Chapter Text
Grian likes to think that in the recent months since he’s met Mumbo, he’s seen quite a bit. His world has been turned over and around, forcibly flipped upside down then right side up again. He’s seen real life vampires, fought an reanimated skeleton (it wasn’t much of a fight), survived a death circus, seen a giant spider woman that ate people. He’s experienced a lot since walking through Mumbo’s front door.
He doesn’t know if any of it compares to what’s in front of him currently.
The figure in front of them stumbles out of the line of trees, gaze unsteady. The longer they stand there, the more their human appearance loses shape. Grian sucks in a rough breath as he gets a glimpse at what’s under the shimmer (glamour, it’s glamour), something dark spilling from their chest. Their form hasn’t stopped flickering, steadily growing more intense and frequent. It’s like the air around them is being warped and twisted, reality being contorted. With each flicker that Grian sees, each glance he gets at something underneath the surface, less human, he wonders if his eyes are playing tricks on him.
They take a step toward the three of them, legs shaking. “G… give… it back…” they warble.
Their form flickers out. Grian spots wings and antennae, long dark hair cascading down around them. A pained kind of noise spills from their throat.
“This is… a changeling?” Mumbo slowly questions, sounding just a bit out of breath. “What’s… what’s wrong with it?”
Scar’s brows pull together tightly, lips twisting into something low and conflicted. “I don’t know,” he answers, and it’s an honest one. He stares, long, as the changeling makes their way out of the bushes and trees. His eyes linger on their glowing chest, studying it. Scar watches the glowing center light, and his stare widens just slightly. “It’s… there’s something wrong with their core. It looks like it’s unstable.”
“Their core?!” Mumbo all but shrieks as he turns to him with a panicked expression, “Is that even possible?!”
Scar’s face is a bit more open than it normally would be, allowing for both Grian and Mumbo to see how frazzled he is by all of this. But there’s something else underlying it all. “I’ve never read anything about it before!”
“G-Give… n-need it… back…” the changeling whines at them, a shaking hand reaching out to Scar. Their eyes seem locked on him.
“I don’t have anything,” Scar says coldly, firm as he looks at the changeling. “Not for you.”
The changeling pauses where they stand, empty, lifeless gaze shaking. They look at Scar, form twisting for just a second before the human appearance returns. “C… circle…” they plead out. “Home…”
Sudden anger overtakes Scar’s expression, face twisting in something cold and loathing. It snaps in place, quick like lightning cracking in the sky. “That place is not your home,” he practically spits, tone harsh.
“Whoa, Scar–” Grian tries, but any following words fall flat on his tongue. The man looks so… angry. His lips are set low in a deep frown, and his eyes carry hatred. It’s the same kind of hatred Grian saw in Mumbo once. The deeply rooted, centuries worth sort. Worry pools in Grian’s gut, and he’s suddenly very thankful he and Mumbo came along tonight. They can pull Scar out if he falls in too deep.
The changeling doesn’t react to Scar’s words all that well, their glamour reflecting the turbulence of their emotions. It flashes, and Grian gets a view of long unnatural limbs. He can’t get a good or even a long look, leaving him blinking. “N-No… home…” the changeling cries. “H-Have… na… me…” Their skin twists, body shaking. “Fa… iry r-ring…” Grian can see tears bubbling up in their eyes, but they don’t look like regular tears. They’re darker, a thicker consistency.
Scar scoffs, “Do you really think stealing a few names is going to make you one of them? Give me a break.” He glares at the changeling. “Stop being naive. You aren’t one of them.” The changeling flinches back, more tears pooling in their eyes. The light in their chest grows brighter. “No matter how many names you steal, you will never have an identity. You will never be them. You have names? Ha! You haven’t gotten anything except a one way ticket to Death!”
There’s a certain way that Scar speaks that shakes Grian. Perhaps it’s the loathing, maybe the absolute certainty with which he speaks. Or maybe… it’s the pain. The ferocity in his eyes.
“N-No… no no…” they whimper and whine, taking another step toward Scar. “No… g-give…! I-Identity… na… me…”
“You don’t get one!” Scar shouts, and the sound makes Grian jump. He’s never heard him shout before.
Tears fall from the changeling’s eyes, landing on the ground with thick drops. They’re dark. They aren’t water.
Scar doesn’t take his eyes off of them, even as the core in their chest burns brighter and brighter. Their skin continues to twist over their body, form flicking. “No matter how many names you take, how many shells you leave behind, you will never be whole!” He looks down on the changeling, green eyes cold and dull. His face looks so… empty. “They will never accept you.”
The changeling’s whimpers are sharply cut off, more dark tears spilling from their eyes. An eerie silence rips through the forest area, and Grian feels goosebumps blooming across his skin. Neither he nor Mumbo speak, stunned into silence by Scar’s outburst. Grian has never seen the man like this before, so raw and open, and emotive in a way that wasn’t fake. He’d put more attention to it if it weren’t for the feeling of growing static in the air.
It’s so potent that Grian can practically taste the static on his tongue, can feel his fingertips tingling. His eyes are glued on the changeling before them, despite every instinct within Grian telling him to look away, to run and not turn back. He can feel his hands shake ever so slightly, and he looks down at them with confusion.
“No… no, no, no…” the changeling begins to mutter, shaking their head. Their glamour begins to fade in and out furiously the more upset they become. Scar’s words have had a clear effect on them, as their mutters become louder and more desperate as they continue to stand where they are. Their body begins to glow.
“Scar, what’s going on?” Grian questions, side eying him. Scar’s gaze is still trained on them. “What’s happening to them?”
Scar doesn’t answer immediately, continuing to stare. The changeling wails in agony, and the longer the sound goes on, the more distorted it sounds. “I… their glamour is dropping completely. I don’t think they can hold their human appearance anymore,” he answers, voice shaking just the slightest bit. Grian hears it clearly.
Mumbo takes a small step forward, “Is it because of their core?”
Scar opens his mouth to reply before he shuts it and defaults to slowly nodding his head.
“What does that mean?” Grian asks urgently. He feels so lost with what’s happening. He glances at Mumbo and Scar before looking back at the crying changeling. They’re still muttering to themself, arms wrapped around their body in an attempt at self comfort.
“F-Fae have a magic core that keeps them alive. Think of it in place of their heart, except it functions and beats just like one,” Mumbo hastily explains as the air begins to shift again, the breeze picking up and becoming harsh. “Without a functioning core or u-uh, as Scar said, a corrupted one, their magic won’t work properly. I-I’m not sure what it exactly means but–”
“It means you’re about to see a changeling’s true form,” Scar interrupts, just before a sharp cry cuts through them.
Grian’s eyes are immediately pulled back to the changeling, and he’s greeted with a very different sight in front of him. Whereas before there was a human-like figure, he can’t see anything human about the changeling. They’ve completely lost their human form, all traces of it are gone.
Standing in their place is a tall figure, humanoid in shape but nothing more. Their once dull eyes are now pitch black and slits, blinking wildly at them. The sludge-like tears sink down their angular face, where bones are sharp and skin is sunken. Their mouth is large, and each time their lips open sharp teeth are revealed. Their limbs are long, longer than what should be possible. Their fingers are extended like claws, and their feet are crowed. Their black hair has gotten longer, hanging down their back. A tail sways behind them, as the antennae and wings Grian caught sight of earlier are on full display now. Their wings are translucent and tinted with darkness, antenna twitching on their head.
In their chest is a hole, one with their glowing heart sits. It’s shaped similarly to a human heart except larger and a different color. There’s something within their body that holds the heart in place, sticking out from their insides.
Grian stares at them, at the glowing heart at the center of their chest at their sharp teeth and too big mouth. The tears are still cascading down their face, as a matching substance oozes from their chest. The sight of it makes Grian’s insides twist and crawl, an unsettling feeling creeping up through his body. It’s like a dark colored sludge, one that falls into the grass below. As he stands in front of the changeling, fear grabs him by the throat, squeezing tight.
Similarly to him, Mumbo and Scar don’t look away from the changeling. Yet Scar’s reaction seems more visceral. He’s frozen right where he is, the mask completely gone from his face. He looks… haunted. His eyes hold a kind of fear that Grian has never seen before, and his breathing sounds heavier. There’s panic in his face, panic and terror. The kind that leaves someone shaken to their core, rooting their feet to the ground. Scar’s eyes are trained on the changeling, Grian can see one of his hands shake.
The changeling unhinges their jaw with an inhumane wail as they suddenly charge right for the trio. “N-Need name… g-give name…!” They raise their clawed hand, the shadow of their arm right over Grian. A startled noise rips from him as he takes a step back. He hears voices yell out his name, but it’s too late.
Or so he thinks.
Before the claw can come down on him there’s a weight crashing into him, sending him toppling to the ground. Grian yelps in slight pain as he lands roughly, the weight on top of him not making it any easier to breathe. A shriek sounds a little ways away, forcing Grian to open his eyes. The first thing he sees is the changeling flinching back as a black mass slams into it, knocking it to the side. He gets a glimpse of Mumbo before a face is moving into his view, blocking his line of sight.
He’s met with two brilliant green eyes, and Grian’s breath catches in his throat. Scar pushes himself up on his arms to look down at Grian, “Are you alright, songbird?” There’s a touch of concern in his voice as he asks, and it catches Grian completely off guard. Scar is above him, covering him with his body.
Grian’s throat feels dry. “U-Uh, yeah… yeah I’m fine.” He slowly nods. Scar continues to stare at him, and it makes him a little flustered. “...can you get off? You’re heavy,” he mutters, turning his head away from the changeling.
“It’s the muscle mass,” Scar comments flippantly as he pushes himself up.
Lungs feeling like they have room to breathe again, Grian sits up with a roll of his eyes. He looks over at Mumbo and the changeling, watching as the vampire attacks and defends. He’s rather adept at fighting, with the way he moves with such agility and speed. The changeling swings at him, their cries accompanying each motion. Their movements are jerky, frenzied and desperate as they attack Mumbo. It makes for easy avoiding of their attacks. “What’s… happened to them?” he asks.
“The most I can gather is that their magic is going haywire because of their unstable core.” Scar frowns, eyeing the glowing heart in the center of the changeling’s chest. “Outside of that… well, as much as it pains me to admit, this is far outside of my knowledge.”
Grian steals a glance at him, finding that look of panic is still in his eyes. It’s muted, less apparent than before. The ghost of his haunted expression still lies on his face, resting there in the lines of his skin.
A shout of pain rips Grian’s attention away from Scar, and he focuses back on the fight just in time to see Mumbo fall backwards on the ground. He loses his footing and flails out with his arms before toppling over due to the changeling’s attack. “Mumbo!” Grian shouts in worry, body jerking with the urge to help him.
The changeling stops him from fully moving, as they turn their dark eyes to Grian and Scar. “Name!” they shout brokenly, gunning right for them.
Scar tenses in preparation, hands beginning to glow. Before the changeling can reach them though, a wall sprouts up seemingly from the ground, blocking Grian and Scar off from the changeling. Grian’s head whips over to Mumbo, where there’s a red glow emitting from his palm. His eyes shine a deep crimson as he glares, “No, I won’t let you touch them.” The vampire shifts his gaze to the two of them, “Get away from there, quickly!”
Grian and Scar don’t need to be told twice.
The two scramble to get up before running out from behind the illusioned wall Mumbo created. They join Mumbo’s side as the other is standing from the ground with a weak wince.
They don’t get any time to recover from the sudden movements, for the changeling is roaring in that warbly voice and charging them. They swipe at the trio with their sharp claws. Before they can get close enough to hit them, Scar acts quickly, hands glowing and ripping the ground apart. He raises two fingers up and from the earth sprouts a large tree, the trunk chunky enough to block the attack.
“A tree?!” Mumbo looks at him with disbelief.
“It was the first thing that came to mind, okay?!” Scar retorts defensively.
The changeling breaks through it easily, claws snapping the wooden trunk in half. The three men all look up at the tree as it shakes, leaves falling from its branches as it starts to fall down. The shadow of the oncoming tree overlaps them, unstoppable. “Move!” Grian shouts at them as he tries to escape the zone of the tree. Mumbo and Scar let out twin yells as they dive out of the way. Grian runs and somehow ends up tucking into a roll, pushing himself up onto his hands when he’s a bit away. “How are we supposed to deal with this?!” Adrenaline kicks at his ribs.
“We just have to wait until Etho and Joel get here!” Scar calls back to him. They’ve landed on the same side of the collapsed tree.
Doubt sits heavy in Grian’s stomach, “How can you be so sure they’re coming?!”
“Trust me,” Scar speaks firmly, momentarily meeting Grian’s gaze, “they will be.”
Grian stares at him, feeling something in his chest. Trust me. It’s the first time Scar has ever asked him something like that before. Oddly enough, Grian doesn’t mind it. In fact, he finds himself putting trust in Scar’s words, believing them.
The ground starts to shake, causing Grian to wobble. Looking around for the source of the sudden shaking, he finds it coming from the bits of forest closest to them. Branches from the trees grow and extend, and when Grian looks back to the changeling, he sees their chest glowing bright.
Mumbo lets out a startled shout as one of the growing branches shoots forward from the forest, the long and sharpened edge just narrowly missing the vampire.
“Mumbo!” Grian shouts, moving to push himself up.
More of the sharpened branches fly out, their movements uncoordinated as they attack. Their paths are long and winding, creaking as they twist. Most of them rush toward Scar, their target. Mumbo acts hastily, breaking any of the branches before they can reach the changeling. Scar himself uses his magic to destroy the projectiles.
Grian finds himself darting forward, trying to grab hold of one of the branches, trapping it in his grasp. “Scar, what’s going on with it?!” The attacks are all frenzied and out of control. It’s like they’re mindless, instinctual.
Scar shoots a glance at the changeling, seeing them wail and wobble. “Their magic is completely out of control!”
Before Grian or Mumbo can prod for more answers, they’re rushed again. The changeling swipes at them once, twice, again and again. Scar and Mumbo both move, one of them pulling Grian behind them for cover. Mumbo uses his magic to hide the three of them from view with his illusions. Scar follows it smoothly, not a single hint of hesitation in his movements as he summons that green fire again. He shoots it toward the changeling from behind Mumbo’s illusion, keeping them from seeing where the attack is coming from.
The fire strikes them right in the chest, burning them. It sends them stumbling backward, nearly toppling over with jerky and awkward movements. Their body tilts so it’s leaning to the side, head back. A loud, ear piercing wail breaks through the air. The sound causes Grian to flinch, slamming his hands right over his ears to block it out. Mumbo and Scar don’t have much of a reaction, keeping their eyes trained on the writhing changeling.
They recover soon enough, standing up straight and running to attack. Scar’s reflexes are sharp as he blocks them with his magic, brilliant lights shining from his hands. From behind him, the branches grow from the trees again, creaking and cracking. They dart for Scar, unbeknownst to the fae.
Mumbo notices it immediately, eyes going wide. “Scar!” he shouts, jumping into action. He grabs Scar, pulling him behind him as he holds out an arm to block the attack. Scar grabs hold of Mumbo, clutching him tightly as he stabilizes himself.
Something is in the air. The wind picks up, moving fast. Scar’s gaze flickers toward the trees for a moment, and a knowing look settles over his eyes. He focuses back on the changeling, “Alright, I think it’s time you laid down.” He smirks, cocky. With a pull of his hands, vines break through the ground. Grian recognizes the trick from when Scar trapped Taurtis in the cave. The green appendages wrap tightly around the changeling, trapping them right where they stand, hunched over. They shriek loudly.
Grian grimaces.
“Etho, Joel, now!” Scar shouts.
Branches rustle with sound as the two hunters burst from the trees behind them, figures high in the air. Grian can only make out their silhouettes.
“Made it just in time!” Joel grins wolfishly, his axe glowing in his hands. He comes down on the changeling, striking them right in the back with his blade. The changeling howls. Grian pushes his hands further over his ears. “Core’s exposed! You’re up Etho!”
Similarly to Joel, Etho drops from the sky, landing on the changeling. His hand is glowing as he slams it right through them, shattering the shining core. There’s a piercing scream that sounds from the changeling as Etho jumps back, easily landing on his feet.
And just like that it’s over.
The changeling collapses to the ground with one last warbling wail, dark sludge spilling on the ground around them, slowly seeping out of their body.
Grian, Mumbo, and Scar, all stand there, adrenaline running through them all like a fast paced current. Grian’s chest is burning, lungs aching as he tries to catch his breath. He can feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He’s definitely going to need a shower later.
“Are they… dead?” Mumbo warily questions, not willing to let his guard down just yet.
“Yeah,” Scar answers first, “they’re dead.” There’s a heavy note in his voice as he speaks. He doesn’t look at any of them, keeping his eyes focused on the changeling’s body.
A collective sigh is released.
“Thanks for the help, man,” Etho says gratefully, clapping Scar on the shoulder. “We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
“We would’ve!” Joel chimes in, arguing against him.
Scar tears his eyes away from the changeling to look at the two hunters with a chuckle. It rings oddly in Grian’s ears. “You are very welcome, my friend.” But it sounds so strange. “Your timing is as amayzin’ as always.”
Etho stares at Scar for a minute, as if looking for something, or maybe even testing something. Grian isn’t sure. It’s some kind of silent communication that passes through them. After a beat, Etho squeezes Scar’s shoulder before dropping his hand. He turns to Mumbo specifically, “Mumbo.”
The vampire jumps in surprise, “E-Erm, yes?”
“Can you fill us in on what happened before we got here? Need it for the report.”
“O-Oh! Of course, yes!”
Grian tunes out of the conversation, eyes drifting to Scar instead. Something doesn’t feel right, and he knows Scar is the cause.
Scar’s attention is back on the changeling lying at his feet. Their form is slowly disappearing in sparkles of golden light, the gold tainted by a darker color. The glowing particles are large, reminding Grian of fireflies as they drift up to the sky and float away. Scar looks down at their body, face expressionless and numb. His eyes are empty, dull. His hands hang limply at his sides as he keeps his head tilted low. The glow illuminates Scar’s face in the darkness as the particles float by.
He feels rather than sees Grian join him at his side. He can feel his warm presence just a few inches away from his body, though it does little to settle the fear still wrapping tight around him. Grian is silent as he stands beside Scar, something that makes the changeling oddly nervous. There are images flashing in his mind still, thoughts still stuck on that changeling and the sudden appearance of their true form. It’s burned into Scar’s brain, the image heavy and seared into his mind’s eye. He hasn’t seen their true form since…
He sucks in a rough breath.
Long fingers reaching for him. The ever constant feeling of helplessness. Black bloodied hair. Dread. An angry roar. Cold, it was always so cold. Red was everywhere, it covered him. Dark, cruel eyes that stared at him as life faded. Despair. Weakness. Blood. A forest. Freedom, but–
“Are you alright?” Grian’s kind voice pulls him from his thoughts, but Scar doesn’t look at him. His eyes are still trained on the decaying changeling, staring at the sludge in the grass. With each shaking and ragged breath he takes, he tries to silent them. He tries to quell the leftover panic and adrenaline that fills his body long after the fight is over.
Scar appreciates Grian not pointing it out when his breathing gets a little too loud. He simply stands next to Scar as a solid presence, a warmth.
He doesn’t answer Grian’s question, he doesn’t think he knows how. He bites the inside of his cheek instead, clenching his fists in order to stop them from shaking. A glowing particle floats past his face, the light hardly bothering him. Scar inhales weakly.
“Here you are again,” he says instead, avoiding Grian’s question entirely, “hanging around me.” He still doesn’t glance at Grian.
Grian doesn’t glance at him either. “It… looked like you might appreciate a friend,” he answers lightly, and there's a softness in his words that Scar doesn’t know what to do with.
The human’s words cause Scar pause, being caught off guard. “A friend, huh?” he hums quietly. He doesn’t think he’s heard Grian call them friends before. Have they reached something like friendship? That… if Scar is being honest, being friends had never been his goal. He just needed Grian’s trust, that was it. Being curious about him doesn’t mean he has to be friends with him. Scar? Friends with a human? Years ago he might’ve laughed at the idea. The only human he ever truly cared about was his son. But now, the thought leaves him feeling… differently. The concept doesn’t feel outrageous or unrealistic.
In fact, Scar thinks it might be something he wants. Friendship has never been his goal, but there’s something about Grian drawing him in. Something about Grian that makes him want to exist in his orbit and witness all of his weird human tendencies. He wants to understand why Grian is so adamant that monsters are people. What makes someone a monster to him? What makes them human? He…
He’s hesitating again.
Scar bites the inside of his cheek as Scott’s image flashes in his mind. He can’t.
Yet his mouth moves, “Do you consider us friends, songbird?” He almost curses how soft his voice comes out.
“I…” Grian stops himself, and Scar finds himself bracing for the answer. The denial.
His hands won’t stop shaking. No matter how much he tries to keep it still, his hands tremble.
Something warm slips into his palm, making Scar’s eyes go wide. His head darts down toward his hand, finding Grian’s holding it with his own. His palm is so warm, warmer than anything Scar has ever felt before. The feeling causes his growing fear to soften slightly so that it isn’t nearly as overwhelming anymore. The sounds of his heart drumming in his ears begin to weaken and slow.
“I do, yeah,” Grian admits softly, and the admission makes Scar’s eyes go wide. “And because of that I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Oh,” is all Scar can say, and he feels like a boulder has just dropped in his stomach. His insides twist and contort, and Scar can’t tell if he’s happy about that or not. But he doesn’t pull his hand away. He keeps it where it is; soaks up Grian’s warmth.
Quiet settles between them as the last of the changeling dissipates, golden but tainted particles floating past their faces one last time. Grian listens as Scar’s breaths begin to even out, the tension in his body weakening. Scar lets himself stand there, tilting his head up with the last of the darken and golden lights. He keeps his hand in Grian’s, palm against palm.
But then he feels something in his hand, some small, unsteady thing. The feeling makes him look away from the sky, back down to their hands. He squints slightly as he tries to focus on the feeling, that slight tremble. He takes a second, two, three, and he connects the dots in his mind.
“Your hand is shaking,” Scar quietly points out to him, giving his hand a small squeeze.
Grian stiffens. “No it’s not,” he lies, rather poorly if you ask Scar.
A frown slips over Scar’s lips, something far softer than he means for it to be. “I can feel it, songbird,” he murmurs to him. A little furrow dips his brows as he turns to look at Grian, “Are you… afraid?”
Grian is slow to meet his gaze, squinting slightly. “Of course I am, do you think I’m insane enough to not be?” he asks. “I’ve seen all kinds of things, things which have tried to kill me, mind you. One wrong move and I’m as good as dead, and that’s really been hammered into my head lately,” he nervously chuckles. “All that aside though, I like it here, being a part of the supernatural world.”
“But you’re afraid,” Scar points out to him bluntly, the frown still dancing along his lips.
Grian snorts in response, but he squeezes Scar’s hand. “Scared like a shaking cat out in the rain, pal. But I trust Mumbo. And I…” he trails off, exhaling as he holds eye contact with Scar. “I think I’m learning how to trust you too.”
He should be happy, he thinks. Having both Mumbo and Grian’s trust will make his job easier. He has an in, a perfect one even. Scar is nothing but if not an opportunist, and this one has been handed to him right on a silver platter. But–
It’s like being stabbed in the chest, Scar thinks, hearing those words from him. He doesn’t think it should, not for him. He’s Scar, the Grim Reaper. He shouldn’t be this affected by words from a human, one he’s tried to kill before no less. Yet there’s something about Grian looking at Scar and willingly putting his trust into his hands, while Scar is still hiding his last few cards. He’s still got one hand behind his back, fingers crossed.
Ever the performer, Scar ignores it all.
“Trusting a fae? That’s a bad move, songbird.” He sounds like he’s teasing, but there is a warning laced within his words.
Grian snorts at him, “I think I’ll take my chances. This particular fae is an alright fella.”
Scar wishes those words didn’t hurt so much.
Normally, Scar is constantly on guard. His senses are always heightened, he’s always ready to jump into some kind of defense should he need to. Scar prides himself in his strength and quick wit as an individual, yet tonight he finds himself distracted. He doesn’t even pay attention to what’s around him as he walks home.
One minute he’s saying goodbye to Mumbo and Grian, and the next he’s walking through the front door, locking it behind him.
He feels numb. His head is spinning. Scar feels like someone or something has dulled his senses. Perhaps it’s part of an adrenaline crash, perhaps it’s the result of long buried memories resurfacing. Memories that Scar has worked hard to push deep within the recesses of his mind. He feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath him and now he’s trying to find something to grab onto to stop himself from actually hitting the ground. And this swimming feeling isn’t helping him regain his balance.
Scar’s shoulders sag as he tries to take a breath to clear his head. To escape the pressure on his chest. To escape the feeling of blood staining his fingers. He has so much there already, why would this reminder bother him so much? Living a life as long as he has, he’s seen plenty of things. Yet tonight leaves his skin sitting on him awkwardly, like it’s wrong. And well… He shakes his head.
Without thinking about it, Scar lifts a hand to his face, roughly pressing the pads of his fingers into his cheek. He feels smooth and scarred skin beneath his touch, reminding himself that it’s really there. He feels like there are hands on his shoulders, squeezing him so much that they threaten to dig into his body. It’s as if there’s some kind of dark looming presence behind him, shadowed eyes and a figure covered in nothing but black.
But Scar knows who it is. Who the image that Scar’s mind conjures up belongs to. He feels like he’s being haunted. It’s overwhelming, the darkness slipping into his throat and cutting off his air. It’s choking him, and all he can do is stand in the doorway and let the feeling consume him.
He shrugs his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the feeling.
“—ad!”
Scar’s head shoots up, green eyes increasing in size as he does. Tubbo stands in front of him, brows knitted together with a mix of confusion and concern. “Oh, Tubbo,” he says blandly, struggling to come up with a better response. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“I was sitting on the couch when you walked in.” He gestures to the couch where there’s some kind of hand puzzle resting on the cushion. A book and empty bowl is on the table in front of it. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like. Five minutes, about,” Tubbo explains, looking at Scar.
Scar frowns, surprised he hadn’t noticed his son when he walked in. Is he really that out of it? He forces a weak smile on his face as he draws out a laugh, “Whoops! Sorry ‘bout that Tubs. Guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” He forces himself to relax, slipping back behind his role as father to hide. “Anyways, did you need something?” he questions, not unkindly. He silently hopes Tubbo will take the bait.
Except the universe seems to be actively against him today, because Tubbo does not. His brows only pull together more tightly, a deep frown marring his expression. “Dad, are you okay?” Tubbo asks, ignoring Scar’s own question entirely. Scar opens his mouth to respond, but Tubbo doesn’t give him a chance as he continues to speak. “And don’t lie. I’ve seen how tired you’ve been lately, and you seem really really stressed. Like, worse than Hallow’s Eve week stressed.”
Looking at the boy in front of him, Scar finds himself astounded by just how much Tubbo has grown. “Now when did you get so good at reading people, hm?” he teases lightly, his voice soft with a bit of pride.
“I can tell when there’s something going on.” Tubbo shrugs in return. “But seriously… I know you’re the parent and I’m your kid, but you don’t need to be super strong all the time. You don’t have to be alone, you can lean on me too.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
Grian’s words echo in his head, and Scar sucks in a sharp breath. His chest stutters as he stares at the young boy before him, and he wonders what he did to have the opportunity to raise such an exceptional human. Scar might laugh at the thought, deeming it ironic.
Tubbo looks at him with uncertainty, “Do you… want a hug?”
A more genuine laugh punches out of Scar at the question, and he tugs Tubbo over, “C’mere you little rascal.” He wraps his son up in his arms, squeezing him close. Tubbo is more than happy to return the hug, ducking his head under Scar’s chin. “You’re a good kid, little bee.”
“I think that’s because I had a pretty great dad,” Tubbo replies, voice muffled by his face in Scar’s vest.
Scar laughs again, and he can feel the tension seeping from his bones. He buries his face into Tubbo’s hair, inhaling quietly to relax. Hugs really do work wonders. He lets his eyes fall shut as he gives Tubbo a little squeeze in his arms. He loves this child so much, would move the very planet for him, if anything happened. Never in his life did Scar think he’d ever be raising a human child, but Watchers is he grateful that he is.
There’s an image that comes to mind, one of the human he brought to Scott. His grip on Tubbo tightens slightly at the reminder. He needs to remember that this is what’s at stake. This is what he could lose if he makes one wrong move. Scar needs to keep his goals in his sight, keep them all aligned and remember.
“I think I’m learning how to trust you too.”
Even if it means destroying everything else to protect this.
It’s late when Grian gets home.
He feels exhausted, the day having drawn on for far too long. His body slumps as he walks inside his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He drops his messenger bag on the kitchen counter, kicking his shoes off and setting them by the door. He reaches for his hair and lets it drop from the bun, and the strands of hair falling at his neck is almost welcoming.
“Oh, hey!” Grian looks over to the living room, finding Pearl camping out on the couch. She has a book in her hands, an empty plate and fork sitting on the table. “Someone’s back late, I got home before you did! Long night at the office?” she questions, looking at him with a raised brow.
Somehow, Grian’s shoulders sag even more. “Something like that, yeah,” he mutters with a quiet exhale.
“Zed’s got’ya working overtime, huh?” Pearl giggles, shaking her head. “How many articles does he have you writing now?” Her question is an innocent one, and yet Grian can feel something in him twinge with regret.
“Honestly I can’t keep track,” Grian answers with a tired chuckle. He feels a little distracted, thoughts trailing back to Scar and Mumbo and everything that’s happened tonight. A small frown works its way onto his face, low and solemn.
He can’t get Scar’s haunted expression out of his head.
“Well, remember to pace yourself G! Zed’s a reasonable guy after all. I doubt he’ll be mad about you taking your time.” Pearl shrugs as she sets her book down on the table. She grabs the plate and stands from the couch, walking over to the kitchen. As she walks by the counter, her eyes light up in remembrance, “Oh yeah! There’s a letter for ya on the counter! Dunno who it’s from though, the only thing that’s written on there is your name.”
“A letter?” Grian looks over at Pearl before turning his gaze to the kitchen counter where the letter sits. “There was no return address?” he inquires as he reaches out for the white envelope.
“Nope! Not even a stamp.” Pearl shakes her head. “Though it has a super fancy wax seal on it.”
Grian’s brows furrow in confusion as he lifts it up, turning it over in his hand. As Pearl mentioned, a red wax seal sits over the folds of the envelope, keeping it shut. On the front of the envelope sits his name written in elegant letters. “Who in the world would send me a letter?” Perplexion sits on his face as he moves to pull the envelope open, finding a folded paper inside. Nearby, Pearl sets her dish in the sink, face scrunching up as she looks at it.
“Hey, by the way, have you heard from Taurtis at all? I can’t believe he just decided to skip town and not tell me! I didn’t even get a goodbye,” she questions, and Grian can feel her eyes briefly look at him for a moment.
His grip on the letter tightens just slightly, the paper crinkling under his fingers. A lump forms in his throat, one that he can’t get rid of, he knows. His mouth suddenly feels very, very dry. His heart feels heavy. “Uh… n-no, I haven’t,” he replies, keeping his gaze trained on the paper in front of him. He feels horrible for lying to Pearl like this, especially about Taurtis. But he didn’t know what else to do that night when he came back from the cave. Everything had felt so overwhelming, so fresh and raw.
Grian doesn’t think the wound is ever going to heal, no matter how many stitches he uses to pull it back together. It will remain open and angry, knife plunging just a little further with each lie he’s forced to tell, each time he thinks about how he failed Taurtis. Blood will continue to spill from the open wound, rolls upon rolls of bandages will be soaked with it. There is nothing Grian can do about it.
“Aw, well. I’ll get my revenge next time he’s in town.” Pearl grins mischievously and Grian doesn’t know how to tell her there may never be a next time.
Mindlessly nodding, Grian tries to focus on the letter in his hands. Taking in a rough breath, Grian unfolds it one side at a time until he’s able to see the entire letter. His breath hitches when he sees who it’s from.
‘Grian,
It would be my deepest honor to invite you to my estate for afternoon lunch. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you, Council business aside.
Should you accept, I’ll be expecting you at twelve o’clock. Oh, and please do come alone. These matters are private, no reason to drag anyone along, wouldn’t you agree?
I look forward to seeing you,
Councilman Scott S.’
There’s an address written below it, and Grian reads it over one, twice, three times. So Scott wants to meet with him, and alone? He frowns, acutely aware of just how dangerous of a character Scott is. Getting an invitation from him only spells bad news.
Pearl looks over at him with curiosity, “So? Who’s it from? What’d they want?”
Grian’s tongue feels like lead. “It’s… it’s nothing important.”