Chapter Text
It’s dark out when Grian and Mumbo return to the manor, Scar greeting them at the front door. He may have known what the end result of their journey would be, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.
Nothing could have prepared him to open the door and find Grian supporting Mumbo’s weight against him. “Well you’re both back earlier than expe–” The door swings open, and Scar’s words are trapped in his throat, expiring.
He stares at the two of them with blatant shock. The vampire looks pained, arm slung across Grian’s shoulders with the human wrapping an arm around his waist. His expression is laced with exhaustion, heavy and deeply rooted. It’s the sort that comes from magic exhaustion, one that Scar is familiar with. Grian doesn’t look any better, with the bruising and scratches on his face, a cut on his cheek.
For a moment, Scar can only stand where he is, mouth hanging open as he stares at them both in shock. “What… happened to you two?” he slowly asks, unable to tear his eyes away. “You look like you’ve been through hell and back.” He spots something red dotting Mumbo’s crisp white shirt, thoroughly soaking it. “Mumbo, is that blood?!” he nearly shrieks.
“It’s a long story,” Grian answers, brows pulling together with tension. “Can you let us in or are we gonna stand here all day?” he questions, and Scar can hear the stress in his voice. The impatience.
“R-Right! Of course!” Scar hurries to move out of the way, letting them both walk inside the manor. He turns and watches as Grian leads Mumbo in, heart pounding in his chest. He catches sight of the stain on the back of Mumbo’s shoulder, and he feels his stomach sink. They shouldn’t have been injured. The spell was an illusion for crying out loud! How did Mumbo get impaled?
Grian turns to Scar as he passes him, “Get the first aid kit, will you? I’m going to drop our damsel here down on the couch in the main area.”
Scar nods quickly, moving hastily to where the medical supplies are kept. He grabs whatever he can hold in his arms before making his way back.
When Scar gets to the living area, he finds Mumbo sitting down on the couch, working through the buttons of his suit jacket. He winces occasionally when he moves his arm the wrong way, and Grian has to help him shrug off the jacket. His vest and shirt follow next, cravat joining the pile. He sheds the bloodied gloves, and with his injuries fully exposed, Scar swallows.
“Scar,” Grian calls, snapping the changeling from his stupor.
“One batch of medical stuff, coming right up!” He joins Grian in standing near Mumbo, setting everything in his arms down. He stands back as Grian begins to sort through what he needs, grabbing antiseptic.
The moment he has what he needs, Grian’s turning back to Mumbo, sitting on the cushion beside him. “Alright, let’s–” His words cut off as his eyes land on the vampire in front of him. He finds them trapped in his throat as he meets a very shirtless Mumbo, freezing. He thinks the reaction is rather fair, seeing as he’s never seen Mumbo shirtless before. The man’s usually dressed in three layers, it feels weird to see him so exposed. Maybe that’s partly why Grian is so captivated, caught off guard.
Mumbo isn’t particularly muscular, skin all pale and smooth. There’s faint ab lines, but no true definition. Grian feels his face going red, the feeling spreading along his cheeks as he stares.
“Grian?” Mumbo questions, blinking at him.
He doesn’t answer immediately, too caught up in the sight of Mumbo’s exposed chest. It’s uncanny, almost. Grian can feel the way his heart beats nervously the longer he stares, eyes tracing every bit of Mumbo. Is this creepy? He feels like it’s probably creepy. He should stop staring, get yourself together, Grian!
Quickly shaking his head, he focuses on the problem at hand. Mumbo’s wounds. He has to wrap Mumbo’s wounds. Ever the traitorous pair of eyes he has, he looks at Mumbo’s chest again, though his stare lands on the blood tainting the vampire’s pale skin. Grian feels his chest twist as his gaze shifts to Mumbo’s shoulder, seeing the first wound. Without his noticing, his lips dip low in a worried frown.
“Grian,” Mumbo repeats, so soft and gentle as he calls to him.
“Sorry,” Grian mumbles in apology, finally snapping back to attention. He holds up the wipes, “Let’s start with that arrow, turn around,” he gently instructs, and Mumbo nods. He turns so that his back is facing Grian, and from behind them, he hears Scar suck in a rough breath. Mumbo’s shoulder certainly doesn’t look pretty, all things considered. The arrowhead is still embedded in his skin, dried blood staining the area around it.
Gingerly does Grian begin to wipe at what he can, slowly cleaning the blood away. He uses soft touches, carefully dragging the antiseptic wipe along Mumbo’s skin. The more he cleans the more red the wipe becomes. He shivers at the sight of it, brows furrowing together all the while. He hears Mumbo’s shaky breath every now and then, and Grian can only imagine how painful it is now that the adrenaline has worn off. He doesn’t stop with his gentle touches as he moves the wipe with the light strokes, watching the way the material soaks up Mumbo’s blood.
Little by little, his skin loses the dried tint of blood, the wipe now carrying all of it. Mumbo’s skin returns to its normal pale color.
He sets the wipe aside when it’s done, and addresses the arrow next. He hesitates, unsure of how to pull it out. Grian goes to grab it, but two cold hands are settling over his own. He jumps, having nearly forgotten that Scar is there with his attention solely on Mumbo.
Slowly, Grian looks up at Scar, meeting his murky green eyes. He seems bothered by something, his face blatantly giving away his concern. Yet his eyes soften slightly when Grian’s own locks with them. “Let me do it,” the man says softly, his voice hardly anything above a whisper. “I have some experience.”
Grian hesitates but ultimately pulls his hands away, nodding at Scar. The changeling gives him another soft look, something reassuring and light. Scar returns his gentle nod before looking over at Mumbo.
“Alright Mumbo, I’m gonna pull this pesky little arrow out of your shoulder,” he informs, “on the count of three.”
“R-Right,” Mumbo shakily breathes, slowly nodding.
Scar glances at the supplies nearby, spotting Mumbo’s cravat with the discarded jacket and shirt. He grabs hold of it before handing it over to the vampire, “You might want to bite down on this.”
Wordlessly, Mumbo nods, taking the cravat from him. He settles it between his teeth, humming to let Scar know he’s ready. With the signal given, Scar takes a breath and squares his shoulders. “One,” he begins to count, and Grian can’t tell if he wants to look away or continue to watch. He looks at the wound with a soft grimace. “Two…” Grian finds himself reaching for the bandages. He’ll probably have to clean the wound again with the antiseptic wipes. “Three.”
Mumbo’s noise of pain is muffled by the fabric in his mouth, yet it tugs on Grian’s heart either way. In one move, Scar pulls the arrowhead out of Mumbo’s shoulder, making sure to be careful not to make the site of impact worse. He tries to avoid moving too slowly as well, not wanting to add to Mumbo’s pain.
When the arrow is out, Scar grabs one of the wipes and wraps it up in the material, setting it down on the table.
Grian reaches out to Mumbo, setting a hand on his tense back, “You okay?” His expression twists in that of concern.
“Brilliant,” Mumbo grunts in response, letting the cravat drop from his mouth. He weakly tosses it in the direction of his other clothes. “Scar, are the boys around?” he then asks.
The changeling shakes his head, “Sent them off to bed a few hours ago.”
“Good,” Mumbo breathes a soft sigh of relief. He doesn’t want them to see him hurt like this. He’d feel absolutely terrible if they were around and stumbled upon this view. Just as he finds himself beginning to relax, he tenses up again when he feels a slight sting in his shoulder.
“Sorry, just trying to make sure the wound is clean,” Grian murmurs in apology. He works the clean wipe around the wound again, catching any blood that drips from the injury. He tries his best to avoid getting any blood on himself, but it’s a bit challenging. He gets a few blots of blood on his fingers anyway, and Grian pays no mind. He can feel how tense Mumbo is under his touch.
Scar watches the two for a bit, eyes tracking Grian’s gentle strokes. When the wipe in the human’s hands is covered in a reddish pink color, he sets it down on the couch, reaching for bandages next. He hears Mumbo exhale quietly, and Scar finds he can’t take the silence anymore. He can’t take not knowing anymore. “So uh… either of you gentlemen going to fill me in on what happened?”
Grian’s movements still as his eyes slowly drift over to the changeling. There’s a firm frown on his face as he answers, “We were ambushed by hunters.”
What?
“Hunters?” Scar parrots, and it feels like something is beginning to tighten around his neck. His breath shortens just a bit, tension beginning to wrap his chest up tight. “W-What kind?” he asks, just to be sure. He already knows the answer, deep down, of course he does. There’s only one kind of hunter that can inflict that sort of damage to someone like Mumbo, and Scar knows it. But he asks anyway, if only to live in denial for a few extra minutes; he’s never wanted to be more wrong about something in his entire life.
“Monster hunters, Scar,” it’s Mumbo who answers this time, and Scar can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “We er, we ran over something while traveling, and the wagon broke down. We were close to Boatem so we were able to get things to fix the wheel but… when we got back we were ambushed.”
“They called themselves the Shadow Mercenaries or something,” Grian continues, as he presses the bandage against Mumbo’s shoulder. The pad sticks to the vampire’s skin as Grian applies it, smoothing it over as carefully as he can. He goes over the story, how the hunters had set their camp up nearby, came across their broken wagon (to which both Grian and Mumbo apologized for losing).
The entire time, Scar listens, and he can feel himself choking on his guilt. None of this was supposed to happen. Mumbo wasn’t supposed to get hurt. He never wanted either of them to get hurt. It’s why the house was an illusion! He didn’t know a hunters camp was right nearby! All of this was meant to be a pointless distraction, an excuse for Scar to do what he needed to and not risk getting caught. But it turned into something so much worse.
He thinks about how Mumbo was trying to get into contact with him, how the gem in his pocket wouldn’t stop glowing. A pit forms in Scar’s stomach as he realizes that it was Mumbo calling for help. Because he and Grian were running from monster hunters and they needed Scar’s help.
It was a cry for assistance that Scar ignored. Completely.
He can feel the pressure around his throat tightening, like a noose that’s wrapping more and more. There’s guilt pouring in, flooding him and threatening to overwhelm him. He stares at Grian and Mumbo, but Scar isn’t really sure if he’s seeing them. Looking through them, instead. He watches Grian’s careful ministrations as he wraps the bandages around Mumbo’s shoulder, but he’s not really processing anything. Mumbo got hurt because of him. Mumbo got hurt. Because of Scar’s carelessness. And for that matter, Grian got hurt as well. He can’t tear his eyes away from the blood, the wounds. He feels wrong. He feels bad.
It feels like his body is being pressed down, pushed on. His chest hurts, and he feels like he’s suddenly standing on uneven ground. Scar knows regret, he knows guilt, but this? This feels unlike anything else. It’s a feeling that is all encompassing, like he’s being held between two palms, trapping him in the guilted air.
Grian has Mumbo turn around to face him now, and Scar sees the other injury.
Something warm begins to sneak in through the cold feeling. It cuts through the fog of remorse, pushing past the guilt as the warmth turns into something scalding hot. Anger slices into it all, wrapping its hands around Scar’s shoulders. He can feel one of his hands twitch, reaching for something that isn’t there.
He finds himself wanting to rip apart whoever it was that hurt Mumbo and Grian, wanting to introduce them to Death and show them right to his door. He wants to be the one to escort them to the endless void of darkness that will greet them with the coldest of hands and let them rot.
Scar lets himself stew in anger, at himself, at these hunters, it doesn’t matter who it’s directed at. He needs an outlet. Needs to keep anything from hurting the two men in front of him ever again. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he digs his fingers into his palms. His ears feel like they’re ringing, his thoughts shifting and turning.
“–ar. Oi, Earth to Scar!”
Grian’s voice brings him back to the present, where two brown eyes are staring at him, just slightly narrowed. Where a soft frown indents Grian’s face, and Scar hadn’t even realized he tuned out.
“Sorry, what was that, songbird?” he questions, hoping the guilt and anger aren’t obvious on his face, that his mask is on tight. That it doesn’t let anything through.
“Potions,” the human says, “Mumbo said it’d be a good idea to use one. Do you know where they are?”
Scar finds himself overly grateful for the distraction, an excuse to turn around and walk away for a bit. Maybe he should be a bit ashamed of that, but he isn’t. “Sure do! I’ll go and grab some regen for him!” He leaves the room, with Grian and Mumbo sitting on the couch.
Grian lets out a soft sigh when Mumbo’s injuries are fully wrapped, and he takes a second to stare at the bandages covering his chest. A small frown forms on his face as he absentmindedly reaches out to Mumbo, gingerly brushing his fingers across the bandages with feather light touches.
“G-Grian?” Mumbo all but squeaks out, face going red. He then stills as he sees the somber glint in those brown depths, and his shoulders sag. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to take Grian’s hand in his own. He gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be alright, Gri,” he promises. He’s in a lot of pain, but it’s manageable.
“I-I know,” Grian stammers, eyes dropping down to their hands. He stares, not realizing how much he’s missed this.
With a quiet sigh, Mumbo finally lets himself relax. “At least we made it back alright. And Scar wasn’t upset about the wagon,” he chuckles softly, his and Grian’s hands drifting down to his lap. He thinks back to the shack, realization dawning on him as he grimaces, “Oh dear, Grian, I think we left the forest to burn.”
Mumbo’s words are so out of the blue and unexpected that Grian finds himself bursting into laughter. It’s the kind of laughter that comes from the belly, loud and bright. His shoulders shake as he squeezes Mumbo’s hand. “Of all things that’s happened, that’s what you’re worried about?!” he giggles.
“Of course I am!” Mumbo splutters, but there’s a smile on his face as he says it. “Forest fires are quite serious, Grian!”
“I’m sure someone in Boatem noticed it or something,” Grian says, his laughter tampering off. “Besides it–” he stops in his tracks, thinking back on Scott’s words.
“It..?” Mumbo questions, giving Grian an inquisitive look.
It’s one that makes Grian shrink back just slightly, something uncomfortable tightening in his chest. He originally hadn’t mentioned anything about the warning to the vampire because he thought it’d be fine. But it wasn’t fine. Slowly, Grian pulls his hand away from Mumbo’s, “I uh… there’s something I need to tell you.”
There’s no point in hiding it from Mumbo, not when the vampire is going to find out anyway. Whether it be from Scott himself, or Grian, Mumbo will be told. Grian doesn’t think he could carry it on his conscience for very long regardless, not when it has to do with Scott, not when he knows how badly the vampire has hurt Mumbo before.
“Okay..?” Mumbo replies, voice tinged with confusion. “You’re kind of concerning me here, bud.”
“I knew about the potential fire,” Grian admits. “Someone told me.”
Mumbo’s expression falls into one of confusion as he stares at the other. “Someone… told you?” he slowly repeats. “Who? Was it someone in town?” The air between them starts to grow tense, tight with some kind of invisible pressure.
Grian shakes his head in turn. He looks at Mumbo’s eyes, seeing how lost the vampire is. Though he can see some anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface. He cringes, “Well uh, no. It wasn’t.” Slowly, he flexes and curls his fingers. “I… may have been told by Scott.”
He can see the few seconds it takes for the man to process his words. Mumbo’s brows furrow first, confusion flitting across his face. His forehead creases as his lips are tugged down, and when the words register, his eyes flash with hurt. “You were what?!” he cries, “and you didn’t think to tell me?!”
“I know it sounds bad!” Grian hurries to answer. “But there was a lot going on, and honestly I thought he was just trying to psych me out! By the time the house caught fire, it was kind of too late to tell you I met with him!”
Mumbo’s eyes go as wide as saucers and he stares at Grian like he’s suddenly grown three heads. “You met with him?” he asks slowly, and something cold drops in Grian’s stomach. “Grian, do you realize how incredibly stupid that was?!”
Grian bristles slightly. He knew exactly what he was getting into, what choice he was making. “I’m not five, Mumbo, I knew what I was doing! I brought my dagger!”
“A dagger isn’t going to do a single thing against someone like him!” Mumbo exclaims, voice nearly cracking from the emotion. Images flash through his mind, possible scenarios of Grian’s meeting with Scott flash in his mind. Each one is more gruesome than the last, and it sends a wave of panic through him. Every scenario that comes to mind all ends with Grian’s blood spilt on the floor, Scott’s teeth bloody. It sends cold chills down his spine. “He could’ve killed you! Very easily! Without anyone knowing!”
“I think if he wanted to kill me, he would’ve just gone and done it instead of sending me an invitation for lunch,” Grian snarks, unable to help himself. He knew Mumbo wouldn’t take it well, and this only confirms it.
“He sent you an invitation, and you accepted it?” Mumbo stares at him, completely dumbfounded. “Watchers, Grian, what were you thinking?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Because you weren’t talking to me, Mumbo!” Grian nearly shouts. Frustration bursts from Grian’s mouth in a quick explosion, as the feelings wash over him. He knows it was stupid. That Scott could have easily killed him. He walked into the vampire’s home accepting that. But what other choice did he have? “I wanted to reach you, and you weren’t budging, so I had to go elsewhere!”
“So you went to him?!” Mumbo’s eyes fall just short of a glare, one that sends shivers down his spine. “Anyone would have been better than him! He’s a monster, Grian! He could have ruined your life the same way he ruined mine. All for what, being able to reach me?”
“Yes.” Grian doesn’t hesitate in his response, and he almost regrets how fast he responds when he sees Mumbo flinch. It’s only then that Grian shrinks back, remorse making a home in his chest. “I– Mumbo–”
“You…” Mumbo mutters, mouth falling shut. He stares at Grian with a hard look, a million different thoughts racing through his head. “I can’t believe you.”
Grian waits for the rest of it, for whatever it is that’s going through Mumbo’s head. Yet he doesn’t say anything. His answer doesn’t come in the form of words. It’s action.
Wordlessly, Mumbo pushes himself up from the couch, bypassing his bloodied clothes entirely. He needs a moment of space, to breathe and process. He needs a space where Grian isn’t there, staring at him with those brown doe like eyes. He hears Grian call after him, but he doesn’t follow.
Grian is left alone on the couch, and he lets out a sigh. “Well that could’ve gone better,” he grumbles. Maybe it would’ve been better if he didn’t say anything. Or maybe he should’ve waited. Something that wouldn’t have caused Mumbo to just… storm off.
It’s that moment where Scar chooses to come back, glowing potion in hand. He looks quite confused as his gaze lands on Grian, “Oh man, Mumbo does not look happy. I went to give him the potion and he completely brushed me off!”
Grimacing, Grian looks up at the fae. “Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to wrap his arms around himself as he sits back. “That’d be my fault.”
Scar takes a second to observe Grian, seeing the way he ducks his head down slightly. He’s not sure what happened between those two in the time he stepped out to grab a potion, and he’s not sure if it’s his place to pry. He doesn’t know how to help Grian, or even Mumbo, really. But he sees the pained expression on Grian’s face, and finds himself wanting to alleviate it.
So with a soft sigh, Scar walks over. He sets the bottle down on the table, and takes a good look at the human in front of him. He frowns softly when he sees all the bruises and scratches dotting his face. He sits on the table, feet flat on the floor. His hands are reaching out before he even realizes it. “Your face got all bruised up. What happened, songbird?” he questions softly, thumb just gently grazing the cut on his cheek. The blood is dry now, pasty under Scar’s touch.
To his credit, Grian doesn’t even flinch when Scar touches him. He seems to welcome the cooling touch, even.
“One of the hunters clocked me with an axe,” he answers, shrugging. “I was trying to goad them into giving something up to figure out how we could escape.”
Once more, Scar feels guilt run through him, anger in a close first place. The two emotions are racing, and whichever hits the finish line first will be the one to drive him forward.
“Well that just won’t do,” he says, reaching one hand for the first aid kit. “We can’t have your pretty face being all bruised and cut up.” He grabs one of the antiseptic wipes, giving Grian the same treatment he gave Mumbo earlier.
Grian huffs in return, but doesn’t make any move to stop him. Instead, he sits perfectly still, letting Scar clean his face. Scar’s touch is gentle, something that isn’t all that surprising to Grian now that he’s felt it before. It makes it easier to lean into, to be relaxed by.
Scar hums a quiet tune as he takes care of Grian, cleaning away any dirt or bit of blood. When that’s done, he grabs a bandage next.
“Hey, Scar?” Grian prompts, causing the changeling to hum softly. “Your friend’s house… it kind of set on fire when Mumbo and I got there.”
“It did?” Scar blinks at him, pretending to act surprised. “Was he— is it—”
“Mumbo said there wasn’t anyone inside. It was a spell that was used, and it was on some kind of timer?” Grian explains, and he watches the way Scar’s brows furrow. “How… trustworthy is this friend of yours, exactly?”
All it takes from Scar is one well timed wince. “Right… about that. He’s probably not the most trustworthy guy. I was hoping he’d come through! You know, he was so certain of it too. Put on a real convincing act and everything.”
Grian’s expression falls, “So we were all tricked.”
Scar’s chest pangs with guilt. “I’ll track him down,” he says, though he’s not talking about this mysterious friend. “See what answers I can get. As well as that blade piece.” He presses the bandage against Grian’s cheek lightly, watching the way his eyes shine with conflict. The guilt gets ahead. Anger follows. He pulls back, but not before setting a hand on Grian’s shoulder. He’s not sure why he does it, really. He doesn’t think much of it. “I swear to you, G, I’ll make it right. This won’t have been for nothing.”
What is he saying?
Brown eyes lift to meet his own, and Grian offers him a small smile. It’s then that he reaches for Scar’s hand. He gently pulls it from his shoulder, instead moving to slip his hand into Scar’s own. Scar is immediately drawn to the contact.
It’s not the first time Grian has held his hand like this. But it feels different. It burns, this time. Grian’s touch is gentle, so gentle. It’s caring, and it’s everything that the touch of a human is. His heart squeezes in his chest as he stares at their hands, and some part of him feels very afraid. Because in his hand, is Grian’s own. Here sits a strong but oh so painfully mortal’s hand in his, and it brings a multitude of different emotions to Scar.
Grian squeezes his hand so softly. It almost feels like a heartbeat. “It’s okay, Scar,” he says, soothing. “This wasn’t your fault. We can figure out the next move together.”
And when Grian smiles at him, Scar thinks the sun might just burn him up from the inside out, leaving nothing behind.
It’s raining when Scar enters the forest.
His scythe sits heavy on his shoulders as he walks, feeling the raindrops hit the metal blade. His eyes are focused straight ahead, anger brewing under the green storm of his eyes. He’s a powder keg waiting to explode, fuse running shorter and shorter with each bit of distance he crosses. Emotions swirl in his head like a maelstrom, and Scar’s itching to set it free. His body is tense, muscles tight, and he lets the anger run through him. It consumes him, and Scar lets it.
Anger has won the race, guilt a very close second. He just isn’t sure who the anger is directed at. Himself? The hunters? Perhaps both.
It doesn’t take him very long to find what he’s looking for.
Walking up to the gate, he kicks it open. “Helloooo!~” he calls, “Anyone home?” His eyes survey the tents around him as he saunters in the camp, whistling as he does. Almost immediately is he surrounded by a gaggle of hunters, weapons all pointing at him. “Whoa!” he gapes. “Be careful with that! You’ve got some pointy blades on ya!”
“Who the hell are you?” A man pushes his way to the front of the crowd, standing before Scar. He glares up at the changeling, “Pretty cocky of you to just waltz on in here, actin’ like you own the place.”
“Ah, what can I say?” Scar shrugs with the scythe resting on his shoulders, a cheeky smile on his face. “It’s hard to be intimidated by a bunch of humans,” he snorts, watching the way some of the hunters bristle. “I was hoping to find a real challenge here, but I have to say,” the smile drops, green eyes turning dull and bored, “I’m kind of disappointed.”
The man, the leader of the group, Scar assumes, glowers at him, “Do you realize who you’re talking to?!”
“Showdown Mercuries? Or whatever your name is, honestly, I don’t really care!” Scar answers, smiling at him. “See you’ve gone and hurt two very innocent people, and I’m afraid that won’t fly, no siree!” He twirls his scythe around, eyeing them all, “So the Reaper’s come to collect his due.”
Strings enter his vision, and Scar’s grin turns malicious. He lifts his scythe in the air, and the leader can only open his mouth to yell before Scar cuts him down. The man’s body falls to the ground, and silence rings loudly in the camp. The humans around him all stare, horrified, as blood mixes with rain water.
All hell breaks loose.
Scar cuts down every last one of them, easily dancing around their movements and blocking their attacks. Pained cries echo in the open air of the camp, but they all fall on deaf ears. Scar hardly flinches as blood hits his face, his clothes. They try to run, to escape, but Scar doesn’t let them.
String after string is cut.
He’s merciless as he goes after them all, eradicating one threat at a time. Vines sprout from the ground as he steps, reacting to his anger as it follows him. They wrap around the humans, leaving them at Scar’s mercy. Death will not be kind to them. Not that Scar cares very much, these humans don’t deserve much better.
One human trips and falls to the ground, screaming loudly as they try to scramble away. Scar pursues them as they turn on their back. His vines wrap around their ankles, trapping them. “M-Monster! You’re a monster!”
The words make Scar laugh. He stands in the pouring rain, blood dripping from his scythe, and he laughs. Because that’s what he is, isn’t it? A monster. He’s a monster. Through and through, there is nothing human about him. He will never be seen as anything more than that. Until the day he becomes little floating balls of light, that is what he will be known as. That is his identity. These humans know so, but there’s something else Scar knows.
He looks down on this poor little human, who stares back up at him with shaking eyes full of terror, and he grins. “What does that make you then, human?” he questions, “I don’t think we’re as different as you’d like to think we are.”
They don’t get a chance to respond as Scar’s scythe cuts them.
At the end of it all, Scar stands in the middle of the camp. Rain downpours around him, leaving small puddles of watery blood amongst the grass. At the end of it all, Scar is alone, surrounded by bodies. Blood stains his clothes, his hands. His scythe vanishes, leaving him empty handed as he stands in the rain.
He feels a bit better, after having gotten it all out of his system. The anger has lessened some, no longer as prominent. He knows with certainty that these hunters won’t be doing any more damage. Unfortunately though, the guilt still feels heavy, like a ball and chain around his foot. He can’t get rid of it, no matter how much he may want to, or that he tries to.
Water pelts his hair and his jacket, darkening the red material. Ah, he had been in such a rush that he didn’t even switch to his Grim Reaper gear. Well, Scar works just as well for this. The hunters needed to be taught a lesson in hurting those he cares about.
It’s then that a thought strikes him, a very gentle one. He killed these people for hurting Mumbo. He killed them for hurting the vampire that was his anchor for years. But Mumbo wasn’t the only one, was he? No, he thinks, as warm brown eyes flash in his mind. He killed them for Grian, too. He remembers specifically gunning for the hunter with the axe, remembering how Grian had said they struck him.
Surprise startles him as he slowly looks down at his hand. He holds it out, seeing the blood staining his skin. It’s still warm, but rapidly cooling. With what could almost be called a faint sense of wonder, Scar closes his palm. He opens it seconds later, eyes never once leaving. The cooling blood on his hand is a very poor mimic of anything remotely warm, of anything human. It cannot fill the void left by a mortal’s hand, cannot replace the warmth. Scar closes his palm once more, and he finds himself picturing Grian’s in it. He opens it once again.
The blood still sits on his skin. Rain hits his hand.
Such a simple affection, and yet Scar finds himself faltering entirely, like a redstone machine completely breaking down. Death has no effect on him, he’s numb to it. He goes through life seeing it, living it. But thinking about a human holding his hand so gently leaves his head spinning, dazed and confused.
He’s surprised, startled by the realization that he isn’t just here for Mumbo. He’s here for Grian, because he cares. His anger wasn’t just for the vampire, but the human as well. He’s massacred these pathetic excuses for monster hunters for the both of them. It catches him off guard, just how much he finds himself caring about Grian.
Here he stands in a camp, clothes bloody, for a human. A human who’s a representation of everything he hates. A human who’s latched onto him, who deems him good despite his wrongs. He sees something in Scar, and oh he wants Grian to keep seeing whatever that may be. Standing in this camp, surrounded by proof of his care, of his anger and guilt, and an attempt at rectifying his mistakes, Scar is forced to admit he cares for the human. He wants Grian’s kindness. He wants Grian’s humanity. He wants to keep it safe. He wants to protect it, to hold it in his blood-stained hands. The monster wants to cradle the human’s hands with his own, to keep that soft golden light on him.
Scar stares down at his bloodied hands, trying to mimic what it feels like to hold the sun in them, even if briefly, and he’s forced to admit to himself that he cares.
Such a thought is overwhelming, and it makes Scar’s chest swell with pain, with relief, with so much remorse that Scar thinks it could send him to the ground. It’s enough to turn his world upside down, to send it twisting and rolling into knots. Scar wants. And he doesn’t know what to do with it. He cares about a human, the very creature he’s grown to hate. He cares about a human he tried to kill. He cares about a human he said he wouldn’t go out of his way to protect.
Except the scene around him tells a much different story.
He stares down at his hand, watching the way it opens and closes. He recalls Grian’s warmth, his gentleness.
He cares about a human, and that human cares about him too.
Scar stands in the pouring rain, letting the water clean the blood from his hands. It’ll never fully be washed away, he knows. He raises his arm to his face, using it to wipe his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, blinking to clear his vision.
Perhaps it’s a good thing that it’s raining. It’s easier to excuse.
Mumbo’s found himself pacing the halls of his manor. He’s not sure how long he’s been walking around for, just sure that he needs to keep himself moving. It’s easier than standing still, where he’s just restless energy that’s hard to contain. Moving gives him some kind of outlet, even if he’s just walking up and down the hall a bunch of times.
He’s stuck on the conversation with Grian, on what he told him. He can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop turning it over and over in his mind.
Grian met with Scott, of all people. After all of the warnings Mumbo gave him, he still went and threw himself into danger. Just so he could figure out how to reach him? He understands that Grian had good intentions, that he wanted to do something right by Mumbo. But he doesn’t think. He just goes and does, and he can have all the good intentions in the world, but it won’t stop other people from taking advantage of it. Grian doesn’t know the supernatural world like Mumbo does. He doesn’t know Scott like Mumbo does.
And frankly, he’s incredibly lucky that Scott didn’t just kill him then and there.
The very thought is enough to send fear tearing through him.
Mumbo would’ve been none the wiser. Grian could have died, and Mumbo wouldn’t have known. He’d have probably sat in his study for days, just waiting. Never knowing that the human wouldn’t be coming around. It’s a realization that makes his heart squeeze, grief washing over him. He would’ve lost another human to Scott. And he wouldn’t have had a clue.
He clenches his jaw at the thought, hating the images that come to mind.
Grian’s done some rather stupid things in the time that Mumbo’s known him, but Mumbo thinks this takes the cake.
But perhaps the thought that hurts Mumbo the most is that Grian kept this from him. That he didn’t tell him. He wouldn’t have been happy either that way that Scott was involved, but he would’ve felt so much better if Grian came to him. Is Mumbo really so untrustworthy? After everything? Enough that Grian would risk dying, instead of talking to him? That’s the crux of it all, isn’t it? Grian didn’t trust Mumbo enough to tell him. That he was willing to die just so he could help.
It’s very in line with who Grian is as a person, his goals and big heart. Selfishly, Mumbo wishes sometimes that his heart weren’t so big.
He finds himself angry, so very angry. He blames Scott more than anything, and knows quite well how the man works. He can only imagine the things the older vampire told Grian, the lies he spun. But even still, he’s angry with Grian. He’s angry and hurt, but so thankful the human is alive. He’s angry at how reckless Grian is, both with this and the hunters at the camp. He’s playing with fire, and if this continues, Grian is going to get burned.
And Mumbo will have to pick up the pieces. Alone.
His thoughts come to a halt when he feels something warm press against him from behind. Mumbo freezes in place as two arms wrap around his middle, something soft pressing between his shoulder blades. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is. He waits for a minute, not speaking, not moving.
The timing is a bit ironic, really.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Grian’s voice quietly murmurs, the arms around him tightening for just a moment. Mumbo thinks that if the circumstances were different, he’d probably be a bit more flustered by the feeling of Grian against his bare skin.
Not to say that he isn’t. Because he very much is.
He swallows thickly, “I’m angry.” For many different reasons. “I’m angry that you didn’t tell me. That you did something so reckless. You went behind my back, Grian.”
“I know,” Grian practically whispers it, yet the words are incredibly clear to Mumbo’s ears. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you really not trust me that much?” he questions, and he can’t help the break in his voice.
“Of course I trust you!” Grian exclaims, and he presses his head further into Mumbo’s back. His hands press against the vampire’s front, and Mumbo can feel the way the wool of his jumper brushes on the skin of his back. “It wasn’t about not trusting you. I didn’t… want to lose you.”
Mumbo’s heart stutters at that, and he finds himself looking down at the ground. He sees Grian’s hands around him, the way they press against the flat of his stomach as he pulls him closer. He feels his bottom lip wobble slightly and he can’t stop himself from setting his hands over Grian’s. He wraps his fingers around them, holding gently. “You could have talked to me,” he murmurs softly, his voice dropping to match Grian’s volume.
“Could I have?” Grian quietly asks, and Mumbo thinks about a glowing red glyph. “...would you have answered?” It’s not a question of accusation, nor is it one of curiosity. It is a simple question, a question that is asked purely because Grian could ask it.
Worrying his lip, Mumbo remembers ignoring his call. In the same way he pushed Grian away, time and time again. The hands around Grian’s tighten their grip as Mumbo holds onto them, and he exhales softly. “I… can understand that, I suppose, but Grian,” he says, turning around in the man’s hold to properly wrap his arms around him. He pulls Grian close, holding him against him. He presses Grian’s head into his shoulder, feeling the way his fingers tangle in his sandy blond strands. “If you had told me this involved Scott, I would have listened. In the same way that you don’t want to lose me, I don’t want to lose you.”
Now being held against Mumbo’s front, Grian wastes no time in tightening his hold on the vampire, clinging to him. Encouraged gently by Mumbo’s hand, he buries his face in Mumbo’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry I went behind your back,” Grian apologizes quietly. “I didn’t get many answers anyway, just stuff I already knew.” He squeezes the vampire, feels how warm he is against him. “He was quite cryptic with everything though. It was kind of freaky, to be honest,” he weakly chuckles.
There’s some kind of tension that eases between them, with their bodies so close together like this. Warmth radiates from them both, two beating hearts pressing against one another. Mumbo holds Grian so gently in his arms, pouring every ounce of comfort that he can into his grasp. This is the hug he’s been wanting for, waiting for. It’s one he’s wanted to give Grian ever since they returned from the arachne, and now he finally can.
And Mumbo finds himself chuckling along with him despite the topic. “That does check out, yes.” He nods slightly. “But it’s… it’s alright. I had a feeling he wouldn’t say anything anyways. Honestly, I don’t think that’s what I’m the most upset about, really.” He presses Grian closer against him, taking in his warmth, letting himself find comfort in it.
“I’m angry because you were so willing to throw your humanity away to help me,” Mumbo murmurs to him. “You just… answered without any hint of hesitation. Without any regard for your own life, humanity. Don’t ever throw away your humanity for me, or anyone. It’s too precious,” he nearly begs, the thought of Grian losing his humanity absolutely terrifying. Grian has no idea how precious it is, truly. He doesn’t want him to realize after it’s gone. “And Watchers, please tell me next time, should anything like this happen again,” Mumbo pleads softly, envisioning just how easily Scott could ruin Grian’s life. He shudders, “If anything happened to you I don’t–” he swallows, “I don’t know what I’d do.”
Slowly, does Grian nod against him. “Promise, if it happens again,” he swears, and he intends to keep it.
“Good,” Mumbo hums quietly, “Then you’re forgiven.” Even though he doesn’t want to, Mumbo pulls back from Grian, looking him in the eyes. “No more secrets.”
Grian smiles up at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as it lights up his face. Mumbo feels a bit breathless, looking at him. Yes, he decides, he has every reason to look forward to this sun. “No more secrets.”