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It’s quiet, in the van.
Scar isn’t paying as much attention to the road as he should be, but it’s fine, he’s sure Mumbo has insurance. If nothing else, staring out at the featureless night gives him a brief chance to forget about the situation he’s in, to forget about the Grian dozing off in the back.
The air smells like blood; despite his love for the van, Mumbo isn’t the type of person to buy air fresheners.
Scar might not know exactly what happened, what Grian got roped into, but he has his suspicions. While he doesn’t claim to be the sharpest tool in the shed, Scar still knows things. He’s not stupid, despite what many of his past employers say. If you asked him, he’d say that a few things, tonight, have given him a strange sense of deja-vu.
He blinks.
There’s movement behind him. A groan. And, a muffled question:
“Scar?”
Ah. He’s up.
Scar looks into the mirror. There’s a red sweater hung over the back seat, discarded and left to dry. Next to it is the owner, staring right back at him, expression unreadable. Blood is dripping from his nose, again. This is certainly a situation the two of them are in.
He turns back to the road, and clears his throat. “So, the princess has finally awoken from her beauty sleep, I see.”
There’s a hum.
It’s great to see that everyone here wants to contribute equally to the conversation. Fantastic response, Grian. Scar tries a different approach. “You doing alright in the injury department? Anything I can help with?”
A pause.
Grian sighs, then finally speaks. “If you’re willing to, do you mind looking at my nose? I think I’ve busted it, somehow.”
“Somehow?” Scar raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, can do. Just give me a second, and Nurse Scar’ll be right with you.”
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Scar carefully cradles Grian’s hand, the knuckles bloody and bruised. There are scrapes littering his skin, freshly dried scabs adding texture where there shouldn’t be. The van is silent, as bandages are gently woven around Grian’s palm, and tied off with an inexperienced knot. Scar hums while he inspects his work, not willing to disturb the moment just yet.
“We’ve got to wash the blood off these later, yeah?” he says. It’s soft.
Grian makes a noise in response, small, but affirmative, while he stares out the window. He still hasn’t looked at Scar.
A moment passes. The van is still quiet. Scar needs to fix that.
“So!” His clap snaps through the van. “You’re gonna tell me what happened out there, right? It’s only fair, since I put so much effort into caring for your terrible, terrible injuries.” His grin doesn’t reach his eyes. Scar should really work on that. “Equal exchange, and all that,” he adds.
Grian sits up, and leans his head back on the seat, staring at the roof. “Would you- ugh. Would you believe me if I said that I don’t actually know?”
“You don’t know?”
There’s a pause as he looks over, his previously sturdy expression briefly giving way to something resembling panic. “No, I don’t. It was-”
“It’s fine.”
Scar cuts him off, holding his hands up placatingly. “You don’t have to pay upfront. I'm sure you know how debt works. Just be sure to give me what you owe at some point, yeah?” His smile is loose, easygoing. Scar has his own suspicions about what happened, anyway.
Grian’s widened eyes shift, now squinting at him. “Alright,” he responds, tentative and unsure. “If you say so.”
He turns back to the window. It’s quiet, again.
Scar’s content to leave the silence be, for now.
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“So, G.”
“Yeah?”
The two of them are lounging on the opposing seats in the back of the van, while Scar takes a small break from driving. It’s warm, the sun heating the inside of the vehicle to a barely comfortable temperature, as a faint tune crackles from the radio.
Scar looks over. “I’m not sure if you’ve realized this yet, but we can’t stay here.”
“I mean, yes? We’re gonna have to get back on the road eventually, I’m not stupid.”
“No, not the- I don’t mean here, here. I mean here, like in town. We can’t stay.”
His friend? companion stares at him, expression unreadable.
“Even if you don’t want to tell me what you did in that forest, I do have some semblance of an idea of what happened back there. So, we can’t stay here.” Scar reiterates, sitting up to search through the cluttered mess in the back of the van while he speaks.
Grian lets out a huff of air. He props himself up and rests his arm on the windowsill, casual. “Fine. If we’re really leaving, though, we need a plan. You got anything that’d fit into that definition, mister hotshot?”
“Well, you, my friend, are in luck! Because you and I-” Scar fishes out a hideously crumpled up paper of sorts, and drops back into his seat. “-Are going on a road trip!” he announces, unfolding what appears to be a very old, coffee-stained map.
There’s a pause. If Scar could see past the paper covering the entirety of his vision, he’s sure he’d see Grian pinching his nose bridge.
“A...a road trip?”
“Yup.” He lowers the map and grins at Grian. “Just think about how much fun it’ll be! Me, you, and Mumbo’s rusty old van, on a journey across the country. Creating friendships, building lifelong bonds...it’ll be fantastic, I just know it.”
A second goes by, where the two of them stare at each other. It passes, and Grian snorts, returning the smile. It’s a weak, tired, thing, but it’s genuine. “Alright,” he says, “let’s give this thing a shot.”
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