Chapter Text
“Mumbo,” Grian sighed. “I have to go. You can handle this by yourself.”
“Grian! No,” the other vet whined. He was leaning all the way back in his office chair, gripping onto Grian’s sleeve like the world would end if he left Mumbo’s vicinity. “I can’t talk to her!”
“Yes, you can,” Grian argued, but he was smiling. “She’s perfectly polite.”
“Maybe around you,” Mumbo muttered. “Last time I helped her, she yelled at me for thirty minutes because she didn’t believe that the kitten she just adopted was male!”
“Oh, yeah,” Grian gasped. “You told me about that. I nearly forgot. She won’t be that insufferable again, right? Surely not. You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t care,” Mumbo said. “Don’t leave me alone with her!”
“I have to go. My shift’s over,” Grian replied. Gently, he pulled himself out of Mumbo’s freakishly-long reach. His friend groaned, mouth dropping into a deep frown. It was clearly meant to garner sympathy. Grian waved, and left the room. “Goodbye, Mumbo.”
“Ugh,” Mumbo called after him. “Bye, love you!”
“Love you too!”
Grian exited the clinic into the late afternoon sun, blinking away spots at the sudden brightness. He’d been at work for the better part of the early morning and into the day, which meant he was free to get some solid rest until his next shift tomorrow night.
For as much as Mumbo complained, business hadn’t exactly been booming recently. It was better that way – given less clients visiting the emergency clinic indicated that less pets were having emergencies – but it could make the hours a little boring.
Grian, admittedly, tended to entertain himself during those types of shifts by watching the way his best friend did his job.
Mumbo wasn’t a bad vet. Far from it, actually. He was probably more skilled and contained more textbook knowledge than both Grian and Skizz combined sometimes. Every bit of information that entered his skull stayed there indefinitely.
Maybe the playing field would’ve been balanced out a little bit if Mumbo struggled to put the methodology into practice. However, that was another place where he excelled. Grian knew his friend could always be counted on to easily find veins when drawing blood, measure out correct dosages without fail, and complete paperwork at record speed. It was not for any of these reasons that Mumbo made him laugh.
In fact, it was his social skills that caught Grian’s attention.
All the textbook knowledge and smarts in the world could not make Mumbo better at dealing with people. He could not begin to understand how best to handle difficult visitors, how to break bad news, or how to be firm when it was important for a person to listen to him.
Mumbo was just too nice. He didn’t want to make a kid cry, or come across as forceful as he relayed instructions for easing a pet off an unhealthy diet. It was where he cracked. Grian took a sick amount of enjoyment from watching him bumble through interactions until he ultimately would ask for a coworker’s help.
It was especially funny because he wasn’t like that at all once he got to know a person. He was delightful, able to yell and make crude jokes on occasion. Rude comments often had to be coaxed out of him, but they certainly existed – and, well, Grian loved a challenge.
He basked in the sunlight while walking home. His commute wasn’t long, a little over thirty minutes if he took his time, and Grian liked the exercise it gave him. It was only really inconvenient during his late shifts, or after an especially tiring day. Today was neither. It was quiet, warm, peaceful, and he wanted time to pass as slowly as possible.
An alert buzzed from where his phone had been shoved in his pocket. Grian fished it out, swiping it open with a vague half-interest. He raised the brightness of his screen enough to see the notification, and clicked on it.
He wasn’t expecting to be taken to the news app – with a warning indicating an emergency in his vicinity.
Grian sucked in a breath, squeezing his phone and pausing on the sidewalk to read the exact details closer.
Stupid thing barely contained much more information than the report of a fight on a street not far from where he was. It didn’t include the people involved, nor the ranking of danger.
The vet jerked his head up, spinning rapidly to see the reactions of the others on the street around him. None of them seemed particularly perturbed, even though several also had their phones open and would’ve seen the notification.
Having nowhere around that could be considered safe, and given everyone else’s casual nature, Grian swallowed his worry and opted to keep walking. His home wasn’t too much further, just a couple more blocks.
With every step, he scanned the horizon for indication of a scuffle. Several times, he almost bumped into another person because of his wandering gaze. Never once did Grian see a hint of fire, hear buildings exploding, see figures on any rooftops.
The atmosphere was uncomfortably relaxed for being allegedly close enough to a battle to warrant an alert. Maybe it was a false alarm – those could be sent out by accident if the reporters keeping tabs on the city’s status had problems with their devices or couldn’t keep close enough track of the directionality of an encounter.
Yeah, this was probably nothing. He was probably just being jumpy. Everything was probably fine. Grian didn’t live in an area where this occurred often. Two alerts in a handful of days was rare, but it didn’t mean the world was ending.
Before that night a week prior, he hadn’t ever had the displeasure of ending up in the radius of a fight. It was a fluke when it finally did happen too – unlucky, like lightning striking twice in the same area. Rare, but not impossible. There was nothing worth a villain’s time here, only neighborhoods and small businesses.
Forcing himself to train his gaze on the ground, Grian had to repeat that over and over again to keep calm: No villains or heroes were ending up near him on purpose.
If it truly was as close to him as the alert said, they were likely long gone already. Heroes and villains moved fast, never remaining still for more than a few moments. Crossing the length of the city and passing through the area was probably the closest they would get to him.
He was so intensely focused on keeping himself calm that he was only drawn from his head by the first shrill scream from beside him. The sidewalks became a stampede all at once, civilians shoving and shouldering past one another to run back in the direction they’d come.
Dragging his eyes up to the sky, Grian’s blood ran cold at the sight of two silhouettes framed by the sun, fighting atop a building not a block away from him.
Oh no.
Another loud noise erupted from the middle of the street. It was even closer to him, only a handful of abandoned car lengths away from where he stood. He could feel the ground shake from the impact, taste the rubble that flew up, and smell the thick scent of blood in the air.
Grian couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t muster the energy to run. He stumbled to the side, ducking into the nearest alley and poking his head out. Familiar fear flooded him, but all he could do was watch as one of the city’s most infamous interactions unfolded steps away from him.
The fight was happening. It was here. The alert was right.
And now, he no longer had to wonder about the individuals involved. He could see them clear as day.
Not that Grian needed an insane amount of details to put a face to a name. He would recognize those flashes of red and blue anywhere.
Though, it wasn’t Ringmaster in front of him, exchanging thrown punches and stabbing thrusts with a hero clad in green and orange armor. Rather, it was Eclipse – the pink-haired member of the Bamboozlers, whose powers were capable of rendering an enemy blind for upwards of a minute during combat.
Despite how she’d been slammed into the concrete not a minute prior, she was already back on her feet. The hero, Slayer, was known for her skill. Eclipse kept up with her easily, ducking as a punch was thrown and swiping at her feet.
Grian stared in awe of her accuracy and fighting ability with her spear. Every time the villain struck out with it, the blade made contact. Had it not been for the hero’s costume design being primarily heavy plating, she likely would’ve received several fatal blows already.
Beyond her, on the rooftop, Grian could make out the sight of another of the Bamboozlers. Judging by the lankiness and blonde hair, it was Boogeyman. He was engaged with Furioso, though that back and forth was hard to fully absorb.
Invisibility powers meant that a lot of the hero’s time spent fighting Boogeyman was wasted trying to find him. Only when a blow landed did the villain get knocked into visibility again for a couple of seconds. He was not as outwardly skilled as Eclipse, just from the few seconds Grian could decipher, but his stealth abilities made up for whatever he lacked.
However, these were only two people out of the total three that made up the Bamboozlers. They were never apart, never moving as anything less than a complete group. Grian glanced around, involuntarily searching for a familiar face.
He found Ringmaster on the roof of another building. His frame was lowered, barely visible over the lip of the building. Undoubtedly, he was sneaking up on Furioso. Boogeyman remained in a stalemate dance with the blade-wielding hero, holding his attention solidly away from the approaching person.
Suddenly, Ringmaster pounced. He landed on Furioso’s back, catching him in a chokehold. The hero strained and fought against him, with Boogeyman coming into visibility in front of him. There came a loud whooping cheer, presumably from the lankier villain.
Furioso struggled, trying everything from pulling at the arm around his throat to slashing out at Boogeyman whenever he attempted to lean in. Grian could hear his frustrated shouts from the street below. And if that could reach him, it certainly reached the hero’s teammate.
Slayer, who had been stuck in a grapple with Eclipse, shoved backwards. She raised her arm, where her iconic crossbow was mounted to her armor. Her aim was known to be nearly perfect, and the sight of it alone seemed to alarm her opponent. A bolt was fired off, but not before Eclipse dove forward, knocking the hero’s arm aside.
The projectile soared through the air and buried itself in the wall of the building uselessly. Despite not hitting anyone, the whistling sound worked to shock the three on the roof. Ringmaster and Boogeyman were distracted for long enough that Furioso was able to free himself.
He slipped under Ringmaster’s arm, and then twisted around to grab the villain by his collar. Grian watched Furioso activate his high-jumping ability, bringing the two several feet up into the air. From there, he punched Ringmaster in the gut and released him, sending the guy plummeting towards the rooftop again.
Grian winced, preparing to hear the crash of the impact. But it never came.
Instead, a red glow overtook Ringmaster’s body, slowing his form in mid-air. Boogeyman rushed over and tugged him gently back to the ground. Once the red glow dissipated, Ringmaster resumed moving around like nothing had happened.
Grian didn’t know quite as much about Ringmaster’s powers as he did Eclipse and Boogeyman. He’d done the most baseline amount of research after having his life threatened, though not much had come up.
The latter two were obvious enough to have several articles online detailing the known extents of their abilities, but an ominous red glow was ambiguous, even in the eyes of superpower experts. Reporters were fairly certain that Ringmaster had some sort of matter manipulation, though its limitations and exact specifics were heavily argued.
Either way, whatever he’d done to keep his body from slamming into the rooftop was likely what had also kept him from breaking any bones the first time Grian met him too. It was odd to witness it being used in a battle sense. He could see why it’d be hard to counter.
The battle continued. Without the element of surprise working against him, Furioso was fairly efficient. He was against two opponents, and clearly on the defensive. His dual-wielded swords almost seemed to have a mind of their own, so they were able to keep both opponents at bay, but the tides would not be changing without an outside push.
Grian looked towards the fight on the ground to see if anything had shifted there, and if Furioso might get help from his teammate. Upon laying eyes on them, though, it was immediately clear that he wasn’t skilled enough to actually tell who was winning.
Eclipse and Slayer had grown quicker, moving with precision so perfect that his brain hurt. Slayer’s crossbow fired off at random, Eclipse’s spear knocking the projectiles aside and forcing them nearer to each other. The villain eliminated the main advantages of both of their weapons with a move like that, but neither of them lacked close combat abilities either.
Slayer seemed more focused on throwing out attacks from this distance, so it was probably safe to deduce that she was playing offensive here. Eclipse, though not particularly built in the way of muscle, was nimble and fast. Better than that, with the click of a button, her spear shrunk to the size of a regular handheld knife and aided her techniques. Slayer was not able to do the same with her crossbow, so her defenses raised.
Eclipse dodged beneath a punch, grabbed Slayer under her arm, and flipped her. The hero hit the ground with a roll, but landed on her feet. She forged immediately back into the fray. The energy never faltered. Eclipse’s blade slashed against armor futilely, Slayer failed to catch the villain with a knee to the gut, and then they were grappling.
Grian was enraptured by their scrapping, so much so that he could’ve missed the echoing cry of pain that came from the rooftop. It was only when Eclipse’s eyes went wide and her head shot to the side that he realized something had gone wrong. The move caused the hero to take the lead and shove her to the ground.
The vet frowned, gaze darting up to check what had happened. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Ringmaster fall to his knees, very visibly clutching at his side.
Grian knew what his hands were covering, knew exactly why that area might be causing him pain.
His old wound had been reopened.
The vet’s heart rate skyrocketed, the bag slung over his shoulder suddenly ten times heavier. He could only watch as Furioso lunged forward. Even as Ringmaster rolled aside, it wasn’t enough for the second blade to miss him. Grian wasn’t able to see the exact details, but he heard the scream, and knew the hit had landed somewhere unpleasant.
Suddenly, Boogeyman released his invisibility and threw himself at Furioso. He was able to knock the hero off balance, and send both of them toppling over. Ringmaster, though he was still holding his side, took advantage of the opportunity.
With both heroes engaged in battle with a Bamboozler, the third member of their trio slipped off the rooftop and out of sight.
That should’ve been where Grian ran. He didn’t have a dog in this fight, didn’t have a reason to stay, didn’t even really care if one side won against the other. Except, he couldn’t run. Not because his legs were shaking too much like they had been previously, but because of an image that played over and over again in his mind.
Ringmaster holding his side, falling to the ground with the intensity of the pain.
Up on the rooftop, it’d looked as though he could barely walk. How was he faring now that he’d slipped away? Had his stitches properly healed enough to prevent a bad injury, or was this reopening something to be concerned about? Would he be able to escape before the heroes caught up to him?
Grian bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, but it was nothing more than a feeble attempt at dispelling a strong urge.
He was about to do something stupid – he could feel it. No point in denying it, or trying to fight what would inevitably win him over. The vet squeezed the straps of his bag tighter and resigned himself to probable death.
Then, Grian stepped out of the alleyway, and into the main street. He waited until Slayer’s crossbow was pointed firmly away from him to begin sprinting in the direction where he’d last seen Ringmaster go. It was not hard to move past unnoticed.
If anyone saw him, it’d probably be the villains. The heroes were far too focused on their individual opponents to look up, but the Bamboozlers were worried about their teammate, so they were most certainly going to steal a glance at their surroundings every now and again.
Grian was, idiotically, less worried about the baddies catching wind of him. They were threats, but they’d met him before. It was unlikely they’d try and stop the person responsible for saving their friend’s life from getting to him a second time. The heroes would see Grian as a potential casualty, though, and probably move to evacuate him.
In the daylight, running down an empty street, he felt horrifically exposed. All it would take to end him right at that moment would be a single stray arrow, or a spear knocked aside at just the right angle. He was a sitting duck, diving headfirst into danger.
It would be fitting, at least, to go out because of his impulsive nature. Very like him.
Grian covered the final stretch of distance, turning into the side alley where he presumed Ringmaster had gone. Overhead, the other fight between Furioso and Boogeyman was still going strong. He heard the clanging of metal and shouted words, but couldn’t understand much of it. So long as it wasn’t interfering with him, he didn’t really care one way or another.
Grian gazed into the alleyway, shivering from the adrenaline rush and wracked with a new sense of deja vu. The daylight made the whole scenario feel backwards, not quite right. It was more open than last time – too open. Besides the spaces behind barriers of stacked cardboard boxes and dumpsters, he noticed that nearly everything could be seen. The shadows weren’t dark enough to disguise him should he be found out.
Suddenly, he could feel the stupidity of the idea nipping at his heels. Grian was going to get hurt, or worse, if he kept this up. Really, his attention should be on getting home, to safety — not this.
It’d be dangerous to leave the way he came, but not impossible to continue forward. He could leave, should he want to. There were dozens of outs, and the only person compelling him in this situation was himself.
Subconsciously, Grian knew that if he took another step towards danger, the effects would be irreversible. Fixing up a criminal without truly understanding what he was doing was one thing. Seeking a criminal out because of a suspicion of injury, especially with the intent to help, was another.
He was too close to the fight, too out in the open, too near to too many ways that this could ruin his life. If not through death, then in reputation – because assisting the villains might eliminate the threat of being taken out by them, but it made him a direct enemy to the heroes. He could go to jail, lose his license, all he’d worked for.
Grian faltered.
He didn’t want to destroy his life over something like this. Believe it or not, he’d never once pictured himself locked inside a prison cell, rotting away the rest of his days. That should’ve been enough to make him turn and run on its own.
Except, Grian had a stupid brain with stupid impulses and even stupider morals. He felt obliged to help now, because he knew he could, and he would regret it if something happened should he back out.
Grian didn’t care about the villains — they were dangerous and had flipped his week on its head, especially Ringmaster – but no one deserved to bleed out alone in a back alley. That was cruel, and after witnessing the stalemate fight going on behind him, he knew it would be Ringmaster’s fate.
No one else could reach him in time. No one else would be able to help in time. No one else was able to take Grian’s place here.
He drew in a deep breath, and started forward.
Ringmaster was not hard to track. Grian knew he was going the right way before he’d even laid eyes on the other man. The alley was permeated by the scent of iron and distant groans of pain. It wasn’t long before he was rounding a corner and coming face to face with a villain slumped against a wall in a very familiar fashion.
The guy was obviously in bad shape, as he didn’t immediately notice a new presence entering the area. Grian stared down at him, assessing the damage. Ringmaster’s eyes were squeezed shut and his hands clamped over his side as though it was killing him. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat, costume torn in several places. While most of the rips in the fabric were unremarkable, there was a single one on his leg that made Grian pause.
He’d been, quite obviously, sliced in the upper thigh by a sharp blade. Furioso was undoubtedly the cause, though this blow didn’t look deep enough to do serious damage. It appeared to be solely for the purpose of causing pain, or slowing down someone trying to escape. The arrow that’d been pulled out before was of a similar nature.
Grian had read somewhere that heroes were trained to imprison, not kill supervillains. Accidents could, of course, happen, but the intentionality of these blows were evidence enough of this teaching. Still, despite the severity not being quite as high, cleaning and wrapping the wounds as soon as possible was still a smart move.
He cleared his throat to draw attention to himself. Ringmaster startled, scrambling to press himself against the side of a dumpster. His green eyes looked wild, pupils dilated and brows creased.
“Calm down,” Grian said. “It’s just me.”
Ringmaster panted, chest rising and falling rapidly. Some of the tension left him as he realized exactly who was standing in front of him.
“Doctor?” He sounded hoarse, winded. “What are you–? Why are you here?”
Grian dug his nails into his palms to avoid giving a dumb answer. “I was watching the fight from down the street. Saw you get hurt, and I thought I’d check up on you.”
“Check… up on me?” Ringmaster’s confusion was palpable between them. The vet couldn’t blame him – Grian’s presence didn’t make sense to him either. “Are you… sure?”
And what a loaded question that was.
Grian had already debated this, already come to terms with it, already knew his conscience would never forgive him for ignoring a person in need. So, he nodded, and took a step forward.
There was a loud clamoring from further down the alleyway, causing the two of them to jerk their heads around to face it.
Grian waited for something to change, go wrong, for a hero to appear around the corner. But relative silence returned, and he opted not to waste anymore time. Grian knelt next to Ringmaster, pressing his hands against the slash to help speed up the clotting process.
“We’re too close to the fight,” Ringmaster said. “Those two can’t hold off the heroes for long. Just leave. If you try to fix me up here, you’ll be caught.”
The vet paused.
Ringmaster was right. He hadn’t hobbled very far from the main road. All it would take was Furioso or Slayer to break away for a moment to locate him.
Grian glanced down at the injured man again. His wounds needed proper care, the kind that couldn’t be horribly rushed. The vet weighed his choices, drew out a map of the city within his mind, and landed on something that wasn’t the worst idea ever. It was risky, but staying put them in a similar boat.
“Let me wrap your leg, at least,” Grian said, wiping the redness from his hands with one of his cloths and getting out his bandages. “So that you don’t leave a trail of blood behind, and it keeps some semblance of pressure on it.”
“A trail of—? What do you mean?” Ringmaster stared as his most evident wound was tightly covered. The bandages were already turning scarlet from the freshness of the injury, but they’d hold for the time being. “Doctor, what exactly are you thinking?”
“You’re coming home with me,” Grian replied, too focused on the task at hand to elaborate.
“Oh, um,” Ringmaster said, the pitch of his voice changing beneath the modulator. Half-heartedly, he chuckled, “Little soon, don’t you think? Take me to dinner first.”
Grian’s head shot up, surprised. As the other’s words set in more, his jaw dropped, his brows furrowed, and his ears grew red. Inadvertently, he pulled the last of the wrappings a bit too hard, earning himself a wince from the villain.
“That is not what I meant,” Grian scoffed. He removed a hoodie from his bag, which he carried in case he got cold while on shift. It was oversized, probably able to fit the other. He packed his bag again and slung it over his shoulder, extending the clothing to Ringmaster. “Here, put this on. My apartment isn’t far. I thought it would be best to just go there. Only to fix you up, though. None of that… nonsense.”
“Ah, I see. Thanks,” the villain said. He put on the offering, flipping the hood over his head. The confusion hadn’t quite left his eyes, though. “But, Doctor, you still haven’t told me why you’re doing this.”
“I did tell you,” Grian replied. “I was watching the fight and–”
“No, no, not that,” Ringmaster interrupted. “Why would you want to check up on me? It’s dangerous. Besides, I threatened you the last time we saw each other.”
Grian studied the other man. There was honesty in his tone and genuine curiosity behind his gaze. In contrast to the other occasions he had encountered this individual, he didn’t feel any hostility being directed his way. This man was undoubtedly evil and definitely unpredictable, but he didn’t seem to be without reason.
He was fairly sure that, so long as he didn’t come across as a hazard to Ringmaster, he would be alright.
“Yeah, well, you apologized. I’m not worried about that anymore,” the vet said. He held out a hand, and the villain took it. With a mild amount of effort, they were able to get the injured man to his feet. Ringmaster’s arm was tucked over his shoulder and he was adjusted to be leaning most of his body weight in Grian’s direction. “Unless, of course, you were planning on threatening me again.”
Grian stared up at Ringmaster, watching as the tips of his ears went red and his green eyes went wide. He shook his head, which was enough confirmation for the vet to feel secure.
Slowly, they started the shuffling trip down the maze of back alleyways. Grian knew they could stick to those for the majority of the walk home. He’d done it before, after he and Mumbo had a few too many at the bar and the street lights were too overwhelming for him to push through. Mostly-carrying someone in a stumbling collection of feet was actually a lot like getting home drunk.
When it came time for them to exit the alley and cross the street, Grian helped Ringmaster readjust the way the hoodie sat on him. Thankfully, his costume’s lower half wasn’t all that extraordinary, and the notable aspects of his identity were obscured.
This part of the city was not as abandoned, and they got a few concerned looks as people saw Grian supporting a limping individual. Ringmaster kept his head down and his mask out of sight, while Grian just offered as many polite smiles and quietly repeated, “He’s fine, he’s fine, don’t worry.”
Thankfully, the elevator up to his apartment was working, and getting inside was no issue. Once in, he flipped the lights on, and kicked off his shoes.
Ringmaster was led to the couch, made to sit, but Grian instructed him not to lean back yet. He quickly ran to his bathroom, grabbed a towel, and laid it over the cushions. It was both to keep blood stains away, and to prevent cat hair from irritating the wounds to the best of his ability.
Pearl and Maui initially came to greet them at the door, but had fled the moment they noticed their dad was toting an extra person. He figured they probably weren’t fans of the scent of blood. They lived spoiled lives, those cats.
Grian gathered the things he needed, unpacked the contents of his bag on the coffee table, and returned his attention to Ringmaster. The villain was still clutching his side, breathing labored. He’d taken off Grian’s hoodie to allow easier access, but it’d left him looking wholly disheveled in a torn shirt with messy hair.
To begin with, the vet shooed aside his hands and checked on his old wound. He whispered an apology as he lifted the guy’s shirt, but was pleased to find that nothing was horribly wrong. The stitches had healed very well, and the skin was in good condition. It would scar, though not horribly.
When he pressed at the skin a little bit higher, however, Ringmaster gasped.
“Ow, ow, not there,” he hissed, and Grian withdrew his hand. “I definitely broke a rib. That sucks.”
Grian nodded. “Yeah, seems like it. Explains the shortness of breath too, and why you screamed so loudly earlier.”
“I didn’t scream loudly,” Ringmaster scoffed.
Grian shot him an unconvincing smile, but did not explicitly agree. “I’m sure it hurt more than a usual broken rib would because of the old wound. Any impact in this general area probably has that added effect.”
“Yeah,” Ringmaster said. “I guess.”
“Speaking of which,” Grian hummed. He narrowed his eyes, smile turning hostile. “Didn’t I tell you to take it easy? What exactly were you thinking going out a week after injuring yourself?”
He felt a little like a disapproving parent, but it had to be said, There were very few actual directions given to the villain to ease his recovery, and this absolutely went against all of them. To his credit, Ringmaster had the decency to seem a little embarrassed.
“Sorry, Doctor,” he chuckled, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “We really didn’t think we’d run into any heroes today. The plan was simple.”
“Plan?”
“Can’t tell you,” Ringmaster replied. Grian raised his hands defensively, and shrugged, not willing to push his luck over something trivial. He got to work again, letting silence fill the room. The wound on the villain’s leg needed his attention now. It didn’t last long.
“Hey, Doctor?” The vet hummed, glancing up from where he’d begun to unwrap his shoddy bandaging job. Ringmaster sounded a little hesitant as he asked, “Could you turn on the news? I want to… make sure my Bamboozlers are okay.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” Grian said. “No problem.”
He grabbed his remote and switched on the television. It was already on the correct channel. He listened to a reporter chatting in the background while he cleaned Ringmaster’s leg. Grian was careful not to disturb the clotting as much as he could.
“Drone footage is showing the fight between Furioso and Eclipse is going strong,” the newscaster stated. “We still do not have visuals on Boogeyman or Slayer after the hero broke off, supposedly to search for the missing Bamboozler.”
He heard Ringmaster suck in a breath. “I didn’t tell them where I was going.”
Grian spared him a glance, and noticed a worried furrow to his brow. He felt like he was intruding a bit, so he cleared his throat and suggested, “Why don’t you tell them now? Use your watch.”
“I don’t want to distract them if they’re in combat,” Ringmaster replied. “They can’t have a conversation like that. I mean, just look at Eclipse.”
The vet checked over his shoulder. He saw the drone footage of the fight, where Eclipse had joined Furioso on the roof and taken Boogeyman’s place. The villain was wielding her spear at its full length, moving with similar precision to before and landing just as many hits, but something was off about this battle. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
“What’s wrong with her?” Grian had spoken before thinking, and realized only after the words were out that Ringmaster might take it the wrong way. “I mean, she’s acting differently than she was when I saw her earlier.”
“Hm? Oh, Eclipse?” Ringmaster’s brow raised, a sudden twinkle in his eye. “Nothing’s wrong with her. It’s a change in Furioso’s fighting style that you’ve noticed.”
“The hero?” Grian paused his curiosity briefly to consider whether or not this wound was in need of stitches too. He decided against it, since it wasn’t terribly deep or near anywhere particularly vital. Now that the area was properly cleaned, he would just have to bandage it and advise against agitating it again. “What’s Furioso doing differently?”
“He’s an impulsive fighter. His skills are strong enough that he can afford to wing it in combat without a real plan of what he’s going to do next,” Ringmaster continued, like it was something he just knew off the top of his head. Grian figured he probably did. “But when he goes up against Eclipse, he overthinks.”
“Yeah? Why would he do that?”
“Okay, you didn’t hear this from me,” Ringmaster started, and Grian perked up. “But we’re all pretty sure that Furioso has a crush on Eclipse. That’s why he fights so badly around her.”
“A crush?” Grian gasped, “On a villain?”
Ringmaster barked out a laugh. “Don’t say it like that! It’s not totally unbelievable. The Bamboozlers are all very attractive.”
Grian snorted then, shaking his head despite himself. The joke was said with so much ease and genuine humor that it was easy to forget he was conversing with a criminal. Their exchange felt more like two friends gossiping over a cup of coffee than anything quite as serious as heroes and villains. Honestly, once he noticed his own behavior, it was a little dizzying.
“You’re not disagreeing,” Ringmaster called, pulling Grian out of his own head. The villain propped himself up and leaned closer to the man kneeling beside the couch. “Of course you’d understand. You seem like a logical man, Doctor. Something tells me that you know an attractive trio when you see one.”
“Ugh. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Grian scrunched up his nose. Against his better judgement, he put a finger on Ringmaster’s forehead and gently pushed him back into a reclined position. The villain could’ve resisted, but he simply let it happen. “How is anyone supposed to think of you lot to be any particular way? Your faces are half covered at all times.”
“Furioso certainly manages,” Ringmaster mused, gesturing at the screen. Grian did his best to observe the ongoing battle with this newfound information in mind. It didn’t seem all that out of the ordinary at first.
Both Eclipse and Furioso had weapons that could be used best within arm’s reach of their opponent. Eclipse thrust forward, spear edge skimming the sleeve of the hero’s costume where there was no samurai-themed armor to protect him. Furioso stumbled back a step, and then swung out with his swords, but the attempt was blocked by the handle of Eclipse’s spear.
He was knocked aside, and kicked in the back of the knees. Without his double jump ability rocketing him up a bit, he would’ve fallen to the ground. Furioso whirled around, pushing in and kicking out at the villain’s gut. His ankle was caught, but he managed to yank it free before it could be used against him. Eclipse landed one more hit to his lower back — not a puncture wound, but certainly another scrape.
It took Grian really considering his actions to see this as anything other than a fair fight. Furioso had muscle on Eclipse, like Slayer. She was previously only holding her own with her fast movements, which she didn’t seem to be utilizing here. It was clear that, while maybe she wasn’t exactly destroying Furioso in offensive combat, Eclipse clearly wielded a higher level of control at the moment.
Instead of using his body weight to force her into a defensive position, Grian noticed that Furioso was keeping his distance, getting intercepted a lot more. Now that he was looking closely, the hero was indeed overthinking. He kept pausing to deliberate between attacks, and hesitating on the follow-through. Were it not for the villain sitting on his couch at that moment, Grian never would’ve known about the inner workings on display.
“Huh,” he whispered. “You’re right.”
“Obviously,” Ringmaster said, clearly proud of himself. “I’m always right.”
Grian was going to make a comment about the validity of such a statement, when suddenly, the newscaster began speaking quickly. The footage of the fight panned away from Furioso and Eclipse to reveal where Slayer had just emerged from an alleyway off to the side. It zoomed in to reveal the hero was giving the camera a thumbs-down.
“Sad news,” the reporter sighed. “Slayer did not appear to have any luck apprehending either of the other two Bamboozlers this afternoon. The only one left on the scene of the crime is Eclipse. Our strategists predict she will likely attempt to corner the remaining villain with her teammate.”
Grian’s eyes widened, and he glanced over at Ringmaster. The joy had left his companion’s expression. Without flinching, the villain raised his watch to his mask and said, “Eclipse, this is Ringmaster. Come in.”
On the screen, once the camera had panned up again, Eclipse could be seen shoving away from Furioso and raising a matching watch to her lips. Grian heard the faintest amount of noise filter through Ringmaster's earpiece.
“Yes, I’m fine. Listen,” Ringmaster continued. “Slayer’s back. She’s scaling the building behind you right now. Down and to your left. Boogeyman escaped already, so no reason to stick around.”
Eclipse lowered her wrist, and changed her stance. Furioso seemed to catch onto a detail that Grian didn’t, because he suddenly dropped his defensive posture and ran towards her, arms extended. He wasn’t fast enough to do anything, and Slayer had only just made it to the top of the building.
Without warning, Eclipse’s body became encased in shadow, which immediately exploded outward and knocked both heroes off balance. The camera remained unaffected, but the two she’d been fighting collapsed. They felt around, hands patting against the ground in an almost pathetic display.
They were blinded, Grian realized. She’d used her powers.
Eclipse didn’t stick around to gloat, though. Instead, she took the opportunity to leave. The camera did its best to follow her, but its lens couldn’t adjust in time to account for the lighting of the alleyways, and that split second was the most she needed to completely disappear.
The newscaster narrated the situation and expressed disappointment at the loss. Neither of them were listening anymore.
Grian heard another low buzzing from Ringmaster’s direction. “Hey, guys,” the villain sighed. “Sorry for not telling you, but I left. Remember our doctor friend from the other day?”
His gaze flicked to Grian, and the vet tensed.
“Yeah, he fixed me up again. I’m at his place,” Ringmaster continued. There was a muffled exclamation, to which the villain reacted with crinkled, amused eyes. “No, he hasn’t treated me to dinner yet. I said the same thing. No one knows how to sweep a guy off his feet anymore.”
“Why you little—!“
Grian clamped his jaw shut and glared at Ringmaster. It sounded like he and his teammates shared similarly annoying senses of humor. He grumbled under his breath, grabbing his phone from the coffee table to check the time.
It was five thirty in the evening. About an hour and a half had passed since he’d finished work, and his stomach was starting to feel it – especially after the physical effort Grian had put in to lug an injured man home. Making a meal wouldn’t be the most outlandish thing to do next.
Usually, by that point, his cats would be sucking up to him for their dinners too. Ringmaster was probably the only thing keeping them away. He should check up on them, see how they were faring. Hopefully, they weren’t actually scared, just being shy.
With an agenda of his evening's plans slowly rolling out in his head, Grian stood and stretched. He felt eyes watching him, but pointedly refused to acknowledge the man on his couch. The kitchen called to him in the form of two mewling furballs that had been loitering in the doorway.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Grian told them, dragging his feet as he approached. There was rustling on the couch, so he called over his shoulder. “Don’t stand. Let your leg rest for now.”
A disgruntled grumbling was his response, but Ringmaster obliged.
While Grian fed his cats and quickly whipped something up to appease the growing pit in his stomach, he listened to the vague noise of Ringmaster speaking to his teammates in the background. Pearl and Maui were glad to be given a distraction from a stranger invading their space, chowing down as soon as he placed their bowls on the ground.
For himself, Grian made something simple. Spaghetti was fast and easy, not more than fifteen minutes. Ringmaster was having a full-on phone call basically, so he didn’t feel guilty about leaving him on his own. As soon as it was done, Grian dished his dinner out into two separate bowls, poured on some basic marinara sauce, tucked in two forks, and returned to the living room.
Ringmaster glanced over as he approached. He was propped upright against some pillows, and a little more color had returned to his face in the short span of time since everything had been tended to.
“Sorry, guys. Have to go,” he said to his watch, lowering it. “What’s that, Doctor?”
“You wanted dinner, didn’t you?” Grian passed him one of the bowls, and gave the most passive aggressive smile he could manage. “Enjoy.”
“Oh,” the villain replied dumbly. He just gazed down at the portion in his hands, not reaching for the fork. “You… made some for me?”
“Yeah, well,” Grian sighed. “You’re kind of occupying my apartment at the moment. Would be awkward to only feed myself.”
“That’s… nice of you,” Ringmaster said. “But, uh, Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“I still can’t take off my mask.”
Grian’s expression was wiped clean in a single second. “You’re kidding. I did it again?”
Ringmaster straightened, eyes growing wide. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to waste your effort. I really do appreciate it.”
“It’s fine,” Grian said, but he was completely mortified. He took the bowl from Ringmaster, and started towards the kitchen. “I’ll just leave this portion in the fridge to eat later.”
“Wait!”
Grian stopped, glancing back.
“I’ll eat it.”
“You can’t,” the vet replied. “Your mask.”
“Well, I mean, that’s an easy work-around, right?” Ringmaster’s brows were furrowed, tone shaky. “As long as you… promise not to look at me, I can eat.”
It was Grian’s turn to go wide-eyed. He faced the other man fully, mouth agape. “What? But isn’t that risky? You don’t trust me.”
“Doctor,” Ringmaster tutted. “I’ll just kill you if you sneak a look. We both know that.”
The vet closed his mouth, lips stretching into a line.
He wasn’t sure if spaghetti was worth such a crazy exchange. Really, Grian didn’t care about the villain’s identity at all. In his opinion, only the heroes should worry about narrowing down aliases and catching baddies — it was literally their whole job. Reporting stuff to the police, or the Agency was not how he wanted to spend any of his days.
He didn’t need nor want to see what was beneath that mask, and as long as he remained in the dark, he maintained an ounce of distance between them. They weren’t friends, or trusted allies. Grian was just doing a debatably good deed, and then moving on with his life.
“Ugh,” Grian groaned. “Fine. Suit yourself. If you murder me, though, do me a favor and tell my neighbor to take my cats from now on.”
Ringmaster drew in a sharp breath. “You have cats?”
“Uh, yes? Two. Did you not hear their incessant meowing a second ago? They’re not exactly quiet,” Grian said as he passed back the bowl. “Both of them are shy around new people, but they’re secretly nuisances.”
He settled himself on the floor again, with his back leaning against the couch. It was the only position he could think of to prevent an accidental look, while also giving him a good view of the television. Grian started on his food, stomach rumbling to remind him of how truly little he’d eaten that day.
There was a clicking somewhere behind him, and a light hiss. Ringmaster hummed, happily saying, “I love cats. I have one myself, actually.”
Grian tensed at the sound of his voice. Logically, he knew it was because the modulator had been taken off, but hearing him without that filter was extremely disorienting. He hadn’t removed his mask since their first meeting, before the vet knew who he was helping.
“You have a cat? That’s cool,” he said, hoping his nervous energy wasn’t audible. Suddenly, keeping his eyes trained on the television screen, even as it just played boring advertisements between news segments was intensely interesting. He did not think about the fact that one of the city’s best kept secrets existed right over his shoulder. Not at all.
“Mhm, her name is Jellie,” Ringmaster went on, words slightly muffled by food. “She’s very cute. I’d show you a picture, but I don’t bring my phone with me on missions.”
“Jellie is a lovely name,” Grian hummed. “You probably need to get home to her soon, huh?”
“Yeah, probably,” Ringmaster said. “I’ll leave soon. Don’t worry, Doctor. I wasn’t planning on living on your couch forever.”
Grian shook his head. “I wasn’t worried about that. Longer you stay here, the more sure I can be that you’re not deciding to do something stupid, like — oh, I don’t know — going on another mission before you’re healed.”
Ringmaster laughed, and the noise sent a pang straight to Grian’s chest. It was odd to hear it, like everything else, without the modulator. The sound was full, natural, and completely genuine. Though it was cut off by a bit of coughing from irritating his broken rib, Ringmaster was totally entertained.
“You’re quite puzzling, Doctor,” the villain said, tone surprisingly soft as his coughs tapered off. There was another shuffling as the weight distribution on the pillows changed. “I can’t figure you out at all. Why do you care if I hurt myself further?”
Ringmaster had obviously leaned forward, because it sounded like he was hovering just barely out of sight. His presence could be felt mere inches away. Grian’s heart jackhammered against his ribcage — both because of his proximity to certain death, and something about the way the other was speaking to him.
Maybe it was just Grian’s mind trying to minimize his fear and misinterpreting things, but Ringmaster seemed almost fond in his delivery.
“Well, it’s my hard work that goes to waste when you do that,” Grian muttered, earning another little chuckle from his companion. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you’d be so bad at following basic care regimens.”
“Oh yeah?”
Grian shivered as he felt the villain’s breath brush against the back of his neck. He was far too close. Gritting his teeth, he replied, “Yes. I’ve treated wild animals that are less frustrating.”
A hand landed atop his head, ruffling his hair. Grian gasped, batting it away. If he could, he would’ve turned and smacked Ringmaster for such an egregious breach of personal space. For the time being, though, he was resigned to simply cursing the guy under his breath.
“Calm yourself, Doctor,” Ringmaster teased. “My friends will come get me once it’s dark outside. I’ll be… out of your hair soon enough.”
The pun only served to enrage Grian further. He angrily shoveled more spaghetti into his mouth. It wasn’t fair that the villain was able to sit back there and piss him off without consequences just because his stupid face was exposed.
“After dark, you said? Good. Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he sighed, setting aside his now empty bowl. The television had returned to the news, but it was nothing particularly interesting. When there weren’t villains to keep the city on their toes, the entire place was fairly boring. “Do you need painkillers or anything while we wait? I have ibuprofen in my bathroom.”
“That’d be nice,” Ringmaster hummed. “Thanks, Doctor.”
“Ugh, stop calling me that,” Grian groaned, head dropping forward. “Somehow, you’ve made ‘doctor’ feel derogatory. You know my name.”
“Oh? Do I?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The villain made a noise of consideration. “You may have introduced yourself, but who’s to say I haven’t completely forgotten since then? I’m a very important man, Doctor.”
“Please,” Grian scoffed. “Don’t act like you didn’t use my name and profession to run a background check the second you got home to your stupid headquarters that first night.”
Ringmaster sucked in a breath. “What? How’d you know that?”
“How else would you have found my address?” Grian shrugged.
“Yeah,” Ringmaster said, quiet and almost inaudible. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“So, you do know my name,” the vet stated. “Stop with the nickname.”
“Alright, I guess I can stop a little bit,” the other replied. He heard Ringmaster lean back, voice growing further away with the motion. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he whispered, “Thanks, Grian.”
Grian took a deep breath, drinking in the sound of his own name. After a silent moment, he climbed to his feet, bowl in hand. “I’ll be right back.”
The villain didn’t respond. Grian left, popping into the bathroom near his bedroom. Maui hopped up on the sink, purring contentedly as his owner scratched behind his ears while digging through his medicine cabinet. Outside the frosted glass of the window above the tub, he could see how the light had pretty much faded from the sky. Gentle twilight had grown closer to dusk. Soon, this ordeal would be over.
It didn’t take long to bounce from there to the kitchen and fill up a cup of water. He decided not to give the guy any ice. Offering a lukewarm drink was the easiest way to subtly get back at his irritating guest, and he was not about to pass it up. Grian paused once he was outside of the living room, parked just around the corner to avoid seeing anything he shouldn’t.
“Cover your face,” he called. “I’ve got the stuff.”
He waited a moment, maybe to hear confirmation that it was safe to come in, the usual shuffling of the couch, or even the hiss of a mask being put back on, but nothing happened. Frowning, Grian knocked on the wall.
“Hello? Ringmaster?”
Again, no response.
Dangerous as it was, Grian steeled himself, and walked around the corner. He found the couch empty, with one singular window propped open off to the side.
So much for leaving once it was completely dark.
Grian sighed, cleaned up the other empty spaghetti bowl, and inwardly promised to spend the night in a much more normal fashion. He put on mindless reality television, then sunk into his armchair, Pearl and Maui at his side.