not as able as the other two now, he’s still got work to do.

Perhaps they could get out of this hellhole one day. But as long as they’re together, he is absolutely certain that they can weather whatever storm comes their way.

Chapter 15: "It brings out your eyes"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“It’s perfect.”

Grian looks at himself in the mirror, a smiling Scar in the background. A reflection so strange and unfamiliar yet distinctly his stares back. Scar’s handiwork sure is impressive, but it’s almost scary in a way.

Scar decided to really play into Grian’s parrot—or, more widely known as Pesky Bird—persona. Primary-colored feathers stick out from a bandana hidden in his hair and a red boa wraps around his neck. He wears a nicely fitted burgundy-esque suit, inside lined in off-white, and overall golden accents including a breast-pocked outlined in gold, and golden cuffs. His pants follow the same scheme, keeping well with his outfit. It’s gorgeous and Grian wonders how Scar has the eye for such things.

But the most breathtaking piece of his outfit is the masquerade mask. The shape of it allows for most of his face to be covered, but the balancing of sides are off in a way to cause confusion and awe. The right has more extravagant swirls and designs while the left tapers off into a more soft style, drawing the unsuspecting eyes away from his face and more towards the elegant presence his outfit has to offer.

Grian reaches his hands up to gently shift the mask so that his eyes fit more snug in where they should lay. His white gloves contrast the bright red as they readjust it.

“Are you sure about this Scar?” Grian asks tentatively, still a bit unbelieving that his partner in crime would put so much into something that’s only going to last for a single night.

“You’re the star of the show, Gri. How could I not go all out? Plus,” Scar continues, coming up closer to his friend, messing with a few feathers, “it brings out your eyes.”

Grian blinks at himself in the mirror. The bright blue hue of his eyes feels almost unnatural in a way. It’s mesmerizing.

He can barely recognize himself, but that’s the point in the end, isn’t it? They’re about to pull off one of the biggest heists in history, under the most powerful and influential figures in the world's noses. The best part is that nobody will ever suspect a thing.

Static then begins in his ears, followed by a voice calling out to him and Scar, asking, “Bird, Vex, are we ready to roll?”

Mumbo’s waiting for them, and that means that everything’s in its place. Now all that’s left to do is for Grian to be the biggest, most lavish distraction he can be.

“You ready?” Scar re-confirms. Grian nods his head with a smirk. It’s go time—they’re about to rock the world.

Chapter 16: "I'll wait."

Chapter Text

“Oh, no, you don’t, mister!” Mumbo grabs Grian’s collar as he attempts to skedaddle out of the classroom. It was a futile attempt, really, due to three very good reasons. Number one, he is sitting at the corner at the far end of the classroom, and he has to weave through great throngs of students to reach the door. Number two, he is sitting next to Mumbo, the vice president of the class committee. And number three, arguably the most important reason of all: he is on cleaning duty today.

“Let me go!” Grian cries, whilst hissing like a threatened cat. Mumbo harshly yanks him back, and Grian crashes into his chair. The commotion was great, but no-one really quite cares about the altercation. Mainly because Grian has skipped out on cleaning duty for the past three iterations and they had to pick up his slack. The only one who may have spared even an ounce of pity is Stress, because she is, sometimes, too kind for her own good.

“Not this time!” Mumbo cries. “You are taking that broom and sweeping that floor if it’s the last thing you do, mate!”

“Never!”

Ten minutes later, when the classroom is empty save for two people, Grian is finally sweeping the floor. Unenthusiastically, mind you. He hums and haws, slouching, dragging his feet, as he dusts the floor like a sloth. Sometimes, he drops the broomstick just so Mumbo, who’s doing his assignment at the teacher’s desk, would jump out of his skin. The first time it happens, Mumbo half-screeches. The second time it happens, Mumbo scowls, but isn’t surprised anymore. The third time it happens, he doesn’t even so much as flinch, and there goes Grian’s source of entertainment.

Theoretically, he could make a run for it. Mumbo wouldn’t be able to catch him, not if Grian has a head start. He wasn’t the champion of the 100-metre dash of the interschool track-and-field meet for nothing. Granted, he really can only sprint a hundred metres before running out of breath, but that hundred metres could mean his imprisonment or his freedom.

Just as Grian contemplates putting his plan into action, already getting ready to drop the broom for the fourth time, that a head pokes through the door. Long, brown hair swishes around his neck, belonging to none other than his good friend Scar Goodtime. Grian and Scar met during Orientation Week and became fast friends, but they were quickly sorted into separate classes after that. Not that it stopped them from hanging out together during lunch or after school.

“Hey, G! There you are! Didn’t you check your phone?” Scar says. “Oh, hey, Mumbo.”

“Hey,” Grian says defeatedly. “I thought you would have gone home already.”

“Well, you weren’t answering your messages, so I got worried. I thought Mr X took your phone away again.”

Mumbo snorts. “You know, I don’t even blame you for thinking that.”

Grian fights the urge to throttle Mumbo. Instead, he ignores the boy and he turns to Scar. “Sorry, I gotta finish all this sweeping first. Mumbo wouldn’t let me go otherwise.”

Scar blows air from between his lips. “Wow, that sucks.”

He lets himself into the class, and he picks a desk next to the teacher’s. He drags the chair out, making that horrible scraping sound, and he sinks into the seat. He props his elbows up on the table, and he rests his head on his hands.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Grian says. “I can walk home with you tomorrow.”

“Nah, I’ll wait,” Scar says. “Besides, it’s not like I got anything to do now anyway.”

Grian grumbles something under his breath, something about Scar being too free for his own good, and he goes back to sweeping the floor. Scar strikes up a conversation with Mumbo about the upcoming Sports Meet. Grian doesn’t particularly participate, because if he does, then Mumbo would start doing his homework, and Grian is of the mindset that because he can’t do what he wants, Mumbo shouldn’t be able to either.

By the time he’s done sweeping the floor, wiping the whiteboard of the remnants of their previous lesson, emptying out the wastepaper basket, and wiping the windows—and neither Mumbo nor Scar saw fit to help him at all—the sun is already on its way down.

“Do you want to go, Grian?” Scar asks.

Grian must have zoned out, because Scar is using that patient tone that he uses when he’s asked a question multiple times and he has not received an answer. “Uh… go where?”

“Get some yoghurt,” Mumbo says. “There’s a new cafe that just opened up downtown.”

“Yeah, sure, why not? I need some frozen treats after that… that ordeal.”

“You make it sound like it’s life-ending, when it’s really not,” Mumbo says. “Everyone in the class does it once every three weeks.”

“It’s an utter tragedy, it is, when you’re made to do it all alone,” Grian says. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to have two people doing it at once?”

Mumbo taps his chin. “Maybe I’ll raise it up the next time we have a committee meeting.”

They head out of the school, Grian finally free from his turmoil, absolutely ready to partake in a cup of delicious, delicious yoghurt.

Chapter 17: "We can share."

Chapter Text

“Are you gonna eat that?”

Scar points at Mumbo’s lunch box. Mumbo stares at Scar, then down at his delicious lunch of rice, sour plum, kimchi, and sausages, and then back at Scar. Grian discreetly draws his own lunch of four equally delectable tuna mayo and teriyaki chicken onigiri towards himself. Scar appears to be the only one without his own meal.

“Uh, yes,” Mumbo says simply, as he retrieves his chopsticks from his pouch. “It’s my lunch. Of course, I’m gonna eat it.”

“What about you, Grian?” Scar turns to his other friend with a doe-eyed gaze. “Spare a tiny morsel for your best friend since childhood?”

“For the record, I was friends with Mumbo longer than I was friends with you,” he points out. “I may be opening a can of worms here, but… where is your own food?”

Scar sighs, and he drops his head back on the desk. “It’s a long story, G. A tale as old as time.”

“Better start talking now, mate. We only have half an hour before break ends,” Mumbo says.

“So, it all began when I realised there was nothing in the fridge,” Scar says. “I forgot to do the weekly shopping.”

“I’m impressed you didn’t notice the stuff in your fridge slowly decreasing, but go on,” Grian says, chomping into one of his onigiri.

“Then, I tried to head out to get breakfast, but I completely forgot to bring my wallet,” Scar says. “I only discovered this when I was already paying for my food.”

“And so, you got no food,” Mumbo says.

“Yes! It was a tragedy, I tell you! A tragedy! My stomach was growling all morning.”

Grian hums. “Thought it was a dog that made that sound.”

“And now, without my wallet, I’m going to starve,” Scar mumbles, dropping his head on the table. Mumbo is fairly certain that he sees drool dribbling from the corner of Scar’s lips. A tired growl sounds from his flat belly.

“Well,” Grian says, pushing his lunchbox towards Scar, with two onigiri still left inside, “what do you know? I’m feeling rather full all of a sudden.”

Scar’s head shoots up, eyes sparkling, his entire demeanour like a puppy promised a treat for being a good boy. If Mumbo or Grian squint hard enough, they may actually see him in possession of a wagging tail.

“Well, I seem to have an even number of everything here,” Mumbo says.

“Including the rice grains,” Grian interjects, and he snickers.

“So, I suppose we could share.”

“Really?” Scar’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Oh man, you guys are the best.”

It’s only after Scar has merrily finished the meal and both lunchboxes are empty, that Grian says, “You owe us lunch.”

Scar’s eyes bulge. “What?”

“Well, at least ice cream,” Mumbo says placatingly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll pay for your stinking ice cream.”

Grian huffs. “That’s it. No more food for you next time. You can starve for all I care.”

“Wait, no! I’ll pay for your ice cream, I promise!”

Mumbo opens his mouth for another retort, but at that moment, the bell rings. As though on cue, the teacher strides in, and the rest of the class returns to their seats. Scar turns in his chair such that he’s facing the board, his stomach and heart filled and warm.

Even though his wallet may not be in the near future.

Chapter 18: Take my seat

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

‘You Died!’ stares straight into Grian’s soul. It’s the seventh—seventh time he’s died at this boss, and no matter what he does to level up, change strategies, nothing works. Not a single thing. It’s getting so frustrating that he wants to throw the controller at the screen, but if Grian were to do that, he’d have two very angry roommates to deal with.

Or, more so, one frustrated Mumbo and one sad Scar. Both of which are arguably worse than angry, because that would make Grian feel very guilty. So, instead, he buries his head in his hands and quietly yells his frustrations.

This wouldn’t be such a bad fight if the game hadn’t made the boss have so many dang stages! It’s not just that he keeps dying, it’s that he keeps dying to one of the last stages and then has to go back and play the previous stages which are not only tedious but sometimes he makes stupid dumb mistakes on the easier stages which means he has to restart again and then when he finally makes it back to he’s so close to beating it and then dies at the very end and he just can’t win and he’s about to go insane–

“Ah. That boss fight.”

Mumbo’s voice breaks through Grian’s mental crying, and he looks up just over his hands, slightly glaring at the mustached-man. “What about it?”

“Well, considering I keep hearing you groan every 10 minutes at the screen, I figured something was going on with the game.”

Grian gives Mumbo the loudest exasperated sigh he can just to spite his roommate. “What do you even know about this boss fight anyways?”

Mumbo’s eyebrows raise at his remark, and Grian is about to think he did something wrong before his friend replies, “Wow, this level really has you beat. You aren’t this snarky unless it’s finals week. Which, speaking of, are in a few weeks, and maybe you should start studying for them.”

Grian just blinks at Mumbo, eyebrows slightly twitching at how nonchalant this man is being. Does he have no empathy towards Grian’s cause? His feelings? Of course he knows finals are coming up soon, that’s why he’s playing a new game to procrastinate! Plus, he’s almost to the end—hopefully—and he can start studying once he beats the game! If, that is of course, he ever gets passed this stupid, stupid boss.

Mumbo purses his lips at Grian’s expression, maybe realizing he should try a different approach, so he begins instead with, “I’ve only played the free demo, but you know Scar likes the series. Maybe he can help?”

That, however, only makes Grian groan for the 100th time, and he flops face down onto the rest of the couch. “I knowwwwwwwww—he keeps buggin’ me about the game because he’s so excited that I’m playing it but I just keep struggling and it would be so awkward to ask him for help again because I chose to play this stupid game on stupid hard mode because I’m stupid and—” Grian cuts off his muffled rant and sits back up and breathing for a moment before longingly looking at the death screen. Maybe one day he’ll never have to face this specific end screen, but today is unfortunately not that day.

“He’s so happy that someone’s finally interested in this game he’s loved for years, but I’m really having a hard time keeping engaged with it, and I know he’s not going to be upset if I don’t want to keep playing it for my own enjoyment. But it feels like I’m letting him down, y’know?”

Mumbo nods, sentiment clearly shared with Grian. Scar rants about the series any time he’s given an opportunity to and he’s always talking about the latest updates and newest leaks around upcoming releases. The day Grian had mentioned to Scar that he was picking up the game—well, Grian swears he’s never seen the man light up so much. Well, other than when he was given the greenlight to let her stay in the dorm. Nothing beats Jellie when it comes to Scar. But this game tends to be close-ish second.

“Well, I guess I did play the game a bit. Do you want some help?”

Giran looks at Mumbo for a moment before relenting. “Sure, be my guess. You can take my seat too—maybe the newbie will get beginners luck on the first try.”

Mumbo, in fact, did not beat it on the first try. Or the second. Or within the next hour. Their suffering only ended when Scar walked in after he got back from his classes and when he saw what boss they were on, told them “Oh, yeah, that boss fight. I had to turn on easy mode for this one and look up a guide my first playthrough,” and then left the two flabbergasted as he went on his merry way to make a late lunch.

Grian and Mumbo had used the very last bits of their willpower to not change the difficulty or use outside help, but if even the most diehard fans use guides, then so can two dumb, exhausted friends.

Chapter 19: "It doesn't bother me." (Ranchers)

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

It’s been a long, long day for Jimmy. And not a very good one, either. Not the worst, but could better. Could have been a lot better.

His only respite today is a local coffee shop he stumbled into once the rain got going. He’s seen the place around a few times, but has never really visited. Coffee’s never really been his thing, anyways. Jimmy prefers to make it through his all-nighters with enough Monsters and Redbulls to kill a small child. Or, maybe not—but everything has been blurring together and based on the crushed cans littering his dorm room, it sure seems that way.

Jimmy takes a glance at his all-too-bright phone screen, just now checking on what time it is. The clouds have been blocking the sky all day, and his phone’s been dead since this morning. Turns out he didn’t have his iPhone on the wireless charger correctly, making him wake up to a wonderful 10%. It didn’t get him very far.

Thankfully, this coffee shop (which, now that he thinks about it, probably has a name that he should call it instead of ‘coffee shop’, but he can’t wrack his brain hard enough to find the sign he definitely laid eyes on before entering the store) has a bar top that comes with free chargers of all kind, including a lighting cable. He’s been meaning to upgrade soon, though. Maybe he’ll get a phone with a C charger, especially since those cables are becoming more and more prevalent.

The time reads ‘8:45pm’. Jimmy faintly wonders what time this shop closes.

The front counter has been clear of any workers for the past 5 minutes he’s been here, but he’s heard some rustling in the back, so someone’s probably here to run the store. Surely he didn’t accidentally break into a random coffee shop past its closing.

Oh god. He probably broke in. Oh no—

A face emerges from the ‘Employees Only’ door, seemingly unbothered by Jimmy’s presence. They have an apron on and a nametag attached to it, and they’re carrying an empty cardboard box to the main counter. He squints to read the name attached to the person, but suddenly realizes that he’s been staring at this stranger that might not even realize he’s in here, so Jimmy looks away.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to do it quick enough, because the worker glances over at him at the same time and is taken aback by Jimmy’s presence.

Instead of getting angry or scared or–whatever reaction any normal person would have to a stranger breaking into their store, the worker hurriedly makes their way over to Jimmy, almost in a guilty panic?

“I’m so sorry the wait sir, the bell in the back must have not gone off when you opened the door but–” The person takes a short breath to collect himself before putting a comforting smile on his face. “My name’s Tango, what would you like to drink?”

The worker—waiter? barista? cashier? all of the above? Probably all of the above. And also he has a name, which is Tango, and not ‘worker’ or ‘employee’—stares at Jimmy for a second, smile never wavering. Not even when Jimmy stares back, expression blank and brain jumbled. He didn’t even think this far in his “hide away from the rain in a coffee shop”. Why didn’t he even look at the menu?

Is the name of the shop on the menu? God, he’s such a mess.

“Are, uhm- are you ready to order? I can give you a few more minutes.” The– Tango offers. Jimmy finally snaps himself back to reality, blinks a few times, and then breaks the very awkward eye contact he was making.

“Oh- yeah, sorry, I totally forgot to look at your menu–” he admits, cheeks slightly flushing in embarrassment.

Tango shrugs it off like it’s no big deal, though. “No worries man. We’ve all had those days,” he adds a chuckle to that statement before combing a hand through his shaggy yellow-goldenish hair. “Would you like me to get you a hand-held one? I know sometimes the blackboard can be a bit hard to read from this angle.”

A blackboard? Jimmy glances up to the left at an angle before realizing that the menu had been above the main counter this entire time. Damn. But, yeah, Tango’s right. It is a bit hard to see everything from here. “Yes please,” he responds.

Tango gives Jimmy a short nod, quickly grabbing a laminated menu and handing it to Jimmy. Then, the man heads to a nearby booth to clean it while Jim thinks about what he actually wants to have.

There seems to be a couple of options that intrigue him, but he ends up settling on a small hot chocolate. He’s gotten a bit tired of the caffeine—ironic, huh? Maybe it’d be nice to get a good night’s rest for once in a while.

Tango comes back to Jimmy a short moment later, asking, “You ready?”

Jimmy nods and asks for a small hot chocolate. Tango’s smile remains on his face, even as he takes the menu back to the counter and starts to prepare Jimmy's small hot cocoa.

The whirr of whatever machine Tango is using right now fills the empty silence of the cafe— which Jimmy learned is named “The Ranch”, for whatever reason, but at least he can stop calling this place the ‘coffee shop’.

But then, suddenly, Tango speaks up. “What brings you here at this time?”

Jimmy looks at Tango, the man in question not glancing up from his work—but for some reason wanting to converse. He lays his head onto the palm of his hand, arm supported on the table at an angle, thinking about if he should give a real reason or just ignore Tango.

That would be mean, though, and Tango has been nothing but kind to him, so Jimmy responds, “Long day.”

Tango nods. “I get it. I work the closing shift here, and it can be tough when you’re dealing with rowdy kids that are out for break. Sometimes the nights are peaceful, though. A breath of fresh air after such an exhausting day.”

Jimmy couldn’t agree more. Well, not with the working night shift or school kids on break. He’s still yet to find a good part-time job that he can keep, but maybe he will soon. Hopefully. His wallet’s been looking bleak and the pantry bleaker.

“I’m your last customer, then?” He asks, glancing out the window and watching the rain pour down. He grimaces at the thought of walking home through that.

Tango finishes up the hot chocolate and makes his way back to Jimmy. “Yeah. Just 10 more minutes ‘till closing, and I really thought I’d have the last 30 to myself because of the rain, but obviously that didn’t happen,” he confirms with a slight laugh at the end of his sentence.

Jimmy’s eyes widen at Tango’s statement. 10 minutes to closing? “You guys close at 9?”

“Yup,” Tango says, popping the ‘p’.

Oh. Jimmy’s mortified. “I- I’m so sorry, oh gosh, I didn’t mean to come in so late-”

“You’re fine! You’re fine,” Tango brushes off with a wave of his hand, a chuckle in his voice. “It doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind, really. Now, drink your hot chocolate or else I’ll have a real reason to be upset.”

Jimmy looks at Tango, guilt in his gaze, but Tango really doesn’t seem bothered. At all. So, Jimmy gently picks up his hot chocolate and takes a sip of it. He ends up getting a bit of whip cream on his nose, but he doesn’t mind that much, because this is hot chocolate is surprisingly amazing.

“Wow, I have got to get your guy’s recipe for this!” Jimmy offhandedly says. His tone is lighthearted, not actually expecting to get whatever recipe they use for their hot chocolate.

Tango, however, responds rather seriously for something Jimmy thought was obviously a joke, with, “Well, I can’t really give that information out publicly, but we are hiring!”

Jimmy blinks at Tango. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” Tango doubles down. “We’re always looking for more help. Though, we don’t really advertise it with papers,” He mumbles, like it’s not his choice but has to oblige to it anyways. “We mostly just take high schoolers or college students coming in for a job unprompted but—” and, this takes Jimmy by surprise, but Tango lays his head down on the table top and groans, “Nobody comes in anymore! They’re all too socially anxious to walk into random places to ask for jobs and it’s getting so lonely.”

“Oh,” is all Jimmy can say. Tango is clearly being more playful than serious in his grievances, but this seems to be a genuine problem he deals with.

With a long, dragged out sigh, Tango lifts his head and looks back at Jimmy. “So, if you’re interested in learning our hot chocolate and multitude of other drink recipes, feel free to apply! I am in dire need of a closing buddy. Seriously.”

For what Jimmy can only assume to be the first time today, he smiles and gives Tango a small laugh. “You know what? Sure, I’ll take you up on that.”

“Yes!” Tango exclaims, pumping his fist into the air. “I’ll get you a form to fill out. Though—” he abruptly changes, glancing down at his wrist to check the time, “I gotta close up.”

“Right- right, yeah, ‘course, I’ll get out of your way,” Jimmy rushes out, standing out of his seat and gathering his phone and book bag. Tango grabs the hot chocolate cup and quickly rinses it before placing it into the dish-washer.

Jimmy sighs at the sight outside. The rain hasn’t calmed down even one bit and he doesn’t even have an umbrella. He’s going to be sick for days after he gets home.

If he even gets home. He might get stuck in the cold rain halfway to the dorm.

Tango comes up beside him pretty quickly—he must have done everything else before Jimmy got here—giving Jim a quick glance. “It’s raining pretty hard, huh? You gonna get home safely?”

On one hand, Jimmy doesn’t have the heart to tell Tango that he doesn’t have any way to get to his dorm that doesn’t include getting sopping wet, cold, and sick, but he also doesn’t like the idea of lying to the kind man.

So, he settles on, “I left my umbrella at my dorm.”

Tango furrows his eyebrows at him. “Well, that’s not good. How far away are you?”

“By foot? On a good day I’d say…30? I didn’t plan my day very well, unfortunately.”

“Oh, dude, I can’t have that. What school do you go to?” He asks, eyes looking determined to do something.

“HLU. How come?”

Tango lights up slightly at that. “Me too man! Which dorms? I can drive you there—don’t want you getting all sick now do we?”

Jimmy is…taken by surprise at Tango’s kindness. It’s the most hospitality he’s been given all day—maybe longer. “I–the double Bailey. Are you sure?”

“Yeah man! That’s not too out of my way anyways.”

Jimmy looks at Tango for a second before, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he says, with the smile that Jimmy’s beginning to get used to seeing more often than not. “You can pay me back by getting a job here. It’s seriously boring working closing alone.”

Jimmy snorts. “Of course. I need a job anyways, not like I can turn one being given to me down.”

“Alright! Let’s get going, shall we?”

Chapter 20: "Can I have this dance?"

Chapter Text

Grian stares at the floor, fidgeting restlessly with his fingers. He’s never attended a party quite like this before, held in Scott’s magnificent castle, situated at the frosty peaks of Rivendell. The cold wind howls outside, but the guests are safe even from the strongest gales within the stolid stone walls. The chandelier glitters overhead, bulbs of magical ice holding an everlasting flame within, keeping the ballroom warm and well-lit. Laid out at the various tables are plates of food—delectable roast chicken, steaming cod and delicate caviar roe, platters of freshly-cut fruits and bottles of the finest aged wine.

Grian feels entirely out of place here. As a servant, he was delegated the task of waiting on the guests, ranging from kings to lords to barons to viscounts, there are all manner of people gathered here today in celebration of the prince’s birthday. They all speak politics and economics, using language far too advanced for Grian’s limited vocabulary to understand and keep up.

He watches as the guests dance, switching partners every so often as they sway gently to the waltz. The sound of strings fills the air, accompanied by flutists and a smattering of drums. Grian shuts his eyes, leans against the wall, and he enjoys the music.

“May I have this dance?”

Grian must have fallen asleep standing up, because he is jolted to consciousness by a familiar voice. He blinks blearily, only to see the blurred image of the crown prince standing before him, long, luscious locks draping his shoulders, a stark contrast to his green-and-gold outfit. Scar holds his hands behind his back, a wide grin on his face.

Grian grasps his chest. “Oh, Scar, don’t scare me like that!”

“Oh, please, you’re always so jumpy. It’s impossible not to scare you,” Scar quips. “Come on, you should come and have some fun too. Stop staying in your drab little corner all day and night.”

“If I don’t stay in my drab little corner, I’m going to get fired,” Grian hisses. “You should go back before anyone spots you talking to a servant.”

“Nah, my parents love you!” Scar says, and he grabs Grian’s wrists. Grian nearly topples as he stumbles forth. “Twenty years of impeccable service? Where else can they find someone like you, huh?”

“A lot of different places,” Grian mutters under his breath. He’s not what you’d call a muscular man, so he finds it hard to resist Scar when he’s pulling him along and out onto the dance floor.

“Just so you know,” Grian whispers, as Scar grasps his waist and hand. “I have never danced before.”

“Oh, don’t worry—ow! Okay, maybe worry a little—jeez!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Grian apologises, though he does not sound very apologetic at all. “I did say I didn’t know how to dance.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t kidding—ow.”

The music wears on, and Grian, being a fast learner at everything he does, begins to learn the steps under Scar’s careful instruction. Soon, they’re dancing like they’ve done it for decades, like they’ve been doing it since they were born. It’s as though everyone has disappeared around them, as though they are the only duo in the room. All Grian can hear is the music, all he can focus on are the steps and matching the way Scar moves, all he can see is the crown prince having the time of his life before him.

Scar has always been this way, been the more adventurous and daring one, dragging Grian along for unauthorised trips to the forest, the astronomy tower, the abandoned citadel, and all other manner of places that promised excitement and the thrills of potentially getting caught, it seemed.

Grian knew from when he was a child that it would reach this point, that their adventures would cease one day, and there would be this divide between them both. Scar would rise and take the throne, and he would become the crown prince of Rivendell, and he would rule over the lands of the elves, the dwarves, and everything else. Grian would be nothing more than a manservant, attending to Scar’s every need, never afforded anything more than a passing glance.

And yet, here Scar is, still reaching out to him despite their differences in status. Dancing along and grinning and laughing like he’s had the most fun he’s had in ages.

Maybe he can cling onto this for just a while longer. Cling to this moment frozen in time, the wisp of a memory long past, a reminder of how things used to be.

Chapter 21: "I made your favorite."

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Grian carefully places the last piece of paper onto his floor, completing his haphazardly put-together circle. He can barely read his own chicken scratch on each paper, but he hopes it’s enough to do the job.

He’s not done yet, though, as Grian has one last thing to place down before his circle can finally work.

Gently, he places a chocolate cupcake with red frosting straight dab in the middle. Red was Mumbo’s favorite color, after all.

A couple of seconds go by before anything happens, until suddenly, everything begins at once.

The lights flicker on and off, papers getting flung and strewn across the room with no regards to Grian’s hard work to put them all in their proper places. An unsettling sensation of fear, danger, warning settles within Grian, but he’s used to it at this point. He knows that with this setup, he has nothing to worry about.

After a few seconds of chaos is immediately followed by instantaneous nothingness. And, finally, after what feels like forever to Grian, the person—entity?—he’s been needing for weeks appears before him.

“Who dares to- Grian?”

Grian smiles up at Mumbo, the demon losing his bravado rather quickly. Every time he summons his friend, the long spiel about summoning gets shorter and shorter, and Grian could not be more happy for that. He loves hearing his friend talk, but the same spiel over and over again tends to get quite boring.

“Hey Mumbo! How’s it been going?”

“Why am I here? I thought you said you wouldn’t call again unless it was super important, and I don’t see you bleeding out to your death, soooo…”

Ah, straight to the point. But where’s the fun in that? “What, were you doing something much more important than me, your best mortal friend?”

Mumbo glares at Grian, but there’s no real harm in it. If it were any other demon, Grian’s soul would probably have exited his body by now, but with Mumbo? Not a chance.

“Maybe, in fact, I was!”

Grian gasps in faux, exaggerated hurt, hands clasped over his heart. “How could you—insulting your best friend, dare I say, anywhere?”

Mumbo snorts, slightly scoffing at Grian shortly after. “Look man, you know I love you, but sometimes when you’re in the puzzle groove, you can’t be disturbed.”

Grian groans at Mumbo’s nerdiness. Slightly ironic considering what he’s summoned Mumbo for, but that’s not important right now.

“So your puzzle is more important that your best friend who put so much effort into summoning you and making you your favorite cupcake?”

Mumbo perks up at that, looking down at where Grian’s sad, sad gaze is pointed to. He lets out a soft, “oh”, quickly sitting down and picking up the chocolate cupcake. “You made this for me?”

Grian smiles at Mumbo, glad that the cupcake is to the demon’s satisfaction. “Yeah, man. Why else would it be in the circle?”

Mumbo inspects the cupcake for a short moment before beginning to eat it. While he’s occupied, Grian let’s known why he’s really summoned his friend again.

“So…you used to do computer science, right?”

“Mhm,” Mumbo confirms, mouth still full with cupcake. He swallows, looking around in realization of something. “Why did you use botched code to summon me, by the way? Like, the circle itself doesn’t summon a specific demon, its your intentions. You know this.”

“Botched?!” Grian exclaims, incredibly offended. “I spent so long trying to figure out what code drawing a circle would look like!”

“Yeah, and it’s incredibly wrong. I’m almost impressed at how much you managed to mess up.”

Grian sputters incoherently at Mumbo’s accusations, but it’s not like he can really refute the man. Instead of trying to fight a losing battle, he decides to continue on with his original topic. “Well, I need help.”

Mumbo finishes his cupcake, wiping the crumbs off onto Grian’s floor, much to the man’s protests. Mumbo waves it off like it’s nothing—or that he’ll clean it up, but who knows. “What’cha need?”

“Calculus help.”

Mumbo stares blankly at Grian. “Calc. You need help with calc?”

“Yes!” Grian cries. He’s been stumped on these past, stupid units! Why do shapes have to change dimensions! Why does he have to find area and volume! Why does the world hate him!

“Grian, I…” Mumbo tries to explain, “I was a comp sci major.”

“What about it?” Grian asks, not sure why he’s restating that in response to his proclamation of needing calculus help.

“I didn’t touch that kind of math since I left high school. And I died decades ago, man. You think I remember that stuff?”

Grian buries his head into his hands with a long, anguished groan. “So I’m doomed?!”

Mumbo gives Grian a sad, pitiful smile. “I’m sure there’s hope somewhere for you. What about your roommate?”

“Scar? Oh, no, that man can’t do calc for the life of him. He’s going into graphic design like a loser.” Not that Scar’s a loser, not by any shot—Grian’s just jealous that he doesn’t have to deal with the pain and suffering of complicated math.

“Well, sorry mate, I’ve got no other solutions for you.”

Grian lets out a devastated yet resigned sigh. “Alright, then. Guess you can…uh. Stay as long as you want.”

Mumbo shrugs before standing. “You gonna break the circle?”

“Your presence literally ruined my circle. How am I supposed to break it?”

“Literally just move any piece of paper,” Mumbo deadpans. Wow, way to judge someone. “You’ve literally summoned me at least a dozen times.”

Grian grumbles at Mumbo’s statements before quickly shoving a piece of paper out of the way. “Happy?”

Mumbo grins, moving over to sit on Grian’s nearby bed. “Very.”

The two of them are about to engage in random conversation when, all of a sudden, the door to the room opens and in walks a blissfully unaware Scar.

For about 3 seconds, until he sees the demon sitting in their dorm and screams. Oh boy.

Chapter 22: "I'll drive you to the hospital."

Chapter Text

It hurts.

All Scar can feel is the pain as he staggers to the doorstep of the dingy flat. His hand grasps his side, blood trickling past his fingers. Red blooms across his Hot Guy suit, staining the dark garment even blacker. He fumbles for his key, tucked into his deepest pockets. His vision blurs, and he’s quickly losing strength in his limbs.

Then, a wave of nausea overcomes him, and he falls to his knees, slumping against the door. Pain lances through his system, and Scar gasps as his grip tightens against the wound. He hears the pattering of footsteps, and then he topples backwards, landing on his back on the floor.

“Scar!” Staring down at him is none other than his partner, dressed in his civilian clothing of red sweater and grey slacks—Cute Guy, or Grian Hermitcraft. Grian’s eyes are wide, and his jaw drops. “What’s happened to you?”

“Tango happened to me.” Scar winces, and Grian hauls him into the house and out of the doorway. Pinpricks riddle Scar’s side, spreading up to his ribs. “Hey, watch it.”

Grian lays him down on the sofa. He runs to the kitchen, grabs their first-aid kit, and he performs basic first aid, staunching the flow and doing up a rudimentary bandage. “I’m going to drive you to the hospital. Just give me a moment while I fetch the car.”

“The Guy Mobile,” Scar corrects breathlessly. The pain has dulled to an ache, but hot flashes slice through his veins with each movement.

“I’m not calling it that.”

“Why not? Hot Guy, Cute Guy, the two Guys.”

Grian sighs, and he darts towards the door. “Wait here.”

A flash of something suddenly dances across Scar’s mind’s eye. He reaches out towards Grian, fingers outstretched, a shout on his lips. But whatever sound he tried to make only comes out as a groan, and the dizziness forces him back onto the sofa. He’s been having those visions a lot recently, as though he lived through nightmares in his waking moment. It always fills him with a foreboding feeling that seeps into his very bones.

The trigger was always the same: Grian with his back to him, like he’s shielding Scar from something horrific.

His thoughts have never lingered on the possibilities before, but… what if they’re a premonition of things to come? Some great supervillain hellbent on taking down the heroes, a monster that they have yet to meet?

Soon enough, Grian returns. He dashes into the flat, lifting Scar into the air. Scar’s head lolls against his chest, and his limbs hang limply by his side as Grian rushes him out and into the Guy Mobile, carefully laying him on the backseats.

“Right, I have no idea why you didn’t go straight to Impulse for this.” Grian climbs into the driver’s seat, slamming the door before starting up the engine.

“Too fussy,” Scar slurs, thinking about their resident mechanic-medic. Impulse is more like a dad than anything—to be fair, he is an actual dad with two young and happy children, so that explains a lot. He drifts in and out of consciousness, and he turns his head to avoid the glare of the streetlamps.

“Hold on, Scar,” Grian says. “We’re almost there.”

Scar breathes deeply. Sleepiness washes over him, gripping him with icy claws. He is deaf to Grian’s constant attempts at talking to him, and he swiftly becomes ignorant to Grian’s heightened panic at his lack of response.

Then, blackness takes him, and Scar sinks into slumber.

Chapter 23: “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Grian hops down from one of the many bricked buildings, leaning against the wall to cool down. He taps the side of his visor twice, releasing the mechanism keeping his headgear in place. Now, he can really take the time to assess the situation he’s found himself in.

The chase was long, taking everything in Grian to not stop or slow down, but he had pushed through for a while. It wasn’t enough, though, as he’s here now, tired out and trying his best to regain some of his energy.

He looks up at the evening sky, sun setting in the far distance. It’s filled with pretty reds and oranges, blue practically faded from the day. The neighborhood, however, is unfortunately not as pretty. Grian barely recognizes anything besides the bland old architecture that most rundown homes tend to follow. He decides to look around a bit just out of curiosity, maybe there’s some clue as to why the villain came all the way down here instead of destroying even more up-town property.

His ability is low, so Grian decides to not use any of it on his observation walk. After all, if there does end up being any important information, the villain is long gone and there’s no rush to keep it safe. The walk starts slow, hands grazing across rough bricks and uneven grout. His passive powers don’t sense anything out of the ordinary—this is a typical, run of the mill, lower housing area.

That is, until, a headache comes upon Grian—argh, not this again. One day, his soul decided that an ability to enhance his senses and movements weren’t enough, and gifted him a second ability. The “power” of visions.

When Grian first received a vision, it was one of the future. Granted, the future it showed was Scar trying to make eggs and failing. The vision, in itself, was impressive. The ability to see in the future—even if it just revealed that there was no new improvement to Scar’s condition—could be life changing.

And then the second vision he got was one in the present. Grian was typing away at his computer, filling out some boring legal paperwork, when he was given almost a live feed of Scar in a nearby room, clearing off the coffee table before his legs gave out and fell onto the couch. Grian had rushed right to Scar, heart beating out of his chest that he might’ve gotten hurt, but thankfully he didn’t sustain any notable injury from the fall.

The visions were sporadic, but never ended up being anything…significant. They never gave Grian anything to work with, and it was getting frustrating. Why would his soul give him visions just for them to be useless?

Then, one day, they changed. The first time it happened, he was sleeping—which was the first strange thing about them, because they never happened while he was sleeping. What was also weird was that this vision was not clear like all the others. It was like he was watching it with a thick, black veil over his eyes. There was a lot of commotion, that much was obvious. Voices overlapped voices, movements were quick but unidentifiable to Grian. However, one moment of the vision was projected as clear as glass. A moment that would continue to haunt him every time his ability decided to curse him with a vision.

Because this would become the only vision he ever received. The past would repeat over, and over, and over, and over again. He could try his hardest to make out anything else out in the scene, but there was always one thing constant about them.

Scar’s ear-piercing scream.

It’s not a future vision, nor something in the present. When Grian woke up from the vision, he immediately grabbed his phone to locate where Scar was. If it was a future one, then there might be a chance he could stop it—but if it was present? He needed to be there.

But Scar’s location showed him to still be in his bedroom. Grian carefully made his way to the man’s bedroom and—there he was, sleeping peacefully.

Grian was vigilant for the next month, only to show nothing.

So he figured it could only have been one thing. A vision of the past.

That vision continues to haunt Grian to this day, though it’s been less and less present as time passed. He tried to ask Scar one time about it, but he never had enough information to even bring up the scene to his friend. What would he even say? That he’s been seeing the future, present, and now he’s had a glimpse into a traumatic past?

No, he couldn’t. He’s yet to let anyone know of his new ability, and if his visions are only ever going to show the past, then there’s no point in thinking about it now.

Well, of course, when he’s not having the vision. Because that’s what’s happening right now, Grian’s head beginning to pound as he leans against the house wall. Soon enough, the world turns black, and he loses all of his senses. He is only his mind, now, as his soul chooses what to show him.

As suspected, he’s only allowed a peak through a tightly-secured veil. Everything plays out as he expects them to, large commotion and sporadic movements turned to an eery quiet.

Until suddenly the veil is lifted. Grian’s instinct is to cover his eyes with his hands, as if he was forced to look at the sun after spending years in a pitch-black cell. It’s all—too much. It’s so much, in fact, that he doesn’t even process what he’s looking at for the first few moments.

Then, as he begins to settle into the area, finally realizes where his vision is taking place at.

It’s almost 1 for 1 from where Grian’s point of view just was. Almost as if he was brought back to his body after a moment of darkness.

But that’s not it. He still can’t feel anything, even if he’s looking at the exact spot he just was before he was brought into this vision of the past.

The area is blank, just for a second, until someone hops down from the rooftop. They’re dressed in blacks and purples, a flowing coat behind them and a protective suit covering anything that could be used to identify them.

It’s the same villain Grian was chasing minutes ago.

The villain is quickly joined by another person—Scar. He says something; not anything he can understand, but Grian can see Scar try to quip about with the villain. They don’t move, and based on Scar’s look of disappointment, they don’t say anything either.

And things start to happen.

A lot of things happen, and they happen all at once.

The villain activates some sort of ability, almost freezing Scar in place. Scar tries to fight back, that much is clear, and he uses his own ability to summon a forcefield as a shield. He also tries to shoot them out towards the villain, but then without any warning, all of his forcefields are deactivated as he’s forced to his knees.

Suddenly—as if things couldn’t get more sudden than this—the villain pulls out something that should never strike fear to heroes like him and Scar, but in this moment, encite horror through his body. A simple handgun points straight at Scar, aiming right for his heart.

Grian tries to look away, fearing he won’t be able to bear what happens next, but his vision is keeping his ‘eyes’ firm in place. He gets the curse to watch as the villain pulls the trigger and Grian finally sees what’s caused the scream that haunts him.

It shouldn’t do the damage it does, but clearly the villain’s ability is blocking Scar’s own healing and protection. Nothing is stopping the bullet from clearing Scar’s body as he slumps to the ground, blood beginning to pool.

Grian wants to scream—he wants to look away and throw up.

The villain is quick to leave, and soon enough, the vision ends, leaving Grian by himself, hunched over and bracing the ground to keep him from face planting on the ground.

He recalls a conversation he had with Scar one day, back when Grian finally noticed his deterioration.

“--No, something’s wrong, and it’s been wrong. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing to worry about!” Scar waves away. “It’s- uh, it’s nothing. I’ll be ok.”

Grian gently grabs Scar by the shoulders, staring right at him, forcing the two to make eye contact. “Talk to me.”

Scar’s eyes dart around quickly in a panic before he finally relents, sighing and shrugging Grian’s hands off his shoulders. “I got injured a while ago and my healing’s been wack ever since. Most of the time I’ve been able to live normally, but sometimes the things that should be working…don’t. But it’s ok! I’m still kickin’, and that’s all that matters, right? I can still fight, I can still help, and I’m going to continue, ok? I’m perfectly fine.”

Grian is full of worry towards his friend, but decides to back off the subject. It’s not something Scar wants to deal with, and he seems to have it under control, so he doesn’t push more. Scar smiles at him, and Grian smiles back.

Scar clearly lived after getting shot straight in the heart, but maybe—if the time frame fits, is this what’s caused his healing to go haywire? But why did his ability start to work against Scar’s body? This makes no sense!

Grian sits against the brick wall, trying to gain his composure after all of that new information, but he doesn’t get much time when a call suddenly comes in through his comm.

“Grian, we’ve got a tracker on the guy you were chasing before again. You feeling up to continuing your chase?”

He doesn’t get the chance to respond when a live feed pops up on his map, showing the location of the villain that slipped away.

The villain that shot Scar.

Grian looks at the map, zooming out to get a bigger picture. He finds that they’re continuing the same way that he was originally running, meaning that while they managed to lose him, they never deviated path. Which, at first, confuses Grian, but as he takes another look at the bigger picture, a horrifying realization becomes clear in his mind.

They’re going to finish the job.

“Hello? Grian, come in.”

Grian responds quickly, short and sweet. “I’m on it.” Then, he swipes across his comm until he reaches Scar’s contact. He’s up and moving before the first ring goes through. Tiles click under Grian’s steps, not caring for a second about the distraction he’s causing to the people below.

Scar picks up quick enough, answering with a bright, “Hey Gri! What’s happening with you?”

He spends no time bothering with pleasantries, ignoring Scar’s original question by asking, “Where are you?”

“Woah, woah- what’s going on?”

“Scar, are you in a safe area?”

“I- yeah, I am. What’s happening?”

“Stay there. I’m going to get you. And stay alert.”

“Grian– I’m confused. And scared. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

Grian pauses in his speech for a second, but not sparing any thought to slowing down in the slightest. He has to reach Scar. “Later. I’ll tell you later. Just stay safe. I’ll be there soon.”

“O-oh kay. I’ll be safe. You too?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” Grian confirms before swiping to cancel the call.

He can only hope to reach Scar in time.

Chapter 24: "Stay over."

Chapter Text

There comes a knock on the door in the dead of night. There is a saying that if you hadn’t wronged anyone, you wouldn’t fear a knock on the door in the dead of night. Thankfully, Grian is a very lawful man who rarely practises deceit or anything of that sort. As such, he does not fear the knock on the door in the dead of night.

Grian yawns as he shuffles over to the door. He sees the sliver of light from the slit under Mumbo’s door. It’s two a.m., and his flatmate must be rushing his assignment at the minute. The knocking comes again, and Grian stifles a yawn as he pulls the door open by the knob, only to reveal a dishevelled Scar standing on the other end. His hair is all mussed up, and he sports black bags under his eyes. His pyjamas are rumpled, and the pom-pom of his nightcap dangles lifelessly from the tip. He is armed with a laptop tucked under his arm, its charger hanging from his shoulders, and a thermos flask. He also smells distinctly of coffee. You couldn’t tell the difference between him and a zombie.

“You okay?” Grian asks hesitantly, wondering whether he should call the university’s health services hotline.

“Peachy,” Scar mumbles. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Grian steps aside, and he lets him in. “What’s up? Why’re you here at, like, two in the morning?”

“I need to finish this… this paper.” Scar yawns. He tries to cover his mouth with the hand holding the thermos, but the flask bumps into his nose, and he yelps.

Grian nods understandingly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay over. You can join Mumbo. He’s got a paper due tomorrow too.”

“I swear, you’re way too relaxed for a uni student,” Scar mutters as he trudges into the flat, before sprawling across the sofa, laying his laptop and thermos on the table.

“That’s because my deadlines are always different from you two engineering kids,” Grian says, being an architecture student himself. “When you lot are celebrating, I’ll be cramming for my exams.”

Scar grins a lazy grin at the prospect.

“Anyway, want some coffee?”

“Oh, yes, please. More caffeine for this sleep-addled brain,” Scar says, raising his thermos.

Grian sets to work making their friend a healthy (or unhealthy, depending on how you look at it) dose of coffee. The door to Mumbo’s room opens, and for a moment, Grian nearly mistakes him for a vampire. Mumbo rubs his bloodshot eyes, and he stares at Scar in the living room for a good few seconds before he finally registers his presence.

“Scar? What are you doing here?” Mumbo asks.

“Flatmate brought his boyfriend back,” Scar mutters. “I have a paper to finish and I do not want to listen to all that.”

Mumbo nods understandingly. “I get ya, buddy.”

“For the record, I’ve never dated since coming to uni,” Grian says, as he emerges from the kitchenette, holding two mugs of steaming coffee.

“I maybe get ya, buddy,” Mumbo corrects.

“Well, you guys have fun,” Grian says. “I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Right,” Scar mumbles.

And so, Grian leaves the two of them struggling together in their living room with absolutely no remorse. He shuts the door, falls into bed, and he is immediately asleep.

The next morning, he wakes up chipper and ready to face the day. He practically dances out of his room, dressed in his hoodie and slacks, only to see two snoring bodies draped over the couch. He sighs, returns to his room, and he grabs a pile of blankets, before unceremoniously dumping them on his friends. Neither of them stir, much too exhausted to be roused from sleep.

Maybe Grian could get them both a treat or something for their hard work. He leaves the room and shuts the door quietly, making a mental note to grab Oreo muffins from the cafe on his way back.

Chapter 25: “I picked these for you.”

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“Oh Mumbooo~” Scar calls out in a sing-song-like voice. Mumbo, who’s posture is tall and formal, lets his shoulder’s fall at the sound of Scar’s voice.

“What do you want, Scar?” Mumbo asks, in a somewhat accusatory tone. Scar’s always up to something, so it's not a stretch to look at the prince in any suspicious sort of way.

Scar, however, takes—admittedly, very false—offense to Mumbo’s nonverbals, placing his heart across his chest and gasping in betrayal. “How could you, I’m doing nothing!”

“Mhm,” Mumbo confirms, a single eyebrow raised. “Well, you called for me, so surely you’re up to something.”

“Nope!” Scar exclaims. “Nothing.”

The two stare at each other, eyes locked, neither one willing to look away or even blink.

Until both of them burst into laughter at the same time.

After a few moments, they try to regain their composure. Scar beams at his friend while Mumbo giggles, catching his breath.

“So, watcha need, your highness?”

Scar gives Mumbo the stink eye. “You make me feel so icky when you say that man!”

Mumbo stifles his laughs with a hand brought up to his mouth. “I know. That’s the point.”

Scar sighs dramatically and lays his head on the servant’s shoulder. “Can’t a lonely prince hang out with his best friend?”

“Grian’s not here, mate,” Mumbo says with condolence, patting Scar’s back. The prince only continues to groan.

“You’re both my best friends! Just because you’re assigned to my parents and Grian’s to me doesn’t mean we’re not best friends!”

Mumbo lets out a short huff, slightly ruffling Scar’s hair before gently pushing him off. “Well, as your other best friend, I can tell that you’re looking to cause mischief, and you’re main go to mischief best friend is not the one in front of you.”

“Nuh uh,” Scar rebuttals. “I’m here for you specifically.”

“Oh really? What for?

“Well, I was in the gardens and I found a rock.” Scar reveals.

“You found…a rock.” Mumbo responds, a little confused behind the significance of a rock.

“Yes. And I don’t think it’s been tampered by anything.”

“Ooookay,” Mumbo nods along, though not sure where this is going at all.

“And I thought the resemblance it had to you was uncanny, so I picked it up to give to you!” Scar finishes, holding out the rock to Mumbo.

At a first glance, Mumbo is even more confused. He’s oddly flattered and slightly offended at the same time, but after a closer inspection, he can see where Scar’s coming from. Though, he has to say, the only real resemblance would be the weird pattern that looks like his mustache. Scar wasn’t wrong when he said it’s uncanny.

“Oh, I also grabbed some rocks that also looked pretty. I’ve got a few in my room on display as decoration and thought maybe you and Grian should have some too,” Scar adds on with a smile.

Mumbo gladly takes the other rocks, playing with them in his hands. They are gorgeous, but that makes some sense considering they were in the palace gardens. “Thank you Scar. I’ll keep them safe.”

“Good! I’m glad. Now, if you’ll excuse me–”

“Don’t throw rocks at any windows with Grian.” Mumbo interrupts, knowing exactly what’s going to happen next.

“No promises!” Scar exclaims as he begins to make his way to where Grian is stationed at the moment.

This cannot end well, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Hopefully the rocks don’t get too damaged in the process.

Chapter 26: "I'll still be here when you're ready."

Chapter Text

If there is one thing that Grian has never done before, it’s cosplaying. It’s not that he is adverse to doing it. It’s just that he never saw the need. He goes to conventions, gets his merchandise, meets fellow fans and sometimes, if he’s lucky, the creators or celebrities, and he leaves. Then, for the second day, he’ll go and do it all over again.

Now, Scar, on the other hand, is a big fan of cosplay. He gets so into his interests sometimes, often dressing up as his favourite characters in the series that he loves. He’s always been trying to get Grian to go with him as Princess Leia, as Anakin Skywalker, or even the Donald Duck to his Mickey Mouse, but of course, Grian hadn’t agreed.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, per se. It’s just that the world of cosplay seems overwhelming when he gets right down to it. When Scar first introduced the concept to him, he tried researching, he really did. But there seems to be so many facets to creating an outfit. The materials, sewing, the embellishments. Just looking at the various belts, buckles, and even a suit of armour in Scar’s room makes him even more intimidated.

Scar promised to help him with his first one, of course. He’s going as a certain angel from a certain British TV series, dressed primarily in white and hues of beige, complete with a set of white, feathery wings. He prepared a similar set for Grian, except his costume is entirely different.

Grian pats the black Henley, tight around his chest. The ends of his wig tickles his ear, wavy ginger hair cascading down to his shoulders. He wonders why he even needs a snakeskin belt when his jeans are so tight he’s not sure he can even wriggle out of them once this is over. Going to the bathroom might be an issue. His wings shake with even the slightest of movements, and Grian is afraid that the feathers would dislodge and render the thing skeletal by the time they reach the convention.

He stares at himself in the mirror, turning around and trying to catch a glimpse of the outfit from all angles. This is not his typical fare—Grian isn’t one to care much about fashion, considering he wears only one red sweater and grey trousers wherever he goes. Even an outfit as simple as this—much simpler than Scar’s more elaborate costume—makes him a little antsy.

He jumps at a knock on the door.

“You okay in there?” Scar calls. “Need any help?”

“Fine! I’m fine,” Grian shouts back. “Totally fine.”

“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be out here.”

“Why don’t you go with Mumbo first?” Grian asks, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I mean, I think I’ll need a few more moments…”

“But what if you need something, hmm? What if you get caught in a tangle and you need someone to free you from those infuriatingly tight jeans?” Scar chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, Grian. I’ll be out here till you’re ready.”

Grian takes a breath, and he approaches the door. His wig sits snugly on his head, his shirt is smoothed down, and he’s managing to walk in these insanely constricting jeans so that he wouldn’t look like a fool. He twists the knob, and he pushes it open. He struggles to fit the wings through the doorframe, but he eventually manages it with some help from Scar.

“Aw, look at you!” Scar cries excitedly, placing his hands on Grian’s shoulders. “You’re a bit on the short side, but you’re the splitting image of him!”

Grian has seen pictures of the series, and he can say for certain that he does not resemble the character in the slightest. He pulls self-consciously on the hem of the jacket. “Come on, let’s go. Where’s Mumbo?”

“He’s meeting us there directly,” Scar says. He strides over to the cupboard and he retrieves the car keys. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s not until they step out of the house and into the driveway that Grian realises that there is a pertinent issue with this arrangement, particularly with a specific part of their costumes. He and Scar pause outside the car, the latter with one hand on its roof.

“So,” Scar says finally, after they have finished evaluating their situation, “I suppose we should take off the wings first, huh?”

Chapter 27: "You might like this"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“Scar Scar Scar.”

“mmmhmmmhm nooooo…”

“Scarrrrrrr—”

“30 more minutes…..”

“Scar!”

Scar opens his eyes with yelp, staring at a grinning Grian hovering over his bed. He gives his friend the stink eye before propping himself to sit upwards. “What do you want, G, it’s like-”

Grian interrupts Scar, finishing his statement with, “8 in the morning yeah, yeah, whatever! Do you know what today is?”

“What day is it-? Today isn’t your birthday is it- or Mumbo’s? Oh no- did I forget your birthdays?-” Scar asks in a panic, eyes wide.

“Birthday? Oh, no, not birthdays,” Grian answers, causing Scar to deflate from a quick build up of anxiety.

“Well, good, but then why else would today be important? It’s April?”

“I mean, it is your month, but disregarding that—” Grian grins widely at his friend before turning to the door and calling out a loud “Mumbo!”

A moment later, a very disheveled looking Mumbo stumbles through the door. “Huh? What’s going on? Who’s dying?”

“Mumbo, c’mere,” Grian motions for Mumbo with grabby hands and the man makes his way over, almost as confused as Scar.

And then Scar sees something weird.

“Are you two…glowing?”

Mumbo blinks and looks down at his hands, startling when he notices that there is a faint white glow. He looks over at Grian, realizing that he’s surrounded by the same, only it’s slightly yellow-orange-ish.

“It’s another solar eclipse,” Grian reveals, smile yet to leave his face.

Scar seems to realize the significance at the same time Mumbo does, both of them looking at Grian in shock.

There’s a small voice in Scar’s heading saying, It’s as if the same thing doesn’t happen any time there’s an eclipse. Woah. but he doesn’t pay any mind to it. Things tend to get lost in transit as a celestial, and sometimes it’s nice to be surprised.

“Does this mean I can take today off and just watch you two do your eclipsing thing?” Scar asks, smugly looking at the two of them after realizing that the Earth doesn’t have any extra jobs to do. The moon and sun, however?

Grian gives a Scar a look of disappointment while Mumbo’s shoulders sag in defeat. That probably means they’re going to let Scar have the day off.

Hopefully. Maybe. Probably? Definitely.

Definitely.

Chapter 28: "Here. Drink this. You'll feel better."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

Mumbo is sick. There is no other way to describe it besides this three-word sentence. He is stuck in bed, under the covers, nursing a high fever, face flushed and nausea keeping him dizzy with a constant need to throw up. If you searched up the word “sick” in the dictionary, chances are, you’d find his picture next to it.

If there is one thing that Mumbo does not want to see when he’s sick, it’s his two good friends. Oh. Make that two people, not one thing. See, that’s the nausea speaking.

Now, don’t get him wrong. It’s not that Grian or Scar are bad people. In fact, they are the polar opposite of that. Bad, that is. They are good and moral people who aren’t afraid to speak out for what’s right. They would be superheroes if superpowers and supervillains existed. Well, they would be heroes even if supervillains didn’t exist. They belong right at home in My Hero Academia. That is how good, moral, brave, compassionate, kind, and all that jazz they are.

Despite all the goodness they hold in their massive, massive hearts, they are also incredibly enthusiastic. There is nothing wrong with enthusiasm—the world would be very dull otherwise—but that sort of thing is just not for Mumbo. Not when, for some reason, Scar is very interested in the finer workings of traditional medicine and herbalism. He once learnt about the miraculous healing properties of gingko and then committed himself to become the best herbalist there is in this part of town.

Now, Mumbo would be very fine with this situation—proud, even, that Scar is tapping into the unused superhero reserves in his essence—if that were the case and only the case. However, there is a wild Grian thrown into the mix. (Grian is not exactly wild, in the literal sense of the word. On the contrary, he is a very civilised person.) Grian is what one may consider a “wild card.” That is to say, he is creative and full of ideas. But that does not mean that those ideas tend to go well together. Such as certain herbs and… certain other herbs, of course. Unlike Scar, Mumbo likes to surround himself with the inorganic and electricity, things that actually obey his command. Most of the time.

Scar often listens to Grian’s input, even though it is against his better judgement. Or at least, it should be. He crushes and mixes the herbs as per his suggestions, boiling and macerating and doing who-knows-what else with his set up that looks like he moved an entire laboratory into his home.

Mumbo is jolted from his thoughts of him being not-sick when there comes a knock on the door. His lids fly open, the nausea from the illness is chased away and replaced with a new brand of nausea. Mumbo is halfway out of bed to greet his guests—or to keep them out; it could go one of two ways—when the lock clicks and the door creaks open. He makes a mental note—which he would likely forget once his brain is no longer addled—to oil the hinges.

“Mumbo!” Scar cries, bursting into the room, his arms laden with paper bags. Grian ambles in after him as he returns the spare key to his pocket. “There you are! How are you doing?”

“Um,” Mumbo says intelligently. As intelligent as he can be with a pounding headache, anyhow.

“Oh, he looks roughed up,” Grian says.

“Looks like he’s beaten to a pulp and ran home with his tail between his legs,” Scar agrees, already reaching into his bag and pulling out his bags of dried herbs.

“I just look like I’ve fallen sick,” Mumbo grouses.

“Well, we have just the thing for you!” Scar says proudly, holding out a bag of ginger. “Here we are. Some ginger tea ought to do the trick. And maybe we could add some honey in there to balance out the taste.”

Mumbo’s nose may be blocked, but he can certainly smell the pungency from where he stands by the door to his bedroom, a good metre or two away from the intruding duo. He proceeds to retreat into his room and put another metre between them.

“Oh, yeah, and garlic’s supposed to help too, right?” Grian says. “We could mix that into the ginger tea.”

Mumbo feels like throwing up. The cause of his current wave of nausea is obvious now.

Scar snaps his fingers. “Fantastic idea. Now, what about…”

Mumbo’s head spins with the effort of keeping up with their conversation. At some point, he yawns, decides that it’s not worth it to fight them on this, and he should accept his fate when it arrives. For now, he should mentally prepare himself for this excruciating ordeal, and the best way to do it would be to lie down in bed and have a long nap.

When Mumbo next awakens, it’s to two faces staring down at him, wide grins stretching from ear to ear. Bile rises up his throat at the overpowering scent of… of whatever new concoction they have brewed up. It is safe to say that they are only one step away from being full-fledged witches.

“Here, drink this,” Scar says. “You’ll feel better.”

Mumbo sits up. He isn’t very sure whether that short nap did anything for his condition, but he’s rather certain that this strange, bubbling mixture is doing less-than-wonders for his olfactory senses. He holds the cup filled with a shamrock-coloured liquid that emanates the smell of neither ginger nor garlic. He’s not entirely sure what they put in there, but knowing them, there are probably no less than five ingredients in this mug of poison.

“Bottoms up,” Mumbo croaks weakly, and he downs it with a single gulp.

It should come as no surprise that the cup slips from Mumbo’s grasp, and if not for Grian’s quick reflexes, would have shattered on the floor. Droplets of the green stuff stains his covers. Mumbo’s head falls back onto the pillows, his breathing evened out, one hand resting on his stomach. He’s been effectively knocked out.

“There we go,” Scar says. “Sleeping soundly like a baby. I daresay it worked.”

“His fever should be gone soon,” Grian agrees. “Another job well done, Scar. We should really open a shop.”

Scar’s eyes twinkle at that.

Mumbo wakes up again in the evening, when the dangerous duo has left. His flat still stinks of the stuff, but he must admit that he is at least well enough to get up and walk about without having to hold anything to support himself. He sees a kettle on the kitchen counter and a note under it. It appears that the two have made him a pot of the poison for him to consume till his illness is truly gone.

Mumbo crushes the note in his fist and he hurls it into the wastepaper basket. He shouldn’t get too frustrated at his friends, really. It was nice of them to leave him a soporific, after all.

Chapter 29: "I made this for you"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“Do you think he’s going to show up today?” Mumbo asks nonchalantly, casting his fishing rod into the lake.

Grian shrugs, adjusting his ‘Fish want me, Women fear me’ hat. He jostles his line a bit, hoping for something to take bite. “I dunno. He hasn’t shown up for a few days.”

“Really?” Mumbo muses. “Does he not like our bait anymore?”

Grian snickers at Mumbo’s comment. Of course, Mer don’t tend to fall for normal fish bait, but apparently Scar had a habit of sneaking a bit back to his little home when he thought Grian and Mumbo weren’t looking. Funny, considering how feared Mer are as legends.

“I miss him,” Grian admits, leaning back on his left hand while kicking his feet above the water. Then, as a quick add on, “Don’t tell him that.”

Mumbo lets out a huff and continues to stare out into the lake. “Where do you think he’s gone?”

“Not sure,” Grian admits, “Maybe he needed to move?”

“...move? Grian, you know he literally loves this area.”

With a loud groan, the blond hangs his head in distress. “I don’t know, Mumbo, but our fishing buddy is gone without a trace.”

Mumbo frowns at his friend, giving him a small pat on the back. Things really are a lot lonelier without their resident Mer.

The two of them continue their fishing, getting a few nibbles in the process but no new fish. Then, the water begins to move strangely and suddenly, a familiar head of hair appears above the surface of the water.

“Scar!” Grian shouts, a grin on his face. Mumbo yelps at the sudden noise, not yet realizing that their Mer friend showed up once again. Once he spots Scar’s memorable, smiling face, he gives him a big wave and calls for him to swim up to them.

Scar moves to the little dock, situating himself a few feet away from their feet. He greets the two with a small trill before speaking, “Hey guys!”

“Where’ve you been?” Mumbo asks, reeling in his fishing line at the same time. Grian keeps his cast, but he guides it away from the Mer.

“Oh, out and about, seeing the world.”

“Scar, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but there is nothing for miles and miles on end out there,” Grian counters, deadpanned.

Scar pouts at his friend, crossing his arms and staring at Grian. “How would you know? Maybe I swam to an ocean far far away from here.”

“...We live in South Dakota,” Mumbo clarifies.

“Uh- well- what about the Mississippi river?”

“Missouri,” Grian corrects.

“Yes! That! How do you know I didn’t swim that?”

Grian glances around the lake. Yes, it’s a big lake that connects to a few rivers, but, “Does this look like the Missouri river to you?”

Scar deflates, admitting defeat. “Can’t a man go out for a swim?”

“Well– yeah,” Grian says, tone much softer than a minute ago.

“We were worried. This one specifically missing you,” Mumbo clears up, not caring about Grian’s wishes in the moment.

Grian gently slaps Mumbo’s shoulders but he just laughs. Scar, in the meantime, looks up at the both of them, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “You really missed me?”

The two fishermen look at Scar, confused on why the Mer would think he wasn’t.

“I- yeah, duh.” Mumbo assures, at the same time Grian states, “Of course!”

Scar breaks out into a big grin, swimming up closer to the two. “I guess that means the trip wasn’t worthless after all!”

Before Grian or Mumbo can ask what he means by this, Scar holds up his hands to the men, revealing two ‘strings’ of various rocks and colorful stones.

They both take the jewelry-looking strings of stones into their hands very carefully, but Scar can read the confusion on their faces. So, he explains, “Uhm- Well- I was on a hunting trip and spotted some stones that I thought fitted you and- uh…wanted to give them to you. But not like–as just stones, because that would be boring, so I looked for more things that fit you two to make bracelets out of. Sorry it took so long.”

Grian slips his bracelet on first, admiring the way the reds and purples shine together. Mumbo, on the other hand, inspects it in his palm, rolling the stones on his fingers and carefully playing with them.

“Do…do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful,” Grian blurts, still not having looked up, too distracted by the Mer-made bracelet. Mumbo nods in agreement.

“Thank you, mate,” Mumbo says shortly after, slipping the bracelet on and looking at Scar. “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna take this thing off.”

Grian chuckles, “Me too man. I think it’d be a crime.”

The three stay at the dock for an hour more before the sun starts to set. They bid farewell to each other, but this time, Scar promises he’ll be there tomorrow.

Chapter 30: "Are you sure?"

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

Rays of sun break through the dark clouds of the night, casting its golden glow on the tiny village of Elljie. Tucked away in a forgotten corner of the continent, nestled in the bosom of a dense forest, the settlement doesn’t get much sunlight on a day-to-day basis. This must be Yggdrasil’s blessing.

At daybreak, the villagers are already up and about, a large, shifting crowd gathered at the gates. Some are weeping, some are cheering, most of them look on with a fond smile on their faces.

Scar waves to the villagers, a bright grin on his face, the scar over the bridge of his nose wrinkling ever so slightly. Grian stands resolutely behind him, his fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his sword sheathed at his side. The cold stings his cheeks, and the gales tousle his hair.

Never did he think that the day would come so soon. Scar’s destiny has been foretold from the moment he was born. The story of the divination has been spoken again and again in their village, the coming of a hero who was fated to save the world from the clutches of the Ender Dragon. Grian heard it all the time when he was a child, about how Scar was the chosen one meant to deliver the world from eternal suffering, accompanied by a partner from the same village. Their identity was never named, but Grian somehow always knew that it was talking about him. He’s Scar’s best friend, after all.

Twenty long years passed, and now, they’re both young men headed out to see the world.

“I’ll be back before you know it!” Scar says, one hand on his hip, more for the sake of the children than anyone else. Everyone else knows what happens to the Pilgrims.

“How long will you be gone?” a girl asks, tugging on his robes.

“Who knows? Maybe a few months, maybe a year! It’s going to be a fun adventure, and when I’m back, I’m gonna have a lot of gifts for you guys.”

“Really? I want a new stick,” a younger boy demands. “My old one’s getting… old.”

“I want something sparkly,” another girl says. “Or something really pretty.”

“Alright, alright! I’ll get you whatever I can get my hands on.”

Placated, the children return to their parents’ sides. Scar’s father places a hand on his shoulder, and his mother sobs into her handkerchief. Grian doesn’t even look at his own; they’ve only ever had a rocky relationship, ever since he resolved to follow Scar on his Pilgrimage and put himself in harm’s way.

“Well, I’ll be off now,” Scar says. “I promise to bring Yggdrasil’s blessing back to the world!”

The villagers bow their heads in respect, and the crystal on Scar’s staff twinkles. With a hum, Scar waves one last time to the villagers, before turning his back on them and striding down the gravelly road towards the docks. Grian stays close behind him, his sharpened hunter’s senses acutely aware of the numerous beasts that populate the copses of trees. The jetty is not far from their village gates. A boat awaits them that would sail them to the mainland, where their journey can truly begin.

“Are you sure about this?” Grian asks, once they’re far enough from the village that the villagers are nothing more than silhouettes of blurred colour. “You can still turn back. Let someone else do it.”

“Well, the prophecy was about me, right? That means that it’s my responsibility.”

Grian chews on the inside of his cheek. It may have named the boy with a birthmark on his nose that looks incredibly much like a scar, but it could have been anyone else. Surely, if the world is as vast as the soothsayer makes it out to be, there has to be another boy out there sporting the exact same mark. “But it’s not. Doesn’t mean some old lady says it means you have to believe it.”

“She can speak to Yggdrasil, you know.”

“Who knows if Yggdrasil even exists,” Grian mutters.

Scar casts him a dark look, but it flits away as quickly and suddenly as it arrived. “Of course, Yggdrasil exists. It gave us such nice people, such bountiful harvests… remember when Joe showed up right as that bear was gonna maul you—”

“Coincidence,” Grian says flatly.

“Anyway, even if it isn’t my destiny, I still want to do something to, well, save the world, for lack of a better phrase,” Scar says. “Even if I can’t save the world, I can hopefully at least save the village. All those people, all those kids back there? They still have lives to live. I want to at least give them the future they deserve, you know.”

“Mm.”

“So, yeah, I still want to do this,” Scar says, and he slings an arm around Grian’s shoulders, his robes snagging on Grian’s armour. “Besides, don’t look so down. The End is far away. We’ve probably got a year or more to spend together.”

The first snow of the day begins to fall, flakes swirling around them and dancing through the air. A snowflake lands on Scar’s nose, melting almost immediately when in contact with the warmth of his skin. It sends a melancholic pang through Grian’s heart.

Just like that snowflake, Scar’s life would soon be snuffed out. In about a year, he would be gone, and Grian would return to Elljie with news both good and bad, but both expected. It is just another fact of life, Scar’s death.

But there must be a way to stop this. They can’t keep going on, can’t keep choosing more people to be sacrificed to please the Ender Dragon. By hook or by crook, Grian is going to find a way. To defeat the Ender Dragon, prevent it from coming back, and for Scar to live on, he simply has to.

Chapter 31: "Is this okay?"f

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“Scarrrrrr,” Grian groans, turning his body in a clockwise motion to keep up with Scar’s fiddling.

“You don’t understand, it has to look perfect in all lighting! I’m not your wardrober for nothing!”

“You’re not my wardrober. Also, that’s not even a real word.”

“Well, as your personal knight, I’ve taken the duty upon myself to make sure your coronation goes perfectly.”

Grian scoffs lightheartedly at his friend. “It’s not even a formal coronation. My parents are literally still alive and kicking.”

“Yes, but its symbolism is incredibly important,” Scar pushes, continually messing with Grian’s suit and badges.

“Look, Scar,” Grian says, taking his knight’s hands gently into his own, making Scar pause in his place. “I know that this is a big deal, but all I care about other than the ceremony flowing smoothly is that we have fun. This whole thing is basically an excuse to party, just a stupid ceremony saying that if something were to happen then I would be king. I’m still going to be a prince after this.”

Scar tries to argue back, “But you’re going to be the crown prince now-”

“I was always the crown prince. I’m my parent’s literal only child, and even without this event, gods forbid anything happens to my folk, I’d still rule. This is supposed to be fun, not making you stress!” Grian interrupts, squeezing Scar’s hands to make the message really go through.

“But-”

“Nuh uh, no buts. You are going to have a fun time at my stupid little informal coronation and you are going to like it.”

Scar sighs in defeat, shoulders sagging. “Fine. But can I at least play with your crown?”

“As long as you make it silly and imperfect. You know I hate the way they’re supposed to sit on my head.”

Scar grins, soon holding out his pinky to the prince. “Pinky promise.”

Grian smiles in return, linking his own pinky.

The knight sits on the floor, legs crossed like the school children, and Grian follows suit. His back is turned to Scar’s hands, letting his knight play and mess with the crown atop his head.

The crown itself isn’t very flashy or big. It’s measured to fit Grian’s head perfectly, but he prefers it to the side anyways. There’s a couple of gems in it, but they’re mostly common stones found around the area. The base color is reddish-gold, with intricate designs around the whole thing. It’s certainly an impressive crown, but it’s not as lavish as it could have been—never mind how it compares to his parents’.

The gems, as Scar and he found out one day when they were messing around with each other a little too hard, are easily removable and replaceable. Grian can feel a slight tug on his head as Scar moves around the gems. He’s always liked making the stones go in a patterned-order.

After a few minutes of finagling, Scar gently rotates Grian to face him while holding up a mirror.

“Is this okay?”

Grian smiles at his reflection, liking the way his crown sits and the way Scar arranged his gems. Then, he pushes the mirror down so Scar can see his face. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“So then, do we have a party to get to?” Scar asks, a matching grin on his face.

Grian pushes himself up, holding out a hand to help his friend up. “We sure do!”

Chapter 32: "Don't worry about me."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

“Scar!” Grian screams, when he sees the spray of blood and his friend toppling to the ground. He pushes through the waves of struggling bodies, ducks under swords and sidesteps spears as he hacks and slashes through the enemy ranks till he reaches his friend. Scar staggers to his feet, sword tightly gripped in one hand, the other grasping his side where the sword cut his flesh.

Grian leaps between Scar and an enemy soldier, his sword raised, metal singing as they clash. With a grunt, he focuses all his strength into his arms, and he pushes the soldier back. The enemy gives a shout as he stumbles back, bumping into his brethren and sending both of them sprawling to the floor.

“Whoa, I was almost dead meat there, Gri,” Scar says. He tries to smile, tries to look okay, but one look at him, and he’s very clearly not. Blood trickles between his fingers, and his legs are as shaky as jelly. “Thanks.”

“Come on, we need to get you to the medics,” Grian says, bending and slinging Scar’s arm over his hunched shoulders. “Can you walk?”

“I can walk—ow—just! Fine!” Scar winces at the last two words as he takes one wobbling step forward. His breaths come fast and laboured, his knees buckling with each step. Grian’s muscles are screaming at him, berating him for taking on this task when he’s already all tuckered out from all the fighting, but he can’t just leave Scar here to die.

An enemy soldier rushes at them, but Scar has enough fight left in him to take a wide swing at them and cut a deep gash diagonally across their torso. Blood bursts from the wound, splattering to the ground. Grian remains unfazed, and they continue walking.

Never has the medic tent seemed so far away. Scar seemed to hold his own well enough when at first, but as they close the distance, he begins to get more sluggish. His sword arm hangs limply by his side, and Grian is practically dragging him as they cross the remainder of the battlefield. Scar’s eyes are closing, his face going slack, his muscles giving out.

“Mumbo!” Grian screams with the last of his breath, as he sees the figure dressed in green robes, a figurehead of salvation on this land of despair. “Mumbo! We need help!”

Thankfully, Mumbo hears the cry. He turns his head, spots them, and he wastes no time in running over, his giant knapsack of salves, potions, and bandages knocking against his back with each step. He reaches them in record time, dodging stray arrows and swinging blades. He supports Scar’s other side, careful not to touch his gaping wound. Together, they move Scar past the sea of bodies and over to the medical tent.

The medical tent is full of casualties, people bruised and mangled and covered in bandages. Grian gags at some of the wounds, feeling the bile rise up in his throat. You would expect him to be desensitised to all the blood and gore by now, but there are some things in this world that he can’t expect to get used to.

They lay Scar down on a cot, torn at the seams and festering with flies and dried bodily fluids. Scar gasps in pain as Mumbo sets to work immediately. Grian can’t see what he’s doing, nor does he want to. He stares out at the tent, at the flurry of activity outside. He doesn’t want to think about the state of the warzone at the minute, knowing that the rest of their soldiers are out there fighting for their lives, risking their own necks for the safety of their citizens, the glory of their kingdom.

“You should go,” Scar grits out. “Don’t worry about me.”

“What?” Grian shakes his head. “Scar, you—”

“Really.” Scar winces as Mumbo begins bandaging his wound. “I’ll be fine.”

Grian opens his mouth to argue, but no sound comes out. He grimaces, and he pulls his visor over his eyes. “You’d better not be dead when I come back, or I’ll kill you.”

Scar chuckles. “Yeah, I know you would.”

Without looking back, Grian rushes out of the tent. The first thing he notices is the massive shadow looming over the battlefield. Soldiers scream and shout around him, their arms raised, fingers pointing to the sky. Grian tilts his head up, an arm held over his eyes to shield them from the orange rays of the sun. His jaw goes slack.

Inching towards them, inspiring dread and despair, is none other than the gaping maw of the Eidolon Atomos itself.

Chapter 33: "I'm sorry for your loss"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“You’re kidding,” Grian whispers, eyes wide at Xisuma, the school librarian. “Please tell me you're joking.”

X shakes his head, lips pulled to the side in a ‘there’s nothing I can do about it now’ look.

“He’s going to be devastated,” Grian pushes. “Surely I can just– draw again? Nobody’s going to know!”

“I’m sorry Grian, but I can’t do that. I know this sucks, but we have to have integrity."

Grian looks at Xisuma, eyebrows furrowed in devastation—almost a look of betrayal. “Mumbo did so much to get that Lego set though…”
“Believe me, I’m aware,” X reassures, “but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“All those checked out books! All those book reviews! All for what?” Grian cries out. “Scar entered in by chance– just for fun! Out of all the little sheets of paper, how did his get pulled?”

Xisuma shrugs his shoulders, face full of sorrow but not one that could match the pain Grian feels in his heart. Mumbo’s been talking about this Lego set for a month. He’s made every possible entry he could, even trying to cheat the system at times. It was all for naught.

“I…should text him,” Grian says. “I think that’d be better than just seeing it on the instagram.”

“Be my guest,” X offers. He takes the jar of paper entry names back from Grian, going behind the checkout counter to put it out of sight.

Grian takes out his phone, sighing as he takes out his phone and opens up his messages. He has two options here: Text Mumbo and Scar separately, console his best friend while congratulating the man who didn’t even want it. Or, text the both of them at the same time, in hopes of softening the blow.

He chooses the latter.

Goat Destroyers

> The results are in.

Well?? | M

Yeah, don’t leave us in suspense, G! | S

> Scar wins

Oh. | M

…what? | S

> Mr. X said there’s no way to change it

I suppose it was a game well fought. Congrats Scar! | M

What? No it wasn’t! I had like. a single throwaway entry! | S

well cmon now you don’t need to rub it in mate | M

> Whenever you’re ready, Scar, you can come pick up the set

Dude, no, I’m not taking the set. It literally belongs to Mumbo | S

really? | M

yes???? Now stop being sad doofus and go get your legos!! | S

Grian powers off his phone, smiling at the messages. He figured Scar would give it to Mumbo anyways, so it was only right to talk in the group chat. Then, he calls out to X, “Scar’s giving it to Mumbo!”

Xisuma smiles at Grian. “I’m glad you’re all such great friends. I’m really gonna miss you three next year.”

Grian waves his hand at X, giving him a small ‘psh’, saying, “You can’t get rid of us that easily. We’ll come by to visit.”

“You better,” Xisuma reinforces, giving Grian a smirk.

Soon enough, Mumbo pops by the library, beaming now that he’s finally getting the Lego set he’s longed for. “I can’t wait to put this on my desk. I’m probably going to take it to college.”

X giggles while Grian just rolls his eyes at Mumbo. “Y’know, maybe you’re just a little too obsessed with Legos.”

Mumbo gasps offendedly, crossing his hands over his heart. “How could you! There is no such thing, and honestly, I think you’re upset that you’re not obsessed over Legos!”

Grian grumbles out something of ‘I already have enough interests and hobbies but thanks’, before grabbing his packet, ready to head out. “You gonna meet up with Scar and thank him for the set?”

“Yup! I’ll see you around, Gri.”

“See ya!”

Chapter 34: "Take a deep breath."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

The first sign that something is terribly wrong is the coppery tang of blood permeating the air. It is the scent of violence past, something that should not exist on the peaceful Peach Blossom Island. Grian sniffs the air, his brows furrowing. Scar must have noticed that something is up as well, and he glances about the forest. It’s quiet—much too quiet. There is no birdsong when there should be, and the forest critters have not shown their face at all.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Scar wonders. “Shouldn’t he be here to greet us?”

Grian shrugs. “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“What about your father?”

“He’s supposed to be here somewhere.” Grian bites his lip, and he shuts his eyes, trying to sense his Qi. However, he comes up short, an unsettling feeling stirring in his belly. “He said he’d be.”

“Maybe he’s farther inside,” Scar says, and Grian notes the waver in his voice.

They venture down the winding road leading from the jetty into the thick of the forest. The peach blossoms that once instilled serenity into Grian now paints a picture of portentousness. Even the grass refuses to rustle, as though the blades too are petrified. The ominous trees soon part to reveal Grian’s father’s manor, exuding the strongest stench of blood. Grian nearly gags.

“Hello? Anyone there?” Scar calls, one hand cupping his mouth.

Grian’s heart beats out of his chest, thudding hard and fast against his ribcage. Thump, thump, thump. He follows the smell of blood, taking careful steps around the perimeter of the manor, rounding the building, till he comes to…

His eyes widen, and he stands rooted to the spot at the desecrated state of his mother’s grave. Her image has been tarnished, splashed with the brown, dried remains of blood. Her accessories—her bangles, rings, armlets, have been snapped or smashed. The incense no longer burns, withered and drooping. Pink petals scatter the area, like the finishing flourish to a work of art.

“No!” Grian dashes over, spraying soil up with each harried step. It’s only when he gets near that he sees the doors to the mausoleum swung wide open. He gasps, nearly stumbling back. The only person who has the key, the only person who could have opened it is…

“Grian!” Scar cries. “Wait!”

But Grian pays him no heed as he runs into the mausoleum. His tunic is damp and sticking to his back, and perspiration beads on his forehead. He vaguely hears Scar’s stomping footsteps behind him, but it’s very much drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears.

Grian comes to a complete and sudden halt when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. His sandals squelch, and another wave of bile rises up his throat. The scene before him can only be described as a massacre.

The walls are scratched up, and the tapestry is ruined. The painting of his mother has been torn to shreds, and the lanterns have been knocked aside, ash fallen to the floor in piles. Four bodies lie in varying poses on the ground, motionless, their robes stained red with blood. Three hold swords, and two are barehanded. They seem familiar, but Grian can’t put his finger on it…

“Masters!” Now, it is Scar’s turn to scream. He cares not for the mess underfoot as he drops to a kneel next to a woman lying against his mother’s coffin. “Master Cleo! Master Bdubs!”

There is no response. Not that Grian expected there to be one. With their throats slashed, their chest punctured with a sword, and with one’s skull cracked open, they are unequivocally unable to answer.

“You can’t go. Please, you can’t!” Scar wails, dropping his forehead against Cleo’s bloodied shoulder. Cleo’s head lolls to the side, her eyes glassy and lifeless. Grian swallows a lump in his throat, and he clenches and unclenches his fists. A clink draws his attention away from the terrible sight, and he sees a jade bracelet tumble from Cleo’s now-open hand.

That’s his mother’s bracelet.

Does that mean… Did they break in to… Then the one who did this is…

Grian squeezes his eyes shut. That’s impossible. His father would never. He may be stern, but he would never stoop this low. As angry as he may have been that they committed this grievance against his wife, he would never exact such a grisly punishment on them. Knock them out, perhaps, or incapacitate them, as he was wont to do, but nothing to this degree.

Grian staggers over to another one of Scar’s masters. These must be five of the seven that Scar told him about. He regaled Grian with tales over the campfire during their travels, that these are the most caring, the bravest people that he knows, who taught him all the martial arts he knows. This man lies face down, one of his hands outstretched, finger caked in blood.

Then, Grian sees it. There, on the floor, where the tip of his finger rests, is what looks to be a half-written word. One stroke across, one stroke down, another across, and… The word for…

“East.”

Grian jumps at the broken voice behind him. He glances up to see Scar peering over his shoulder. His face is dark, his eyes narrowed. He moves aside the man’s hand to reveal the half-written word in its entirety. “It’s the East Heretic. Your father.”

“Absolutely not!” Grian shakes his head vigorously. “Do you think he’d be the type of person to do something like this?”

“Who else could it be?” Scar snaps. His chest heaves, his cheeks are flushed, and Grian has never heard his voice exhibit such venom before. “Who else could have come in here? Who else would brutally murder my masters like this? Master Ren even wrote it, see? East.”

“Hey, that’s my father we’re talking about,” Grian hisses.

“Show me some evidence, then. There’s so much reason to believe that he was the one. Look, it’s all around us here.”

“Let’s… Let’s take a deep breath, okay, and calm down. We won’t get anywhere getting so worked up like this.”

“Get anywhere? I thought it was well-established that—”

“Please, Scar,” Grian begs, his voice barely a whisper. “Let’s reconsider this. There must be something we missed. Let’s not jump to conclusions, yeah?”

Scar’s nostrils flare, but he does as he’s told. Take a deep breath, then breathe out slowly. Grian mimics his breathing, until he can feel his heart begin to regain its regular rhythm. Scar too seems less rattled, even though the tension in his shoulders have yet to flee.

“Alright,” Grian says. “Let’s think about this with a clearer mind—”

No sooner has Grian said those words that they hear a scream coming from aboveground. And it sounds a whole lot closer than Grian is comfortable with.

Chapter 35: "Sorry I'm late"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Scar sighs at his computer, clicking his mouse a few times randomly before closing out of chrome and logging off. He leans back in his chair, mumbling a, “I'm so tired…”

Grian snorts at his friend's antics, asking, “What’s got our sleepy prince tired this time?”

Scar lowers his head onto the table, admitting, “life.”

With a gentle pat on the back, Grian nods in agreement. “Life.”

They stay like that for a moment, no need to worry about their Comp Sci work since they've completed it.

Then, “Scar—” their teacher calls out. Scar perks up, looking at him. “The assistant principal wants to see you.”

Grian raised an eyebrow at Scar, but he's just as confused as Grian is. “Oh- ok,” he responds, before checking the time and then turning to his friend. They've got 10 minutes left in class. “I'll meet you in 4th?”

“See you soon buddy.”

Scar grabs his bags and walks across the few halls he needs to before reaching the assistant principal. On his way, he grumbles out to himself, “You stay in the library for one period to take some much needed rest and suddenly you're called to the office…”

Hopefully it's nothing too serious.

“Detention?!” Scar exclaims, trying his best to stay composed.

“Yup. If you had gone off campus, it'd be a whole other story, but since you claim you were at school, which will be checked, you'll just get detention,” his AP states.

Scar's mouth is slightly open in shock, stuttering, “Wait- but I've-”

“Sorry Scar,” he responds, “Rules are rules. You skipped class and this is what happens.”

“But I've got a lot going on right now!” Scar rebuttals, “I just needed some time in the library—”

“Look man, I don't make the rules, I enforce them. Take it up with the principal if you want, but you've got detention on Wednesday after school.”

“O-ok,” Scar says, voice filled with defeat.

Detention. Detention. Never in Scar's 13 years of public schooling has he gotten any sort of major punishment. He's a teacher's pet, even! Well, not as much now, but the point still stands! He’s gotten no infractions, he has great grades, and all his teachers love him.

It’s not like he skipped for no reason! Argh, why don’t they give you a slap on the wrist for first time offenses! Why do they do this?

Scar holds his detention papers in his hands as he walks back to class. The bell had rang 7 minutes ago, and now he’s late to 4th, which is great. Wonderful, even.

He reaches his classroom, giving his pass to his teacher, and sitting down at his desk next to Grian.

“Dude, what took you so long?”

Scar grimaces at his desk before looking up at Grian, body deflated. “I got detention.”

Grian gapes at Scar. “You got what?”

He runs a hand through his hair, now stressing over the upcoming week. “I know right? You stay in the library for one period—”

Grian gives Scar a few rubs on his shoulder in comfort. “That sucks man. Do you want me to do something so I can join you there?”

Scar looks at Grian like he’s crazy. “Are you serious? No! Plus, I’m just going to be in the after school room anyways, not like it’s only for the detention kids.”

Grian hums, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to the paper on his desk. “You should probably plan some books to take with you. That’s what I’d do if I was stuck after school for an hour and a half.” He says, scribbling down a few things on his notes.

“Yeah, I probably will. It’s not gonna be fun though.”

Grian gives him one last pat on the head. “You’ll be fine. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Sure feels like it though.”

“I can imagine. But, nothing’s gonna change man. Plus, you’ll be experiencing something new.”

Scar, of all things, snorts at that. “Thanks man.”

“Any time.”

Chapter 36: "Cross My Heart and Hope to Die." [Ranchers]

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

“It may as well have been me.”

“Don’t say that!” Jimmy cries, slamming his fist on the ledge. Tango jumps ever so slightly, and Jimmy regrets it slightly. But he’s not going to sit here and just leave Tango to the gallows. Not after Tango’s helped him so much over the years, ever since he was just a budding attorney. Jimmy owes most of his law career to his mentor. “It’s not you. You wouldn’t do something like that, Tango.”

“What do you know about me, huh?” Tango huffs. The bags under his eyes are dark and evident. The dark roots of his hair are showing, the discoloured yellow locks falling over his forehead. “You don’t know anything about me, Jimmy. I could be a cold-blooded killer for all you know.”

“A cold-blooded killer wouldn’t say that,” Jimmy says. “You wouldn’t say that. You aren’t a cold-blooded killer.”

The guard behind him looks down at his watch. Tango sighs, and he rests his head on his hand, his elbow propped on the ledge. He fiddles with the cord of the phone. “That’s the sort of logic that makes me worried about you. Besides, I just did. Say it, I mean.”

Jimmy grips the edge of the ledge. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything. Everything that you remember.”

“Jimmy…”

“Please! If our roles were reversed and it was me on the other side of this glass,” Jimmy says, his voice pitching higher, “look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t do what I’m doing right now.”

Tango lets out a longer sigh, and he looks Jimmy straight in the eye. “Do you believe that, even for a second, I could be a killer? That I held that knife to his throat and plunged it straight in? Slipped it between his ribs like I was cutting a pig?”

Jimmy gulps. He shakes his head, the mental imagery making him want to throw up. “No, I won’t. Because you can’t be.”

“See, that’s why I don’t want you taking my case.” Tango’s gaze lands on the ledge, at his fingers tapping rhythmically on the hollow wood. “Having that kind ofview is dangerous, especially in this business.”

Jimmy frowns. “Why? You’ve always been telling me to have faith in my clients, right? I’m having faith in you right now!”

“You’re having blind faith in me. You’re believing I’m not the culprit without even investigating anything. That’s dangerous.”

“But… you’re telling me.”

“I want you to believe that there is even the slightest possibility that I am the culprit here,” Tango says, his eyes meeting Jimmy’s watery ones. “Even if it’s just one percent. I need you to believe, because if you don’t, then you won’t have an objective view of the case. Everything would be stained by your bias.”

Bias. It was one of the first things that Tango taught him early on, when he took on his first case. Confirmation bias, selection bias, and affinity bias, for example. Everyone has an inherent bias, and it takes great skill and an insane amount of practice to really see the situation for what it is. Sometimes, even the best of lawyers can’t shake their bias off.

To believe that Tango is a killer… to take on this case, Jimmy would have to do that. He would have to accept the fact that his mentor has murdered someone with his own two hands.

“Will you do that for me, Jimmy?”

Jimmy gulps again, and he croaks out, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Tango grins. “Good. Now, why don’t you go home for today and come back tomorrow? I’ll have my letter of request ready, and you can begin the investigation for real.”

Teary-eyed, Jimmy stands. He sniffles, but he tries not to let Tango see. Tango offers a weak smile, and he hangs up first. Jimmy watches as the guard leads him back to his cell even as he still holds the phone to his ear.

Determination washes over him, flooding his chest, filling his heart. He’ll find some way to prove Tango’s innocence and get him off the hook. Prove beyond a shred of doubt that he did not commit the crime.

As Jimmy leaves the Detention Centre that day, padding along the pavement back to the office, a realisation dawns on him that nearly makes him stop in his tracks. His heart sinks to his belly, clenching tight, and the nausea that grips him forces him to gag.

A knife to the throat? How did Tango know that?

Chapter 37: "Just because"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Scar covers his ears at the loud honk coming from Grian’s car.

“Get in, Scar!” Grian yells, head hanging out of the driver side’s door window.

Scar quickens his pace, shouting back, “I’m comin, I’m coming!” He gets to the car after a few seconds, slightly huffing while dropping his bag onto the car floor. “What’s with the rush, man? And why’d you have to be so loud, what if you woke up the neighbors?” he complains, leaning his head against the window pane.

“Don’t care,” Grian responds, quickly changing gears and pulling out of Scar’s driveway. Scar has to brace himself with the handle above his seat just so he doesn’t fall across the seats.

“Dude! What’s gotten into you?” Scar cries, trying his best to compose himself. This is weird, very weird.

Grian glances over to Scar, chuckling slightly. “You, me—” he says, before Scar interrupts him without missing a beat,

“Gas station?”

Grian does a double take at Scar before turning his eyes back towards the road. “What? No, we’re not going to a gas station?”

“But what are we getting for dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Sushi, of course!” Scar continues, a grin breaking out on his face. Grian doesn’t seem to realize what he’s referencing yet, and it’s good payback for all the confusion his friend has just caused him.

“Scar, school hasn’t even started, why are you talking about sushi—?”

He continues on without sparing Grian a second glance, while giggles making themselves known. “Uh oh! There was a roofie inside our gas station sushi!”

Grian gasps at Scar, head snapping towards the man, before Scar quietly exclaims, “the road!” He reluctantly turns his head back to the road but Grian also starts to laugh. “Do we black out and wake up in a sewer?”

“We’re surrounded by fish!”

“Scar please don’t continue this part-”

“Crazy fish!”

Grian lets out a sigh of relief, but what he doesn’t know is that Scar isn’t done yet.

“You know what that means! FISH—”

Grian slaps Scar’s mouth, arm reaching across the car console while his other hand tries desperately to keep the car steady and not swerve due to his laughter.

Scar moves Grian’s arm out of the way and doubles down laughing.

“Why,” Grian manages to say in between his fits of laughter, “are you like this?”

“Oh, c’mon, you love me!” Scar rebuttals with a smile.

Grian rolls his eyes, but continues to keep his site on the road. They’re almost at their destination, after all.

“Y’know the stench drives in a bear.”

And in a pleading tone with an obvious voice crack, “STop-”

Scar is surprised to find that they haven’t arrived at school. Instead, Grian’s taken the two of them to a Chuck E Cheese. Which. Strange. And also incredibly ironic.

“Mumbo’s waiting inside.” Grian says, hoping out of the car. It’s only now does Scar realize that Grian doesn’t even have his backpack.

Scar gets out of the car and the two of them walk into the Charles Entertainment Cheese, quickly finding the third member of their trio. Mumbo smiles at the two and gives them a quick wave, gesturing for them to sit at the table he’s reserved for them. There’s not that many people in here, which makes sense since it’s the middle of the week at 11am.

“Why’d you bring us here?” Scar asks Grian when they’ve settled down.

“It was my idea,” Mumbo answers in Grian’s stead. “I thought the three of us could use a day off to have fun.”

“Chuck E Cheese was my idea, though, so you can’t actually take credit for that,” Grian retorts. Mumbo sticks out his tongue at Grian. Grian returns the gesture.

“Mumbo Jumbo suggesting we skip school?” Scar gasps, “Scandolous.”

Mumbo grins at Scar. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises mate.”

“That you are. Oh, look!” Scar exclaims, glancing over towards the arcade section of the building. “I didn’t know they would have a Dance Dance Revolution!”

“Revolution? Overthrow the government?” Mumbo counters at Scar, not realizing what he’s just done. Grian buries his head in his hands.

“Uh, I think so!”

“Next thing you know-”

“I’m surrounded by losers!” Grian cries.

“You’re the one who thought three teenagers coming to Chuck E Cheese was a good idea!” Mumbo argues

“Maybe the real car was the bear we befriended along the way.” Scar continues on.

Grian slightly bangs his head on the table. “oh let’s go skip school and have fun just because,” he says in a tone mocking Mumbo, “it’ll be great!”

“Did you know you could white out?”

Oh, how Grian wishes he could black out.

Chapter 38: "You can tell me anything." [Dogwarts]

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

Martyn stands outside Ren’s house, a basket of medicinal herbs in hand. For as long as he can remember, his friend lives out here all alone, only coming to the market for his weekly groceries. He sometimes pops in for a drop of potion or two—nothing too serious, usually a concoction for rising body temperatures or sores and warts. Sometimes, a garlic sachet, but Martyn doesn’t think that vampires would live so far out in the forests, preferring human settlements instead.

However, Ren has been missing his visits, and frankly, Martyn is starting to get worried.

He does the thing that no one bothered to do and decides to head up to Ren’s hut to check up on him. Being the hermit that he is, Ren doesn’t have many friends, not as far as Martyn knows, anyway. His house is located down a winding road through a still forest. The only sounds that can be heard is the sinister cawing of crows, or the rustle of leaves, evidence of something creeping around the fronds and the bushes.

Martyn soon reaches the lone hut in the middle of the forest, at the edge of a glade of golden grass. It looks quaint but homely, the lighter birch walls framed with darker spruce logs. A potted plant hangs above the door, and creeping vines take root in the wood. A stone smokestack runs up the back of the house, but it is currently out of use, it seems.

Martyn steps up to the front door, and he raps his knuckles on the heavyset wood, the sounds muted but distinct. He waits patiently for a response, because Ren may be preoccupied. However, Martyn is not fond of waiting, so by the tenth second, he’s already ramming his fist against the door again.

“Hello? Ren? You in there?” he calls.

“Martyn?” Ren’s voice floats from within. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Martyn shouts back. “You haven’t been around lately. I brought you some food. Was afraid that you’d go hungry or something.”

“O-Oh.” Ren’s voice sounds wobbly and weak. Martyn hears footsteps from within, shuffling over to the door. Other than footsteps, Martyn can also hear his laboured breathing and grunts. “Just leave it outside. I’ll grab it later. Thanks.”

“You okay in there, buddy? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine. Please leave,” Ren croaks out. Well, at least the voice that Martyn thinks belongs to Ren did. It’s so gravelly and shaky that he wonders if it is Ren himself or someone impersonating him and doing a darned terrible job. But as an apothecarist, it’s not in Martyn’s best interests to leave an ill person alone, even if—no, especially since no-one else seems to care about him.

“Come on,” Martyn says. “You really don’t sound too good. I can come in and whip up some chicken soup or something. That and a little bit of rest does wonders for most ailments.”

“Really, thanks for the concern, but I’m fine.”

“It’s not something embarrassing, is it? Don’t worry, you can tell me anything—as an apothecarist, I’ve seen literally everything under the sun. You wouldn’t believe how many people have stuck things up their—”

“I don’t think you’d have seen something like this before. It’s not something that people usually see.”

Martyn co*cks a hip, and he smirks. “Try me.”

There is a pause on the other end. It lasts for at least half a minute, and Martyn is starting to suspect that this is one of Ren’s tactics to chase him away when the door suddenly swing inwards. It creaks on its rusty hinges, and it opens only a crack, but a crack is really enough for Martyn to push his way into the house.

The first thing that he notices is the stench in the place. And it’s not some kind of normal stench too. It’s not that Martyn has never smelled this before—it is the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh. And animal musk. Has Ren been raising something in here? Martyn steps over the mess of pottery shards at the front of the house and the deflating packet of rice at the side of the hallway, grains spilled out onto the floor through a slash in the bag.

How did that get there?

The living room is a mess. Fluff explodes from a tear in the plush armchair. The curtains have been shredded. The basket of fruits on the table has been overturned, apples, oranges, and grapes tumbled onto the floor and reduced to nothing but a pile of mush.

But what worries Martyn the most are the undeniable scratch marks all over the walls. Some of them look new, but some of them look like they’ve been there for ages.

“Ren!” Martyn calls again, uncertainly this time. “You in there?”

“J-Just a moment!” The voice seems to be coming from behind a sturdy door farther into the house. Martyn approaches the room, and he knocks on the door.

The door swings open, and shoving his furry snout into Martyn’s face is none other than a massive beast. Martyn yelps as he stumbles backwards, his basket of goods nearly spilling out and onto the floor. Bloodshot eyes watch his every move, and razor teeth protrude from his gums. Brown fur covers nearly every patch of skin on his body, apart from his palms and the bottoms of his feet, the bursts of brown disappearing into the red of his collared shirt and blue overalls. The creature roars, fangs and claws brandished, as though ready to take a big chunk out of Martyn’s flesh.

“Whoa, you scared me there, bud,” Martyn says, holding up a hand to his chest. “Come on, now. It’s about time you showed yourself.”

The beast stares at him, and the crimson leaves his sclera till it becomes its all-natural yellow colour. He co*cks his head, and Martyn laughs, slapping his thigh.

“And here I thought you got something stuck up your—”

“You’re not afraid of me?” the creature asks. It very distinctly uses Ren’s voice, except it is a bit rougher and the words are a little less intelligible. Never in Martyn’s life would he have thought he would be up against an honest-to-goodness werewolf, and certainly not one that he would know.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” Martyn says. “If I had to choose one thing about you that’s kinda scary, it’s the sheer amount of garlic that you eat.”

Ren looks confused. “Oh.”

“Anyway, here’s the food, and some pints of ale.” Martyn drops the heavy basket on the table, next to the mushy fruits. “Here’s some chicken essence for if you have a fever—I’m not sure what problems you run into when you turn. And here’s something for muscle aches…”

Ren pads over to where Martyn is, and he sits down on the ruined sofa, very much like a well-behaved dog. Martyn finishes laying out the items on the table, and he huffs when he realises that he has stepped into a puddle of apple.

“How long will it take for this to wear off?” Martyn asks. “The full moon was…”

“About three days ago,” Ren says, and he scratches behind his ear. “It was supposed to wear off a day ago, but… for some reason, it’s still persisting. My brain’s not all wonky and stuff, but the physical symptoms are still... here.”

“Hmm. Well, I could try reading up on it and see whether we have anything that can help,” Martyn says. “There could be something in the almanacs for these kinds of symptoms.”

Ren blinks. “But… I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything—”

“Nah, not an inconvenience. I needed something new to do anyway.”

“Oh, um. Okay. Thanks?”

“Yes, yes, I will be back with more food and stuff. Meat? Fruits?”

“A little bit of both would be nice.”

“Great, great. I hope you haven’t snapped your broomstick or anything. This place needs a bit of dusting and cleaning, if you ask me.”

With that, Martyn strides towards the door, careful not to step on any curdling blotches or jagged edges of pottery. “I’ll be back tomorrow, or in two days, or something. Hopefully, I’ll have some kind of medicine for you by then.”

Ren watches as Martyn exits the house, and Martyn can still feel his befuddled gaze on him even as he strides back down the path to the forest. The trees seem less dead, less dry. More beams of light filter through the leaves, kissing the grey of the path.

When Martyn reaches the apothecary, the first thing he does is to shut the doors, flip the sign to Closed, and bury himself in his almanacs in the back room.

Chapter 39: "Try some."

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

“Whatcha playing?” Scar asks, leaning over Mumbo’s shoulder to get a peek at his screen.

“Oh, just Pokémon. Why?”

Scar raises an eyebrow at Mumbo. “Last I checked, Pokémon was only available on Nintendo consoles. I don’t think your laptop is a Nintendo console, Mum-bo.”

Mumbo scooches himself to turn around and face Scar. The two are at lunch in one of their teacher’s rooms since the lunchroom can get too loud sometimes. “People play Pokémon on computers all the time, Scar. Some even play it on their phones.”

Scar stares at Mumbo. “Are you serious?”

“Well– yeah, I’m playing it on my laptop right now.”

Scar takes a seat next to Mumbo now, looking at the screen that clearly shows a working Pokémon game. “How in the world…?”

“Have…” Mumbo starts, looking at Scar in concern, “Have you never heard of emulators before?”

Scar blinks at Mumbo. “I mean, yeah, I have, but- don’t you need to own the game to emulate it? And isn’t this game like. $1000?”

Mumbo sighs, “No, you don’t need to own a game to emulate it.”

“So you’re stealing!” Scar gasps. Mumbo glares at Scar and the brunet bursts into laughter. “I can’t believe the Mumbo Jumbo is pirating. Unbelievable.”

“Do you want to learn how to play Soul Silver on your computer?”

“Yes please!”

“You mean I can download. Any game I want. From this website.”

“Yu-p,” Mumbo confirms, popping the ‘p’. “It’s pretty nice.”

“You’re tellin’ me, that after all this time, I could’ve been playing all of these games?!?” Scar exclaims, fully in disbelief.

Mumbo nods. “You’ve got that right. Just download the emulator you need for whatever console the game you want is on, download the game you want, unzip the files, and have fun.”

“Oh. My. God.”

Mumbo snickers at Scar’s amazement. “I’ve been doing this for a couple of years now. Can’t believe you’ve just now figured it out.”

“Dude!” Scar yells in excitement, “there’s so many things out there I can do now! I can speedrun!”

Mumbo’s eyebrows raise at that, but he decides to not say anything about speed running. It’ll take a while for Scar to get used to emulating, and even then it won’t really be very effective at being, well, speedy. But, Mumbo will let Scar have his fun.

“What if I skipped the rest of school to go play around?”

“...please don’t,” Mumbo pleads with Scar. “We have a presentation today. Grian will kill you if you miss it.”

Scar stops everything at that one statement, processing what Mumbo has just said. Then, “Oh shoot!”

Chapter 40: "Go back to sleep."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

The nightmares started the night he Fell. Or, well, they would have if Grian learnt to sleep.

He spent his first few days in Hell curled up in a ball, wincing and grunting as his essence shifted, every atom, every molecule of his body reconfiguring so that he may exist without Her Grace. It wasn’t just him; every Fallen angel went through the excruciating agony as they turned into something they were not. When they turned into the being that is the polar opposite of what they were.

All this pain just for asking some questions.

Only when their forms stabilised did they start to get Hell up and running. Just like the other demons, Grian found himself helping to transform Hell into a space where they can begin planning and plotting their malicious acts against the humans when they eventually started living on Earth, in the Garden of Eden. It is rather ironic that the Hell they came up with seems to be modelled after Heaven, really, with desks and chairs, fluorescent lights overhead.

The first time Grian headed up to the surface was when he was tasked to tempt the first humans to sin. It was easily done, especially since Eve was too curious for her own good. Reminded Grian of himself, really. After, he watched the two humans venture out of the garden and into the vast, cruel world. He chatted with the angel on the Eastern wall, a naughty thing that gave his flaming sword away and lied to God’s face. He remembers this angel, though he wasn’t a principality the last Grian saw him.

The second time Grian headed up to the surface was 3004 BC, slithering up to Mesopotamia days before a flood was to occur. It wasn’t surprising, but still as horrifying, to learn that She was intending on drowning even the children, the poor innocent children who would know nothing but suffering that would end their short lives on Earth. How could She inflict that sort of pain, he would never understand. The angel comforted him, telling him that at least She would create a rainbow, as a promise never to drown them ever again.

The third time Grian went up to Earth was in 2500 BC, when he was sent to kill Job’s goats, his property, and his children. It was a test, according to God, of Job’s loyalty. It was also a bet between Herself and Satan. Grian was given a permit, which the angel screaming “Avant!” could not act against.

It was a whole thing involving goats-turned-crows and Job’s children-turned-lizards, but in some way or form, Grian and Scar end up spending the night in Job’s basem*nt.

“Try it,” Grian said, holding out the ox rib to Scar. Scar stared at it in disgust at first, but after the first bite, all restraint was as good as gone. Now they both lie on the sacks of grain in the corner of the room, Grian fast asleep, and Scar wide awake, because angels needn’t sleep and neither should they (sin of Sloth and all that).

Scar stares out at the stars in the sky, through the tiny window. He has never taken the time to appreciate the wonders of space from the confines of Earth. He remembers standing in the midst of all those nebula, surrounded by flashes of colour and bursts of light, with a certain starmaking angel at his side.

Speaking of the angel… Scar is jolted from his thoughts at a grunt next to him. He glances over to Grian where the latter faces away from him. Grian is curled into a ball, and only his head is visible in the shifting sea of his black robes. Scar taps him on the shoulder experimentally.

“Grian?” he asks.

Grian doesn’t so much as stir, but he’s still making those noises that sounds like noises of distress.

“Hey, G. What’s wrong?” Scar tries again. He’s not responding. Does Grian hate him or something? But they were on very good speaking terms just a few moments ago… “G? Come on!”

At the last vigorous shake of his shoulder, Grian jumps awake. He sits bolt upright, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He turns to Scar, and behind those dark glasses, he can see a harried look in the demon’s eyes.

“You okay?” Scar asks. “You were making pained noises.”

Grian seems to take stock of the situation, the tension fleeing his body, and he falls back onto the pile of sacks. “’M fine. Just a bit of a nightmare.”

“What’s that?”

“You know when you fall asleep, there will be random images going through your head. They are usually good or neutral, but they can sometimes be bad, and they’ll feel very real.”

“Oh.” Scar doesn’t get this whole dreaming thing. It was Jerahmeel’s idea, but the angels that created the universe never really shared any ideas with other angels. Apart from the one sitting next to him, apparently. But if these images have Grian stiffening up and sweating, then they surely mustn’t be good images.

“Don’t worry about me,” Grian says, and he lies with his back to Scar once more. “Go back to sleep.”

Scar blinks. “Oh, well, uh, I don’t sleep.”

“Just close your eyes,” Grian says, without turning around. “And when sleep comes to cradle you with its gentle hands, don’t fight it and just let them take you.”

Sleeping doesn’t sound too bad when Grian puts it that way. He copies Grian, curling up into a ball, and he shuts his eyes. Soon, he finds a strange sensation taking over him, like the light rocking of a cradle, like Grian described. He lets himself go, surrendering his consciousness to the darkness beyond.

Chapter 41: "Well, what do you want to do?"

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Scar bangs his head on the dining room table. “Kill me.”

“Woah, woah- we don’t need to go that far,” Mumbo assures. “It’s just econ-”

“No, no. I’m with Scar, here.” Grian agrees, pencil shaking in his hand.

“Oh, come on guys…” Mumbo pleads. “It’s simple, really–”

“Liar.” Scar accuses, muffled by the tablecloth.

“Please lift your head,” Mumbo sighs, “Either your forehead’s gonna get a dent or my parent’s wooden table will, and both of those outcomes are pretty terrible.”

“If I put a dent in my head will I be excused from the econ exam?” Grian wonders aloud.

“Nobody is putting a dent anywhere!” Mumbo exclaims, exasperated. “It’s not that difficult, if you would listen to me.” He accuses his friends.

Scar has the decency to look slightly ashamed, but Grian doesn’t react.

“Econ is so stupid! Like, when am I going to have to use this stuff in real life?”

“That’s not how that works-”, “This is the worst subject for you to argue that-” Scar mumbles at the same time Mumbo states.

“I just don’t understand what’s going on, man,” Scar sighs, putting his pencil down and leaning the side of his head into his palm. “There’s too many words and numbers. These word problems are worse than calc!”

“Nothing. Is worse. Than calc.” Grian deadpans. Mumbo only sighs and pats his friend on the shoulder.

“Says the person who has an A in the class!” Scar accuses.

“Just because I have good grades doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck!” Grian retorts, before banging his head on the table—or, more so, his hands that are on the table.

Mumbo chooses not to address the head-on-table thing right this moment, so he returns his focus onto their econ worksheet. The three of them have gov second semester, and therefore have already taken econ. The problem, however, is that now they have AP exams coming up, and they’re struggling to remember just how economics even works.

“Do you want to go in and ask to see our previous tests tomorrow? Maybe that’ll help?” Mumbo suggests.

Scar shrugs, unsure. “There’s a chance, but I’m not sure I can ever get this to click again. I think I made so much up last semester that it canceled out and made me pass even though I didn’t understand a lick of those units.”

“You know that’s not true, Scar—”

Grian mumbles incoherently before lifting his head up again, looking Scar right in the face. “You were the only person to have gotten a 100 in our class during unit 4. How do you not remember anything?”

“I don’t know!” Scar cries.

Ok, this is hopeless, Mumbo thinks to himself. “Alriiight,” He says, interrupting the unproductive study session, “We’re putting everything away. What do we want to do?”

“What do we want to do?” Grian repeats. “We came here to study?”

“And that’s failing, so what do we want to do?” Mumbo continues, firm on his stance.

“We…could…play jackbox?”

And that’s what the three of them did—they spent the next few hours playing jackbox instead of studying. Tomorrow, they’ll go into class early in the morning and ask the teacher for help, but right now, they’re going to enjoy the time they have together without stress.

Chapter 42: "There is enough room for the both of us." [Imp & Skizz]

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

Impulse is not new to the ghost hunting stint. It’s his whole life, really; he was raised on the stuff. Salt circles, burning the bodies to silence the ghosts and send them back to death, yeah, all that stuff. That day, a fateful thirty years ago, he saw his mother burn to death on the ceiling above him, fires that ravaged their house and burnt it down, timber scorched and plaster blackened. The last thing he remembered was his brother Skizz carrying him out of the room, swaddled in blankets in a too-hot room.

Impulse isn’t exactly sure what went on that day, to be frank. Not until he saw his girlfriend burn up in the same way his mother did. Pinned to the wall, glassy eyes staring down at him, before her body was set aflame by diabolical sources. That was right before the day he was to pop the question, to make matters worse.

And so, when Skizz comes calling, he wastes no time in packing up his things, abandoning the apartment where he and his fiancee-to-be would have called home, to journey across America to exact revenge on the being who murdered his loved ones.

Well, when he imagined hunters, he remembered his father leaping into danger, being all badass with his arsenal of weapons, flamethrowers and silver knives at the ready, Glock stocked with iron bullets. He imagined them to be heroes, saving people from the clutches of restless spirits.

He certainly hadn’t expected to stumble straight into a pit of black goo, perhaps a residue left by the ghost they’re supposed to be hunting. From their research, it seems that their target is the restless spirit of an oil worker who fell from a massive height, snapping his neck and killing him instantly. Which is why wherever this ghost goes, he is sure to leave a trail of tar.

“You okay?” Skizz asks. A spray of salt, and the black goo shies away, like it’s connected to the ghost, as though it’s another appendage.

“Fine, fine, don’t worry about me,” Impulse says, and he scrapes his sole against the floor.

Skizz frowns, and he angles his head at the ceiling. “Is it just me, or is…”

A sudden clinking of chains snatches Impulse’s attention, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s faint now, but it’s there, and it seems to be coming from right behind them.

“Dipple dop!” Skizz shrieks. “Run!”

He grabs his brother’s arm and dashes ahead. Impulse nearly stumbles as he is pulled along. He tosses a glance back, hoping to catch a glimpse of what they’re up against. He wishes he never looked.

The spirit is in a terrible state, his neck bent at the most awkward of angles, chains wound around his torso, coiling around his limbs. Oil leaks from his soles with every step, each footprint sizzling with burning blackness. Most of his body has rotted away, eaten by animals or lost to the elements, leaving him dripping chunks of flesh as he chases them.

The spirit roars, sending out a hot wave of putrid breath. Skizz drags Impulse down the corridor, the two hunters bumbling through the narrow hallway. Despite the unnatural movement, Impulse manages to slip his gun out of his holster and fire a few warning shots at the spirit. Nothing too damaging—they’re not salt bullets or the Colt after all—but hopefully, it should slow the ghost down some.

“Oh, this is bad,” Skizz hisses.

The corridor is coming to an end, with only a door—locked or unlocked, they do not know—waiting for them. Skizz rams his shoulder into the door full force, and the decomposing wood splinters and gives way. Impulse casts furtive glances around the room, searching for any hints of an out, or at least, a hiding spot.

The only piece of furniture in this room is a queen-sized bed. The mattress is falling apart at the seams, fluff spilling from its tattered corners, springs punctured its threads long since stretched thin. There is nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run. The spirit is going to come in sooner or later.

“In here!” Skizz cries, dropping to his belly and wriggling under the bed. A co*ckroach skitters out, and Impulse freezes in his tracks. The co*ckroach looks much bigger than anything he has ever encountered before. If he were to—

“Come on! There’s enough room for the both of us!” Skizz tugs at Impulse’s ankle. Impulse stifles a yelp, and he drops to his hands and knees before wriggling into the tiny gap between the bed and the floor, rather amazed that it can hold two grown men.

Impulse’s heart nearly stops as a beetle scuttles out from under the bed, just seconds before the ghost floats through the door. The stench of oil fills the air, and Impulse nearly gags. He and Skizz watch with bated breath as the ghost wanders around the room, the chains scraping the ground with each step. It soon wanders out of view, and Skizz reaches for the shotgun on his back.

Can the ghost sense them here? Will it find them hiding under the bed, shirts drenched with sweat sticking to their bodies, waiting desperately for it to leave? Impulse half-expects it to suddenly rip the bed off the ground and overturn it, revealing their location. He expects to have to run for it, ducking past the ghost and hoping to make it out of the building alive.

However, relief washes over him as the ghost takes its leave, dragging its diabolical chains with it as it departs the room to hunt down some other unlucky victim. It’s only when Impulse doesn’t even hear the chains anymore that he lets out a breath of relief.

“Well, that was close,” Skizz says. “He nearly caught us.”

Impulse nods. “We’d better find that hand of his soon. Won’t be so lucky next time.”

As much of a goof as Skizz likes to make himself out to be, he’s incredibly reliable when it comes to the fast and furious hunts. He’s gotten them out of more scrapes that Impulse can count, often pulling him—the deadweight—along. Without Skizz, Impulse would probably have been dead a hundred times over.

“Hey, now’s not the best time to be taking forty winks, dipple dop,” Skizz says, waving a hand in front of his face. “Don’t you go zoning out on me now.”

“Right, right.” Impulse grabs the shotgun still resting heavily against his back, loaded full of salt shells. Who knows when that ghost is going to show up again?

Chapter 43: "One more chapter."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

“Barcelona.”

“Bahamas.”

“Bali.”

Three friends, three locations, spread out across the world. Grian is a journalist, headed out to Spain to cover sports news in the region. Mumbo is taking a break from work and heading off to cycle, whose adventures would take him out to the Bahamas. Scar is headed out to Bali, stationed in Indonesia as his company aims to set up a local office.

“Wow,” Grian says, as he sips his cup of tea, the three of them nursing their beverages over three plates of cakes in the cafe near their flats. “They all start with ‘Ba.’”

“Pure coincidence,” Mumbo says.

“We’ll be all across the world,” Scar says, pressing his chilled hands against the steaming hot mug. “We won’t have much of a chance to meet up anymore, would we?”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Grian says, as he leans back against his chair. The door opens, and the bell above it jingles as another customer strides in. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

“Yeah, but…” Scar mumbles, staring down wistfully into the murky depths of his hot chocolate. “It’ll be hard.”

“We could always call,” Mumbo says. “Discord works. Or Skype.”

“It’ll be different,” Scar whines, in the way that he always does. “And when Mumbo’s awake, I’ll probably be asleep and everything.”

Mumbo yawns. “My sleeping schedule’s a mess. I’ll be awake. Trust me.”

“Don’t think of it as a parting,” Grian says, as he scoops up the last of the cake crumbs on his plate. “Think of it as… we’re writing another chapter of our lives together. We’re in wildly different places, but we’re still in the same book, yeah?”

Scar smiles. “Yeah, that’s a nice thought. And then in the chapter after that, we might be together again.”

They sit for a moment in silence, each of them sipping on the remainder of their drinks. The cafe is as bustling as usual today, the lunch crowd just arriving and flooding the premises. Baristas rush about, serving tables and attending to orders. They’re all leaving soon—this may be the last time they could get together like this, before they’re sending each other off at the airport.

But as long as they stay in touch, to see each other, there will always be another chance. Another chance to write just one more chapter of their tale.

Chapter 44: "You're warm."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

It has been three months, twenty-eight days, and five hours since Scar fell sick. Grian had never dealt with anything this serious before, an illness that leaves him bedridden, barely able to move a muscle. Whatever pills or salves that Grian managed to find stashed away in his cupboard doesn’t seem to work, and he’s at his wit’s end.

Every day, his condition seems to deteriorate even further, to the point where he can barely keep food and water down, his skin stretching taut over thin bones. Grian can only watch helplessly as he spends his waking hours tending to the farms, forgoing sustenance himself, in an attempt to find a cure, yet they always end in failure.

Winter has just come, scattering snow across the landscape, decorating the trees with frost and turning the lakes into mirrors. Clouds drift lazily overhead, casting shadows on the white plains. The inch-deep snow has buried their farmland, preparing the fertile soil for spring, when the flowers would inevitably blossom again.

“What are you doing out here?” Scar asks him one chilly morning.

Grian blinks at the sound of his voice. “Scar! You’re not supposed to be up.”

“Aw, come on. Can’t I just join my best friend? Not even for a bit? It’s boring being in that bed all day.”

Grian doesn’t miss the way Scar shivers as he settles down into the space next to Grian. He’s dressed in his kimono, a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders. They sit at the porch of the house, the height of the cliffside giving them an excellent view of the mountains, the hills and valleys, and the village below.

Scar coughs into his hand. Grian’s heart jumps, thinking that Scar’s hand would come away with blood, as it had done before. He sags in relief when he sees nothing, not even any telltale crimson flecks. He relaxes a little, and a sudden soreness runs through his body.

They sit in silence for a while, just enjoying the moment. Until Scar’s head falls against Grian’s shoulder, a heavy breath landing on his arm. Grian pats him on the back, his muscles tensing again, trying to see if Scar’s exhibiting any discomfort at all. But Scar merely sighs against his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest even and rhythmic. Not ragged and short, as Grian has learnt to fear.

“You’re warm,” Scar mumbles, like all the energy’s drained out of him, just sitting here. Grian wants to usher him back to bed, but at the same time, something at the back of his head nags at him, telling him that he shouldn’t, that he should let Scar have this.

Who knows how many more winters he’ll get to live through?

Once he’s gone, what then? Will Grian go back to living in the forest, amongst the critters that he has left behind because he found companionship in a human being? Already, he is afraid that Kami-sama has given up on him. Has forsaken him like how he has forsaken his kin. Would he have to go on the run, head far away across the land, to environments that he has never known?

A shuddering cough draws Grian’s attention back to the body curled next to him. Grian’s heart clenches, his heartstrings threatening to snap, watching as Scar’s shrivelled form trembles in the cold.

“Right,” Grian says, hoping to inject as much nonchalance into his voice in an attempt to hide his worries. “Time to get you back to bed. I need to start preparing lunch.”

“I wanna stay up a bit longer…”

“No can do. You need some rest, mister.” He’s let Scar sit outside in the cold for much too long, which may adversely affect his health. Any longer, and he’s being as irresponsible as Scar is.

He carries Scar back to bed, the man so thin and light that it’s a simple task even for Grian’s hollow bones. Scar coughs again, this time sprinkling his palm with red, and Grian tsks, scolding him half-heartedly about taking care of himself. Scar dredges up a smile, but he does not respond. He turns till his back is to Grian, convulsing occasionally when he has to cough.

Grian tries to busy himself with the cooking, gathering herbs and the little meat that they have to brew a chicken-and-cabbage stew. Whilst he stirs the pot, all that fills his mind is the need to get back to the village and continue his hunt for a cure.

Before Kami-sama snatches him away.

Chapter 45: "Have fun."

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Grian stands in front of the band office doors, peering into a dark, empty room. Their directors left only a few minutes ago, and now the prank is on.

“Today’s the day, huh?” Mumbo says, coming up behind him.

“Yup,” Grian says, turning to his friend with a grin. He’s spent a year collecting quotes from their band directors, and this past weekend, all 800+ of them were written on pieces of paper and sticky notes. “Just waiting for Scar to get back with the materials.”

“Ooh, whatcha got goin on, Gri?” someone says from his left.

Grian turns and faces none other than Jimmy, who’s got his hands full with his music and trumpet. “Quote book,” is all he responds with.

Jimmy, however, doesn’t need anything more. His eyes go wide in recognition and he puts his stuff down against the nearby wall. “That’s today! Oh my god, good luck!”

Grian snickers. “Thanks man, you gonna help?”

“Of course I am!” Jimmy exclaims, patting Grian’s shoulders. Mumbo, meanwhile, walks to the entrance doors of the band room to greet the teacher that’s unlocking the office for them.

As soon as X unlocks the doors, Scar returns to the bandroom, quotes and supplies in hand. “Let’s roll!”

Suddenly, after over a year of quote collecting and on-and-off planning, they’re finally decorating the office. More people join in, and at the peak there’s about 10 people in the office pasting quotes everywhere. The walls, desks, cabinets, shelves, the floor, even the ceiling—there is no place that the quotes won’t cover.

It takes a couple hours, but at around 6pm, everything’s finished. The couches and chairs are covered in sticky notes, quotes are covering the entire window, and every little nook and cranny has some sort of paper on it.

It’s the most beautiful thing Grian has ever witnessed.

“Did you have fun?” Scar asks him. “Spent a lot of time on this, huh?”

“What if we were all just cardboard cutouts,? Mumbo reads aloud from a quote on the lamp.

“Thank you for sticking with me,” Grian says, smiling at his friends. They’re the only two people who were allowed to stay, and he’s very appreciative that they did. He’s thankful for the people who even had to leave early, too. None of this could’ve happened without everyone’s work. “It’s better than I ever imagined it being.”

Mumbo slings an arm around Grian’s shoulders. “Let’s go get some food. I think we’re all hungry and tired.”

“And you’re getting at 5 to catch their reactions, right?” Scar confirms. “Let’s get you home as soon as possible.

Grian groans at the reminder of waking up early. Why are their directors like this.

Chapter 46: "Be careful."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

“I refuse!” Grian snaps. “I’m not letting you do this alone. It’s too dangerous!”

“Well, I have to, whether you like it or not,” Mumbo argues back, his arms folded.

The war room is tense, the generals, advisors, and knights staring at the argument that is just unfolding. Grian glares at Mumbo, and Mumbo glares back, neither knight nor prince willing to give in.

“Now, why don’t we just… calm down,” Scar, an advisor, says, “and—”

“Stay outta this!” Grian and Mumbo cry in unison. Scar shrinks back, as though slapped, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Look, Grian, it’s me they want,” Mumbo says. “If we can pull this off, I can get intel for you and Scar, and then you can plan and execute that counterattack. If we don’t do this… I don’t need to tell you what would happen to the rest of the kingdom.”

“He’s right, though,” another advisor, Iskall, says. “If we can pull this off, then we would have captured their eastern stronghold.”

Grian growls, and he folds arms. Turning his back to them, he storms towards the door. He swings it open with a bang, promptly takes his leave, and he swings it shut with another bang, acutely aware of the sheer number of eyes on him. The room is bathed in silence, the sort of uncomfortable silence that no-one seems interested in breaking. Mumbo sighs, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You okay, Your Highness?” Scar asks.

“I’m fine. I think Grian just needs some time alone. Come on, we’ve got to finish up this meeting.”

*

At Scar's insistence, Mumbo does set out to find Grian after the meeting. He wanders the halls, the barracks, the training grounds, all the while racking his brains and wondering where his best friend has gone. Well, maybe ex-best friend, depending on how Grian wants to proceed from here.

Eventually, after much wandering and asking the soldiers and servants, Mumbo learns that the general is in the garden. A funny place for a general, it is. Oftentimes, the leaders of war are portrayed as heroic, finding glory and glamour on the battlefield. Some do take pride in their combat skills, but Grian is intriguing in that he abhors fighting at all.

The moon hangs high in the sky when Mumbo finally spots Grian seated at the pavilion at the edge of the flowerbeds. It gives a good view of the plains below and the faraway mountains. It just doesn't sit right with him, knowing that he's here, safe in his castle, whilst his people risk life and limb far away from home.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Mumbo says, as he walks up to the pavilion.

“No, you didn’t. I don’t usually come here.”

“Fine, you got me.” Mumbo gestures at the bench. “May I sit here?”

“You’re a prince, aren’t you? You don’t need my permission. Do what you want.”

The ice in Grian’s voice stings. But Mumbo probably deserves it. “About the discussion this afternoon…”

“You made up your mind, didn’t you? There’s nothing I can say that could possibly change it.”

“You’re… right about that. This plan has to work, or else we won’t be able to lure them out and take the stronghold.”

“I know that.” Grian sighs, and he dips his head, resting it on his kneecaps. “I just didn’t want to believe it. Because if I did, I’d feel like I’m sending you to your death, you know.”

Mumbo swallows the lump in his throat. He hadn’t thought about it that way before.

“But like I said, no amount of persuasion’s gonna stop you from doing what you want. I know that much.” Grian peers up at the sky once more, at the twinkling stars against the blanket of blackness. “So, uh… be careful, okay? If you die, then I’ll just kill you myself, you hear me?”

At that, Mumbo can’t help but smile. Grian has always been a bit prickly—it’s what helped him survive the guard training with his smaller stature. Though his words may seem to be a reflection of that, but Mumbo can hear the quiet support in his tone. “Right, I’ll be careful.”

“Well, it’s getting late.” Grian stands, and he stretches. “Time to get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

Mumbo nods, and he follows Grian back into the castle. Tomorrow, they are going to put their plan into action and take back what’s rightfully theirs. And for that, they need all the rest that they can get.

Chapter 47: "I'll help you study."

Chapter by Princess_Cutie9

Chapter Text

Scar is doomed. Scar is so utterly, astronomically, doomed. Grian is in the other room, setting his stuff down in preparation for their government study session. He had asked his friend to come over to help study because, frankly, Scar is lost. There’s like 73 court cases they have to memorize and 1000 federalist papers to understand—and not even to mention their vocab cards. It’s a lot to handle, so it’s nice that Grian agreed to meet him today.

The problem being…Scar has been immobilized. And Grian is about to find out that Scar isn’t very available for the study session he asked for.

“Hey man, you ready?” Grian calls out from the other room. Scar tries his best to remain silent. If Grian thinks he’s out, then maybe he’ll leave and come back later when Scar’s able to-

“Dude! Where’d you go? Your car’s still in the driveway so I know you’re here!”

Shoot! Stupid cars giving away Scar’s location.

“Look, if you don’t want me to come over today you can just say- oh.” Grian enters the living room and finds Scar—in almost a comedic way—hiding under a few blankets while he lays on the couch. On top of the blankets lays a peaceful cat, snoozing away. Her purrs quietly fill the room and Grian lets out a soft ‘Oh’.

Scar slowly reveals his face from under the blanket and looks at Grian sheepishly. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Grian just shakes his head and laughs. “You’re all good dude. Plus, she’s a heavy sleeper, isn’t she? Nothing gets in the way of Jellie’s nap time,” he says, albeit much softer than he was calling out for Scar a moment ago.

“Well—yeah, but I’m stuck! I can’t move!” Scar whisper-yells. He can’t really study in this state.

“Nuh uh,” Grian counters, “You’re not getting out of studying that easily.” He says, before running to the room with his bag, and coming back with a pile of notecards. “Let’s get to it.”

Scar grimaces.

Chapter 48: "We'll figure it out."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

It has been a full day since Scar’s abduction. One moment, he was chatting happily with them about the upcoming Inside Out movie, and the next, he’s gone. Poof, disappeared into thin air.

Silence hangs over the office as Mumbo and Grian sit at the lounge, poring over the map and various clues that they have amassed so far, spread haphazardly over the coffee table. A stain is beginning to form over a corner of the map where Grian placed his cup of latte on it. The board behind them is littered with red string, photographs and typed witness testimonies pinned up with colourful thumbtacks.

They only have twenty-four more hours before the likelihood drops by an even larger margin. The likelihood of what, you may ask. Well, the probability of finding Scar alive, that is.

“I think,” Grian says, as he rises from the sofa, “we both need a bit of rest.”

“I think,” Mumbo counters, with a scathing tone unlike what Grian has ever heard, “that we both need to try a little harder.”

“We’re going to burn ourselves out and die from exhaustion if we don’t get some sleep soon,” Grian rebukes. “We could always get Pearl to help.”

“This is my fault, Grian,” Mumbo mutters, and Grian can almost see the veins popping out of his head, but the gears grinding in his noggin are slowly coming to a halt. “If only I hadn’t done that, then Scar would be…”

If this is Mumbo’s fault, then it should be Grian’s as well. There is no denying that the both of them took their eyes off the person they are supposed to protect. Even if it was just for a second, their enemies are sure to take advantage of that. The worst part is that both of them know full well just how powerful their adversaries are.

“Look, it’s not anyone’s fault except the guy who kidnapped him, okay?” Grian says, as he saunters over to the coffee machine to fetch himself another cup. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Then, practice what you preach and put that coffee down. Don’t think I don’t see you.”

Grian huffs, but he does as he’s told. For the first time in what must have been hours, Mumbo lifts his head, and he locks gazes with Grian. Intensity swirls in their pupils, as though challenging each other to rebut.

After a while, Mumbo lets out the world’s loudest yawn, and he falls back against the sofa, one arm thrown over his eyes. It slices the tension clean through, and Grian has to hide a smile despite the gravity of the situation.

“I just need half an hour,” Mumbo slurs.

“Knock yourself out. Literally.” The sight of Mumbo lying sprawled out on the couch serves to inject Grian with the sleeping bug as well. He takes his spot in the armchair, and he sinks into its leather plushness. As Mumbo begins to snore, Grian clasps his fingers in front of him, his eyes wandering to the featureless ceiling.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises. To himself, Mumbo, and of course, Scar. It’s not a matter of whether they can, but a matter of having to. Failure is not an option.

Chapter 49: "It can wait till tomorrow."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

It has been about a week since Mumbo moved into his current place of residence. And so, it has also been a week since he’s started being haunted by an honest-to-goodness ghost. Said ghost used to live in his flat, apparently, before an unfortunate incident caused him to lose his life and to chain his essence to this particular flat.

Said ghost’s name is Grian. Though one expects a ghost to be frightening, he is anything but. Grian is what you may call a poltergeist, a spirit who absolutely loves pranks, and annoying Mumbo on a daily basis. It’s his main source of entertainment, and considering just how deprived he is, haunting the same house for fifty odd years, Mumbo can sympathise a little.

“Are you still doing your homework?” Grian asks, as he floats above Mumbo’s head.

“Well, it’s not going to do itself,” Mumbo says. He rubs at his bloodshot eyes, squinting at the glare of the computer screen in the darkness of his flat.

“That’s true, but still, it’s getting real late.”

Mumbo yawns. “I need to finish this by tomorrow. It’s important. I have to pass this module, or I’m not going to graduate.”

Grian sniffs. “Wow, thank God I don’t have to do homework anymore. It was a nightmare when I was a kid. It’s always so boring, especially Math.”

“Math’s fun,” Mumbo says automatically.

“Maybe to you math geeks it is. I’m never touching trig ever again with a ten-foot pole.”

“And yet here you are, within ten feet of my proofs tutorial.”

“Although,” Grian says, “you really should get some sleep. Even I can sense your exhaustion from here.”

Mumbo shakes his head. “I’m still in the middle of this, Grian, so if you aren’t making yourself useful…”

Grian snorts. “Well, I guess I’ll watch some TV while you’re doing that. I heard they’re showing a rerun of The Office today.”

Mumbo waves an absent goodbye to Grian as the ghost floats through the walls and towards the living room. Now that Grian’s gone, it’s time for him to focus on this task at hand. He can vaguely hear the muffled sounds of the television from the other room. It’s not quite distracting, and the faint noises somehow… soothe his heart a little.

As the night draws on, Mumbo can feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier. He finds himself having to take swigs of coffee more often, but the caffeine is barely helping his sleep-addled brain focus on the equations swimming before his eyes. Who in their right mind would take Mathematics as a major in university, anyway?

(Well, this idiot, that’s who.)

“You’re still doing it?”

Mumbo peers over at the voice, to see Grian hovering at the doorway, his arms folded. Grian doesn’t exactly need to do it—use the doors, that is—but he does it out of courtesy for Mumbo’s poor heart.

“Yes,” Mumbo says with a yawn. “I’ve got half the tutorial left. If I finish this up tonight, then…”

“It’s no longer ‘tonight,’” Grian points out. “It’s ‘this morning.’”

A quick glance at his alarm clock tells Mumbo that it is now well into the hours of two a.m. And he still has four questions to finish before his next class.

“Just half an hour more,” Mumbo tries.

“Nope, you’re going right to bed,” Grian says. “It’s way too late for you to be sitting here doing math exercises.”

“That’s a tutorial, that is,” Mumbo admonishes, but there is no bite to his words.

“Whatever. I didn’t get to go to uni.” Grian sits in the space between Mumbo and his work. “Now, go to bed, and all this can wait till tomorr—well, technically today… ”

“But…”

“No ‘buts,’” Grian huffs. He is incorporeal—he cannot touch Mumbo no matter how hard he tries—but he is still visible, and his waving arms can be rather annoying and distracting. Eventually, Mumbo decides to give up, and he abandons his tutorial at the grand hour of three in the morning.

“There we go,” Grian says, with a smug smirk on his face. It makes Mumbo want to continue working just to spite him. He may not look it, but in Mumbo’s kind and caring heart burns a lot of spite somehow. “Right, so… I’ll wake you up in time for class, don’t you worry.”

Mumbo sniffs. “That went well last time.”

Grian flushes, his reddened cheeks extremely obvious against the pallor of the rest of his face. “Hey, I thought we promised not to bring that up.”

Mumbo grumbles something as he smooshes his face into the pillow. He mustn’t have realised how tired he is, because in the next few seconds, he is out like a light.

Chapter 50: "I'll see you later."

Chapter by Frost5ive

Chapter Text

Grian has never felt more nervous before an operation. He may be the best neurosurgeon in Hermitville, yes, but even monkeys fall from trees—that is to say, that as proficient as he is, he is also prone to making mistakes. And a single mistake can cost him a life.

This operation is special. Because the life that would be lost if he wavers for even a second is that of his best friend, Scar. It had been years since Scar suffered that injury to his spinal cord in the line of duty, pursuing a suspect down a manhole and completely missing out on the trap that was laid there. Confined to a wheelchair for a good ten years, he was stripped of his badge and had an honourable discharge.

He has been waiting for this moment, when the frontiers of neuroscience have advanced enough to grant him a second chance at the life he wishes he lived. And which better surgeon to operate on him than the best in the land, and his oldest friend?

Grian watches as Scar’s lids flutter, sleepiness evident in the sag of his face and the haziness in his eyes. The anaesthetic is taking effect, numbing his muscles to the pain that he may feel. If all goes smoothly, he’d feel like he was in a deep sleep, potentially have a good dream, and wake up with feeling in his legs once more.

“So, I’ll see you later,” Scar says, a lazy grin on his lips. Even having lost the use of his legs, he never quite lost that mischievous glimmer in his smile. It is something that Grian always admired him for, but he’d never exactly admit it to anybody.

“I’ll see you later,” Grian promises.

Scar sinks fully into the anaesthetic’s hold, and he drifts off to slumberland. Little did Grian know that that promise that he made…

… would never be realised.