Work Text:
The lights flicker.
It’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of moment, the kind that a regular person wouldn’t be able to notice unless they were really looking out for it, especially with how dim they are, but even if they were, it’s nothing to get upset about. The lighting’s little flicker and crackle, although not a concern, unerves Mundo.
Purple fingers twitch uncomfortably, unconsciously reaching for the bag that’s attached to its hip by a ragged belt, secured firmly. Secured firmly so that Mundo’s tools are safe, so that they don’t lose them. Mundo wouldn’t be a true doctor without them, no, not really. A doctor can’t be without their tools; how else are they supposed to help those that truly need it if not ready at a whim?
At least Mundo is a good doctor. He comes prepared.
The thought is forgotten almost instantly as Mundo moves their hand. They don't reach inside of the bag; instead, they run their fingers across the material of it. And that’s familiar to the creature, comforting, reminds him that he does his work, and he does it well.
It’s comforting unlike where Mundo is, far away from Zaun, the asylum. The asylum, home, the asylum… home, home… home is comforting. The asylum understands Mundo at least, better than everyone else, because it sings the same tune that it always has over the years of Mundo working there. It makes Mundo feel at ease, speaks to them in hushed whispers and the creaking of the walls, helps them work more efficiently, but here where they are doesn’t do any of that.
Piltover is brighter than Mundo’s home, and it is much, much louder. There’s more people that gather openly across the fixed streets, similarly to flocks of cattle (where they were going, Mundo couldn’t tell), which means more noise to grate at Mundo’s ears (and more possible patients, but Jayce had rather quickly told him that the people were healthy. Good, Mundo had thought, but at the same time, it meant that there was no work for Mundo to do), and they can still hear it despite the fact that Jayce’s lab is located on the higher floors of the building.
And that had been a struggle — finding a way to get Mundo inside without being near too many people possible patients. Mundo knows that it involved a hefty amount of curses from the other man along with a few tugs of Mundo’s hand in order to lead it down the twisted hallways of the building. Not that Jayce could truly move them even if he wanted to, but this was Jayce’s home. Mundo didn’t want to ruin it, even if the other rooms and the occasional hung painting piqued their interest. He’d be a rude guest if he did that.
Mundo’s eyes turn back towards the man in question. They’re sitting in their rolling chair, the same one that squeaks with every sudden movement, hunched over a desk that has an array of papers and tools messily strewn about, the signature hammer that Jayce, hammer man, always carries around in the middle of it.
The hammer had interested the creature. Of course it had. They’ve had personal experience with it. The bright and sudden flash of a blue light in their face, the shock of electricity that hadn’t hurt but had surprised them, and the horrible choked wheeze that came from it. Anxious rumbling, heavy breathing from the smaller man as they moved down the twisted and dark halls of Viktor’s home. Left, right, left… left, left, right? That doesn’t sound right.
The weapon… no, a tool? Weapons hurt people. Tools are meant to help, to fix. Jayce doesn’t use it how Mundo had expected, but any and all questions were met with short answers and a wave of Jayce’s hand, nothing that had well and truly pleased the creature.
But Jayce had asked it to be quiet, that they “needed to focus”, a hint of what Mundo could recognize as annoyance in their tone, and Mundo can understand that. Sometimes Mundo has to give his patients anesthesia in order to quieten them for operation so that they don’t distract it from doing proper work, even though it’s nice to hear their screams of joy occasionally.
Although, it’s been a long while since then. Mundo doesn't know exactly how long, but the clock’s consistent ticking, the sounds from the outside, and the flickering of the lights are starting to become overbearing.
Mundo walks across the room to stand behind Jayce, footsteps uncannily silent for something of their stature, and it leans over Jayce’s chair, a hand coming up to grab the back of it. It creaks underneath the added weight, and the next words come tumbling out without thought, a rumbling deep in the creature’s chest, vibrating out a, “Yoo almost done?”
First comes the little jolt of surprise and curse from Jayce as they sit up straight, the back of their head thumping against Mundo’s chest, then there’s a small spark lights up, and suddenly, Jayce is hissing out a, “Fucking hell.”
When Jayce stands up, they nearly hit their head again, and they hiss out a string of expletives that Mundo finds incomprehensible. Their back is still turned to Mundo as he lets out a pained hiss.
A large purple hand begins to wrap around the handle of the cleaver that’s in the bag at their hip, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice. Their eyes open wide, honing in on the other man. They might have to act fast. They love to work. He’s a good doctor. “Mundo can help—”
“No,” Jayce quickly rushes out, and they back off slightly, something akin to fear flashing in his eyes for a moment (and why would they be scared? All Mundo wants to do is help. Mundo is a professional doctor, after all. Nothing at all compared those doctors the other had told it about) before he manages to compose himself at least somewhat, but their shoulders are still tense. “I’m fine, you simply…” his face scrunches up, searching for the proper words, “spooked me, that’s all.”
They turn away, taking a deep breath and mumbling to themself. Something about getting a bell, but Mundo doesn’t pay attention to that, mind quickly jumping to the next thought.
“Oh,” Mundo says with an exhaled breath, the excited feeling of being able to help quickly washing away and the loudness of everything coming back at full force. Their tongue moves back into his mouth with a sickenly wet sound, teeth grinding. His skin bubbles uncomfortably once more, and nicked fingernails dig into the meat of their arm, scratching, scratching. Scratching so hard that the skin threatens to tear. Not that it would matter. It would fix itself again within a matter of a few minutes. It always had.
They finally swallow around the thick muscle before letting it lull out, a few droplets of thick spit flying out and landing onto the floor. “Mundo sorree…” it rumbles, and the apology is genuine. “Mundo didun’t mean tuu.” And they hadn't. All he had wanted to do was see what Jayce was working on… the hammer. The hammer… the hammer man working on a hammer.
Jayce lets out a long, tired groan, his hand coming up to rub at his face. “It’s fine, just—” they pause, their fingers spreading out, and Mundo can see their eyes looking at them through the small cracks of their fingers. He can’t see exactly where they’re looking, and not knowing, not being able to hear Zaun, her soft words and guidance, the unknown, only made the bubbling sensation worse.
Mundo’s jaw twitches, wanting to snap shut like the claws of a bear trap, threatening to cut into their own tongue, and the scratching gets more insistent before Jayce tentatively moves forward and places a hand on its arm, oddly gentle.
Milky pupils snap down to stare at Jayce, watching, waiting, and then, the scratching and bubbling slows.
The feeling is still there, like a handful of worms shifting beneath skin. Of course it is. It would never well and truly dissipate until he finally got back into the depths of his home, the home back in the sumps of Zaun, but it’s as if someone had tossed a blanket over the sensations, muffling them.
It looks down to the hand; it’s small compared to the expanse of Mundo’s arm. Small, something that Mundo has to be careful with as to not break it, like the bones that he has to snap in two occasionally. Their fingers twitch, no longer worried about trying to claw the unsettling sensation out of their own body.
A quiet moment settles between them, one where the sounds in the distance fades.
"Come over here, big guy," Jayce sighs eventually, and he pats Mundo's arm lightly before pushing the few strands of hair stuck to their forehead back with his other hand. He moves to the desk, pushing the hammer aside and toward the edge of the table as his stiff shoulders relax, and Mundo finds themself unintentionally mimicking the action, nostrils flaring.
A few of the papers shift, and a pencil that falls to the ground from the action. Jayce doesn’t seem off-put by it, so Mundo won’t bother.
Mundo’s eyes follow Jayce’s every movement as they get situated, and he grabs a paper and a journal out of the mess, pushing it closer towards Mundo as they sit down in their chair. “You can watch and help pass me the tools if you want—” so an assistant, Mundo thinks, albeit bitterly, “—I’m almost done, and then afterwards,” they start, and they drop a pen onto the notebook, keeping their focus on said item. “I’ll even get you something from the bakery? The one that you like so much.
An offer, maybe even an apology without actually saying those two words, ones that should be simple. Or maybe it was a way to please the beast, although for more selfish reasons — to stop him from wandering, messing with fragile items, or to simply keep them distracted. Even Jayce wouldn't be able to tell.
Either way, it pleases Mundo, and they gargle out a laugh, eyes lighting up.
“Yes,” they titter, nodding their head. The tongue flails along with the movement; the spittle barely misses the defender, instead landing on the desk and across the floor. Jayce makes a face at it, but Mundo continues, “Guud. Mundo could get the… er- littul cakes.”
It accentuates the statement by pressing its pointer finger and thumb together.
“... Cupcakes?”
Mundo hums. Cupcakes. Different from the foods that they usually consume, something different from the fish that gets tossed (they can’t believe people will waste such… wasteful, wasteful) and the mysterious meat they consume. It’s always good to have a variety.
But the little shop down a few of the twisted roads… frustrating to find, because everything looks the same here. He remembers the first time he went, the staff’s cheers, and they had even started leaving them out on a table after a few of their visits. Well, at least they know how to treat such an important figure.
“Fine,” Jayce says, and they point at one of the stray rolling chairs. “Get over here, then. The faster this gets done, the faster we can go.”
The creature’s eyes squint, not exactly liking being ordered around, but he says nothing. They grab the chair and set it down next to Jayce, and they do their best to ignore the way the lights flicker as if they were mocking him for such (chest gurgling, lungs expanding on a sigh to the point ribs creak dangerously), rather attempting to keep his attention to the light haze of blue, the slight rise of Jayce’s back with each breath, and…
Jayce’s fingers begin to tap against the wooden surface of the table impatiently as Mundo just stands there. It’s a bit hasty but simple: one, two, three, four, the second and third tap a slightly different sound due to the metal of the prosthetics. The beat matches with the lights. It’s frustrating, but of course, Jayce would understand the lights, Piltover. This is their home. Do they speak to Piltover like Mundo does to Zaun? Hear their calls?
Even with that line of questioning, the beat is broken temporarily when Mundo finally sits down, and the chair gives a dangerous squeak beneath the sudden increase of weight. It's honestly surprising that it doesn't give in under the pressure.
Jayce lets out a hum, satisfied, and they hold a hand out in Mundo's direction, tilting his head towards where the tools lay neatly on the corner. "Screwdriver?"
It takes a moment for Mundo to grab it and place it in the other’s hand, careful (careful, always has to be careful. Everything is so fragile with one such as Mundo) as to not crush the tool beneath the palm of its hand.
“Thanks,” Jayce says quietly after a second, as if they weren’t the only two people in the room, like a secret shared between the two of them, but their voice quickly goes back to normal as soon as they go back to their work.
They aren’t quiet like they were before though, pointing the screwdriver at certain spots as he explains exactly what he’s doing.
Mundo leans over to get a closer look, possibly asking one too many questions for Jayce’s taste, and the monster’s fingers copy the beat of the drumming fingers. The clock continues to tick, the lights twitch, and the world moves. It moves, it moves, it doesn’t stop, but the sounds from the outside meld into the background, leaving only the two of them locked behind closed doors.
It’s not Zaun. Nothing would ever replace her or Osweld’s in the end, but maybe, maybe, it could be home, just for a moment.