Work Text:
All in all, it was not a surprise for Mumbo to walk down the thin steps of his ancient home in the mornings to find someone else waiting for him, but for forty-four years, that entity had been called Skizz, Mumbo’s self proclaimed guardian angel. Today, there was a woman lounging on the sofa, her flaming curls falling over the back, flashing with a soft silver sheen as she inclined her head, drinking from a similarly shiny mug.
She did not look back when a short gasp punched its way from Mumbo’s throat, nor did she notice or care when he sharply stopped his descent.
You’d think after decades of seeing through to other planes of existence, Mumbo would stop startling at the presence of new visitors, but you would be wrong. Always scary, every time. Though, Mumbo hadn’t ever seen a second angel without a human companion; oh god, was his house actually being burglarized?
Mumbo listened. Didn’t hear anything.
“Hello?” The angel didn’t react. Most likely, they just weren’t aware Mumbo was acknowledging them. “Hi, hello, I’m talking to you. The angel. I can see you. Do not be afraid or- haha-“ Mumbo’s laugh was strained as the angel startled, beverage sloshing in the mug as they whipped around, eyes wide.
“Hi- I know,” Mumbo tried, endlessly awkward despite the number of times he’d introduced himself like this, “Seeing spirits isn’t a pleasant experience for me either most of the time, I’m sure we both wish this wasn’t happening, but I just want to know who you’re looking after? Not someone in my house, hopefully?”
“Christ. Why wasn’t this in your file.”
“Yeah… Wait, I have a file?”
“Not a particularly useful one. Shit, this was supposed to be an easy case.” The angel rubbed their forehead with splayed fingers. “No one told me this could happen. What the hell.”
Mumbo rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, if it helps, I’m not a difficult guy to look after. Only go into work once or twice a week; the rest of my time I spend at home. It’s a dream job, I’m sure. I’m healthy, too, though I could probably do to get some more exercise.. Does this mean Skizz is gone? On vacation? Do guardian angels get vacations?”
“I don’t know a Skizz. I sure wish I could have talked to them before taking you up.”
Mumbo tried unsuccessfully to stop having his feelings hurt, but the twist of grief in his stomach was making him a little more emotional; what had happened to Skizz? He hadn’t mentioned he was retiring or going away; could angels die? Could they get hurt? Mumbo was not close with his guardian angel; Skizz was purposefully distant, he specifically did not interfere in Mumbo’s life as part of some guardian angel ethical code that prohibited heavy human reliance, but Skizz could not keep his distance when Mumbo was truly upset, and when he needed a shoulder to cry on, well.. In the metaphorical sense, Skizz was that shoulder. Skizz was a cheerleader on Mumbo’s best days, and a friend on his worst, regardless of the fact that they rarely talked and the large chunks of time where Skizz was nowhere to be found. Skizz was invested in Mumbo’s life. Like a guardian, Skizz truly loved him.
Maybe there was no reason to spiral, yet. No need to jump to the worst case, but—
Who knew. Maybe guardian angel changes were a regular, normal occurrence. Mumbo had had a different angel when he was really little, but too young to remember. Mumbo just.. didn’t think Skizz would go without a goodbye. Maybe he didn’t have a choice.
This was stupid. For all Mumbo knew, Skizz would be back tomorrow.
“What’s your name?” Mumbo hated the way his voice croaked.
The angel narrowed her eyes. Shook her head. Turned away. “Cleo.” They groaned. “Gotta consult management about this..”
Tears pricked the edges of Mumbo’s eyes, a surge of anger almost pushing them over the ridge. Was she hearing herself? Did she even care!? But he couldn’t find the words to speak, and he certainly didn’t want Cleo to see him cry, so he stomped back up the stairs, glancing back only once to see that they weren’t looking at all.
Mumbo didn’t have an abundance of friends, he was the anxious sort, and just the thought of reaching out to acquaintances at work was enough to make his stomach twist, so this..
Skizz had maintained they weren’t friends. They couldn’t be friends, because Skizz was a guardian, he was here to look out for Mumbo, nothing more.
But it’s hard to be completely disconnected from a man you spend twenty four hours a day, seven days a week Knowing They Exist, knowing they’re there, knowing they care. A hand to hold, if Mumbo needed it. That meant something. They couldn’t— whoever this management was couldn’t just take Skizz away! Not to mention, replace him with— with— an ice cube! No, that’s stupid.. A really! Cool breeze!! Fucking hell, Mumbo— Someone! Cold! Someone who didn’t even pretend to care! Mumbo didn’t want a guardian angel who didn’t care! How common was this? Was there someone he could call?
“Hey, man.”
Mumbo screamed, looked up and screamed again, scrambling against the far wall of his bedroom while the ghost of an older man in his bed looked on mildly.
“Yoo, geez, man, come on, you’re fine. I’m not vengeful or anything— well, I have a bone or two to pick, but not with you.” The ghost lounged on Mumbo’s bed, starfishing until he took up the entire surface. “Yeah, as much as I’d love to blame you, I think I’ve experienced firsthand how shit guardian angels can be. I mean, if mine was doing their job, you wouldn’t be here! Because I’d be alive. Get it?” The ghost lifted his head, just a touch awkward, like he was genuinely checking in.
Mumbo gaped, the gears in his head not turning fast enough. “..Did.. Did you die here?”
“In my house? No. I was murdered just down the street, dumped in the river. Never found. Pretty crazy, honestly; didn’t even happen that long ago! I think. Depends on how long I’ve been stuck in that box.”
“Wh- What!?”
“Dude, I’m dead, is it really a huge surprise?”
Mumbo fiddled with his hands, fingers in knots at his waist, “I-I don’t know. No one told me the old owner of the house just went missing.”
“Hey. This is still my house.” The ghost sat up, large arms crossed. He was a big guy, intimidating, if Mumbo was being perfectly honest, though the odd gown he was wearing took away from that just a tad. Wait, that was a lab coat, god, he was fucking stupid sometimes.
“I.. Well I suppose, but.. I don’t know. Do you need help moving on? What’s your name? Do you want me to report your body, or..”
“Nah.” The ghost shrugged, laying back down. “I’m good. You can call me Cub.”
“You’re.. good.”
“I’m good.”
“Well.. alright..” Mumbo pursed his lips, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for Cub to move or do anything.. Mumbo was still kind of intent on having his cry, but he didn’t particularly want spectators.. “Are you gonna.. go somewhere else?”
Cub looked up, and for the first time Mumbo caught a slight strain to his expression. “This is my room.”
“Well, technically it’s my room now.. that’s my bed..”
“It’s not your room, this is my house and I didn’t give anyone permission to sell it because I’m dead, so.”
“Cub, I understand you’re upset, but—“
“I’m not upset.” Indeed, Cub did not look very upset. He didn’t look pleased, but he hadn’t looked that way since the start of this encounter, so it seemed just to be his resting unhappiness. “I live here.”
“I bought this place ten years ago, Cub. You can stay, of course, I just— I really want some—“
“Ten years!?” Cub’s eyes blew right open, “Naaaah, dude, that’s crazy, man, we gotta talk to your guardian angel. That shit’s not okay. He put me in a box for ten years.”
“That’s— really? I don’t think Skizz would— He’s not even here!”
Cub snorted. “He’s not here? Where is he then? Come on, let’s go find him, I’ve got some words to say.” Cub hopped off Mumbo’s bed, crossing the room and making an aggressive grab for Mumbo’s wrist, though when Cub’s hand phased right through him, he didn’t stop walking. Mumbo felt compelled to follow regardless, confusion co-mingling with a slight distress at what Skizz had apparently done to this poor ghost.
The two of them didn’t get past the landing before Cleo shrieked.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU!?”
An unassuming man in a wheelchair sat at the bottom of the stairs, and quite honestly, Mumbo didn’t know what he was either. Similar to Cleo and unlike Cub, there was color in his skin, but the colors were bright, saturated, and a little difficult to look at. If Cleo had a silvery sheen, the stranger was almost holographic.
“Well gee, I like you better than the other guy already!” The stranger grinned at a bristling Cleo, her fear starting to put Mumbo on edge. “Now, we aren’t going to have any problems are we? I know you all are the clingy sort, but I won’t be caught off guard again.” The stranger’s arm distorted, and Mumbo had to squint as light and phase shifting crackled at it stretching, tapping a horrified Cleo right on the nose. “Doink!”
“Dude, is that another angel? You didn’t tell me you had two.” Cub was entirely unphased, if not irritated at Mumbo for ‘withholding’ this information, while Mumbo struggled to slow his heart as the stranger turned around.
Time seemed to slow, then stop. Mumbo knew who that was, just as well as he remembered drawing on his face with marker, delighted when the marks stayed, the other grinning in turn. They were still there, the marks. Faded, whitened, stretched with growth, but there. Scar had promised he’d keep them forever.
“Look at you,” Scar’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, eyes wide, awed. “You’re so.. God, I’ve missed so much, haven’t I. I’m sorry. I wanted to stay.”
“Wh— I— How do you mean, Scar? I— Gosh, you’ve gone and grown up too, haven’t you. I hardly— I didn’t think imaginary friends could exist this long, goodness me. I thought you’d disappeared! What— How did you end up in the chair!?”
“Is that what he told you,” Scar mumbled, eyes dark, but the moment faded, Scar’s smile returning. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose I was a little too real. I was in the way. But I’m back, and even better, Skizz is gone!”
“Woot woot!” Cub threw up his arms, startling Mumbo who had momentarily forgotten he was there.
“Oh!” Scar inclined his head, straining to sit up in his wheelchair. His body accommodated him, stretching until he could see past Mumbo. “Who’s that? A ghost?”
“There’s more!?” Cleo held fistfuls of their own hair, but no one else seemed to care.
“Hey, were you threatening the new guy?” Cub said, phasing through the banister and floating to the ground floor, “Can I help? Is Skizz actually gone?”
“No you can’t help!” Cleo hissed, whipping some phone-esc device from their pocket and growling when it didn’t seem to work. “What the hell do I do with ghosts? I’ve never exorcised a ghost before!”
“And you’re not gonna.” Cub huffed, poking Cleo hard in the chest. “This is my house, I bought the damn thing, and the only reason the bank gave it away is ‘cause I died. It’s mine.”
“Yeah!” Scar cheered, throwing up his arms, “This guy has every right to be here as me!”
“You do not have a right to be here!! Imaginary friends are not meant to grow up!! How is this even possible!?”
“Uh, obviously Mumbo wants me here,” Scar leaned so far back in his chair that Mumbo was certain he was going to fall out of it until he remembered Scar’s body kinda just did whatever it wanted. After a moment of staring, Mumbo realized Scar was waiting for his input.
“Uh— Yeah! And— And Cub can stay too, but I’d rather he not sleep in my room..”
“No can do, that’s my room, sorry, sorry,” Cub said, but Scar was already talking over him.
“Yay! Incredible news, incredible, incredible, and remember, if you try anything, I promise you that you’ll never see the light of heaven or hell, but be suspended eternally in a darkness of my own creation. Capiche?”
“Is it quiet in your darkness prison?” Cleo deadpanned, and Scar laughed, loud and boisterous.
“Look at you! Yeah, I like you loads better.” Scar sighed, wiping a faux tear from an eye, “And no. It’s not quiet.”
Cleo groaned, trudging back to their place on Mumbo’s couch.
Scar seemed pleased, turning to chat with Cub, and a few minutes of listening to them had Mumbo realizing he wasn’t hearing anything at all, and actually he couldn’t breathe either, the world was shifting under his feet and he wasn’t ready, oh god, he wasn’t fucking ready for this.
Scar called his name as Mumbo stumbled back and away, but he could not find the air to excuse himself.
He turned off the lights. Laid in bed. He feared Cub, so he wrapped a blanket around his head and eyes, burying himself in the pressure. If anyone showed up unannounced, Mumbo would never know. He didn’t want to know. He wanted to be alone. He wanted Skizz.
The darkness eased his throbbing head. The silence calmed his racing heart. But as Mumbo’s thoughts slowed, new anxieties bullied themselves in, and the peace he was chasing was clearly not going to find him. Fuck.
It took him a few minutes to find the courage to remove his blindfold. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know.
Cub was still absent. As was Cleo. And Mumbo was pretty sure Scar couldn’t get up the stairs.. equally certain he’d hear Scar if he tried.
He released a long, shaky breath. Fled to the shower.
Nothing could steal his racing thoughts like a steady stream of warm water, cupping his brain in its fingers and letting anything that fell through the cracks go. Mumbo could close his eyes. When his legs were too shaky to hold his weight, he could sit. It was better. If he cried, no one had to know.
Unless they did know. Famously, walls were not an obstacle for entities on other planes, and Cub had already demonstrated negative respect for Mumbo’s privacy. Maybe that was warranted. If this was Cub’s house, and Skizz really had done something horrible—
Mumbo scrambled out of the shower, slipping stupidly on the tile in his frenzy not to be seen. He managed to catch himself on the least sturdy object in the room, an antique full length mirror with a stand that wobbled no matter how often Mumbo fiddled with it, but luckily this stint of panic did not end up with Mumbo sprawled naked over a blanket of shattered glass. That was nice.
Out of habit, he spoke to himself, a ritual suggested by his therapist that had sounded so stupid at the time, but if no one else was going to tell Mumbo things were going to be okay, then he’d have to do it himself.
“Everything’s fine. This is good. This is fine. Oh god.”
His reflection looked puzzled, and some sort of deep seeded instinct made Mumbo incline himself to copy it.
“Well that’s not very convincing.”
Mumbo screamed, flailing until he fell flat on his ass, backpedaling hard until his back slammed against the opposite windowsill. His pained hiss mixed with a gurgled whine as his reflection remained intact, just standing there, a baffled look painting his mirrored face.
“You.. Can hear me..?” Mumbo’s own voice spoke at him, and his shrinking back must have been answer enough, his reflection looking at its own hands in revenant wonder before pushing them to the mirror’s surface, then through. The spirit that fell out of Mumbo’s mirror looked nothing like him, clad in red, comfortable looking clothes with clawed hands and feet. Mumbo had never seen a spirit that looked like this before, colored near opposite to Scar, dull and dreary, but given the small, leathery wings and swishing, pointed tail, Mumbo thought he might be able to take an educated guess on what this was.
Mumbo dove for his towel. The demon looked on in some distress, but it couldn’t be anywhere near as mindfucked as Mumbo felt.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” it tried, almost friendly, but no amount of kindness was going to make whatever this was any less terrifying. “I— Wow! You know, I’ve always wanted to meet you properly! I can’t believe— I mean I just can’t believe I’m finally free! Well—“ The demon gave the mirror a dirty look. “Not quite. Hey, Mumbo, have you ever considered breaking that thing? Silly old mirror, it’s quite ugly, isn’t it, makes you want to put a nice hole through it with your fist, don’tcha think?”
“My— Not my mirror..” Mumbo whimpered, to which the demon looked over him with pity.
“You like it, don’t you.. ugh. Sentimental freak. That’s okay! I can fix you.”
“Wh— What-!?”
“On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about senseless bloodshed?”
“Oh god, I just want to get dressed, please.”
The demon rolled its eyes. “As if I haven’t seen your bare ass too many times to count, come on, Mumbo, we’re friends! We’ve seen things together, and we’re very nice to each other. You’ve always been good to me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you!”
It scoffed, “Sure, buddy, but you were looking me in the eyes!”
“I— Just— Get out of my bathroom!! Let me put some damn clothes on, for goodness’s fucking sake!!”
The demon’s face scrunched, mild offense or maybe distaste, like Mumbo’s words were bitter on its tongue. “That’s new. I don’t like it when you’re mean to me. Fine, I’ll wait outside, but we’re not done here.” It left without another word, looking over its shoulder about five times before exiting into Mumbo’s bedroom. Mumbo stared after it, just to make sure it was gone, hit his own forehead a few times in rapid succession, bit his forearm to keep from screaming, then got dressed.
“Who the fuck are you?” The demon’s judgmental voice was clear through Mumbo’s open bathroom door, Cub’s monotone just as recognizable.
“This is my house.”
“No it’s not, Mumbo lives here.”
“Mumbo lives in my house. He can stay.”
“Well this is Mumbo’s room, isn’t it? I’ve seen it before he moved the mirror to the bathroom, which I always thought was an odd choice. Do you not have enough mirrors in the bathroom? Why are you in Mumbo’s room?”
“This is my room. I had it before Mumbo had it. This was twenty years before I was murdered. Ten years have passed since then, apparently.”
“That’s stupid. If you’re dead, this isn’t your house. He bought it! I know, I was there when he moved in! I was in a box for ages! He really likes me, ghost, every morning he says something nice to me.”
“Don’t call me that, I’m Cub. And I don’t care.”
“Well I’m Grian, and I don’t like your fucking attitude—“
“Oh my god.” Mumbo practically fell out of the bathroom, clothes rumpled and eyes probably bloodshot. “Stop. Just stop. I need— I need a break. I need to eat something, shit.”
“Oh, forgot humans did that,” Grian said, all hostility melting away. A thoughtful look crossed its face as Mumbo shambled past it.
“You would.” Cub mumbled, which relit the fire. Mumbo put his fingers in his ears.
Like a puppy, Scar was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh! Hi, Mumbo! I’m glad you’re back! Have you considered removing your horrible spiral staircase for, say, an elevator?”
Mumbo pinched his brow, hoping his Abominable Aura would spook Scar off, but the plainest of sourest of moods had zero effect on Scar, who started trailing Mumbo to the kitchen.
“I can’t afford an elevator.”
“Well, well, I’ve heard elevators are the next big thing, Mumbo! You should consider investing, drastically inflating the resale value of your lovely home! Everyone wants an elevator these days, you’ll have buyers lining up at the door for prices double your asking! Rumor has it, there’s a spirit right here in this very home that’s looking to buy..”
Mumbo did not have the strength to reply, but Scar didn’t seem to mind, talking Mumbo through every solitary thought that entered his brain while Mumbo microwaved and ate his stale muffin, wondering how hard he’d have to smash his face into the marble island to turn off the part of his brain that processed noise.
And then something Snapped, and without conscious input Mumbo had a pot and a wooden spoon and was mashing them together, hard enough to splinter the wood, but he just did not care.
Scar must have thought this was fun, because he had his own set of noisemakers, though Mumbo did not know or care where Scar got them, he just needed all new residents of his home here.
Cleo was first, rubbing one of their eyes and looking just about as sour as Mumbo had felt thirty or so minutes before he had completely lost it.
“What and why,” she strained over the noise, but not everyone was here, and Mumbo did not stop.
Grian was next, poking its head around the corner with a distinct curiosity, while Cub followed a few seconds later, looking mild if not slightly annoyed.
“Yay!” Scar cheered, sensing the goal had been reached, to which Mumbo bluntly told him to shut it. “Oh okay.” Scar smiled, unphased.
“If all of you are planning on sticking around, I have a few things to say.”
Cleo crossed their arms, opening their mouth to speak, but the glare Mumbo threw them must have been nuclear enough to keep them quiet. Somehow, that wasn’t good enough.
“No!” Mumbo threw up his hands, and for the first time Scar seemed to sense that Mumbo was upset, backing up a pace. “No, let’s hear it, Cleo, what were you going to say?”
Cleo crinkled her nose, irritation returning. “If you want me gone so badly, you’ll have to talk to my parole officer.”
Mumbo gaped, stunned, and Cleo smirked. That snapped him back.
“You are going to be nice to me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! I am! And if you can’t just like being here, you’re going to pretend, you aren’t going to tell me how much you don’t care, because I’m processing a pretty major loss and I don’t want to be reminded of how much I’m missing every time I see you!”
“Who’d you lose?” Scar cocked his head, to which Mumbo waved him away a little more frantically than necessary.
“We will talk later— hey!” Mumbo turned on Cleo when he saw their mouth open, “I’m not done! If keeping out of sight is what you have to do to keep from making me feel stupid and worthless, then do that. Don’t talk to me! Don’t look at me! I feel like enough of a burden on a daily basis, I don’t need to know I’m a burden on my fucking guardian angel!”
Cleo curled her lip, but whatever she meant to say, she dropped the thought with scowl. “You won’t see me then. But if you come downstairs and see me sleeping on the couch or whatever, that’s not my problem.”
Mumbo blinked, disarmed. “Can guardian angels sleep?”
Cleo stared. She stared for a long time. “Why. Why are you asking me this. Can guardian angels sleep!?”
“I don’t know.. I’d never seen Skizz asleep. He implied he didn’t; I just thought dead people didn’t really do that.”
“I’m not dead!” Three of the four spirits in the room near-shouted, to which Mumbo shrunk back before he realized he was the one being assertive here. Cub only shrugged. Mumbo.. didn’t want to deal with him right now, so he moved on to Scar.
“Scar, you’re great, I really want to catch up and understand— I don’t know, understand what happened, why you’re here, but right now I am overwhelmed, and I need space. Please find something else to do that isn’t talking to me today.”
Scar went from thrilled to be being addressed, to a little put out, which made Mumbo feel all sorts of terrible (especially for fantasizing about ripped his tongue out fifteen minutes ago), but he had to soldier on.
Cub had an eyebrow raised, apparently waiting for his turn, and Mumbo steeled himself, certain Cub could smell weakness.
“Cub.” his voice still strained, but Mumbo squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best, “I understand that you’re dead and you lived here before me and that you didn’t have anyone to will your house to, but I also live here now, and I need my own space. I can’t just move out of my room because a ghost I didn’t know about popped back into existence. I need privacy. Actually, to that point, all of you are banned from my room. Don’t go in there. Ever.”
Mumbo tried very hard to ignore the rapid irritation growing on Cub’s face, turning instead to Grian’s raised hand.
“Yes, is that a question?”
“What if you live in a mirror and the mirror is in your room. Does the bathroom count as your room.”
“Yes, the bathroom counts as my room. I will move the mirror.”
“Oooorrrrr,” Grian sang, letting itself float as it flipped onto its back. “You could just break it and I’d be out of your hair! Free! Unleashed back onto the world!”
“Tempting, honestly.”
“What!?” Mumbo startled when Grian threw up its clawed hands in grave offense. “You don’t want me around!? Mumbo, we’re soulbound! Just say you want to cleave away my chest and rip out my heart, why don’t you!”
“Do you want me to break your mirror or not!?”
“Obviously I want you to break the mirror! But you’re not really considering moving it.. are you..?”
“Well I don’t want to break it! I like that mirror! It looks very nice in my home! And— Yes I’m moving it!” Mumbo had a feeling this argument would have gone on until he gained the ability to reach through planes and shake Grian, but he was distracted when Cub started to float away.
“Hey— Wait, Cub, I wasn’t done. I had this idea, we can turn the guest room into your own, I can decorate it however you want, I really am sorry you were murdered and your house was repossessed, but I had no way of knowing, and I want to compromise—“
“I’m going to my room.” Cub’s voice was hard, and he did not look back as he floated through the kitchen wall.
Mumbo ran through the room to catch him before he reached the stairs, but Cub did not slow down, looking forward with definite purpose. Mumbo could do nothing but stare helplessly up at the second floor.
“Are you not going to do anything about this, guardian angel?” Mumbo heard Grian ask, a vindictive edge to his tone, but it must have sensed that Cleo wasn’t, in fact, going to act, turning hostile. “What, seriously? Isn’t that all you’re good for?”
“I’ll be on my way,” Cleo mumbled, presumably floating away. Grian must have given chase, voice growing distant.
Mumbo heard the rumble of Scar’s wheelchair, but when he turned, Scar looked heart-wrenchingly uncertain, keeping his distance across the room. Mumbo sighed. “You’re fine..” He felt less scum of the Earth when Scar brightened, though it didn’t last.
“I wish I could help you.”
Mumbo pursed his lips. “I’ve just had a hard day. I’m sorry.”
Scar quieted. It was a long, horrible quiet, so unlike everything Mumbo remembered of Scar, albeit, very little. “I thought.. you might be excited to see me.”
Mumbo’s brow furrowed, the blow as good as physical, winding, so damn sad. What could he say to that? To the friend he’d made up when he was little; nearly forty years had passed since then, Mumbo hardly remembered the things he’d done with Scar, and everything was happening so fast, so at the same time, how was Mumbo even supposed to process it all. Whatever had happened to Scar, he clearly hadn’t died! Had Scar really spent all that time in limbo thinking about him?
“I wish.. I'm sorry. I am excited to see you, but I’m also confused and overwhelmed and anxious and hurt by the Everything Else. And I’m not— I’m not old, not that old, but it’s been such a long time, and I didn’t think you were real. I didn’t know. Skizz told me.. He told me at my age imaginary friends will disappear, that you knew I was in school, that you wanted me to make real friends my age, and I just.. I mean, he was like a second dad to me. You being here and Skizz being gone is— I really don’t like what that means! For you, for Cub, even. Skizz has been here for half of my life, he’s always been here, and now he’s just gone without a trace and now I think he might’ve done something awful—“ Mumbo cried, he didn't mean to cry, but then he was sobbing, ugly, dribbling tears and snot and when Scar reached for his hand, didn’t even hesitate, it felt like Skizz, and Mumbo broke all over again.
“I didn’t realize how safe I felt, how much it meant to have someone to fall back on until he was gone, just replaced without a word by someone who doesn’t even care. Someone who’s here as a punishment! What— What kind of system is that! Why me, why not someone who wouldn’t even know there was a change!”
Scar mumbled something, but Mumbo didn’t hear him over his own sobbing. “What?”
“I’ll keep you safe.” Conviction. Deathly serious. For the first time, Mumbo really processed his hand in Scar’s, touching; the only spirit he’d thought was powerful enough to pass over planes of existence for this long were angels. Mumbo felt.. He believed him.
“Can I hug you?”
Scar smiled, soft, acutely genuine. “Of course.”
A miracle that something could be so awkward and so beautiful, Mumbo having to bend over at an odd angle, but Scar enveloped him wholly, like nothing else mattered, like he didn’t even care. He was warm, alive, indisputably real and deeply safe. In many ways, that was horrifying. But Mumbo couldn’t think about that now; he didn’t think Scar would want him to either.
The screaming a little bit ruined the moment.
Grian trotting down the stairs on all fours with Cub’s ankle in its mouth created.. more questions, but for all his flailing, Cub could not break free, somehow managing to look like he was bumping his head on every step down; gosh, Mumbo did not know how other-planely physics worked.
On the ground floor, Grian gave Mumbo a curt thumbs up, before taking its quarry directly through the wall and into the front yard, where all screaming was muffled significantly. Well then.
“Huh.” Scar said, and Mumbo had to push away a wave of disgust when he noticed how Scar’s neck had elongated horrifically to see over Mumbo’s shoulder. “I’ll go talk to them, I think. Unless you want me to stay?”
“Uhm,” Mumbo felt awkward pulling away, rubbing the back of his own neck to massage out the discomfort. “You can do that.”
Scar grinned. “Take a nap, buddy! You deserve it, cry-naps are the best!” He wheeled away, and Mumbo almost rushed to open the front door to avoid an explosive collision before Scar went right through it. Right.
“I’ll do that..” Mumbo swallowed hard. He got the sense he had at least an hour of peace.. Yeah. Nap sounded very good, actually.
