Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Holes in the fabric of reality begin to fray open all over town.

It's exciting, at first. It's been months since Fionna and company discovered magic, fought off the Scarab, and welcomed their friends from the post-apocalyptic Farmworld dimension to live a life of peace in their quaint little town. Surviving in an agrarian subsistence society made Jay and Little Destiny instantly popular, with their pick of fascinated companions and gainful employment amid the town's reconstruction.

For better or worse, there were now plenty of jobs around town doing the important work of rebuilding it.

Fionna found gainful employment too, helping Hunter plant food gardens all over the city so everyone had enough to eat.

The first rift appeared in Hunter's secret garden—a strange living vine which strangled anyone who came too close, which Fionna chopped down with Hunter's jungle machete and drove back through the portal—but the portal hadn't vanished, and the job felt unfinished.

Ellis P. had his squirrels watch the portal for further activity, but the knowledge of its presence lingered at the back of their minds, like a hole in the wall of a drafty apartment.

—

Then came the ghosts.

These were mostly harmless, but deeply unnerving visitors that traipsed around town and made electronics go on the fritz. Deterring them was as simple as sternly ordering them to turn around, and so discussion was had as to whether or not they could be harmoniously integrated into the community. They did add a certain ambiance to the graveyards and forests they came to inhabit—but efforts to communicate with these astral visitors did not yield many promising results, and once they started trying to gain access to the hospital in greater volumes, their presence was deemed too dangerous to continue permitting.

No one really felt good about it, but the ghosts were chased back through the portal they came out of with a stern verbal lashing. Weeping in their sonorous, echoing voices, they drifted through the jagged portal and closed it up behind them.

Feeling like something had gone right for once, everyone moved on from the experience prepared to put it behind them, finding closure with the closure of the rift.

—

Then came the oozing sludge monsters.

Issuing forth from Gary's new bakery, in a tableau far too reminiscent of Fionna and Cake's nightmares, the creatures proved impervious to every form of attack. Jay and Little Destiny were on the other side of town, and weren't responding to texts or calls. Fionna, Cake, Hunter, Gary, Marshall Lee, and Ellis P. were on their own.

"Has anyone tried fire yet?" Cake asks nervously. "I don't wanna get too close to that nasty green junk spilling out of their eyes."

"I don't suppose anyone has a flamethrower?" Gary dryly suggests.

Ellis P. gasps in realization. "Ooh! I'll get the gas cans! Come on, Marshall!"

Marshall gives Gary a shoulder squeeze and a heartfelt look before running after their erstwhile squirrel-whisperer.

"We'll hold them off," Hunter calls after them.

"And how are we gonna do that?" Fionna cries. In one hand she wields the jungle machete Hunter had given her, but the acid burns on her arm give proof to how ineffective it's proven at cutting down their foes without injuring herself. "They're drooling up mad acid!"

"Maybe we could use an alkaline to neutralize it?" Gary muses. "I've got baking soda in the bakery..."

But the sludge monsters bar the way to the bakery with their noxious bodies, making this solution moot.

"At least they're slow?" Cake says, as they all backpedal slowly from the sludge monsters' sluggish approach. "I bet the guys will be back with that flamethrower in no time!"

"Well, if they aren't," Fionna says dismally, "it was nice knowing you guys."

Suddenly, light in a dozen prismatic hues flashes in the space between them and the sludge monsters, and they shield their eyes against the glare.

When the light dissipates and they drop their arms, Scarab stands at the head of the pack of sludge monsters.

"You!" Cake gasps.

"Scrabby!" Fionna calls out, putting a brave mask on over her fear. "So you were the cause of all this?!"

Scarab tilts his head, peering at Fionna like an unusual species of ant he's never seen before.

"We already beat you once, bug boy!" Cake shouts, shapeshifting herself to have the physique of a pro wrestler and shaking a fist at the end of a bulging, muscular arm. "We ain't afraid of you!"

Scarab turns his head impassively toward Cake in turn. The shambling monsters behind him groan, and he glances over his shoulder.

"Oh," he says calmly. "I see the problem now." He removes his crystal from his pocket, ratcheting up the tension as Fionna and company tense in preparation of an attack. But instead he turns toward the sludge monsters, and a holographic screen appears over his crystal. He navigates through the interface with a sound of idle thought. "You're not supposed to be here."

Scarab closes the hologram interface, and he unspools a jagged plasma scythe from his crystal. In several flashes of light, the sludge monsters are reduced to a half dozen eggs rolling around on the pavement.

They watch in uncertain silence as Scarab collects these into his crystal egg carton.

His task complete, Scarab approaches the group calmly with crystal in hand. Fionna stands in the lead with her arms akimbo and her machete at the ready. He stops several feet away and stares at her in silence.

Then Scarab asks, "Do you know where these came from?" He holds up the crystal and shakes it in casual demonstration, eliciting several bleating, digitized cries.

Taken aback by the question, the group exchange glances and a few murmurs of inquiry.

Gary clears his throat and says uncertainly, "Y-Yeah?"

Scarab closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Do you know, or don't you?"

"I do!" Gary blurts out. "I-I do, Mister Scarab, uh, sir."

"I see." Scarab pockets his crystal. "Then please direct me to the site of the anomaly."

—

Gary leads them to the refurbished bakery, and the group thrums with curiosity to see what Scarab will do.

It's a bit of a tight fit in the kitchen, and Scarab briefly gives the rest of them a withering look as they sidle inside along the walls—but he seems more concerned with the static-filled portal hovering in the center of the kitchen like an open wound in the fabric of the universe.

"And you're sure they came from here," Scarab confirms.

Gary folds his arms. "Uh, sure as they ruined my latest batch of cookies!" He gestures toward the floor with an open hand, where lay the helpless crumbs and broken cookies, as if an inter-dimensional detective like Scarab ought to have noticed a detail like that already.

Scarab stares at him, and Gary falters, instinctively bringing his hand closer to his chest.

"Right," says Scarab. "Wait just a moment." So saying, he steps through the portal like he's simply hopping a fence, and vanishes inside.

Cake suggests in a stage whisper, "Put a fridge in front of it! Maybe he won't come back out!"

"Cake," Fionna half-heartedly admonishes. "He's like, an inter-dimensional repo officer or something. I don't think a fridge is going to stop him."

Gary interjects, "And I'm not putting a fridge—"

Scarab returns through the portal.

"... in the middle of my kitchen!" At the expressions on everyone's faces, Gary turns back toward the portal and balks at having Scarab so unexpectedly and statuesquely in his space again.

Scarab adjusts his tie. "Not to worry. Mister...?"

"P-Prince?" Gary stammers faintly. "Gary... Prince."

"Mister Prince," Scarab neutrally intones, like he hadn't leveled this very bakery and generally raised hell just a few months before, in an attempt to obliterate them as petty revenge against a cosmic work rival. He sounds all business, and he doesn't even sound mad about it. "The integrity of your kitchen will be restored momentarily."

Gary swallows. "What?" he says hoarsely. 

Scarab doesn't elaborate, merely reproduces his crystal multi-tool, and between one moment and the next it becomes a cane. The room buzzes with tension, yet Scarab does not point it in their direction—but instead at the portal. From the end of his cane, a narrow band of white-blue light issues in a crisscross pattern over the frayed hole, like thread stitching fabric closed.

For a moment, the air feels tense and tight, like cloth drawn taut. With a sound like creaking wood, the blue thread slowly tightens, pulling the tear in the fabric of reality shut. Everyone feels a little unsteady on their feet, but most of them have the support of the wall behind them. Only Gary wavers, and Scarab thrusts an arm out between the mortal and the portal.

Without thinking, Gary's hands land upon Scarab's arm for balance. It's rough, like a coarse seashell, and it emanates a warmth that rivals his best convection oven.

The room grows dim as the tear narrows to a thin line. Then with a pop! it vanishes. The lights resume their usual brightness. Normalcy is restored.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Scarab turns to Gary, whose throat suddenly turns dry and useless as he tries to swallow.

"Excuse me," says Scarab, lifting his arm until Gary takes the hint and hastily unhands him. That fascinating friction slides beneath his palms, and he shivers as the comparatively cool air of the warm kitchen rushes in to make the absence of that heat feel like a loss.

"Now," says Scarab to the group at large. "Was that the only one?"

"No," says Hunter cautiously. "There's one in the park, too."

"I see." Scarab adjusts his tie. "Would you be so kind as to lead me there?"

Fionna folds her arms. "Hold on a second, Scrabby. How do we know you're not gonna try something messed up?"

Scarab pulls his crystal hologram open again and hums indifferently. "Such as?"

"Like... destroying our universe as soon as you get rid of all the crossovers."

"I suppose you don't," he admits. "I can find it myself, of course. But if you'd prefer I leave it open, I can always leave. Perhaps you're enjoying all the excitement?"

Fionna grimaces. "Uh... No, not really. I mean, if you can close it... And there's no catch..."

"No catch," Scarab says. "Apart from having to endure each other's company until I'm done here."

Fionna seems to find this persuasive. "To the park!" she declares with her finger in the air, and she marches out the kitchen door, followed by Hunter and Cake.

Scarab puts his crystal away and makes for the door.

"Mister Scarab?"

He stops, and finds the pink-haired human dithering at the center of the kitchen. Scarab supposes the man has no reason to join them, since the integrity of his domain has now been secured.

"Um... Thanks," says Gary. "For fixing my kitchen." He casts about the mess, and his eyes brighten when they land upon a brown bag that managed to escape the carnage. He quickly grabs it and closes the distance. "These were supposed to be for everyone, but uh, there's not enough now. So just... Thanks." He thrusts the bag toward Scarab, his mouth a wobbly and uncertain line.

Scarab delicately takes the bag and opens it. From within, he produces a gingerbread person with bunny ears. It bears a striking resemblance to Fionna.

A pregnant silence lingers overlong as Gary awaits the Scarab's response to his gesture of gratitude.

"You're... welcome," Scarab says, like he's trying it on for the first time. Or maybe the etiquette is different in whatever dimension he hails from. The armored shell around Scarab's face comes apart in segments, like a puzzle box, revealing a pink writhing mass of a mouth, full of razor-sharp teeth and sprouting with several pairs of mandibles.

The Fionna cookie doesn't stand a chance, and Scarab's tapered tongue gathers up every crumb.

When his armored face plates click back together, Scarab looks down at the bag.

"These," he says at length, "are wonderful confections... My compliments to the chef."

Gary swallows. "Thank you," he says, his voice wavering with nerves.

Scarab hums. "Perhaps I should be the one thanking you."

The front door to the bakery jingles, and Fionna's voice calls out, "Gary? Scrabby?"

Gary clears his throat and strides past the Scarab to hold the kitchen door open for him. "A-After you, Mister Scarab."

Scarab folds the brown bag around the remaining cookies and tucks it into the mysterious depths of his jacket. "You oblige me, Mister Prince." He leads the way out of the kitchen, ducking his head under the frame to clear the doorway. Fionna gives them a queer look from the bakery's front door. 

"Uh, I'm gonna lock up," Gary tells them. "You guys go on ahead!"

Fionna shrugs, and Scarab follows her out the door to the ringing of the bell.

When they're gone, Gary stumbles to the nearest counter and clutches his heart in his hand. "Oh no," he rasps, "he's hot."

Chapter Text

After Gary has taken a moment to compose himself, he catches up to the group at the entrance to the park. A tense silence hangs over them, and as he falls into step beside Scarab he asks, a little breathlessly, "So, uh, what was that thing?"

Scarab is fussing with his holographic screen again, but he dismisses it and tucks the crystal computer away when Gary arrives. As he angles his face toward the man, the bright red plates of his facial armor catch the mid-afternoon sunlight. "An inter-dimensional rift."

Though Hunter leads the pack with Fionna at his side and Cake at hers, they hadn't been brave enough to ask Scarab anything themselves, so they slow their gait and look over their shoulders to listen in.

"Do you know how it got there?" Gary asks.

"Your universe is still young," Scarab explains. "Like... an egg, with a delicate membrane. It needs more time to become established in the multiverse. But until it does, you may face an unusual number of crossover events."

"Oh." This gives rise to a dozen more questions, but Gary can only think to ask, "Why?"

"Your universe was created in isolation from the multiverse." For a long moment that's all Scarab says, but Gary waits patiently, and eventually he elaborates, "Think of your world like... an island, isolated from the global community, upon whose shores arrive a new population that evolved in a completely different environment. They have different diseases, different technology... Against which your island community has no immunities, or defenses."

Gary grimaces. "That sounds... bad."

Scarab peers at Gary sidelong. The red of his eye sends chills down Gary's spine. "... It's less than ideal," Scarab says, like he's testy about that for some reason. "But that's why I'm here."

Gary straightens. "You're here... to protect us?" He glances at the others, who are exchanging a few surprised looks of their own.

Scarab raises a hand as if to adjust his tie, but he changes the movement halfway through and smooths down the front of his shirt instead. This close, Gary can hear the faint crinkle of the bag of cookies. "... Given the circumstances," Scarab says delicately, "you may consider me... a part of your universe's immune system. Until such a time as it becomes impermeable to all but the most disruptive of inter-dimensional incursions."

Gary frowns, perplexed. "So you'll protect us from small stuff... but not big stuff?"

"Those are much rarer," Scarab says, and it almost sounds like assurance. "And in any case, incidents like those merit a more... complex system of intervention than a single mercenary auditor."

As far as Gary is aware, Scarab is the only cosmic authority that has ever visited their universe—so to hear him minimize his role in such a way begs the question of just what else is out there. "So... Someone else would be called in?" Gary asks, and tries not to sound too obviously disappointed about it.

"Perhaps."

"Like who?"

Scarab shoves his hands in his pockets and lifts his gaze skyward. "A true hero, perhaps," he says, but in a tone of voice which suggests the idea is wearisome and tedious to him.

Before Gary can ask what a 'true hero' is, or if he's talking about Fionna, or what higher authority there is beyond beings like Scarab, they arrive at Hunter's secret garden—not so secret now, since everyone had to know where the interdimensional rift still lingered if they were to stay safely away from it.

"There it is," Hunter says.

Scarab surveys the area. "Has nothing come through?"

Fionna explains, "It showed up a couple weeks ago, and some weird vines came out and started grabbing people and tearing up the ground." She pulls out her machete to wield it in a backhand grip, and she swings it fiercely in demonstration. "But we took care of them!"

"I ate some of them!" Cake proudly declares.

Scarab pulls out his crystal multi-tool and opens its holographic interface. "I'd advise against that in the future," he says to Cake. "But since you're still alive, I suppose it makes no difference this time."

Cake scoffs and crosses her arms. "I can eat what I want."

"Just so long as you're prepared for the consequences," Scarab breezily agrees. He keys in a command, and a flat plane of blue light fans out over the garden. Scarab walks briskly through the torn up flower bed, allowing the scanner to reach every corner of the garden. In the scanner's wake, severed vines from their unexpected visitor light up in bright blue all over the garden, blinking like lighthouse beacons in the same hue as Scarab's crystal.

Scarab comes to a stop once he's circumnavigated the entire garden. As he watches the area blink and shine like a holiday lights display, he makes a pensive sound. "You certainly showed it no mercy." He almost sounds impressed.

"Are we gonna get in trouble for that?" Fionna asks guardedly.

"No, you're—" Scarab pulls up short, and Gary follows his gaze. Fionna and Cake are glowing the same blue as the vines.

"What?" Fionna asks, looking down at herself. She gasps. "Wait, why am I glowing? Why are we glowing?"

Cake looks down at herself as well. "Is it just you and me?"

Scarab passes the scanner over Hunter, then Gary. No blue.

"L-Look, Scarab, you know we belong here, right?" Fionna says. "You don't gotta deport us to another dimension, or, or—"

"And if you think we're just gonna let you, you've got another thing coming!" Cake hisses.

Scarab makes a quiet sound of disgust as he opens the holographic interface of his crystal multi-tool. "You're fine," he says irately. "It's not you, it's—this damned device! It should be calibrated to ignore the inter-dimensional residue still lingering from your... walkabout." He adjusts some esoteric setting as he grumbles under his breath, then scans them again. Only Cake is blue this time, and her tail stands on end in a show of aggression.

Scarab presses his thumb and forefinger to the space between his eyes, as if he has a bridge of a nose to pinch in frustration. "Prismo..."

The gang grows tense in the long silence, but Scarab seems too weary to notice that they're contemplating his own summary eviction.

"... You are still a product of his magic, after all," Scarab eventually surmises. "But that's not to say you don't belong here. I'll just... put you into the system as an exception, I suppose." Scarab presses a few more keys and scans Cake a third time, and the blue glow vanishes. "There."

Then he turns away and begins to pluck up the shredded vines littered about the garden. The assembled mortals exchange baffled looks.

"I'll need something to carry all this..." So saying, he holds his arm out into the empty air, like he's waiting for a solution to fall out of the sky into the palm of his hand.

Prismatic light waterfalls down from the sky and deposits a picnic basket into his hand. He stares at it for a long moment, then grumbles a string of curses so emphatic that it brings his gnashing mandibles into activity, and he sets about collecting every flashing blue shred of plant matter scattered about the garden.

Fionna and Cake watch guardedly. After a moment, Hunter wordlessly goes to the opposite end of the garden and begins gathering the glowing blue plant matter, too.

Gary joins in after him, but orbits a little closer to Scarab. When he has a handful of torn vines flashing blue in one hand, he approaches the towering red god-auditor and holds them out in offering.

Scarab pauses. He holds the picnic basket out for Gary to consign his handful of plant matter.

"Do you have to put all this back through the portal before you close it?" Gary asks.

"Yes. They're unlikely to take root here, but it's always a possibility."

Hunter approaches then, with a hefty two handfuls of his own blinking blue plant matter, and he commits it to Scarab's picnic basket. "Better safe than sorry," he says.

"... Indeed," Scarab agrees.

Fionna and Cake join then, too, and the work goes much faster with all five of them. Scarab makes a final pass of the garden with his crystal scanner, and the hologram chirps brightly as it proclaims the area 'ALL CLEAR'.

"Right, then. Wait here."

Scarab steps through the portal.

"... He seems way more chill than before," Fionna remarks, rubbing the back of her neck. "Maybe he's a good guy now...?"

"Maybe," Cake says skeptically. "But I've got my eye on him."

"If he's helping close up these portals, that's a good thing, right?" Hunter says. He folds his arms behind his head and lifts his gaze skyward in thought. "No harm helping him clean house—and if he starts acting up again, we'll be ready."

Gary feels like he's the only one who wants to believe Scarab is there to help. "He thanked me for some cookies I gave him," he offers.

Fionna and Cake stare in disbelief.

"He did what?" Fionna asks.

"When did you do that?" Cake asks.

"Right before we left the kitchen." Cake gets a sly look. "W-Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You gave him your cookie, huh?" Cake tsks. "What would Marshall say?"

"I-It's not like that!" Gary stammers, feeling his cheeks grow warm. "I was just—grateful, okay?! My new kitchen is useless if it's the portal to some kind of zombie apocalypse world!" he despairs. "I mean, I'd have to quarantine the whole place..."

"And he thanked you?" Fionna asks with a thoughtful look.

"Yes," Gary says, though it's a half-truth. Perhaps I should be the one thanking you. "And he... complimented my cooking."

"Welp, Gary's compromised," Cake says with a smug smile.

"Hey!"

"Interesting," Hunter interjects. "Does he like plants?"

Fionna's face screws up in grimacing thought. "Uh... Wild fennel, maybe...?"

"Hmm." Hunter wanders off, eyes roving over his garden in search of something.

Cake elbows Gary's knee, and he stumbles before regaining his balance. "What was that for?!"

Cake's smile curls. "You think he's hot, don't you?"

"No!" Gary squawks. "I... I like him a normal amount!"

Fionna snorts. "That's a funny way to say you like him a not-normal amount."

Gary drops his ass in the garden and starts plucking up flowers. "Whatever."

A crack resounds in the clearing, and their eyes hone in on the portal. It ripples concerningly.

"Uh," says Fionna. "Don't you guys think he's taking a while in there?"

Gary frowns. "Yeah, a little."

"Maybe he's admiring the scenery?" Cake guesses.

The portal issues forth a stream of distorted sound, like a whining television.

"What if he gets stuck in there?" Gary asks nervously.

"He can just teleport out, I think," Fionna says, but she doesn't sound very confident.

Gary stands, and they all back away from the portal as it continues whining noisily.

Suddenly, Scarab leaps from the flickering portal, pursued by a dozen grasping vines. He slashes them with his cane, now a gleaming pink halberd, but more take their place. He plants his feet in the earth, cutting deep gouges in the soil as the vines try to drag him back through the portal.

Fionna shrieks and swings her machete down with abandon, hacking hasty swaths through the vines.

Not particularly martially competent himself, Gary goes to Scarab instead, and he wraps his arms around Scarab's narrow waist to try to prevent the vines from dragging him away. He's not sure how much it helps, but he puts his back into it.

As if remembering their last encounter with Fionna's blade, the vines quail at her assault, retreating meekly back into the portal after she's cut them short.

When Fionna slices the last vine free, the loss of that tension throws Gary backward, pulling Scarab with him. Scarab tries to turn and catch him, but with their legs entangled, even he isn't quick enough to stop them both from tumbling into the flowers.

Gary grunts at the solid weight of the god-auditor atop him. The strange jut of his hip presses into Gary's gut, exacerbating the veritable apiary of butterflies already making a home there. He tries to lift Scarab off of him, but he lacks the leverage, and that immobillizing compression—along with the wall of heat emanating from every point of contact with Scarab, from Gary's head all the way down to their tangled legs—makes him flush all the way up to his ears.

"S-Scarab?" Gary wheezes. "Are you okay?"

Scarab groans, and Gary feels it as several layers of subvocal vibrations reverberating from Scarab's chest, indicating a configuration of vocal chords totally alien to him.

With an effort, Scarab pushes himself up. "I'm fine." From Gary's attempts to lift the Scarab, his hands still rest on the god-auditor's shoulders. "You should be careful touching me, though."

"W-Why's that?" Gary stammers.

Scarab glances at his own broad shoulders, and Gary follows his gaze. He hadn't noticed when Scarab came out of the portal, but his bright red shell has grown jagged spines. They begin to recede back into Scarab's shoulders, and it's only with their absence that Gary notices a sharp pain. He gasps softly. He'd pricked himself on those spikes.

"My shell can be sharp," Scarab says, and Gary examines his palm to find a few bright red blots of blood beginning to bead.

Gary swallows. "I see that now."

Scarab stands and pulls Gary by the wrist to his stumbling feet. As Gary wobbles, Scarab examines the wound, gently manipulating Gary's hand as if he's uncertain how permeable human flesh is. To a guy as impermeable as the Scarab, it's no wonder he has to take pains not to accidentally injure a soft human.

With one hand, Scarab plucks at the red bandages wrapped around his head until a loose end comes free. He unravels it, revealing nothing more than more bandages underneath, and snaps the length of red wrapping free with a sharp yank. The torn and trailing end tucks itself back into his shirt collar, indistinguishable from its former pristine state.

Scarab wraps the red bandage around Gary's hand. Gary stands perfectly still throughout—though his hand faintly trembles.

"There. Leave that on for a day or so," Scarab instructs, "and you won't die."

Gary is about to say I'll never remove it for the rest of my life, but at Scarab's last word he blurts out, "I could die?"

Scarab's brow furrows. "I just said you won't. But the spines of my shell can administer venom. It's not something I can control in the heat of battle." He taps Gary's palm, and Gary suspects the resulting flash of heat isn't from the wounds he just sustained. "Like I said. Just keep that on. It won't come off by accident."

"O-Okay," Gary stammers. "Um. Thanks."

Scarab clears his throat. "... You're welcome."

"Hey, Scrabby!" Fionna calls. "Is this the last of them?"

Fionna and Cake stand beside the portal with their arms full of plant matter. Scarab smooths his shirt over and pulls out his crystal to scan the area. "Yes, I believe it is. Well done."

"Aw, shucks," Fionna laughs.

"Now, where is that blasted...?"

Scarab's picnic basket, which had accompanied him through the portal and which had not been in evidence in the tumult of his dramatic return, materializes in a prismatic flash at his feet. He stifles a weary sigh and picks it up. Fionna and Cake drop their harvest into the lid as he holds it open for them.

Rather than stepping through the portal again, Scarab simply thrusts the basket through the opening and up-ends its contents inside.

The portal whines like a tuning television.

"Stand clear," Scarab instructs, and he takes a few steps back himself before turning his crystal into a cane and bringing it to bear. The blue-white thread zips into a hasty stitch over the groaning portal, and it closes much more abruptly than the first.

The resulting vertiginous shockwave sends Fionna, Cake, and Gary tumbling into the flowers.

Scarab pockets his crystal and adjusts his clothes. He looks at the picnic basket hanging from his arm like its very presence bewilders him.

As Fionna, Cake, and Gary stand and rejoin him at the center of the garden, Scarab turns to Gary and thrusts the picnic basket in his direction. "Take this."

"Okay?" says Gary as he accepts the basket. "What do you want me to...?"

"Keep it," says Scarab. "I have no use for it."

"Oh!" Gary looks at the picnic basket with new eyes, not having realized it was intended as... a gift? Its sturdy wicker is stained a rich gold, and the inside is lined with a lovely deep blue fabric. "Wow, are you sure? This is a really lovely picnic basket."

"As I said. I have no use for it."

Gary hums thoughtfully. "You could put your cookies in it."

Scarab glances furtively at Fionna and Cake, like he thinks he's guilty of something. But seeing as they don't appear surprised, he lowers his hackles and appears to consider Gary's suggestion. He looks at the basket, and it's plain he has some objections to carrying something so frilly while he's trying to look serious on the job.

Gary stifles a giggle. "I can hold onto it for you?" he offers. "Until you have to go."

"... Alright," Scarab relents. He studiously avoids eye contact with everyone as he reaches into his jacket and produces the bag of cookies Gary gave him, and deposits them carefully in the basket.

"Great!" says Gary, shutting the basket gently. "Just let me know when you want them."

"Hm."

At that moment, Hunter returns from the underbrush. "Oh hey, you closed it! Thanks, Mister Scarab."

"I—yes," Scarab says. "Of course I did."

"Hunter!" Cake cries. "You missed the lightning round! Fionna and Gary saved Scarab's ass from those nasty vines!"

Scarab scowls. "I'll have you know I put up a respectable fight in its native dimension before I was forced to flee."

"I bet you did," Hunter gamely agrees. Scarab turns sharply and narrows his eyes, as if he suspects the gardener of sassing him. "I've got something for you." Hunter holds out a cloth bag.

Scarab hesitates, but takes the bag from Hunter's hand slowly, as if anticipating a trap. He opens the bag and tilts his head. "This is...?"

"Red clover, blackberry leaves, mint... wild fennel." Scarab's gaze grows sharp and keen. "You can use it to make tea, if you want. Just boil it in hot water."

"... Tea," says Scarab. "I see."

Hunter rubs the back of his neck, warm and bashful. "But if you don't like tea—"

"No," Scarab hastens to interject. "I... It's. Fine. I've been known to enjoy it. On occasion."

"Great. Hey," says Hunter, "you can put it in your cute little picnic basket!"

Gary holds the picnic basket up for Scarab with a beaming smile. After looking at the basket for a long moment like it's the bane of his existence, Scarab carefully deposits the cloth bag inside.

Scarab clears his throat. "Thank you."

"Hey, I haven't been able to tend my garden for weeks. I should be the one thanking you."

"Not really," Scarab dismisses. "I'm just doing my job."

Hunter favors him with a sympathetic smile. "That's no reason not to appreciate you for doing it."

Scarab clears his throat again. "Was that the last inter-dimensional rift?"

"That's the last of them," Cake confirms.

Fionna asks, "Are you heading out, then?"

"If my work here is done, then yes," says Scarab. He pulls out his crystal and opens its holographic interface, examining some kind of live graph with peaks and dips, read-outs in incomprehensible strings of numbers. "My system isn't detecting any more rift activity. So..."

"W-Wait!" Gary blurts out. All eyes turn to him, and he awkwardly averts his gaze. "There was another one... But it closed on its own."

This appears to pique Scarab's interest, and whatever nameless fear had crawled up Gary's throat and compelled him to speak flutters back down to the butterfly nest in his gut.

"Oh, the ghost portal!" Fionna remembers. "I guess if you want to check it out, make sure it's not gonna open again...?"

"Please," says Scarab. He pockets his crystal and turns to her, and she stiffens under the weight of his gaze.

"It's near where Ellis P. hangs out," Hunter interjects. When Scarab turns to the gardener instead, Fionna breathes a silent sigh of relief. "The old fairground. I can take us there."

"If you would, Mister...?"

"Dearborn. But just Hunter is fine, Mister Scarab," Hunter laughs as he turns to take the lead.

Scarab follows, and Gary is flanked by Fionna and Cake before he can trot ahead to fall into step with Scarab.

"Boy," Cake whispers, "you are down bad, Candy Man."

Gary scoffs under his breath. "I am not."

"Hey, I'm still kinda terrified of the guy," Fionna says with a shrug. "But even I think it's kind of cute when he gets flustered. You'd think no one has ever been nice to this guy, like, ever."

Gary's silly little bleeding heart throbs at the notion. "You really think so?" he asks, watching Scarab and Hunter make idle conversation a stone's throw ahead of them.

"Oh honey, he is gone," Cake snickers, but Gary isn't listening. As Scarab gestures in conversation with Hunter, he glances back over one of his broad red shoulders, and catches Gary's eye.

Struck with sudden impulse, Gary jogs up to Scarab's side opposite Hunter. Whatever they were talking about, there's a lull, and the pair both turn to Gary when he joins them. "Hey, I bet you worked up a sweat fighting that vine monster... thing."

Scarab tilts his head. "I don't sweat," he informs him.

"Oh, r-really? That's interesting... H-How do you cool down after physical activity, then?" Gary babbles.

"I don't need to," Scarab says. "My body can withstand temperatures in excess of a thousand degrees Fahrenheit."

So you're always this hot, Gary almost says before smartly swallowing his words. "W-What I'm saying is, you're working hard! So you should have a treat!"

Scarab stares at him in silence as Gary's mouth turns into a wobbly line. "Should I."

"Y-Yes?" Gary stammers, not understanding the question. "I mean. You don't have to. But since I'm holding this stuff for you, I figured you couldn't just eat it when you wanted it, and maybe you didn't want to go to the trouble of asking, so... So..." He swallows. "So I'm offering."

"... If you insist," says Scarab.

"Great!" Gary says, and feels like he sounds like an insane person. He removes the baggy from the picnic basket and unfolds it, then holds it out for Scarab to take his pick of the gingerbread cookies.

The cookie that Scarab pulls out of the bag has cat ears, and bears a striking resemblance to Cake.

"Aw, cute!" says Hunter.

Scarab's face plates pry apart and he devours the cookie. Hunter and Gary look on in stunned silence. Dreamy and distracted, Gary returns the baggy to the picnic basket.

When Scarab reassembles his face, the pair manage to compose themselves enough not to look like they were so obviously staring.

"Thank you, Mister Prince." Scarab's mask trembles slightly out of place as his mandibles search for crumbs. "These might be the best cookies I've ever tasted."

"Sure!" Gary laughs. "I'm glad you uh, like them so much."

Scarab's crystal bleats from his pocket, and he stops in his tracks to pull it out and observe the new readings on the holographic screen. "I see... The anomaly was too faint and distant to detect. But I can find it from here." He glances at the assembled mortals. "Hang back while I scout ahead. It might be dangerous."

The assembled mortals make various sounds of assent, and Scarab nods, striding ahead into the dilapidated fairground that is Ellis P.'s stomping ground.

"I can see why you like him," Hunter says. "He's got a mouth like a carnivorous pitcher plant."

"I like him a normal amount!" Gary hisses.

Fionna taps her foot in troubled thought. "Hey, where is Ellis P. anyway?"

"Getting that flamethrower with Marshall," Cake says. "They're gonna be disappointed they missed all the action." She casts a sly look at Gary. "But maybe Gary's gettin' enough action for all three of them, huh?"

Gary puffs out his cheeks and tries to fold his arms, but it's complicated by the presence of Scarab's picnic basket—which feels just a little damning. "Ugh, would you guys get off my case? Fionna, didn't you say Marshall was a vampire in another universe?" he demands in nonsensical non-sequitur. "Maybe I just... have a thing for monsters!"

"I'll say," Cake says with a saucy eyebrow waggle.

Gary rolls his eyes. Whatever. Marshall will understand.

... Maybe Gary should text him, though.

Chapter Text

The old fairground wasn't far from the park.

It was always said to be haunted, even before their ghostly visitors slipped through that rift in space with mournful signs and vacant eyes, drifting listlessly in search of new haunts to inhabit. Ellis P. had praised the contribution of their presence to the overall ambiance, and he had been among the most tearful and reluctant of the hecklers when the ghosts finally had to be evicted for the danger they posed to the electrical grid.

The fairground still seems to carry a sense of electric tension in the air, though whether or not that can be credited to only once-rumored ghosts or its most recent visitors is somewhat difficult to articulate.

Even Scarab feels the tension in the air set his shell to prickling with unease—though that tension is broken with a sudden high-pitched shriek. He turns toward the sound—and finds the purple human leveling some kind of weapon in his direction.

"YOU WON'T FOOL ME A SECOND TIME, YOU BEAUTIFUL CREATURE!"

Then it is Scarab's turn to shriek, as he is engulfed in a scorching conflagration from the nozzle of the flamethrower. His flesh boils beneath his shell, which cracks and shatters on the leylines of old injuries and old agonies.

The mortals erupt into confused and panicked screams, and the flames sputter out as Scarab collapses to the scorched earth beneath his feet.

"Ellis, he's on our side!" Fionna shouts as Scarab's ears ring.

Scarab's brain sizzles with exquisite pain. His lungs choke on the smoke and scent of his own burnt flesh—but when Gary rushes to his side with a cry of "Scarab!" and reaches toward him to try and help, Scarab lifts a trembling, staying hand.

"Don't. I'm fine," he coughs unconvincingly. "I told you... I can withstand heat up to a thousand degrees."

Marshall Lee, having emerged from behind the merry-go-round with Ellis P. as all the drama unfolded, hisses between his teeth in sympathy. "That thing hits two thousand degrees, bro."

Scarab lets out a wheezing cough.

"Oh my GLOB!" Ellis P. cries, throwing down the flamethrower in abject despair. "I DIDN'T KNOW! I'M SORRY!"

Scarab takes a shuddering breath and grits his teeth. "... It's," he begins to say, but is abruptly cut off when Ellis P. lifts him into his arms, and he groans in agony as his scorched body is bent into a hasty bridal carry. Residual heat from his shell rapidly begins to burn the man's quilted jacket, reeking of burnt plastic.

Ellis bounds to the duck pond and heaves Scarab in with a monumental splash!, startling the ducks into a flurry of motion as they take panicked flight. 

The assembled mortals watch in silent trepidation as steam rises off the water.

Bubbles climb from the murky darkness in little streams. The dark shape of Scarab's prone form grows, until he breaks the water's surface with a ragged gasp. He crawls through reeds and cattails to reach the water's edge, and he collapses on the muddy bank.

In the tense silence, Scarab pushes himself with trembling arms to his hands and knees—then rolls over and collapses to a seated slump, drawing up his knees and burying his face in his hands. The only sounds are dripping water and the crack and sizzle of his armor, sealing itself shut with painstaking slowness, and the shaky metronome of Scarab's measured breathing.

For a long moment, no one speaks. Even Ellis P. has the presence of mind not to worsen his position by gushing out further useless apologies.

It is Fionna who breaks the stillness first, easing her way down the rocky embankment to stand, and then delicately sit, beside the brooding Scarab.

"Hey, Scarab," she says lightly. "... You okay?"

The god-auditor heaves an angry sigh. "No," he testily growls. "I am not okay." He drags a hand down his face, and comes away with several chipped fragments of his broken mask, which he clenches in a furious fist. "I have been disdained, disgraced, demoted... Delegated to a mere custodian of your abominable little universe," he hisses, brandishing his fist at Fionna's face—who rears back slightly, but continues to listen with a mostly-neutral expression. "I tried to do my job by bringing you in, and I was punished for it—and now I can't even do this!"

Scarab throws his hands up with a roar of frustration, and he lays hands on the nearest object fit for violence—a jagged rock upon the embankment—and throws it with force into the pond, eliciting an enormously powerful SPLASH!, which scatters the last of the lingering ducks.

After a tense moment, Fionna quietly asks, "... What do you mean, 'this'?"

Acidly, Scarab hisses, "What?"

"I mean," she says, averting her eyes toward the water and biting her lip anxiously at the heat in his narrow glare. "You took care of two guys we couldn't fend off on our own, and you closed two dimensional rifts we didn't know what to do with. So... I'd say you're doing a pretty good job."

Scarab is quiet at this pronouncement. Then, "Of course it's impressive to you," he mutinously grumbles. "You're human."

"But that's what I'm saying!" Fionna insists. "What do you even have to prove? You're already, like, a super-powerful alien bounty hunter who can manipulate space and time! And call me crazy, but I don't know anybody else who can take a flamethrower to the face."

Murmurs of tentative agreement ripple through the group.

"Second time I've seen you do it," Cake chimes in, begrudgingly impressed.

Scarab heaves a sigh and throws another rock into the pond. It plop!s disconsolately into the murky water.

Fionna continues, "Honestly, even though we got off to a rocky start... You just came out of nowhere and solved all our problems with a wave of your hand." She lets out a gusty, vocal sigh, breathlessly impressed. "I wish I could do that!"

Scarab lifts his head, suddenly alert, and Fionna follows his gaze toward the sky. But there's nothing there, and when Fionna looks back Scarab isn't looking there any more. 

Scarab advises, "You should be more careful what you wish for."

This surprises Fionna into laughing. "Yeah, I guess I learned that lesson firsthand... I don't want to change our world any more. And I like myself the way I am, too. So, I guess instead I'll just say... I'm glad you're here to help."

Scarab's mask begins to heal as he examines her with a sidelong look. "... You're being awfully permissive, considering I tried to destroy your world before."

Fionna lets out a nervous laugh. "Hey, don't go thinking this isn't hard for me! I still think you were a jerk back then... And I'm still kind of terrified of you." She draws up her knees and wraps her arms around them, gazing out at the pond. "That doesn't mean I'm not grateful you're here to help, this time."

"I see," says Scarab. The pond gives one last querulous ripple before resuming its former stillness. Scarab folds his arms over his knees too, staring out at the sky's gleaming reflection in the water—Fionna's universe, captured in its totality in that mirror image. "... I take orders from Prismo now," he tells her, and only sounds a little bitter about it. "I won't do anything to harm you. Or your universe."

Fionna sighs, letting her shoulders loosen as she glances over at Scarab. "That's a relief. Though, I guess that kind of stinks for you. Unless you guys patched things up...?"

"It's... complicated," Scarab says. In a lower register, he adds, "But it certainly beats the alternative."

"Yeah," Fionna laughs. "I can't even imagine what that would look like."

"You wouldn't want to," Scarab assures her. "As odious as I found the idea at first... Community service isn't the worst consequence I could be facing."

Fionna shivers. "What, like the 'incinerator'?"

Scarab shivers too. "Ugh. Don't remind me." He straightens. "I'm—sorry," he says suddenly, "that I threatened you with that."

"Yeah, I'll probably give you shit about that later," Fionna says with a smile and a dismissive wave.

"That's probably no less than I deserve," Scarab sighs. 

Fionna looks uncertain. "Hey, I don't think I'm qualified to say what anyone deserves," she muses. "But I'd say you're entitled to give Ellis P. some shit for that flamethrower stunt, too. What's a little friendly ribbing between friends, huh?" Then she elbows his side, and he startles straight with a hiss. "Whoa, sorry—still sore?"

"I—" Scarab takes stock of himself and realizes that no—he's not. "No," he says. "You just... surprised me."

"Ah, right, sorry," she says with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "Probably too soon for touching, huh?"

Scarab wouldn't... necessarily say that. He's simply unaccustomed to it. Lacking the experience to communicate such a sentiment, however, he simply resettles and cynically says, "Probably too soon to call us 'friends'."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it, Scrabby."

His hackles rise at that diminutive nickname—but he perceives that her tone is neither derogatory nor excessively ingratiating, and allows the strange sensation of affectionate epithet to settle over him experimentally.

"Fine," is all he agrees to, but Fionna beams like he's promised her the moon.

He averts his gaze with a scoff, but it lacks his usual bite.

The rocks crunch into the sand behind them, and the pair turn to see Hunter standing just inside the sphere of their tentative truce.

"Hey, Mister Scarab," he says. 

"Hello, Mister Dearborn."

"Ellis P. has something he wants to give you."

Scarab quietly scoffs. "Is it another one-way ticket to my abject humiliation?"

Hunter chuckles good-naturedly and steps aside to make room for Ellis P. to join them. He has something cupped in his hands, and he steps delicately over the rocks to avoid dropping it—but Hunter still has to brace his shoulder to prevent him from stumbling into them all.

When Ellis P. stands before Scarab, he swallows nervously, glancing uncertainly down at his offering. "Uhm. Uh..." He clears his throat, his eyes looking everywhere but Scarab. "Sorry for blasting you with a flamethrower... And throwing you in the duck pond." The god-auditor suspects the man couldn't lie—or apologize—to save his life.

Scarab hums as if weighing his answer, and Ellis's shoulders hunch guiltily. "I suppose one cancels out the other," Scarab generously decides, and permits his body language to open up a little—if only to preserve his dignity. "And I'm... fine, now. I suspect your quick thinking is to thank for mitigating the worst of the burns... Though I'll refrain from actually thanking you," he adds, when Ellis P. begins to look far too elated with Scarab's concessions.

"Your forgiveness is thanks enough!" Ellis P. gushes ostentatiously, though Scarab gave him nothing of the sort. Then he suddenly crouches, and Scarab leans slightly back. Ellis holds forth his offering: a chipped ceramic mug filled with fragrant, steaming liquid.

Tentatively, Scarab takes it, and it immediately warms his hands. It drives back the lingering chill from his recent plunge in the pond—though it also brings with it the discomfiting memory of fire, still stinging in errant sparks in his veins.

It smells familiar, and Scarab scents it thoughtfully. "This is..."

"Hunter's tea!" Ellis P. proudly declares. "I put on the kettle while you guys were having your heart-to-heart, or whatever."

Scarab looks speculatively around the old fairground. Unless the man's kitchen is out of doors, he has no idea how such a thing is possible.

"Yeah, I've got a little trailer tucked away in the woods," Ellis P. brags, stroking the scant stubble of his mustache. Then he grimaces. "But uh, don't go telling the cops."

Scarab sips his tea. It hasn't finished steeping—but the plant matter drifting in the water means that problem will soon solve itself. "Technically," he prevaricates, "I am a cop."

"Oh yeah?" Ellis says with a sly look. "You gonna arrest me, big boy?"

Scarab nearly chokes on his tea. "I beg your pardon?" 

Ellis rests his chin in his hand. "I mean, you can beg if you want..."

Fionna snorts unattractively beside Scarab.

"That won't be necessary," Scarab says nonsensically.

Ellis P. hums and rakes a slow gaze over Scarab's form. "Yeah, probably not," he shamelessly admits.

"Ellis P.!" Fionna wheezes, as scandalized as she is apparently delighted. 

"In any case," Scarab says hurriedly. "... You're out of my jurisdiction. So I'll let you off with a warning. This time."

Ellis P. looks about ready to whip out another ribald comment—but a pointed nudge of Hunter's boot unbalances him, and he falls onto his rear and onto the damp, rocky shore with a grunt. Thrown off his flirtatious streak, he struggles to regain his composure, picking at the scorched silhouette of Scarab's torso that seethes across the front of his coat in a jagged black scar. "Um... I have towels back at mine. If you wanna dry off."

Before Scarab can get out a brisk refusal, Fionna nudges his side again—gently this time. "Hey, yeah! You've been working since you got here. Let's take a break."

"... I shouldn't," Scarab protests, glancing furtively at the sky.

"Hey man," says Marshall Lee, sidling up to the group with his hands in his pocket. "I get it. You've got a job to do, right?"

"... Yes," Scarab says guardedly. He hasn't spent much time with this particular human, but he distantly recalls the man biting his arm the last time he was here—with the kind of fearsome disregard for his own well-being that once made Scarab so formidable. He isn't sure he has the measure of the man yet, and that uncertainty makes him wary.

Marshall Lee makes a 'V' with his thumb and forefinger, into which he drops his chin in an exaggerated gesture of thought. "Right, right... And since Ellis P. and I are out of the loop, would you mind clueing us in?"

Scarab sees the wisdom in this, since they weren't present for his earlier explanation. "Interdimensional rifts are opening in your world at an anomalous rate. I am here to ensure no further harm comes to the fabric of your universe by closing them—and to ensure that any visitors you may receive as a consequence are expelled."

"Uh-huh... I see," says Marshall Lee thoughtfully. "Well, if that's the case... Then your investigation should begin at Ellis P.'s trailer."

This seems like a transparent attempt to cajole Scarab into taking a break. It would almost be endearing—if it weren't so patently obvious. Scarab gives the man a skeptical look. "And why, pray tell, is that?" he asks, humoring the attempt.

"Yeah, see—Ellis P. loves animals. And aliens," he says, glancing with a smirk at the man when he gasps in exaggerated scandal.

"Don't call me out, Marshall!" Ellis P. complains in a stage whisper that everyone can hear.

Marshall Lee goes on, "If there were any anomalies in the area, he'd probably be harboring them at his place. No sense combing Tetanus Town for ghosts—" at this, he sweeps an expansive gesture toward the rust and grime-coated amusement park rides of the abandoned fairground, "when your prime suspect is right here." At this, he gestures at Ellis P., who mulishly crosses his arms but doesn't even deny it.

Having made his case, Marshall Lee returns his gaze to Scarab and lifts his brows expectantly. "Right?"

Scarab can hardly refute his logic, and that realization is accompanied by a feeling not unlike relief. He detects a certain talent for 'rules lawyering' in this one, and he peers up at Marshall Lee with a look of new assessment.

The man's demeanor is studiously guileless beneath Scarab's scrutiny.

"... You make a persuasive argument," Scarab carefully agrees, mindful of the oversight he agreed to in exchange for even this level of freedom of movement. "As the denizens of this world, you are my best source of information about these anomalies. It would be counterproductive to doubt you."

"Trust," says Marshall with a satisfied smile, perching his hand on his chest in a gesture of eloquence. 

"Indeed," says Scarab. He rises to his feet, and Fionna and Ellis follow suit. "Then I suppose we'd best be off." He fixes a narrow gaze on Ellis P. "To ensure you're harboring no ghosts, of course."

Ellis P. laughs and bites his lip nervously. Though it's quite a telling reaction, Scarab genuinely can't discern whether what it tells is that the man is actually harboring ghosts, or simply putting on a flustered air as an extension of his earlier flirtations. "Uh, tchyeah. I mean, there totally aren't, but you can look if it makes you feel better. Not that you need an excuse to come over to my place, big boy~"

The group responds variously to these antics with rolling eyes and weary smiles. Perhaps this affectation of mating ritual is simply how the mortals in this world entertain themselves, amongst friends.

That, or Scarab is being hazed.

Given that there's not much Scarab can do about a thing like that—and even less he can do about the alternatives—he follows Ellis's lead alongside the rest of the humans, nursing his chipped mug of tea, and appreciating the way it has steeped while he was distracted with their antics.