Chapter Text
When Scar opens the door to his office, he finds the vampire waiting for him. Scott lifts his head up as he walks in, a sly smirk finding its way onto his face. His red eyes glint with satisfaction as they drop to the bag held within Scar’s hands.
“Just the fae I was hoping to see.”
Scar stops short as their gazes meet, and he’s vaguely aware of the door shutting behind him. “Scott,” he replies briskly. “Invited yourself in again I see?”
“You weren’t around to answer the door, and I don’t have time to waste,” Scott smoothly replies, glancing at his nails as if checking them over. “The bag?”
“Right here.” Carelessly, Scar tosses the purple bag over to him, which the vampire catches with ease. “Metal chip and all.”
Scott holds the bag carefully in his hands, pulling in the drawstrings to open it up. He takes a peek inside, avoiding actually touching the metal. “Good, it isn’t a rock this time.”
Scar grimaces at the reminder, “Well we can’t all plan things perfectly. I’m lucky Liz even found them at all! Which, go a little easy on her, Mumbo’s illusion was practically perfect.” He does feel a bit bad about Lizzie’s timing — he hadn’t expected Grian to hand the metal chip over to Tango as quickly as he did. “But not to fret, as your’s truly got the bag in the end.”
Yet despite his explanation, there’s a hint of suspicion that flickers in Scott’s dark eyes. He stares at Scar, almost as if he were staring right through him. “Rich words coming from the one who plans everything down to the very last detail,” Scott says, “I have to wonder if it was purely as accidental as you make it seem.”
“Are you questioning me?” Scar shoots back almost immediately, a defensive note rising in his voice as he stands tall.
“Don’t give me a reason to doubt you.” Scott’s voice is cold and straightforward as he speaks, his words acting like a knife that jabs right through him. “You know what’s at stake.”
“I’m quite aware,” Scar snaps, eyes narrowing with muted anger.
Scott’s face relaxes to a smile, tension slipping from his expression as he hums. “Good. Keep our little… agreement in mind and there won’t be any need for suspicion,” he practically purrs in return, and it sends a chill of disdain down Scar’s spine. The vampire pulls on the draw strings of the bag, shutting it. “Well,” Scott stands from the chair, setting the bag inside his coat, “I’ve collected what I need, so I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh by all means, don’t let me stop you.” Scar side steps, leaving the doorway open for Scott to leave. The quicker Scott is out of his space, the better. Maybe next time he’ll spray some garlic around or something. He knows it won’t harm him but maybe it’ll discourage Scott from inviting himself over.
Scott walks toward him, stopping right at his side to offer him a close lipped smile, “I look forward to seeing what you do next.”
When Scar turns around to watch Scott leave, he finds the vampire is gone.
Alone in his office now, Scar turns to stare at the seat the vampire had previously been occupying.
Tension dropping from his shoulders, he falls back into his chair. He can hear it creak in protest as he sits, a second creak following it as he reclines back into it. Paying it no mind, Scar sets his elbow on the armrest of the seat, placing his chin against his knuckles. His eyes drag over to the full length mirror, staring at it as it’s angled toward his desk.
He stares at himself, at the glamour hiding what lies beneath the surface of his mask, a proof of his performance. His normally pointed ears are rounded, eyes a normal shade of green, and pupils round rather than thin and pointed.
A sneer leaves him at the sight of himself.
All this just to appear human. All this just to exist in a place he doesn’t belong, in a place he’ll never be a part of (not that he ever was).
“Reflection or not, you both have a soul.”
Pausing, Scar stares at himself. If it weren’t for the magic he’s used on this mirror, he wouldn’t have a reflection. He finds himself looking at his eyes, seeing the dullness to them. He tears his gaze away, adjusting the tie sitting under his jacket. It doesn’t need fixing; his hands need something to do.
He’s come to understand something about Mumbo’s little human, something that is as simple as the fundamental rules of the world. It’s a realization that feels obvious, in much the same way that one comes to understand the concept of gravity; if you were to drop a ball, it would fall because of the force pulling it down.
Scar’s fundamental realization is this: Grian is everything he despises about humanity. The kindness, the naivety. He’s living in his own world, unaware and blissful, while reaching for something he has no business being a part of. He’s a reminder to Scar, one that he doesn’t want. But Scar can’t escape him, not when he’s around Mumbo. Not when Mumbo seems to care about him (a little too much).
It doesn’t make him any less interested in Grian, but certain things have increased that interest. Scar begins to put some answers together.
He hasn’t come to truly understand Grian, if anything he’s found himself more confused. The human had no qualms about risking his life to save his sister, and had seemed so resolute in his claim that monsters have souls. But Scar wants to figure out what makes him tick. He wants to make Grian less puzzling.
He’s met all kinds of humans during his very long life, but Grian might just be the oddest one of them all. He is oblivious to the whims and woes of the supernatural, and his naivety will surely get him killed. If not by Scar, then certainly someone or something else. But he isn’t afraid to risk his life. It angers Scar, because of course the one human that Mumbo had to grow attached to is the one that is everything Scar hates about humans.
He had meant it when he told Mumbo he doesn’t care what happens to Grian. His safety and well being is of no concern to Scar. Not now. Not when he has a job to do.
They both have people they want to protect.
When Grian shows up at Mumbo’s, he finds the vampire in his workshop. The place is a complete mess as always, with little bits and bobs laying on either Mumbo’s desk or the ground. Even the chair Grian normally sits in has a box covering the seat.
Grum and Jrum stand on either side of Grian as he stands in the doorway, the trio all staring at Mumbo as he tinkers away. “Mr. Jumbo has gotten stuck in his work again,” Grum mutters, a small frown on his face.
A clock is set on Mumbo’s desk in front of him, the back panel open. It’s wooden and rectangular, a cuckoo clock? Grian can see a few gears set aside in a small pile. On the other side of the clock is a tea cup. It sits on an ornate saucer plate. The cup is white and ceramic, with pale purple orchids painted on the side, rims golden. It sits untouched, tea within the walls of the cup.
Yet it isn’t so much as what Mumbo is working on that has Grian’s attention. It’s the expression he’s making.
Mumbo’s brows are furrowed in a soft dip, forehead creasing. His dark eyes are focused, lost in the motion of work as he goes through the motions. But his eyes look rather soft as he works, and there’s some sort of light in his gaze that Grian can’t help but let himself be pulled in. Mumbo’s tongue pokes out from beneath his mustache, face set in something soft. He’s deep in thought, hair slightly messy and slipping from the ribbon tying it together.
A fond smile pulls at Grian’s lips as he watches Mumbo mindlessly blow his hair out of his face, hands never leaving the clock.
Grian looks over to Grum and Jrum, offering them a smile. “I’ve got just the thing,” he whispers to them, and he’s certain that if Mumbo hadn’t been so focused that he almost certainly would’ve heard it with his sensitive hearing.
With that, Grian enters the workshop, walking right over to the vampire at his desk. He moves to stand at Mumbo’s side, just slightly behind his chair. And then, “Surprise!”
There’s a short shriek that sounds from Mumbo as the vampire jumps in his seat. The bit of redstone in his hand goes flying all over his desk, some of it landing on the gears nearby. Grian watches as some of it gets in Mumbo’s tea. Oops.
“Grian!” Mumbo whips around in his chair to look at the human, ignoring the two snickering vampires in the doorway. He does glance in their direction very briefly, causing the two boys to scamper off.
Grian offers him an innocent smile, “Hi Mumbo!” He makes himself appear like he’s the very picture of innocence as he hums. “You’re very easy to sneak up on.”
“It’s your fault,” Mumbo grumbles in return with a heavy sigh. He mutters something under his breath, but Grian doesn’t really catch it. “I didn’t realize you even came in, mate.” Mumbo turns back to the clock on his desk, grabbing one of the tools laying around.
Grian looks over at his chair (he doesn’t care what Mumbo says, he dragged it in and he sits in it. Therefore, his chair) and picks up the box on it before setting it aside on a second table. “Well duh,” he huffs playfully as he moves the chair a bit closer before sitting down. “If you had heard me I wouldn’t have been able to scare you.” He then glances at the clock, “What’re you working on?”
Mumbo glances over at him, a look of nervousness flitting across his face. “Oh, uh, it’s nothing really. Just a small thing.”
Grian tilts his head, “That clock hardly looks small to me.” He leans in closer to get a better look, lifting a brow. The clock looks like rubbish, to put it bluntly. The sides are scratched up and the paint is faded. From his seat he can see the mechanics of the inside, and he won’t even try to figure out what’s going on inside. “Is it broken or something?”
“Ah, it is, yeah.” Mumbo nods in answer, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hands as he speaks, “The gears are jammed so the hands on the clock aren’t moving properly. Thought I’d fix it up.”
Humming, Grian leans back to watch him. Watching Mumbo work is always interesting, he’s found. The vampire gets so focused, yet there’s this softness about him, a tranquility that Grian doesn’t see anywhere else. Not to mention the air of confidence that Mumbo seems to carry only within his workshop. It’s a side to him that Grian rarely sees unless he’s working on something like this.
“Want help?” Grian inquires. “I make for a pretty good assistant,” he quips, wiggling his brow.
Mumbo laughs, “I’ve learned my lesson from last time, pal. You can just sit there and look pretty.” He pauses almost as soon as the words fall from his mouth, eyes going a little wide as a blush creeps onto his face. “I-I mean—”
Grian can’t help his little laugh at the reaction, a teasing smirk as he hums, “You think I’m pretty?” It’s Mumbo’s fault that Grian pokes at him, really. The vampire just has such amusing reactions that the teasing is hard to avoid.
“N-No!” Mumbo hastily exclaims, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “W-Well yes b-but that isn’t what I,” he cuts himself off with an embarrassed groan, dropping his face into his hands. Grian takes no pity on him, laughter continuing and dying off into quiet giggles.
“There, there, Mumbo.” He offers the vampire a pat on the back. “We all have our spoonish moments.”
“That— never mind,” Mumbo mutters before sighing. “Just. Sit still. And don’t touch anything,” he says.
“Sitting still and not touching anything. Got it.” Grian nods before silence settles over them.
He settles into watching Mumbo work, a sort of calmness seeping into the atmosphere amongst them. Grian rests his elbow on the free space of the desk to watch as Mumbo fiddles with the components of the clock to make it work again.
It’s quite easy to get lost in the rhythm of watching Mumbo work, despite the initial boredom that hits Grian. A lot of it is watching the vampire mess with things and studying the reactions he has to them. The entertainment that Grian draws from watching Mumbo is his expressions, the micro bits of body language that he picks up on. Outside of the conversations of course.
But what Grian likes most about sitting beside Mumbo is he gets to see this relaxed side of him, a side of Mumbo without the walls and guards to hide away his secrets. It’s an excuse for mutual existence, without the barriers of human and supernatural.
And Grian gets the added opportunity to mess with Mumbo, something he always finds entertaining. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone so easy to mess with, and he grew up with Taurtis.
While Mumbo works, another strand of hair falls into his face and his nose scrunches up in displeasure. “I can hardly get anything done with my hair getting in the way like this.” He frowns, moving the black strand out of his face.
Grian hums in consideration, watching Mumbo for a moment or so before a thought comes to mind. “Mumbo,” he asks, “can I tie your hair back for you?”
Mumbo pauses in his movements to look over at Grian, seeming puzzled. “Er… yes?” he responds, the answer sounding more like a question than anything.
Though Grian takes the permission and runs with it, jumping up from his seat to stand behind Mumbo’s chair. The vampire waits, as if waiting to see what Grian is going to do. Grian gently pulls on the ribbon holding Mumbo’s hair together, watching it loosen and fall away from the black locks. He sets the ribbon aside before reaching for Mumbo’s hair.
With how long it is, Grian would have assumed that his hair was thick, but it’s the exact opposite. As Grian combs his fingers through Mumbo’s hair, he finds that it’s rather thin. Marveling at the feeling, he moves the hair away from Mumbo’s shoulder, letting it hang freely behind the man instead. He finds the black curtain ends right before the middle of Mumbo’s back, a decent length. It’s a little longer than Grian’s own hair, actually.
Being as gentle as he can, Grian runs his fingers through the strands, detangling any knots he comes across. He glances over at Mumbo as he does so, curious about the other’s reaction. Much to his relief, he finds Mumbo working again, switching out gears in the clock. Grian smiles as he sees how relaxed the vampire has become. His shoulders are proper slopes now, low and void of tension.
He finds himself a bit in awe of just how soft Mumbo’s hair is. It’s practically like silk, smoother than Pearl’s hair as it parts around his fingers. Honestly, Grian wouldn’t mind always doing this.
Shaking his head and ignoring the embarrassment that hits him after the thought, he focuses on the task at hand.
He lets go of Mumbo’s hair entirely to lean up on his feet and reach for the vampire’s forehead, brushing back the strands. As he does so, Mumbo tilts his head up as Grian leans forward. His hands pause in their brushing. They lock eyes and Grian can see the fondness dotting Mumbo’s face, although somewhat bashful. “Hi,” Mumbo murmurs to him as they look at each other.
“Hi.” Grian smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling lightly as the edges of his lips quirk up and curve. “Your hair is soft.”
“O-Oh, is it?” Mumbo asks, seeming bashful as he holds Grian’s gaze. Though he does look away for a moment, eyes flicking to the clock.
“Yeah, it’s really easy to brush.” At that, Grian moves his fingers along Mumbo’s scalp. “Way easier than Pearl’s,” he chuckles.
“Have you done her hair before?” Mumbo questions curiously, a note of softness to his voice as he asks.
Grian reaches for the ribbon he put aside, grabbing for it blindly. He jumps in surprise when he feels something crawl along his hand, and he spots a spider scurrying away. He grimaces, muttering something about Mumbo leaving too many spaces in the workshop for spiders to hide.
He pays attention this time, spotting the red ribbon and reaching for it. When he grabs it, he holds it in his mouth to leave his hands free while bundling Mumbo’s hair together in a ponytail. “Multiple times, in fact,” Grian speaks through the ribbon in his mouth, “when we were younger she’d force me to brush it for her and then put it up. Said if mom was gonna force her to tie her hair up she’d rather it be me doing it.”
Mumbo chuckles quietly at that and Grian hears the sounds of turning gears. “I used to know someone like that,” he murmurs ever so quietly. The utterance is so soft that Grian nearly misses it.
He opens his mouth to ask about it, but something presses on him, telling him not to. Perhaps it’s the tone of grief in Mumbo’s voice, the way it softened so much that it was hardly above a whisper, as if it were something not meant to be said. Perhaps it’s the way Grian remembers how pained Mumbo was at the smallest reminder of Scott and what was stolen from Mumbo. He doesn’t want to see Mumbo make a face like that again, not if he can help it.
So instead he keeps his touch gentle. He drags his fingers along Mumbo’s scalp, catching his dark strands in his grasp as he pulls it all to one spot where he can hold it in a ponytail. Instead, Grian focuses on the warmth that he feels radiating from the vampire before him, and zeroes in on it. It isn’t the first time that he’s noticed how warm Mumbo is, or the natural body heat he seems to have. He remembers the first time very clearly, back when Mumbo caught him from the ladder.
Grian makes a curious noise, “Hey Mumbo? Aren’t vampires supposed to be cold?” He takes the ribbon out of his mouth and begins to tie Mumbo’s hair back for him, setting the ponytail a bit low. “Thought they were undead or something. You’re abnormally warm for a vampire.”
Mumbo snorts, “Y’know, your human myths are rather entertaining.” He shakes his head slightly which causes Grian to squawk at him. “I’m just the right amount of warm blooded for a vampire, thank you. The idea that vampires are undead yet another one of your made up human mythologies.”
“So... you’re not undead?” Grian inquires as he ties off the ribbon on Mumbo’s hair. He takes a step back to look at it, nodding in satisfaction when it holds. “And now your hair won’t fall in your face anymore.” He moves back to his seat to sit down. It’s slightly jarring to look at Mumbo without seeing some of his bangs covering his forehead. In fact it’s slightly jarring to see all of Mumbo’s hair out of his face. But he does look quite nice with his hair like this.
“Thank you,” Mumbo says kindly before huffing at him. “No Grian, I’m not undead, I have a heartbeat and all. It's a bit hard to be dead with a beating heart and blood in your body.”
Grian hums, “You’re still nearly like a human, just with a few extra assets.”
Something in Mumbo’s expression falls as he looks away from Grian, turning his attention back to the clock. He takes one of the gears he set aside and places it back inside the box, “No, I’m nothing like you.” There’s something bitter in his voice that makes Grian frown.
“You are to me,” Grian replies stubbornly.
“I’m glad one of us thinks so.” A sigh leaves Mumbo at that and he sets the screwdriver in his hand down. “I think that’ll do it.” He closes the panel of the clock and turns it around, the wood making a scratching noise against the desk as he does so.
Grian lets him change the topic, looking at the clock with interest, “You fixed it?”
“I think so?” Mumbo stares at the clock, watching the small black hands. “I could have forgotten to put something back or oh goodness I may not have even fixed the right thing , I’m a bit pants with clocks after all—”
“Mumbo,” Grian cuts him off, eyeing the clock with a smile, “stop questioning yourself and look.”
Mumbo’s mouth snaps shut and he looks at the machine, ears twitching at the ticking sound. He perks up as the smaller of the two hands begins to go around the clock. A smile lights up his face, “It’s fixed!”
“Which means it’s break time!” Grian declares, and he doesn’t give the vampire a chance to argue. “C’mon, up and at ‘em Jumbo!” He stands up and holds his hand out.
Mumbo follows along with him, a fond exasperation rolling off of him as he sets his hand in Grian’s. “I feel like I’d be letting your hard work go to waste,” he comments, motioning to his hair.
“Hmm, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Grian asks as he practically tugs Mumbo out of his workshop. “I guess you’ll just have to wear your hair like that until I leave!” He looks at the vampire with a smile.
“I suppose that’s a fair trade off.” Mumbo nods in agreement, eyes lingering on Grian for a moment or so. He smiles softly.
After spending a few more hours with Mumbo, Grian heads home. It was just the two of them for once, Scar not around. It gave Grian a good excuse to relax without worrying about Scar and what was going through his mind.
Pearl is working a late shift at the bar so he doesn’t have to worry about making some sort of excuse as to why he’s coming back late. Ever since the dream eaters he’s been trying to be more careful at avoiding his sister’s suspicion. She’s incredibly perceptive, which is a bit troublesome for Grian in a case like this.
As he walks up the stairs to his and Pearl’s floor, he pulls his phone free from his pocket. Absentmindedly, Grian opens his messages and presses on Taurtis’ contact. His brows crease in concern as he finds no reply from the other.
He had finally gotten a chance to respond to Taurtis after the whole fiasco with that metal chip from Doc, and it’s been a few days since.
Worry curdles in Grian’s gut as he stares at their messages and the lack of reply from Taurtis. The longer Taurtis takes to reply the more Grian begins to wonder if something serious is going on. It really isn't like him to go multiple days without replying.
Sighing quietly, Grian sets his phone back into his pocket, climbing to the top of the staircase. “I could always try giving him a call in a few,” he murmurs as he steps onto his and Pearl’s floor. He glances at the other doors leading to their neighbors’ apartments as he grabs his keys.
Mindlessly, Grian steps up to his apartment, setting the key into the doorknob to unlock it. He turns it once then twice, hearing the lock be undone. He grabs the doorknob after, palm wrapping around the cool metal. Just as he goes to twist the knob open, he freezes in place. Something uneasy passes through him, causing Grian hesitation.
Something in the back of his mind tells him that he should not open this door.
He frowns slightly, hand still on the knob, keeping his eyes focused on the door in front of him. The world is quiet. There is no noise behind his door. And yet there is unease crawling up his spine, attaching itself to his bones.
Something feels off, like there’s something wrong. But what? It’s been a normal day for him, nothing really out of the ordinary. Everything seems fine. The door was locked and Grian can’t hear any noises on the other side of it. No one had come up to him to tell him that something happened either. Despite all of this, his door feels like it’s blocking him from something, something dangerous. He grips the doorknob and when he goes to twist it he can feel some part of him yelling, Wrong wrong wrong wroNG WRONG!
As if he’d been burned, Grian pulls his hand away, heart pumping in his ears.
He stares at the door in front of him, as if it’ll give him some sort of answer. All it gives him is a sudden wave of fear, anxiety building up within his chest. It makes him bite his lip. From the corner of his eye, a spider crawls out from under the door.
There are no obvious signs that something is wrong, but Grian gets this feeling that something is. The door carries a sense of foreboding, leaving Grian on sudden edge. It’s like he’s standing on a sudden precipice, the door in front of him being the only thing keeping him on the edge. Whatever this feeling is, it doesn’t seem very welcoming, which only serves to confuse Grian further. As far as he knows, his home is empty.
He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how off kitler and uncomfortable it leaves him.
But Grian can’t just spend all evening standing outside of his apartment. There are going to be questions from anyone walking by. The longer he stands here, the feeling of foreboding sinks further and further into his stomach, almost like an anvil. It’s working its way up his spine, wrapping around his throat and threatening to choke him. He wants to run.
Is it his imagination or do the floorboards actually squeak under his weight as he shifts from foot to foot?
His hand, oddly enough, is shaking. He looks down at it in confusion, frowning as he tries to steady it. He forces himself to reach for the doorknob again, taking a breath to steel his nerves. He has to go inside eventually, and who knows if this sudden overwhelming paranoia is even real.
Still frowning, Grian forces himself to twist the knob and push the door open. He ignores the nerves in the back of his mind telling him not to, ignores the hair standing on the back of his neck.
When the door opens he’s greeted with a gust of air and the pinnacle of his unease.
The lights in the apartment are off, leaving Grian in nothing but darkness. But he does see something moving in the dark. Feeling his initial panic well up, Grian immediately reaches for the lightswitch and flicks the lights on.
He squints at first as it takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the sudden light, but his hand sneaks to his back pocket where he’s placed his dagger. His brows furrow as his vision clears and when he sees the person standing in front of him, he yelps.
“Whoa, whoa, Grian relax! It’s just me!” Hands grab at his shoulders and Grian is met with the face of his best friend.
“Taurtis?!” he cries, staring at the other with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Something serious crosses Taurtis’ expression as he stares into Grian’s eyes, his own gaze unwavering. He doesn’t answer Grian’s question, ignoring it completely in fact. He says something completely different, something that leaves Grian’s gut dropping with nothing but dread. “I know the truth.”