Chapter Text
He looked over the grave, watching as they shoveled dirt over his lover, one, scoop, at, a, time. The dirt pounded loudly on the stained wood of the casket. Thud, thud, thud, like the thumps of a broken heartbeat, like the one he’ll never hear again. The cold air bit his cheek where he sat, rooted to the spot. He welcomed it, savoring the cold, wondering how cold his husband had been when he sat, trapped under a broken car as the snow piled on top of him. He wondered what his partner felt, the pain, the hurt, the fear… if he could swap places he would in an instant, wishing every second that it was his lifeless body, trapped in a casket too small.
He never got to grow old with him, and got a glimpse of a lifetime in each other's arms, all for it to be ripped away in a second. Scar would never get to see Mumbo again, and he feels like a part of him died when he did, forever trapped beneath the dirt. Scar could almost convince himself the noise was Mumbo pounding on the wood, thud, thud, thud, begging for someone to let him out. He imagines pulling Mumbo out like this was all some elaborate prank and not a cruel twist of fate, like a knife to the gut.
His fingers twisted around his wedding ring, at the scratched and faded silver. It weighs more than the world at that moment. He could have saved him, or he at least could have tried. Scar had never felt like this before. He didn't know how to go on. How was he supposed to get out of bed knowing he would never wake up to that soft smile, black hair reflecting silver in the sun, soft calloused hands… He would never be able to go up and hug Mumbo and complain how he smelt like oil, or about the Redstone dust that was always smeared across his face and shirt when he came home.
It should have been him, not Mumbo, never Mumbo.
Mumbo was a cold winter night, wrapped up in blankets, cozy by the fire. Mumbo was the cool blues of the lake, the sky on a cloudy autumn afternoon. Scar was the earth and Mumbo was the moon, forever together, or at least, they were supposed to be. Thirty-two was too young to die.
There's a hand on his shoulder, forcing him out of his mind. He looks up at Grian and it's like a tidal wave crashed to the shore and he just starts crying, sobs getting caught under his ribs, breaths stuttering because there's never enough air. He pulls Grian down, and he collapses onto Scar, chest heaving through ugly, messy cries as he tucks himself into Scar's shoulder, Scar buries his face in Grian's mess of hair, hands twisted in the fabric of his black blazer, desperately clinging to his best friend because it feels like he’s falling. His world has fallen out from below him and he can't see.
“S’not fair, not fair” Grian cries hoarsely, hands shaking, maybe from anger, anger at the world, angry at everyone and everything, or maybe just plain angry, because everything hurts , and Scar wants to scream.
He wants to scream out into the void, because how dare they take Mumbo from him, how dare they, and he wants to smash things, and break things, he wants to let the angry fire of a thousand stars consume him, anything but this grief, because it's too much. The smoke curls around his lungs, twisting tighter and tighter, squeezing every last good thing out of him till he’s no better off than the bodies buried beneath their feet.
Scar opens his mouth to say something but only croaks wetly, a horrible mangled wail falling from his mouth, and if he were standing he thinks he may have collapsed. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat but doing that only makes him feel sicker, sour bile rising in his throat, threatening to choke him.
He can't do this. This was never supposed to happen.
_____
He gets home and it feels like a dream. Nightmare’s more like it. He’s numb, the feeling in his body gone. He limps to his room. Leaning on his cane and any nearby wall to keep him upright, remembering all the days that Mumbo would carry him to be when he was too tired or hurt too much to do it himself, or just wanted to be held. It leaves a sickly sweet taste in his mouth. He gets up and lays in the bed, atop the unmade covers and nest of blankets. This bed is too big for one.
He never noticed before, how overwhelming the smell of Mumbo is. It seems to surround him in a way it never had before. He never needed to notice it now, but he wishes he would have. He should have paid attention to the little things more often. He knows Mumbo did.
He must sit there for hours because before he knows it, it's dark, and his phone is ringing. He looks at the caller. Grian’s goofy profile picture pops up. He reaches over grabs his phone and stares at it for a minute, debating on whether or not to let it ring out till it stops. He looks at the messages, there are twenty or so ignored texts. Most from Grian, some from his mother, one or two from a student of Mumbo’s.
His chest twists with guilt, knowing Grian is probably worried, so with heavy hands that feel like steel, takes the phone and presses accept call. Grian's worried voice jumps through the phone, “Oh god, Scar, are you…” Grian pauses, probably going to ask if he’s okay and knowing that he definitely wasn't. “I was worried.” he decides. Scar can hear the soreness in his friend's voice, the strain. It sounds like he’s been crying, and knowing Grian, he probably hasn't stopped since he heard the news.
It takes everything in Scar to answer, and Grian waits patiently, just glad Scar picked up because god knows neither of them is in a good mental space right now. “Sorry,” he murmurs quietly. Silent tears stream down his face.
The silence crackles on the phone line between them. “Me and Pearl are coming over '' Grian says resolutely, and there's no arguing with that tone. Scar lets out a surprised squeak.
“You don't have to, I'm fine” his voice cracks on the last word, which just makes his argument all the less convincing. He bites his lip, tearing at the skin till he tastes the familiar tinge of blood.
“But you don't want to be alone right?” and from the silence, Grian knows he’s hit it right on the head. “Right, I'm on my way.” Grian sniffs, probably crying as well. “I’ll be there soon ok?”
Scar nods his head, realizing a moment later that Grian can't see it, and then forcing his mouth to open, “Yeah”.
Grian blows out air, “ok, ok. See you soon.” and the call ends. Scar lets his hand fall down to the bed again, with his phone and goes back to staring at the ceiling. He stares at the imaginary spot he’s found, scrutinizing it like it's to blame.
He unlocks his phone to look at the texts, opening Grians first.
7.20 hey
7.50 i know you probably dont want to talk but im here for you
8.34 are you alright?
- 01 scar, i need to know your still breathing
9.43 scar?
9:45 scar. Im getting worried
10:15 youre starting to scare me, scar?
- 53 maui just hackedup the biggest hairball
11.26 im gonna call you, is that ok?
Scar sighs, there are even more texts from Grian that he can't be bothered to read, guilt tugs at his mind. He didn't notice the texts, his phone’s been on silent… since the funeral. It feels like a punch to the gut. It hurts to remember.
He decides he doesn't have the stomach to look at any other texts tonight, especially not his mom or Mumbos students. It's not that he didn't care, he loved his mom and cared for the students, but emotional fatigue weighs heavy on him. His body hurts from not moving and being so stiff, and he probably should stretch but he can barely bring himself to move.
He closes his eyes and thuds his head on the bedboard, wishing this were not his reality. His bedroom door slams shut, making him jump. Jellie hisses, meowing loudly in anger, as she was rudely awakened from her nap. Scars eyes search the room, the wind must have blown it shut. He gets up on shaking legs to close his window. That was… weird. It wasn't that windy earlier today. He opened his bedroom door, not sure what he was searching for. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find it, so he fell back on his bed, ready to forget the past week ever happened. There's a knock on his door about ten minutes later, and the squeak of the door opening. “Scar?” Grian called out, flicking the hallway light on.
Scar sighed and pushed himself from the bed, again, leaning on the doorframe to hold him up, too tired to try and find his cane. “Hi,” he said, trying to smile, but it hurt. Scar doubted he’d ever feel ‘fine’ again, because ‘fine’ meant Mumbo was ok, but he wasn't. The cold winter air blew through the house, making him shiver and pull his jacket around himself tighter. Grian walked to Scar and wrapped his arms around him, and like the winter snow, he melted. Grian was the sun, his best friend, and right now, the only thing keeping him from the empty nothingness that's now a gaping hole straight through his heart, threatening to swallow him. He faintly hears the click of the door shutting and gently Pearl wraps her arms around the both of them. He rests his head on her shoulder and tries his hardest to bite back the sobs. “We know Scar,” she says softly, “you’re allowed to cry.” and he does.
They finally break the hug, Scar laughs wetly as he sees Grian's hair, windswept and damp from melted snowflakes. They take their coats off and set their boots by the door. Scar follows Pearl to the living room. She pushes the beanbags and pillows against the couch and grabs every blanket in sight. Scar slumps down into one and pulls a blanket over his cold legs. He tries not to think about how Mumbo would come curl up next to his side when they all had movie nights, wrapping his arms around his waist, and press soft kisses to his temple. Pearl sits next to him, the bean bag sinks closer to the floor, and she rests her head on his shoulder. “How are you doing?” Scar smells her familiar coconut shampoo, and feels the callouses on her hands as they intertwine their fingers. He bonks their heads together. “Not good” he mumbles.
She squeezes his hand, “I'm sorry”. Scar can't see her face but can imagine her expression, pinched and deflated. Scar pinches at the soft fabric of the blanket, rubbing it between his fingers. “Me too”.
“How's your class going?” Pearl asks, clearly to distract his mind from wandering too far because she knows what happens when it does, and it works. It drags Scar from his mind, back to the here and now, back to the bean bag, and away from the void. He subconsciously tugs at his hair.
“It's going good. The students are doing well, learning quickly.” he rambles on about the different architecture styles he lectures about and the program he’s teaching to his other class. He kind of hates how talking about this actually works as a distraction. He’s still so numb inside it's hard to feel much of anything but for a moment, it's a little more bearable. He knows the school will let him take personal time off, but he doesn't want to. Without work, he doesn't know how to keep himself from spiraling so, come Monday, he’ll be back at his desk, grading assignments and preparing lectures for the week.
It's not long before Grian walks into the room with a bowl of popcorn and three cups of hot chocolate, all precariously balanced. Scars surprised Grian doesn't spill anything but he guesses that's what years of working as a waiter does. Grian no longer works at restaurants, but was finally able to work from home, taking commissions and doing the thing he loved the most, art. He and Mumbo were so proud when he announced it. They went to a restaurant of Grian’s choice as a treat, and Pearl tried to sneak her dog in; though it didn't end well because her dog was the size of a five-year-old. Grian sets their drinks on the floor and plops down on Scar's other side, giving him a sad lopsided smile, gently knocking their heads together, and then reaching for the remote.
Grian turns on some horror mystery movie, but Scar can't recall the name; not paying attention. He doesn't think any of them are. They just sit there, cuddled together under a heap of blankets, warding off the cold, pretending that they aren't crying. It's comforting. His heart feels like an empty well that stretches down for miles, but being with them feels like a small plip of water. Maybe one day he won't feel so empty.
At some point Scar must have fallen asleep because when he opens his eyes the room is dark, the blaring light from the TV gone. Only the sound of the wind scraping against the walls echoed through the house. Pearl and Grian snore softly at his sides, both wrapped around him. He sighs, the edges of a smile tugging at his lips. He stretches his legs and groans, his body aches in protest. Maybe falling asleep on a bean bag wasn't the best idea. He carefully lifts himself, so as not to disturb his friends who lay in a tangled heap. He learned years ago that if he wanted to break free, he'd have to move slowly. Pearl slept like a rock and was hard to shove off, while Grian would try to tug him back down in a bleary, half-awake stupor. If he woke Mumbo, he would kiss him on the forehead before letting Scar lay out on the couch. Scar didn't like retreating to his room when they were all together, preferring to be near them so the couch was the next best thing.
Scar stood, stretching his back, wincing at his knees protests. He took his cane off the floor, and made his way to the kitchen, doing his best to ignore the photos, photos that once made him smile, pictures that now make him feel like crying. He filled the kettle, grabbed his mug and a tea bag; sat, and waited. He tapped his finger against the empty mug, waiting for the water to boil. It was quiet. The house rocked in the wind. The storm outside whirred in an angry blur. Snow patted against the window like it was trying to find an opening, a way in.
The water bubbles. He taps his mug, tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap. He rubs his eyes and yawns, tears prick the corners of his eyes. The floorboards creak. Soft footsteps pad behind him. “Hey.” he turns around, expecting to see Pearl or Grian, “want me to get you a…oh.” Nobody was there. His eyebrows knit in confusion as he tentatively stands, leaning on the back of his chair for support. He feels the wood grain beneath his fingers, “hello?” he calls out quietly, walking round the corner to see the siblings still peacefully snoring. That was.. Weird. Click, he turned his head at the soft noise, the gentle roaring of the kettle simmered down. Scar clicked his mouth shut, ignoring the way the darkness seemed to crawl at the edges of his vision, and poured his cup.
Scar walked back to the door frame, leaning on the wall for support. He squinted, and the shadows seemed to sway. The house groaned, shifting in the wind in a way he never remembered it doing. If he tilted his head, it almost looked as if someone were standing there, shrouded in darkness, the light glinting off their eyes… Scar switched the light on, it flickered and hummed, and the shadows retreated. Nothing was there, no one was there, he was just tired.
He sipped his mug, staring down the hallway, long enough for his vision to start warping the walls and floor. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Jellie meowed quietly and hopped on the table, laying down on Scar's hands, effectively pinning them to the tabletop. He huffed a laugh, picking her up in one gentle sweep. He finished the rest of his tea, leaving his cup on the table, promising himself he would take care of it in the morning. He carefully stepped over Pearl and Grian, grabbed a blanket, and sprawled himself out on the couch; stretching his legs as far as they would go. Jellie settled on his chest and purred. He ran his hands through her fur. Someone grabbed his other hand. “Hey,” Grian whispered.
“Hey.” Scar stared at the ceiling, not quite sure what to say beyond that. Grian rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. Scar felt his throat closing up as he choked back a sob as everything surged in his brain, his heart beating fast. It was hard to hear past the blood rush in his ears. His mind always wandered back to Mumbo. If anyone should have died that day it should have been him. Mumbo had so much going for him, he could do so much more and should’ve been able to do it. It wasn't fair. Mumbo should have lived. If Scar had asked him to stay that night he would have, he would still be here. If he had gone with Mumbo, things may have been different. “I-it should have been me” he sniffs quietly. Grian tightened his hold on Scar's hand, tugging him up and into his arms.
“Don't you dare say that, don't ever think that. It's unfair, it hurts. Mumbo should still... Be here” Grians voice cracked. He sucked in a breath, Scar could feel his shaking. “But don't you ever say that…”. Scar's heart stung like someone stabbed it and poured lemon juice in it, mushing it around till he felt like it would stop. But it didn't, it kept beating away in his ribs, trapped and suffocating. Grian squeezed his arms around Scar tighter and whispered, “Because I need you. I can't lose another friend.” he cried.
Scar's hands shake as he wraps them around Grian, “m’sorry, s-sorry,” he blubbers out in stuttering broken words. The gravity of what he implied fully smacked him over the head. His life may feel like its ending but he's not the only one. He can't leave Grian or Pearl to face this by themselves, and they won't leave him. It's just hard. It hurts, god does it hurt, but they need him just as much as he needs them.
“Promise me, p-promise me Scar, that you won't leave us, don't leave me.” Grian pulls away, staring Scar in the eyes. A boot stomps down on the shattered remains of his heart. He’s never seen Grian look so distraught. The pain in his eyes, the tremor in his hands, where he holds tightly to Scars, the tremble in his bottom lip as tears fall from his face to his lap. “Okay, I promise, I promise Grian. I-i won't leave.” Scar sucks in a breath, it catches in his throat. He feels sick. His whole world has been flipped over, and nothing's right, and he's afraid it never will be again.