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Hands flew furiously across his keyboard, the loud and rapid clicks that he’s usually find soothing and satisfying unfortunately drowned out by the voices yelling in his ear. His heart pounded in his chest, in a way that it hadn’t done for years , which… was concerning, to say the least - he never usually got so worked up over a mission like this.
But then again, his missions weren’t usually like this , were they?
That wasn’t to say any of this was particularly unusual for him. It was a fairly standard mission - hostage situation with one of the city's most formidable villains, what should’ve been an easy break-in and rescue - but…
“Could really do with that door being open now, Mumbo-” Grian said, an anxious edge to his tone. Mumbo could practically hear his feathers rustling as he bounced up and down in anticipation. “C’mon, the guards are catching up to us!”
“I’m hacking as hard as I can , Grian!” Mumbo yelled back, hands starting to actually shake on the keyboard. This should’ve been easy, it was something he’d done a million times, this was literally his job! And yet-
“Oh, cut him some slack, G!” another voice yelled, deep and enticing, sending actual shivers down Mumbo’s spine.
And that, right there, was the problem.
Why on Earth his best friend had decided to team up with Hotguy , of all people, without consulting him first, Mumbo would never know.
It shouldn’t have been a problem. If anything, it should’ve made all of this easier . Hotguy had been the city's greatest vigilante for years now, long before Grian had even joined the scene, and, well… well, Mumbo would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t a fan. He’d been a fan for a while , actually. So one could say he was just a little bit starstruck, to have the Hotguy yelling in his ear, see his little orange dot move across his screen along the much more familiar pink dot representing Grian.
More than a bit starstruck, really. He… He really didn’t like to admit it, but- but…
Okay, fine .
He may or may not have had a small, teeny tiny crush on the guy. Ever since he was a college student, where he and the rest of his tech mates were regular attendees to the Hotguy fanclub. Under the guise of being fascinated the tech that allowed the vigilante to do all these crazy feats, of course, but, well-
Well, who could blame him? This was Hotguy , for goodness sake. He had that name for a reason, did he not?
Yeah. Mumbo had a celebrity crush on the guy. And Grian knew that perfectly well, Mumbo was certain. So why on Earth -
“I bet you couldn’t do anything Mumbo here is capable of,” Hotguy’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Mumbo quickly got back to work.
“Yeah!” he agreed, a little too enthusiastically. “How about you try breaking into a villain’s security system next time-”
Again, Grian huffed. “Would you just get on with it .”
“ Okay , okay.” Mumbo sighed, shaking his head, as he inputted the final few lines of codes. “There you go.”
“ Thank you,” Grian said. Before Mumbo could bite back at his passive aggressiveness, Hotguy cut in again.
“Oh, wonderful , thank you so much!” he said, much more pleasant tones finally drifting through Mumbo’s skull, his heart fluttering . ( Oh, my gosh. ) “You’re doing such an amazing job, Mumbo, I have no idea what we would’ve done with you.”
Mumbo wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t .
Sure, the voice and the praise and the voice continued to make his skin tingle with pleasure, and his cheeks were… maybe, potentially heating up a little, but- but he wasn’t blushing. He couldn’t be!
(And if he was, it wasn’t as if there was anyone there to see it.)
“Uh, a little help, here-?” Grian’s voice quivered, once again pulling Mumbo out of his thoughts. At first, he assumed Grian was talking to him again - though how Mumbo would possibly help in this situation, he didn’t know. His job had just been to get them in there, which he had! He wasn’t exactly much use in battle halfway across the city holed up in his little lab.
But then he heard the distant sound of gunshots through his earpiece, a beat of wings and a tug of a bowstring, and he realised that, yeah, Grian was more than likely talking to Hotguy.
They’d know there’d be guards waiting for them within the mansion as well. But, again, it wasn’t as if Mumbo could do much to help now.
He fell silent, keeping a close eye on the dots blinking across his screen. He did what he could - occasionally whispered a word or two of encouragement, tried his hand at locking a few doors in an attempt to slow the steadily gathering reinforcements, reminding both of the vigilantes where their extra ammo and arrows were hidden away when supplies began to get low.
But at this point, they were sort of on their own.
Mumbo released a breath as he watched their dots finally move out of the grounds and into the actual mansion. They were getting closer, everything was going to be absolutely fine .
…the dots were blinking a little more than usual.
Definitely more than they should.
Mumbo frowned.
“Everything alright?” he checked.
The dots flickered again, entirely disappearing for a second, two seconds, three, four, five seconds, before materialising again further in the mansion.
“…guys?”
“Mumbo?” Grian said, and Mumbo could feel his head beating again, lungs moving up and down to the gentle rhythm. “Mumbo, can you-?”
The voice cut out again.
Mumbo’s heart stopped.
He-
The dots were gone again.
Silence.
He’d… He’d lost connection.
He’d lost connection.
Mumbo fell back in his chair, letting out another breath.
This- This was fine. It was always a possibility. It had happened plenty of times before! And- And at least this time, Grian wasn’t completely alone.
He had Hotguy. He’d be fine.
He took a moment to compose himself, then stood up, running a hand through his hair as he took in several deep breaths. All he could really do now was wait . Hope that Hotguy and Grian were successful in their mission.
He turned on the little TV in the corner of the room, quickly switching over to the News Channel - which, naturally, was showing a live feed of that same mansion, as the rest of the city waited for their two favourite vigilantes to emerge victorious. Hopefully that would spread a little light on the situation.
Of course, the news reporters were just as clueless on the situation now as Mumbo was, but… but it was better than nothing.
He slumped back into his chair, glancing at his screen every few seconds, waiting for a voice, any voice to yell in his ear again, or for some actual meaningful commentary from the TV, or… or, well, anything , really.
… gosh . It was going to be a long night.
Mumbo had just started to drift off in his chair when he heard a loud bang and a crash . A shattering of glass, a string of swear words, and then a pained groan .
He jumped up from his chair, eyes wide, hands instinctively reaching for the gun on his desk which he definitely didn’t know how to use but always kept there just in case of emergencies, which he really hoped this wasn’t but in his unfortunate profession he never really knew, and-
…okay. Okay, he needed to calm down. He needed to stay calm. This place was secure, the glass shattering was definitely concerning but anything important had likely been stashed away already so it was probably fine, and… and worse case scenario, he had a gun. He’d be fine.
Holding his breath in anticipation, he peeked around the corner of his little office space, into the rest of the lab.
Immediately, he figured out what had happened.
“Hotguy!” he exclaimed, rushing over to the hero’s side and dropping down to his knees, his gun falling to the floor as well as he did so. “Are- Are you okay?”
Hotguy had clearly tried to sit down at the central counter when he’d come through the door, but evidently missed, now sprawled out across the floor, his back against the side of the counter and a chair halfway across the room. He had his arm wrapped around his middle, hand clutching his waist, and- and Mumbo could see blood staining his clothes, most of it clearly belonging to someone else but there was a patch around his hand, spreading down towards his legs, that- that…
“I’m fine,” Hotguy said, prompting Mumbo to look up again, meeting his eyes. He didn’t sound fine, voice someone choked, but- but Mumbo wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. He supposed this was probably normal for the guy. “Just- Do you have a first aid kit, or something, around here?”
Mumbo blinked. “Oh! Right! Yes, yes, of course, uh-” He forced himself back up to his feet, stumbling at first as he travelled further into the lab, rumbling around in a few cupboards before finding the first aid kit that Grian had, as usual, moved to the most inconvenient of locations without informing him.
He returned to Hotguy’s side, who had managed to prop himself up into a slightly more comfortable position - though with that now visible gash across his stomach, Mumbo wasn’t sure how comfortable he could really be. His hands reached out, trying to grab the box in Mumbo’s hand, but all Mumbo did was place it on the floor beside him, as he started to inspect the wound.
Hotguy tried again to reach for the first aid kit, and Mumbo instinctively slapped his hands away, causing the vigilante to frown.
“It’s okay,” Mumbo said, starting to root through the kit. “I’ve patched Grian up a million times before. Trust me, Hotguy, I’ve- I can do-”
“Scar,” Hotguy interrupted.
Mumbo froze, a frown settling in his face as well. “What?”
“Please just call me Scar,” Hotguy said. “That’s, uh… That’s my name.”
“…oh.” Mumbo’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Right. Scar. Um…” He breathed in, then began to work on cleaning up the wound, peeling back the remnants of Hot- of Scar’s suit to clear the area around the cut.
Scar sucked in a sharp breath as he moved himself again, trying to put himself in an easier position for Mumbo to access, and thankfully allowing Mumbo to help.
( Gosh , this felt weird.)
“What- What happened to Grian, anyway?” Mumbo asked, after a moment. “Is he okay?”
Scar shrugged, though clearly immediately regretted the movement, another pained expression flashing across his face. “He’s… fine, I think,” he said. “Should be on his way back. We got separated.”
Fuck. “R-Right.”
“Mission was a success, at least.” Scar smiled. How on Earth the man was smiling in his current condition, Mumbo didn’t know. “Got ambushed on our way to safety. I- I thought Grian was right behind me, but maybe he got pulled back into a fight, or… or went another way, or something.” He sighed, wincing a little as Mumbo brushed the cloth against a particularly sensitive area of skin. “I don’t know. Comms stopped working when we entered that mansion.”
So it wasn’t just a once off issue with the area. Oh dear. Mumbo would have to look into that.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, though,” Scar said, his eyes slipping shut as Mumbo moved to start stitching up the wound. “Grian’s a tough cookie.”
Mumbo huffed. “Yeah. That he is.”
He decided to hold back a comment about how much more whining Grian would be doing- and has done- in this exact situation before. It didn't quite seem like the proper time. "Right, this is gonna hurt."
Scar simply raised his eyebrows at Mumbo. Scar, covered in blood. With a visible open wound. Who just crashed through glass and fell to the floor after already having had an awful fight with god knows how many-
"Right, yeah, it's gonna hurt more than you're hurting already." Mumbo had to quickly look away from Scar's resulting smirk to make sure his hands were stable enough to stitch him up properly. All he had to do now was focus, and-
"Should I take off my shirt?" Mumbo jumped, eyes immediately locking onto Scar's.
" Pardon? " Under normal circumstances Mumbo would've been deeply embarrassed by how his voice cracked. Even Scar, who had seemingly been unfazed by Mumbo making a right fool of himself up till now, looked a bit confused.
"Y'know, so you can do your whole…" Scar vaguely waved his hands in a stitching motion. "The first-aid-whatchamacallit-thing." Mumbo blinked, eyes immediately darting back to the wound.
"Right! Yeah, that- the- stitches. Yes. Right." He needed to focus, not think about how he could be seeing the Hotguy shirtless- well, in real life, that is, he'd seen it plenty enough when he got his calendar earlier that year-
"Stitches! Exactly." Scar said in a manner far too relaxed for the situation. "Man, you would not believe how often words like that just don't come to me. It's all fine and all until you're taking down whatever bad guy rears his head that week and you can't think of something cool to say when you're taking him down. Guess that's why I just stick to saying my name most of the time."
Mumbo had been too preoccupied with concentrating on politely nodding along and maintaining eye contact that he didn't notice Scar was peeling the fabric from his skin until he readjusted to try and pull it over is head.
"What are you doing?!" He exclaimed much too instinctively and much too passionately for his liking - he decided from then on that eye contact was never going to happen again - and he felt his face flush from embarassment immediately. He didn't look up to see the expression on Scar's face, but he was very thankful that he stopped moving.
"Sorry!" Mumbo nervously laughed. "Sorry- I- I didn't mean to shout like that, uh- I simply- well, I uh- you don't need to take it all the way off, that- that much is fine! Just- just don't need it in the way! And now it's not!" Mumbo's eyes were tightly closed as he strained a smile, waiting for Scar to say something nice and calming that would defuse the situation.
Any moment now.
Scar would say something.
Something nice.
Or even just ignoring how badly Mumbo made a fool of himself, that'd be plenty enough!
Any moment now.
Even just an awkward laugh would be fine, really!
…
"…So!" Mumbo said, abandoning all hope of ever talking to his favorite hero again, "…We're all good!"
"…Yeah." Hotguy said, letting out an awkward laugh that felt too much like pity for Mumbo's sanity. Really, if he wasn't actively providing medical attention to him then Mumbo might've just bolted from the-
Right! Medical attention!
Focus, Mumbo, you can change your identity and flee the country after the superhero is taken care of. Mumbo snapped back to his task, taking a breath to steady himself before finally going to take care of the wound. He muttered out a "sorry" as Hotguy flinched, but didn't recieve any sort of response.
When he was done, he quickly fixed himself on his next task: putting everything away while decidedly not looking at Hotguy. If he wasn't looking then he wouldn't have to know just how off-put his hero surely was and-
"Mumbo?" Hotguy's voice was softer than expected and Mumbo froze. "Are you okay?" Mumbo took a deep breath and dared to glance over but the look of genuine concern took it away. Hotguy was worried about him ? Not upset or-
God, of course he was! He was a hero! He took care of people, saved people- he was kind!
That's why Mumbo got that stupid crush that was just mucking this whole situation up in the first place.
"Sorry," he chuckled awkwardly, "it's just, uh… you, uh- you really live up to your name, huh?"
Hotguy laughed, sounding mildly flattered (which caught Mumbo much more off guard than he’d like to admit).
“I get that a lot,” the superhero made a casual gesture, “though I usually don’t get that after going to the doctor’s…”
(Mumbo wasn’t blushing, he wasn’t.)
“O-oh!” Mumbo’s thoughts caught up to his words. “I-I’m sorry! I-I don’t know where that came from, haha…”
Mumbo looked away again, busying himself with cleaning up. He’d have to wash the blood off of the floor more thoroughly later, but for now he dabbed up as much as he could with some napkins.
Mumbo stood to go put the first aid kit away and wash his hands, keeping his eyes on the floor. He could hear Hotguy moving a bit, followed by the hero sucking in a breath. Mumbo would have to make sure his wound didn’t get reopened later.
(Which meant checking the wound again and probably having to deal with Hotguy taking his shirt off—)
“Oh, shush.” Mumbo grumbled under his breath, peeling his gaze away from the ground and up to the cabinets. “You just keep making a fool of yourself. You’re so much better when Grian’s—“
Oh god Grian.
The hairs on Mumbo’s arms stood on end at the realization that Grian still hadn’t come back.
He nearly dropped the first aid kit in his rush to put it away. He needed to get Scar and get clues on where Grian might be.
By the time Mumbo got back to Scar his breathing had calmed just enough to be manageable. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated when he followed Scar’s gaze.
He was staring at the gun Mumbo had dropped earlier.
Mumbo internally scolded himself for being so careless about the one defense he had.
Scar seemed uneasy, staring at the gun like something was wrong with it. After a moment of tense silence he cleared his throat. “You just uh, keep guns littered around the floor or something?” He chuckled awkwardly, like he was trying to joke and failing.
Mumbo fiddled with his hands, thoughts ticking away in his brain. Did Hotguy have something against guns? That didn’t make much sense. He was a vigilante whose signature weapon was a bow, and he was working with a vigilante whose signature weapons were guns.
Oh crap Grian.
Mumbo couldn’t believe he had forgotten so quickly. “Hotg– Scar! Do you have any clues to where Grian could be? Perhaps?” Please? Mumbo decided not to add that last part out loud.
Scar shrugged, then winced. “I have zero idea.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “But I think we should start trying to contact him.”
“Right!” Mumbo quickly nodded, his hands falling to his sides. “I-I’ll go do that. Wait here, I guess. Or come with me?” He was starting to blush again, and he turned away. “I-I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“I’ll stay here, I’m not sure how much I can move, anyway.”
Mumbo nodded again before running back to his computers, leaving Hotguy in the faded puddle of blood. Alone, with the gun.
For the second time that night Mumbo found himself frantically typing away at his keyboard. He had finally gotten some info on where Grian’s comm was, but the signal was faint and only gave a vague area.
Was he hurt? Did he need help?
Mumbo paused, hands clenched into fists. He didn’t want to believe that Grian was in serious danger, but that was very likely the reason why he was still absent.
He went back to typing, once again sending out a message to Grian’s comm. He hadn’t responded, and all of Mumbo’s attempts at calling him seemed to have been in vain.
Mumbo wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, but he was slowly running out of steam. He was tired, but he couldn’t stop. He had to find Grian.
(He wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t.)
Mumbo jumped at the sudden crash coming from the other room, and his heart leaped at the chance that it might’ve been Grian.
He stood and rushed to the doorway—
Oh. It was just Scar.
(Mumbo almost couldn’t believe that thought. Just Scar. It was just Hotguy.)
(The stress was getting to him.)
“I got a message.” Hotguy finally spoke as he gave up on walking and propped himself up against the wall. “From Grian.”
Mumbo’s eyes widened, and he nodded along eagerly.
“It was a bit, uh, nonsense. To me at least. Something about wings and blood… and broken tool-whatsits? I couldn’t really read it but it was like ‘something goon’ I think.”
“Something goon…” Mumbo echoed, furrowing his brow. “Goon. Goo— gun? Was it gun?”
Hotguy’s face lit up in an excited little ‘oh!’ expression. “Yeah! Yeah that’s it.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m always mixing words up, geez.” He laughed.
Mumbo decided to ignore that. “If his guns are broken and his wings are injured then we need to find him as quickly as possible.”
Oh, Grian. What trouble did you get into THIS time?
Grian slid down the wall, wincing as the movement irritated his injured shoulder. God he was tired.
Unfortunately, bleeding to death wasn’t the greatest idea, so he’d have to hold off on taking a nap.
He glanced down the alleyway again, frowning. He was a damsel in distress over here, where was his stupid knight in shining armor?
Grian guessed that he’d been waiting for about an hour. At least he’d been somewhat patched up already. Thank you kind stranger who tended to his wounds and then fucked off after telling him they were getting help.
‘Kind stranger’ could have at least left Grian’s comm alone instead of taking it with them. Jerk.
Grian had started wondering whether or not bleeding out would be more convenient than sitting and doing nothing when he heard footsteps.
Mr. kind stranger had actually come back. Grian laughed incredulously. “Well pluck my nose hairs and send me to Alaska, look who finally showed up.” He didn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone.
“I’ve never broken my word before, man.” The stranger was nonchalant to an almost annoying extent.
“I can’t really trust that, considering I don’t actually know you.” Grian raised an eyebrow as the stranger just shrugged.
“Fair enough, fair enough.” He sat down beside him. “I got some help, by the way. Someone named ‘Mumbo’ is coming to find you.”
Grian sat up straighter. “Wait, seriously? Holy crap I’m actually getting rescued.”
The man beside him nodded. “Of course, dude. Glad I can help out a friend.”
“We’re not friends.”
“Alright.” The stranger shrugged again. “Whatever you say, Cuteguy.” He looked across the alley at some graffiti.
“You know, I actually used to know that guy.”
Grian looked to where he was pointing and found a painting of Hotguy. “Did you, now?”
The man nodded. “Mmhm. Used to be good friends, too. But he ended up getting really busy with the whole vigilante justice thing, and I misplaced his contact.”
Grian blinked. “ Misplaced? Did you not save his contact in your phone?” Maybe this guy just doesn’t have a phone or something.
“Nah, never really saw the point. But looking back on it I probably should have. Hm.”
“Sooo how’d you misplace it?” Grian pressed, actually a bit interested.
“Something knocked into my apartment and the stack of papers with my contacts written on them fell.” The man leaned back while Grian just stared, mouth open in near shock.
“Papers?!” Was this guy a madman? Grian decided that the topic would be better off dropped, and when mr. stranger didn’t respond, he left it at that.
The man checked his watch, raising an eyebrow. “Your friend is almost here, by the way.” He stood and stretched casually. “Good to meet you, Cuteguy, but I should get going.”
A part of Grian wanted to get him to stay, but instead he settled on calling after him. “I never caught your name, by the way!”
The man paused for a moment, turning to look at Grian. “The name’s Cub. See you soon, man.” And then he was gone.
Grian sighed. Help was on the way and he wasn’t actively dying. Everything was turning out better than he had expected.
And he had a feeling that he was going to be thinking about the mystery that was Cub for a long time.