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For once, Scar’s office is quiet. It’s a rare little treat he gets these days, really. He doesn’t mind the noise of course, not when he’s surrounded by such lovely people. But despite how often Scar tries to put off his work, there are moments where he would like to get things done.
Like today.
It’s early in the morning, with sunlight spilling in through the open windows of his office. Jellie rests in her cat bed, soaking up the rays of sunlight. He doesn’t dare to disturb her. He’s got the AC going in his office, the mid summer heat as dreadful as always. He’s had to remove his jacket! It’s hanging on the back of his chair instead. He’s not going to let the heat stop him today.
Mayoral duties are something that Scar takes very seriously, he always has. After all, happy people, happy town. Happy people means less eyes on him – less fight. And the happiness of the people has always been Scar’s number one priority. So of course his duties as mayor are important to him. They’ll continue to be. And those duties do not exclude the little group running around his town and stirring up trouble. He simply won’t stand for it.
But in order to do something about it, he needs to have information. He needs enough information to paint a picture. A full one. Right now it feels as if all he has is a frame; within this frame is a blank image. The image looks a little like this: the corners are filled in with the things that Scar does know. He has a name, The Watchers. He has their graffiti, their little book. The police reports that always end in a freezing cold trail. It’s enough to splash some color on this otherwise empty picture, but other than that his canvas is still wholly blank.
It’s not even enough to fill in the gaps, and Scar fears that he’s been gripping this picture for so long that the edges are beginning to fray. If he puts too much pressure on his canvas, he may poke a hole or two. And then he’ll be right back at square one.
There is already a giant hole in his canvas, and he is named Grian.
Scar is smart, he’s observant. He knows that there is a tie between Grian and whoever these Watchers are. He just needs to know how.
This whole not knowing thing is really starting to eat at him.
He has people to protect, and knowledge is a mighty weapon.
That being said, his frame shouldn’t be completely blank for much longer. He finally has a chance to look through this thumb drive with no interruptions. He’s just waiting on Mumbo.
And as if on cue, there’s a knock against the wooden door of his office. It rings out with a hollow sound as knuckles rap against the wood from the other side. Scar sits up straight at his desk, “The door is open!” He calls out to the other.
The door swings open with a soft creak of its hinges, and Mumbo steps inside. He’s dressed simply today, a button and a vest. The sleeves of his button up are rolled to his elbows, black vest sitting snug around him. Scar meets his eyes, and smiles, “Shut the door behind you, will you dear?”
Mumbo complies, shutting the door with a soft click before coming over to Scar’s desk. He stops short, finding a chair placed besides Scar’s own. The mayor chuckles at his reaction, “What? Something wrong?” He asks, purely for the sake of teasing.
“Oh erm, no. It just caught me off guard.” Mumbo answers, dropping into the chair next to Scar’s. “So, seeing as your message was cryptic, I’m going to assume this has to do with that thumb drive?”
“Right you are! It’s about time we sat down and went over what was on this thing.” Scar hums in return, slotting the thumb drive into his laptop. New files pop up on his screen, but his eyes are on two specific folders. Those titled ‘Family’ and ‘GB’. He glances at Mumbo, seeing his eyes glued to the screen.
“What’s on it?” Mumbo questions, tearing his gaze away to look at Scar.
“Well, I’m still not sure on that one. I was in the middle of snooping when Bdubs dropped off a stray at my office, but I haven’t gotten back around to looking.” Scar answers, sighing.
Mumbo’s brows furrow, “Don’t you have that meeting with Ren and Martyn today? Why not go through it with them?”
“That we do!” Scar chimes, “While we are in an alliance, I’m not going to entirely rely on them for information. I don’t fancy being indebted to the Red King. That being said, I need to get my information aligned. And this is going to help with that.”
“I see.” Mumbo replies, nodding in understanding. “So, what do we have?”
Humming, Scar looks back to his screen, moving his mouse over to one of the folders. The first one he opens is ‘Family’. The sight is… not one he expects. When most have pictures of their loved ones on their computer, it’s pictures of relatives, of birthday parties and graduations. Not… whatever this is.
Inside the file is one photo. Now, there are some people that don’t have multiple photos of their loved ones. Scar certainly isn’t one to judge. But this photo is… odd, at best. Especially when it’s of the man he had Mumbo kill standing beside a second man. The man’s face is covered by a porcelain mask. It’s completely white; smooth. The man is dressed in purple from head to toe, long robes draping over him like a blanket or a cape. The target is dressed in nothing but white, though his arms are covered in wounds. It seems like the wounds were still fresh when the photo was taken.
“Goodness what?” Mumbo questions, unable to look away. Scar shares the sentiment.
“Highly unsettling.” Scar replies, staring at the target’s face. It’s blank, stoic. But his eyes… they hold fear in them.
Scar clicks out of the folder. He and Mumbo take a moment to breathe, collecting themselves. That image was not something either of them were expecting. Somewhere during their moment, their hands meet. Scar isn’t sure who reaches out for who first, but what he does know is that Mumbo’s fingers and tangling with his own, and the heavy feeling in his chest starts to alleviate slightly.
And when they’re ready, he opens ‘GB’ next.
Thankfully it’s nothing like the previous folder. It’s full of posters, emails, and spreadsheets. Scar’s brows furrow at the sight, “Some kind of business?” He questions. He thinks back to the reports that Bdubs has given him in the past, brows furrowing. Hadn’t there been a business that popped up out of nowhere? What was it?
“Wait, Scar, stop scrolling for a second. Click on that.” Mumbo says, pointing at one of the files. Scar does as told, clicking on it.
A new file takes up Scar’s screen, one that’s white with splashes of purple and blue. The first thing his eyes focus on is a large symbol. It appears to be a capital B, though the bottom loop is smaller than the one on top. A line goes through the left hand side of the B, with a line going through the top of the B, connecting to the line on the side. Next to the line on the side are three smaller lines, ones that almost resemble eyelashes.
Above and below the symbol are lines of text. YOU’RE INVITED! GRAND OPENING! It reads, and Scar jumps in his seat.
With hurried movements, Scar is throwing his drawer open. He starts grabbing papers and pulling them out in a frenzy. “Scar?! What? What is it?!” Mumbo exclaims, watching him with confusion. From the way he’s seated, he looks about ready to spring up into action should Scar need his assistance.
Though, Scar doesn’t answer him right away, too busy rifling through the notes in his drawer until he gets to what he needs. “Aha! Gotcha!” He exclaims as he drops a few photos on his desk. Mumbo looks at them curiously as Scar spreads them out. “These are some of the photos of the graffiti that Bdubs took. I want you to look very closely at them, and then at this poster. See any resemblance?”
Mumbo leans forward, looking at the graffiti and then the poster. He furrows his brows as he thinks, trying to see whatever it is that Scar has found. The graffiti has always been that of a small eye with two shapes on either side of it that look like wings. But that isn’t what catches Mumbo’s attention. “The lines above and under the eye.” He says. “They match the symbol on the poster.”
“Bingo!” Scar nods as he reaches into his drawer again. “That isn’t all Bdubs supplied me with.” He says, pulling out more papers. “He also mentioned these corner shops to me, and I had him do a little bit of digging. They’re all connected to this larger chain under the name of Genesis Beta. We still know next to nothing about them, all things considered.”
“Hang on,” Mumbo frowns in thought, “Genesis Beta… that’s what this folder is. It was initialed ‘GB’, yeah? Meaning whoever this is, was working for that company.”
“It’s certainly looking that way, yes. And if we want to go a step further… well, I’d put good money on Genesis Beta having ties to our Watcher friends down in the underground.” Scar says grimly.
Mumbo opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a knock on the door that startles both of them. Their eyes lock with matching expressions of panic before they’re both scrambling to collect the photos and papers that Scar pulled out. “Just a moment!” Scar calls out as Mumbo shoves things at him. He takes them, stuffing them into his desk. He’ll worry about reorganizing later.
When there’s nothing er… incriminating (heh) on his desk, Scar sighs softly. “Yes?”
The door opens and it’s just Tubbo poking his head in, “Hi Scar!” He smiles cheerily, “Bdubs wanted me to let you know that you’ve got a meeting with him about the campaign in fifteen!”
“Oh shoot, I had forgotten about that.” Scar sighs, looking over at Mumbo apologetically. “We’ll pick this up later, yeah?”
Mumbo smiles at him, nodding. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to be late for Bdubs. We’ll never hear the end of it.” He leans in to kiss his cheek.
Scar laughs, “No, no we will not!”
It’s nearing sun down when Scar and Mumbo show up on Ren’s front door. Well, maybe his restaurant’s front door is a little more accurate. They stand side by side, eyes focused on the building in front of them. Ren’s restaurant has never been all that big of a place. It’s about the size of a family diner, the sort that’s small but welcoming with its cozy feel.
Honestly, if the owner of this place hadn’t tried to kill him, Scar would probably go here to eat. Hell, he’d probably even be a regular.
That being said, he has not been dealt a hand that’d grant him the ability to eat at Dogwarts with little concern for his safety. Perhaps this would be different if his and Ren’s past were their present. But alas, people change.
And they have.
“Are we really doing this?” Mumbo voices from beside him, looking hesitant. “I mean, if Grian finds out we went behind his back he’s going to be furious. Rightfully so!”
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” Scar reminds him gently. “But part of the reason why we’re here is because Grian is connected to this. I just — don’t know how yet.” He omits the part where Grian still doesn’t trust these guys and will definitely have something to say if he finds out they’re meeting without him. Scar doesn’t trust them either, not fully. But they’re honorable. And he knows they’ll honor this alliance.
Mumbo sighs, the noise sounding a little rough. “I just hope we can stop leaving him in the dark after this.” He mumbles.
“You and me both.” Scar mutters his agreement before pushing the door open. They share a glance before Scar steps inside, Mumbo following him. They walk in together, passing the counter and register. Ren’s restaurant has a sort of seventies charm to it, with its black tiled floor and neon signs. The booths have red and white striped chairs, and different colored tables.
They find Ren and Martyn sitting at one of these booths, though they aren’t alone. There’s a man sitting with them, dark blond hair and big brown eyes. Beside him is a familiar face.
“Why hello there, Scott. It’s been a while.” Scar greets, earning everyone’s attention. Ren offers him a smile, while Martyn eyes him. Scott smiles. “I wasn’t expecting you and a special guest.” He hums, nodding at the stranger.
“What?” The stranger says, eyes darting between himself, Mumbo, and Martyn. “Wait, hang on. Is Grian not here?” He questions, gaze focusing solely on Martyn.
“He’s not.” Scar says, drawing the stranger’s focus. “I’ve got him out on an errand at the moment.” The stranger stares at him in disbelief, and Scar looks at him curiously.
“No, no no no, I told you, I told you I’d only come if Grian did!” The stranger exclaims, looking at Martyn almost angrily.
“I’m sorry, Timmy, I didn’t know he wouldn’t be coming.” Martyn hastily apologizes, brows knitting together. His eyes shine with conflict, and Scar has a feeling there’s a story there.
The stranger, Timmy, whirls on Scott, who shrugs helplessly, “I didn’t know either, Jimmy.” Scott’s answer seems to settle him, and he huffs.
An awkward silence seems to hang in the air around them, as neither Scar nor Mumbo know quite what to do here. From beside him, Scar can tell that Mumbo is trying not to fidget all that much. And as they’re standing around, Scar looks over at Ren, meeting his eye. As much as he hates to admit it, they’re on Ren’s turf right now, which gives him the lead (not that Scar will let him have the entire lead).
Ren takes that as his cue to clap, standing up from his spot, “Alright m’dudes. We’ve got everyone here. Scar, Mumbo, why don’t you both get comfortable and I’ll get some refreshments?” He suggests, and it seems like everyone comes back to life at that.
Scott and Jimmy (Timmy?) leave the booth, letting Scar and Mumbo slip in. The booths are only two seaters, so they drag chairs over to sit in instead. Martyn goes to help Ren get water, but Ren forces him to sit down. He does so with a frown on his face, watching the other walk off. Martyn then turns his attention back to Scar and Mumbo, though his eyes are focused on Mumbo.
Upon realizing this, Mumbo blinks, “Is there something on my face?” He asks, slipping into his mask of professionalism.
Martyn’s face squints, “I’m just trying to figure out why Scar brought his errand boy along. Don’t you grab files for him or something?”
Scar chokes on his laughter as Mumbo splutters indignantly at him. “Wh– Errand boy?!”
Martyn shrugs his shoulders, “That’s what Skizz called you.”
Mumbo huffs, puffing out his chest in defense, “I’m much more than Scar’s errand boy, thank you very much!” He declares.
“Mhm, he’s my boyfriend.” Scar says, grinning with a hint of mischief and pride. Mumbo pauses at that, face flushing in embarrassment and Scar decides that it’s a very nice look for him. “Well, one of them, at least.”
“Fair enough.” Martyn replies, shrugging a second time.
“Though if we’re going to ask questions about people, why are these two here?” Scar inquires, pointing at Scott and Jimmy. “Last I checked, they weren’t members of Dogwarts.”
“I have information.” Scott hums, “And Jimmy has a personal connection with all this.” He nudges the other, and Scar glances at them. He notes that their hands are interlocked. Hm.
Before anyone can say any more, Ren returns with a tray of glasses, “Sorry, don’t have anything as fancy as champagne right now.” He jokes, as though it’s an inside joke between himself and Scar. He sets the glasses down, and Scar notes that they’re all filled with water.
“Never claimed to be a picky man. Besides, this is probably a good conversation to keep away from the alcohol.” Scar replies as Ren drops back into the seat next to Martyn. He takes a moment to survey everyone. Mumbo has hardly relaxed since they arrived, looking one moment away from drawing his weapon should they be attacked. Scott looks about as cool as a cucumber, posture laidback and calm. Ren is also taking a careful glance around, though most of his focus seems to be on Martyn.
Martyn still has that conflicted look on his face, seeming concerned with Timmy (or is it Jimmy? Why is this man’s name so confusing?!)
Scar takes a sip of his water, setting it down after with a clunk against the tabletop. “Alright, let’s cut to the chase, Littlewood. I’m no idiot. How is Grian connected to this?” He questions, looking at the man. He’s finally going to get answers, and he certainly isn’t going to waste a single second.
Martyn meets his gaze head on, blue eyes stormy. He suddenly looks very, very, tired. “How is… well, it’s honestly a rather loaded question.”
“So then unload it.” Mumbo cuts in, looking as determined as Scar feels. “Walk us through it all. Explain.”
Inhaling, Martyn shares a look with Ren, who seems to understand. “How much do you guys know about the Watchers?” Ren inquires, seamlessly stepping into the conversation.
Scar frowns, “All I’ve discovered is they’re an underground group. They’ve been leaving graffiti in my town. History, motive, current whereabouts? I’ve got nothing.” He says. And then, as an afterthought, “Oh, and the fact that you two seemed convinced I was running the whole thing.”
Ren and Martyn wince, though so does Timmy. “Ah… about that,” Timmy says, looking embarrassed. “That was kind of my fault? Martyn called me after he found Grian and uh, I may have suggested you were the leader. So uh, sorry Mr. Mayor, sir.”
“It was a good theory at the time, Tim.” Martyn mutters.
With a laugh, Scar waves him off. “Water under the bridge, TJ.” He says. Jimmy looks at him with shock at the nickname, and Scar explains, “I’m gonna be real with ya, I have no idea what your name is at this point, and I’m afraid to ask. So I’m gonna call you TJ. Cool? Cool.” Scott and Martyn snort loudly, descending into short laughter.
Jimmy frowns, “It’s Ji—”
“Water under the bridge, TJ!”
Mumbo steps in before they can get derailed any further, looking at Ren, “I think I speak for both Scar and I when I say we hardly know a thing. So, what are they? These Watchers?”
The mood at the table seems to drop rapidly.
Martyn’s gaze hardens, “They’re a cult.” He says, the words laced with heavy venom as he speaks. “They claim that their ‘savior’ is going to descend from the sky and bring about a new world order. They kidnap people and brainwash them into believing their bullshit story; training them to be soldiers and forcing them to keep their bodies ‘pure’ for their savior.”
Frowning, Scar hums, “That would explain all of the graffiti, as well as those missing people reports from Xisuma.” He mumbles, nodding.
“As well as the lack of information.” Mumbo adds, “As far as I know, most cults don’t just go around blatantly advertising their existence.” And then he sits back, crossing his arms, “Though, that doesn’t do much to explain Grian’s connection.”
Martyn laughs, something dry and humorless. The sound rings hollow in the air, as if it were forced out of him, “Doesn’t it? Think about it. Just for a moment.”
And Scar does. His mind settles on that first night he had met Grian, how certain he was that Scar was messing with him, that it was a trick.
‘You aren’t genuine. No one ever truly is.’ It hits him like a sack of bricks would. It stuns him, gives him no other thing to do besides sit there with the weight of his realization. And when he puts the pieces together, it leaves him breathless, body tensing as he completes the puzzle. “Fuck.”
Realization dawns on Mumbo’s face, as he comes to that same conclusion Scar just did. “Was he… oh god.” He drags a weary hand down his face before reaching for his glass of water.
“I was meant to walk home with him that day, you know.” Martyn starts, staring down at the table. His eyes look distant, foggy. His gaze is unfocused, as if he’s not really paying attention to them anymore. “We used to go to school together, made it a habit of walking Grian back to the orphanage after some older kids picked on ‘im. But I picked that day to get my mum to pick me up early. Didn’t feel like staying at school, so I went to the nurse and said I wasn’t feeling well. Timmy wasn’t in that day, so it was just Grian and I. And then I left him to walk home alone and well… he never showed up to school again.”
Martyn’s face is tight with a mix of anguish and guilt, fists clenching tightly around his cup. Ren reaches out to him, placing his hand over one of his. It seems to relax him slightly, but his jaw is still tight with tension. “Never stopped blaming myself.” He mumbles, “If I had just—”
“If you’re gonna blame yourself, then I’m guilty too!” Jimmy butts in, glaring at Martyn. “I wasn’t there either, so that makes me responsible too, yeah?”
“What? Tim, no! No, it doesn’t. You couldn’t have known! You were legitimately sick!” Martyn argues, but Jimmy isn’t letting him win.
“No, nope. If I can’t blame myself, then neither can you! Neither of us knew. And unless you were the one who brought Grian to them, I’m not ‘aving it with this blame game.” He says stubbornly, shaking his head.
Martyn seems to deflate at that, looking away. Ren gives his hand a squeeze, and Martyn returns it.
“So Grian was kidnapped and forced into this cult,” Scar says, trying to process everything. It certainly explains a lot of his behaviors. The initial skittishness, the fear of being punished, of Scar at times. A particularly nasty wave of nausea rolls over him at the memory of Grian’s back. Accompanying it is a fresh wave of protectiveness. He wants to find these Watchers and destroy them for hurting someone so precious to him. “What else? What else do you know about them?”
“Well, we know that they claim that their savior, One, will come and rule the world. His followers will supposedly be treated like first class citizens.” Scott supplies, shrugging with an unimpressed look. “Sounds like the plot of a crappy movie to me.”
“But that’s just a farce.” Martyn cuts in. “What they want… is to wipe out the people they deem ‘impure’ and take control for themselves. They train their followers under the impression that when One shows up he’ll need to be protected from opposition, keeping the truth from them.”
“God…” Mumbo exhales, clenching and unclenching his fist. “So we’re dealing with crazy.” He grumbles.
“Sure are.” Ren chimes in, far too cheerfully for the situation.
“Great, the Watchers have a mini army of soldiers. Any idea who these ‘impure’ people are?” Scar questions.
Martyn and Ren stare right at him, along with Scott, with flat expressions, and it’s enough to get the message across. Scar simply sighs, “Well, one more enemy won’t hurt.” He riffs. Though he’s counted them as an enemy for a long while now. Good to know it’s reciprocated.
“Bloody hell, Scar! Can you stop making enemies?!” Mumbo cries in frustration, though Scar knows him well enough to hear the slight fear; the concern. “You make my job difficult enough as it is!”
“What can I say? I’ve just got one of those handsome faces.” Scar replies, shrugging at him. He plays up his act of casualness, lacing his hand with Mumbo’s. We’ll handle it. “Though what’s more pressing is why they’re after me.”
“They have eyes everywhere.” Scott answers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a few members of staff that are part of the Watchers.”
“They’ve been around for a long time after all. Decades, at most. It’s entirely possible that they have dirt on Scott’s family as well.” Martyn huffs.
“Which brings me to this: how do you know so much about them?” Scar inquires, leaning forward against the table. With his elbows placed on top, his chin falls into his hands. “I’m the mayor of this town, and this is my first time hearing any of this. Just what resources have you come by?”
“Do first hand experiences count?” Jimmy pipes up, drawing all eyes on him.
Scar blinks, “What?”
It’s Martyn that sighs quietly this time, lips dipping down into a frown. “Tim and I we… well, when Grian went missing, we tried everything we could to find him. We went to the orphanage he lived at, no one had seen him. After a few days, we went to the police, and they picked up Grian’s case. A missing person’s report was filed but the trail went cold.” Martyn crosses his arms, and Ren sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The police stopped looking, but Tim and I didn’t. Not for a while. Which led us to the Listeners.”
“The Listeners?” Mumbo questions. Scar feels like he should’ve brought a notebook with him or something to write all this down in.
“They’re similar to the Watchers, but different. They… they didn’t quite like what the Watchers were after. So they were created to stop the Watchers. Kind of. That was their original purpose but it stopped being important to them after a while, I think. Anyways, they were holding an event for people that had lost someone, a mini grief counseling thing. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so we went.” Martyn explains, and Jimmy snorts.
“Should’ve listened to Lizzie.” He mumbles, “But we were two crazy kids desperate to find our missing best friend. We were mourning him.”
“The Listeners took advantage of that. Dragged us in with the notion that they knew what happened to Grian, how we could find him. I got so wrapped up in all of it, soaked up whatever information they gave me like some kind of sponge. They had me, hook, line, and sinker.” Martyn lets out a shaky exhale. “So we followed them after the event ended and well – we went missing just like Grian did.”
A part of Scar aches at that. He can’t imagine what it was like, trying to find someone so important to you after everyone else has given up. Only for that desperation to lead to the same kind of fate as your missing friend.
“All of the information I have on the Watchers I got from them.” Martyn says. “Can’t say the same for Scott though.”
“I have my secrets.” Scott says with a frighteningly smooth smile. “But all you need to know is that I’m not a big fan of these Watcher guys either. I’d like them out of the streets.”
“Wait, hold on.” Mumbo interrupts, shaking his head. “The Listeners, are they still a threat? I mean, I know they don’t like the Watchers, but they’re still a cult, right?”
“The police busted them ages ago. It’s how Tim and I got out.” Martyn answers, glancing over at him. “So no, they aren’t a problem anymore. But the Watchers still very much are. We need to take them out and get Grian away from them, once and for all.”
Scar lifts a brow at the phrasing, turning to Martyn with confusion, “You make it sound like Grian is still with them.”
A dark expression settles over Martyn’s face in return, and he bites his lip. “You don’t just… leave the Watchers. You don’t escape, not without dying. As far as I’m aware, Grian never left them.”
Martyn’s words leave a heavy feeling in the pit of Scar’s stomach, and that nauseous feeling from before returns. Scar clenches his jaw, trying to remember how to breathe normally. Grian wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t betray Scar and Mumbo like that. Grian is so loyal that sometimes it hurts. He’s not the sort to just — go behind their backs.
Right?
“Grian would’ve come home, I know he would’ve.” Jimmy protests, looking and sounding emotional. It seems like this is all still an open wound for him, and Scar feels bad for him. He feels bad for all of them, really.
Martyn looks over at Jimmy with a somber expression, “That’s only if he remembered, Tim. He didn’t seem to recognize me at all, so how can we expect him to come home if he doesn’t remember what home is?” He sounds cautious as he speaks. “Look, I want to believe that he’s free of them just as much as everyone else. But he’s been with them for years, Tim. We have to consider the possibility.”
Still grasping at straws, Jimmy looks at him, almost pleadingly, “He – He just needs… time. I know I needed it.” Martyn’s face seems to soften at that, and Scar can see the guilt in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, looking away from him.
“So… there’s a chance that Grian is still working with the Watchers.” Mumbo murmurs, and god he looks devastated. He takes a breath. “He wouldn’t.”
“Mumbo,” Scar tries to say, reaching out to him.
But Mumbo moves, shaking his head, “No, alright? Grian wouldn’t. You know how terrified he is, it’s why we’ve been keeping this from him! I refuse to believe that Grian is still working with them! He wouldn’t betray us like that!”
For some reason, Scar thinks back to Grian’s reunion with Pearl. He thinks about how genuine Grian’s reaction was to seeing her, how he seemed to crumble in her arms, crying out apologies. He thinks back to how scared Grian was to love them, because he had been taught that his love was a death sentence.
Briefly, he wonders if it had all been an act.
He shakes his head, admonishing himself for thinking such a thing. It’s a cruel thought to entertain, and he apologizes to Grian for even thinking something like that.
“It’s not something I want to entertain. But it’s as Martyn said. It’s a possibility. One we have to be aware of.” Scar says gently, squeezing Mumbo’s hand.
Martyn looks at them both, a grim expression on his face. His eyes are dark, full of guilt and muted anger. But it softens. He does not take it out on them. “Sorry, that’s probably not the information you wanted to hear today. But now you know.”
Scar takes a moment to consider his words.
His frame has been filled. But rather than feeling pride, all he feels is disappointment; bitterness. The success tastes like ash on his tongue. He wants to tell Martyn it doesn’t matter, any information is helpful. But he also wants to deprive him of any gratitude in return.
He still doesn’t want to believe it; doesn’t want to believe that there’s a chance that Grian has been working for people out to kill him this whole time.
So he settles on neither option. “Is there a way to know for sure?” He questions instead, and Martyn shakes his head.
“Not without asking him. But I’m not sure how willing he’ll be to talk, especially if he’s still under their thumb.” Martyn replies solemnly, shoulders slumping. “It’s a risky move.”
Scar sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. His bangs are smoothed back, “So we either risk alerting the Watchers that we know what’s going on, or put Grian in danger by getting him involved in this. A lose lose either way.”
“Sounds about right.” Mumbo agrees, expression full of conflict. “Which means we’ll just have to take them out without either of them noticing.” His voice rings with protectiveness, and Scar is right there with him.
“Yeah.” Scar nods his agreement, inhaling. He takes a long time to exhale, giving himself the chance to get his thoughts in order. God he’s exhausted; he can feel the exhaustion down to his bones. But they aren’t done yet. He looks at Ren, “Alright, Red King. We’re allies now, which means we’re going to need a plan.”
Ren looks at him and gives a rather grim grin, “I think I’ve got an idea. Gather in close dudes, this one’s gonna require a lot of patience.”
Grumbling to himself, Grian carries bags of cat supplies in his arms. Scar had asked him to grab some things for Jellie, and then proceeded to give him an entire list of things to pick up. A ton of new toys, a cat bed, some things of wet food, even a few bags of treats because they were “running dangerously low, and you wouldn’t want to deprive sweet Jellie of her treats, would you Grian?”
“He is so lucky I love him.” Grian grumbles, adjusting his grip on one of the bags. He wishes he could’ve brought someone along, maybe Mumbo or Bdubs, but both of them were busy when he asked. So he was stuck going shopping alone.
It isn’t as scary a thought to him anymore, at least. Now, Grian is quite confident in his ability to go through a store and grab the things he needs. The interaction at the register is still enough cause for some nerves in his stomach, but it’s manageable. And he even went out of his way this time to get some flowers!
All the flourist had was a few lilacs and poppies, but Grian’s sure that it’s enough to brighten up Scar’s office, as well as the house. He’s sure that Scar and Mumbo will like them. And the flourist had been quite kind about it as well! She walked him through whatever she had left of her stock, (apparently it’s better to stop by Tea Cup Petals early in the morning; she gets a lot of customers) and gave Grian a little discount.
Maneuvering the bags in his hold again, Grian attempts to navigate his way back home. The sun is starting to set, though Grian knows he still has a good bit of time before he’s shrouded in darkness. The beauty of summer hours, he supposes.
Not many people are around, seeing as most are at home and unwinding for the night. There’s a few other people wandering the streets like Grian is, but they keep to themselves or the company they’re with.
Which means that when Grian loses his grip on one of his bags, there’s not many people around to see him fumble. He mutters a curse as a brown paper bag full of cat toys falls to the ground, contents spilling out. “Aw man, that took forever to bag!” He exclaims, frustrated.
Grian sets his second and third bags down nearby, kneeling down to pick up the fallen one. He tilts it up and starts picking up the scattered toys.
“Need some help?” Grian startles, looking up. A woman has approached him, wearing a kind smile on her face. On instinct, he doesn’t trust her. Granted, Grian doesn’t exactly trust many people nowadays. He’s learned not to over and over again.
So he looks a little stiff, looking down at the fallen toys. There isn’t really a lot, honestly. He could probably get them all picked up by himself within a few minutes. He has no real reason to accept her help. But he doesn’t sense anything malicious from her, and Scar has taught him that not everyone is out to get him, not in everyday life, anyways. Where’s the harm in a little bit of help?
His shoulders drop, “That’d uh, be really helpful, thanks.” He nods, accepting her offer. He tries to ignore the way his skin crawls as she kneels down to grab at the toys.
She smiles at him as she hands some of the toys over, “These are quite a bit of cat toys. You have a cat of your own?”
“It’s not my cat, actually. She’s just spoiled rotten and well – what’s a better way to spoil a cat than with toys?” He chuckles almost forcefully in reply, the woman’s own soft laughter joining his.
“Well, I hope she enjoys her new toys, and that she knows she’s very loved.” She hums, reaching for a toy that had rolled off the curb. She hands it to Grian, “That should be the last one.”
Grian accepts it, dropping it into the bag. He surveys the area, making sure he hadn’t missed one. He nods with satisfaction and stands, “Thank you for your help. God knows it would’ve taken me a bit longer.”
“Not a problem, dear. You look like you’ve got a lot to carry. Want some more help?” She questions, and Grian pauses.
He hesitates on his answer for a moment, mind screaming at him to deny any more help. He’d be putting himself at risk, leaving himself open. She could be hiding something; an ulterior motive. It says, like a voice whispering in his ear. It’s warning him, he knows. But how much of that is just anxiety? How much of that is just his self preservation skills trying to protect him again? This woman has been helpful so far, so why not continue to let her help? He’s overthinking it.
Besides, what’re the chances of Grian ever seeing her again?
“If it’s not too much trouble, that’d be great, actually.” Grian gives in, handing her one of the bags. She smiles at him as her gaze drops down to the bag. She takes it into her arms, holding it.
Together, they take off in the direction of his home, making slight small talk on the way. He finds that the woman is named Helen, and she works at a coffee shop as a barista. Grian doesn’t talk much about himself, both because he isn’t used to doing things like that, and he doesn’t want to give out any information. Old habits die hard, it seems.
And as they walk, it starts to get a little darker out. Grian grumbles about it, and Helen laughs. She does that a lot. Is it normal for people to laugh this much? He guesses it could be, if someone is a naturally bubbly person. Helen certainly seems like the sort. Maybe it is normal for her. Maybe he’s just reading too much into it again.
“You mentioned you live on Blueberry Street, yes?” Helen questions, turning her head to the side to look at him. Grian nods in return, and Helen smiles, “Wonderful, I know a shortcut there!”
So without much issue, Grian follows her. Trust issues aside, she hasn’t given him a reason to not trust her. She leads him through a few smaller streets, making a left turn here and there. Helen continues with her small talk, talking about a particularly pushy customer she had been dealing with at work.
As they walk, Grian keeps an eye on their surroundings. He knows he doesn’t have to, no one is going to jump out from the shadows and attack him. Call him paranoid, but he can’t just… not pay attention.
“You know Grian, you’re very kind.” Helen suddenly pipes up, catching him off guard. He looks over at her with confusion.
“Oh, thank you?” He replies, unsure what prompted her compliment. As a precautionary, he looks to the side. Still clear.
“I mean, seriously! We’ve just met and here you are, letting me talk your ear off. You’re a rather good listener.” Helen says, smiling with her words. “And you’re watching out for us, you’re truly too kind.” The word choice sends shivers down his spine.
Overhead, the shadow of a building falls over them. Grian looks around, finding himself in an alleyway. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He takes a slight step back, hand dropping to his pocket with his knife rests. “Well, it’s only respectful when we’re traveling at night like this.” He forces himself to reply, trying to keep up appearances.
“Hm, yes, that could be an issue, couldn’t it?” Helen hums, back still facing Grian. “That’s alright! I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling it, yes, Xelqua?”
Grian shudders. “H-How did you?” His body grows tense, insides turning and twisting with disgust at the name. He frowns, eyebrows scrunching together, forming what could be a comma if one were to trace the shape with a pen. He hadn’t realized it before, but her voice is familiar.
“How heartbreaking, to be the reason why we took her from you.”
It’s her.
It’s been so long that he hadn’t recognized her voice. But now he does. He takes another step backwards, hand gripping the hilt of his knife.
“Ah, ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Helen advises, turning around to face him. She’s smiling at him, “But to answer your question, I recognized you of course!”
He fixes a glare on Helen as he spits out, “So what? Are you taking me back? Because I’m not going anywhere near that place ever again.”
“Oh, nothing like that, dear! I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting to run into you. But since I have, I have a small congratulations to pass on to you!” She exclaims, looking cheerful. “Honestly, I didn’t think you could do it. Yet here you are! You always were one for defying the odds, Xelqua.”
Grian looks at her with confusion, feeling anger bubbling in his stomach. “Stop calling me that! That isn’t my name!” He demands. “And what the hell are you talking about?!”
Helen sighs, shaking her head at him, “Your mission, of course! You don’t really think we just let you escape, do you?” She asks, and Grian feels like he’s been punched in the gut. His hands shake, the bags crinkling with the movements.
“W-What?” His voice is just above a whisper.
“Oh poor thing, you haven’t been under that illusion this whole time, have you?” Helen cooes, her voice laced with pity. She takes a step toward him, “We needed someone to get in with the mayor, you see. So we let you think you escaped while we put you on the path! And here you are, collecting information for us like a seasoned pro.” Helen clutches a hand to her chest with a look akin to pride, “You’re doing so well. I have to say, pretending to be in love with him? A brilliant move.”
Her praise makes Grian want to recoil, to run far, far away from her and never look back. He wants to spit venom in her face.
“No.” Grian argues, shaking his head. “No, no, it isn’t a lie. I’m not — I’m not acting on your will! I got out. I escaped!” He declares, hands continuing to tremble. His heart has started to pound in his chest, beating against his rib cage.
“Did you?” Helen hums, lifting a brow. “Were the hallways truly empty that night? Was there really not a soul around to see you sneak out? The elders and I were in a meeting at the time, yes, but we know everything that happens under our noses. We let you go for we had a mission for you. A mission you are currently fulfilling.” She says, and Grian feels crushed.
“But I—” He weakly tries to argue again. He goes over everything that happened the night of his escape. He had planned it all so meticulously. Had he really just been playing right into their hands? Did he really do any of it on his own? He had to have, right? Right?
“What, you love them?” Helen questions, raising a brow. “Is that really your feelings, or do you feel like that for convenience? Do you truly know what love feels like?”
Does he?
Grian stares at her, feeling a weight drop in his stomach. It feels like an anvil, or maybe a very, very, heavy rock. “This whole time…” He mumbles, staring but unseeing.
Helen offers him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder; a false comfort. “You’ve just been a puppet on a string, dear. But now that I’ve made contact with you, I have an updated objective for you. We have a lot of work to do after all!”
When Grian returns later that night, he finds Scar and Mumbo sitting on the couch. Neither of them look happy. Their expressions are that of pure exhaustion, and Grian can only wonder what they’ve gotten up to.
He dumps the bags somewhere on the floor, stepping over to them.
Mumbo looks up at him, gaze foggy and unfocused. None of them say anything as Grian collapses between them. He reaches for their hands, taking each of theirs and gripping them.
Grian holds onto them like they’re his lifelines. Maybe it’d be more accurate to call them his anchors.
Scar and Mumbo take his hands, holding them right back. Their grips are just as tight as Grian’s.
No one speaks.