Chapter Text
Scar stares at the empty driveway, where once, a small, compact, tan car was parked. The car was totaled in the crash. Scar's chest fills with a sticky kind of pain. One that strings across his ribcage, like hot black tar. If that stupid driver had only stayed sober or had called an Uber… if only, if only, if only. He could go through a million if onlys that would result in his partner being here by his side like he was before, but that wasn't his reality. It was the present he was faced with. The reality of it was that he had no husband, no car, and in need of a ride to work.
Scar shot Cub a text, 6.14 hey, can i have a ride. He paced over to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and searched for something to eat but nothing piqued his interest. To be frank, he’d lost his appetite since the night he got a phone call from someone who found Mumbo's phone. Are you Mumbo Jumbo’s husband? They asked. Scar remembered having a weird feeling. They used his full name, yes that's me. He’d said hesitantly, unaware of the life-shattering news that was just moments away. When he heard he just laughed. It was strained. Surely this had to be a joke, some sort of prank. Mumbo and Grian were always pulling outlandish pranks.
I'm sorry, he got in a crash. He’s dead.
Bzztbzzt . Scar shuts the fridge and grabs his phone, Cub 6:17 yeah, be there in 20. Scar hit the button on the side and the screen turned dark. He could see his reflection in it. His eyes dragged over his face and behind it. He dropped his phone in surprise and swiveled around. He could have sworn someone was standing behind him in the reflection but when he looked, no one was there. The house groaned like it was settling deeper into the ground. Scar's eyes darted around the house. The walls looked fuzzy like they tried to blur the space between dream and reality. Not many things scared Scar, but something was wrong here.
He took a deep breath and tried his best to ignore the oddities in his house. Since Grian and Pearl left, things started to happen. His meds would be moved, Jellie would be locked out of his room in the mornings, the sink faucet would randomly turn on, and he thinks he's starting to see things. He tells himself it's all in his head, that he’s just tired and grieving. He doesn't really want to know what's going on.
He walks to the cupboard to grab a water bottle because if he can't eat he can at least force himself to stay hydrated, but when he opens it, a blue-ish paper falls out. He steps back in surprise and watches it flip through the air and fall next to his feet. Tears prick his eyes out of shock as another wave of pain washes over him, knocking the wind from his chest as he stares at Mumbo's death certificate. He wants to pick it up and tear it to shreds and tell it it's wrong and that his husband’s still alive and happy, thank you very much. But he can't, because his husband is dead, and though his heart hasn't accepted it, his brain knows it's true; just as much a fact as the sky is blue. So instead of ripping it to thousands of tiny pieces that would litter his floor like the saddest batch of confetti, he carefully picks it up and puts it where he thought he put it before, tucked away in the drawer on Mumbo's side of the bed, where it was supposed to be. He’s already sent out copies to Mumbos' side of the family and sat through painful phone calls with relatives, some of which he never even knew. Mumbo had a big family, the exact opposite of his own. Scar grew up with his mother, and never met his dad. He was an only child. He had grandparents and a small handful of cousins, whereas Mumbo, had more relatives than they could count on their fingers and toes combined. Every time his phone rang his guts filled with dread as the acid of the stomach felt like it was eating through his flesh, one painful layer at a time. He didn't think he had the heart to listen to people he barely knew say how sad they were and how sorry they were. Sorry’s weren't going to bring him back.
He heard a honk outside. Scar wiped his hands on his pants, as if the paper left a sticky residue behind, grabbed his back, and pet Jellie goodbye. He tossed his bag in the back of the car and stepped into Cub's car. “You look awful” Cub’s car started forward with a gentle lurch. Scar rolled his eyes, “I feel awful.” he huffed, looking over at him and his face of stone. Cub gently slowed the car down at the red light. “You sure you want to work today? You can take time off. Nobody would judge you. You've been through hell.”
Scar willed himself not to cry. Saying he’d been through hell was a stretch. Mumbo’s the one who went through hell, his mother-in-law was the one who's going through hell. He can't even imagine getting a call, in the middle of the night and waking up to hear your son has died in a car crash. No parent should have to outlive their child. He still remembers the shake in her voice, her wails. It wasn't fair to her, life wasn't fair to any of them, nor was it kind.
“I'd rather rip the bandaid off now.” Scar knew most staff at the school probably knew by now and the thought of facing their sympathy, their pity, made his stomach tie itself in knots, but the sooner he went back to work, the sooner their glances and whispers would die down. If he was lucky, none of his students would question him about it. They were there to learn and get a degree, not hear some guy's sob story.
Cub glanced at him as he turned the corner. “Fair enough, just don't overwork yourself,” he said, voice tinged with concern. He knew Cub wouldn’t give him the fake apologies everyone else had been giving him. Cub understood this kind of loss. He lost his mom when he was a teenager. Cub had once told him how that destroyed him. He went to therapy for years. Scar could probably do with some therapy, but he doesn't even know what he’d say. Maybe in a few months, but he wasn't ready for that now. Pearl had suggested it a few days ago and he thought about it, but it was too soon. The wounds were still fresh and throbbing painfully all across his skin. Even the slightest gust of wind hurt and every glance filled with faked sympathy was like pouring salt in them.
“Okay,” he muttered. They pulled up to the school parking lot and got out of the car. Cub walked to Scar's side, “are you going to be okay today?” he asked, no trace of pity in his voice at all, which Scar was grateful for. Scar nodded mutely. “Would you like a hug?” Cub put his hand on Scar's shoulder. He refused to cry, he would not cry before giving a lecture. Scar wrapped his arms around Cub. Cub had been his friend for years now, they met at the school as coworkers. When meeting others now, he would introduce Cub to them as his friend but the both of them knew it meant something closer to brothers.
Scar pulled away first, wiping his watery eyes on the backs of his sleeves, “Don't worry, I’ll be fine.” His smile pinched into something closer to a grimace. Cub wished him luck and once again he was on his own. Cub worked in the building across the street teaching business majors, so they didn't see each other that often during the work days. That was fine though, they didn't have to see each other all the time to know that they’d be there for the other when they needed it. Scar took a deep breath and stared at the door. His hand only hesitated for a second. Everything was how it always was. The building was the same. The art from each class respectively, hung on the wall with enough thumbtacks to last a normal person a lifetime. The only students insane enough to be here this early were the overachievers or the ones trying to make up all their missed assignments in one go.
His classroom was empty. Even the earliest students wouldn't arrive for at least thirty minutes. Sometimes he regretted having morning classes. He was never a big morning person, but Mumbo was. He’d wake up an hour or two earlier than Scar, get ready, and sometimes make them both breakfast. Scar's heart ached with longing, missing the days Mumbo would wake him with a hot cup of coffee, a breakfast burrito, and a kiss on the forehead. Scar wasn't the biggest fan of driving so Mumbo would usually end up in the driver's seat, taking them both to work. While Scar was an architecture and landscaping focused teacher, Mumbo was a mechanical engineer. Scar admired Mumbo's brain and heart. He made things and understood how they worked. He's so sma- was. He was so smart. Scar shoved his thoughts in a box and clamped the lid down, locking it in place. A temporary solution, but a necessary one.
Tired students slowly trudged to their seats, sludging their bags off to the side as they slumped down, looking just as miserable as he did. If he was quieter than normal, or less enthusiastic, nobody said anything. For now, they were clueless but he knew the rumors would eventually get around. It was only a matter of time before they said how sorry they were for him in a week or two. He knew he’d just smile politely, trying to be courteous but get away as fast as possible.
Midway through his second class, his phone buzzes, and Impulse texts him. He spares a glance at his phone screen and tells his class they can take a fifteen-minute break. Impulse 10:34 i know this is awful timing but two people have already come to my room asking me to clear Mumbos things away. Would you mind heading over here once youre done?
Scar wiped his eyes, pretending he didn't want to cry. He knew he’d have to collect the things Mumbo left behind eventually but he didn't want to. Everyone wanted to clear away the things he’d left behind. He was being forgotten, and it's only been a few days. Scar knows this is what happens, but it hurts. He sees reminders of what he's lost every day, and it tears his heart apart. He sends a quick ok to Impulse and pretends he’s fine.
Scar: i dontknw what todo, everything hurts. Why is this so hard
Grian: whats wrong, whats goingon. I know its hard, im sorry, im here for you
Scar: i need to go pick up mumbos things from his clasroom, i think im going to be sick
Grian: oh no, do you need me to come over
Scar: could you?
Grian: ofcource, when?
Scar: 2.50, the engineering building
Grian: ill be there
Grian and Pearl say sorry and he thinks those are the only sorrys he can stomach because they understand. They lost one of their best friends. Mumbo meant just as much to them, and they’re going through the same heartache he is. He tells them sorry too, he doesn't tell them how he blames himself half the time. He wonders if they blame him too, knows they probably don't, and hopes they never do. The rest of the day drags on till at last, the day is over and his class slowly filters out the room. He packs his things away, and maybe he's going slow on purpose, but could anyone really blame him? He rolled his neck trying to get it to feel like it sat on his body correctly again and massaged his legs, legs that were already achy from just walking around for the past few hours. Maybe the gods hated him, but if they hated him why’d they have to take it out on Mumbo? He took his bag and cane and looked out the window melancholically, before forcing his feet to move.
Grian met him at the bottom floor of the building. Scar had to admire the ambitiousness of the architecture. The first floor was like any other building but the second and third floors looked like a box was carelessly placed atop the first, with pillars reaching to hold it up and keep it from falling. It wasn't his style or one he particularly liked, too modernist for him, but he had to give credit where credit was due. Grian gave him a small smile and walked forward to meet him. One quick hug and a quiet elevator ride later, they were standing behind the door of what used to be Mumbo's classroom. Impulse greeted them with a tight smile, “Oh, hi, yes come in.” Impulse looked Grian up and down, “and you're… Grian right?” he guessed. Grian nodded his head. ”Ah, Mumbo told me about you.” he said somberly. Impulse was one of Mumbo's friends. He and Scar got along but didn't hang out much. He could only imagine what Impulse was feeling and wondered if this made him feel just as sick. “Are you ready to start?” he said. Scar moved towards Mumbo's desk, “Yeah.”
The next hour felt like a hazy mess. Scar moved on autopilot, brain refusing to process what he was doing, collecting things like he was in an easter egg hunt made by a ghost. These were fragments of a person who used to live on this planet and it's all he has left to cling to. He can hear Impulse and Grian talking, but it's hard to understand what they're saying with his brain as muddled as it is, but they’re smiling so they must be getting along. Scar finishes clearing out the drawers of the desk and finally confronts the things he's been avoiding. The picture of him and Mumbo that sat on top, eyes burning holes in his head the longer he ignored it. He tentatively picks it up as his heart sinks in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut as he placed it in the box face down. How could one person miss a smile so much?
Grian pats him on the shoulder, “You ready to go?” he asks so gently, voice filled with nothing but care. Scar nods his head, “Yeah, yeah, I'm ready.” he picks up the box he filed and steps out of the classroom. With a final heartbreaking stare, he says goodbye to the room where a piece of Mumbo used to reside. They drive home in silence, neither sure how to feel or what to say, the only noise to accompany them being the humming of the car and the quiet music. They just listened as one song faded into the next and soon enough, they were back home. Scar took his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. He heard a thump from somewhere in the house and a crash. He felt the familiar dread pool in his stomach. It was just Jellie, nothing to be worried about. “You okay?” Grian called out from behind him, still grabbing a box from the trunk. Scar didn't answer.
“Jellie?” Scar stepped through the doorway and a chill ran down his spine. He must have forgotten to turn the heat on because it was deathly cold. He walked down the hall and spotted what made the noise. A vase had fallen from the banister to the floor and shattered. The dried roses that it held lay sprawled on the floor, some petals broken off. “Jellie?” He scanned the room for a ball of gray and white fur, only to hear a soft meow coming from behind him. He turned his head to watch her stretch and sleepily walk out of his room to come twist her way around his feet. Grian's footsteps slowly padded closer, “Scar?”
Scars head swam, surely it was just the wind or something… “Grian, I think my house is haunted” he blurted out before he could properly process his words. Panic tugged at his guts, banging around inside his ribs because he sounded crazy. Grian’s face pulled into a pinched, concerned stare. He set the box down and closed the door behind him. Grian took his hand, “Scar, what's going on?” Grian spots the broken vase and carefully leads Scar around it to the couch.
Scar looks down at their intertwined fingers. “I.. I don't know. Things keep appearing, I think I’m, I. I think I'm seeing things. The house keeps shifting and creaking in ways it didn't before. I don't know what's going on, I feel insane.” Grian rubbed his thumb across Scar's cracked knuckles. “How long has this been going on?”
Scar refuses to look Grian in the eyes, “since… since Mumbo-” he feels the tears pooling in his eyes. “You know what, it's fine. Don't worry about it. I just need more sleep.” he tried to smile.
Grian leaned forward, trapping him in a hug, “Scar, I'm so sorry, your house isn't haunted. You're just not used to being alone. All the creaks and shifts are just the sounds you miss when you shared your home.” Scar's mind breaks, because surely that wasn't it. But… it made sense. No,nono, but then how’d, Mumbo's death certificate end up in the kitchen, how’d the vase fall, how’d his doors slam at random, why’d the pictures on his wall fall in the middle of the night? It doesn't make sense, nothing has made sense since Mumbo died. How was he supposed to continue to do normal things when his partner was six feet under the ground? “Do you want me to call Pearl, we can stay over tonight?”
Scar pulls away from the hug and Jellie hops in his lap. He hates how badly he wants them there, “yes” he whispers, still not ready to look at Grian and see all his suspicions confirmed. He was going insane. “Okay”, Grian knocked their skulls together, “I'll go pick her up and grab dinner.”
“Okay,” Scar muttered, looking over to the shattered glass he’d have to clean before Pearl got here. Grian bumped his shoulder, “hey, I love you.'' Scar finally looked up at him. Grian only looked back with loving concern on his face and a small smile, “love you too,” Scar said back. His friends were his whole world now. He refused to lose them too. He watched Grian wave goodbye and pull out of the driveway. Scar sighs, dragging his hands over his face. “What am I gonna do Jellie?” he sinks to the floor watching her as she walks to him, meowing exasperatedly. He bangs his head on the wall behind him with a thud. For a minute it feels like Mumbo’s still there, holding his hand like he did when Scar was having a bad day. Scar squeezes his eyes shut, wanting the moment, the sensation to stay. He doesn't want to be alone, but no matter how much he wishes it, he's more alone than he’s ever been before.
The glass clinks together as he sweeps it to the dustpan, reflecting the room around him like water droplets. He knows when Pearl sees the mess his house has devolved into she’ll decide it's her job to clean it up. The dishes have started to stack, and the food in the fridge has gone bad. He hasn't done laundry at all, and part of his brain refuses to. After what seems like ages to him, when at most it was an hour, the door creaks open. He stays on the couch, waiting for Grian and Pearl to make their way inside. Jellie hops down from his lap meowing as she trots to the door. He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face preparing himself to face them, but they never stepped further into the house. He was starting to wonder what they were doing, then Jellie hissed and ran off.
His eyes darted to the living room door just as long tendrils of shadows crept their way through the door frame, like pitch-black cracks, fracturing the walls of his home. He was rooted to the spot, watching in horror as a shadowy figure peered out from the side of the door at him. It loomed in front of him, inching closer, and closer. Scar didn't know if he should scream, or cry out for help, he should run, but it was far too late for that. He felt the ice-cold shadows coil themselves around his legs, all the while the two glowing eyes stared him down. His heart lurches, ice-cold fear spikes through his chest and all of a sudden he can't breathe, can't think, can't move, why can't he move? He opens his mouth to say something, anything, to cry out for someone to see, but nothing comes out.
His body is frozen to the spot as the shadows climb off his legs, twining themselves over and around his body. He feels like a mouse in the gullet of a snake, slowly being swallowed, feeling just as helpless as he did when watching them lower Mumbo’s casket into the dirt. He stared at the soulless eyes and wondered what it looked like beneath all the shadows, what it was doing there, in his home. Was this the thing that had been messing with him?
The vines of shadows curled around the couch, reaching for his arms, and what he could only assume was an arm reached out toward his face. Scar's breath hitched as he flinched back, suddenly desperate for it to not touch him, for it to get away. His eyes are wide with fear as he stares at the thing in his living room, in his house as the reality he knows threatens to shatter before his eyes, like a frozen lake on the first day of winter. The shadow quickly backed away, almost looking confused. It searched around the room for a moment before it locked eyes with Scar again, backing away.
The pitch black of the room shrank back almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him wondering what he’d just seen. He could still feel the cold grasp of the shadows that wrapped around his arms and legs. He stared at where it used to be, still not daring to breathe. He knows that if he looks close enough he will still see the fuzziness of the shadows where it lingers. Maybe if he sits here long enough he can convince himself that what he saw, what he felt wasn't real, that this was all a dream, it had to be, right ?
- -
“We’re here,” Pearl yells. “Scar? Why’s ya door open?” She looks at him quizzically as she sits next to him on the couch. Scar opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He shuts it with a click. How could he tell her, or Grian, without them thinking he’s lost his mind? His mind swims, and he feels bile rise in his throat. He wants to run away but doesn't think he could stand if he tried. He doesn't know what he saw, and he doesn't know what to do. He can't move, this is his home, this was Mumbo's home. They had a life here, memories, he can't just abandon that, but that thing is here somewhere, hiding in the walls, and he's afraid. “Scar?” Pearl grabs his arm, trying to get him to look at her. “Scar, what's wrong?” her voice picks up, it's so loud. It makes his ears buzz. His vision blurs around the edges. He hears the frantic undertone in her voice as she continues to try to talk to him and all of a sudden, Grian is by his side, and Pearl is infront of his face. The noises around him feel muted, and dull, like he’s behind a thick wall of glass. The noise surrounds him, slowly getting louder, and louder. It felt like the walls of his mine were closing in on him, pressing in, squishing him till the noise was all he could hear.
He had to get away, he tried to push himself up from the couch but fell straight into Pearl's arms. She held him up as he tried to get out of that room. His head spun, corners of his vision going black before fully fading away like a blank night sky, where the light abandoned him. A loud high high-pitched whine cried in his ears. His vision came back in spots as Pearl directed him away from a wall. He pushed away from her, stumbling to the bathroom and falling to the floor. It sent reverberations from his knees up and down again. He lifted the toilet lid before puking. Someone held his hair back as hot tears ran down his face. His throat burns.
Loud ringing filled his ears as he stared up at the blurry ceiling, watching as the fuzzy creamy white color came in and out of focus. Where was he? Where was Mumbo? How’d he get here? Someone shifted next to him. He couldn't understand them, only heard their muffled chatter. They sat him up, his head fell forward before he remembered he had to use his neck. His limbs felt like lead, and his mind like rot. His jaw aches painfully. He's in someone's arms, Pearl. He's in Pearl's arms. He remembers how hugs work and drags his arms up and around her. He looks up and sees Grian, eyebrows pinched in concern, in fear. He remembers now. He looks back down, too cowardly to meet Grian’s gaze.