Work Text:
The sun was still high in the sky even as Scar finished decorating the monument's support chains, sweltering rays beaming down and adding to the oppressive humidity of the jungle around him. With his usual jacket set aside to fight the heat, he wiped away the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead and grabbed a stray bucket from the sidelines. He'd nearly finished the waterfall aspect of the design-- crystal blue streams cascading over the edges of four white spanners, all joining together in the octagonal pool at the base's foundation. It was looking quite spectacular, if he were to say so himself, with the vine-coiled braces and additional water currents tying the otherwise juxtaposing themes together nicely.
Scar scooped up a fresh pail of water, filling it to the brim and hauling it towards the last pillar. He glanced down at the container as he carried it, catching a glimpse of his reflection from the liquid inside. His face shone red with effort, misplaced strands of hair having clung themselves to his tan skin.
Though unsurprised, he still couldn't help but laugh at the rippling image. "It's just my luck I'd swap with another jungle dwelling Hermit. I swear, I can never escape this climate for long. First the island last year, then all this."
With a shake of his head he returned his gaze upwards, continuing to muse aloud to the landscape before him, "You tropics are wonderful and all, but it sure would've been a nice change of pace to set up camp in somewhere like the mountains. Or pull total 180 and have landed in the tundras!"
Concepts for each design raced through his head, each idea fighting the others for dominance and tacking details onto itself, trying to land its place on the metaphorical pedestal of his imagination. A cottage with medieval influences? No, that would be far too typical, amp both of those components up. An entire village with a steampunk driven aesthetic, built into the mountainscape itself; no doubt with custom terraforming to integrate the buildings into the natural environment. That was more like it.
Scar could envision working windmills and waterwheels accompanying purposefully makeshift farmlands, historic blimps having reclaimed skies where they'd soar high overhead. Below them, eye-catching pops of colour, shining through as floating lanterns that hover above connective rope bridges.
As for the arctic concept? Something more grand would be ideal. In his fantasy, he'd created an absolute oxymoron of the words cabin and mansion jumbled together, and he adored it that way. A bottom floor made of bricked stone, the top made of logs and large windows to oversee the view. Accompanying them in the same manner would be a balcony, propped on columns that hugged the building and curved around its corners. The top deck would be open for clear days, and the space below it safe on harsher ones. Sloped roofs would be adorned with chimneys, and the interior warmed by cozy flames that were kept organized with inviting lofts. The living area could be split leveled, sinking down to create its own margin where guests could comfortably gather by the fireplace and--
There was a tug at his ankle, and next thing he knew, a bemused Scar went crashing to the ground, having been too caught up to notice the trailing plants blocking his footway. His hands shot out to catch himself, palms scraping against the concrete floor in a way similar to the childhood stunt of crashing and burning on the pavement. A stinging snapped up his arms, and the water bucket dropped from his grasp, clattering down with a metallic rumble before spilling its contents across the floor.
Scar pushed himself upright with a hiss of air through his teeth, shaking off his grazed palms and wiping them on his jeans. Pulling his foot free from the greenery and gathering himself up was no problem, what was a problem, however, was the troubling sight now before him.
The water had spilled all over one of Mumbo's redstone contraptions, causing the device to short circuit and emit a sort of maroon-grey smoke. The wires fashioned from the compacted dust had been all but washed away, any remaining pieces hanging on by threads and failing miserably whenever a signal attempted to fire; more so sizzling rather than surging alight with energy.
"Oh, crud!" he shouted, racing towards the machine and yanking on the shut-off switch to divert any further input from the broken setup.
It powered down, but Scar was still left swatting the coloured smoke from his face, coughing as the scent of burnt metallics filled his nostrils. When had he gotten so absorbed in possible building opportunities that he'd managed to miss the foliage in front of him? Why had he even been wondering so deeply about it, anyway? This event was about improving one another's bases by adding their own personal touches, not starting a new project entirely.
Scar sighed, he wasn't sure why his mind had begun drifting so far. He'd like to blame it on the wild imagination of a builder, but he had a feeling there was a little more to it. Sometimes, when the world wasn't too much to handle, it was too easy to let fall away. Maybe he spent too much time daydreaming-- he was sure there was a word for that, when trances became so all encompassing, so engrossing.
"But I don't have time to think about that right now," he reminded himself, "I really need to fix this. It doesn't look like most of this redstone is salvageable, I'll have to get new supplies to repair it. Maybe some of the circuits are okay..?"
Scar nudged a repeater with his shoe, the device making an unnatural sloshing noise in his attempt to change the feed-in. He scrunched up his nose, "Okay, nope, gonna need to replace that, too."
Running a hand through his hair in defeat, he glanced towards Mumbo's storage system before shaking his head. It wouldn't be right to use the other man's supplies without asking, let alone waste them on a mistake made due to Scar's own carelessness. He'd have to make his way back to his original base and gather the materials from there once more. When he dropped by initially, he figured he'd gotten everything he needed, but apparently hadn't accounted for dissociation-induced redstone mishaps.
"I guess we're making a trip back," Scar announced to no one, finally picking up the empty bucket to set it safely aside. He made his way over to his tent, temporarily discarding any excess materials and bidding adieu to Jellie before grabbing his elytra and setting off.
Taking to the skies, Scar squinted against the wind as it roared in his ears. His hair parted itself from where it had stuck, short locks brushed back by the flowing breeze. With arms extended for balance, and maybe a dash of amusement, he lit his rockets and propelled himself into the distance.
It wasn't long before he encroached on his base again, allowing his faux wings to glide him downward where he kicked out his legs to come to a soft landing. Scar stopped before the massive drill site just on the outskirts of the forest, heading towards the agglomeration of crates and boxes he had haphazardly stowed aside. He was certain there had to be the necessary hardware in one of the many containers, though which that may be was lost on him. At least, thanks to Mumbo and his new storage system, the chest monster he'd created would soon be a thing of the past.
"I wonder how that's going for him..." Scar pondered, striding over to a random shulker and beginning his sure-to-be protracted search.
"Scar?" a familiar voice interrupted, making him peer ahead to see the moustached man himself rounding the corner. "Hello there! I see you've made yourself rather at home at my base," Mumbo teased.
He couldn't help but chuckle, "That I have. I just needed to stop by and pick up some redstone and iron. With all the ore this place has quarried up, I was sure there's bound to be more of that here than back at Larry."
Mumbo faked surprise with a hearty grin, "Getting into mechanics, are we? Have the inner workings of the temple really had that much influence on you after only a few days?"
"Now I wouldn't say that," Scar shook his head and closed the lid of the grey shulker, seeing no point in hiding the truth. "I took a tumble holding a bucket of water and it kinda spilled on one of the contraptions. I'm sorry for the trouble-- but don't worry! I came here to fix it right up. I just didn't wanna waste your materials fixing my silly error."
The suited man waved his hand dismissively, "Nonsense, it's no trouble. Have you seen the improvements you've made to that place? I mean, of course you've seen them, you built them, but rhetorically speaking--" Mumbo cleared his throat, "Just don't fret over it, I trust that you'll have it fixed right up in no time."
Scar smiled, "Thanks, dude. Now I just have to find where on Earth I put those ore…"
Mumbo gave another laugh, "You know, you can feel free to use some of my things if need be. I have no idea how you expect to find anything in this mess. I'm only trying to do a basic look through so I know where to begin when it comes to the item sorter, but even that doesn't seem to do much good. I swear, it's like trying to play a very intense game of memory, with thousands of nonsensical cards all scattered about."
Scar snickered sheepishly at the comparison, "Yeah, no kidding. But being able to use some resources without flying all the way over here would be great. Thanks again, Mumbo. I don't know if there's anything you'll need here while working, but hey, consider it free range. We're doing these things for each other in the long run, anyway."
"I'd say, 'unless we don't switch back our deeds', but in all honesty? I'm beginning to miss the ol' living monument already."
The two exchange a chuckle before returning to their previous tasks, both going back to digging through the pile of chests in preparation for their projects.
It took longer than Scar wanted to admit to finally find the crate stocked with valuables-- sighing in relief at the sight and immediately beginning to pile the items into his inventory. There were pre-smelted metals from an iron farm, so he didn't have to bother with the ore, and the redstone he'd gathered was already in dust from, meaning all he'd have to do was craft the items after returning.
"I wonder if it would've been easier to stop by the shopping district and buy these directly, instead of making them by hand..." he said, "Oh well, saves on diamonds, and these had to be used some time, I guess."
"Talking to yourself over there?" Mumbo asked.
"Just thinking aloud is all."
"I see," the moustached man nodded, pushing himself up from where he'd been examining the supplies. "I found something neat from last year! Do you wanna see?"
"Sure!" Scar agreed, setting aside his intent of flying back in favour of seeing what it was Mumbo had to show him.
He smiled and stepped over to Scar, holding out a faded piece of paper for them both to see, "I found it stuck to the bottom of a shulker box! Can you believe we used to be competition so recently?" He joked.
Scar could only stare at the advert before him, a steele blue page embellished with a vault-like ring in the center. It meant nothing to the untrained eye, but to him, all of the company's horrors were sealed underneath. ConCorp read bold text in half-connected lettering, the logo finalizing its signature with a black bow tie adorning the bottom.
"Hardly," managed Scar, having just remembered he'd been asked a question, "But it wasn't that recent."
"It was practically yesterday if we're talking business," Mumbo snickered, "but we aren't. I'm not very good at business."
"Me neither, I prefer mayorship," he said in an attempt to change the subject.
Mumbo, however, didn't seem to notice, only turning to stare at Scar with eyes wide. "Are you kidding me? You were quite literally the richest Hermit of all last year! You're wonderful at business. Sahara was amazing, and I don't for a second doubt it was the most ambitious project of our group to date, but she had plenty of bugs, being the machine powered industry that she was. ConCorp, however? That was an utter monopoly! The thing lasted two bloody seasons!"
Scar chuckled awkwardly, "I know, I know, Cub and I worked very hard. But it wasn't all us, we couldn't have done it alone."
"Give yourself more credit," Mumbo insisted, "I'm more than convinced you could have gotten your business up and running even without the help of your Vex friends. Weren't they less prominent in your company last year, anyway? You did change your guy's name from ConVex to ConCorp, after all. I think that would imply less input on their part."
"Not really," he explained, though the tension building in his body was becoming harder to conceal. He had to keep his arms rigid so that they wouldn't shake, forcing in deep breaths to avoid the shaky ones that threatened to take their place. "We just thought it would be better for business, rebranding to something more gentlemanly and all."
Mumbo nodded, "Ah, that makes sense. Though I still don't understand how you managed to work with them to begin with. I likely wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. I mean business partners with the Vex? Friends, even? How'd you do it? Not to mention why? With all due respect, what makes one seek that out?"
Scar blinked hard at the influx of questions, "Oh, it's- it's really complicated, you might not understand. Cub started it, though. I joined the team not long after, but I wasn't there when he first struck the deal with Them."
"Huh, some deal," Mumbo remarked thoughtfully, and Scar nodded.
He had no idea.
"So what made you leave that behind?" Mumbo continued.
"What?" he asked, finding his thoughts hazy. They were static nothingness, but somehow also crashing into his skull. He found himself having to dig his way through them, while at the same time trying to bury them once he passed. The last thing Scar wanted was to do was hark back to the Vex, to beckon forth Their memory with his own.
The other man simply chuckled, oblivious to Scar's inner turmoil. "ConCorp, the Vex. Did you two just get bored? Having done the same thing for too long?"
"In a sense, you could definitely say we were tired of it. It just- well, it wasn't what we wanted to do anymore. We wanted to move on to new things."
"That's fair enough. Do you blokes still get along? Or did they take the corporation's end like a sour breakup?"
This time, Scar couldn't contain his wince. "We're still friends!" he insisted, "Of course the Vex are my friends."
Mumbo finally quirked a brow, "Are you sure about that? You don't have to worry about hiding some burnt corporal bridges from me, I'm not here to judge."
"Oh yeah, I'm positive," he nodded eagerly, "I'm just- I'm gonna go work on fixing that contraption I damaged, best to get it fixed before we have to switch back."
"Buddy, are you sure everything's alright? I'm sorry if I upset you or anything."
"Nah, I'm just peachy!" Scar announced with far too much false enthusiasm, internally cringing at his failed masking abilities. Not allowing any more time for his ruse to be cracked, he uttered a quick goodbye before adjusting the straps on his elytra and dashing off, leaping into the air and back towards the ruins.
"Scar, wait!" Mumbo tried, but he was already gone.
The returning flight was far from the peaceful journey he'd made to the excitation site. His artificial wings beat frantically, struggling to keep up as he charged forward with excessive firepower. He paid no mind to the safety protocol regarding the rocket's cool-down period, simply heralding through the air as fast as his elytra would carry him. Scar arrived back to the monument in a trip overall much faster than when he'd left, but it seemed to drag on for an eternity. The entire excursion consisted of a battle with his own mind-- a war in which he knew he was bound to lose, but he had to hold down the fort until he was on solid ground.
Scar was lucky not to crash into the debris upon landing, frantically stumbling to the dirt and having to grasp onto a piece of wreckage to maintain his balance. His legs nearly buckled under his weight, form trembling in spite of the deep breaths he gave it his all to draw in.
He grasped hard to the rubble, trying to anchor his brain into focus. He couldn't let his thoughts spiral, he couldn't think about Them. He knew grounding techniques, and he tried to rush his way through them.
Five things you can see.
He could see the golden heart, plants, stone, the golden heart again-- the thing was too anatomically correct, he'd seen horrors too similar to it before. And the sound, it was too damn loud, too hard to ignore. Its unsteady rhythm hammering in his ears alongside his own faltering pulse.
Forget visuals, four different noises?
Scar squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to listen, focusing hard on the world around him. Still, he could only hear the heart. He could only hear it pounding, its once melodic notes like nails on a chalkboard. He could remember far too many times when he was left alone with nothing but his heartbeat and his pleas.
Tactile. Texture. What can you feel? Three things you can feel.
Internally, he screamed at his dulling senses to return. God, he didn't want to think about Them, it wasn't worth the risk. They'd been inside his head before, and the mere idea of having his thoughts broadcasted again made his stomach churn. Scar tried harder and harder to suppress the images bubbling to the surface, festering like maggots in an old wound. The more he tried to push them down, however, the fiercer they'd rise back up, and he choked down a sob in attempt to list the sensations he could currently identify.
He could feel the stone-- but he already said the stone, didn't he? He could also feel the sun. It was hot against his back. So hot. He was overheating.
The notes should have been a success, but the drops of sweat felt too akin to tricking blood. The sting of his hands felt too much like the friction burn of a rope. It felt too much like he was back with the Vex again, and as he finally sunk to the soil, he could no longer swim against the onslaught of memories crashing over him like a tidal wave.
They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still get him--
The day he and Cub first found the courage to try and cut ties with the Vex had been a hellish one, and the two men weren't even successful in their attempt. Hence, of course, it being the first.
Still, it had taken ages for Scar to persuade Cub that it was even worth trying, the other man having believed it was impossible to sneak anything past the Vex on their own. Scar was persistent, however, and eventually convinced his friend they had a shot if they played their cards right, if they made the right proposal without their intentions being discovered.
They'd constructed their plans in secret for weeks; discussing them only inside of untold locations with hushed whispers, or in the form of coded scrawls they'd burn immediately after reading. They couldn't be too careful, that's what they'd tell themselves whenever they worried their precautionary measures may be over the top. Even so, when a so-called conference was put on the schedule --such events were far from any type of cordial meeting, despite having been assigned the title of one-- the men were hardly prepared for it.
Their conference room consisted of a needlessly grandiose suite, with floors of marble and walls carved from deep umber wood. The polished lumber was adorned with expensive paintings in aureate frames; antique laden shelves taking up the spaces they did not. Aesthetically pleasing decorative tactics were discarded in favour of showing off their riches in a possessive cluster, with the only average items being the table and its chairs sat in the dead center of the area. A chandelier of gemstone and gold swung from above, dangling by the same chains fated to one day bind their vassals.
"Concordats, greetings!" A Vex declared as the men were led through the doorway, hovering in the air at the opposing end of the surface.
"Greetings," parroted Cub minimally, Scar giving a plain nod beside him. Fewer words meant less chance at letting their guard down.
"We've been needing to speak with you," a different Vex chimed.
"Speak with you about the business," yet another visitant confirmed.
"We actually need to discuss similar matters with you all," Scar noted, voice and expression a façade of tranquility.
"You do?" the first asked, wide smile replaced with inquiry.
"Yes," managed Cub, "we want to make you an offer, one you can't refuse."
"I do like the sound of that!" the second snickered.
"We'll hear your offer," the Vex grinned, "we only have one question first!"
"Of course, what is it?" asked Scar, in mental awe of how well their exchange was going.
"Do you recognize these?" it asked, gesturing towards the white table where a blue light flashed, fading away to reveal a small pile of ash.
Cub and Scar glanced to one another in evident confusion, the latter of the two speaking once again, "Forgive me, but we're not sure what you're talking about."
"Oh, silly me!" the Vex giggled, another flash of luminesce encompassing the soot and leaving a stack of papers in its place. As if caught in a controlled gust, they blew from the surface and organized themselves midair; levitating in a cloud of magic.
All of their once burnt notes were lined up before them, cyphers needed to crack their messages included.
Still beaming with innocence, it continued, "How about now? Look familiar?"
The blood drained from their faces, and Scar could have sworn his heart was going to burst from his chest with how hard it was drumming. He wanted to wake up, because this had to be a nightmare.
"No, we have no idea what those are," he tried.
LAIR!
Overlapping voices screamed in his head, all sounding in haunting unison. Scar hastily clapped his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to silence the uproar emanating from within.
You try to break our contract then lie to our faces?
Foolish concordats.
Terrible secret keepers, terrible subjects.
Cub seized hold of Scar's arm and made a break for the door with the brunet in tow, reaching the exit and tugging desperately on the handles. They refused to turn under his grasp, and his eyes darted back towards the Vex; floating creatures growing ever closer to their imaginary bubble providing them with the illusion of safety.
More of Them were phasing in through walls, forms non-corporeal and having no need for the sealed entryway.
Apologize.
They all ordered, Scar flinching at the simultaneous projection. He lowered his hands and turned towards Them, watching Their unmoving grins with wide eyes.
Kneel before your gods and divulge your prayers, we may just show you mercy.
"I'm sorry-" Scar whimpered, but Cub was having none of it.
"No!" the man barked, "Screw this! This isn't worth it! None of this is worth it! He's right! The business, the money, the power, it-- it means nothing! Not when you treat us like this!"
They watched him step forward, his furious yells echoing through the expanse of the room, "We're done! And we mean it! You're going to get us go or else!"
An orchestra of shrill cackles filled the air.
Oooh, it's angry.
They're fighting back!
Teach them a lesson.
"You won't dare make another-" Cub's retaliation was cut short with a cry, the bearded man dropping to the ground in a swift crash.
"Cub!" Scar called, but his attempt to step towards his friend was met only with a searing pain through his legs and the subsequent buckling of his knees. He fell to the marble, limbs heavy as if they'd been weighted. It took considerable force to balance on his arms, appendages left shaking as he peered back up towards the Vex.
He regretted it instantly.
Catching sight of the white abyss behind Their eyes, the sanctions of his mind found themselves entangled in the monster's clutches. They weren't physically there, but he could feel them all the same-- tendrils like snakes burrowing into his brain, parasitic vermin that rooted themselves into his very core with a vice-like hold. He'd thrash, or fight, but that only ever ended in the pain spiking from a ten to an eleven, proven by the past, and again by Cub's screams of anguish as Scar barely bit back his sobs.
His thoughts echoed in his skull, looping over themselves as the Vex listened in like safe-crackers. He wanted not to think, not to have a single notion cross his mind, but an infinite number of processes scrambled through at once no matter what he tried.
Not being able to defend himself against such beings was humiliating in its own right. Rationally, he knew They were far more powerful than the average human, and a group of Them was nothing to sneeze at when they got serious. The Vex were a corrupt and cruel species who enjoyed little more than acquisitive riches and making others suffer, but as much as he was aware of that, it didn't make being beaten down by something an eighth of his size any less demeaning.
With that train of thought, Scar's auditory input from the outer world was replaced by ringing-- blood seeping out from his ears and from his nose not long after. The taste of copper was bitter on his tongue, mixing with the salt of tears and bile that had risen in his throat.
We're nothing but small, cruel, and materialistic? The concordats forget themselves so...
They will learn from this, mistakes make for better humans.
I think they've forgotten who they belong to.
He dared to think he didn't belong to Them, that he was his own, not even of his own accord, and still his air was cut off. His arms gave out next and he crumbled to the side, gagging on red and trembling as waves of pain crashed over his body. Scar gasped, but his lungs refused to fill, leaving him grasping at his throat and pleading internally.
Do you remember now?
One of Them, or maybe all of Them, had asked.
Do you remember our deal? Do you remember the emblem we burned into your skin when you agreed to join us?
I remember, he begged in his mind, I remember. I'm sorry. Please don't kill me, I'm so sorry. I belong to the Vex. I'm sorry.
Horrid laugher overtook his senses, and a feeble rush of air filled his chest before his consciousness began to fade.
You will never escape us.
They finalized, and his world went dark like the drawing of velvet curtains.
Back in the present, flashes of that day and many others raced through his head as if to mock his phobia of thinking itself. It was almost akin to watching his past unfold in third person, like he'd been detached from his body during the events. Bleary yet potent reenactments of metal patterns searing his flesh, of his bones shattering, of gashes and bruises and the life fading from his eyes. All the times he was made to expand their trade, slaving endlessly until his hands were stiff and immobile from overuse, but it still not being enough for Them. Annexing the rest of the industry, becoming number one, having two humans as their play things. Nothing was, or ever would be, enough for the Vex.
Scar's nails raked up his arms as he tried to feel anything other than Their coils invading his brain, doing all he could to reason with himself that they weren't real, for the logical part of him knew they weren't. His hands grasped for the brand ingrained into the flesh of his shoulder blade, fingers feverishly grazing over the risen tissue to find the divot and remind himself that the seal had been severed. His time with them was over. The symbol was broken.
"I'm- I'm safe..." he recited, "I'm away, I'm free, I'm okay…"
The words were more of a finding of his voice than a real reassurance, and Scar fumbled to pull his communicator from his pocket, aware of how much he needed to contact a proper support system. Tears blurred the screen, making the already jumbled letters more difficult to make out, but he managed to gather the necessary information.
He could call for Cub, but the man was away, and even if the notification were to alert him, such an event was likely to jump-start evocations of his own traumas.
Xisuma was available, but he didn't want to pester the already busy admin with his troubles anymore than he'd had to before. The kind man had already spent countless time and energy ensuring that they were all safe inside of the world barrier; a field in which no Vex could enter on Their own, nor abuse Their power if They were to be deliberately summoned by a rogue party. Admin magic, he was thankful for it to the nth degree, but he currently needed a real person in his presence more than anything.
Scar scanned the remaining names on his monitor. There was only one other Hermit who knew about what he'd been through, and he was practically imploring him to be around.
Grain.
There he was!
Scar would've sobbed in relief weren't he already weeping, left struggling to type out a private message to his friend.
<GoodTimeWithScar> Grian are you avaiavble?
<GoodTimeWithScar> i need your help, i'm at Mumbo's base
<GoodTimeWithScar> my base? i don't know, the monument
<Grian> sure am! whatcha need help with?
Scar's thumbs danced awkwardly above the keyboard, grappling with himself over what to say. It was always a struggle to express his troubles in the midst of panic, especially when doing so was a part of the problem. He knew he didn't have to go into depth with the other Hermit, however. That was another benefit of them being aware of one another's history; they didn't need to spill their guts in order to receive a helping hand.
<GoodTimeWithScar> i just need someone here
<GoodTimeWithScar> i can't seem to calm muself down right now
<GoodTimeWithScar> or type out messages poperbly it seems?
<GoodTimeWithScar> haha dang
<Grian> i'll be right there
<Grain> i'm at zedaph's cave, so the distance is a little further than usual, but you know i'm a fast flier
<Grain> so just hang tight, scar
<GoodTimeWithScar> i'm not going anjwhere
Scar dropped his hands to his side with a shaky breath, flinching when a sudden softness brushed against his hand. He glanced down only to see a concerned looking Jellie, the cat purring softly and nuzzling his arm. He cracked a feeble smile and reached out to pet behind her ear, her very presence providing a degree of comfort.
Much to his surprise, it truly wasn't long before the telltale beating of wings thumped through the air, Grain landing expertly in the grass and folding his feathered pinions snug behind his back.
"Scar?" he asked, cautiously approaching the other man.
Scar looked up to him, managing to raise a hand and wave as a greeting. Still wrought with trepidation, his shaking arms were scored with scratches he'd unconsciously inflicted while attempting to ground himself. Tear tracks lined his cheeks and his hair had become an unkempt mop, but he'd pulled through the worst of it.
"Oh, dude…" Grian said sympathetically, stepping over the rest of the way and crouching by his side. "It's alright, I'm here."
He nodded slow, "Thanks, Gri…"
The avian returned the nod and extended his hand, allowing Scar to take hold of it as a reminder of his security. "It's no problem. I see Jellie showed up to help, too."
"Yeah," Scar chuckled humourlessly, "She can always tell when I'm upset…"
"She's good like that," Grain confirmed, earning a well timed meow from the feline beside them.
They both let out a small laugh, Scar's being far weaker but present nonetheless.
"How about we get you away from all this noise and take care of those scratches?" Grain asked, and the other Hermit nodded again.
He helped Scar to his feet, leading him away from the distant thundering of the base's heart. They departed from the heights of the ruins, Grain ushering Scar to settle down against a tree once they were out of earshot of all the clamour.
"Let me see your arms, 'kay? I'll fix them right up."
Scar held out his scored arms after a moment of hesitation, finding them still stinging with the red drag of nails.
Grain produced a potion and gauze from his inventory, pouring the thick blue liquid onto the cotton before dabbing it across the irritated skin. A cool numbness spread over the area, and Scar relaxed at the alleviation of his symptoms. People often overlooked Mundane potions due to them having no official use, but anyone suffering from a mild ailment could tell stories of just how practical its effects could be. From soothing scrapes or minor burns, all the way to settling stomach aches or migraines, they could work little wonders. A Mundane potion for mundane problems.
"Better?" Grain asked.
"Much… thank you. Sorry for making you fly all the way over here."
"No, no, don't apologize, it's no big deal," he assured, motioning to brush off his concerns. "I needed to get out of that cave anyway. Not to bash on Zed's decorating skills, because the gadgetry is amazing, but the rest is all nonsense and greys and belch-- it was making my head spin."
Scar nodded, but couldn't help the guilt that crept into his chest, eyes darting to the side as if in anticipation for the hostility he sensibly knew would never come.
Grain smiled tenderly and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I mean it, it's no trouble. Besides, you'd do the same for me. Geez, man, you have!"
"I guess you're right," Scar agreed, turning once more to face the winged man. It wouldn't be the first time either Hermit had coaxed the other down from a panic, for not only had Grain been there for him in the past, but vice versa as well.
Most recently, he could recall, someone had led a bundle of animals into the blond's mansion as a prank. Such a feat was usually harmless fun, as was the case with the challenges they'd created wherein a herd of chickens were set loose in the same manner. The problem, however, arose when the trickster wanted to break the chain of stunts involving birds, and instead released a colony of rabbits into the manor's grounds. It was intended to be innocuous, but to say it hadn't ended well would be making a molehill out of a mountain.
Mumbo and the baffled prankster themselves had immediately volunteered to clear the animals from the house, whereas Scar stayed with Grain at the man's starter base until the mansion was deemed clear, and he was able to find resolve. It had been a long day for them all, but Grain especially. He'd mostly adapted to seeing hares in the wilderness, but finding himself in an enclosed space with dozens of the creatures sent him spiraling. Scar had been told tales of a man named Sam; a heinous individual with ears of a rabbit, who despite the innocent appearance, caused Grain immense suffering.
He's from a chapter in my story that I'd much rather leave behind, Grian once said, I have a far better future to write now, anyway.
That last line always stuck with Scar, no matter how much time passed after he heard it. There were brighter eras ahead, they just had to move forward and stick around to see them. In the end, he of all people could respect wishing to leave one's past as just that. The past. Even so, he'd probably still deck that Sam character given the chance.
"Of course I am," said Grain abruptly, and Scar blinked back to the present after an internal game of catch-up to remember what they'd been speaking of to begin with.
Nodding and smiling faintly, he asked, "So, what are you doing for the rest of your free time?"
The Brit grinned in turn and ruffled his wings, "Well, my schedule is actually rather jam-packed. I'm spending the rest of the day with a friend who's in quite the pickle."
Scar raised his eyebrows, pointing towards himself, "Is it me? Am I in the pickle?"
Grian laughed, "Yes, my briney bro, you are. And I'm determined to stay by your side until you're feeling better again."
Thankful, Scar smiled as well, knowing it would do no good to feel remorseful for taking up his companion's time, or to try and convince him he would be fine on his own.
"Thank you, Grain," he said truthfully.
"Anytime," he replied, "Now let's find something nice calm to do."
"Now those are words I never thought I'd hear you say."
The two chuckled and made their way off, ready to waste the rest of the afternoon in a mellow rhythm to starve off any further panic. Scar knew he'd likely feel off for a while, not fully himself again until at least the following day. The lingering tension of his episodes always latched to his nerves and left him on edge, but he knew the company of an understanding friend would lessen the blow. They'd spend the coming hours in a tense yet manageable tandem, and to some degree, Scar could accept that.
He was still learning to trust the fact he was safe, no matter how much he already wished to embrace his freedom with open arms. Eventually, one day, maybe, he could believe it entirely, or at least to more ample extent. Until then, it was gradual steps forward on the road to recovery.
Grain skipped beside him, cracking light-hearted jokes laced with reassuring phrases, all made to help lift Scar's aching mood.
Wherever it was that road led, however, at least he wasn't walking it alone.