Chapter Text
Grian narrowed his eyes dangerously.
He kept his eyes trained on Pearl, treat held high above his head, his knees twinging uncomfortably where the cold tiles seeped through his pajamas.
Pearl stood frozen, her muscles as tense as his own. She braced both of her paws on the ground and lowered her head, keeping eye contact as she prepared to pounce, and Grian turned his head with a warning glare.
They faced each other at a standstill, a checkmate, a duel with guns already drawn. For every twitch of Pearl’s tail, Grian’s hand rose a centimetre higher. For every movement of his head, her muscles wound imperceptibly tighter.
Abruptly, the tense silence cracked at the sound of the doorbell ringing.
Grian sighed and stood with a wince.
“You’ll get it next time.” He said, scratching Pearl’s head and tossing her the treat.
He rubbed the back of his neck with a yawn as he wandered to the door. It wasn’t this difficult for Human Pearl to train Tilly, was it? No matter what he did, Pearl seemed intent on staying upright, regardless of what he offered to make her sit. He’d have to ask Human Pearl what her methods were; she probably knew something about it, with all her experience.
“Did you forget your key again?” He called through the door as he fumbled with the chain lock. The floorboards creaked as he shifted back and forth on his feet.
When he pulled the door open, he expected to see Mumbo on the other side. He mentioned something about showing up for dinner; “pooling resources”, he said.
What he did not expect was an eyeful of blue raspberry and radioactive orange, accompanied by a frustratingly blank smile.
“Well, hello there!” Hawkeye said cheerfully.
He opened his mouth to continue, but Grian promptly slammed the door in his face and redid the locks as quickly as he could.
Maui and Pearl peered at him curiously from the back of the couch, tilting their heads in tandem. He mirrored the action, nearly forgetting about the nuisance outside his door, until he started speaking and Grian had to roll his eyes all over again.
“Wait, sir! I’m not here on official business, I just—” he knocked, the sound making the cats jump, “—uh, can I just come in for a minute?”
“Do you have a warrant?” Grian deadpanned, folding his arms across his chest.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then you can’t come in.” He finished. “What do you want?”
“I—”
“And don’t say you just want to talk, because there’s no way I buy that.” He scoffed.
Hawkeye cleared his throat, likely in an attempt to cover up the audible sigh that fell out of his chest. Grian felt a flicker of pride that he could frustrate and inconvenience a superhero with so little effort.
“I know the heroes have you as a suspect right now, but I promise, I’m here to do you a favour.” He said, his voice muffled by the door.
Grian groaned.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the motion pushing his glasses up on his forehead.
What sort of favour would a hero possibly want to do him?
His eyes drifted to the baseball bat leaning against the wall, right next to the door. Usually, it was reserved for solicitors, but he could probably make an exception for an annoying hero that wouldn’t leave him alone.
Unfortunately, he also didn’t want to do any time for assaulting a government officer, so that particular idea passed quickly.
With a glare at the wall and a prayer that this wouldn’t land him in jail, he dragged his feet to the door and slowly unclicked the lock.
“What do you want?” He asked.
Hawkeye smiled, and Grian barely fought the urge to roll his eyes again.
“Can I come in?” He nodded through the crack in the door.
“No. Whatever you have to say, you can say it outside.” He said simply.
A bit of the brightness dimmed from his smile, but he nodded understandingly. Grian nearly felt nauseous at the idea of a hero being nice to him, but the faster they got through this, the faster he could go back to doing nothing all day.
“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “I just thought you might not be having a great day, considering… you know.”
His shoulders tensed towards his ears, and he shuffled on his feet with something like nerves. Grian eyed the motion carefully, but after a moment, he sighed and stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind him.
“Alright, so what? I don’t want your pity, if that’s what you’re here for.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
His place of work and only source of income had burned down not twenty-four hours prior, but it was hardly anything to cry over. It came with the territory of living in an active turf war between superpowered idiots. His eyebrow twitched as a little voice in his head piped up with a comment about how, logically, he really couldn’t afford being out of work.
He waved that voice away and focused back on what Hawkeye was saying.
“No, no, that’s not what I’m here for at all!” He said, smile growing again. “But a friend of mine told me that you might be, uh… struggling a bit, without the work.”
He held out his hands, a container sitting in his palms. Grian raised an eyebrow, glancing between the container and the hero’s face.
After a moment of silence, his smile softened into something more real, and his hands fell slightly from their place. When he spoke, his voice quieted, as though it was something he didn’t want people to hear.
As if, just for now, he wasn’t so much of a hero.
“You don’t have to take it. I know people in the Fritz don’t exactly… trust heroes.” As if to prove his point, he glanced around the empty streets with noticeable apprehension.
Grian looked down at the container in his hands, peeked around at the surrounding buildings, and back to the hero’s face.
“Hang on, backtrack—” He put a hand up, as if he could pause the ridiculous show in front of him with the gesture alone, “—you have friends?”
Hawkeye looked at him blankly.
“I… I have friends.” He mumbled, a stark contrast to his usual bravado. “And, anyway, that isn’t the point!”
His smile returned, bright and unreadable as ever.
“I’m just here to drop this off, and then I’ll be gone.” He held his arms out again, the container just a few inches away from Grian’s face.
A moment passed. Grian glanced between the container and Hawkeye’s face.
From the top of the concrete stairs, for once, he could look down on him. It almost made him laugh; the hero looked so small, like a child playing dress up.
He snorted.
“Nah.” He said simply, opening the door behind him and stepping back. “Go blow up a building or something, it’s a better use of your time.”
With a final glance at Hawkeye’s shocked expression, he shut the door and clicked the lock back into place.
Pearl and Maui sat on the couch, staring at him with wide eyes. He stared back at them, a smile slowly forming on his face. It was always so hard to stay gloomy with them around to snap him out of it.
He crashed on the couch and they climbed up onto his chest. A minute later, he heard footsteps slowly receding from outside the door, and he breathed loudly into the silent air.
If the rest of his week had visits like that, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.
𓂃🖌
After nearly half an hour of doing absolutely nothing, the doorknob jiggled and the lock turned slowly. Pearl and Maui jumped off him and rushed to the door as Mumbo stepped through the threshold and into the living room, a bag on each arm, stepping carefully and squawking to avoid stepping on them.
“Grian, control your monsters!” He yelled, wobbling as he made his way to the kitchen.
“Nah, I’m good.” He laughed, rubbing his sternum where the cats had launched themselves off it.
“Oh, wow, so hospitable.” Mumbo rolled his eyes and dropped the bags on the kitchen counter. “Are you still trying to train them?”
Grian groaned dramatically.
“Yes, and it’s not working!” He gestured wildly to the cats, who were circling Mumbo’s feet like hunting sharks as he placed various items on the counter.
“Maybe they don’t like the treats you’re offering.” He hummed.
“Or maybe Maui’s an idiot and Pearl does whatever she wants.” He spat, glaring in their direction.
As if to prove his point, Maui remained blissfully unaware, standing up to touch his paws pleadingly on Mumbo’s leg, begging for the canned spinach he was holding. Pearl, the intelligent little devil that she was, stared right back at Grian with a smile on her face; or, as much of a smile as a cat could have.
Mumbo laughed and set out the last ingredient he had brought. He crumbled up the plastic bag and shoved it in a corner of the cabinet just above the counter, where he knew Grian kept the rest of his bags.
“Or, and this is a curveball here,” he started, leaning his elbows on the surface and resting his chin in his palm, “they just don’t respect your methods.”
Grian slapped a hand to his chest and let out a disbelieving scoff.
“Mumbo K. Jumbo, are you implying what I think you’re implying?” He asked.
His friend shrugged, poorly stifling a giggle.
“Hey, mate, all I’m saying is that Pearl trained Tilly in a few weeks, and you’ve been at this for—what, two months?”
“Three.” Grian mumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. “But Tilly’s a dog! They’re just better at following orders!”
“Probably why Pearl has one, then.” He glanced at the wall next to the couch; the one with a picture of Grian and Pearl together, smiling wildly in the back seat of her old truck. Mumbo wandered to the couch and leaned over it, tapping Grian on the nose. “And why you have two gremlins that hate following the rules.”
Grian scrunched up his nose and blew a puff of air into Mumbo’s face.
“Hey, is that a comment on my criminal record?” He joked, leaning against the back of the couch. “Low blow, man.”
Mumbo laughed and held out his hand for Grian to take, hauling him up off the seat and leading them to the kitchen with a smile.
“Maybe—maybe it is!” He chuckled, his speech broken by wheezing breaths. “You’re not exactly Mr. Rule-Follower!”
“Excuse me, I will have you know that I am a shining example of what a citizen of this great city should be!” Grian argued, putting on his most mischievous smile. “I was nominated for Civilian of the Year, remember?”
Laughter once again filled the small space, and Grian felt his smile widening as Mumbo wiped a tear from his eye.
They started unloading items; canned foods, packaged noodles, spices that had expired months ago and never been thrown out.
They don’t really expire, Mumbo always said. It’s just a strategy to get you to buy more.
“Yeah, mostly because people thought it would be funny.” He pointed out, handing Grian a can of chicken to open. “And you didn’t even accept, if I remember correctly.”
He snorted at the reminder of his tragic past as he cracked open the can with a metallic rip.
Most people had probably nominated him purely for the joke; everybody knew him, but very few people actually liked being around him, so he was an option that everyone could agree on not appreciating.
Plus, the whole “Civilian of the Year” rubbish was created and employed by the main district, and the Fritz enjoyed nothing more than skewing their results and screwing them over.
Grian had found it just as funny as everyone else. Unfortunately, he wasn’t too keen on accepting some phony award that did nothing but support the government and meant nothing beyond that poor excuse. So, for the millionth year in a row, the Fritz district had no Civilian of the Year, and everybody from the border to the outermost edge went out drinking to celebrate.
He heard fireworks and gunshots interchangeably throughout the night; symbols of their rebellion, as small as it was.
“Well, hey, at least I was considered. That’s gotta earn me some good-person points, right?”
Mumbo smiled with a shrug. The twinkle in his eye reflected the warm, quietly buzzing light of the bulb above the stove, and Grian, just as quietly, thanked all the pollution-covered stars in the sky that he had someone to make terrible food with.
His body still ached and his head pounded with every thought, questions about his entire week bouncing around in his head like fleas in a rattling jar.
But, for now, he had this. Him and his best friend, his cats at his feet, and the incandescent lightbulb covering them all in a layer of honey.
He wouldn’t be hungry tonight. He wouldn’t be cold. He could go to sleep happy, and face the world tomorrow.
Things like that were a luxury in the Fritz, and he carefully, consciously treasured every minute.
𓂃🖌
Mumbo went home a few hours later, with a pat on Pearl and Maui’s heads and a promise to come over again tomorrow. Grian waved to him from the concrete steps, keeping an eye on him for as long as he could, before his form was nothing more than a blurry smudge against the crimson-lit street.
He stretched his arms above his head and kicked the door closed. His rebellious gremlins immediately swarmed around his ankles, purring and nuzzling up against him as though everything was right in the world.
Coming from them, it was much more believable.
He crept up the stairs quietly; a habit from when he had roommates that he hadn’t quite broken. He had always stayed up later than they did, so he made sure to keep his steps light and the creaking to a minimum.
Pearl and Maui darted to the top of the stairs, and he smiled at their energy. They would fall asleep before he did, no doubt, but for now, they could wreak havoc on the flat to their hearts’ content.
They dashed across the hallway and into his bedroom, right at each other’s tails, meowing loudly throughout the chase.
Not a moment later, they ran out even more quickly than they had run in. Their little footsteps rocketed past him, down the stairs, and into the living room, completely silent and tense.
He waited for them to come sprinting back up the stairs, to continue their mad dash, but the sound of their claws against the floor never returned.
After a beat of rigid silence, a sound hit his ears; a breeze, whistling through the window.
His eyes widened. He backed down the steps, not taking his gaze off the slightly open door.
Silent step after silent step, pausing at every sound. He finally made it to the bottom of the stairs and inched towards the front door.
Slowly, carefully, his fingers wrapped around the handle of the bat just inside the entrance. Not the best for ranged combat, he winced, but everything else was in his room, securely tucked away in his side table drawer.
He crept back up to the stairs. Staying on his toes, staying to the edges, staying just out of sight.
As soon as he reached the top, he prepared to rush into the room. He shoved open the door with his shoulder, hoping that the twinge of pain didn’t register on his face, and raised the bat high over his head.
Abruptly, he froze, as he finally saw what was lurking in his room.
A black silhouette stood out against the dim light of the street. It leaned comfortably against the windowsill, like a being made of void had found its way into his home.
Slowly, deliberately, bright green eyes turned to face him.
They practically glowed in the darkness, blazing and eye-straining as a neon sign at night.
Even through the thick blackness and the villain’s thin mask, Grian could feel the grin on his face as he spoke.
“Fancy seeing you here.” He said, his voice low and uncomfortably entertained.
Without a word, Grian grabbed the doorknob and slammed it shut before the villain could say anything else.
Exhaustion and frustration flooded his body. He just wanted to fall asleep and stay that way until the DMV was rebuilt, and he definitely didn’t want all of these people bothering him when he would rather be doing anything else.
A moment passed in silence as he weighed his options. He stood there in the hallway, his fingers still wrapped around the handle, his other hand gripping the bat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed out slowly and questioned the logistics of staying with Mumbo tonight.
Unfortunately, he didn’t particularly want a weirdo supervillain rifling through his things, so he groaned into the heavy air and threw the door open.
“What do you want?” He asked shortly.
The villain shifted so his legs dangled off the windowsill, sitting there for a moment as he seemed to study Grian.
“Oh, nothing.” He mused, hopping off the ledge and landing silently on his feet. “Just wanted to stop by.”
He stalked towards him, hands clasped behind his back. Grian still couldn’t make out any features besides his silhouette.
Grian raised the bat higher as the villain approached.
“Right, yeah. What do you really want?” He pressed.
“Nothing, nothing!” He promised, raising his hands in mock surrender.
It did nothing to lower Grian’s guard. It may have been his inherited paranoia, but he got the feeling that the villain didn’t show up for a light chat.
Just like that moment in the lobby, he began to circle around like a predator, searching and waiting for a weakness; a vulnerability, a soft spot to pounce. Grian carefully kept his back facing away from the villain, bat raised in an attempt at a threat.
Finally, he stopped. He returned to the position he had arrived in: standing like a sleep paralysis demon in front of the window, smiling like he had nowhere he would rather be.
“Put that down, will you?” He said, glancing down at his excuse for a weapon.
Grian scoffed, shifting it to rest more comfortably on his shoulder.
“Not a chance.” He responded.
The villain shrugged. He leaned forward, taking a step, and another. Deliberately, he encroached on Grian’s space until he was crowded against the door. An unfamiliar feeling spiked through him at the realization that it had been shut.
Fear.
For once in his life, Grian felt fear.
“You interest me, doctor.” He purred, his face a breath away from Grian’s.
Warm air caught in his throat as the villain put a finger beneath his chin. Slowly, his head was raised to be looking the villain in the eye. He funneled as much contempt and annoyance as possible into his face, and the villain simply laughed.
“Careful.” He said, leaning even further, so his words sat right by Grian’s ear.
“I want to like you. Don’t change my mind.”
He stepped back abruptly and cold air rushed in to fill the space. Grian blinked, and suddenly the window was dropping shut, and the villain was nowhere to be seen.
Grian’s knees buckled against his will, and he sank to the floor with wide eyes, clutching his chest as if he could reach through his ribcage and force his heartrate to slow down.
Pearl and Maui meowed worriedly and scratched at the other side of the door. Grian gave himself a minute to compose his thoughts before he opened it for him.
Mumbo would be thrilled, hearing about this encounter. The thought brought him some relief; at least something good would come of it.
He played those words on repeat in his head.
You interest me, doctor.
A shudder ran through him.
No matter his intentions, catching the interest of a villain never ended well.
His feet caught on the loose carpet as he pushed himself up and pulled open the door. As Pearl and Maui slinked in and sniffed around the room, he prepared himself for a long few hours of paranoia.
He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.