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There was blood under his head.
Panting, Scar landed crookedly on the asphalt below him. His breath caught in his throat. No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Please don’t be happening. Please. His boots slipped on the ground. Catching himself, Scar dropped down to his knees, skidded the rest of the way to his partner’s side.
A fractured, high-pitched wheeze left his partner’s chest. Blood pooled underneath them. The thunder roared its displeasure. Somewhere, an Enderman cried out. He couldn’t bring himself to care, couldn’t bring himself to do anything else but reach for him, try to touch his head.
His eyes were closed under his visor. Scar had seen them closed, sometimes. When he smiled, so bright that the sharper edges of his canines caught in the sun and flashed. Hands shaking, Scar reached out. Lightning struck again, catching highlights on the streak of blood coming from the other man’s mouth. “No. Come on. Come on, you need to open your eyes.” Reaching down, he frantically shook an unmoving shoulder.
A pained noise left—one of them, he wasn’t sure who. The rain pounded down around them. Some of the water running away from them had turned scarlet. The armored plates were broken and cracked. Red dripped off sections of pink and white. Scar touched his cheek, yanked his hands away when that drew a heart-rending noise from him. There was something wrong with his breathing, his chest was pitching up and down in rhythm in some areas but not in others.
Fingers trembling, Scar reached out, pulled the visor away. There was a shimmer of scarlet, not of blood but of a glamor, of magic. Pink and white hair faded to—No. Scar threw himself back, away from—it can’t be him. Please don’t be him.
The visor clattered to the road, the flash of lightning catching a crack in the glass.
+++
Glass shattered over Scar’s shoulders as he dodged the arrow, the head cutting right by his ear as he fired back a retaliatory shot at the skeleton who’d loosed it.
Rolling back to his feet, Scar twisted an aimed another arrow for the skeleton. This one didn’t miss. Instead, it lodged in the skeleton’s right eye socket, pinning it to the building behind it. Panting, he turned. Glanced around. Alright, Scar. There were reports of more than one skeleton. Where’s the others.
A screeching roar cut through the air, lightning flashed, and rain thundered down on the asphalt around him. It slashed at the windows, raging and harsh and alive. Man, he hadn’t felt this great in a while! Turning, he found Cute Guy in his pink and white gear, kicking an Enderman in the face. The huge beast crashed down to its knees, and Cute Guy spun to kick it again. His wings flashed with light, the white feathers slick with rain. Grinning, Scar turned and fired off another arrow at an approaching zombie.
He loved being Hot Guy. Genuinely, he did. In the time since the Upheaval, when the monsters began to crawl out from the cracks beneath the city, he found himself feeling more alive than ever before. His newfound magic, his newfound archery skills—he could do so many things that he used to be able to all over again, and he loved it. The wind in the air, the storm rushing around them, the rain basically calling his name—he wouldn’t give this up for anything.
Of course, Cute Guy was a new addition. While Scar had been Hot Guy for the past seven years, Cute Guy had only arrived on the scene much more recently. Eight months, actually! He was—he was something. A great addition to Scar’s team, though.
Which was so cool! Scar had grown up on things like this—comic books and superheroes and supervillains. He had never thought he would be one. Being in a wheelchair, and more importantly being in a world without powers and without supervillains to fight with said powers, contributed to that. But now he was! He was a superhero, he was Hot Guy!
Thunder rolled over them both, lightning striking a nearby rod atop one of Hermitage’s skyscrapers.
Snapped from his thoughts, Scar turned and bashed his modified bow into a zombie. The monster disappeared in a burst of dark purple dust, showering down over him. At least the rain will wash it away, he thought, shaking his hand and glancing down at his bow. Then, raising his head, he turned and looked around. The rain kicked up speed, thundering down on his visor.
Cute Guy was gone.
Reaching up, Scar touched his communicator where it was attached to his ear. “Cute Guy? Cute Guy, you there?” He grinned. “Does someone need some help?”
A familiar winged silhouette shot by overhead. Then, Cute Guy banked around and grinned down at him. Every beat of those beautiful white wings sent rain cascading over Scar, sending droplets scattering away.
Ever since he had seen Cute Guy the first time, he had been fascinated. His hair was probably dyed in some way, white fading to pink. Pink visor, white armor with pink highlights with a giant pink heart across the chest. This had to be something he did as a joke originally, because who would fly around the city fighting crime in pink-trimmed, white thigh-high boots and what looked like reworked cosplay armor.
Scar.
Scar would definitely do that, but he was also shameless and he knew what he was doing with his life, not that anyone knew that.
Not the point!
Kicking his legs forward, Cute Guy landed on the asphalt right next to Scar. He rested closed fists on his hips, popping one out to the said and raising his eyebrows. They were white, just visible over his pink visor. Scar grinned at him without meaning to, responding in kind. There was just—something about Cute Guy was just so genuinely nice.
(He reminded Scar of the man who worked next door, Grian. Of course, Grian was a short, introverted bookstore owner who ran the Victorian-style shop right next to Scar’s cat café. But Grian wore black cargo pants filled with cat treats, tiny books, pieces of parchment and multicolored quills. And sneakers. Nothing close to Cute Guy’s outfit.)
Cute Guy was snapping his fingers in his face.
Blinking, Scar shook his head. “You back with me? Do you have a concussion?” Cute Guy asked.
“What? No. I just—was distracted by your awesome wings.” Scar admitted, gesturing to his wings. He could have sworn that Cute Guy’s face flushed and he tilted his head to the side. Then, he smiled.
“Sure. Come on, we need to get up. There’s a couple of Endermen and Creepers, nothing easy but certainly not something we can’t handle.” Cute Guy held out his gloved hands. Throwing his bow into its place over his shoulder, Scar heard it click and fold up as it locked into its hold on his back. Then, he held out his own hands.
Cute Guy took his, spread his wings, and then launched into the air.
The rain swirled around them, and they shot towards the rooftops. Lightning crashed, and Scar whooped at the top of his lungs. Why wouldn’t he? Flying was fun! Holding onto him, Cute Guy laughed.
The two of them landed on a rooftop, and Cute Guy immediately grabbed for the extra wing-blades attached to his outermost feathers. They glittered pink in the lightning, and Scar drew his bow and pulled back on the string. An energy arrow burst to light, and he narrowed his eyes and aimed for another Enderman.
The battle went so quick. Scar would throw himself into the fight, firing off arrows. Every so often, he wound have to jump, use his magic, trigger the springs in his boots to add some extra force to the kicks to an Enderman’s face or to knock a creeper back and away from him. Cute Guy would sweep around behind him, striking with powerful slashes of his blades or even beating them with his wings. Biting at where he had been a moment before, an Enderman roared. Serrated claws lashed through the air.
Ducking down, Scar slammed an elbow back into a creeper’s face and then twisted, swinging his bow. It smashed into the creeper’s head, knocking it backwards and off the edge of the building. One of the Enderman struck out again, and he blocked it by raising his bracers. Sharp claws scratched down, towards his face. They sparked on the metal, grating and harsh. Gritting his teeth, Scar scowled and pushed back with all his weight. Come on. Take them out, take them down. You got this, Scar.
“Lookout!” Cute Guy shouted, and something slammed into him. There was a burst of light. Scar turned. An Enderman fell from the tower, the creepers were gone. His eyes locked on Cute Guy. Lightning flashed. Grinning at him, Scar opened his mouth to fire off a thanks.
There was a flash of purple, striking Cute Guy in the wing.
There wasn’t really any sound. Just—this soft, shocked noise. Cute Guy stared at him a moment longer, wings shaking on the downstroke.
And then he fell.
“No!” Throwing himself forwards, Scar grabbed for his grapple and threw it back, felt it lock into place as he leapt from the skyscraper. The hook on his belt jerked back as he fell. His gaze met Cute Guy’s. Reaching out, Scar dove for him. They were so close, if he just reached a little further—
—the line went taught.
Scar’s fingers brushed Cute Guy’s.
Their eyes held a moment longer.
Lightning flashed, and the following thunder masked the crack of Cute Guy’s body against the asphalt.
+++
The two of them were settled on the top of one of the skyscrapers, staring out across the skyline.
Both were nursing hot chocolate cups that they had gotten from Impulse and Bdubs’ Shweepaway Café. Scar’s was covered with whipped cream, he had managed to convince Cute Guy to get some as well with the promise that Scar would try the churros from the Murder Shop n’ Stop. Apparently they had Christmas specials? Not that Scar particularly wanted to try them, but well—Cute Guy had finally begun to trust him after five months of dancing around one another.
Rubbing his nose, Cute Guy took a slow breath. The sunset caught in his hair and on his visor, coloring them pretty tones of golden. Turning to Scar, he smiled and pulled something out. “Here.” Tilting his head to the side, Scar took the offered gift. It was pressed into his palm with a gentle hand. “It’s a communicator. So we can speak on and off the field a bit easier."
"Oh, wow. I didn't know you made your own tech.” Scar didn’t make his own. His friends Iskall and Doc did, once they discovered his magic powers after the Upheaval.
With a shrug, Cute Guy replied, “I don’t. But I have friends who do, and they made this for me.”
“Well, tell them Hot Guy says thanks.” Scar grinned at him. Returning it, Cute Guy turned back to the city and took another sip of hot chocolate, both his hands wrapped around his mug. Following his gaze, Scar sipped as well. “So…what made you want to be a vigilante? I mean, everyone knows why Hot Guy does it—childhood dreams. But I want to know why Cute Guy does it.”
“What, traipsing around in something that looks more fitting at a drag queen library reading or a cosplay convention than it does a superheroing gig?” Cute Guy asked with a half-laugh. Looking down at his feet, he sighed. “I guess…after the Upheaval, things…changed. Not everyone is treated as nicely. My friends aren’t.” Something sad masked his face. Though…Scar supposed there had always been something sad about him. Grian was the same way, he mused.
“You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.” Scar murmured, reaching out to touch Cute Guy’s arm. He paused before touching him, though. Whenever he tried to initiate some form of touch—a high five after a mission well done, or an arm around the shoulders, a side hug—Cute Guy had always seemed…worried. Fearful.
“I think—it would be good. I have—” Cute Guy touched his left ring finger, rubbing right above where it met his hand. (Grian had the same quirk, with his wedding ring.) “Had. A wife. The best part of my life, ever, and—the Upheaval happened after we’d been married for a couple years, I think? We’d been together for longer. And—she didn’t make it.” His voice cracked. Looking at him, Scar reached out and touched his shoulder. This time, Cute Guy didn’t move away. “I got wings, and some magic. She got them, too, but—different. She sort of just—faded away, over a couple days, and the people around us panicked and didn’t like it, thought it would spread. I could barely walk, and I went to go find someone who could help but—when I came back—” He let out a shaky breath.
Scar sat there, listening still.
Eyes narrowing, welling up in the corners as his mouth drew into a thin line, Cute Guy spat, “I came home and every neighbor who had loved us—loved her—had sat by. The house was gone. She was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it, because she and I were hybrids. The cops wouldn’t do anything, and I knew I couldn’t let it happen again. No one was going to deal with that.” Raising his head, he looked up at the sky and added, “She loved sunsets, and hot chocolate, and—people. People loved her. I just—hope she’s happy, wherever she is.” Sniffing, he turned away and rubbed his eyes. A choked-out laugh came from him. “Sorry, I—I shouldn’t be dropping all of this on you. I—”
“No, come here.” Scar opened his arms. Turning to look at him, tears running down his cheeks, Cute Guy dropped his shoulders and fell into the hug more than returned it. Holding him tight, Scar took a slow, deep breath. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Wherever she is, she’s proud of you. She’s happy. I promise.”
Cute Guy eventually pulled away and looked at him, a fierce sort of desperation in his eyes. Then, he pulled his left glove off, showing a plain white band. The shimmer of glamor sat over it, glittering in the sun. “If something ever happens to me, do not let them take this ring. Okay?”
Scar looked at him, then nodded once. “It won’t leave your hand.”
(A few days later, he would go to the bookstore and talk with Grian. Something drew him into asking about his habit. He learned of Grian’s wife, a kind woman in the short time they had had together. When he watched the way he stood, reminded of Cute Guy and his habit and the promise he made Scar swear, Grian simply said, “Divorced men remove their rings. Widowers don’t.”
It hadn’t been what he was thinking, but Scar didn’t have the heart to say anything else.)
+++
There was blood under his head.
Panting, Scar landed crookedly on the asphalt below him. His breath caught in his throat. No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Please don’t be happening. Please. His boots slipped on the ground. Catching himself, Scar dropped down to his knees, skidded the rest of the way to his partner’s side.
A fractured, high-pitched wheeze left his partner’s chest. Blood pooled underneath them. The thunder roared its displeasure. Somewhere, an Enderman cried out. He couldn’t bring himself to care, couldn’t bring himself to do anything else but reach for him, try to touch his head.
His eyes were closed under his visor. Scar had seen them closed, sometimes. When he smiled, so bright that the sharper edges of his canines caught in the sun and flashed. Hands shaking, Scar reached out. Lightning struck again, catching highlights on the streak of blood coming from the other man’s mouth. “No. Come on. Come on, you need to open your eyes.” Reaching down, he frantically shook an unmoving shoulder.
A pained noise left—one of them, he wasn’t sure who. The rain pounded down around them. Some of the water running away from them had turned scarlet. The armored plates were broken and cracked. Red dripped off sections of pink and white. Scar touched his cheek, yanked his hands away when that drew a heart-rending noise from him. There was something wrong with his breathing, his chest was pitching up and down in rhythm in some areas but not in others.
Fingers trembling, Scar reached out, pulled the visor away. There was a shimmer of scarlet, not of blood but of a glamor, of magic. Pink and white hair faded to—No. Scar threw himself back, away from—it can’t be him. Please don’t be him.
The visor clattered to the road, the flash of lightning catching a crack in the glass.
Grian was lying on the asphalt, bloodied and—mangled. His head was tipped to the side, towards Scar. His wings—wings, Grian had wings, his wife had been killed and Scar had known without really knowing because—
Focus!
Shaking his head, Scar reached for his partner again. Take deep breaths. It doesn’t matter that you know his identity now. We’ll deal with this later. This is not the time. Determined, he started checking Grian’s head and back for skull or spinal fractures. Grian didn’t need CPR, which was good. He was breathing, if barely. His pulse was quick, quicker than Scar had hoped, but it was there. They had limited time to get him to—
To where? What hospital will take him? He’s an avian hybrid, and even after all the progress we’ve made since the Upheaval we still have issues with hybrid care. Shaking himself again, Scar slid his hands over Grian’s ribs. They dipped in several places. Pained noises escaped his friend.
Broken ribs. Maybe floating in some cases. His hand went to Grian’s head again, brushing his temple. His hair was soaked to his forehead. Frowning, Scar turned and glanced at the visor. The screen was cracked, but…
Ripping his own visor off, Scar placed Grian’s on his head.
There was someone screaming in his ear.
“Grian!” He recognized the voice, somehow. The same one that came over Grian’s phone at the library.
“Lizzie.” There was a pause. Then, a hesitant response.
“How do you have this visor?”
“It’s Scar. I know—about feathers and hearts.” He said it simply enough, hoping she got the message. No confirmation, though. “Grian’s been really hurt. Do you know somewhere that I can take him?” Another moment passed. Rain pattered down around them. Gritting his teeth, Scar snapped out, “Lizzie, I don’t care that he’s an avian, I know enough of the story. He needs help or he’ll die, and I don’t have anyone who would be able to take him. Do you?”
“Yes.” She let out a sigh. “I’ll use the visor to send you a path to follow. Make sure you stick to it exactly, it’s going to take you through the Underdark.” Honestly, Scar’s heart thudded a little at that. Shaking it off, he grabbed his visor and hooked it onto his own belt, then carefully picked Grian up bridal-style. Something in his middle twisted at the way that Grian’s head tipped back, hit against his shoulder. His eyes didn’t open.
“Got it.” Scar took a breath, then walked towards the first place where the path led him. It lit up the inside of the visor glass, even as cracked as the thing was, with a pale pink, slightly transparent arrow. “That’s a start. See you on the other side, Lizzie.”
She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t expect her to. Instead, he shifted Grian in his arms, glanced down at the still face of his partner, and took a breath.
The rain continued to storm down around them.
+++
The Underdark was what used to be Hermitage City’s subway system, before the Upheaval connected every city’s subway system to a series of underground tunnels and filled them to the brim with monsters.
The Underdark was where the monsters came from, except for the Ender-kind like the Endermen, the Ender Mites, or even sky forbid the Dragon. No one had seen her yet, only read about her in the myriad of books they had found since. Or, not her—them. There were other realms mentioned, too—the Nether, the End, the Aether, the Overworld, and the Underdark. The first three could be reached via portals. The Overworld and Underdark were connected.
Slowly easing himself and Grian down the steps, leg braces whirring to adjust and support his weight, Scar glanced down. Old graffiti painted the cracked, washed stones of the subway tunnel. His eyes darted around frantically, heart pounding in his chest. Alright, Scar. Let’s keep walking, just keep walking.
The arrow path Lizzie left him indicated the entrance of the subway tunnel. Somewhere, something groaned. Holding Grian closer, Scar continued to walk. The only sounds were the plip-plip-plip of rainwater or a leaky pipe and the thud-thud of his footsteps. Occasionally, it would be punctuated by Grian groaning in pain, wheezing in a breath, or his blood dripping to the subway tile floor. Grimacing, Scar held him a little closer, glanced down. A weak breath hit his neck, and he studied Grian’s face.
His eyebrows were pinched together slightly, blood coming from his mouth. Holding him, Scar kept following the arrow path. Suddenly, Grian started panting and shifted, head tilting to the side and mouth falling open. He mumbled a name, again and again, something about being sorry.
“Ssh, Grian. It’s okay, you’re okay.” He murmured, shifting Grian just a little closer and holding him just a bit tighter. Twisting weakly, Grian cried out. Something hot and wet soaked Scar’s side, and he tried to ignore it. Desperately, actually. Oh, honey. I promise you, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. I swear it. Just keep breathing.
We’ll get you to someone who can help.
Instinctively, he opened his mouth and started talking. He had done this before, almost solely with victims. With scared kids or panic attack victims or someone else who needed a little bit of reassurance. Usually, he had his hands free, he could brush his hands through their hair and hold their face and soothe them after checking that touching them was okay. Now, he couldn’t do that. But he could talk, and that was something.
“Stay with me, Grian. Don’t go yet.” He swallowed, laughed weakly. “Did I tell you the one time where I had to be taken to the emergency room by some civilians? It wasn’t even due to any monsters. I tried to jump into the air and slammed face first into a street sign. That’s how I got that scar across my face. I know, I know, stupid.”
He kept talking, glancing around as he went. The words echoed in the subway tunnel, but he didn’t mind. In his arms, Grian’s hand hit against his thigh. Biting his lip, Scar kept walking. He told as many tales as he could think of, mostly ones that he found humorous. How he found his cat, Jellie. Why he started the cat café. Why he became a superhero, and the heroes who he had followed the comics of religiously when he was little. Shifting his grip on Grian once more, he glanced up and studied the walls around him.
There was an old subway train off to the side, derailed and dented in from where it had hit something big.
Let’s hope we don’t run into any Wardens. Grimacing even further, Scar shifted his grip on Grian. He kept doing that, not even thinking about it. It usually happened when Grian groaned. Probably some attempt to get him comfortable, what little comfort that he could give. There wasn’t a stretcher, or a cot, or anything that he could use to move Grian carefully.
Studying Grian’s face a moment longer, Scar bit his lip and then turned back ahead.
His mind sort of…shut down. He was still talking, still regaling Grian with things he should have been telling him over coffee, should have been telling him at the cat café while the two of them pet cats—he knew that Grian liked cats, he had two of his own. He should be able to wrap a blanket around Grian and just take him to the hospital and ease him down on a gurney and walk with him to the operating room if he had to take him there at all, but that wasn’t what was going on—
Eventually, the path came to a wall.
Looking at it, Scar winced. “Lizzie?” He asked.
“What is it?” She asked, sounding sharp.
“I—I came to a wall. Is there any way for you to open it for me? My…hands are a little full.” He grimaced, then glanced down at Grian.
“Right, right.” She shouted something to someone else, and then the wall in front of him split in half. The bricks ground on the concrete floor, and then a young woman with pink hair and calico cat ears in pale blue and white armor was looking at him. Right behind her was another avian—this one a tall man a little younger than Grian in scrubs with a pale yellow floral pattern, with brown eyes and golden brown hair. Scar could only see the tips of his wings, scarlet and gold.
“Hi. Uh—” Shrugging, Scar said, “Traded secrets? Where do you want me to put him?” Both of them led him inside, to a gurney, and Grian let out a groan as Scar shifted him down onto it. Sliding his hand up to cup the back of Grian’s head, Scar felt his partner’s cheek brush his gloved palm as he settled him down. No movement, no hint of any waking. On instinct, Scar brushed Grian’s hair from his eyes and then pulled away, something in him tearing at the move. But he had to, he’d done this before. Lizzie and her friend needed as much room as they could.
“Lizzie, I need you and Joel to serve security. I have this.” The other avian said, grabbing onto the gurney rails and rushing off somewhere. Glancing back, he met Scar’s gaze. “Thank you, Scar.”
Dipping his head, Scar turned—and almost immediately jumped out of his skin.
There was a man in armor that matched Lizzie’s, tall and with dark brown hair that had a green streak in it. Eyes narrowed, he watched Scar carefully. Holding up his hands, Scar smiled weakly. “Do you want me to go somewhere in particular? Oh, wait—” He pulled off Grian’s visor and held it out. There was blood on the pink glass. Wincing, he glanced from Lizzie to Joel.
“Joel, keep an eye on him. I’m going to go and find Pearl. Maybe she can help Jimmy with Grian, in case he wakes up.” Joel nodded to Lizzie. Then, she disappeared, and Joel turned to Scar with crossed arms. Then, he sighed, relaxing some.
"Let’s go get you cleaned up, hero.”
+++
Grian woke with a hand gently brushing his hair from his eyes, and his first thought was that it was her.
But she was gone. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back, and she’d been gone for almost eight years now. Gasping, he snapped open his eyes and glanced over. Sitting beside him was Pearl. Jimmy was sleeping in a nearby chair, wings fanned out as Lizzie rubbed his shoulders and back.
His wings were stress-barred to no end, the colors a sickly, pale yellow that had more green to it than yellow. Eventually, the color would go to a pretty, canary sort of butter and honey yellow, then sections would turn orange and later scarlet. The fact that they had changed color at all was a bad sign, as was the smudge of ash beneath Jimmy’s eye. “That bad?” He choked out, wincing. When he spoke, it sounded like he was gargling magma and gravel.
Sucking in another greedy breath through the oxygen mask, Grian slowly shifted his limbs. He had all of them. His wings were trapped to his back, wrapped from the feel of it. Okay, injured wings. What—
“Scar, no!”
The name burst from his mouth before he had even thought about it, because Scar—was Hot Guy. He had heard him speaking to him, reassuring him gently when he was barely conscious enough to feel pain but little more. Hot Guy was Scar. Scar knew he was Cute Guy.
Shaking, Grian dropped back against the hospital bed. Flinching, he grabbed at his ribs. Despite Jimmy’s best work, he had injuries. Not a good sign. “That bad, huh?” He reached out for Jimmy’s hand. Opening his eyes, Jimmy smiled at him, took his hand. Pearl began gently massaging Grian’s forearm.
“You survived. It’s worth it.” Pain was written across Jimmy’s face, his features paler than normal. However bad it had been, it was enough to tax his phoenix powers.
“Are you okay? Mentally?” Grian asked. All of them shared a glance and then turned to him. “I know, I know. But I’m not the one who was an experiment for several years.”
“I’m okay.” Sighing, Jimmy pushed himself up and glanced at Lizzie and Pearl. “You know, Scar has been waiting outside very patiently, and I’m sure Joel wants to hang out with his wife.”
“Go, I don’t mind him knowing.” Grian said. Nodding, Pearl leaned over and kissed his forehead. Then, she and Lizzie helped Jimmy up, and the three of them left. A second later, Scar shoved himself in through the door, eyes wide. Looking at him, Grian settled his hands in his lap and looked at him. “I think that we need to talk.”
Hurrying over to the seat Jimmy had been taking up moments before, Scar sat down.