Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian wasn’t expecting to actually witness anything on his way home from the clinic. 

His coworkers had begged him not to go, had repeated over and over that there was a criminal activity warning in place, but he hadn’t listened. Instead, he’d walked right out the door without a second thought. Half of what fueled his willful ignorance was exhaustion, and the other half was sheer delusion, but all of it was dumb on his part.

By that point, he just couldn’t bring himself to care about potential threats in the area. The city was big – overrun with criminal activity, in his humble opinion. Grian had done some shoddy math in his head and decided the chance of him running into anything was low enough to risk it. 

He was aware, subconsciously, of his own stupidity, yet he simply could not stay at his job for a minute longer. After fourteen hours on shift at the emergency vet clinic, Grian was desperate to get home. The too-smooth fabric of his scrubs and the scent of cleaning solution had overstimulated his tired mind ages ago. He could practically hear his bed calling to him as he neared the end of his work night. It would be such sweet relief. 

Then, the peace of the night shifted into something sinister. 

Distantly, his ears caught on the sounds of voices – shouting something that was indecipherable from so far away. Grian looked around, a frown on his face, in an attempt to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. However, the sidewalks and roads remained visibly empty. 

Finally, Grian dared to glance up, and through the insufficient lighting of a street lamp, he caught sight of a silhouette. 

A man stood on the roof of a building, balanced precariously on the edge. His form swayed in a nerve-wracking manner, way too unstable for being so high up. Gravity seemed to agree. Grian could only watch in slow motion as the stranger tipped further and further backward with every beat that passed.

There came a sound, like that of sharp whistling. Then, the figure stumbled, his last remaining foothold slipping out from underneath him. 

He was falling.

Grian’s breath hitched, heart catapulting into his throat. He tried to scream, tried to call out, but nothing would leave him. All he could do was gasp as the man fell down, down, down.

There came a sickening thud from within an alleyway. The world returned to silence.

It took several precious seconds for Grian’s mind to catch up to his body. He wanted to gag, run, and break down at the same time. The building wasn’t necessarily the tallest, but a fall from that height very well could’ve meant death should one land incorrectly. There was a non-zero chance that Grian had just witnessed someone die.

The reality hit him like a truck. His legs shook, vision blurred, and head spun. Someone could be dead a little more than twenty feet from him. Someone could be dead in an alleyway without even so much as a warning. Someone could be dead, and he was the only one around to witness it. 

“Oh my God,” Grian rasped, a terrible thought flickering to life behind his eyes. 

He was the only one around to witness it.

If the man was, by some twist of fate, not dead, he was the only one who could call for help.

Grian fumbled suddenly to switch his bag to his other hand. It was a hefty thing, almost constantly too full with equipment and emergency supplies should he ever need to make a house call for a client’s pet. As soon as his grip was freed, he moved to grab his phone. Unfortunately, he came up empty. 

He panicked, dropping his bag to search through the numerous pockets in his scrubs. His phone was supposed to always be in that one spot, but now he couldn’t find it anywhere. Maybe, by some mistake, he’d thrown it in with the rest of his medical supplies, though that wasn’t something he could picture himself doing. 

Grian paused his frantic searching. He was wasting seconds he didn’t have. The frustration bubbled to the surface, gathering throughout his veins into a hurried sort of armor. His resolve hardened, and he recognized that he couldn’t afford to stand still for a moment longer.

Grian took one last deep breath, picked up his bag, and sprinted in the direction of the alleyway. 

It was dark as he turned the corner. The lamplight only reached so far, and there were several piles of empty boxes and dumpsters to cast shadows in bothersome locations. Grian forced himself to hold his breath and just listen, searching for a shuffling sound, a heavy breath, a groan of pain, anything to indicate the man was still alive within. 

Nothing.

He would have to confirm it with his own two eyes.

Grian pressed further into the alleyway, unsure of what waited beyond while his eyes adjusted. Every footstep was calculated and cautious, painfully small as well. Part of him feared he might step on a corpse if his strides were too large. Better not to allow false confidence than to desecrate someone’s final resting place. 

At last, a sound that did not originate from him echoed off the brick walls. Grian’s head swiveled around, heart lurching and mind chanting, not dead, not dead, not dead!

But dying was not out of the equation yet. Grian rushed forward, disregarding his earlier concern now that he had been given a rough estimate of where to go. He stumbled over broken glass, tripped over stray boxes, but did not slow. 

After ages of waiting, his eyes finally got used to the darkness enough to see the vaguest shape of a person propped against a wall. He practically collapsed by the guy’s side, mind moving faster than he could handle. Years of training flooded through him, so much so that he was moving involuntarily before he could stop himself.

Grian took the man’s hand, feeling for a pulse. It was hard to distinguish, and he poked around his neck next. A meager thump, thump, thump surprised him there. Then he let a finger rest beneath his nose, a few shallow breaths brushing his skin. The man was alive, but nowhere near in a steady state, and certainly not conscious.

He rocked back on his heels to take in the sight of the man, trying to plan out his next moves. Even though his eyes had adjusted as best they could, finer details were lost to Grian. The cause for the man’s ailments — beyond falling from such a tremendous height — could not easily be deduced. He needed light. 

Grian turned to his bag and restarted his search for his phone there. Supplies clinked, but no matter where he dug around, it was nowhere. He was beginning to suspect he’d forgotten it at the clinic. Not good. Without a phone, he’d have neither a sufficient light source nor a way to call an ambulance. There weren’t even any passersby on the street for him to beg for help. 

The vet debated what little choices he had. Perhaps, if he channeled all the energy he had left, Grian could carry the stranger until they encountered someone else? Or maybe just into the nearest bit of lamplight? That sounded easy enough. He lifted large dogs at work all the time, so surely this wasn’t much different.

Agreeing with his own line of thinking, Grian leaned forward and blindly felt around where he could vaguely see the man’s shoulders to be. Unfortunately, in doing so, he was made aware of exactly how wide in stature the stranger was. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were fit. More than that, while he was knocked out, he was dead weight, which made everything harder.

If the rest of him matched in scale, then Grian likely couldn’t lift him far enough to make a difference while he was like this – especially should he wish to avoid injuring the guy further. 

It was for necessity’s sake that he let his hands clumsily feel around the other’s torso, just to see how difficult this was going to be. A groan came from the stranger’s throat, low and pained. Then, Grian felt something strange. It was warm, and as soon as he touched it, his heart stopped. 

Shakily, Grian shifted his hands slightly over. He nearly screamed when they made contact with a long, thin stick, feathered at the end. No light was needed to know what he’d discovered.

An arrow.

There was an arrow buried in this man’s side.

He hadn’t simply fallen off a building at all. It was deliberate. He’d been attacked. 

Grian wasn’t stupid enough to miss what that meant about the culprit. Only a few people in the city used something as old-fashioned and flashy as arrows for weapons nowadays. 

Villains.  

Despite being so certain that he wouldn’t encounter anything, Grian had gone off into the evening and found someone who had reached a much worse fate. Getting shot by a villain, toppling off a roof, relying on a stranger without the proper human medical knowledge — whoever this was, his luck was beyond rotten. And now, he was Grian’s problem as well. 

The confirmation of a larger wound solidified an upsetting truth that had been festering in the back of his mind for several minutes. No way to call for help, no time to hesitate any longer, no use delaying the inevitable. 

The puncture wound of an arrow wasn’t a laughing matter. A variety of things could lead to the death of the man across from him in this instant. Blood loss, the piercing of a major organ, infection from the dirty alleyway, and the impact of falling from a rooftop were just a handful of the dangers that could compromise everything. 

Grian had no choice. He was going to have to fix this himself. 

“Alright,” he whispered, mentally hyping up his own skills. Though he couldn’t see it, Grian let his hand brush against all of his equipment, listing them off in his head. 

He had the materials necessary to clean and stitch up the wound. However, there was a distinct issue with the few painkillers he kept on him. The dosages for a human would be difficult for him to calculate without knowing his patient’s weight, and they didn’t have time to waste.

With or without a numbing agent, it would be fine. The procedure would be fine. The patient would be fine. He repeated in his mind that it was fine until he almost believed it. Surgeries of various severity were things he’d done frequently for animals at the clinic.

Pets were wiggly little things, covered in layers of fur and often with much less tolerance for physical stress than humans. For procedures like the one needed in this situation, they required anesthesia and a load of patience. A human should be easier. They could reason, withstand, survive. It was unlikely that intense stressors would cause the guy’s heart to give out the way it might to a rabbit or other small animal.

Shamefully, a mountain of nerves bubbled in his chest regarding the specifics of the scenario. All he knew about arrows was through historical texts and late-night internet searches. His mind was warped with disbelief and anxiety at actually putting that minuscule research to good use.

Still, it had to be done, or else it would quickly become much worse. There was no telling the next time someone would walk past with a working phone. And that was fine. Out of all the people that could’ve discovered this dying man, Grian was his best bet. The guy’s life would be at risk with anyone less qualified. 

Nerves had no place within him. He wasn’t an amateur. Grian worked well under pressure – he had to for the sake of his job. He forced himself to focus on doing this as correctly as he could. Getting hung up on this being above his usual pay grade was not advisable in the slightest. 

The vet had begun to adjust the other to account for his injury when a cough sputtered from the throat of the man in question. It was followed by an even deeper groan. The man was stirring. How inconvenient. 

“What? Who–?” The stranger’s voice was hoarse, extremely agonized. He raised a trembling hand, and Grian took it hastily. “What’s happening?”

“Rest,” Grian shushed. “I’m here to help.”

Instead of calming him, the words seemed to send a shot of adrenaline through the injured man. He jerked, as if attempting to sit up. Grian’s heart squeezed at the scream of pain that echoed around them. 

“Hey, come on. You’re hurting yourself. Calm down,” Grian rushed. “I know it sucks, but I need you to stop.”

The vet did his best to coax him to relax again, but the other heaved out fast breaths and did not heed his warning. Finally, Grian grew irritated. Without really thinking it through, he slammed a hand down on the other’s shoulder, pinning him back against the wall. The man paused his fighting all at once, likely shocked.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was going to help,” Grian gritted out. “Now, quit moving and listen.”

There was a shuffling sound, and in the dimness, Grian thought he saw a nod. He exhaled, releasing his grip on both the other’s torso and his hand. The stranger thankfully did not move again. 

“Who,” he heard the same rough voice start, “Who are you?”

“My name is Grian,” he answered. “I’m a vet, and I’m going to do what I can for you. This isn’t going to be a pretty process, so are you willing to help me out a little bit as well?”

“Um… okay, yeah,” the other said, quiet and cautious. “I guess I could.”

“Perfect,” Grian hummed. “First, do you have any light sources on you? Like a phone or something?” 

A beat of nothing passed between them. Then, the stranger gradually raised his hand. Grian’s eyes widened as a faint red light flared to life, seeming to come out of thin air. The stranger moved his finger in repetitive, circular motions, letting the light grow steadily brighter at the tip of it. 

He knew what it was the second his gaze fell upon it – a superpower.  

“Woah,” Grian gasped. “I have to say… this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Superpowers were rare, and for a civilian with said powers to reveal them was even rarer. The Hero Agency recruited any they could find with remarkable characteristics, claiming they were too valuable to be allowed to roam around unchecked. A grand majority of villains originated because of exactly that, so it was better to keep quiet if one had powers and didn’t feel like working for the Agency. 

There weren’t any details that were particularly threatening about this individual’s revealed powers, though. All it seemed to do was shed light on their situation, and it wasn’t even all that bright. 

Still, anything was a blessing in the shadowy alleyway, whether it be barely feasible and tinted red or not. Grian observed the details that had been previously lost to him. The wound was the easiest thing for his gaze to latch onto. 

There was blood everywhere, and more leaking out around the arrow as the seconds passed. Whatever outfit the man had on was torn and ruined, sticking to the wound in a way that was surely unpleasant. Grian went ahead and ripped the majority of it away, careful not to make the circumstances worse than they had to be. 

It didn’t look terribly deeply embedded, but the tip was the problem he was most worried about. Luckily, from his surface level knowledge of human anatomy, he was fairly certain there were no arteries nor major organs in the specific area that had been pierced. If it had been slightly more to one side, it likely wouldn’t have hit the guy at all.

Moving along vaguely, he scanned for alternative injuries. Perhaps the most surprising thing of all was that he didn’t see any limbs that looked out of place. After falling from a roof, wouldn’t a broken bone or two make sense? 

He shook his head, writing it off as a stroke of good luck, and forced himself back on task. With the ability to see slightly regained, Grian returned to searching his bag. He retrieved a box of rubber gloves, a handful of tools, alcohol, chlorhexidine, gauze, bandages, and two clean cloths. 

One of the cloths was laid out on the ground at his side to make the tools more easily accessible. Before doing anything with them, he let his eyes wander over the other’s outfit. Though it was a bit bloody, he found what he was looking for. With a whispered apology, he removed the man’s belt and held it up to his face. “I don’t have drugs. You’re going to have to bite this.”

Thankfully, the man complied. His expression was cast in shadow still, as the light only reached so far, but Grian could bet he’d find fear there if he could see it. No one wanted to experience an impromptu surgery from someone they didn’t know. It was a nightmare situation for both of them.

“And put these on, please,” Grian said, passing him the box of gloves. The man only took one, presumably keeping his other hand free for the sake of their light source. Grian put on a pair too, then continued. He opted to explain what was happening to keep the panicking to a minimum. “I’m going to fish out the arrowhead, and then stitch you up to the best of my ability. Is that alright?”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and then a vague nodding movement. He couldn’t speak around the belt, but the confirmation was enough. 

Grian picked up the gauze. He unwrapped several large squares, then took the lids off his bottles of alcohol and chlorhexidine. With a spoken warning, the vet began his cleaning of the wound. He alternated between pouring alcohol and chlorhexidine onto the gauze, and carefully prepped the area. 

His patient was, to his credit, fairly well behaved. Except for a few slight shifts, the man remained remarkably unmoving. Grian was impressed that he could keep his powers going throughout the stinging pain to allow for visibility. Hopefully, that trend would continue into the main bit.

Once the cleaning was sufficiently complete, the real work could begin. Grian put the gauze aside and removed a few of his pre-sanitized tools from their autoclave bags. 

“Okay. Here’s the hard part,” Grian started. “I need you to hold one side of your wound open, and bring this light closer with your other hand. Think you can do that for me?”

There was another quick nod. The vet proceeded. 

The process itself was actually not that bothersome compared to some more pressing surgeries he’d done on smaller scales. The arrowhead was, expectedly, flared when he found it. However, the fact that his experience with this sort of projectiles was limited to fiction and history meant it was smaller than anticipated. 

With a little incision and maneuvering, Grian was able to dislodge it and remove the arrow while avoiding major damages. The stranger groaned and let out soft cries, but he didn’t fall unconscious or dim his light at all. It was rather impressive. 

“Perfect! Great job. We’re almost done,” Grian whispered his reassurances. He took the removed arrow, wiped the blood off, and tossed it farther from them, hoping that it would do less damage there. “I’m going to stitch this up now, alright? Hold the two sides of the wound shut for me, just like this.”

As soon as he’d coaxed his patient into doing as he was told, Grian backed up. He switched out his tools, wrapping the bloodied ones in a separate cloth to be sterilized later. Then, he retrieved his suture needles and their clamps, beginning the process of stitching the wound closed.

That was the easiest part for him, something he could do in his sleep. It was done after only a couple of minutes of precise work. The bandages were secured into place a moment later. Grian put his tools away, cleaned up the drying blood that remained on the man’s skin, and sighed with relief. “Done.”

The red light of the man’s powers extinguished immediately, and he melted into the wall behind him. His chest rose and fell fast in the darkness of the alley, but his pained noises came after much longer intervals now. 

“Thank you,” came the man’s scratchy tone. Grian hadn’t noticed him removing the belt from between his teeth, but evidently he had. “I think you… saved my life.”

“Don’t mention it,” Grian replied, though the other was correct. The guy would’ve likely bled out or gotten a life-threatening infection if the wound hadn’t been treated quite so immediately. “You should still probably get checked out by a human doctor to be safe.”

Grian gradually faded out of his work mentality. They were still stuck in a grungy back alleyway in the middle of the night. It was no place for a patient to heal, and if there were bow-wielding villains shooting at civilians around the area, they wouldn’t be wise to stay in one place for too long.

“Hey,” Grian started. “I’m going to go see if I can flag down a car or find a payphone to call an ambulance. I’ll be back.”

“No! Wait,” the man exclaimed, jerking and catching Grian’s wrist as he stood. His grip was surprisingly strong. “Please, don’t leave. I can’t afford more attention drawn this way.”

“You don’t want an ambulance?” Grian frowned at the strange wording. “I’m pretty sure a hospital visit is still very much in order right now, so let me go–”

“Grian,” the man insisted, and the vet paused. “That is your name, right? Grian?”

“Um, yes?”

“Well, Grian,” he went on. “This is, unfortunately, the part where you have to listen to me. No hospitals, no ambulances, no flagging anybody down. That’s too dangerous.”

While Grian was glad to hear any amount of energy returning to the guy’s voice, he didn’t like this new attitude. What kind of egomaniac did he have to be to think himself above proper medical attention? What danger exactly was he placing ahead of his own life? Not even Grian was confident enough in his job that evening to be certain nothing horrific had happened. 

“Fine, wise guy,” Grian huffed. “If not on a stretcher, how exactly do you plan on getting out of here without reopening your stitches?”

There was a heavy silence for several seconds. Finally, the guy stammered, “I’ll call someone.”

Grian’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but shout, “You’ve had a phone this whole time?”

“Woah, hey,” the man gasped, volume dropping to a whisper. “Keep your voice down!”

“Why should I?” Grian, if anything, grew louder. His words bounced off the walls. “You just made me remove an arrow in mood lighting while you could’ve used a phone instead–!”

He was interrupted by a sharp tug on his arm where the other still had a hold on him. 

Caught off guard, Grian stumbled forward and landed hard on his knees. He hissed, yanking back his wrist. The man moved faster than he expected, slapping a hand over his mouth and clamping the other on the back of his neck to keep him from getting away. Grian tried anyway, giving muffled complaints.

“Please, Grian,” the man said, still keeping himself quiet. “Just… listen! Don’t you hear that?”

There was a new, underlying urgency in his pleading. It made the vet halt his struggle and stare forward. He assumed the man’s face was directly across from his, but as before, no amount of adjusting to the light would allow him to decipher details. 

Then, he did hear. 

Somewhere beyond the alley, there was a crash, and the rising crescendo of approaching police sirens. It sounded like a continuous barrage of horrible things. Grian’s brows furrowed as he attempted to pinpoint what exactly was happening. He did not like the conclusion he landed on.

His gaze flicked to where he knew he’d thrown aside a blood-soaked arrow, his ears caught on the disastrous cacophony of sound, and his mind connected the pieces around the reason why one might fear what could happen if they were to venture beyond the alleyway.

A fight.

That commotion was coming from a fight, and it was far too close for comfort. Only heroes and villains had the ability to cause such sudden, inexplicable unrest. As a lone civilian out at an ungodly hour of night, the possibility of encountering danger with a battle nearby was heightened significantly. 

And then, he would also have to consider the fact that his scrubs were likely coated in someone else’s blood. Whether he was the hero’s main focus or not, seeing that sight stumbling down the street wasn’t going to give the right impression to anyone. 

The man had been smart to stop him, even though he’d gone about it in a confusing way.

Gradually, Grian relaxed, nodding into the hand on his mouth. With a relieved sigh, the other pulled away, slumping against the wall once more. “Thanks,” he said. “We just have to keep our heads down until they pass. I’ll call someone after that.”

Grian still wasn’t over the fact that there had been a phone present during the earlier process, but he agreed that it was best to wait. 

The two of them stayed still, sitting on the unsanitary pavement of the alley for several more minutes. They listened as the chaos of the fight grew louder, and eventually, they were able to make out jumbled shouts – one-liners from heroes and witty retorts from villains. It was impossible to tell who exactly was out there, but it was best not to get too familiar. 

Grian had a baseline knowledge of the mainstream heroes and villains that collectively terrorized the city. While they were prominent topics of conversation amongst those on social media and most newscasters, he was typically too distracted by his job to care much. It wasn’t often that they came near his neighborhood. 

From what he could remember off the top of his head, there weren’t many villains that were capable of causing so much audible trouble. The city obviously had its fair share of petty criminals fueled by audacity given to them by their powers, but if the heroes got wind of them, they were usually cleaned up fairly fast.

Grian never imagined he’d be in a position like this one, horrifyingly close to the action. It really was deafening and constant. Were he not already sitting, his legs might’ve given out from the layer of fear that gripped his heart. 

Finally, after ages, things seemed to stop. Grian frowned, glancing at his companion, but the stranger gave no indication that it was safe to speak yet. He almost took the initiative, but the noise of whirring stopped him.

“Eclipse and Boogeyman got away.”

Grian’s breath hitched as a new voice came from directly above them. It was feminine, but not one he recognized off the top of his head as either a hero or a villain. Slowly, he let his eyes wander up. Grian had just enough time to train his gaze on a silhouette, before the stranger was grabbing his shoulder.

Without warning, a hand stifled his startled yelp, and he was twisted around to be pressed against the brick wall. Grian instinctively fought back, but the other pinned his legs under his own and hissed out, “Be quiet, dude!”

Grian remembered himself and their situation, forcing himself to calm. The stranger had crowded them into a corner between a handful of boxes and the building. With his larger frame hovering over Grian in this position, the minuscule amount of light that had been coming in was promptly stamped out. It was a little cramped, but they were officially as hidden in the shadows as they could possibly get. 

The vet was impressed, and slightly worried about the sudden exertion on his patient’s end. Not twenty minutes prior, Grian had finished his stitches. Throwing caution to the wind and maneuvering them both as he had contained the potential for serious consequences. If the man had twisted the wrong way even a bit while they were still so fresh, something could’ve come undone. 

Grian wished he had light again — wished he could glimpse his work for half a second to assure all was right with it. Unfortunately, the situation didn’t allow for that, and he was forced to silently stew over the chance of a malfunction. 

Honestly, when nothing happened around them for several seconds, he debated just reaching up and checking if the bandages were bloody with his own two hands. 

“Well, they can’t have gone far.”

Grian froze as a second person joined them overhead, this one a man. A shaky exhale left the stranger above him. He couldn’t look to see anymore, but if these people were getting this reaction from his companion, the new arrivals definitely weren’t welcome. 

“I shot one of them earlier,” came the woman again. She spoke with unwavering confidence, as if admitting to something like that was normal. “He fell somewhere down here, I think.”

Grian’s brows furrowed slowly. 

She shot someone? Someone who fell? Was that referring to his patient? 

“Ugh, that was ages ago,” the man complained. “He’s probably gotten away by now.”

“I dunno. We got a lot of good hits at the beginning of the fight. He was pretty out of it, even before the arrow,” the woman said. Grian heard shuffling from above, and felt the man holding him tense. “Let’s go check, I guess.”

Check? Check? They were coming into the alleyway to check for the man they’d shot?

Grian’s heart rate sped up so immediately that his vision swam and he became lightheaded. Being a few blocks from a villain was dangerous, but encountering one literally steps away was unheard of for him! He should run, hide, scream for help! 

Except, he couldn’t do any of those things, because the man was squeezing his shoulder and whispering, “Stay calm. Worst case scenario, I’ll get you out alive, at least.”

That was a stupidly terrifying worst case scenario. It did nothing to ease Grian’s growing fear. Getting just him out alive? Leaving the implication open that one of them might not? And the vet was supposed to be alright with that statement?

His ears caught on more shuffling, then two grunts from somewhere on his level as people landed against concrete. There was a click, and a sliver of light made itself known. Over the stranger’s shoulder, he could tell the two newcomers had dropped down by the mouth of the alleyway. Their flashlight’s beam wasn’t the most effective, but it illuminated enough to be worrisome. 

Grian couldn’t even shiver from the weight of all that was stirring within him. This was a nightmare from start to finish. Why hadn’t he simply stayed at work when his coworkers made the suggestion? Why did he have to get himself caught up in this mess? What did he do to deserve this?

The light drew nearer and nearer. Both Grian and the stranger held their breaths. It was closer now, almost reaching around the corner of a dumpster and shining upon them. Their perfect shadowy cover would be useless soon. 

“Oh, wait! Look at this!”

The flashlight’s beam stopped and turned away from them. Grian frowned, confused.

“Oh,” the woman gasped. “That’s my arrow! He got it out in one piece? The arrowhead is designed to break off if anyone tries to yank it.”

Grian’s mind jerked to the projectile he’d thrown aside after his emergency surgery. So, they’d found it. Tossing it had been an action done mostly unconsciously to prevent either of them from stepping on it in the dark. Now, he worried it might alert them to their presence. 

“It’s been wiped off too,” she observed. “There goes that DNA sample.”

“Clever. We shouldn’t have underestimated him,” the man replied, solemn. “He got away after all that effort.”

“Sucks,” the woman said. “We were so close.”

“Bad luck,” replied her companion. “C’mon, we should go file our reports now.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ll call HQ.”

Grian listened to a dial tone start up, echoing off the walls. 

“Headquarters, this is Slayer checking in,” the woman declared, footsteps starting up and the sound of her voice getting further and further away. “I’ve got Furioso with me. No sign of the Bamboozlers. They’re still evading capture. We’re on our way back.”

Grian strained to listen for longer, but he couldn’t past that point. Slowly, the information he’d absorbed in such rapid succession began to actually sink in.

HQ? Slayer? Furioso? Bamboozlers?  

Those were all names Grian recognized.  

Something was off about the whole situation. Why would the villains they’d been pointedly hiding from call into a supposed headquarters and refer to themselves by the aliases of the city’s two biggest heroes?

The man hovering over him leaned back, releasing Grian completely. Cold night air rushed in to fill the void. 

“I guess it’s out in the open now,” the stranger hummed. “Shame. I wanted to avoid this.”

There was a loud sigh, and he watched the stranger’s silhouette blindly reach around for something. Apparently, he found it by his old spot along the wall, because he lifted it to his face and wrapped stuff Grian couldn’t see around his head. 

A clicking sound, followed by a small hiss of pressurized air filled the silence, and a dull light was emitted from around the stranger’s jaw. Grian could make out the details of what seemed to be a gas mask over his mouth. It wasn’t like the gas masks he’d seen in the past, though. This one was smaller, highlighted by red and blue lights, and it seemed to be almost more for the sake of face coverage than anything else.

With the additional glow occupying the space between them, Grian was finally able to catch features that were lost in the prior darkness. His curiosity outweighed all else, and he drank them in greedily. 

This man had his intense eyes trained directly on the vet, with wavy hair that fell slightly over his forehead, but was otherwise slicked back. His clothing was odd – a striped collared shirt left loosely unbuttoned, layered with a black vest, and a small hat upon his head. The fabric around his wound was still torn and ruined. 

Something about the guy’s appearance was familiar, like he’d seen it dozens of times before. His subconscious screamed at him, but it took far too long for him to hear it.

Grian remembered what the two mysterious figures had been talking about earlier. Flashes of their conversation came to him at once – Eclipse, Boogeyman, shot one, he got away, Bamboozlers, evading capture.

None of those were phrases usually uttered about a random civilian. They felt more like something one would hear in reference to a villain.

Grian sucked in a breath, alarms blaring in his mind.

Suddenly, the outfit made sense. Suddenly, falling off a roof and landing without breaking a bone made sense. Suddenly, the superpowers and high pain tolerance and hiding from people who didn’t appear to be evil made sense.

This man wasn’t a civilian, wasn’t even a hero.

He was a villain.  

And if the other people had actually been Slayer and Furioso as they’d claimed, then this was not just any villain either. He was part of the most dangerous trio in the entire city – one of the infamous Bamboozlers. 

According to Slayer’s report, all three had escaped, but Eclipse and Boogeyman were not either of the two that had been shot. That left one singular person as a possibility. 

With his newfound context, Grian couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized it earlier. There was only one person in the public eye that dressed like a twisted carnival worker, sported a gas mask over his lower half of his face, and wielded powers appearing in the form of a red glow.  

“Ringmaster,” Grian whispered.

The man – Ringmaster – let out a chilling laugh. The sound was surrounded by an electric edge and with a distorted pitch from the vocal modulator located in his mask. 

“Hello, Doctor,” he mused. “You were quite the help today.”

When Ringmaster spoke, it was distinctly different from the normal voice he’d heard previously. This was fit for television, dramatic speeches, and thrown threats. 

There was an incomprehensible change between the man he’d stitched up a few minutes ago and the ominous figure in front of him. The scent of blood haunting the alleyway became less like the leftovers of a procedure and more like a forewarning of what was to come. The emptiness of the streets beyond the alleyway didn’t only mean a lack of help for someone else, but him as well. No one would hear him if he screamed.

Grian pressed himself as far into the wall as he could get, until the bricks scraped at his back through his scrubs and there was nowhere else to go. 

Mustering up what little confidence he could, Grian asked, “Are you going to kill me now?”

“Kill you? No, no,” Ringmaster said, huffing. Grian saw his eyes crinkle as though he were smiling. “I just said you were helpful, didn’t I? No reason to kill you.”

Grian breathed a sigh of relief, probably a bit too early.

“Unless,” he heard the other start. There was a pause, and Ringmaster leaned a few inches closer. “You wouldn’t have happened to catch a glimpse of my face, would you?”

“What?” Grian’s heart hammered in his chest. Frantically, he shook his head. “No, not even a little bit! I was too focused on your injury.”

 He hoped the desperation that dripped from his lips wouldn’t have the opposite effect and put him in danger. Grian truly hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t even really tried very hard. Still, if a villain had reason to suspect a civilian knew his secret identity, then that created a motive to kill. Grian was extremely not okay with the idea of being exploited for his skills and murdered shortly after.

Thankfully, Ringmaster leaned back again, seemingly content. “Good,” he said. “In that case, you have nothing to worry about. Not right now, at least.”

No part of the way he spoke calmed Grian down. He wouldn’t so much as think about relaxing until he was tucked under the covers of his bed with every window and door in his apartment firmly locked. Even at that point, he was certain he’d be paranoid for the foreseeable future.

The villain raised his wrist to his mouth, and Grian noticed a regular-looking watch there for the first time.

“Eclipse, it’s me,” Ringmaster said. There was a faint buzzing, and Grian saw him tap an earpiece a few times. “I’ve sent you my location. I need to be picked up.”

The buzzing returned for a few seconds. While it was there, Ringmaster hummed and nodded along. 

“Yeah, I did get shot,” he said. “No, I’m fine actually. I’ll tell you all about it in a second.”

He’s on the phone with someone, Grian realized. Eclipse — one of the other Bamboozlers.

Grian swallowed past a lump in his throat. If this man was calling in reinforcements, that meant he would not only be subjecting the vet to his own threatening presence, but likely the rest of the members of the notorious trio as well. That was more than a nondescript civilian should’ve ever had to withstand.

Ringmaster muttered a few more things, before lowering the watch and returning his eyes to Grian. 

“My friends will be here soon,” he told the vet. “Got any other words of parting medical wisdom for me? Anything I should know about these handy little stitches?”

Medical information — Grian could talk about that. Whether shaking in fear or doing his job as normal, this stuff existed on autopilot for him. Realistically, though, was it something he should give out? Perhaps he could claim ignorance for his initial assistance, but knowingly continuing to help a criminal could put him in harm’s way, couldn’t it? Was he in more danger if he spoke up or if he stayed silent?

Mulling over it for a second longer, Grian eventually relented, “Well, you should keep it clean and change your bandages often for the next few days. The stitches and sutures themselves should absorb into your body or flake off in roughly two weeks. Depends on how you’re healing.”

“Oh, you know your stuff,” Ringmaster chuckled. He propped his chin in his hand. “You fix up guys in alleyways often, or is this a new hobby for you?”

His tone was light, joking, but his voice modulator still pricked Grian’s nerves with anxiety. It was a funny comment when removed from the situation’s context, and yet the vet couldn’t bring himself to even smile. Noticing this, the crinkle around the villain’s eyes lessened slightly. 

Grian sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “You were just… lucky that I was walking by.”

“So it would seem,” Ringmaster muttered. 

Grian heard him take a breath, like he was going to say something more, but both of them stopped as a distant whirring sound came into audible range. 

Suddenly, a grappling hook shot out and caught on the roof over their heads. A figure swooped in after it, landing gracefully a few feet from them. 

Ringmaster brightened at the sight. “Eclipse! Over here!”

A flashlight beam blinded them both as a woman’s voice, also distorted by a modulator, cut through the silence, “Ringmaster! Are you okay? We saw you fall off the building, but we couldn’t reach you–”

She stopped dead when Grian was also illuminated.

“Well, well, well!” Her shoulders rolled back, and her countenance changed. “You didn’t mention it was a two-for-one deal over the comms.”

“Yeah, who is this guy?”

Grian startled as a man materialized directly next to him. “How did you—?”

“Invisibility, duh,” the man replied, like it was obvious. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Grian blinked away dark spots and leftover shadows from his eyes to take in the newcomers better. They both wore outfits similar to Ringmaster — adorned in the same colors of red, blue, and black, with matching hats, suspenders, and gas masks too.

He did recognize these people, especially when all three of them were together. They were the Bamboozlers, with Ringmaster being the guy he’d helped, leaving Eclipse and Boogeyman as the two that had just arrived. In that context, invisibility as a simple explanation for the man’s sudden appearance wasn’t so far fetched.

No longer having the safeguard of darkness, Grian forced himself to deadpan, revealing nothing about his inner panicking. Villains were twisted people, and these were some of the fiercest of them. Should they pick up on how deeply he feared them, they’d likely worsen their antagonizing. 

Grian worked to untie the knot in his stomach by pretending that this was just a group of three stray dogs with attitude problems. As long as he didn’t seem like a threat or a chew toy, there was a chance for survival.

“This, my friends, is the guy that saved me,” Ringmaster declared, loud and boisterous. “Stitched me up and everything, right in this alleyway! I am practically good as new!”

To prove his point, Ringmaster made a big gesture down to his side, still bandaged and thankfully not bleeding. Though, with the way he was acting, that wasn’t likely to remain true for long.

“Careful,” Grian hissed without thinking. “Too many large movements might open it up again. Take it easy.”

Silence followed his words, and Grian glanced around to meet three pairs of disbelieving eyes. 

Ah, he realized. Just talked back to a supervillain. Not good.

Instead of hostility, however, he was hit with a bout of shocked laughter from Ringmaster. “Sorry, Doctor, sorry,” he wheezed. “I’ll relax! Don’t burst a blood vessel.”

Eclipse and Boogeyman looked as appalled by their teammate’s demeanor as Grian felt. Eclipse took a step forward nervously. “Uh, did you conk your head? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Ringmaster answered, gradually calming again. “It’s just… He was so nervous a second ago, and now he’s being snappy with me. It’s interesting.”

Grian thought it was interesting too. Switching up that quickly between work mode and fearing for his life was not normal. He hypothesized that it might have to do with the very long shift he’d only recently finished prior to this entire debacle. He was running on fumes previously, and as he sat amongst a crowd of villains after performing emergency surgery, Grian wasn’t sure if even that much remained.

“Anyway,” Eclipse sighed, urging them along. “Why exactly did this stranger save you?”

Her eyes turned to him, bright blue and menacing. 

“Are you trying to get some sort of favor out of us? Because that won’t work,” she said, jaw clenched. The woman removed a short stick from her belt, but upon pressing a button near the bottom, it rapidly extended. Grian bit back a scream at the sight of her signature spear, still stained with blood from her earlier fight. “We could just kill you right here.”

Grian held up his hands in defense, but he wasn’t given a chance to speak. Ringmaster stepped in first. “Calm down. He didn’t know who I was when he helped me out.”

“I don’t trust it,” Boogeyman chimed in. “Maybe it’s a trick.”

“Yeah, we should take him back to the Bam Bunker for further questioning,” Eclipse agreed. Ringmaster shot her a dirty look, but she just folded her hands in front of her. “Please? Only a little bit of torture?”

Grian’s guard raised as high as it could possibly go. Unconsciously, his gaze drifted over to the closest thing to a safety line he currently had amidst the strange company: Ringmaster. The guy was a villain, but he was the only one that owed Grian anything, and the only one that might be able to hold off his bloodthirsty companions. 

To his surprise, Ringmaster was already watching him, eyes thick with amusement. 

He thought this was funny.  

Grian shivered, and scrunched his nose briefly – just enough that this one man would notice, but the other two would not. Ringmaster snorted, letting the vet know that the slight had been communicated. 

“No, Eclipse,” Ringmaster sighed. “He didn’t see my face or anything, so he’s not a threat. It’s a waste of energy.” 

“Party pooper,” Boogeyman grumbled, still uncomfortably close to Grian. Thankfully, he tipped backwards and hopped to his feet, stretching over his head. “Alright, well, you needed help getting out of here, right? Let’s go, then.”

Ringmaster extended a hand. Grian winced as the villain’s teammates yanked him up without any amount of thought given to his side. Evidently, it was felt. Ringmaster cursed quietly, and his hand shot to his bandages. 

Grian waited to see red, waited for the agony to return, waited to see his hard work wasted by carelessness. It was a relief when it did not come. Ringmaster tossed him a sheepish glance. “Sorry, Doctor. I’ll do better… Starting now.”

The vet did not reply, figuring it best not to give the villains any reasons to linger for longer in his general vicinity. No one urged him into it, at least. They had taken to, now that Ringmaster was on his feet and able to shuffle this way and that, whispering amongst themselves.

Grian stayed still, knees raised to his chest as he tried to melt into the corner. He wanted to be forgotten. Unfortunately, though, he hadn’t been getting what he wanted recently.

Ringmaster turned to him a moment later.

“We’re going to head out now, Doctor,” he said. “Get home safely, and try not to call the police, yeah? We’ll know if you do.”

Grian nodded vehemently, taking the threat at face value. Whether it was the truth or not, he wasn’t planning on finding out. Besides, what could the cops do that the heroes had not failed to do a hundred times over?

Content with his agreement, Ringmaster straightened, and gave his attention back to his team.

“Let’s go. Cover my flank,” he spoke, suddenly stern. “No large movements if it can be helped. This is going to be a long walk.”

Grian remained firmly in place until the retreating forms of the three villains had completely left his view, and then collapsed in on himself. Were he not so tired, there might’ve even been tears of relief.

He wasn’t dead. Maybe miracles really did exist.

Chapter Text

Miracles did not exist. 

Fundamentally — on the basis that they were interventions by some higher power for the benefit of one specific party — miracles were not real. They absolutely couldn’t be. Grian hadn’t been sure of it before, but the dawning of a new day had changed his mind.

It’d started off rather unremarkable. 

On the second morning since he’d accidentally aided a criminal in an alleyway, Grian woke up with a crick in his neck. It was irritating, but there was nothing much to be done about it. At the very least, he knew it wouldn’t bother him at work. Grian called out sick the second he got home from his eventful evening, and hadn’t left the house since. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out how he’d gotten the crick in his neck. He’d fallen asleep in an armchair in his living room, positioned strategically to face both the main windows and the door of his tiny apartment. Daylight hours hadn’t been as stressful for him, but once night fell, Grian hadn’t been able to do anything but worry. 

Sheer exhaustion had been all that knocked him out for the last two evenings. Had he been capable of it, he would’ve almost certainly stayed up. Sleep made him vulnerable. He wanted to be able to see any who might try to enter his apartment. 

And, yes, the villains had left him alone last time, but those people didn’t play fair. It was completely possible that they would change their minds, track him down, and end him before he had a chance to scream for help. 

Saving one of them gave him a bit of an advantage compared to what another poor passerby might’ve earned, and yet still, there wasn’t any genuine stability in that idea. Moral advantages could only be truly upheld if both parties believed in them. How could a group known for their tyranny be trusted to honor morals?

Ringmaster spared him once — he had no obligation to do it a second time. 

It was a struggle to pry Maui and Pearl off his legs, where they’d decided to make their beds last night. On his way out of the living room and into the kitchen, he kicked his work bag to the side. It had been resting in the same spot since his shaking hands had dropped it initially, and it was in the way. Grian mustered what little energy he had left to tuck it into the coat closet by the front door. 

He took a heat pack out of his kitchen’s miscellaneous drawer, intent on at least easing his agitation a bit with its help. The crick in his neck sent dull, consistent pains through his body as he watched the pack spin in the microwave for a minute. Painkillers would be good too, but before he could take any, he’d need to put some food in his stomach. 

Eating as a concept sounded pleasant, and Grian was actually quite hungry. However, persistent nausea occupied his gut recently. Once his heat pack was ready and balanced awkwardly upon his shoulder, he debated if making breakfast was worth it. 

He fed his cats, the two winding through his legs and chirping at him all the while. Toast was what he ultimately decided upon for himself. It was quick, wouldn’t waste too many ingredients should he grow weary half a bite in, and there wouldn’t be any extreme flavors to further upset his stomach. He ended up eating about a quarter, just enough to justify popping a couple of pills. 

Up until that point, the morning contained nothing of note. His plans for the day included feeling guilty about not going into work, and being filled with a looming sense of dread. 

Unfortunately, that riveting schedule was flipped on his head the second he returned to the living room and found that it was not as he’d left it.

Grian’s eyes landed on the open window, his curtains rustling in the wind. His heart dropped. Slowly, he let his gaze wander to his couch, where an unwelcome guest had made himself at home. 

Ringmaster waved at him. “Morning, Doctor.”

Grian turned and walked back into the kitchen. 

It was too early for this. He hadn’t even had a single sip of tea yet, and now he was expected to deal with the city’s most wanted criminal. There was simply no way that was going to work out for anyone involved. 

He heard an offended gasp from behind him, and a hasty shuffling, but didn’t dare look over his shoulder. 

Grian took off his heat pack and threw it aside, resigned to the knowledge that a simple neck ache might be the least amount of pain he would feel that day. The vet dragged himself over to the stove, and grabbed the kettle. He filled it with water and turned on the flame, letting it sit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pearl and Maui sprint from the room, food half eaten, at the sight of the unwanted guest. His foot tapped impatiently against the ground while he waited. 

“Um, hello? Doctor?” 

Grian’s nails dug into his palms, and he was forced to shove them in the pockets of his sweatpants to hide his inner turmoil. He sighed, finally facing the villain again. The true terror of the situation hadn’t totally sunk in yet, so his mind allowed him a few liberties when it came to digesting the sight of the villain.

Ringmaster looked a little ridiculous standing in the middle of his kitchen in broad daylight with his hands on his hips. Contrasting to the pale yellow paint of his walls, the darkened shades of scarlets, blues, and blacks were horrendously out of place. A dingy alleyway suited this guy far better than the vibes of some random apartment.

His brows were furrowed, and the sunlight streaming in allowed the vet to see that his guest sported a pair of abnormally-lovely green eyes. They weren’t crinkled at the moment, indicating a distinct lack of the smile he’d worn during their last meeting. Beyond that, amongst the details that were newly revealed came a collection of scars. 

Discolored and stretched patches were scattered across most revealed skin. His face was the exception for the most part. Though even then, Grian saw a knick in his eyebrow, and right above where the gas mask covered, there was the start of what he assumed to be another large mark. If he had any more, they were hidden from view. 

Grian’s curiosity compelled him to glance down towards where he knew Ringmaster’s wound to be. 

The fabric of his vest had been mended, meaning nothing of the other night’s issues were visible. Part of him wanted to request to see it – just to check how it was healing and if he’d done everything right before. Presumably, he had, but the light level left a lot to be desired with his recollection of the evening. 

To prevent himself from blurting anything unwise, Grian spoke the first question that came to mind. 

“Why are you here?”

Ringmaster’s furrowed brows moved impossibly closer, and there was a moment in which Grian wondered if he’d taken it too far earlier. Whether he’d completed his morning ritual of drinking tea yet or not, walking out on a villain was a bit of a bad call. Thankfully, he wasn’t made to suffer in silence for long.

“You’re smart,” Ringmaster sighed. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Grian thought about it. There was really only one valid answer. “To kill me, right?”

Despite his certainty, Ringmaster appeared completely appalled by his words.

“What? Kill you? No,” he scoffed. “Why would I be here to kill you?”

“I don’t know,” Grian muttered, returning to tapping his foot against the ground. “You’re evil, aren’t you?”

“Well, I mean,” Ringmaster sputtered. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Alright. Then, if you’re not here to kill me,” Grian moved along. “Why did you break into my house this morning? I assume it’s not for a cup of tea.”

“Because of your tools,” Ringmaster said, eyes wide like it was obvious. Grian paused, processing. The villain, noticing his momentary confusion, elaborated, “You have my blood samples. I’m here to take that away so the police can’t DNA match me.”

It clicked in Grian’s head the second Ringmaster brought it up. The heroes had mentioned that same concept the first time he met the villain – complaining about the arrow having been wiped off and made useless. 

His thoughts went to his bag, tucked into his closet with everything from that night. He hadn’t cleaned anything off, though the medical professional in him knew it to be a hazard. Having called out of work two days in a row, it wasn’t possible to access the autoclave to properly sterilize them. 

It wasn’t done with any intention, like reporting his situation to the police. Rather, he’d involuntarily put it off due to his own anxieties. In all likelihood, he probably would’ve subtly used the autoclave the next time he was at the clinic without much of a thought given towards DNA samples. 

He’d already thrown his scrubs and cloths in the wash with a bit of hydrogen peroxide to remove the stains. However, with the dawning of this new issue, reality was impossible to ignore. He hadn’t cleaned his tools, so the blood was still on them. It was evidence that a professional villain really wouldn’t want floating around. 

“I know you’ve not gone to the police already,” Ringmaster said. “So, before you do, I’m going to have to confiscate that stuff.”

“What?” Grian stood up straighter, hands leaving his pockets. “What do you mean? You want to take my tools away?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” Ringmaster confirmed. “I have to. Safety’s important!”

“No,” Grian replied.

Ringmaster raised a brow. “No?”

“Absolutely not,” Grian continued, even as the back-and-forth sat like a stone in his gut. He was pushing his luck, but this was not a matter that he could just allow to happen. “Do you know how much it would cost to replace all of that?”

Ringmaster blinked. “I don’t really care—”

“Too much,” Grian said. “I’d rather you cut off my hand at that point.”

He regretted the statement as soon as it was out. The villain’s gaze seemed to darken with the mere suggestion. Cold, hard terror replaced the beating of Grian’s heart. He held up a finger, trying his best to appear unphased. The other man stared at it as though he wanted to rip it off.

“That was not a request,” he said, suddenly nervous. The morning haze that had given him a façade of confidence faded all at once. “Either way, I won’t be giving up those tools. You’ll just have to trust that I won’t use them against you.”

“Trust?” Ringmaster’s head tilted to the side. Grian didn’t like the glint in his eye. “You want me to trust you?”

The vet lowered his pointed finger, mouth dry. Ringmaster took a step closer, taller than Grian remembered him being. 

“You might have saved my life once,” the villain hummed. He swayed nearer, leaning down ever so slightly to bring him to Grian’s level. “But we both know that was only because my identity was obscured.”

He raised a hand and let it ghost over the vet’s arm, trailing up to his shoulder. It paused, hovering ominously by his neck. Ringmaster settled his hand there, in the crook between shoulder and throat. The villain squeezed a bit too tightly, inadvertently aggravating the already-existing ache. 

“Of all people, Doctor,” he whispered. “I’m sure you understand the fear of having something… come back to bite you.”

Grian swallowed. The villain’s thumb rose to trace over the bobbing motion. 

“You know,” Ringmaster said. “I wasn’t planning on killing you, but this really is getting irritating.”

Grian glared as the villain’s hand rose to tip his chin up. 

“Yeah, I should just go through with it,” the villain mused. “Not like it’d be hard.”

Grian backed up as far as he could, pushing away the touch. The counter stopped further movement. There was less than a foot of distance between him and the man threatening him – not nearly enough space. Ringmaster reached out like he might grab Grian’s wrist. To prevent any further contact, he folded his arms behind his back.

Ringmaster matched his glare. “Interesting.”

The vet swallowed, and once again, green eyes followed the movement. The attention felt dangerous, loaded, anticipatory. It weighed upon Grian’s shoulders and gripped at his lungs. 

Slowly, Ringmaster took a step closer. Something about his attitude had changed – become more serious. Grian hadn’t thought he was teasing before, but compared to his current countenance, there was no doubt in his mind that he was in genuine danger. 

The villain raised another hand, and this time Grian wasn’t able to knock it away. It latched onto his throat, his grip not yet choking, but certainly not gentle either. The fear that shot through the vet’s veins was hot and acidic. His entire body screamed at him to move, fight, do anything.

Without thinking, Grian’s hand shot out to the countertop beyond him, where he knew his larger utensils were kept. His fingers curled around a handle, and then he was shoving it forward, stabbing it towards the other’s neck. 

Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t been quick enough. His wrist was enveloped by a red glowing light. It prickled along his skin, forcing him to pause mid-thrust. The very air around his appendage felt wrong, like he’d been caught in a jar of gelatine. 

Ringmaster raised a brow. “A stirring spoon? Really?”

Grian cried out as the other took his wrist and twisted, causing him to lose his hold. The spoon clattered to the ground, and the villain laughed. The sound bounced off the walls of his kitchen, domineering and cold.

“I see that I might’ve underestimated your willingness to fight back.”

The red glow dissipated, but he wasn’t given time to feel relieved. Without warning, Ringmaster crowded impossibly closer. Grian held his breath as arms bracketed him in on either side, and he leaned in close enough for the vet to see the flecks of yellow in his eyes. 

“Now, Doctor, there’s nowhere for you to go,” he said, tone purring with the ebb and flow of his vocal modulator. “Are you sure you still want to be stubborn?”

Their bodies were pressed together, pinning Grian in place. He could feel the other’s chest against his, a hammering pulse competing with one set in a chillingly calm rhythm. He could see the other’s arms, and the strength that would be certain to prevent any escape attempts. He could see the other’s brow raise just the slightest bit, visibly both amused and irritated by the game of cat and mouse they were playing.

Grian couldn’t respond. His tongue was leaden inside his mouth, his breathing shallow, and his heart rate an undeniable mess. No thoughts could take root in his mind, not when terror had replaced his reason. 

Never once in his life had he thought he’d wind up in this position – a supervillain threatening him within his own home over a set of tools. How was he supposed to get out of this unscathed?

“Doctor?” The other tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. “I asked you a question.”

A shiver trailed up Grian’s spine. “I don’t…”

“You don’t—?”

“I don’t want to give you my tools,” Grian said, almost inaudible. He heard himself only through a ringing in his ears. Something came to him in a brief flash, an idea that might mend their difficult situation. “Can’t we… strike a deal?”

Ringmaster hummed, “A deal?” 

Grian felt the rumbling words in his chest, latching onto them like an anchor. The vet thought they came with a hint of intrigue – the kind that might put him in a favorable position. For the sake of survival, he needed anything he could get.

“Yes, a deal,” he confirmed. His brain rushed to catch up with his mouth as he said, “You want my tools because they have your blood on them, yeah? What if I just wash them off?”

The villain tutted. “I’ve already told you that I don’t trust—“  

“You don’t have to trust me.” Grian’s breath came back to him, sureness filling him more and more by the second. “I’ll wash them off in the sink. Right now. And you can watch.”

Ringmaster, for the first time since he’d let his more sinister side shine through, seemed to need a moment to process. He drew in an audible breath.

A sharp whistling cut through the air, startling both of them. Ringmaster stumbled back a step or two, whatever he’d been about to say lost in the confusion. Cold air rushed to fill the space where they’d been pressed together. Grian cursed, and jumped to deal with his kettle. 

Despite the inopportune timing, he moved on autopilot to collect the various items he needed. Black tea was his usual first drink in the morning. It helped him start his day, and while he’d already had quite the start, habits were hard to break. 

Grian stopped short at his cup cabinet. He hesitated between grabbing just one, or adding an extra to his run. Though it wasn’t necessarily smart, he decided to outsource his dilemma. 

“Do you want a cup?”

He chanced a look over his shoulder, and saw that Ringmaster’s countenance had resumed its earlier confusion. “Do I want… a cup of tea?”

It was stupid. The tea was stupid. Grian was being stupid. Going from being threatened one minute to offering tea the next was especially stupid. One of these idiotic questions or statements he kept blurting were going to get him killed eventually. Only a matter of time.

Unable to do anything else, he doubled down, “Yes.”

“Um,” Ringmaster mumbled. “Sure?”

Grian grabbed a second cup. He went about pouring the water, adding the tea bags and leaving them to steep for about four or so minutes. It was then, in that awkward moment between having something to do and not, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. 

The vet left the kitchen, with the villain making a noise of confusion as he walked. He stopped by the closet, freed his bag, and returned. He pulled everything out and spread it along the countertop, including both the clean and used tools. 

“I’ll wash and scrub these all right now, so long as you promise not to take them from me after that,” Grian announced, glancing back at the villain. He hoped he appeared calm, because inwardly he was still extremely shaky. “Sound like a good deal?”

Ringmaster hesitated. “I don’t know… Does blood actually just wash off with soap and water? You’re not, like, tricking me somehow, are you?”

Grian shook his head. 

There was a brief second of silence, before the villain sighed, “Alright.”

Relief flooded through Grian, and he was pretty sure he slumped against the counter a bit as his legs gave out. Thankfully, he was able to quickly recover, and transfer those that needed to be washed to the sink. Mindlessly, he set all but one tool down on the side of the tap and began. 

Ringmaster hovered over his shoulder, watching intently through furrowed brows. The water turned pink as dried blood was scraped away and replaced with suds by the sponge. It wasn’t terribly efficient, as an old toothbrush might’ve been more suited for the job, but he didn’t have great options around his apartment. Grian washed with a practiced speed anyway, used to this meticulous action – though it wasn’t normally done in his home. 

“What are these letters on the handles?” 

Grian glanced over to see his tools being inspected by the villain. “My initials, since these are my personal instruments. A lot of vets engrave their own stuff.”

“Hm,” Ringmaster said, adding under his breath, “I guess I see why you might not want to lose them.” 

Grian decided to take that as his one win of the day, and carried on.

As he finished washing, he put the washed tools in the drying rack. Sanitizing and fully sterilizing would be done once he had access to the proper cleaning supplies and the autoclave at work. They weren’t up to the clinic’s standards until then.

The whole process was fairly fast, given that only a handful of instruments had been utilized two days prior. It was the perfect amount of time to kill while waiting on the tea. 

He took out the bags and sipped his cup to check if it was ready, and decided that to be the case. The black tea’s rich flavor rolled over his tongue, solidifying into clarity and energy within his brain. Grian enjoyed the depth of the taste, however, he recognized that his guest might be less inclined to enjoy something that a lot of people considered to be bitter.

The vet grabbed a spoonful of sugar and mixed it into the second cup, before passing it to Ringmaster. Perhaps the added sweetness would tamp down any ugly feelings the villain still held towards him. Having only just reached a consensus, Grian figured it was good to have contingency plans, however superficial they might be.

The villain stared down at the cup, brows furrowed and a baffled tint to his gaze. He looked between Grian and the drink several times, before he voiced something the vet had not considered.

“I can’t drink this with my mask on.”

Grian frowned, silence falling on the room.

“Oh. Right.”

So much for gathering whatever favor he could from the guy.

“Sorry,” Grian said, though he couldn’t fix the situation. He took a remorseful sip.  

“No, it’s my fault,” Ringmaster replied, shaking his head. Awkwardly, he reached past Grian to set the tea down again. “I just… should’ve considered that before, uh, accepting.”

His switch-up was disorienting. The vet knew he was partially to blame for the sudden changing of stakes, but to see someone shift as Ringmaster had in the last few minutes was hard to fully comprehend. Grian didn’t understand how one could go from threatening another’s life to acting embarrassed about not drinking tea so immediately. 

Uncomfortable quiet filtered in around them, interrupted only by the slight clinking of Grian’s cup against its saucer every now and again. 

“Anyway, um,” Ringmaster began. “Your tools… They’re totally clean?”

“Yes,” Grian assured him. “I’ll sterilize them completely at the clinic, but if the police were to test them right now, nothing would be found.”

Of course, Grian didn’t tell him that this was mindless speculation. 

With the existence of superpowers, it was impossible to predict what the Agency and the police department had under their belt when it came to tracking down criminals. They could have contacts that could turn back time on certain items, or pick up on microscopic spots that were missed. Maybe soap and water weren’t enough alone to get rid of all of the bacteria in this day and age. 

But he was fairly confident it would get the villain off his case at least. Grian didn’t need to dwell on the specifics of forensics for a matter like this. 

Ringmaster took a deep breath and muttered something. Grian frowned, leaning closer. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” Ringmaster blurted, squeezing his eyes shut. “I probably should’ve suggested we just do that from the start instead of…”

He trailed off, and over the top of his gas mask, the vet thought he could see a spreading blush. Grian finished his sentence for him, “Threatening to kill me?”

“Yes, that,” Ringmaster said, sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

Grian nodded and took another sip of his drink. He didn’t outwardly accept the apology, though. It’d take a lot more from the guy to earn any sort of forgiveness after the sheer amount of back-to-back heart attacks he’d been given.

If Ringmaster was bothered by this, or if he even noticed, he didn’t say anything. Consolation and reconciliation seemed less necessary to him than just the act of getting the apology out. 

When silence settled on them again, the villain cleared his throat and started towards the open window in Grian’s living room. Grian followed him half-heartedly, watching him go. He’d be installing different locks onto every possible entrance the second this guy left.

Ringmaster swung one foot out, but paused in that odd position to look over his shoulder. “By the way, um, thank you.”

Grian glanced up at him, surprised. “Thank you? For what?”

“For saving me the other day,” Ringmaster specified. “I never said anything, but without you, I would’ve probably been caught.”

“No,” Grian argued, scoffing. “You had a way to call your teammates. They would’ve been able to come and get you, I’m sure.”

“They were still fighting when I was knocked out,” Ringmaster said. “And even if they could’ve come to get me, the heroes didn’t vacate the area until they thought I was gone. Superpowered or not, it’d be difficult for my friends to fight them off and get me to safety.”

Grian pursed his lips. He knew the villain was likely telling the truth. His story added up, and his eyes didn’t look guilty at all. At this moment, with no one else watching and a tentative understanding between them, Ringmaster didn’t have a reason to lie about the events that had already occurred.

Still, it felt like a trap. To be given his apology and his thanks in such a short span of time had to be a trap. Maybe Ringmaster was trying to lure him into something, waiting for verbal confirmation that it was alright and Grian didn't mind the fact that he’d accidentally aided a criminal, so he could be turned over to the cops himself.

Instead of letting his fears win, he found a compromise, and nodded. The villain was appeased, and in the next second, he was gone. Grian glanced out the nearest window to see if he could catch a glimpse of Ringmaster leaving, but there was nothing besides empty air beneath him.

For the second time, Grian had escaped a personal encounter with the city’s most wanted villain and lived to tell the tale. 

That evening, he slept in his own bed, woken only twice by nightmares.

In those moments where rest was impossible, he let himself search up new home security systems. Upon discovering that most systems were egregiously expensive, and not nearly enough to keep out an intruder that really wanted in, he’d turned back over and fallen asleep again. The villains had no reason to come back, so Grian opted not to stress himself over nothing.

The next morning, when he arrived at work, he went through the proper process of sanitizing his tools and putting them in the autoclave. One of the clinic’s other vets, Skizz, pulled him aside once he was done.

“Whatcha doing, bud? What’s up with your stuff?” Skizz inquired, “I thought you’d been sick these last few days? You weren’t doing house calls still, were you?” 

From anyone else, it might’ve been delivered with a bit of attitude and come across as invasive questioning, but Grian knew the other man well. He was a softy at heart, with no hidden motives, which was what made him so good at his job. Skizz was sincerely curious as to why his coworker’s instruments were dirtied when he’d left with them perfectly clean before.

“Nah, Skizz, don’t worry,” Grian replied, shooting him a smile. “I found a stray on the side of the road, just thought I’d help it get back on its feet. That’s all.”

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.

Chapter Text

Grian was woken by a rapidfire knocking at his door. He groaned, rolling to check his phone. What was going on? Was he late for work? Had Mumbo decided to pay him a spontaneous visit? 

His screen showed that it was two in the morning. He wasn’t due to go in for another twelve or so hours. There were no missed calls or texts either, so it was safe to assume whoever was outside wasn’t someone he knew. Maybe the building had caught on fire and his neighbors were trying to get his attention?

With probably way too much laziness in his movements, Grian threw back the covers and stood. Pearl and Maui remained on his bed, not bothered by the commotion. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked to the front door. Slowly, he opened it. 

Whatever the vet had been expecting, it was not to find three villains waiting in his hallway. 

He raised a hand, rubbing at his face to check if he was hallucinating. No such luck.

Ringmaster stepped inside without waiting to be invited and took him by the shoulders, his green eyes wild.

“Grian,” he gasped, out of breath, as though he’d just run a marathon. “You have to help Eclipse.”

Immediately receiving such bombardment while still in a state of half-consciousness was not conducive to helping the vet process the situation at hand. He managed only a surface-level perception. Firstly, he was being grabbed by a villain, who was wearing a crazy expression and using a demanding tone — that alone was enough for the receptors in his brain to send preemptive shockwaves of fear through him. 

Secondly, there were words being spoken to him, the kind that demanded he had a working brain capable of basic cognitive function. He squinted, an odd mixture of confusion and terror building in his veins at the same time. Grian inwardly went over the villain’s exclamation, and finally, some of it registered. 

“Eclipse?” Grian blinked back sleep, tilting his head to the side to peer over the villain’s shoulder. Eclipse was currently curled up in Boogeyman’s arms, eyes squeezed shut and face coated in sweat. She was worryingly pale. 

The sight sobered Grian up immediately. All fatigue fell away. 

Grian had only seen Eclipse from this close on one other occasion, that being when she was threatening his life. During that brief encounter, she had been lively, alert, and notably bore a far more regular complexion. The person in front of him now was the polar opposite. She looked small, weak, and unbelievably vulnerable. 

He saw, in that moment, not a supervillain capable of immense harm, but a person, who was suffering more and more with each passing second. A sense of responsibility washed over him, his every instinct honing in on her unstable condition.

Grian pushed past Ringmaster to press a hand to her forehead – burning hot. “What’s wrong with her?”

He glanced up to the two men lingering in his doorway to find his answer, and was surprised to see a pair of brown eyes glowering at him. Boogeyman took a step back, pulling Eclipse out of his reach and holding her closer to him. The action shocked Grian so severely that he almost didn’t hear it when Ringmaster answered him.

“We aren’t sure,” he told the vet. “She just collapsed when we were about to head out for a mission. I didn’t know where else to bring her, so we came here and—”

“Collapsed, you say?” Grian cut him off before he could spout details that were not terribly relevant to the obviously urgent situation. As strange as it was, he could fill in the blanks regarding those things. Ringmaster intended for him to extend his services towards this woman now. Whatever was truly ailing her, unknown or otherwise, the villain clearly believed he could do something about it.

Although, those assumptions raised a few more questionable points towards Boogeyman’s behavior. The lanky man was still cradling Eclipse carefully, keeping a solid distance between them. It was like he was trying to protect her from some unseen danger posed by the vet.

Grian frowned. Lowering his voice, he directed a question to Ringmaster, “Are you… sure you want my help? Your friend doesn’t seem too comfortable with the idea.”

Ringmaster straightened. Grian was able to see the moment the other realized exactly what Boogeyman was doing. His gaze flicked down to Eclipse, over to the vet, and then tracked the space between them. 

Eyes growing wide, he cleared his throat. “Boogeyman,” he said, slowly but very clearly. “She is in pain. Do this later.”  

Boogeyman didn’t say a word, but Grian noticed his posture loosen slightly. Taking advantage of the brief moment of silence, he stepped out of the way. “Bring her inside. I’ll be back.”

Grian left them at the door. He grabbed his medical tools, clean towels, and a handful of other things. By the time he’d returned to the room, his front door was shut and Boogeyman had sat down on the couch, keeping Eclipse in his arms. 

Ringmaster was pacing behind them, but he stopped when he saw the vet. “Are you going to be able to do anything for her?”

His momentum faltered slightly. Grian pursed his lips, reminded all at once of the type of scenario he’d gotten tangled up in again. He’d made a slight amount of peace with the fact that he had aided one criminal, but a whole band of them was far more intimidating. 

“I’m… going to try,” Grian replied honestly. He laid out towels over the couch and gestured for Boogeyman to set her down. The man was less hesitant to listen to him this time around. “We have to figure out what’s wrong with her first. Do you have any ideas?”

“I have a guess,” Ringmaster said, drawing Grian’s attention to him. “Not too long ago, she got a nasty cut on her back. She’s been talking about how painful it is, but won’t let anyone take a look at it.”

Inadvertently, as he talked, Grian found himself scanning Ringmaster instead of Eclipse for injuries. His leg was obviously better, given how steadily he was walking, and his breathing didn’t sound labored. It’d been about two weeks since their last meeting, and the Bamboozlers hadn’t been publicly out and about after his talk with Ringmaster about taking it easy. Good for his healing process, but evidently, not for Eclipse.

He forced his mind to focus on the task at hand. “Her back, you said? Can you help me flip her over?”

Boogeyman assisted him, and together they put Eclipse on her stomach. Grian muttered a small apology to the woman, and gently pulled away the fabric of her shirt. He found what he was looking for immediately. 

Three gasps sounded around the room.

“Oh no,” Boogeyman whispered, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived. “That looks bad.”

Ringmaster’s gaze flicked up to the vet. “Grian?”

Grian stared firmly down at the scene located in the middle of Eclipse’s lower back. A weight settled in his gut, sending his mind reeling.

It wasn’t just a painful cut like he’d been expecting. Not in the slightest. Instead, what he saw was a textbook example of an injury that had fallen to infection, and a rough case too — likely from a lack of proper care. By the looks of it, red and gross, it’d been building for a while. He bit the inside of his cheek to repress the ever-growing dread gathering within him.

Left untreated, this had the potential to become sepsis.

What had Eclipse been thinking to let it get this bad? Why hadn’t she shown her teammates? What was he supposed to do?

“Grian,” Ringmaster repeated. “Can you save her?”

Grian lifted his eyes, mouth pulled into a thin line. “A human doctor would be so much better, guys.”

A low groan echoed from the woman on his couch. All attention moved to her as her eyes blinked wearily open. She met Grian’s stare. Through a heavy tongue, with great effort, she rasped, “No doctor.”

“I’m serious,” Grian hissed. “This is bad and–”

“No, you heard her,” Boogeyman interrupted. “Regular doctors are too dangerous. It’s you or no one.”

That didn’t feel entirely fair. He couldn’t refuse to help when they put him in a position like this. Grian scowled, chewing on his lip and weighing his options. Her wound was swollen, red, and undoubtedly painful. Without help, she would get worse. After her collapse, her organs shutting down wouldn’t be too far behind. He might not be able to do much, but certainly it would be better than nothing.

Ringmaster and Boogeyman both were staring at him with pleading eyes, begging for him to at least try. And Grian was weak. A human doctor would be better, but he was here, he was their chosen option, he was the only one that could do anything. Now that he’d seen the wound, he was implicated, accountable. If she died because he turned her away, criminal or not, he wouldn’t feel worthy of his license anymore. 

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll give it my best shot. Let me get some saline solution.”

Grian stood and hurried off. Vaguely, he registered Ringmaster muttering something to his teammates and following. While the vet was searching through his bathroom’s first aid kit for the solution, the villain approached him.

“Hey, um,” he started. Grian spared him a glance. “I’m sorry about this, Grian. I just… Hospitals would put the pieces together and call the police, and we don’t know anyone with superpowered healing. You were the only person that could help.”

“I get it, dude,” the vet replied, stopping him before he could collapse into a nervous rant. Strange as it was to see one of the city’s infamous villains breaking down in front of him, it was happening, and he was going to have to adjust accordingly. His life was completely flipped upside-down at this point. No going back. “I’m not exactly pleased to have to deal with this at two in the morning, but I’d do the same thing in your position.”

Ringmaster perked up slightly. “You would?”

“I would,” Grian confirmed.

The villain sighed, visibly relieved. “Thank you, Grian.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He found what he was looking for and passed it off to Ringmaster so he could wash his hands. “I still have to see what I can do for her.”

Grian returned to the room, and took basic stock of the situation. He checked her pulse, put a hand on her back to feel her breathing, and nodded to himself. 

“Alright, her breathing is too shallow,” he concluded. “She needs an oxygen mask and soon if we want even a chance at keeping her stable. Do either of you know where we could get one quickly?”

“Boogeyman does,” Ringmaster said as he set the bottle he’d been carrying down on the coffee table. Boogeyman made a noise of confusion, but he was quickly pulled aside. Something was whispered in his ear, and he brightened. 

“I do! I’ll be right back,” Boogeyman proudly announced. It was the most chipper he’d been in the entirety of the time since he’d entered the apartment. He rushed out the front door, leaving Grian with one more errand for the remaining man to run.

“Ringmaster, she needs fluids too,” Grian mentioned. “I don’t have anything like an IV in my home, though.”

“Leave it to me,” Ringmaster said, nodding. Unlike his colleague a moment prior, he exited the apartment through the window. Grian was able to hear the whirring of his grappling hook — a tool he assumed all three of the Bamboozlers used to get around the city. It explained their speed and ability to scale buildings that others might not. 

While waiting for them to return, he supposed he’d get started doing what he could. The vet sorted through the necessary tools. His curved tip syringe was the first thing he’d be using.

“I’m flushing the wound,” he told Eclipse, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was still conscious. Grian didn’t wait for a response, beginning the process. Eclipse made a noise of discomfort as the saline came into contact, and he muttered more quiet apologies.

It was necessary to clean the area thoroughly. If he had to make a rough guess, the place had most likely gotten infected due to a lack of attention in the healing process. Since it was in an awkward place for Eclipse to reach, her cleanings and wrappings would’ve likely been incomplete if she’d done them herself. Considering how surprised her teammates were to see the wound, he supposed it wasn’t often she allowed them to actually help with stuff like this.

Not to mention that its placement near her spine meant the skin was stretched often, giving it potential to be reopened. Grian had seen Eclipse fight. She was fast, reliant on movement. Even the best-wrapped injury in the world wouldn’t stand much of a chance of remaining closed under those conditions.

Once the wound was properly flushed, Grian proceeded on with a pair of forceps. There was a bit of debris and visible unpleasantness that needed to be picked out, loosened by the solution. The tissue retaining the worst of the damage had to be removed in order to give her the best chance to heal later. 

He dried the area with gauze, then paused to breathe. From there, it was already looking better. Not perfect – that would require time and repeated care – but this was an improvement. Grian applied a triple antibiotic ointment, and moved on to dressing the wound. 

“I’m back!” Boogeyman burst through the door, a portable cannula oxygen machine wheeling in behind him. Grian was surprised and a little confused about the speed in which he’d gotten something so useful. Where he’d found it was less important than putting it onto his teammate, though. 

If they hadn’t needed to go fetch it, that mask would’ve been one of the first steps. Without solid airflow, Eclipse was always going to be in danger. Now, getting it properly over her mouth and nose was the real challenge. 

Grian didn’t know these villains, and couldn't request things like the removal of her gas mask without endangering his own life. He suspected that Boogeyman, given the hostility he’d already shown towards him, wouldn’t be likely to encourage actions like those. They’d have to get creative.

“Boogeyman, I’m going to talk you through putting this mask on her so that I don’t see her identity, okay?” 

Boogeyman tensed, obviously caught off guard, but nodded. 

Grian averted his eyes. He heard the hiss and click of her gas mask being removed. He began explaining as best he could about what to do with the tubing, and how to assure the mask was properly adhered to her face. Once Boogeyman told him it was in place, he switched the oxygen tank on, and listened as her breathing grew steadier. 

What to do at this point, though, was a bit more worrisome. Grian still needed to look at her. Keeping his gaze averted wasn’t sustainable. How were they supposed to keep her identity unknown without cutting off airflow?

A pathetic option came to mind, one he wasn’t certain Boogeyman would take to. For the first time, Grian wished Ringmaster would come back. The guy was off-putting and dangerous and overwhelming, but at least he could be vaguely trusted to not kill him for trying to help. Grian mustered up his confidence, gathering it in his chest and willing it to stay there.

“Boogeyman? Can you do me a favor? Go into my bathroom and grab a clean hand towel from off the rack.” 

Grian heard a hum of confusion. He waited for a moment, and there came the sound of receding footsteps. After a moment, Boogeyman returned, presumably with the towel in hand. 

“Alright. Now, I need you to tie it around her face,” he instructed. “Over the oxygen mask, but not too tightly. Just obscure her identity, and then tell me when I’m safe to look.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Boogeyman muttered. He shuffled around some more. Grian saw his boots out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, um, I think it’s safe?”

Grian glanced over. He stifled a laugh at the clumsy job, figuring it wouldn’t be appreciated, and offered Boogeyman a thumbs up.

In reality, it wasn’t really the safest thing in the world. The towel had been tied awkwardly, and was clearly slipping down a bit over her covered nose. Someone who wanted to look would just have to change angles, or cause an accidental pull on the towel to reveal her whole face. 

And when it came to the back of her head, he’d clearly paid no mind to how her hair was settled before tightening the fabric. Pink strands were bunched up and sitting in weird angles, messed up by careless contact. 

Grian couldn’t see her facial features, though, and she had oxygen, so it did the trick. As long as she didn’t move too much, everything would be fine. 

Knowing she was breathing properly now removed a massive weight off his chest. He felt significantly better about their chances. If Ringmaster found them some fluids, they could probably avoid the worst case scenario of sepsis all together. 

“That was smart of you.”

Grian glanced up, surprised by Boogeyman addressing him. “Pardon?”

“The towel thing,” the villain clarified. He didn’t meet Grian’s eyes, still scowling a little. “I didn’t think about hiding her identity until you suggested it.”

“Yeah, well,” Grian muttered. “I do actually value my life.”

Boogeyman looked at him then, one brow raising. “Really?” He huffed, “But you still went charging after my teammate in the middle of a battle? Twice?”

Grian flushed, mouth agape. He wasn’t expecting the jab, wasn’t even sure how to respond to it. The comment both felt like an accusation and a joke at the same time.

“I just,” the vet started, tripping over himself. “I just wanted to…”

“Careful, Doctor,” Boogeyman hummed. “You stutter much more and I might go back to thinking you have an ulterior motive.”

Grian sucked in a breath, a chill creeping up his spine. “Go… back? Did you ever stop believing that?”

His attitude for the whole evening told a very different story. The vet had been navigating his way around a minefield since the trio arrived.

“A bit,” Boogeyman said. “The first time you helped was suspicious, but you didn’t do anything with the evidence you clearly had, and you never so much as attempted to clue anyone in to your actions. We observed you for days, but came up empty.”

Grian tried not to acknowledge the justification for his days of paranoia buried in the other’s words. He forced himself to keep a neutral expression — as much as a man terrified to death could be neutral — and listened closely.

“The second time you came barging into our lives was just sheer stupidity,” Boogeyman went on. “Which certainly raises some new questions, doesn’t it? What’s wrong with you? What kind of civilian deliberately chases after a villain?”

Grian swallowed. “One who wants to help.”

“And why would you want to help us?” Boogeyman bent at the waist to bring him closer to Grian’s eye level. “We’re not exactly worthy of your good graces.”

“Doesn’t mean you deserve to die,” Grian replied without thinking. “Not like that.”

Boogeyman blinked, clearly taken aback. 

The vet clamped his mouth shut, averting his gaze. Eclipse was breathing steadily, some of the perspiration clearing from her brow. Grian was a little ashamed of how much that relieved him to see. God, he felt like a fool. Maybe if he actually had an ulterior motive, this whole situation would’ve been more palatable. 

But he didn’t, and it wasn’t. He was sitting on the floor next to his couch, helping to fix up yet another injured criminal, and preaching about how everyone deserved long, healthy lives. 

Grian wondered how many lives these three people had taken. He’d never allowed his late-night curiosities to find the answer to that. 

While Boogeyman hovered awkwardly off to the side, and the two of them awaited the return of the third member of the Bamboozlers, Grian opted to use this bit of quiet time to do necessary research on his phone. As always, he pointedly avoided looking up gruesome questions. Instead, the vet focused entirely on double-checking the medical knowledge he was sure to need if the evening went accordingly. 

Ringmaster did return eventually. Grian stared in awe as he balanced a cacophony of items on the fire escape and gently handed them through the window to Boogeyman. He was toting a full IV setup and a couple of bags of precariously-balanced fluids. The mental picture of him running down the street with those things clutched in his arms was simultaneously ridiculous and a great explanation for why he’d taken so long to get back.

Grian was slightly more knowledgeable on the proper procedures for hooking such things up thanks to his impromptu research, but he managed to still be intimidated as an entire hospital room worth of equipment was arranged around his couch. The IV was similar enough to the kind used on animals, with the exception being its extra complications in the plugs and points of insertion. 

Once he snapped out of his shock, though, he made it work. It didn’t take terribly long either. With that, the immediate treatment of Eclipse concluded. She had oxygen, fluids, a freshly cleaned wound, and a not-terrible condition that would hopefully remain consistent.

“Alright,” he said, starting to address the other two. His spirits had been lifted slightly by the smooth process, even if he might not ever feel totally fine again. “I’ve done what I can for the time being. The rest relies on you.”

“Us?” Ringmaster’s brows furrowed. “Okay, what do you need us to do?”

“I’m going to give you a little bit of chlorhexidine mixed with distilled water to clean her wounds whenever you change her bandages, and some cream to help keep it moist,” Grian said. “Be gentle, but it’ll need to be kept up frequently. Monitor her pulse and breathing as well, since those could go south with little warning. When she’s properly awake, more antibiotics would be good too.”

Realistically, now would be the point in which he’d take a blood sample and try to figure out exactly which bacteria specifically they were dealing with. Since they didn’t have that kind of time, nor did they have access to a lab in which to observe any gathered samples, he compiled a mental list of options that might cover a wide range of possibilities. 

The two villains nodded along, never once losing focus. Grian was a little touched to see how fiercely they cared for their friend, even as one of them still wasn’t comfortable with him. Eclipse was in good hands.

They lapsed into momentary silence while the vet attempted to remember any last comments he wanted to make.

“By the way,” Grian hummed. “How did you guys manage to get this stuff so quickly? It was extremely helpful, but I don’t know how I would’ve done it with similar time restraints.”

“Oh, I robbed a hospital,” Ringmaster replied. “Can you believe they just leave some of this stuff out unguarded in their storage rooms? They were basically asking for it.”

Grian slowly turned to face him, horror dawning on his expression. The villain didn't seem the slightest bit aware of his own atrocities, content to stare down at his injured friend. 

Grian didn’t know what he’d expected the guy to do when he’d requested an IV — maybe go to a medical supplies store, but even then, it’d have to be theft of some sort to account for timing. At least the hospital nearest him was a particularly well-funded one, so they could afford to replace equipment like this. That didn’t make him more comfortable with the circumstances, but he was grasping onto any sanity he could find.

Then, another realization struck him. His horror shifted onto Boogeyman. “How did you get this oxygen tank?”

“Oh, this? Easy!” Boogeyman patted the tank lightly. “We saw an old woman using something like it when we were bringing Eclipse in. I found her apartment and stole one of her spares!”

Grian blanched.

“You stole oxygen from an old lady?”  

The breath was knocked out of him so quickly that he thought he might pass out. Suddenly, Eclipse wasn’t the only person in the room in need of an oxygen tank. 

Stealing from the elderly — one of his neighbors, no less! Was there anything more criminal than that in the entire world?

Grian was pretty certain the hall cameras had been broken for months, but if he was wrong and someone saw a supervillain stealing things to bring into his unit, he was going to be evicted. Or, worse than that, his neighbor was going to run out of oxygen and not have her necessary backup equipment! 

What chaos had he caused by allowing this energy into his life?

“Relax, big guy,” Boogeyman said. His eyes shone with a malicious sort of amusement. “She had, like, six of these in her apartment. I counted before I deprived the old hoarder of a single tank.”

Grian hugged himself. “Are you… sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not that awful,” Boogeyman grumbled, though he didn’t make total eye contact. Ringmaster, for reasons Grian didn’t completely understand, kicked him lightly in the shins. The lanky villain frowned, and then sighed. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll order a couple more and replace the one I took.”

The vet didn’t respond for a moment, stun-locked. 

“Yeah, actually,” Grian said gingerly, nodding. “It would. Do that, and order some extra tanks for Eclipse as well. No telling how long this’ll last.”

Speaking of Eclipse, she’d stirred slightly more, mumbling vague things every now and again. It was clear she had a bit of a fever, as evidenced by her temperature. The poor woman had to be uncomfortable. He wondered why it’d taken this long for any of the three to realize something was severely wrong when it was so visible now. 

He voiced that question as politely as he could, and Ringmaster’s eyes grew a bit sad. 

“Eclipse is resilient,” was his answer. “She hides things well, and is too stubborn to ask for help often. I knew she wasn’t feeling great, but… I guess I thought she would say something before it got to this point.”

It was a far more emotional response than anything Grian could’ve anticipated. Ringmaster and Boogeyman both looked uncomfortable and downtrodden — so utterly human. They weren’t rabid animals on the side of the street anymore, or bothersome fears that he could carry around without much personal impact on himself. 

The two of them, and Eclipse by extension, were flawed in their own right. They were villains bearing the same responsibility and insecurities as any normal person might. Ringmaster and Boogeyman believed their friend would trust them with her pain. And she believed, from what he’d gathered, that she could get through the pain alone.

Grian slipped off one last time to grab a washcloth and a bowl of water. He returned, knelt, and began to wipe the worst of the sweat from her face. She gave a content sigh, leaning into it. Her eyes opened slightly, holding a bit more clarity than before.

“Eclipse,” Ringmaster said quietly. He sat down next to Grian to put himself in her line of sight. “Why didn’t you tell us you were hurting?”

Grian opened his mouth to scold him for encouraging her to speak, but she’d already started croaking out a response. “Thought I had… the situation under control.” 

Her voice was odd to listen to from the perspective of one who had never met her without her vocal modulator. To say Grian had a clear idea of what she sounded like without it would be a lie. The oxygen mask provided pretty solid cover, interrupting her tone with white noise and a hoarse kind of rasp. This wasn’t a voice he related with Eclipse, but it wasn’t that of a civilian either.

She took in several deep breaths, giving herself time before adding on, “Didn’t want to worry you.”

“Yeah, well, you did worry us,” Boogeyman scoffed, but there was a softness to his gaze that betrayed the harshness of his words. “Don’t do it again. Even if you’re just being dramatic, anything’s better than this.”

Grian felt a little like he was intruding on a stern family argument, like he should let himself out. Unfortunately, this was his living room, and these three didn’t seem like they’d be capable of going anywhere for a while longer. 

He decided it’d be best to go prepare things for them while they talked amongst themselves. Grian slipped off to the bathroom. He put together a bit of watered-down chlorhexidine in a travel-size shampoo bottle. Some gauze was shoved in a ziplock bag, along with extra wrappings, some antibiotic cream, and other items he thought Eclipse might need. 

On his way back to the living room, he stopped and wrote the names of recommended antibiotics on a sticky note and added it in. When he returned, Grian passed off the makeshift first-aid kid to Ringmaster, who accepted graciously. Eclipse and Boogeyman had dissolved into mindless bickering during the time he was away.

“You have to let me carry you, idiot,” Boogeyman was saying. “How else are we gonna get home?”

“No,” Eclipse hissed. “That’ll hurt! Just let me… try to walk.”

Grian didn’t like what this argument was about one singular bit. The idea of Eclipse’s injury being irritated again so soon after being treated was not pleasant — especially now that she’d be toting along an IV and an oxygen tank. 

The vet sighed, interrupting to say, “She shouldn’t be moved yet. How about you guys just… stay the night instead?”

Silence fell over them.

All three Bamboozlers shared a skeptical look. 

“Oh, uh,” Ringmaster started, wincing. “We couldn’t possibly…”

“We won’t be doing that,” Boogeyman interrupted, surprising Grian. Ringmaster shot his teammate a glare, but didn’t step in to deny it. “Too dangerous.”

Grian’s mouth tipped down into a frown. “What? You think staying here is more dangerous than ruining all my hard work and risking Eclipse’s life to go home?”

The three didn’t answer him, having a silent conversation. It seemed as though this were a genuine point of debate for them – which the vet couldn’t understand for a single second. This was a no-brainer to him, something that only an idiot would argue. No doctor in good conscience would let them go.

But villains were different, he supposed. They had weird standards, skewed moral compasses, and double lives that were beyond his comprehension. If he wanted them to quit with their self-destructive tendencies, then he was going to have to adhere to their unbelievably complex thought processes.

“I’ll lock myself in my bedroom for the evening,” Grian declared, packing up his stuff and standing. “Close the curtains, put a chair in front of my door, only remove it when you’re about to leave in the morning, and you’ll be safe.”

The three gave him a look like he’d said something completely off-the-rails, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “Wait,” Ringmaster stammered. “Really?”

Grian nodded, and didn’t pay their shock any mind. It was better to be completely confident in his own decision. “I’ll leave my phone and laptop out here too, so you know I’m not calling anyone.”

Though he felt a little badly about it, he was putting into motion a tactic he used on animals that seemed standoffish. Moving with certainty was infinitely wiser than tiptoeing around them and giving off the impression that he was a lurking threat waiting to pounce. 

These three were equally as skittish – one of them was injured, another was aggressive, and the last was prone to escaping at the first available opportunity. If he had a pack of bonded strays meeting the same criteria, then this sort of behavior would be run of the mill. Hesitating here would only make them feel worse. 

Besides, after exerting so much energy at such an awful time of night, his bed was calling to him. It was nearing four, and he did still have responsibilities outside of his illegal medical practices during the daylight hours. Whether there were three dangerous criminals in his house or not, they hadn’t killed him yet. Exhaustion was far more pressing to him. 

He mumbled a hasty farewell and pushed past them to walk down the hall. Grabbing his phone and his laptop, he deposited them on the hall table. Grian was halfway back to his room when he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped, whirling around to find the source, and nearly crashed into Ringmaster.

“Woah, my bad,” the villain said, holding his hands up. Grian offered him a confused frown. “I just wanted to… thank you again. I’m really grateful to you.”

Grian’s brows raised. He wasn’t expecting to hear yet another genuine thanks from Ringmaster. Since that first night, the guy hadn’t actually forgotten to be polite where it was necessary. It made him feel less terrifying – more human. 

“Seriously, Grian,” Ringmaster insisted. “I owe you, and I don’t say that lightly. If you ever need anything, please let me know. Money, food, protection, anything.”

The vet didn’t immediately respond. His words sunk in.

A favor from a villain.  

Grian was being offered a favor from a villain.

Ringmaster’s gaze was intense and honest as he spoke. This wasn’t a joke. Everything that had been said was meant wholeheartedly. Grian was being offered the ability to ask for anything within the other’s power should he want for it. 

The vet straightened, swallowing against the closing of his throat. That was an intimidating gift, too much for someone like him to possess. 

“Wow. Hefty promise, huh?” Grian’s voice cracked. “Are you sure I won’t… use that against you?”

His question earned him a small laugh, light and airy.

“I’m sure,” Ringmaster replied, eyes crinkling. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. We’ve given you so many opportunities to turn on us, but you’ve done nothing yet.”

There was a brief moment in which his gaze dropped, and slowly crept back up to Grian’s face again. The villain’s countenance shifted the slightest bit, almost imperceptibly.

“Not to mention, Doctor,” he said. “You’re too valuable to let go, even if it backfires on me in the end.”

Grian sucked in a breath. “Valuable?”

“No one’s ever helped us before. Not like this, at least,” Ringmaster hummed. “We used to patch our own injuries, and we weren’t exactly experts. I’m not sure what we would've done against something as bad as this without you.”

The vet searched the extent of his visible expression, soaking in all of the gratitude shining there. 

“You’ve done a lot for us, though we’ve only met four times now,” Ringmaster pointed out. “Let me show my appreciation just this once.”

Grian’s heart squeezed behind his ribs. It wasn’t the first time one of them had mentioned how abnormal it was for a person to try to help them. Realistically, he understood that their villainy was the cause of such a thing, but his chest ached to a different tune. 

He imagined, as he had so many times already, a world in which he was not the guy who found Ringmaster in that alleyway originally. Aside from his medical knowledge being all that kept the guy from either bleeding out or getting caught, there were other factors at play. A different individual might’ve gone to the police, might’ve handed over their instruments immediately, might’ve run away from the area of a fight, might not have answered their door to three of the city’s most wanted criminals. 

Ultimately, it was Grian’s own decisions that had led him to this point. It was his empathy that had dug a grave beneath his feet. Whether those past choices kept him alive or damned him more was yet to be fully discovered, but it was undoubtedly true that he’d come too far to turn back now. 

It had reached a point where he needed to either accept that he was fine with the arrangement they had, or break off from this dynamic they’d begun to establish before it took root. 

“Well, since you owe me,” Grian started. Ringmaster leaned forward, eager. “Make sure someone drives Eclipse home tomorrow. No walking or carrying or anything like that, you hear me?”

It wasn’t the anticipated response, that much was obvious by the way Ringmaster faltered. However, Grian didn’t intend to ever seriously use something like a villain’s favor. Anything he wanted, he could achieve himself, through fair and completely legal means. 

The set of his jaw and the finality in his gaze was enough to relax Ringmaster a bit.

“Alright, I promise.” Ringmaster put a hand over his heart. “Whatever you want, Doctor.”

Before he let himself speak again, Grian thought about his next words carefully, thought about the years to come carefully, thought about the fate of everything he loved carefully. 

His mind was already made up as those same thoughts took shape on his tongue.

“And in the future,” he said, slow and shaky. “If you ever need help like this again, I promise to try to be there for you. As long as it doesn’t, y’know, interfere with my work.”

The relief that flooded Ringmaster’s expression was palpable. His shoulders slumped, a low chuckle emanating from his lips. “Really?”

Grian nodded.

Then, without warning, Ringmaster yanked Grian into a tight hug. The vet blinked, mouth agape, wholly caught off-guard. A strong grip had completely enveloped him, and he was squeezed against a well-built chest. His mind spun, a mixture of strange feelings swirling in his gut. Ringmaster pulled back before he had a chance to reciprocate, though. 

“You’re so cool, man,” the villain declared. “You won’t regret it.”

Ringmaster shot him a final wave, and left him standing there in shock. Unsure of what else to do, he turned around, locked himself in his room, and sank to the floor. It took another hour before he was able to muster the strength to get under his covers.

When Grian woke up the next morning, it was to a scent that was unfamiliar to his nose. He got out of bed, yawning and wiping sleep from his eyes. The source of the smell could be traced to his kitchen. Once there, he discovered a plate of freshly-made bacon and pancakes waiting for him, right beside a sticky note.

Dear Grian,

Thanks for the help! We left before sunrise, but your hospitality was greatly appreciated, so we made you this. Thanks to you, we’re sure Eclipse will recover swiftly. Have fun at work!

-The Bamboozlers

“I feel like something’s off,” Mumbo said, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen around in his fingers. The television in the corner of the office buzzed with the words of a news reporter, covering the city’s latest villainous scheme. 

Grian glanced up from where he’d been filing paperwork, following his coworker’s line of sight. “What? It’s just the Tuff Guys up to some useless plot again.”

The news feed cut to show a ridiculous chase scene happening through the middle of town. Dozens of police cars were speeding after a singular motorcycle, which held three cackling villains. They were waving a duffle bag of money over their heads, far too proud. 

What they had yet to realize about said bag was that it was slightly unzipped. All of their spoils were flying out onto the road behind them, wasting the effort it had just taken them to acquire it in the first place. According to the newscaster, the police’s current plan at the moment was to keep chasing them around until it was completely empty. No need for the heroes to get involved.

It was not out of the ordinary for the Tuff Guys to accidentally achieve feats like this. Grian could practically already see the main headlines for the next few days being along the lines of, ‘Three Idiots Rob a Bank and Get Nothing.’

“Yeah, I know,” Mumbo said. “But isn’t there usually more going on? Something with – I don’t know – higher stakes? Like, where are the Bamboozlers?”

Grian dropped his pen. 

“Oh, I’m not sure.” He cleared his throat, and picked it up. “Maybe they’re coming up with a super scary plan.”

It wasn’t totally a lie. Grian didn’t, in all honesty, know what the villains were up to. They hadn’t been publicly seen in a little less than a month, though five days had passed since he had last interacted with them. If he had to guess, they were laying low while Eclipse recovered. 

Whether or not they were planning something during their downtime, that wasn’t within his well of knowledge. 

“Maybe,” Mumbo said, shrugging. He got back to scrolling through their email, none the wiser to Grian’s brief panic. “I would just so prefer to watch a more intense battle while I’m wasting away here.”

“Right,” Grian croaked, going for an amused smile, but falling a little short. “And the Bamboozlers always deliver, don’t they?”

He certainly felt like the stakes were massive anytime he interacted with them. When it came to their fights, though, Grian knew much less than the average person. Mumbo tended to keep up with the news more than he did. 

“Yeah, and besides that,” Mumbo started, though he trailed off, growing a little red in the cheeks. 

Grian leaned closer. “What? What is it?”

“Well, Ringmaster,” Mumbo said, clearing his throat. “He is quite the sight, isn’t he?”

Grian’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Oh my God, do you have a crush on a wanted criminal?”

“Grian,” Mumbo whined, shushing him. “Keep your voice down!”

“You aren’t denying it,” Grian realized with a mounting horror. “You aren’t denying it.”

“Oh, please! It’s not that weird!” Mumbo straightened his scrubs and crossed his arms. “Half the internet agrees with me anyway. Have you seen the guy?”

“No,” Grian lied way too quickly. “Not even once.”

Mumbo raised a brow. 

He winced, blindingly aware of the bad call he’d just made. For a moment, he expected to be questioned for his suspicious behavior. 

Then, his friend shook his head and sighed, “Right, I forgot that you’re far too focused on your work to be aware of other people.”

“Excuse you,” Grian scoffed, shoving him and sending his rolling chair across the floor. Mumbo laughed at his angry expression. “If I’m supposedly socially inept, think about where that leaves you. A celebrity crush does not make you better than I am!”

“Fine, fine, alright,” Mumbo relented between bouts of laughter. Eventually, he calmed enough to ask, “Are you going home soon? Your shift’s basically over.”

“Yeah, after I finish this,” Grian told him. “Might go grab dinner quickly. Did you want to tag along?”

“Can’t,” Mumbo groaned, pursing his lips in a way that made them almost disappear in his mustache. “My neighbor wants me to go over and check if her chihuahua is shaking the correct amount… Whatever that means.”

“Ah,” Grian replied, frowning. “Yeah, have fun. I do not envy you.”

“Grian!” Skizz strolled around the corner, a bright smile on his face and a pep in his step. Both Mumbo and Grian greeted him, exchanging brief pleasantries before he said, “You can go ahead and clock out, buddy. I’ll take over.”

“You sure?” 

Skizz nodded, and Grian stepped back, willing to quit dealing with paperwork without much of a fight. He bid his coworkers farewell, heading off to collect his stuff. His stomach grumbled, excited for the prospect of food. Twilight was already looming by the time he’d gotten out of the building. 

“Hello, Grian.”

Grian startled, whirling around to see a familiar figure lingering in the alleyway beside the clinic. The vet’s eyes grew wide, and he rushed over to pull Ringmaster further out of sight. He checked to make sure no passersby had seen him, and then whispered, “What are you doing here?”

Ringmaster tilted his head, regarding the vet with far less urgency. “I’m doing well. Thanks for asking, Doctor.”

“Right, yeah, hello,” Grian gritted out. “What are you doing here?”

Under his prying gaze, Grian did not at all recall the conversation he’d just finished having with Mumbo. He did not subtly scan the man in front of him with the newly-acquired knowledge that a large majority of the city found him attractive. He certainly did not understand how everyone reached that conclusion either.

“You said I could come to you if I needed help,” Ringmaster replied. “So, I came to pick you up from the clinic.”

“You need help?”

Grian looked the villain up and down again, this time checking him for immediate signs of injury. He looked fine – his costume was pristine, skin a normal color, pupils sitting at a regular dilation. Even his stance was relaxed, unbothered. Then, the rest of his sentence set in.

“What? Pick me up?” Grian frowned. “How did you know when I’d be getting off work?” 

“Oh, I had Boogeyman go in while you weren’t there and steal the login information to your clinic’s scheduling system,” Ringmaster said casually, despite the concerning nature of the statement. “So, it was pretty easy actually.”

“Excuse me?” Grian gaped up at him, crossing his arms. “You did what?”

“Nothing,” Ringmaster replied. “Just made everyone’s lives a little bit easier. That’s all.”

Grian felt like his head was about to explode. An invisible man had snuck into his workplace, stolen their classified clinic information, and gotten out completely unbeknownst to them? How was he even supposed to react to that? Could he go up to Skizz and Mumbo and tell them their login information needed to be changed without drawing suspicion? 

No, definitely not. They’d ask questions. Besides, there wasn’t anything keeping the Bamboozlers from simply pulling the same trick again. Grian was stuck with this situation. He would have to move on and proceed with his day like he didn’t know his job’s security was compromised. 

The villains had only officially been his sort-of-allies for about a week and he was already running into problems. Grian sighed, shaking his head. “No, you know what? I don’t care. What did you need?”

The smile left the other’s eyes. “It’s Eclipse.”

“What? Eclipse? Did something go wrong?” Grian’s heart leapt into his throat. “Did her condition take a turn for the worst? How’s her oxygen? Is she getting sicker? I thought I’d done enough, but if more is needed—“

“No, no,” Ringmaster interrupted, holding up placating hands. “It’s not her injury. It’s her. I think you’re the only one who can help.”

That was, in the simplest sense, how Grian found himself being blindfolded, loaded into a car, and taken to an unknown destination. According to Ringmaster, they were heading towards the trio’s secret headquarters, but he wouldn’t say much more until they arrived. 

The lack of explanation built up an air of mystery and a sense of dread. He worried over Eclipse’s health, worried over this odd place he was being taken to, worried over his own mental stability for agreeing to get in the car with a known criminal to begin with. Grian was a masterclass in all the things that someone not trying to get involved with highly-illegal individuals should avoid doing.

What the vet saw upon arriving at that secretive secondary location was more overwhelming than anything he could’ve possibly predicted. 

“Dude, come on,” Boogeyman begged. “Lie down! You can’t go out yet!”

“I won’t be cooped up here for the rest of my life,” Eclipse snapped in response, shooting everyone in the room a glare. The towel she’d tied around her head had to be readjusted with each movement. “I can’t believe you brought him here. Making me hide my identity at home should be a crime.”

Grian rocked back and forth on his heels, feeling supremely awkward. The Bamboozlers’ base of operations — or the Bam Bunker as they allegedly called it — had turned out to be some sort of underground facility. All of the windows were closed to frosted skylights, and the walls were large and solid. 

As for decorations, he’d seen quite the assorted mix while being led through earlier. The blindfold was removed as soon as they’d gone down some sort of elevator, and entered into what looked to be a huge storage area transformed into a home. It was all open concept, with a kitchen in one corner, a training area covered in mats and gym equipment in another, a cushy living room cut off from the rest with bamboo dividers, and then a side hallway leading elsewhere.

Grian had been directed into that hallway by his host, where he heard voices at the end. There were a couple of separate doors, each decorated in differing styles. 

“Our bedrooms,” Ringmaster had told him, so he was a little uncomfortable when they came to pause at a bright pink door. They’d knocked, and the loud talking ceased. “We’re coming in.”

Eclipse’s room wasn’t terribly big, but it was better than most apartments Grian had seen in the past. It had enough space to fit a queen sized bed, a dresser, a desk, and a loveseat. All of them were pink, with hints of midnight blue as an accent color. Not exactly how Grian would’ve decorated, but that wasn’t why he’d been brought there that day. 

Once inside, the vet had been presented with the issue at hand. Eclipse, who was perched on her bed wearing off-puttingly regular clothes, was apparently causing a bit of a fuss. As Ringmaster informed him, she was insisting that she was well enough to quit her bedrest, and didn’t want to listen when they told her she wasn’t.

“We wouldn’t have to get other people involved if you’d be normal,” Boogeyman sighed. He reached over and flicked the middle of his friend’s forehead, drawing an offended gasp from her. “Grian, tell her!”

Grian was wholly taken aback by the sudden way he was addressed by Boogeyman. The other guy was acting as though he hadn’t threatened him the last time they were alone together. It was jarring, and something he didn’t really know how to handle.

Boogeyman also wasn’t dressed how Grian had expected. Like Eclipse, he was donning casual clothes, just jeans and a t-shirt with his gas mask. There was a little bit of orange dusting on his fingertips, as though he’d just finished eating some cheesy snack when this ordeal had begun. By no means did he or Eclipse look like the terrifying villains depicted on television. 

Ringmaster was a refreshing exception — though Grian never thought he’d consider a villain’s costume to be refreshing — and had gotten properly into uniform to seek him out. Even though the main danger of his arrangement with these three was pretty much nullified with the discovery of his usefulness, it felt necessary to remember who exactly his company was in their free time.

“Well, I would have to take another look at the infection before I could make any definite conclusions,” Grian said. Then, to Eclipse specifically, he asked, “Would that be alright?”

Eclipse was the villain he’d interacted with the least. His two times meeting her had both been brief, with the most recent involving her being practically on death’s doorstep the entire time. Grian was careful to come across as polite to the best of his ability, unsure if her attitude towards him would be hostile like her teammate’s own.

Instead of giving him much of a second thought, though, she shrugged, turned around, and moved herself into a horizontal position. Grian heard Boogeyman and Ringmaster let out matching sighs of relief. He shot them a raised brow, curious if the situation was really dire enough to warrant such reactions. Either way, he came around the side of the bed and gently pulled back the fabric of Eclipse’s shirt. 

The bandages were in good shape, thankfully, which meant they’d been replaced often. He was glad to see that the three were taking his advice seriously. With practiced hands, he removed the bandages and took in the state of the wound. 

Honestly, he was pretty impressed. In only a few days, immense progress had been made. It was pink around the edges, just the right side of red, with a far less noticeably unpleasant scent. A lot of the inflammation and general grossness had gone down. 

The chosen antibiotics must’ve done the trick, even without blood work. They’d gotten lucky. Grian suspected it was also because the wound wasn’t particularly deep. Removing the irritation and caring for it properly was all that had been necessary to restore Eclipse to health. Delaying such treatment would’ve made the whole process so much harder.

Another benefit, since they’d caught it before it could get too much worse, was that they could likely avoid the unfortunate after-effects that came with sepsis as well. He’d keep an eye out for symptoms of post-sepsis syndrome, but for now, both her mood and the healing process were wonderfully average.

“It’s looking good. Definitely better,” Grian said, slipping his bag off his shoulder. He opted to go ahead and clean it while he was there. “But a little while longer of rest is in order. No removal of the oxygen mask or IV until I can be certain your blood is clear of infection, obviously.”

“See! I told you,” Boogeyman cheered. His energy, in comparison to five days prior, was way higher and majorly disorienting. “I’m right. You’re wrong. Looks like you’ll be staying in bed for another week!”

“Well, not exactly,” Grian said, trying not to fear for his life as Boogeyman’s celebrations were cut off. “She could probably do easy movements right now. Eclipse, you should avoid putting pressure on your back or stretching those muscles too much, but walking around with assistance should be fine. I’m sure you’re bored of sitting and doing nothing.”

“Thank you, Grian,” Eclipse said pointedly. “Hear that? I know my limits, idiot.”

Grian dressed the injury, slightly amused by the ridiculous bickering. They were like two little kids, or two mouthy cats yowling back and forth. As soon as he was finished, he stood and turned to Ringmaster. Bag in hand, he started to speak. Unfortunately, a loud gurgling from his stomach interrupted him. 

The villain raised an eyebrow, and he flushed, laughing sheepishly, “Sorry, I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Oh,” Ringmaster gasped, clapping his hands together. “That’s perfect! I can repay your favor from the other day, then.”

“What?” Grian frowned, trying to recall what in the world the other man could be referring to. Finally, he remembered the spaghetti, and he sucked in a breath. “No, uh, really, I can’t trouble you for dinner.”

“Sure you can!” Grian didn’t have a chance to argue as he was taken by the wrist and dragged out of the room. They proceeded down the hall and towards the kitchen area. Ringmaster chatted all the while, “I was thinking of heating up some frozen pizza tonight. Is that alright with you?”

“Uh, I guess,” Grian replied. He glanced over his shoulder to find Boogeyman and Eclipse following behind them. The former was helping the latter, assuring the rolling oxygen tank and IV weren’t badly disrupted. “You guys do know that I can’t eat with you or you’ll have to keep your masks on, right?”

“It’s fine,” Ringmaster decided without much of a second thought. “You’re our guest. It’s important we repay all favors given to us!”

Grian, once again, stole a glance at the other two villains. Eclipse and Boogeyman were exchanging a look, their brows furrowed. The vet accidentally made eye contact with Boogeyman, and shuddered at the glare he received. 

He was led to a kitchen table — a round thing with only three chairs — and pushed into a seat. Awkwardly, he set his bag down on the ground beside him, and glanced at Eclipse and Boogeyman as they settled on either of his sides. Despite the space between them, Grian felt as though he were being crushed between two brick walls from the force of their gazes on his face.

Ringmaster got out a frozen pizza and went through the necessary steps to shove it in the oven. 

Eclipse engaged Grian first through the muffled restraints of her oxygen mask, “So, Grian… Can I call you Grian?”

“Um, yes,” Grian replied, extremely aware of every person in the room around him. “That’s fine.”

“Perfect. So, Grian,” she started again. “You saved me.”

The vet glanced between her and Boogeyman. Compared to her neutral expression, Boogeyman’s scrunched face looked a little silly. Clearing his throat, he replied, “I suppose.”

Eclipse tilted her head, pink bangs falling over her raised brows. “I should thank you. I lost track of my care regimen, and it almost went badly.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” he insisted. 

“Well, I just thought I’d tell you that I do not trust you.” Her eyes crinkled. “But I do respect you for being the only doctor in the city stupid enough to let us into your home. I am eternally grateful and whatnot.”

Though the wording was odd, turning it into something very obviously backhanded, Grian gave a weak smile in return. “Yeah, uh, anytime.”

Clearly sensing the lull in conversation, Ringmaster tossed a look over at him. “Grian,” he started. “How was work today?”

“Good, good,” the vet replied. “Y’know, it's always a nice day when there aren’t many animals coming in.”

Grian let himself taper off, growing quiet. Small talk felt strange in this scenario, since he was not allowed to ask for personal information from any of them. He was walking on glass, every single step threatening to cut his life short. Where was the gray area between too much and just enough?

“So, uh,” he started, throwing caution to the wind. “Do you guys have… pets?”

It felt like a safe enough question. Ringmaster had mentioned his cat once before, so Grian figured that was on the table. 

To his relief, Eclipse nodded and replied, “I have a dog called Meri. She’s very cute. Probably cuter than most dogs you see at your job.”

“Oh really?” Grian’s brow twitched at the perpetually off-putting signals he was interpreting from the woman. He opted to glance around instead, focusing on the answer rather than its wording. “Is she anywhere around?”

“No,” Eclipse said, laughing slightly. “She’s back at my house.”

“Back at your house?” The vet frowned. “I thought you lived here.”

“Hm? No, of course not. You think I’d live in a place with this atrocious lighting?” Eclipse scoffed, “It’s just convenient to have. Our missions go late sometimes, so the bedrooms make the downtime nicer. I’m staying here while I rest up so the other two can easily reach me. We all have our own places.”

“Yikes, man,” Boogeyman said, leaning back in his chair. “Can you imagine living here constantly? It’s a glorified basement.”

A glorified basement is not how Grian would’ve described the setting, but he did not chime in for his own sake. This base of theirs alone probably cost thousands of dollars to carve out, renovate, hide from prying eyes, and decorate – just from his surface-level observation.

Eclipse hummed, her eyes narrowed and an intonation suggesting underlying intention in the sound. Boogeyman slowly turned towards her. “Is something wrong with what I said?”

“Yeah,” Eclipse replied bluntly. “You’re lying. Everyone knows that you thought our base was the coolest thing in the world until you got your roommate a few years ago.”

Grian tilted his head. “Roommate?”

“Okay, alright, that’s enough,” Boogeyman shouted, half collapsing across the table in an attempt to stop her. “We do not need to talk about this at all.”

Grian, however, was wholly intrigued. Eclipse seemed more than happy for the chance to poke fun at her friend. She turned fully towards Grian, leaning in like she was trying to be inconspicuous. Though he was still scared of her, his curiosity won over.

“They’ve been living together for three years,” Eclipse went on. “And we’re certain they’re head-over-heels in love with each other, but both of them are too stupid to see it. I’ve never met a couple that acts as married as they do, and they’re not even together.”

“That is not true,” Boogeyman screeched. His eyes turned to Grian, pleading. It was a complete switch from his otherwise terrifying villain persona. For the first time, the vet thought he might be getting a glimpse into what these people were actually like when he wasn’t around. “You can’t believe her. She’s lying to defame me!”

“Interesting,” Grian hummed, smile spreading. “And does this roommate of yours know about your career choices?”

“Of course he does,” Eclipse answered before Boogeyman got the chance. “In fact, do you know Zip from the Tuff guys?”

A particular villain came to mind — dramatic, spiky hair, huge red goggles, and a bandana over the lower half of his face. 

Grian nodded. “The guy with super speed who runs into walls all the time?”

“Bingo,” Eclipse confirmed. “Yeah, that’s his crush.”

Grian’s brows raised. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t half as interesting as this. Villains from opposing criminal groups living together, supposedly even having relations with one another? The politics on the battlefield with dynamics like that must be crazy. He knew of several newspapers that would absolutely gobble such juicy information up — not that he would be telling them anything.

“You should see them together, Grian,” Ringmaster said from where he was adjusting the timer on the oven. He had his back towards the group, so Grian couldn’t see his expression past the stretch of his broad shoulders. The pizza was already in, and likely wouldn’t be much longer. “They get super embarrassed and start stuttering. Honestly, it’s kinda gross.”

“Hey!” Boogeyman slammed a hand down on the table, not pleased at the way they were ganging up on him. “Pipe down! I could say something similar about you, but I’ve been holding back. I don’t think you want me to bring up who you talk about on a daily basis!”

Ringmaster shot a killer glare over his shoulder, more menacing than Grian had witnessed in a long time. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought the villain was about to lunge at his teammate and try to kill him. It was a lethal, stinging thing, and even Boogeyman shrunk beneath its weight. 

Though the reaction from the villain by the oven was terrifying, Grian found his attention rapt. He debated pushing further, prying into areas where he didn’t belong. It wasn’t the best idea, but it sure did sound intriguing — the concept of Ringmaster having a crush, one apparently too classified for a humble vet to be told about.

Instead of testing his luck, Grian turned to Eclipse and chimed in with a new question, “By the way, that reminds me… Doesn’t Furioso have a crush on you?” 

Eclipse stopped dead, eyes going wide. Boogeyman choked out a laugh. Grian heard Ringmaster snort.

“What?” The woman crossed her arms tightly over her chest, still mindful of her IV though. Immediately, her pleasant demeanor took on a defensive edge. “Where did you hear a thing like that? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grian raised a brow, innocently prodding further, “Then, why are your ears so red?”

Eclipse’s hands shot up to cover the side of her head. “They’re not!”

A bark of laughter was punched out of Boogeyman. He stared at Grian, eyes wide and sparkling. “You noticed that too?” He snickered, “I’ve been telling her for ages that her ears go red whenever he’s brought up. She won’t admit it, but it’s so obvious.”

Eclipse saw how much her teammate was enjoying himself, and grew visibly annoyed. Without thinking, she scoffed and blurted, “Oh, grow up, Jimmy!”

The room fell silent. Three heads whipped around to face Eclipse, before the attention shifted slowly to Grian.

Oh no.

An accidental slip of the tongue, a damning detail that couldn’t be taken back. Eclipse had called Boogeyman by the wrong thing, and every single person present had heard her.

Jimmy?

What kind of supervillain was named Jimmy?  

Grian couldn’t believe his ears. This was more information than any civilian should ever possess in their entire lifetime if they intended to live long and prosper. The Bamboozlers were the three most dangerous criminals in the city, and somehow, he had come to know of one of their names. 

His vision blurred, black spots creeping along the edges. All the blood rushed to his head, spinning in time with his racing thoughts. 

He was going to die.

And all because of some guy called Jimmy.

Wasn’t that a pathetic way to go?

No, he absolutely could not sit there and let that happen. Grian refused for such a simple, common name to be the reason he was wiped off the face of the earth. There were things he still had yet to do, memories he still had yet to make, years he had yet to experience. 

He mustered everything within him to crack a smile, and turn towards Boogeyman.

“Your name is Timmy? Really?”  

It took a second. Boogeyman blinked at him, long and slow. Gradually, Grian’s words set in.

“Timmy? My name’s not—? What?” Boogeyman’s confusion was thick in the air between them. “Did you not just hear—?”

“Hear what? Eclipse calling you Timmy? I did,” Grian said, nodding. “Lame. I was expecting something far more intimidating.”

The three villains were quiet. 

Grian glanced between them, swallowing back rising dread. Ringmaster’s gaze was the one he landed on. His green eyes were narrowed and calculating. The trick Grian was implementing wasn’t hard to see through, but at that moment, the vet felt as though his very soul was on display. If this all went wrong and he was murdered, maybe it really would be.

“Grian,” Ringmaster began cautiously. “Did you… genuinely hear the name Timmy?”

Grian’s smile faltered. “Of course. How could I not? Eclipse is sitting right here.”

A silent conversation of exchanged glances occurred between the three villains. It was impossible for Grian to deduce what they were collectively thinking. 

Finally, when it seemed like all hope might be lost, Ringmaster sighed, “Okay, this is silly. Grian, we won’t kill you over something as petty as a name.”

“Great! Thanks, guys.” Grian said, squeezing his hands into fists beneath the table. He gave his best nonchalant nod of acknowledgement to Boogeyman. “Nice to meet you, Tim.”

“No, Grian,” Ringmaster chuckled. “We know you heard his actual name, and we’re not going to do anything. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Who’s pretending? Certainly not me,” Grian continued, still far too wound up to stop. “Tim, are you pretending? Because I’m definitely not. No idea what he’s on about.”

Boogeyman — Jimmy — gave him the most baffled look physically possible for someone with half their face covered. “Mate,” he said. “That’s not my name.”

“Anyway, Tim,” Grian continued. “We got kind of off-topic. Do you have any pets?”

The dead air filtering through the atmosphere was suffocating. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking. Grian was fairly certain he was one poorly-worded comment away from fully bidding farewell to his sanity forever. He needed the normalcy of this conversation, enough that he could feel the desperation bleeding out of him.

“Uh,” Jimmy said. He eyed Grian warily, almost like he was worried about him. “Yeah. Two cats. Listen, I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this name business—“

“Great,” Grian interrupted. “You have two cats, Ringmaster has a cat, and Eclipse has a dog. Seems like you’re all animal lovers around here.”

Although Eclipse was matching Jimmy with her utter shock, Ringmaster was smiling at him with those usual crinkles around his eyes. Grian let some of the falseness in his attitude die out underneath the weight of it. He forced himself to relax, to process the situation at hand. 

Grian knew a villain’s name, but he wasn’t going to be killed. That was good. That was progress. He was safe. 

“I’ve got, uh,” Grian started up once more, though the manic energy in his speech was lessened. He leaned into the back of his chair to anchor himself. “Two cats as well — Pearl and Maui. I’ll try to introduce you next time you're over.”

“I’d love to see your cats,” Jimmy said, still boasting a slight air of confusion, but coming down from it gradually.

“Oh, yeah, I remember that now. You do have pets, don’t you?” Ringmaster gasped, “I can’t believe I didn’t ask to see them when we brought Eclipse.”

“Well, you were a bit distracted by your teammate passing out,” Grian suggested, and he got a shrug of agreement from the other man. “But yeah, like I told you, they’re just shy.”

“You two,” Eclipse rasped, adding to the conversation for the first time since she’d accidentally spilled a major secret. She glanced between Ringmaster and Grian, eyes narrowed conspiratorially. “You two have talked about your cats together? In private?”

Grian frowned. “I mean, yeah. It came up. Why?”

“No reason, no reason,” she replied, in a tone that implied there absolutely was a reason. She shot Ringmaster a pointed look. “I’ve just heard around the block that being good with cats is the fastest way to a man’s heart.”

Grian blinked, not quite on the same wavelength. “Uh, what?”

He expected to follow Eclipse’s gaze and see Ringmaster sporting a similarly confused countenance, but it was the exact opposite. The icy atmosphere from earlier had returned at full-force, bearing endless pressure down on the woman next to Grian. She didn’t buckle under it like Jimmy had, though. Her amusement just seemed to grow.

“I wonder if Jellie would want any new friends,” Eclipse hummed, propping her chin in her hands. “Maybe a couple of play dates should be arranged. Socialization is good for pets, I’ve heard. It’s healthy for them to spend lots and lots of time together.”

The tension in the air grew so thick that Grian felt like he couldn’t breathe. To lighten it, he gave his two cents on what he was picking up, “I’m not sure that’s true.”

Ringmaster paused his relentless death stare to raise a brow. Eclipse lazily turned back around to face Grian. “Oh?”

“There are people who know more about the behaviors of cats than I do,” Grian elaborated. “But I’m pretty certain they don’t fall into the same category as dogs when it comes to socialization. They’re territorial, and most don’t need a load of friends to keep them happy, especially if they have a good relationship with their owners. A playdate or whatever you mentioned wouldn’t likely be successful.”

“Nerd,” Jimmy mumbled. 

Grian ignored him. “We were talking about him potentially getting a friend for Jellie, right? His cat? The specifics were confusing me.”

“Sure,” Eclipse said, again with that same tone that told him she meant the opposite of what she was speaking into existence. “Sure, yeah. Jellie is the one desperately wanting a friend right now. Definitely.”

Grian nodded, though he wasn’t sure at all what the conversation had devolved into with the use of such strong subtext.

“Don’t listen to her, Grian,” Ringmaster butted in. The vet, for a moment, thought he saw red blossoming on the tips of the other man’s ears. “She’s loopy from her antibiotics.”

Grian knew that was a lie a million miles away. The brand he’d seen on her side table in her bedroom didn’t have a side effect like that. Still, he let the topic drop. 

A ding came from the oven behind them, and Ringmaster returned to preparing the pizza. Grian’s stomach growled embarrassingly loudly at the smell of melted cheese. “Hold on, G,” Ringmaster called over his shoulder. “I’ll make you a plate right away.”

“Of course Grian gets to eat first,” Jimmy grumbled, and Eclipse nodded sagely. “Stupid favoritism.”

“Favoritism?” Grian frowned. He raised his voice just enough for the villain by the stove to recognize it was meant for him. “Are you hearing this? Favoritism?”

“I’m hearing it,” Ringmaster confirmed, cutting the pizza into strategic slices. “And it sounds like Timmy wants the pieces with the most charred crusts.”

“What? No!” Jimmy jumped from his seat and scrambled across the room to try and stop his friend. He got a plate shoved into his arms instead, containing two perfectly overcooked slices. “Oh, man. Grian, look what you’ve done! I can’t even eat these with my mask on. I just get to sit here and imagine how bad they taste.”

“If you’re so hungry, take it to your room,” Ringmaster laughed, bringing two more plates to the table, one for Eclipse and one for Grian. Immediately, the vet started eating, far too hungry to be polite about it.

Eclipse’s eyes crinkled. “You want us to go to our rooms, do you? So we’re not in your hair anymore?”

Ringmaster swatted her, but didn’t answer. He went back to fix himself a plate. Eclipse, by the looks of it, didn’t need a response. She had a silent conversation over the table with Jimmy, and the two wordlessly stood, leaving the room. 

When Ringmaster moved to come to the table himself, he paused, realizing the new emptiness. The receding squeaky wheels of Eclipse’s IV could still be heard down the hall.

“Seems like it’s just us now,” Grian said. “But you can’t eat like this, and I doubt you want to leave me alone in your secret base.”

Ringmaster hadn’t stepped towards the table, eyes just fixed on Grian. It was a little intimidating, being pinned in place by such a stare. Grian forced a smile, and got to his feet. He had an easy solution, one he would’ve suggested to the others had they not scrambled off so quickly. 

“Let’s go to the living room,” Grian said, grabbing his plate. “We’ll just eat like we did last time.”

He was already walking to the area sectioned off by bamboo dividers by the time Ringmaster started to move again. The villain hadn’t spoken in awhile, but Grian wasn’t bothered. The silence was nice. 

The living room area was quaint, with a sectional couch up against the dividers, a coffee table in the middle, and a large television against the wall. There were a handful of posters slapped haphazardly around for decoration, most of them being action shots of certain hero and villain groups. The posters featuring heroes were doodled on heavily. On one, a red marker had given Furioso a ridiculous mustache, and Slayer a goofy smile. 

Grian settled himself on the floor in front of the couch, and resumed eating his pizza. He paid no mind to how Ringmaster shuffled in behind him. The television was switched on, presumably by the other man. It flicked between news programs, and eventually landed on one recounting the Tuff Guys’ earlier scheming.

Grian heard a hiss and a deep breath from his companion, obviously drinking in the fresh air from having removed his mask. As he spoke, it was devoid of any modulator interference, “There’s Zip, Jimmy’s crush.”

The camera zoomed in on that same goofy motorcycle chase. In the middle was Zip, the speedy villain. He was likely a lot faster than the motorcycle itself was capable of moving, and yet he was committed to riding it with the rest of his gang. They were all total dunces. It made Grian acutely aware of every single ounce of redness that had come to Jimmy’s face earlier — all of it was for this man.  

“Oh, man,” Grian sighed. “This new information is going to make watching the news so much funnier.”

“I’ve met the guy,” Ringmaster went on, muffled by a bite. “It’s like his team takes all of his IQ away. He’s actually really smart when he’s not grouped up with them. They all are.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of a team working together to make each other worse,” Grian chuckled. “And not even in a successful villainous way. It’s almost impressive.”

“Well, two wrongs don’t make a right,” Ringmaster replied, and Grian nodded like the proverb made sense in this context, even though it didn’t. Sitting in front of a television and gossiping about stuff like this with Ringmaster was too pleasant for anything else to really bother him. Conversation came more easily without Eclipse or Jimmy around. 

It wasn’t devoid of consideration, of course. Grian was more familiar with Ringmaster, but for all intents and purposes, they were still strangers. Until they could mutually learn more about one another without fear of death or a breach of trust, Grian couldn’t consider them friends. At most, it was a tentative allyship.

This was nice, though. He could kind of delude himself into comparing this to a hangout with Mumbo, so long as he ignored the fact that turning around meant a swift end to his days. Ringmaster bounced well off him, and had a similar sense of humor. It made it easy to put fear on the backburner. 

Grian finished his pizza, and waited until the conversation tapered to a close. 

“I should get going,” he told the villain. “My cats will be vying for food right about now, and I told my neighbor I’d be home in time to feed them.”

“Right,” Ringmaster said. “Right, yes, of course.”

He shuffled around, and Grian waited to hear the telltale click and hiss of the mask falling back into place. Neither of them moved for a moment, and then Ringmaster cleared his throat.

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

Grian was led back to the exit and blindfolded. They drove in relative silence, with the vet entertaining himself by counting how many potholes his companion hit. Ringmaster took off the eye covering once he deemed them far enough away, and they bid farewell. Grian was left on a sidewalk in an area he recognized instantly.

By the time the vet got home, he was both tired and endlessly curious. The company he kept nowadays wasn’t conventional, and the situation he’d gotten himself into wasn’t what a normal person might consider ideal, but it made the emptiness of his apartment that much more evident.

In comparison to the Bamboozlers’ headquarters, which had activity and noise the entirety of the time he was there, his place was so quiet.  

Once Pearl and Maui were satiated with food, it was especially clear. The only noise was from his television. It felt lonely, not at all like the incessant bickering and gossiping from before. Everything was too big, too devoid of something he couldn’t really name.

Grian sighed, collapsing onto his couch. Silence was odd, but it was what he’d lived with for his entire life. Whatever bothersome feelings he was having at the moment would surely pass with a good night’s rest. Though it wasn’t the most comfortable, Grian let his eyes fall shut, and his consciousness drifted away upon his couch.

Chapter Text

Fear, as it turned out, was something that could quite easily grow to be less intense with repeated exposure. 

Logically, Grian had been aware of this fact for a long time. It was a key part of his job, after all. Over the years, his clinic had received countless strays from off the streets with a dislike for humans. Most of them were traumatized, or feral, with few positive experiences. 

In direct correlation to the clinic’s constant care and a reliable patience from the staff, he’d watched as those same types of discarded animals gradually emerged from their shells and learned that there was nothing scary about the people overseeing them. Not all of them were prone to this behavioral switch, but a grand majority of them could get there eventually.

However, Grian had never expected to notice similar shifts within himself.  

The Bamboozlers were a trio of terrifying individuals. It was an undisputed fact. Grian knew it, his coworkers knew it, the heroes knew it, the media knew it, everyone knew it. They were some of the city's most fearsome villains, and they’d earned that title by reinforcing the idea for years with jaw-dropping precision. 

Upon searching their name on literally any social media platform, one could find hundreds of clips of them wreaking havoc throughout the city over the course of several years. And it wasn’t just the group that had built up such infamous reputations either – each individual member had their own circulation of rumors, their own list of crimes, their own brand of horror through which they tormented their victims.

Eclipse, for example, was ruthlessly efficient in battle. She was agile, and deadly with her spear. When her power was available to her, it blinded indiscriminately. She was reportedly impossible to predict in her movements, as well as scarily good at predicting the movements of those around her in turn. 

Heroes of a lower level couldn’t be trusted to face her and come out alive. Even if they might be able to handle her in a fight, her powers required her enemy to have a strong will, for it was rumored the inky blackness of her blinding ability was unbelievably claustrophobic. A handful of civilians had been caught in it once during a hostage situation, and the Agency apparently compensated them handsomely for the experience. If an alert was sent out, and an opponent was deployed to deal with her, only the best would do. 

Boogeyman, secondly, was unbeatable in terms of stealth. His powers had few limitations, allowing him to break into places undetected, slip around battlefields unseen, strike from behind when least expected. He was someone security systems couldn’t hope to keep out, and the Agency couldn’t fully protect against. 

When it came to going toe-to-toe with him, paranoia was a factor he exploited perfectly. Being his opponent was a constant struggle to listen, anticipate, and track down someone a regular person could not. At all points in time, any steps taken could be mirrored by an invisible other, any path forward could be walked by an unknown second, any password typed could be seen by alternative eyes. If someone were to end up on Boogeyman’s radar, they had to be ready to never be comfortably alone again.

Lastly, there was Ringmaster. He was a hard-hitter, specializing in sudden bursts of powerful attacks. He was secretive and strong, but he didn’t need to rely on fear in the form of stealth like his teammates. The ominous red glow of a power unknown to the world was enough to get a city block evacuated. A punch from his fist was said to deal twice the damage. A kick from his boot was said to break twice as many bones. A glare from behind his mask was said to drop the temperature by thirty degrees.

Though he wasn’t as hard to strike as Eclipse or as difficult to find as Boogeyman, there was an intimidation in his presence alone. Heroes could be trusted to go into a fight with him wielding the most baseline understanding of self defense, but they were rarely able to emerge unscathed, no matter their skill level. If a brave soul were to truly manage to force Ringmaster into a corner, there was no telling what would happen to them. 

Not much was known, in actuality, about the group’s specific goals. The experts at the Agency could try to understand the thought process behind why the Bamboozlers might target a certain bank or business, but only after the attack had occurred. There was never an indication on where they would strike next, when the attack would happen, or why it would take place to begin with. They seemed to be agents of chaos and little else, pocketing some valuables, but still leaving enough behind to be questionable.

To find out even one thing about them that the media considered a great mystery would be enough to set a person up for a lifetime. It would revolutionize the way the media was able to look upon their battles, and change the perspective of the city’s analysts forever. 

Grian wasn’t much interested in change. The politics of that side of the city didn’t concern him. The fear and excitement of heroes and villains didn’t concern him. Nothing beyond the spiralling consequences of the actions he’d taken in an alleyway weeks prior concerned him. It just so happened to have gotten a bit more personal in recent days.

Of course, the fear he kept in his heart hadn’t disappeared overnight. Rather, it’d been eased out of him, similar to the careful way a person might wade into a rushing river – slowly at first, and then faster once they were confident. 

Grian kept himself in the shallows for the time being, but he’d very much so dipped his feet in. Even as there were threats of being carried away, he’d begun to find simple joy in the coolness of the water. 

The first time he noticed himself becoming less bothered by the existence of these criminals was actually during an interaction that lasted for only a split second. Grian was walking home from the grocery store, arms full of overflowing bags, when he noticed a crowd gathered on the street ahead. 

Now, he was a curious guy. Never once had he denied this truth, even as it put him in endless situations throughout his life. Though he was already struggling to keep up with the amount of bags cutting off his circulation, he couldn’t help but hobble himself over in that direction, just to see what was up. 

It wasn’t until he’d made it to the edge of the gathering that Grian was able to glimpse the person at the center of it. To his surprise, he saw a hero there. 

Slayer was easily identified by her bun of bright red hair atop her head, braided through with leaves and a handful of flowers. The green mask over her eyes hid her identity while she chatted with a reporter – a well-dressed woman with a fashionable bob. 

There was caution tape along the windows of the building behind her. Whispers from the crowd spoke of a few thieves having been caught minutes prior. Not much more could be picked out from where Grian lingered. 

That was enough, however, for him to decide he wasn’t interested in sticking around. His curiosity died in his chest, an uncomfortable indifference filling its hole in his chest. He didn’t care to find out why she was loitering in the street for this interview, or why the general public felt like blocking the whole of the sidewalk to observe her. 

Maybe the version of himself from a couple of weeks prior might’ve stuck around, watched long enough to understand what was going on. He’d never kept up with the news, but it was rare to bump into a hero like this, especially near his neighborhood. It was practically a celebrity appearance, and any civilian would be likely to find some interest in the experience.

Unfortunately, this version of himself didn’t care one singular bit. In fact, all he felt in lieu of interest was a wave of exhaustion – like the very sight of someone in a flashy costume was calling him to action, and he was not keen on responding.

Grian turned on his heel, intending to walk away, but there were a large number of people tripping over themselves to get as close to Slayer as possible. He was forced to dodge around the onslaught, made more difficult by the collection of bags in his grip. No one paid him the simplest bit of care, too focused on taking his spot as he left.

It was almost inevitable for a careless elbow to jam into his side, and for his balance to fail him. Grian landed hard against the pavement, his bags breaking the majority of his fall. He heard a sickening crack in the midst of the chaos. 

Grian laid there for a moment in shocked disbelief. No one came to help him, or spared him a glance. They had their eyes set on the hero at the center of the crowd, who could just barely be heard speaking from where he had collapsed. If he turned his head at just the right angle, he could vaguely make out the legs of both her and the reporter interviewing her. 

“So, Slayer,” the reporter began. While listening, Grian sat up and sighed at the sight of his groceries scattered across the sidewalk. “Tell us a little bit about your victory today.”

“There’s not a whole lot to say, honestly,” Slayer piped up. “I was lucky to be in the area when our crime alerts were made aware of the robbery, and I apprehended them before they could get away.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” the reporter said, giving a polite laugh before she could prompt further. “I’m sure I speak for the whole city when I say that we’re grateful for your contributions towards keeping us all safe.”

Grian wished her contributions had included protecting his eggs too. He held up the box of broken shells, their yolks dripping out onto the ground and baking in the sun. His bread was also squished, definitely useless for any amount of sandwich making he might want to do over the next few days. He cursed to himself, remembering the annoyingly high price on his receipt. 

“Although, Slayer, if you don’t mind me asking,” the newscaster chimed again. “How did you manage to capture the robbers without so much as a single scratch on yourself?”

“Well, it’s not too difficult with powers like mine,” Slayer hummed. “I’m sure you know, but my ability – Radar, as I like to call it – allows me to sense a person’s presence around myself whenever it’s activated. It helps predict attacks, find people trying to hide from me, and stuff like that. Regular opponents are no match.”

Grian perked up a bit at that. 

Though it was, as she’d said, known to the greater public, it was still a factor he’d forgotten until now. Heroes didn’t tend to keep their skills a secret, with the exception of their weaknesses. However, if he thought about it, that meant his first technical encounter with her in the alleyway could’ve gone a lot differently if she’d activated her powers. It was a nearer miss than he’d originally realized. 

The vet shook himself out of it, ignoring the pang of old fear that shot through him. That time had passed. That danger had moved along. That alleyway was behind him, even if his future still involved the same cast of characters. It was easy to rationalize himself along, especially if he focused on how frustrating it was to shove all of his things back in their bags.

“And would you mind explaining to the crowd what exactly your crime alerts entail?” The reporter clarified, “Isn’t it important for all civilians to know how to ring one in?”

“Yes. Crime alerts are provided to us by civilians such as yourselves, and double-checked by our professionals back at the Agency,” Slayer said, switching into a voice that sounded vaguely practiced, like these were lines she repeated often. “Remember, folks. Your report could be the difference between a devastating villain attack or a successful capture. Don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Very true! Well said, Slayer,” the woman laughed. “Do we know who exactly called in the alert today? Can we get a special shout-out for that helpful soul?”

Slayer didn’t respond immediately, seemingly thinking over the question thoroughly. Finally, when she did pipe up once more, she sounded a little uncertain. “We aren’t actually sure. It was a guy, and all he said was that the petty criminals were starting to get a little too close for his tastes. Whatever that means…”

“Well, we won’t keep you any longer,” the reporter said, tone changing to indicate a sense of finality. Slayer bid farewell to the woman, and then presumably also to the crowd, if their cheers were worthwhile indicators. Grian rushed to grab the last of his items before unobservant feet could land on his surviving groceries. 

Eventually, there was only one thing remaining just a little ways beyond his reach. Grian leaned forward, not catching sight of movement out of the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t expecting a man to kneel down and grab his box of cereal. Their hands brushed as they both took hold of it, and Grian muttered, “Oh, I think I’ve got it. Thank you, though.”

The vet glanced up to see who exactly had finally come to assist him, but the man’s face was tipped down and blocked by a hoodie. Grian tilted his head, trying to steal a glimpse, only to be thwarted when the stranger shifted backwards. 

“No problem,” came a voice from the other’s general direction. Grian tensed, eyes growing wide. “Be more careful in the future, alright?”

The vet was frozen solid, unable to move or so much as attempt to watch the mysterious man stand. He heard the sound of receding footsteps, but still couldn’t draw himself fully into the present. Mostly because Grian knew that voice.

And it didn’t belong to some random civilian. 

He jerked his head to the side just in time to catch the briefest notion of Ringmaster’s retreating back as he disappeared into the crowd. Grian was left in the middle of the sidewalk with several bags of retrieved groceries, and a whole lot of confusion.

Notably, though, he didn’t feel any fear. His bewilderment was far too poignant for him to process anything outside of it. That had been too quick, too normal, too all-around simple of an interaction for it to have sent anything towards his fear receptors. 

Maybe it would set in later, but right then, it was completely absent.

Grian was eventually able to move on and get to his apartment alright. That hypothetical ‘later’ never came. 

Several more days passed without much out of the ordinary. He did see the Bamboozlers, but it was for a brief visit in between long shifts, so he didn’t discuss much with them. The Agency hinted on working on some new classified project behind the scenes, a dog park was opened a few blocks from him, and a new documentary on the secret life of heroes was released. The film was just fine, but nothing to write home about. 

The Tuff Guys also had another heist – likely to make up for the money they’d recently realized had been lost – and it was slightly more successful. They didn’t go for a bank again this time. Instead, they’d ducked into a large tech store after hours and made off with a bunch of really expensive equipment. There was no telling what exactly they’d be doing with it, but the news speculated that pawn shops would be getting a lot of attention soon.

It sounded simple on paper, another robbery made possible by their incredible abilities. However, in actuality, nothing was ever truly simple with the Tuff Guys. 

The second they’d arrived at the store, the white-haired villain in a strange ninja costume by the name of Cyclone had gotten right to work. He’d used his wind powers to throw his giant hammer through the front window at full force. 

According to security footage, the three of them had not apparently expected this violent break-in to trigger the alarm system in the slightest. 

From what the newscaster reported, analysts were pretty sure the group had been planning on Tripwire utilizing his time-stop powers to catch the shrieking alarm before it could even begin. Muffled conversation from the video revealed as much. Due to what police were calling an ‘egregious lack of communication,’ though, Cyclone had gotten a little ahead of himself and blown the whole situation up.

They’d all panicked at the same time, scampering into the store to grab what they could before law enforcement arrived. 

Zip ran frantically across the city multiple times with several bags worth of technology thrown over his shoulder, while the cameras continued to watch Tripwire and Cyclone fumble around to grab whatever they saw. The speedy villain’s response made enough sense. For the latter two, though, their flight or fight seemed to be a little buggy.

Cyclone had, on several occasions, accidentally fired off bursts of wind, knocking several tables worth of priceless equipment onto the ground. Each of those times, Tripwire rushed to try and catch said equipment with his abilities before they could shatter. Unfortunately, due to his costume — which consisted of a full-body ghillie suit and the most massive pair of tinted goggles the world had ever seen — he kept missing his target and hitting Cyclone instead.  

It was a bit of a continuous loop of the speedster ringing in all the profit where he could, and the less agile two destroying the rest. Zip wasn’t without incidents of his own though. Once or twice, a burst of wind closed the door to the building right as he was running through, causing him to slam face-first into it. At the very least, he could claim it wasn’t his fault.

Despite their brash and hard to watch methods, Grian had to give them props. The second the heroes arrived on the scene, the trio had scattered, successfully evading capture. Zip, of course, just had to run off to get away, but Cyclone and Tripwire also disappeared from view with startling efficiency. 

One might expect a ninja to be able to disappear into the shadows, especially when a single gust from his powers could rocket him out of reach, but the fact that Tripwire too had gotten away was really impressive. Grian hadn’t anticipated a walking, human-shaped bush to be able to blend into urban environments as well as he apparently did.

The newscaster was equally as surprised to report their escape as all her viewers were to hear it, if her wide eyes and slightly confused smile were any indication. The Tuff Guys were, however, a professional villain group, even if they bumbled around a bit. They might not strike terror into the hearts of their enemies, but they weren’t incapable of success. Sometimes the city had to be reminded of that fact. 

And on the topic of fear, it was actually as Grian was watching the program unfold with rapt interest that he received a knock on the door to his apartment. He was not expecting at all to see Jimmy, dressed in his Boogeyman costume, lingering in his hallway. He expected even less to have a fluffy dog shoved into his arms without warning.

“Grian,” Jimmy gasped, vocal modulator fluctuating to keep up with his heaving breaths. “Can you do me a favor and watch Eclipse’s dog for a bit?”

“Eclipse’s dog?” Grian struggled to keep the wiggly, cotton-ball-shaped animal from squirming out of his arms. He glanced down at the thing, frowning. “Is this Meri?”

“Yeah, you know,” Jimmy said, gaze darting around constantly to check that no other tenants were leaving their rooms. “I figured that you’re probably pretty good at taking care of animals, and I have something really important that I need to do, so…”

“Timmy,” Grian started, eyes narrowing. “Why aren’t you asking Ringmaster to watch her? Why did you come to me?”

Jimmy flinched. “Oh, well… He has a cat, and I didn’t want to—“

“I have cats too,” Grian cut him off to say. “Remember? You made me show you a picture of them when I came over to remove Eclipse’s IV the other day.”

“Um, yeah. That does, uh, sound familiar, actually,” Jimmy trailed off. “Silly mistake, I guess.”

Grian noticed a pale blush had settled itself over the visible parts of his face. Suddenly, as he recalled the earlier news program, some things clicked into place. A wicked grin came over his face, and before he could debate if it was wise to tease a dangerous criminal without anyone around to help him, he’d already blurted, “You’re going to go see Zip, aren’t you?”

Jimmy’s eyes grew wide enough that the vet worried they might fall out of his skull. Grian had gotten it exactly right. 

The villain pushed him further into his apartment and shut the door. Then, he leaned against it, skin so red he looked like he was actively catching on fire. “You can’t tell the others that I’m doing this.”

“Why not?” Grian frowned. Gently, he set Meri down on the ground. The dog, apparently overjoyed by her new surroundings, immediately bounded off to explore. He sent a silent prayer up to whomever might be watching that Pearl and Maui weren’t in a fighting mood at the moment. “What’s so wrong about going to see your roommate?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just—!” Jimmy shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, not finishing his sentence. 

Grian didn’t need him to. “You’re worried they’ll tease you!”

“No! I am not worried about that!” Jimmy crossed his arms, probably attempting to hide the fact that he was absolutely lying through his teeth. “I don’t want them to call me irresponsible. It was my job to house-sit and watch Meri, and I know they’ll call me a slacker if I don’t. That’s all!”

“Mhm, sure,” Grian said, feeling terribly smug. “Well, as long as you’re back before midnight, I’m perfectly happy to watch Meri for you.”

“Really?” Jimmy perked up. “Genuinely? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” the vet doubled down.

“Oh, thanks, Grian,” Jimmy cheered, throwing his hands up. He fumbled for something in his pocket and handed him a bunched-up leash, as well as a small bag of treats. “If she misbehaves, a quick walk around the block will tire out her little legs, and these treats will distract her from anything if she starts bothering your cats.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Grian chuckled. He tilted his head to the side, and lowered his voice just enough for the other to hear him. “Now, why don’t you run along and give your roommate a big congratulatory kiss? I’m sure he’s waiting with bated breath.”

Jimmy stumbled, tripping forward and catching Grian by the shoulders. The vet was pretty sure he could see steam rising from his companion’s ears. Then, in a blur of movement, Jimmy was reaching down and removing something from the sheath on his thigh. Grian’s smile grew the slightest bit more strained as he felt metal pressed up against his throat. 

He raised his hands, laughing nervously. “Alright! Too far, I get it!”

Jimmy pulled the knife away and straightened. He still looked a mess, all frazzled and red, but Grian could see he was thinking about other things now. “I’ll be back soon. Remember not to tell the others.”

Grian gave a final nod, and watched as the villain left. Then, it was just him, a dog he’d never met before, and his two cats left in the apartment. However, amongst the things that lingered in his space, there was not a single semblance of remaining fear. 

It was a baffling thing. Aside from the briefest moment that he’d been threatened, not even Jimmy – the Bamboozler who was oftentimes the most hostile towards him – had elicited much of a negative response. Even when the man returned a few hours later to retrieve Meri, Grian didn’t so much as shiver once during their interaction. 

A few more days passed with equivalently little going on. He’d learned that silence existed to be broken. Oftentimes sooner rather than later.

In light of everything, the vet wasn’t really surprised to walk into his apartment after a late-night shift and see a man lingering in the middle of the room. A regular person might’ve screamed, their heart might’ve skipped a beat, and they might’ve feared for their lives. Grian simply flipped on the nearest lamp, and said, “Hello, Ringmaster. What brings you by tonight?”

The villain smiled at him with that usual crinkle-eyed gaze of his, and then held a finger up in front of his mask. Grian raised a brow, but did not speak again. He kicked off his shoes, set down his bag, and crept in silently to stand next to the other man. 

Ringmaster pointed somewhere further into his home, where Grian noticed his cats entering through the threshold of the room. Likely, they’d heard their owner return and come to beg for extra food, despite Grian’s neighbor having already given them their dinner.

Through a series of silent gestures, Grian learned that his two pets were the villain’s current fixation. He vaguely mimed the act of petting them, demonstrating his intentions. For the entirety of the process, Ringmaster remained quiet, determined not to scare the little furballs off. 

As much as Grian respected the endeavor, there was quite an easy solution to what would otherwise take hours of them remaining still as a statue. He snuck into the kitchen and opened a pack that was typically saved for special occasions.

After the rustling of said pack had been heard by the kitties, Grian didn’t have to be stealthy on his way back. Pearl and Maui’s swishing tails and bright eyes could be seen from a mile away. 

“Here,” Grian said, handing the villain two sticks of lickable treats. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a stranger just as long as you’re holding those. They’ll abandon all their morals for them.”

“Abandoning morals,” Ringmaster echoed. He seemed skeptical, but he took the treats anyway and knelt down. “I can respect that, I guess.”

Exactly as Grian had told the villain they would, the two cats galloped towards him. Pearl tackled Maui to get to the stick in Ringmaster’s right hand first, forcing her brother to go for his left and lag a few seconds behind. 

The villain gasped, voice modulator struggling to keep up with the endless string of cooing that tumbled from his mouth. “Oh, aren’t you both just the sweetest little things! Yes you are, yes you are! Grian, look!”

“I can see,” Grian replied, smiling. He sat himself on the couch, watching the interaction with undisguised fondness. It was a ridiculous sight — the city’s biggest, baddest villain dissolving into a puddle over the affections of two standoffish cats. “They like you.”

“Don’t say that,” Ringmaster said, words cracking. “I’ll start crying. I love them so much already. I’d kill for them.”

Grian had no doubt he would. Observing a bit closer, it was obvious Ringmaster had recently gotten into a fight, though it hadn’t been televised as far as he was aware. The man’s knuckles were bloody and bruised. Whatever he’d been doing, he’d given it his all. 

Rather than wait around, the vet opted to get a headstart on what he already knew would be asked of him. He grabbed his bag from beside the door, and his first aid kit from the bathroom. Once his supplies were gathered, he sat on the floor beside the other man. 

It took some coaxing, but eventually he convinced Ringmaster to drop one of the treats so that Grian could tend to his hand. While cleaning the various little wounds, the vet’s mind wandered. 

He realized that this was the first time he’d caught the other alone since their chance encounter in public not long ago. There were still questions stirring in his gut about that day, intrigue spiking when he thought of digging deeper. With only a mild amount of eagerness, he soon found himself asking, “So, you hang around heroes while they do interviews often, or was that a one-off thing for you?”

Ringmaster cleared his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was a definite statement, spoken with finality. There was something new in the way he held himself, though – a fidget he’d unconsciously started doing the second the words were out of his lips. They were quick, repetitive motions, like tapping his finger against the treat or blinking the slightest bit faster. 

It was the sort of guilty motion that might give away a liar.  

Not that the vet needed any confirmation on what he knew to be true.

“Mhm, sure,” Grian huffed. “Thanks for helping with my groceries, by the way.”

The villain slumped, his fidgeting stopping abruptly. He recognized that the jig was up and looked away from the cats just long enough to eye Grian. “Was I that obvious?”

“You literally spoke to me,” the vet said. “Do you think I don’t know your voice?” 

“I took a chance,” Ringmaster grumbled. “I wasn’t expecting to see you at all.”

“And I wasn’t expecting to see you either,” Grian replied. “Why were you there?”

“Just had to make sure my phone call was heard.” Ringmaster reached over and scratched behind Maui’s ear. The cat, distracted by the treat, let him. “I don’t like it when little pests start wandering into places they shouldn’t be.”

Grian’s head shot up, eyes widening. “You were the anonymous caller?” 

“Maybe,” Ringmaster said. “Maybe not. That’s classified.”

Grian clamped his mouth shut, but his mind spun. His recollection of that day became a whole lot more distorted. In an attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy, he asked, “What were you up to tonight?”

 “Also classified, technically,” Ringmaster replied, his eyes crinkling more at the cats shoving one another aside. “But I was doing reconnaissance for a future mission. Once Eclipse is better, we’re gonna finish what we planned to do on the night she passed out.”

“Sounds fun,” Grian hummed. “Although, I’m curious. What kind of reconnaissance requires you to punch brick walls? Your hands are a mess.”

Ringmaster laughed. “No, uh, I had a run-in with a few cops on my way home. My grappling hook jammed, so I had to get physical.”

“Hm, sorry to hear that.” Grian gave the palm in his hold a little squeeze, and got one back. “These aren’t bad, though. They’ll heal quickly.”

“Yeah,” Ringmaster said. Grian switched to cleaning his other hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you over something so little. I was actually here to ask if you could wrap my leg.”

“Your leg?” Grian glanced down, but couldn’t see anything from this angle. It would have to wait until after this second hand was done. “What happened?”

“One of the cops had a switchblade,” Ringmaster explained. “Didn’t see it until I was aiming a kick at his head, and, well…”

He didn’t have to finish that sentence. Grian could guess where that landed them. The hand became a much quicker job with the motivation of something bigger to tackle, being cleaned in just a few minutes. From there, because Ringmaster refused to get off the floor where the cats were, the two of them maneuvered so the leg in question was extended and placed in Grian’s lap.

The vet was quick to move aside the torn pants fabric and take a closer look. Thankfully, it wasn’t very deep, and had already stopped the majority of its bleeding. The thing would hurt for a while, though, so treating it was best. Ringmaster wasn’t wrong to come to him. 

Grian didn’t have to do much aside from cleaning and wrapping this injury too, but he took his time with it. Ringmaster spoke in a twisted baby voice to his pets for the entire duration. After a while, Maui even curled up by his side. Grian thought his companion might burst into flames from that alone. As Pearl let him pet her for a few seconds, that explosion of energy got worse.

“Grian, I have to kidnap your cats,” Ringmaster said, sniffling. “They’re just too cute. How am I supposed to leave them?”

“Try it, and I’ll break your leg right here,” Grian replied, only half-joking. “I’ll make you hobble all the way home.”

Ringmaster laughed, a glisten to his eye. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. I’d love to see you being violent.”

“Okay, freak, calm down,” Grian grumbled. 

“Fine,” the villain chuckled. “I guess you can keep your cats for now. Jellie wouldn’t like such sudden guests anyway. She’s not feeling well at the moment.”

“Oh yeah?” Grian glanced up. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing too serious, but she’s not eating as much and she’s sneezing a lot,” Ringmaster replied, fingers ghosting over Pearl’s back as she rubbed against him. “I changed her food recently. I hope she’s not allergic to it.”

“Hm, maybe you should take her to the vet if that persists,” Grian said, turning his attention downward again. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Ringmaster tilt his head.

“Yeah,” the villain said. “Maybe I should.”

No words were exchanged for a few more minutes. The silence might’ve continued for longer, but Grian adjusted the way he was sitting and accidentally bumped against his companion’s leg. It drew a hiss from him.

“Sorry,” Grian said. “That’s what you get for talking about kidnapping my cats, though. The universe gets justice in mysterious ways.”

“See, it’s when you’re mean that I consider what you’d be like as a villain. You have the right attitude for it,” Ringmaster pointed out, amusement twinkling in his gaze. “What do I have to do to get you to come on one little heist with me? Pretty please?”

“God, no. I am neither fit enough nor bored enough to give in to that peer pressure,” Grian scoffed. “Plus, I’m already stressed with just my regular job. First, Timmy makes me into some unpaid dogsitter for Meri, and now you want more from me too? Absolutely not.”

“Wait a minute,” Ringmaster said, and the vet instantly realized his mistake. “Jimmy did what?”

Grian winced, silently sending up an apology to Jimmy. Poor guy was going to need it, since he had no intention of lying to Ringmaster’s face. “Yeah, the other day, Tim left Meri at my place, made me dogsit.”

Ringmaster stared unblinkingly at him, brows raised and eyes wide. 

“Jimmy visited you alone without telling any of us. That’s so… interesting,” the villain said, an unreadable tint to his vocal modulator. “And, uh, why exactly did he pass Meri off?”

“He didn’t want to leave her alone,” Grian explained, not too keen on leaving details out while he was being specifically asked for them. Jimmy should’ve paid him or something if he wanted total confidentiality. “It was after the Tuff Guys did that big heist. He wanted to congratulate Zip.”

“Good to know, good to know,” Ringmaster said, his eyes crinkling the slightest bit more. He was smiling, but somehow, Grian thought it looked more malicious in nature. Poor Jimmy. 

The vet sighed, figuring he might need to step in just a little bit. “Don’t give him too much trouble, or else I won’t hear the end of it. He told me not to tell you.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Ringmaster hummed. “Jimmy is perfectly capable of defending himself. I’m sure he knew I’d find out eventually.”

Grian gave a small grunt back in response, though he wasn’t actually appeased in the slightest. Ringmaster had misunderstood him – the vet wasn’t worried for Jimmy’s sake. It was his own self preservation instincts that had attempted to get the villain off his friend’s case. 

But that appeared to be a useless endeavor. Ringmaster was already visibly plotting the best ways to use this information to his advantage, totally unaware of the ramifications it might have on the messenger of such things. Grian would just have to deal with the pushback of accidentally revealing the secret.

Content silence filtered between them, broken up only by purring from the kitties. Ringmaster calmed, simply watching the vet work. The treats had run out, and now Pearl and Maui were beginning to grow distant again. 

Grian tied off the last bandage, pausing to take in his finished job. A moment passed with nothing to fill it. Both of them came to a similar realization that Ringmaster didn’t have a reason to stick around anymore. And yet, neither moved.

The villain cleared his throat, redirecting the topic away from that. “So, Doctor, I’m curious… Do you happen to know any self-defense?”

“Why? Are you planning something I should be prepared to fight off?” Grian teased, “Because the answer is no, but I’m sure I could take you pretty easily.”

He got a disbelieving scoff for his bold statement. “Really?”

“Really,” Grian said, doubling down. It might’ve been unwise, but the energy in the room felt comfortable, open to this sort of banter. The vet easily forgot their individual reputations as he poked at the bandaged leg still in his lap, enjoying how it was jerked away immediately. “You’re so constantly covered in injuries that you’ve got, like, a million weak spots.”

“Weak spots don’t do as much as you think they do,” Ringmaster said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m too big and strong for them to matter.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Grian lunged forward, and Ringmaster screeched, falling backwards. The vet cackled as he dug his fingers into the other man’s side, where he knew there was soft, newly healed skin. The effect was instantaneous, the screaming increasing in volume. 

It wasn’t enough to seriously hurt, but it clearly felt incredibly uncomfortable if Ringmaster’s frantic squirming was any indication. He was kicking his feet so much that Grian had to swing his leg over and sit himself on the other’s knees to keep from getting randomly hit. 

“Ow, okay! Stop, please, please,” the villain begged. “I give up! I give up!”

His hands shot out and caught Grian by his wrists. The vet shrieked as he was yanked forward, away from the old wound and his center of balance. Grian toppled forward, grunting as his chest was pressed into Ringmaster’s own, and their foreheads bumped together. 

The vet hissed, sitting up a bit to rub at his skin. “Is your face made of rocks? That hurt, man.”

“Sorry,” Ringmaster whispered, but his tone had changed. He sounded out of breath, distant. Grian glanced over, and found the other was already staring at him. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and chest rising and falling slowly. From what could be seen of his face, he was very red. 

The vet frowned. He shuffled a bit and pressed the back of his hand to Ringmaster’s forehead. “Something the matter? You’re really warm.”

“Huh? Oh, um,” Ringmaster stammered. “No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re acting weird.” Grian sat up a little more, but his companion did not follow. He just stayed down, gaze shifting up to rest on the ceiling. “Did you hit your head?

“Uh, maybe a little,” Ringmaster admitted.

“Shoot, sorry,” Grian said. “Let me go get you an ice pack.”

He got off the ground and quickly popped into the kitchen. It took him a second to find his bag of frozen peas, but by the time he’d returned to the living room, it was empty. His window was open, and Ringmaster was gone. 

Grian felt his heart squeeze behind his ribs. He bit his tongue, and let the mild disappointment wash over him, though he wasn’t entirely sure why it was there. This had always been the arrangement, always been how these visits went. As soon as the villains were fixed up, they had no reason to stick around. It was his fault for expecting otherwise. 

The quiet of the apartment crept along his skin, enveloping him in the most unpleasant way. He went about his evening. No use dwelling on what couldn’t be amended. 

About twelve hours after Ringmaster fled his apartment, Grian found himself at the clinic. He had arrived rested, rejuvenated, and ready for the day ahead. What had met him was a never-ending workload. He barely got a moment to breathe, let alone dwell on the previous night’s events.

Now, Grian wouldn’t have considered himself a particularly fantastic liar for the majority of his life. He could pull off a few half-truths, but more than that and things became shaky. With the introduction of villains into his circle, however, his skills had evolved slightly. Given there was a whole part of himself that he was often required to hide from his colleagues, he’d been forced to improve.

On this specific day, his newly-developed talent was put to the test. 

Mumbo and Grian had both broken away from the chaos of the clinic. They’d holed themselves up by the kennels to get away from the steady stream of people, if only for a mere moment. The vet techs would fetch them as soon as they were needed, but until then, they were completely content to just go through routine checks with the animals in their care instead. 

His friend had started on the other end of the row to make the process a bit quicker. Grian was busy checking over the file of a puppy in their care that had been diagnosed with demodectic mange. The sweet angel – a small black lab that had ended up in their care after being discovered on the side of the road by a couple of passersby – was quick to run up to him as he opened the kennel.

The vet handled her with care, all too aware of the swollen spots and lesions scattered over her skin. The tiny thing was doing better since she’d arrived in their clinic two weeks prior, but she still had quite a ways to go. Once she was cleared, they’d hand her off to the shelter down the road to find a loving home. 

Just judging by her behavior around Grian and the other staff, he suspected she’d be an ideal dog for a family with children. She never bit any of them, loved playing for hours, and would fall asleep in the laps of any techs with enough time to sit themselves on the floor. The bald spots caused by her alopecia made her look a little lopsided, but in his opinion, that was part of her charm.

She was due to be bathed later, but that was a task he’d leave to a tech. For the time being, Grian administered her medicine, and while the puppy didn’t exactly enjoy it, she’d gotten better about squirming quite so much. 

“Did you hear there was a sighting of Ringmaster last night?” Mumbo’s voice echoed through the room, just loud enough to be heard over the incessant barking of some of their more energetic patients. “It’s all over the news right now.”

Grian managed not to react, looking up at his friend, who was standing beside the kennel of a heavily-pregnant poodle named Butter. The dog in question had some issues with bleeding, and her panicking owners had dropped her off the night prior with the intention of returning once the babies were safely born. She was due any day now. 

“Oh, really?” Grian finished up with his puppy and returned her to the kennel. While he was there, he grabbed her water bowl to be refilled. “What was he doing?”

“I don’t think they quite know,” Mumbo hummed, stretching his hands over his head. “He was reported to be around the downtown area. Apparently, he did a number on a couple of cops.”

“Did he?” 

Grian knew these things already, though he’d never admit such a thing to Mumbo. His coworker enjoyed telling him about things he assumed Grian didn’t know, though, so who was he to spoil the fun? The vet simply continued on with his busy work while Mumbo spoke.

“Yeah,” Mumbo said. “There were apparently, like, five guys on the scene. They spotted him, and initiated a fight without calling the heroes, which they’re supposed to do.”

“Ringmaster fought off five cops? At once?” Grian raised his brows in feigned surprise. Having seen the state of Ringmaster’s knuckles post-scuffle made the number of opponents fairly believable.

“Yeah! Sick, right?” Mumbo clicked his tongue and shook his head, a genuinely amazed expression on his face. “Anyways, apparently two of them are in the hospital for their injuries right now.”

Grian paused. Something new settled in his chest. A realization sat itself upon his shoulders, heavy and real and enough to make him feel an overwhelming pit of guilt form in his gut.

For all the time he’d spent with Ringmaster the previous night, for all the laughter they’d exchanged, and for all details that had been divulged regarding his interactions, Grian had neglected to ask one simple question. He’d been completely caught up in the moment – too entertained by a mutual love of cats and the menial task of bandaging fresh wounds. 

He turned to face Mumbo fully, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. Shaky and slightly scared of the answer, Grian inquired about that terribly important topic now, “Are those people… alright?”

Mumbo stopped to think about it, visibly trying to recall the specifics of the case. “Uh, I’m not sure,” he said after a minute. “I’ll check the report again. Hold on.”

Grian waited in silence as his friend pulled something up on his phone. His brows scrunched and his eyes narrowed as he read it closer. 

The entire time, Grian fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to worry about the health of Ringmaster’s opponents. Just because his fears had faded some, and he was toeing the line of legality himself didn’t mean he was prepared for the full extent of what a criminal got up to on a nightly basis. How could he have adjusted enough to this twisted normalcy to the point that he forgot about the consequences of a villain’s success altogether?

“Oh! A new press release interviewed one of the guys involved,” Mumbo gasped excitedly. He trotted over to where Grian was still sitting on the ground and knelt. “Looks like everyone’s alright. Just some broken bones.”

Grian took the phone as it was offered to him and skimmed the visible article. His eyes caught on one particular passage:

Quotes from some of the victims, who all wish to remain anonymous, indicate an interesting dynamic held throughout the fight. “I only realized after the fact,” the man said, “[Ringmaster] didn’t use his power once while he was fending us off. We thought we really stood a chance, but the whole time, he was holding back. Really goes to show that those people are on another level.”

Similar answers were given by his colleagues. Is this inexplicable mercy an indication of the villain going soft, or is something bigger at play? Either way, encountering a single Bamboozler alone seems to always be an omen of bad luck to come. The Agency has advised all civilians to review their own individual plans in the event of an emergency situation, and report any suspicious behavior to the provided hotline. 

“Isn’t that cool?” Mumbo took his phone back, eyes wide. “He fought off so many people at once, and he wasn’t even using his powers. Gosh, with skills like his, I bet they couldn’t even scratch him.”

“Yeah,” Grian whispered. He recalled the scent of iron and knuckles tinted purple from repetitive blows — all things that probably could’ve been avoided if a little bit more power had been added to those punches. “Yeah. Not a single scratch.”

A bit of relief filtered into him. 

Ringmaster wasn’t a good person. Good people didn’t hospitalize opponents who were significantly weaker than themselves. But he wasn’t endlessly cruel either. 

Grian had enough experience with the guy by that point to know that he seemed to regard murder as a last resort option. Even while standing face to face with a stubborn civilian as they refused to hand over valuable evidence all those weeks ago, he’d hesitated for longer than less generous folks might dare. 

And now, thanks to this incident, he knew his strange companion also hesitated to use his powers against those without them. 

There was more nuance to the criminal than his original assessment might’ve been able to predict. Grian wondered, a bit selfishly, if maybe he’d be able to learn more about the secrets hidden within the minds of the city’s villains. He wondered how far into dangerous territory their little arrangement would allow him to stray. He wondered how deep he would let himself go before it became too much. 

Grian wondered, most especially, why he wasn’t particularly scared of the new apathy building inside of his chest, why he’d begun to empathize with these human personifications of terror, or why he didn’t really mind taking the side of moral depravity as much with each visit to his apartment.

And then, he forced himself to stop wondering. The door opened to the kennels, and Skizz stepped inside. 

The briefest glance was all Grian needed to catch sight of what were perhaps the ugliest scrubs in the history of mankind adorning his coworkers frame. Whereas Mumbo and Grian valued the classic simplicity of regular scrubs, Skizz tended towards the eccentric. His outfit today was proof of this lifestyle. 

The fabric was dotted with little floral patterns and big bursts of color, like he was a tourist on a tropical vacation rather than a veterinarian clocking in for his shift. The amount of clashing patterns vying for any onlookers’ attention seemed only to grow stronger as Grian realized that Skizz’s pants did not match his shirt. 

They were, in fact, two entirely different floral patterns. Whereas his top half was just various splotches of brightness, his bottoms incorporated flower petals in the shapes of hearts.  

Grian would be lying if he were to say Skizz made them work, because it was virtually impossible for any living creature to make that much of anything look decent, but it was typical. Neither he nor Mumbo really batted an eye.

“Hey, Mumbo, buddy,” Skizz started, gesturing behind him. “We got an impromptu owner come in asking if we can take a look at his cat. I’m supposed to help out with a surgery in a few minutes, so I can’t go.”

“Ah, really? Me?” Mumbo slumped, exhaustion from the day weighing him down. “Why can’t Grian do it?”

“Well, uh, you’re never going to believe it,” Skizz said, a confused smile brimming on his lips. “This dude actually requested I send him ‘anyone but Grian.’ Apparently he knows him or something and said it’d be weird.”

“What?” Both Grian and Mumbo perked up, sharing a look of mutual uncertainty.

Grian racked his mind for anyone who might possibly be visiting the clinic with a cat. He came up empty. Either way, with no room to debate, Mumbo slipped out and Skizz lingered by the kennels. 

“So, G-sharp,” Skizz chuckled. “Which of your peeps are embarrassed by how cool you are?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it,” Grian muttered. 

He moved onto surveying the next dog down the line. It was a French bulldog that was recovering after having to have his stomach pumped. From what his file detailed, he’d gotten into a pack of alcohol-filled chocolates and nearly died. Mumbo had been the one to handle that procedure. 

Grian fetched the syringe and began to fill it while he asked Skizz, “What’d they look like?”

“Um, it was a guy probably about your age,” Skizz said. “Brown hair, and sunglasses even though it’s cloudy outside. Ring any bells?”

“That was the vaguest description ever,” Grian scoffed. He picked up the dog and gently squirted the contents of the syringe into his mouth. “Did he give you a name?”

“No, and he hadn’t finished filling out his paperwork when I came to get Mumbo,” Skizz sighed, checking his watch. “Well, it’s about time for me to actually do my job. See ya, bud!”

“Yeah, alright,” Grian called back, only slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be learning any other identifying details until he could speak to his coworkers again. “Bye Skizz.”

“Oh, but he did give me the name of his cat,” Skizz added from the doorway. “Jellie.”

Grian nearly dropped the dog in his arms. He whipped around, but Skizz had already shut the door. 

A cat named Jellie.

A man that didn’t want to see him.

Grian quickly set aside the empty syringe and deposited the dog securely back into its kennel. Stumbling a bit, he sprinted from the room and into the lobby. A couple of techs gave him a weird look, but he ignored them. He was huffing for breath by the time his eyes landed on the other vet. 

“Mumbo!”

Mumbo turned, dropping his used gloves into the wastebasket. He’d just left one of the exam rooms, and was notably not followed by any clients. Grian did a full circle in an attempt to see if there were people still around them. Instead, all he saw was an open space and several confused clinic staff.

“Hey, G,” Mumbo said, frowning at him. “Did you need something?”

“That man,” Grian panted. “I think I know him!”

“Uh, yeah,” Mumbo replied. He raised one brow. “Is something the matter, Grian? You seem out of sorts.”

“No, I’m fine.” The vet forced himself to calm, not give away everything so immediately. Mumbo would have questions if he acted too rashly, so he needed to bring it in quite a bit. “I was hoping to catch him before he left. I wanted to… check if it was the same guy I was imagining.”

“You’re out of luck there, man,” his friend said, tutting. “He was worried his cat might have a problem, since she was sneezing often and not eating as much. Thankfully, it just seems like she was just reacting to some of the pollen in the air lately and not a fan of her new meal plan. Nothing else was wrong with her, so the visit was over quickly.”

“And this owner,” Grian hummed. He leaned against the doorframe, doing his best to seem nonchalant. “What did he look like? Y’know, roughly?”

“Um, brown hair, a little shorter than I am, and an interesting collection of scars all over him,” Mumbo said. “Nice guy. Didn’t want to talk to me or linger for long, which was great because I did not remember his name at all. Kind of my ideal client.”

If he’d retained any doubts, they were cast aside with the last physical descriptor. 

Grian tried desperately to keep from freaking out in front of the other vet, but his skull was caving in on itself.

Ringmaster had been in his clinic, undisguised, just down the hall from him. Somehow, despite knowing all three Bamboozlers had pets, he’d never even considered the possibility of one of them visiting him at work – especially not out of costume. 

And yet, it had happened, and he’d missed it. 

Ringmaster had walked in like a regular civilian, filled out paperwork like a regular civilian, gotten his beloved cat a check-up like a regular civilian, and then left. He’d escaped without so much as an ounce of indication towards his true identity, beyond what Grian knew.

Wait a second, a small voice in Grian’s mind whispered. He filled out a form.  

Ringmaster had willingly come into their office and put all of his classified, personal information onto a sheet that would remain in their database forever. Grian kind of wanted to throw up at that thought. 

The vet’s eyes landed firmly on the clipboard Mumbo held in his hands. Dangerous curiosity, beyond any he’d ever felt before, spiked in his chest. His hands clenched, but he forced his expression to remain as indifferent as possible. His skills were strained as every bone in his body itched to know what was written on that paper. 

“Do you, uh, have his form? I can file it for you, if you want,” Grian offered, suddenly dizzy. A cacophony of arguing voices swirled inside of his head, each with a different opinion on his actions. Some of them begged him to sneak a look, learn more despite the risk. He wasn’t going to do that, though.

For as long as that paper continued to exist mere feet away from him, containing things that nagged at the worst part of his curiosities, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. Grian was going to hide it or shred it or spill coffee on it – anything to get rid of the damnation the ink on that page could bring him, even if it got him in trouble at work.

“Oh, yeah, sure. That’d be very helpful,” Mumbo said. He shifted the clipboard around to find the requested paperwork and frowned. “Odd. I could’ve sworn it was right here…”

Grian perked up. “What? Did you lose it?”

“Um,” Mumbo stammered, flipping through the assorted sheets in his arms. None of them, it seemed, were what he was looking for. “I know for a fact I brought it out of the exam room with me. It’s just… gone.”

A paper full of priceless information on one of the most wanted people in the city suddenly disappearing? Grian leaned further against the wall, knowing instantly what that meant. Poor, sweet Mumbo had been robbed blind. 

It was a little comical, actually. His friend was blissfully unaware of the person he’d met moments ago. The weight of the situation would never sink in fully for him the way it did for Grian. Mumbo was one of countless of the city’s civilians that now walked through their daily life, clueless to the fact that they’d witnessed Ringmaster’s maskless face in real time.

Although, that sparked another direction of thought for him. Ringmaster’s maskless face as seen through specifically Mumbo’s eyes – now that was bound to be interesting. 

“Forget the paperwork. We’ll find it later.” Grian straightened, crossing his arms in front of his chest and clearing his throat. “Mumbo… What did you think about that man just now? His looks, I mean?”

“Me?” Mumbo furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose. “Gosh, I’m not sure. Don’t get me wrong, G… Your friend was nice enough. He just wasn’t really my type, you know?”

Grian’s eyes widened the slightest bit. “Oh? Not even a little bit?”

“No, I wouldn’t say so,” Mumbo reiterated. “Too cheerful and polite, but to each their own.”

Cheerful and polite were not adjectives he’d expected to hear describing that man. The vet pursed his lips, amusement bubbling up and almost overshadowing the absurdity of the situation. “Right, because your type is Ringmaster, isn’t it? You prefer them faceless and mean and bloody?”

“Grian!” Mumbo’s jaw dropped. “I should have your head for bringing that up again at work. In fact, come here! Since you’re so desperate for a distraction, I’m going to have you help the cat in exam room two give birth.”

Grian’s smile fell. Wordlessly, he slipped out of the room and began running down the hall to the back. Mumbo chased behind him, shouting his name. Eventually, the complications of the day blurred together for long enough that he almost forgot about the strange visit to his workplace.

Almost.

“Appreciate you for coming all the way out here again,” Eclipse said, unwrapping her bandages so Grian could see the progress of her healing. “We think it’s safe enough, but we wanted to make sure.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” Grian said. He gave the formerly-infected area a quick glance, not needing much more. “I say you’re good to go. It’s basically completely healed. Honestly, it doesn’t even need to be treated anymore.”

It was the truth. The old wound had pretty much disappeared, on track to barely even leave a scar behind. Eclipse would be safe to move around and whatnot without trouble from now onward. Hopefully, with the knowledge gained from this incident, none of the Bamboozlers would allow their injuries to get so horrifically infected again.

He made a point not to tell her that, in actuality, her problem area had been healed for about seven days already. During his last visit, a week prior, it was on the brink of being safe enough for a return to normalcy. However, for fear she would push herself too hard too fast, he lied and said he’d need to check it out again in the future. Overtreating the wound wasn’t even half as dangerous as immediate overexertion.

“Yes! Finally, we can go back to destroying the city,” Eclipse cheered. “Thanks, Grian! I’ll make sure to steal you something nice during the next heist.”

“I urge you not to, actually.”

She jumped off her bed, overjoyed by the news. He rolled his eyes, following her as she ran out into the bunker’s main room. The other two were waiting for them there. Ringmaster was reading a book at the kitchen table, and Jimmy was walking on the treadmill. 

As soon as she crossed the threshold, Eclipse shouted, “I’m all better!”

To show off just how much better she was, the pink-haired villain paused and did a cartwheel without an ounce of warning. Grian sidestepped to avoid being kicked in the face, but he was too pleased to be bothered by the near miss. 

“That’s great,” Ringmaster replied, setting down what he’d been reading to cross the room. “We can put our plan into motion soon, then?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Eclipse confirmed. “I’m so excited. I’ve been cooped up for weeks.”

“Hey, Grian?”

Grian turned to see Jimmy approaching him. He was in work-out clothes, a towel over his neck and beads of sweat dripping down his face. Even with this being the vet’s fourth visit to the Bam Bunker, seeing two out of three of the Bamboozlers in casual attire was never not weird. Ringmaster, as his designated escort, tended to remain in costume.

“Yes, Timmy?”

“Again with the wrong name,” Jimmy grumbled, but shook it off immediately. He shoved his phone in Grian’s face. There was a picture of a cat displayed on the screen. “Do you think Norman’s overweight?”

“Overweight?” Grian took the phone, staring down at the photo. He was surprised to be given the opportunity to do anything vaguely related to genuine vet work while with the villains. Usually, they just needed him to do his best to apply those techniques to humans. This was much more his speed. “Can you show me a couple different photos?”

Jimmy agreed, flipping through his camera roll to reveal what he could without giving away his whole identity. 

Norman was a fluffy little thing, with an adorable face and a shorter stature. According to his owner, he was a rescue from off the streets. Despite having such an innocent demeanor, he was apparently quite the terror when it came to food. Often, he would scarf his bowl down quite fast, and then try to steal from Jimmy’s other cat soon after. 

“And he’s always begging for more,” Jimmy told him. “I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I give in.”

“That’s alright every now and again,” Grian chuckled. “I do too. My little beasts are healthy, but very greedy.”

“It’s true,” Ringmaster chimed in from where he’d been chatting with Eclipse. “And they’re so cute.”

“Anyway,” Jimmy said, shooting Ringmaster a glare for reasons Grian didn’t understand. “Is Norman healthy, or should I be worried?”

“Hm, I mean,” Grian started. “He doesn’t look too bad from what I can tell. Pictures aren’t perfect, though, so let me write down a few diet food brands I recommend that might be able to help. Extra exercise also wouldn’t hurt — playing with him more, or getting him some toys that might encourage him to move around.”

Jimmy opened his notes app, and Grian wrote down whatever brands and instructions he could remember off the top of his head. 

“Although, if it’s his food intake and consistent insistence on being hungry that’s got you concerned,” Grian continued once that was done. “You should bring him to my clinic sometime. I’ll check him for worms.”

At the mention of the clinic, Grian shot a glance in Ringmaster’s direction. The villain was conveniently not meeting his eyes at that point. 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Jimmy placed a hand over his heart, seeming touched. “For free?”

“For free?” Grian scrunched up his nose, a shiver of disgust traveling through him. “No. You’d be paying full price.”

“What?” Jimmy frowned, and Eclipse snorted behind them. “But vet visits are so expensive, Grian! Don’t you have a discount for friends?”

“Don’t act like you don’t have plenty of money,” the vet retorted, crossing his arms. “Finish planning for your heist or whatever if it’s really getting that dire for you.”

“Oh my goodness,” Ringmaster gasped, drawing the room’s attention his way. “Grian, are you encouraging us to commit a crime? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“You’re going to do that whether I suggest it or not,” Grian said. “I refuse to be duped out of payment while I’m on the clock just because I know the people doing it.”

“I asked you last time if we should compensate you for your work with us,” Ringmaster pointed out. “And you didn’t want us to. What’s with this switch up?”

Grian ran a hand through his hair. “One of those things is my job, and the other is an endlessly weird hobby that I do with questionable accuracy. It feels wrong.”

He didn’t give them another chance to argue, pushing past all three and starting towards the kitchen area. Grian had been in the base enough to know where they kept their extra bags of chips, and he was not about to leave for the day without some non-monetary form of payment. He had just gotten a pack out of the cabinet above the sink when he noticed something. 

On the table, there was a collection of sprawling maps, blueprints, as well as pictures taken from a street view of one particular building. It took a second for it to sink in, but Grian realized after a moment that he recognized this place. 

The layout in the blueprint and the exterior of the building looked exactly like his old bank — the one he’d just switched his accounts out of less than two months ago.

Or, well, it almost looked exactly right. The blueprint was a little off with how it showed the interior to be formatted. 

“Shoot!” He heard scrambling feet as Ringmaster sprinted over to stand in front of the obvious heist plans. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“Yeah, definitely not,” Grian hummed. Quietly, he mused to himself, “Glad I moved my money out of there.”

“Huh? What was that? Did you just say you had money in this bank?” Ringmaster frowned. “That’s not good.”

“No, don’t worry,” Grian reassured him, waving his hands. “I switched banks to the one on Fifth Street recently. I kept having complications with their customer service, so I took my business elsewhere.”

Ringmaster let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“But I’m curious,” Grian started up again. He stepped forward, a little too close into Ringmaster’s personal space bubble, and then glanced over his shoulder. Though his main view was blocked, what he could make out definitely confirmed his suspicions. “How old is that blueprint you have?”

“How… old?” Ringmaster’s voice had gotten quieter. Grian backed off and nodded. “We got it from an archive that I can’t name, so it’s a couple of years old. Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s wrong,” Grian said. Jimmy and Eclipse looked over in their direction at that, curiosity piqued. 

As the two approached, Eclipse asked, “What do you mean it’s wrong?”

“They had a fire inside about four months ago,” Grian told them, dredging up what he could remember. “And they used the insurance money to do a major interior remodel.”

“What?” Jimmy said, brows raising. “But I’ve been inside while disguised. It looks exactly the same from what I saw, and there weren’t any talks about a remodel.”

“Yeah, but that’s only in the main lobby area. It’s back towards the offices — where they keep the safe — that’s mainly changed, and it wasn’t exactly advertised.”

Ringmaster frowned, and stepped aside. All four of them gathered around to look at the blueprints for the bank. Grian pointed to the safe, which was shown to be on the right hand side of the building’s staff-only section. 

“This is over here now,” Grian said, dragging his finger along the paper to a section on the left. “And it’s been put a layer under the ground too. They realized there was termite damage in the roofing, so during their remodel, they moved it around to prevent someone taking advantage of it before it could be fixed.”

“Wow,” Eclipse gasped. “How did you find out so much about this? We’ve scoured the internet, and none of our sources knew that.”

“They kept it pretty quiet. I was a longtime patron, so when I went to talk to my accountant at the time, he told me things they wouldn’t normally admit,” Grian replied. “He had a lot of complaints about how the fresh paint smell was giving him headaches and the new alarm system was really buggy, and kept tripping every time he opened in the mornings.”

“A buggy alarm system, termite damage, and the safe being moved?” Ringmaster brought a hand up to his mask, tapping on the metal in deliberation. “Interesting. This changes quite a few things.”

Grian shrugged, opening his bag of chips and beginning to snack. Beyond telling them what he knew, the vet wasn’t really curious about the rest of their plan. Plausible deniability and whatnot — if they didn’t tell him, he wasn’t guilty for not reporting it. 

Plus, he was still quite peeved at how many missed phone calls and annoying customer service representatives he’d been forced to deal with when he was trying to inquire about a loan months prior. The lengths to which they would go to make the process of even considering moving out impossible was so stupid. 

Everything was much simpler at his new bank, though he wasn’t actually planning on leaving his apartment anymore. He was content with the space, and he had his neighbors to feed his cats. While being a homeowner would be nice, it was something to consider when he had genuine reason for a larger space. Otherwise, it was needless debt and needless trouble.

“Well, as fun as this has been,” Grian started. “I need to go to work soon, so I should get home and change into my scrubs. If someone could please escort me out, that would be lovely.”

Ringmaster jumped to it, nodding and grabbing the usual blindfold that they kept by the exit. Grian bid the other two farewell, covered his eyes, and took hold of Ringmaster’s outstretched arm. Gently, so as not to startle him or force him to bump into any walls, he was led into an elevator. No classical music played in this one, but he did get to hear his companion’s soft humming as they ascended. 

“Thanks for your help, G,” Ringmaster spoke, breaking through the silence as the doors dinged to indicate their opening. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked. Grian theorized they were at some kind of work site because of it. “I know I say it all the time, but you really have saved us so often. Eclipse is better now, and we know more for our mission.”

“The second part of that was pure coincidence,” Grian said. He bumped his shoulder against the villain’s as they walked, arms interlocked. “Don’t expect me to help with your evil scheming all the time.”

“No, no. Trust me, even if you never helped us with anything ever again, I’m beyond happy with what you have done,” Ringmaster laughed. It was a nice sound. “And the other two definitely feel the same way.”

The vet heard the jingling of keys, and then the clicking of a car unlocking. It meant they would be driving for the next several minutes before it was deemed safe for him to be able to see again. As he had to do every time he’d visited, Grian got into the passenger seat of an unknown car with a dangerous criminal, and engaged in idle chatter.

Ringmaster was the first to suggest the afternoon’s topic of conversation. “You have any fun customers recently at work?”

“Besides you? Sure. I told you about the lady who brought in a tropical fish she’d found while on vacation, right?” Ringmaster made a noise to indicate he hadn’t, and Grian tutted, “She couldn’t figure out why the poor thing was so weak. Didn’t even consider that removing it from its home and bringing it back on a plane would nearly kill it.”

“Wow,” Ringmaster whistled. “People are dumb.”

“Yeah, truly,” Grian grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “And then, there was this other guy who came in and asked us to take a look at him, because he’d accidentally eaten one of his dog’s treats.”

“Wait, what?” Ringmaster made a baffled sound. Grian felt the car turn and speed up a little as they obviously got onto a bigger road. “How does someone accidentally eat a dog treat?”

“It’s kinda common, actually. Not for people to come in asking to be helped, but eating treats definitely is.” Grian tapped his finger against his arm, smiling. “There’s this pastry shop down the road that makes dog safe-versions of regular human foods. His wife had bought a pack of treats that looked like cookies without telling him.”

“So what happened to him?”

“Nothing,” the vet chuckled. “They’re not toxic to humans. They just taste kinda bad.”

“Oh. Lame,” Ringmaster sighed, tone almost disappointed. Then, Grian heard him draw in a breath, excitement becoming palpable in the air around them. “Although, those would make a really funny prank, wouldn’t they?”

Grian raised a brow, his smile growing sharper. “You’re not wrong. Someone who isn’t expecting it would get quite the shock.”

“Grian,” Ringmaster started. “Next time you come over, is there any chance you could bring us a gift of some not-at-all nefarious cookies?”

“I think that could absolutely be arranged,” Grian laughed. “Might be hard, because I rarely get warnings for things like this, but I’ll try to keep a pack on me.”

The car came to a stop, and the engine turned off. Grian assumed it was safe to remove his blindfold, blinking a few times to let his eyes adjust to the light. Ringmaster had parked them on an empty side street a couple of blocks from the vet’s apartment. It was their usual drop-off spot to avoid arousing any suspicion.

“Well, that’s an easy fix,” Ringmaster told him. He leaned across the center console, laughter lines crinkling in that brilliantly familiar way. “Give me your phone number.”

“What?” Grian’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. His face warmed despite itself. “You want my phone number?”

“Yeah,” Ringmaster said. “I’ll call you in advance next time I conveniently know my old injuries are flaring up.”

“Ah,” Grian replied eloquently. His chest squeezed. “Isn’t that a… safety risk?”

“I mean, not really,” Ringmaster said, snorting. “Unless, of course, you somehow know how to trace phone calls?”

“I don’t.”

“Then, it’s not,” the villain concluded. “I trust you not to take it to the police.”

Grian’s mind hung on one part of that statement. “You… trust me?”

Ringmaster gave him a funny look, tilting his head. “Um, obviously? You would’ve done something by now if that was your goal. I doubt you’re going for the long con here.”

“Right,” Grian said, a little too awestruck. “Yeah, okay.”

His heart slammed against his ribcage and forced him into the present again. He reached down to fish out his phone. The vet passed it to Ringmaster with it opened on a new contact. The villain happily tapped away, and then handed it back.

“I’ve already sent myself a text from your phone, so I have your contact info too,” Ringmaster hummed. “Now, scram, dude! You’ll run out of time to get ready for work if you keep waiting around.”

“Oh, um, right, yes,” Grian said. He grabbed his bag, thanked the other man for the ride, and got out. Ringmaster waited until he was around the corner to start up the engine and leave again. 

As the vet made his way back to his apartment, he gazed down at the new contact in his phone — the new bridge that had been formed between him and his most unlikely friend — as well as the singular text message that Ringmaster had sent himself.

The contact name was stupid. It read, ‘Your Favorite Guy,’ and had a little ring emoji next to it. He’d texted himself a singular winky face, and the thought of it being the villain’s one mark left in his phone had his stomach turning in knots. 

It was childish, meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but for the time being, he let it keep him company as he made his way home. The world felt ever so slightly brighter.

Since Eclipse’s revitalization, sightings of the Bamboozlers had been skyrocketing. 

Every day of the week, for two weeks straight, the three had been spotted or suggested to be in a completely different area within the city. What exactly they were doing ranged from general thievery to various forms of vandalism. The streak of criminal activity was entirely unpredictable, sending the city’s reporters and law enforcement on constant wild goose chases.

From what Grian was allowed to know, the Bamboozlers had postponed their original plan of robbing a bank until they had regained their bearings of the situation. It seemed their new tactic was to wreak as much havoc with as little of a pattern as possible — a big release of a lot of pent up energy.

Not all of their escapades resulted in an altercation with the police or the heroes, of course, but a few of them definitely had. While the villainous trio tried their best to slip away as often as possible before it reached that point, those options weren’t always on the table. 

As such, the amount of injuries sustained had also skyrocketed.

For five nights in a row, he’d been bugged by one or all of the Bamboozlers. 

On the first, Grian had come back from work at around ten in the evening, and immediately set about wrapping a swollen ankle. Thankfully, Ringmaster hadn’t broken it. Worst case scenario, it was twisted and then repeatedly irritated by moving around. An ice pack and a bit of rest was the most that could be done for that particular injury. 

Ringmaster had stuck around to chat with him for a minute, but ultimately needed to go catch up with his team. A little while later, Grian received a text message simply reading, Thanks, Doctor! You’re the best!

He’d only responded to remind the other man to keep off his ankle as much as possible, then Grian had gone to bed. 

The next evening, while at work until midnight, he was able to see the security camera footage of the Bamboozler break-in for that evening as it aired on the news. They were robbing a large mall located on the outskirts of the downtown area, where only designer shops were able to afford spaces.

Pleasantly, Grian noticed how every shot of Ringmaster showed him leaning to the left a bit, subtly keeping most of his body weight on his other foot. 

There wasn’t a fight that evening, but he saw Ringmaster anyway. The villain was playing with Maui on his couch as Grian finally dragged himself through the door. When he presented his injury to the vet, however, it was with an understandably hesitant air.

“This is stupid,” Grian told Ringmaster. “Of all the reasons to come to me, you must understand that this is the stupidest.”

“I slammed it really hard in the door to a safe,” the villain said, pinky extended outwards. “I just want to make sure it’s not broken. That’s not stupid!”

Grian grumbled a couple of expletives and took Ringmaster's hand. 

He wasn’t terribly gentle as he felt along his bones, squeezing and bending each joint as he went. The other’s palm was littered with calluses and faded scars, proof of his line of work, though nothing out of place yet. Grian got to the specific finger in question, noting how the villain flinched when bending it. Still didn’t feel terrible though. He pursed his lips in contemplation.

“Probably just bruised.” The vet dropped Ringmaster’s hand, eager to do so before his mind decided to wonder how it might feel to lace their fingers together. “You’d know if it was truly broken. I’m pretty sure there’d be severe swelling and pain.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ringmaster said. “Just wanted to check since my pain tolerance is much higher than your average person. I didn’t want to be so awesome that it inhibited me.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about on that front, buddy,” Grian retorted. He patted the villain on the shoulder, and relished in the offended scoff he got in return. “There’s no treatment for a bruise, so you’re going to have to deal with this minor inconvenience.”

He tried to walk into the kitchen, maybe to make the two of them a snack or something, but Ringmaster cut him off by jamming his hand back in the vet’s face. “I do know one thing that could help me.”

“Oh yeah?” Grian raised an unimpressed brow. “What’s that?”

Ringmaster leaned closer, wiggling his fingers. “Won’t you kiss it better for me, Doctor?”

Grian paused. It took several seconds, but the ask finally set in, and he flushed. Caught completely off guard, he stammered, “Absolutely not! You are a grown man!”

“But Grian,” the villain whined. He dipped forward, and before Grian could stop him, plopped his forehead down on the vet’s shoulder. “It hurts! You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

“Not like this, though!”

Grian swallowed around a new, damning lump in his throat. Ringmaster let out another groan of irritation, obviously not planning on dropping this at any point. He held up his hand again in front of Grian’s face, silently pleading. They were going to be stuck there all night if one of them didn’t give. 

“Fine,” Grian sighed. “If it’ll make you shut up.”

He took Ringmaster’s hand, and gave the quickest peck to his pinky as he could manage. Then, he shoved the villain off him. There were crinkled eyes waiting for him as soon as Ringmaster straightened up, far too smug to have gotten what he wanted. Grian felt like he’d indulged a pet when he wasn’t supposed to – like he’d given a treat to a dog and accidentally rewarded his begging. 

“Oh, I got you something,” Ringmaster remembered, snapping his fingers. “Come, come!”

He ran into the kitchen, letting Grian follow behind him. With a huge, sweeping gesture, he directed the room’s attention to a box on the counter. Grian eyed him skeptically, but eventually went over and opened it.

Within the box was a singular silver timepiece.

“A watch?”

It was interesting. Not the kind of thing Grian had expected. A stupid knick-knack, or a boxed up prank waiting to take him by surprise would be better suited to the usual interactions he would have with this man. This, however, looked closer to a genuine gift. 

The watch itself was impressively reserved, picked out by a keen observer. Nothing about it screamed a high value, or indicated any wearers’ gaudy attitude, but it was very clearly crafted with care. The timepiece ticked rhythmically over and over, a soft green tint to the hands and dashes to suggest its face might be the type to glow in the dark, which added practicality to the mix. 

Grian removed it from the box, and let his thumb trace around the silver edge. He could feel Ringmaster’s gaze on him from where the man had leaned himself up against the counter. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly. 

It wasn’t much of a question, even. This was like something he would’ve picked out for himself. The design suited him perfectly, and would work for both casual and business attire. It was classy, and he appreciated everything about it. He glanced up at Ringmaster, something foreign and beyond normal appreciation filtering into his gut.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ringmaster said. “I saw it, and just knew I had to get it for you.”

Grian smiled, thumb tracing the clock face again. “You really did a great job. I’m impressed—“

He stopped dead. A sharp reminder clicked together in his head, and he narrowed his eyes.

“You didn’t just steal this, did you?”

Ringmaster tensed, eyes going wide. Grian sucked in a breath. 

“You did!” He put the watch into the box again and shoved it in the villain’s direction. “Take it back! I don’t want to be involved in your crimes!”

“Oh, man, would you look at the time?” Ringmaster glanced down at his wrist, though it wasn’t the one on which he was actually wearing a watch. “I’ve gotta be on my way. Enjoy the gift! Bye, Grian!”

“What? No! You can’t just—!”

Grian wasn’t able to grab him in time. Ringmaster was sprinting into his living room and diving out one of his windows at record speed. His stolen watch, probably worth hundreds of dollars given the fancy mall they’d just robbed, was left behind. Grian grumbled about his rotten luck, but put the watch with the rest of his accessories for safe keeping anyway.

The third night in a row that Grian had villains in his home, he’d been out at dinner with Mumbo and came back to find all three Bamboozlers sitting around his kitchen table. They told him that the vandalism they’d committed that evening wasn’t on the news yet, but they’d gotten into a scuffle with some security guards, and were really just there to leech off his supply of bandages.

Since the three of them were determined to seek him out for any minor scrape or bruise they gained, he opted to host a quick class on the proper way to clean one’s wounds. Grian made them each apply their own little bottle of solution and bandage their own minor injuries. Then, he wrote down a list of every store in town that sold said products, as well as his suggestions for setting up the perfect homemade first-aid kit.

It wasn’t exactly the hospitality they’d been expecting, though, so he eased the ache by making them hot chocolate. He left the room while they sipped, packing away his supplies and feeding his cats. By the time he’d returned, Ringmaster was lingering by an open window, waving goodbye. He slipped out before Grian could respond, leaving the apartment empty and quiet far too quickly. 

The fourth day in a row he’d seen the villains didn’t technically take place in his home. He’d gotten back from work at around five in the evening, and at five thirty, Ringmaster shot him a text.

Meet me on the street where I usually drop you off? My old injuries are flaring up, it read, with a little winky face emoji sent in rapid succession. 

Grian replied with a thumbs up, grabbing a box of completely unassuming cookies on his way out the door. Ringmaster’s car — a nondescript black SUV — was waiting where it always was. He hopped in, blindfolded himself, and they spent the entirety of the drive giggling.

“I brought cookies,” Grian called as he slipped off his blindfold. Jimmy and Eclipse practically tripped over themselves to get to him first. Grian passed the box their way, not needing much more introduction. He trusted they wouldn’t read the labels very well.

The closest the two schemers got to being caught was when Eclipse raised her eyes to Ringmaster, and asked, “Don’t you want any?”

“I had some in the car,” was Ringmaster’s response. 

Their victims didn’t even stop to question the validity of that statement, despite clearly no cookies missing from the box when they opened it. Ringmaster and Grian got to sit back and watch as masks were lifted just enough to allow little cookies to fit through. Bites were taken. Instantly, the other two changed their countenance, eyes growing wide.

Eclipse snatched the box out of Jimmy’s hands to read the label. She gasped, then took off towards the trash can to spit it out. Jimmy had the unfortunate luck of having swallowed his cookie completely when Eclipse shouted, “Dog treats? You gave us dog treats?”

After seeing Jimmy’s mounting expression of horror, it was impossible not to burst out laughing. Grian and Ringmaster doubled over, tears in their eyes, and bodies bumping into each other in an attempt not to fall over. Both of them shrieked as the box of cookies was thrown full-force at them. 

“Oh, I am going to kill you losers,” Eclipse declared, a growl to her voice that suggested it wasn’t entirely a joke. Grian nudged his companion, pointing as she started to approach them. Thankfully, Ringmaster seemed to notice how dire their situation had become.

“Run, Grian!” Ringmaster grabbed his hand, and together, the two of them sprinted down the side hallway. The villain yanked them into the first door on the right, and they both pushed their whole body weight against the wood. Eclipse and Jimmy began pounding at it, cursing them frantically. 

They cackled, holding them off for several minutes. Eventually, the other two gave up. Their revenge would be sure to come soon enough, most likely, but things had calmed for the time being. Grian focused on regaining his lost breath, cheeks burning from holding a smile for too long. To help get his mind settled, he got his first good look at his new surroundings.

It seemed like he’d been pulled into another one of the Bamboozlers’ bedrooms. It was a similar size to Eclipse’s own, but it wasn’t an overwhelming pink display. Instead, it was actually exceedingly tasteful. Grian found his eyes latching onto the earthy tones of the decor, the use of bamboo as decorative pieces, and the soft lighting that radiated from the space.

“Wow,” Grian marveled. “Someone is quite the decorator.”

“Thank you!”

Grian looked over at Ringmaster, confused. 

“This is my room,” Ringmaster clarified for him, clearly beaming beneath his mask. “And interior design is what I studied in school. Y’know, before all the villainy.”

“Wait, really?” Grian’s jaw dropped ever so slightly. He took another glance around the room, amazed. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Well, you’ve seen Eclipse’s room. If this wasn’t me, it was Jimmy,” Ringmaster started. “Which, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, he’s not very detail-oriented a lot of the time. He’s got his hobbies that he’s good at, but decorating is not one of them.”

Grian considered it for a moment, but concluded that he was probably right. 

“Well, we’re going to have to wait them out.” Ringmaster stepped past him and sat himself on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him. “Here, sit. If we leave too soon, they’ll just jump us immediately.”

The vet joined without much fuss, pleased to find the bed to be very comfortable. The blankets were plush, and the mattress itself was obviously memory foam. After a week of non-stop working, most of his shifts being late-night, Grian really wished he could just fall into the softness and sleep forever. 

He didn’t, though, because a question came to him. “Hey, why don’t you just stop the other two with your powers? I’ve seen clips of you interrupting heroes as they’re running before. Can’t you do that now?”

“Use my powers?” Ringmaster raised a brow. “Oh, no. That’s a bad idea for so many reasons.”

“Why? Are there, like, drawbacks to it that I don’t know about?”

“Well, not really, aside from the fact that I can’t focus my powers on more than one thing at a time, that definitely makes it difficult,” the villain told him. Grian kicked off his shoes and pulled a knee up to his chest, letting his chin rest atop it. “There’s also the fact that they’re my teammates.”

“I mean, obviously,” the vet said, smiling. “What? Do you have some sort of pact against using your powers on each other?”

“Grian, if I use my powers on either of them, it gives them silent permission to use their powers on me,” Ringmaster spelled out slowly. “I know I look cool on television, but going up against people who can cast blindness and turn invisible? That’s a death wish, especially in a prank war.”

Grian frowned. “What? I mean, yeah, that kinda makes sense. Still, I thought your power was, like, allegedly one of the best out of every villain in the city?”

“My power? It can be, I guess,” Ringmaster said. “Those opinions are only speculation. The public doesn’t know what I can do.”

“Alright,” Grian said, toeing the line more than usual. He felt like it was safe enough, like they were past the point in their relationship where curiosity alone came with consequences. If he wasn’t supposed to know something, the other would just not respond. “What can you do, then?”

He saw the villain pause, visibly contemplating whether or not to answer. Slowly, he raised a hand and twirled his finger in a clockwise motion. 

A red glow appeared around it, much like the one Grian had seen during their first meeting in the darkened alleyway. It remained equally as impressive, if not more, to see something as rare as a superpower from such a close distance. 

“Well, most media says it’s matter manipulation, and they’re not entirely wrong,” Ringmaster started. “It’s adjacent.”

A thrill ran up Grian’s spine as he realized he was finally going to know more about Ringmaster. It meant the man hadn’t been lying when he said he trusted Grian the other day. Any proof of their bond growing stronger — changing from tentative ally into almost friendly territory — was treasured deeply.

“My power is something I like to call Velocity.”

Grian echoed it quietly, awestruck, “Velocity?”

“Yes,” Ringmaster confirmed. “It allows me to control the speed at which one object moves for as long as I can hold my focus.”

To demonstrate, Ringmaster gestured to his finger. The red glow intensified, and the speed at which it turned in its clockwise motion grew ever faster. With the fading of the light, it slowed, until it seemed to barely be moving at all. 

“Woah,” Grian whispered. “That’s cool. How do you use it in fights?”

The vet recalled immediately the evening in his kitchen. Attempting to stab his opponent with a stirring spoon had been unsuccessful because of this same red glow. It felt like being trapped in gelatine, like the forward momentum of his arm had been hijacked completely. He imagined that it was endlessly useful in encounters with heroes.

“It can be hard to make myself focus on my enemies for long periods of time, so I tend to just manipulate my own limbs,” the other man said. “I’ll speed up my punches mid-swing, so they hit twice as hard and send my enemies flying. Same with my kicks.”

Grian recalled the one fight he’d witnessed in person, where Ringmaster had seemed to stop himself in the middle of the air. He mentioned it to the villain, who gave him a quick shrug.

“I just slowed down my body’s descent time by a lot,” Ringmaster answered. “I try to do that when I can to lessen the damage sustained when I have to fall from huge heights. It’s not always pretty if my teammates aren’t around to help me ease to the ground, but it’s useful.”

“That is cool,” Grian hummed. Without thinking, he took Ringmaster’s hand and brought it closer to him. He’d intended to just get a better look, but the light sputtered and failed nearly as soon as he’d gotten ahold of the man’s wrist. “Shoot. Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, um, no. I just lost focus,” came the villain’s voice, cracking around the edges. Grian glanced over in time to see his eyes dart away, the visible parts of his face turning pink. “Sorry.”

The vet wondered for a moment about his companion’s state. Then, he remembered himself. Grian dropped his hand, embarrassment running hot through his veins. No wonder Ringmaster was acting awkward when he’d just invaded his personal space without asking. Grian would’ve felt the same way. 

Tense silence filtered through the room. Neither of them moved, or made eye contact. Both stewed in their heated cheeks and bothersome inner monologues for several minutes.

Finally, Grian grew sick of it. He sighed, “I think your power is very cool. Probably even cooler than invisibility and blindness.”

Ringmaster huffed — a small, amused sound. “Well, if you said it, Doctor, then it must be true.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

They shared a mutual, secretive smile, even though it was interrupted by the barrier of a mask. 

Shortly after, Grian was escorted out. The sun had almost completely set along the horizon by the time he was waving his goodbyes to Ringmaster at the drop-off point. Grian made it home with a sense of accomplishment lodged in the space between his ribs. He rode that high for the next several hours.

By the time the fifth evening had rolled around, a lot had changed. 

Grian came home at two in the morning, feet throbbing in pain and head pounding against his skull. What was supposed to be an eight hour shift had very rapidly become fifteen straight hours after Skizz called in sick. He’d apparently come down with the flu last minute, so it was up to Mumbo, Grian, and a handful of the other clinic staff to pick up the slack. 

It was painful, probably one of the worst days for the clinic in a very long time. 

There were phone calls to be answered, files to be sorted, patients to fix up, owners to converse with, all coming through in a steady, evenly-spaced flow. And worst of all, their kennels in the back were almost at capacity. By the time Grian finished doing routine checks on every animal within their care, it was pretty much time to loop around and do it again. 

The entire shift’s tasks were deceptive, the kind of things that didn’t feel busy as they were happening, until he took a moment to look back and realize that he hadn’t been able to sit down once in the past eight hours. 

As soon as Grian got home, he intended to sleep until the sun died.

Luck was not on his side. 

It wasn’t Ringmaster’s fault that his presence only added to the vet’s stress. It wasn’t his fault that Grian walked through the door and actively deflated. It wasn’t his fault, because Ringmaster had never seen him after a shift like this. The villain didn’t recognize the signs of fatigue in Grian’s posture, face, demeanor, and therefore, could not have predicted how his problems might contribute to a greater list. 

“Grian,” the villain exclaimed far too loudly upon seeing him enter. “Welcome home!”

Grian sighed, slumping as he realized he couldn’t immediately fall into bed. His bag weighed heavily on his shoulder, like it was made up of rocks rather than a couple of medical tools. Ringmaster stared at him with a level of energy that was far above what any normal person should have at two in the morning.

The vet grunted out a quick, “What is it?”

It was at this point that Ringmaster started to notice something was wrong. His laughter lines lessened, eyes widening. The villain tipped his head to the side, dragging his gaze up and down Grian’s form, as if trying to diagnose an exact issue. Unfortunately, the vet wasn’t in the mood to waste time today.

“What’s wrong, dude?” He gritted it out with perhaps too much force. 

“Oh, um… My arm.” Ringmaster blinked. “But, y’know, it doesn’t feel as important anymore so I’m going to—“

“Sit down,” Grian spat.

Ringmaster scrambled to seat himself on the couch. 

The vet approached, dropping his bag and checking out the injury. It was hard to see through the torn fabric, but he could smell iron. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Ringmaster did as he was told, and Grian got a good look at what was probably the result of a near-miss with a knife. It was shallow, like the enemy had jabbed out faster than expected, but the target had still been able to duck out of the way. 

After so long of treating villain’s injuries, he was mildly impressed with his newfound ability to pick out the type of weapons that might’ve caused certain wounds. It was a similar kind of watered-down pride that occurred when he’d first started working with animals, and he could decipher what kind of pets his coworkers had been treating by the types of scratches they sustained. 

The injury itself was located on the back of the arm, which Grian suspected would be the reason he was sought out. Anywhere further forward, and the villain would have treated himself no problem. He likely didn’t know and couldn’t see the extent of the scrape. 

Under his breath, though, Grian still grumbled, “Where were your teammates? Couldn’t they have taken care of this?”

Ringmaster was silent. When Grian looked over, his brows had furrowed, and a tint had come over his gaze. It wasn’t amused or surprised or anything of that sort. Rather, the villain looked immensely ashamed. His countenance had changed too, shrinking in on himself the longer Grian stared. 

The vet sighed, and gathered up the necessary materials for cleaning and bandaging. The actual process didn’t take long at all. Ringmaster’s wound would heal fairly quickly, given its shallow nature. Grian wasn’t worried. As he finished, he set down the cleaning solution and wrappings, and fell beside Ringmaster on the couch.

The villain hadn’t looked at him for several minutes. Uneasy silence permeated the air between them, thick and uncomfortable. Grian let his head lull back, his eyes drifting shut. Everything within him ached, and now, the world around him was equally as upsetting. He hadn’t meant to snap at his companion — his friend. It wasn’t nice, wasn’t right, even if it was definitely a little justified.

“I’m sorry,” Grian said, his tongue leaden within his mouth. His lips struggled to form proper words, desperate to give in to silence already. Sleep was ridiculously close to claiming him, but he fought it back. He heard Ringmaster turn to face him. “I’ve just had a hard day. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“No,” came Ringmaster’s voice, smaller than it really needed to be. “No, Grian, not at all. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have to deal with me coming to you for every minor inconvenience.”

Grian hummed, “It’s fine. I won’t complain.”

Pleasant memories played along the inside of his eyelids, drifting him further from reality. He saw every single time the other man had come to him for help, and every time he’d come to him just for the sake of it. 

Grian hadn’t minded before — never really held a grudge against his villains for relying on him too much. He might joke about it, might encourage them to learn to do their own first-aid as much as possible, but it was for their benefit more than his own. 

Grian liked his job, liked the company, liked the disruption to his regular routine. Today was the exception, only because he was tired. 

Even then, he didn’t dislike the comfortable presence beside him, or the gentle knowledge that if he spoke, he would be heard. He enjoyed the room’s silence being broken by two sets of breathing, two separate heartbeats, two minds spinning faster than mouths physically could.

It felt nice, suitable, safe. Grian was alright with giving up some of his control in favor of dipping his toes into the oncoming wave of sleep. He knew very well that he could be dragged under, but no part of him feared what might happen if he did. 

He didn’t fear much nowadays.

“I’m sorry for stressing you out so often,” he distantly heard Ringmaster say. Vaguely, for Grian was too deep into the sands of unconsciousness, he thought he felt a hand brushing over his face, ghosting along his jaw. It was too soft to really be sure it was ever truly there. “Goodnight, Doctor. I’ll let you rest for a while.”

There was nothing beyond that. 

The vet woke up the next morning in his bed, only the faintest recollection of the evening prior. There was breakfast waiting for him in the fridge, but no note had been left to indicate who made it, and no texts had been delivered in over a day. 

Grian pushed through the bad feeling in his gut, and got on with his morning routine.

Chapter Text

Jumping to conclusions was not a healthy way to move through life. Grian knew that. He didn’t want to find patterns in the littlest things that might suggest something was wrong. In an ideal world, nothing would be wrong at all, this would be his imagination, and whatever perceived signs he’d been picking up on would only be in his head. 

But he wasn’t in an ideal world, and it was hard to just ignore the fact that he hadn’t been called upon in a week since his last conversation with Ringmaster. 

Now, admittedly, it’d taken him a bit to notice the absence. 

For three days straight in which the Bamboozlers got up to no good on live television, none of them had seemed to sustain any injuries. They were running the heroes around in circles, throwing them for a loop and avoiding fights by escaping before their true intentions could be figured out. Therefore, it made sense for there to be radio silence.

On the fourth day, though, Grian watched Furioso land a fairly decently-sized slash along the whole of Ringmaster’s back. The injury was bad enough that he’d fallen into Jimmy’s arms, and Eclipse had tackled Furioso to the ground to distract him long enough for her teammates to get away. 

From what the camera angle showed, it didn’t look deep, but it was most definitely painful. The vet rewatched the clip several times to try and figure out if he would need to do stitches when the villains arrived at his place, ultimately opting to get out the necessary equipment anyway.

The only problem was that they never showed. 

Grian hadn’t missed them – hadn’t stepped foot out of his apartment once in anticipation of their arrival, actually. They just hadn’t come. 

At first, the most he could really feel towards the situation was confusion. Grian sat on his couch in dead silence, completely and utterly confused. He should’ve had a job to do, should’ve had people to occupy him, should’ve had other bodies to take up space around him. But he didn’t, and it left him in a strange limbo.

Disappointment came after the fact, when it finally did occur to him that something was off. 

The Bamboozlers were genuinely capable human beings. They weren’t bad at first aid, especially now that Grian had given them a more proper crash course, and could handle most situations on their own. They could clean, bandage, and care for things like cuts and bruises easily.

However, since Eclipse’s collapse several weeks prior, the three had never been known to overestimate their skills. At the slightest suggestion of a bad injury, they were at his doorstep. Some would even say they abused their access to proper medical attention from time to time.

And yet, after an intense battle where a significant injury was sustained, Grian didn’t receive so much as a text. 

In fact, it shocked him so thoroughly that he found himself scouring the internet for any reports saying the three had been captured. He couldn’t believe that they might choose to just go home. It wasn’t like them at all.

So, as was the natural next step, Grian began to worry that something was wrong. 

They hadn’t been caught, as his search had revealed, but something was keeping them from coming to him. A variety of options flooded his head, though the most prominent and jarring of them was simply a recollection of his last conversation with Ringmaster. 

Grian was touchy that night, and more than a little rude towards his sort-of-friend. Still, he couldn’t recall a single second where he implied he wanted out of their arrangement. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Although, it’d been several days since that interaction, and he’d been so tired. There was no telling if his memory was trustworthy, or if the things he thought he’d said had ever left his lips. Maybe he hadn’t apologized like he blearily remembered doing. Maybe his tone had been far more severe than he originally thought it to be. Maybe he’d snapped one too many times, alluded towards feelings he didn’t really have, or muttered something on the brink of sleep.

Grian grabbed his phone, opening up Ringmaster’s contact and drafting a new text. He paused as soon as it was done, hesitating over the send button. 

How sure was he that this whole situation was his fault? How sure was he that this was the correct way to resolve the solution? How sure was he that they were avoiding him at all?

A misunderstanding was not the only potential cause for a change in behavior. At the end of the day, there were an endless amount of things that might’ve happened.

Maybe the injury was better in person than it looked on television. Maybe they were closer to their base than Grian’s apartment. Maybe someone’s mask had malfunctioned, and swinging by would reveal their identity. There were so many possible reasons for why this could’ve been happening.

Grian forced himself to take a deep breath and reevaluate. He was supposed to be a rational thinker, someone that could use logic to get through the worst of situations. Breaking down his problems into little portions was what he’d always done during moments of overthinking.

It wouldn’t make sense for the Bamboozlers to jeopardize their own health just to avoid him, when they’d previously never cared about disrupting his rhythm. If they needed to see him, they had no qualms tracking him down at work, or stalking him to his apartment. It wasn’t the most personal or healthy of dynamics, but it worked for the four of them.

This whole problem was in his head. The radio silence was in his head. There was no need for anxiety, because they’d never once had a relationship that indicated Grian was owed any explanations for their behavior. They were thieves, criminals, villains, and only occasionally something like friends to him. It didn’t matter that he’d thought they were progressing. What they had was strictly business. 

Strictly business, even when Ringmaster made him breakfast after staying for too long into the night. Strictly business, even when Ringmaster invited him over just to pull a prank and hang out. Strictly business, even when Ringmaster said he trusted him not a week prior. 

Strictly business, because all of that had stopped without an ounce of warning.

And there he was, jumping to conclusions again. His mind repeated on loop that he’d done something wrong, driven them away somehow, and they were avoiding him. Grian tried to get his rational line of thinking back, but it was out of reach.

He deleted the text before he could be impulsive, and made himself go to bed. 

The next morning, though, Grian was opening the villain’s contact again, fuming with rage. It wasn’t for the same reason as the night prior. This anger was much less confusing, much more poignant, and had a very clear target. 

“Ringmaster, you idiot,” Grian hissed as he typed a furious message. “I cannot believe you.”

He had rolled out of bed that morning feeling cruddy, but a little less disturbed about the whole ordeal. It was too early to tell if he was being avoided, too early to beat himself up over nothing, and really, why should he worry anyway? 

If they were going to develop into friends, that would happen naturally, and if it didn’t, then it didn’t. His problems were only cropping up due to his own tendency to get invested way too quickly. He needed to relax and understand that his dynamic with these people was never going to be completely normal. It would be fine.

Grian was, at the end of the day, just a plain old veterinarian. And this was, at the end of the day, just a really disturbing hobby. 

But it was really hard to stop being invested when the first thing he saw upon switching on the television was the latest news report of a fight happening downtown. Just from reading the warning that flashed on the screen, he felt his blood pressure spike – first, out of surprise and worry for his villains, and secondly, out of anger.

It seemed like the Bamboozlers’ latest scheme to throw the heroes off involved them switching around the usual time that they typically could be found committing crimes. Instead of late into the evening, they’d broken into the headquarters of a popular enterprise first thing in the morning.

Obviously, since the city was awake by that point, they were seen and reported by employees as they were coming in for their shift. It meant that they weren’t able to escape without some kind of fight ensuing, however, it wasn’t the heroes that arrived at the scene to stand in their way.

The Agency, having been caught so off guard by their timing, had no heroes available to get to the scene of the crime. They’d been forced to call in a favor, and not ten minutes after the report was filed, a pair of well-known vigilantes had arrived instead.

Vigilantes were few and far between in the city. Most of them were defected heroes, who had, for some reason or another, decided to part ways with the Agency while remaining in a position to uphold justice. They could be paid to watch over certain sectors of the city more than others, and were often a little less regulated with their methods of capturing criminals.

They weren’t totally legal. So long as they didn’t cause too much trouble, though, and there weren’t entire groups of them running around trying to imitate the heroes, the Agency let them be. They had a symbiotic relationship. In times like these, where the heroes couldn’t be somewhere that the vigilantes could, it came in handy for them.

The vigilantes on the scene that day were known as Audiophile and Werewolf. The two were formerly heroes, who’d parted ways with the Agency a few years back to turn heroics into a more directly monetary thing for their own benefit. 

Their personalities were, in Grian’s humble opinion, irritatingly theatrical. That was, of course, helped by the fact that their costumes were about as stereotypical as it could get for anyone running around playing hero. They were poster boys for what one might imagine if they thought of the city’s modern-day crime fighters. 

Audiophile wore a bandana over his eyes, with a base suit of green stretchy fabric underneath white armor plating that covered his chest, shoulders, knees, and elbows. His weapon of choice was a large sword – not unlike Furioso’s twin katanas, but larger and obviously suited to his impressive muscle mass. 

Werewolf remained true to his name when it came to his costume – sporting a headband with dog ears, and a tail attached to his belt. His eyes were covered by comically large tinted sunglasses, though the rest of him was decidedly less covered. His shirt, a flowy white thing, was halfway unbuttoned, revealing an impressive amount of chest hair underneath.

He was less protected by this costume, but he wore a corset of armor plating around his middle to make up for that. As for his weapons, Werewolf wore special metallic gloves that gave him makeshift claws, said to be capable of slicing anything if he put enough force into it. 

No matter how flashy or ironically typical their outfits and personalities, the two were fairly well-trained. Their rates for successful capture of petty criminals was higher than quite a few of the Agency’s newer debutantes, and they’d even managed to put a couple of amateur villains behind bars as of late. They were eccentric and very skilled, making them wonderful hires for companies wanting to show off their ability to afford high-profile body guards. 

Audiophile had a power known as Eavesdropping, where he could listen in on any conversation within his sightline. Combined with Werewolf’s ability to take the form of any person he could see, the duo made for quite formidable opponents when it came to harnessing the element of surprise.

It meant that Grian woke up that morning to quite a vicious fight on television, mere hours after he’d watched Ringmaster collapse from an attack the night prior.

Screw their interpersonal issues – Grian was sending off a flurry of enraged messages before he could so much as make himself a cup of tea. He was maddened past the point of caring about etiquette or perception or his own personal routine. Ringmaster wouldn’t see the texts until the fight was over, but he set loose a devastating amount of curses upon the man anyway. 

Grian

What are you doing?

Grian

You’re injured! Why are you out and about?!?!

Grian

Why did your teammates let you come on this heist? Why are you doing a heist in the first place?!?!?! Are you all idiots? Get away from that stupid fight this instant!

Maybe he was harsh, but he did not regret a single word of what he typed.

Those three knew the proper care regimens that the vet preached about on a daily basis, and yet they’d still gone and done the stupidest thing known to man! Whether he’d done something to get on their bad side or not, this was truly idiotic. He couldn’t believe they would ignore what they should’ve damn well known to be compulsory for the basics of self preservation.

Now, they had an injured man traipsing around the battlefield, trying his best to appear like nothing was wrong, and it wasn’t working.

Ringmaster was knocked off balance more times during this fight than any he’d ever seen before. Grian could only look on in abject horror as the cameras honed in on the exact moment when the vigilantes figured out his weakness – since it wasn’t exactly sufficiently hidden from them. 

Audiophile’s heightened hearing had obviously caught on to the extra groans of pain he got whenever his blows landed on specific parts of the villain’s body. His smile widened into one of sharp delight, and a laugh rang out loud enough for the drone’s limited microphone set up to detect.

“That’s right! You did get hurt yesterday, didn’t you?” A half-crazed voice echoed through the street, Audiophile raising a finger to point in Ringmaster’s direction. His modulator made his words come out in a ridiculously pitched-down intonation. “It’s our lucky day. This just got a whole lot easier!”

Grian opened his phone again, preemptively sending a swarm of links about proper care for wounds that had been repeatedly agitated, even if Ringmaster knew the gist already. No harm in reinforcing his knowledge, given how easily he and his Bamboozlers seemed to forget the stuff that mattered.

The fight only got worse from there. 

Since Audiophile had alerted everyone in the city about Ringmaster’s obvious weakness, both vigilantes had begun to target him. Werewolf was relentless in close combat, his metal claws bouncing off Eclipse’s blade with such force that sparks quite literally flew between them. Audiophile was able to keep up with both Jimmy and Ringmaster while still being on the offensive due to his abundance of protective armor.

And since these were opponents that a skilled villain would struggle to defeat, even at their best, the Bamboozlers were quickly overwhelmed. 

Eclipse couldn’t use her blinding abilities whilst trying to protect her teammate, as they’d affect everyone in her vicinity, and Jimmy couldn’t go without being struck long enough to turn invisible. Ringmaster’s pain was outwardly messing with his ability to focus too, meaning his moments of power were short and spread out.

There was certainly no room for them to worry about their spoils, either. Several boxes of classified files had been dumped into three sacks for easy transport, but they were tossed aside uselessly now. That didn’t seem like it would change anytime soon, judging by how engaged the vigilantes kept the Bamboozlers. 

However, this fight wouldn’t be able to go on forever. 

The Agency might’ve been caught off guard when the ordeal initially happened, but if the newscaster was to be believed, they were doing everything in their power to get an official hero on the ground as soon as possible. If someone like Slayer or Furioso arrived while they were already in this state, the Bamboozlers would be arrested in a matter of minutes.

It became immediately clear – at least to Grian – that the trio would have to choose between escaping with their lives, or successfully completing their heist.

They chose, as was best, to abandon their efforts. 

Ringmaster could be seen leaning close to Eclipse during a brief lull, probably to whisper something. As soon as he’d backed off again to grapple with a charging Audiophile, the pink-haired villain changed her stance into one Grian had come to recognize. 

Shadows overtook her body, then exploded outwards, crashing over each of the street’s occupants. They were blinded, cast into formidable darkness. Audiophile and Werewolf stumbled back, shouting for the other and grasping useless. Jimmy and Ringmaster stayed silent, though by their tripping, it was clear they were in a similar state.

Eclipse grabbed the hands over her teammates and began dragging them off quickly. Though their escape was not graceful, they did manage to make it into the alleyways and out of the vigilantes’ direct view. 

The drone followed them to that point, but when Ringmaster’s vision finally cleared, it took one wave of his hand for the lens to be overcome with a red glow and the footage to freeze. When it resumed, they were gone. 

Grian never did receive a text back.

After the fight ended, five minutes turned into fifteen, then twenty, then thirty, then an hour had passed in which he hadn’t received so much as a thumbs-up emoji in return for his fretting. He knew as much time had passed, because he’d seen each second tick by on the face of his new watch.

He no longer had a doubt. The Bamboozlers were avoiding him.

Disappointment and frustration clung to him like a second skin. 

With nothing else to distract him until his shift later that night, Grian scrolled through his contact list and clicked the call button. Mumbo picked up after only two rings.

“Mumbo? I’ve just gotten the urge to go out for lunch,” Grian said, putting falsified energy into his words. “Would you care to join me?”

Blushing lights worked in tandem with bustling bodies to bring an overwhelming heat and energy into the packed room. Grian revelled in the cold of the ice cubes within his drink, and the warmth in his cheeks. It worked well to keep his mind off the holes being burned into his head by his friend across the table.

“Grian, I do appreciate your company,” Mumbo said, just loud enough to be heard over the music of the bar around them. His brow was raised, a quizzical tilt to his lips that implied this conversation was not going to go in a direction Grian liked. “It’s just that this is the third time you’ve asked me out for a drink in the last week. I can’t help but wonder if something is the matter?”

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Grian made a face, and hid it with a sip from his Moscow mule. The pang of the vodka was similar to the pang of his heart as it was twisted within his chest. The drink left his throat hot, and his confidence higher than it had any right to be. Only a few sips remained before he’d need to order another. “No, it’s nothing like that. Nothing’s wrong.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Mumbo scoffed. Grian was not the only one experiencing the effects of alcohol. There was a flush to his friend’s cheeks, as Mumbo had finished a glass of some fruity concoction before beginning his latest endeavor. “Seriously, you know you can tell me anything.”

Grian chewed on his lip, but didn’t immediately respond. He couldn’t, not when the television above the bar was recounting the exact reason for that evening’s upset – the act that had driven him to call Mumbo in the first place. There wasn’t any volume, but then again, he didn’t need noise to know what was happening beat for beat. He’d seen the live footage earlier, after all.

The Bamboozlers had gotten into another altercation today. Their string of minor heists had evolved slightly into something more like what villains should be doing. As they’d been intending to do the morning they’d fought Audiophile and Werewolf, lately, they’d begun to target more and more private data.

Usually, due to their lack of any solid pattern, they avoided most fights. Heroes would arrive at the scene too late, or anticipate them elsewhere, only to discover that the tip they’d received was a false lead. 

By sheer luck, tonight’s attack had been interrupted, courtesy of the hero group known as the Gs.

No one was caught, which he remained oddly thankful for, but the fight was rough on both parties. Despite the Bamboozlers getting away, and the hero Blackhole sustaining internal damages from one of his teleports gone wrong, the news was reporting on it like it was a success. Grian guessed that meant whatever data drive they were aiming for had been recovered by the group. 

However, when it came to the broadcasted reruns, the media was also making a point to only show specific clips – in which the heroes had the upper hand. They were changing the narrative to make it seem as though the victory was a landslide.

He saw drone footage of Jimmy being tossed into the side of a building, Eclipse getting the side of her gas mask smashed, and Ringmaster being forced to fight off three heroes at once. Jimmy struggled to stay invisible with the sheer amount of opponents, Eclipse blinded people as often as she could, but it was clearly making her tired, and Ringmaster’s red glow practically never left his arm in an attempt to put more power into his punches.

It was just hard to contest against a team of five with a variety of some of the strongest abilities the Agency could boast. To encounter the full team at once, not split up due to outside circumstances, was terrifyingly bad luck. Anyone would falter, buckle under the weight. It was unsurprising that the Bamboozlers would have trouble holding their own. 

At the very least, Grian didn’t see any of them get stabbed or slashed on vital points. Plenty of cuts and bruises were distributed, though, and probably several broken ribs. The fight concluded when Eclipse’s blinding power finally overlapped with both of her teammates also finding an out in their situation, and they all made a run for it. 

Due to habit and despite what he knew to be true, Grian had expected them to high-tail it to his apartment, and had waited in the living room in front of the television for two hours. By the start of the third hour, around nine in the evening, Grian realized they weren’t going to show. Again.

So, as he’d done two other times that week after watching the people he cared about getting beaten bloody on the screen and promptly not coming to him for help, he called Mumbo. 

Mumbo was always more than ready to hang out, especially if they were grabbing drinks, so that was what they’d done. In hindsight, maybe calling upon him thrice that week in rapid succession wasn’t the most discrete choice. He should’ve switched it up, called Skizz or someone instead. 

Except, Skizz was better at reading emotions, and that wasn’t the energy he needed, so Mumbo was his default option. He really needed to talk to more people.

Grian hadn’t actually wanted to appear down in the dumps in the eyes of his friends. This was just supposed to replace the emptiness of his apartment and the radio silence he was getting from his usual company. He didn’t need to worry anyone, or acknowledge the growing hole in his routine that had been eating him alive for a week and a half, so long as he had a valid distraction.

To ease the aching embarrassment at being found out, Grian downed the rest of his drink in two big gulps. It was a horrible decision, and he smacked his lips in disgust to try and counteract the sharp sting of the alcohol. Mumbo made a flabbergasted noise and said, “Dude, was that necessary?”

“I was getting bored of this drink,” Grian lied. The watch on his wrist ticked rhythmically. “Wanted a different one.”

“And you could only do that by chugging what you had?” Mumbo pinched the bridge of his nose, highly disappointed. “Grian, can’t you talk to me like a normal person?”

Grian narrowed his eyes, considering the offer. It wasn’t feasible, not really, to drum up everything that had taken place over the last several months. There was simply too much, and a good majority of it couldn’t be mentioned at all. No matter what he said, some part of it would have to be a lie to keep Mumbo and Grian’s other companions both safe. 

Sighing, Grian opted to say what he could.

“A friend of mine is… ignoring me,” Grian grumbled. He stared down at his empty copper mug, and the melting ice within. A buzzing static had begun to envelope his brain. “I thought we were going to hang out this week, but he’s not even texted me.”

“Grian,” Mumbo gasped, and Grian’s eyes jumped up to him. 

His shocked tone worried the vet. Mumbo was smart – there was a chance he could put pieces together and reach a conclusion that was less than ideal for everyone involved. Grian crossed his fingers under the table, hoping for the best. 

“I didn’t know you had friends beyond me!”

Grian stopped. His mouth twisted down into a frown. “Mumbo, what are you–?”

“Sorry, that sounded rude,” Mumbo chuckled. “You had that one guy pop by the vet, but besides him, you’ve never mentioned friends before. I figured I was your only one.”

“Um,” Grian said. “No.”

“That’s great! I have competition for the first time ever.” Mumbo clapped his hands together happily, but then his own word choice sank in and his brows furrowed. “Oh dear. I have competition.”

Grian sighed, “Hardly. Did you miss the part where I said he’s not talking to me right now?”

“Ah, true,” Mumbo said, brightening just a bit too much to be comforting. “Do you know why he might be doing that?”

The vet thought about it, but all of his theories were too difficult to explain without revealing who exactly his friend was to Mumbo. His head was too light to think of reasonable replacements for this particular situation. Grian opted to shrug instead of letting himself speak. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound pleasant,” Mumbo said, offering him a reassuring smile. The lopsided way it moved his mustache did work to improve the depressed man’s mood slightly. “Thanks for telling me, at least. How about I buy the next drink? What do you want?”

Grian accepted Mumbo’s charity, and they remained at the bar for another hour and a half. They did a couple of shots, and then he got a cosmopolitan, with his companion going for a margarita to round out the night. Neither of them would have the best taste in their mouths after the fact, but they didn’t care in the moment.

His friend did a wonderful job of keeping his mind from straying by steadily helping him get more wasted. The two weren’t lightweights, but their evening consisted of enough variety to make a mess of anyone. Grian felt sufficiently woozy by the time they called it quits. Mumbo was hit harder though, having apparently only eaten a small dinner before agreeing to tag along. 

“C’mon, man,” Grian huffed, focusing really hard on keeping his friend upright as they stumbled together out of the bar. The night air was chilly, but the burn of alcohol kept them both warm. The taxi he’d called was already waiting at the corner when Grian got them there. He spoke briefly to the driver, confirming the address, and then loaded his friend in. 

He waited until the car was out of sight to take a deep breath and consider going home himself. There was no need for another taxi, since his apartment was fairly close. Still, his feet didn’t move. His whole body protested the idea heavily, actually. 

Grian knew what would be waiting for him at home — his two cats, and absolutely nothing else. No handsome strangers, no thinly veiled threats, no almost-friends, no problems in need of solutions. No Ringmaster. 

He wasn’t looking forward to it. 

Sighing, he let his gaze drift to the sky overhead. It was inky black, stars blocked out by familiar light pollution. Distantly, he saw the blinking of a plane, and heard the passing whir of cars. The sidewalks murmured with a scattered crowd, none paying mind to the drunken statue the vet had become. 

While he stayed perfectly still, the world kept moving around him. Grian wished, half-heartedly, that he could remain stationary forever. That way, he wouldn’t have to put so much effort into things that never paid off. He wouldn’t have to think about the result of his every action. He wouldn’t have to face consequences for offenses he hadn’t known he’d made.

“Doctor?”

Grian’s eyes widened, and he spun around with a dangerous speed. 

As soon as his gaze landed on a figure behind him on the sidewalk, his vision blurred and he tipped. The buzzing overcame him, enveloping his senses completely. His feet were mere suggestions, hanging uselessly beneath him. Without a doubt, he was going to fall and land flat on his face. 

“Woah! Grian, be careful!”

Warm arms wrapped around his torso, and his forehead landed on someone’s chest. The feeling of falling stopped. Immediately, he felt steadier, less unbalanced. He had an anchor to keep himself firmly planted, rooted in reality. The vet hadn’t realized how much he needed it until then.

Grian worked to blink away spots and fuzzy nothingness. His vision gradually began to even out enough to decipher a decent amount of details again. He saw a green shirt, and a pair of jeans that fell vaguely over some black sneakers. Slowly, he pulled back enough to let his eyes move up. 

First, he was able to make out tanned skin, well-built shoulders, and mussed brown hair. Looking higher, he noticed that the man in front of him wore a fabric mask over the lower half of his face, and had a variety of scars around the areas that weren’t blocked from view. 

It was when Grian met bright green eyes that his breath hitched and the man’s familiarity registered to him. Though his tongue was heavy and his head still spun a bit, he managed to whisper, “Ringmaster?”

“Oh, no! Don’t call me that here,” the other man hissed, glancing around. Grian definitely recognized his voice now that he had a frame of reference. Sober or not, he couldn’t believe he’d ever missed it – especially considering how this same man had been haunting him for days now. “What are you doing here, Grian?”

It took a second for the vet to realize that questions usually required answers.

“Um, I was getting a drink with my friend,” Grian answered, a little dazed and floaty. “What are you doing here?”

“My house is down the street. I was on a walk to clear my head.” Ringmaster glanced around, confused. Grian’s mind hooked onto the mention of the other man’s house – such a normal thing for a villain to have – looping that phrase over and over again. “Where’s your friend?”

Grian almost missed this question too. “He… just went home.”

The vet simply gaped up at him, wholly consumed with his thoughts. Grian couldn’t believe that Ringmaster was standing in front of him, and in casual wear of all things, talking about civilian stuff like houses and late-night walks. He wasn’t even adorned in his usual gas mask. And while, sure, he’d gotten glimpses of the other man in similar outfits, he was taking him in fully now. 

It didn’t feel entirely real. 

“I assume you’re heading home too, then?” Ringmaster tilted his head. Grian’s gaze darted towards the way strands of hair fell into his face with the movement. They were usually slicked back so as not to interrupt villain work, only taking on a different style if the fight had messed it up. To see it in its relaxed form was oddly mesmerizing. “Doctor?”

“Hm?” Grian blinked back to reality. He didn’t have the mental capacity to deny the way his heart rate picked up the slightest bit at the nickname. “Sorry, yes. I’m just a little… y’know.”

“Tipsy? Yeah, I can tell,” the other man laughed. It was a brilliant sound, the kind that reverberated through Grian’s skull and settled in his chest. “Are you waiting for a ride?”

Illuminated by the neon signs of the bar and the hanging lamplight overhead, Ringmaster looked softer than Grian had ever seen him before. There were no hard edges to this version of him. No visible blood stains, threatening glares, or wanted posters with this face on them when he was like this. It was almost like looking at a completely different person. Those eyes were the same though. Grian really liked his eyes.

“Um, no,” the vet replied to the best of his ability. He frowned, struggling somehow to remember what he’d planned for himself. “No, it’s close, so I’m… gonna walk.”

Ringmaster’s signature laughter lines appeared as Grian could only assume his smile widened. “Walking, hm? In this state?” 

It was hard for the vet to tell through the haze that covered everything in his mind, but he was pretty sure he was being mocked a little bit. Grian frowned, furrowing his brows and weakly punching at the other man’s chest. “What state? I’m perfectly capable of getting home just fine.”

“Right, G, totally,” Ringmaster hummed, that cozy voice of his overflowing with fondness. “And I’m just going to walk next to you the entire way to confirm exactly how capable you are.”

“I’m not drunk enough to miss your sarcasm,” Grian replied, but he couldn’t make himself argue more. The idea of leaving right now, putting this man behind him and being resigned to silence for another unknown span of time was beyond unpleasant. He’d already gone so long without him. He couldn’t do it anymore. 

Without an alternative, he sighed and let his head lull forward onto the other’s shoulder – not unlike Ringmaster had done to him a while ago. It was comfortable. He kind of didn’t want to sit up ever again. Grian wondered absently if the other man would let him stay forever. 

Maybe not in the middle of the sidewalk, though. The sound of passing cars was going to give him a headache. They’d been nice before, but now that he had an anchor beyond them, they were bothersome. The vet didn’t care for anything outside of the person he was leaning on.

As time passed, he could feel his head getting a little fuzzier. The chilly atmosphere was helping, but he didn’t want to be exposed to the city’s bright lights much longer. There was only one option left.

“Fine,” Grian groaned, resigning himself to having to move, if only so that he could return to stillness in a better end location. “Come with me.”

“What was that, Doctor? You’re mumbling.”

Grian backed up to meet Ringmaster’s eyes, suddenly determined. “I want you to come home with me.”

Immediately, the man holding him paused, buffering. His face flushed the loveliest shade of pink, and the hands that rested on Grian’s upper arms squeezed a little tighter. “You,” Ringmaster whispered. “You, um, what?”

“I want you to come home with me,” Grian repeated, getting slightly frustrated. He couldn’t understand why Ringmaster wasn’t getting it. This made perfect sense to him. “Walk me home? Please?” 

“Walk you home,” Ringmaster echoed, barely audible. “Yes, of course, obviously. Anything for you, Doctor.”

Grian didn’t have to ask again. The villain took a step back, cold air rushing to fill the space where he’d been, and linked their arms. It was enough contact for the time being, but the vet was already missing what he had before. 

Slowly, so as not to disorient the inebriated man more, they started down the street. 

The two walked for several minutes in silence, arm-in-arm, shoulders bumping. Ringmaster guided Grian when his stumbling feet didn’t work quite right, never losing that amused gleam in his eyes.

Grian kept his gaze glued to the side of his companion’s head until they reached his home. Somehow, it was impossible to look away, even when Ringmaster instructed him to watch where he was going. His brain prioritized keeping the villain in his sights rather than avoiding obstacles on the ground below. 

A distance that would’ve probably taken an hour for the drunken man to cross alone was covered in a brisk fifteen minutes. Ringmaster detached their arms as they stopped at the door to his apartment, which woke Grian from the weird trance he’d been stuck in.  

At that point, the vet had to concern himself over the monstrous process of fishing his keys out of his pocket, the sharp jingling hurting his ears. However, when he finally did manage to get them safely in his hand and returned his gaze to his front door, it was already open.

Grian blinked slowly once, twice, then a third time.

“How did you–?”

“I made myself a mold of your key a while ago,” Ringmaster explained, gently leading him through the threshold. The cats were shooed away so as not to trip the two of them further. As soon as he had Grian seated safely on the couch, the villain locked the door and returned to the living room. “Figured you didn’t want me coming in through your window every time.”

A more sober version of Grian would’ve been really worried about that admittance. Or maybe flattered – it was hard for his foggy brain to recall what he usually thought about abnormal acts committed by this particular man. For some reason, he had the slightest inkling that Ringmaster was the exception to most of his rules. 

Either way, in his current state, Grian could only huff out a surprised laugh. “You’re out of your mind.”

Ringmaster shrugged. “I’d prefer to call myself innovative, but that works too.”

Grian let his head fall onto the cushion behind him, satisfied after the journey. 

His eyes shut, but around him, he could hear the other man shuffling. He probably should’ve had a problem with how easily Ringmaster navigated his home, as if he belonged in it, but Grian couldn’t muster even the slightest bit of irritation. There were a lot of things he probably should’ve been feeling. 

“Sit up, G,” Ringmaster called, coming from the direction of the kitchen. “Drink some water.”

Grian did as he was told, sitting up and taking a glass from the other man. While he sipped, Ringmaster knelt, and started unlacing his shoes. Grian watched him slip off the right, then the left. From this new angle, the collar of his shirt dipped down, allowing the vet to see the edge of a bandage hidden beneath.

“You’re hurt,” Grian muttered. He set aside his water and reached down. Ringmaster froze, eyes locked on the floor as the vet’s wandering hands tugged at the collar of his shirt to allow him to see better. “Is this the… the sword injury?”

Ringmaster swallowed, finally turning his gaze up to Grian. Something unreadable was hidden in it. “Were you watching that fight?”

In response to the most ridiculous question he’d ever been asked, Grian scoffed, “Was I watching that fight? Really? Obviously, idiot. I watch as many of your fights as I can.”

“You,” Ringmaster whispered. “You do?”

“Yeah, of course,” Grian retorted. Frustrated that he couldn’t get a better view of the wound in question, he tugged harder on the collar of his shirt, yanking his companion forward a bit in the process. “Take this off.”

The other man did not respond, simply staring at him with the widest eyes physically possible. There was not an ounce of his skin that hadn’t flushed a scarlet red. His fabric mask shifted as he seemed to take a deep breath in. “Why?” 

“I have to make sure you’re okay,” Grian said with a bluntness that was only possible for someone significantly under the influence and therefore incapable of shame. “You didn’t let me earlier.”

“Oh, right.” Ringmaster cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s necessary, Doctor. I feel fine–”

“I don’t believe you,” Grian snapped. “In fact, I won’t rest until I have a chance to check it myself.”

The villain made a noise of distress. “What? Grian, really, I’m alright. You have to get some sleep soon or you’ll feel awful tomorrow.”

“No,” Grian said, remaining steadfast. “Let me do my job.”

Ringmaster seemed to realize he wasn’t going to give up, and furrowed his brows. He lifted his hands to the hem of his shirt, hesitating. Finally, the villain sighed and pulled it over his head, careful not to disrupt his mask. It was tossed aside, revealing the full extent of his bandages.

“Fine,” he replied. “If it’ll satisfy you, Doctor.”

They were, in actuality, fairly well done. The bandages were tied off cleanly, and appeared to have been changed at regular intervals. Grian reached over like he was about to unwrap them, only to pause halfway there. A bit of common sense whispered in the back of his mind that he’d be wasting perfectly good bandages if he followed through. 

Though, he did still want to help. Grian hadn’t been given the chance previously, and now, at long last, he had Ringmaster in front of him. It was his job to ensure his patient was as well taken care of as he could be. 

Something came to him – an idea that he wouldn’t have entertained for even a moment under different circumstances. Now, however, he didn’t hesitate. 

Grian leaned over and placed a kiss on the curve of Ringmaster’s shoulder, right on the edge of his bandages. The other man whirled around, shock evident in his expression. Grian hadn’t known it was possible for a blush to reach down one’s neck and consume all visible skin as well, but Ringmaster had managed such a feat before his very eyes.

“Kissed it better,” the vet simply said, as if that explained his strange behavior at all. “I’m done.”

“Right,” Ringmaster whispered, voice so low that it was hardly audible. His chest rose and fell quickly as he stared at Grian. The vet shifted in his seat a bit under the weight of the attention, which seemed to snap his companion into reality again. He cleared his throat and slipped his shirt back on. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” Grian hummed. Now that his clumsy attempt at doing his job was complete, his attention moved to the uncomfortable lumps in his pockets that were beginning to dig into his leg. With uncoordinated hands, he pulled everything out at once. His wallet, keys, and phone were dumped onto the couch beside him. 

Ringmaster quietly picked them up and moved them to the coffee table. Nothing would be able to slip between cushions and get lost there. Then, the glass of water was being pushed into his hands again. Grian sipped idly.

Pearl and Maui chose that moment to come over to rub up against the man kneeling on his floor. They didn’t pay their owner any mind, probably assuming their visitor would present them with treats again. Though that obviously didn’t happen, Ringmaster did scratch the tops of their heads enough to appeal to their neediness. 

Grian hadn’t remembered just how normal the other man looked in his apartment. He was like a fixture, part of the furniture, something always meant to be there – according to the vet’s delusional dreamy state, at least. They’d only known each other for an objectively short while, weeks adding up to just a handful of months, but his company had become so central that losing it created a vacuum.

Before he could really think about it, he was blurting, “Where were you?”

“Hm?” Ringmaster paused his cooing at the cats to glance up at Grian. “What do you mean?”

“Where have you been this past week?” Grian’s throat grew tight. It was mortifying how easily otherwise pent-up emotions came to him when the vet let go of his inhibitions for a night. He couldn’t disguise the genuine hurt in his voice as he said, “I’ve missed you.”

A beat passed, and the villain sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“I saw you on the news,” Grian went on, tongue loose despite how the memories brought a thrumming ache to his heart. The broaching of this damning topic was helping to sober him slightly. “You didn’t come to me for help, didn’t even contact me. A whole week and a half of nothing. Why?”

“Oh, Grian,” Ringmaster exhaled. He put his hands on Grian’s knees and leaned forward. The vet crossed his arms over his chest, forcing a barrier between them. Ringmaster clearly noticed, if the concern flashing through his eyes was any indication. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… thought you needed space.”

“Space?” Grian scoffed. He assumed it was the alcohol that elevated how ridiculous that statement sounded. His phone hadn’t remained open on unread text messages for days on end to simply be told he was the one encouraging their friendship to be put on the backburner. Not a moment later, he was shaking his head and muttering, “Space is the last thing I want.”

He froze, realizing exactly how incriminating that could be. Grian glanced at his companion, trying to see if any part of his tone had indicated what he’d truly meant. Instead of meeting his gaze, however, Ringmaster was staring at the ground, brows furrowed and eyes layered with sadness.

“But… I thought you were tired of helping us with simple stuff,” Ringmaster said, voice cracking. “No one had a bad enough injury this week, so I figured it was best to let you… relax.”

Grian frowned. He didn’t like that Ringmaster wasn’t making eye contact, didn’t like that sad tone, didn’t like that he was making Grian feel badly for something he and his Bamboozlers had done without even consulting him. He set his water cup down again. 

Harshly, the vet reached over and smacked both of his hands over the other man’s cheeks. Grian tipped his head up and leaned in. They were close enough that, were there not a mask in the way, their breaths would’ve intermingled, and their noses might’ve brushed. 

Grian went a bit cross-eyed from the sudden increase in angle, but he held his very woozy ground. Ringmaster remained completely still, eyes blown wide and glistening in the low light of the room.

“I didn’t ask you to leave,” Grian told him. “I was tired that one day, but even then, I wanted you here.”

Ringmaster blinked, shocked into silence, so the vet continued.

“I always want you here. You make my life weird and hard and exhausting,” Grian grumbled, squishing the other’s face as he spoke. “And nothing makes sense when you’re around, but that doesn’t mean I want it to stop.”

Another second passed, and Grian took a deep breath. He released Ringmaster, falling back onto the couch. There were several beats in which neither of them made a sound.

“I will never understand you, Doctor,” he heard Ringmaster start. Lazily, Grian let his head dip just enough to return the baffled stare sent his way. “No matter how much I assume I’ve finally got a good idea of how you work, you turn my world upside-down. I can’t get enough of it.”

Grian bit his tongue to keep his mind from lurching in a direction he didn’t want it to go. He didn’t need to imagine pulling the other man closer, holding him near enough that he’d never leave again. He didn’t need to imagine seeing his face every day, talking to him often enough to stray away from this distance they constantly held between themselves. 

These weren’t safe thoughts to have, not when the focus of them was right in front of him, not when he still couldn’t totally trust his own actions. He feared his secret intentions might show through, become clear in his face to the point that Ringmaster would read into it and know.

“If you can’t get enough of me,” Grian said. “Then don’t avoid me again. You, Eclipse, and Timmy. No more leaving me out.”

Ringmaster studied him for a minute more, as if trying to figure out if he was really telling the truth – if he really did want the trio around. He must’ve seen something pleasant, because his eyes crinkled soon after, and he gave in.

“Whatever you want, Doctor,” Ringmaster replied. He stood, and collapsed down on the couch beside Grian. Their shoulders brushed, hands resting dangerously close. “I promise we’ll check in with you when we can from now on. No more leaving you out. I’ll pass the message on to Jimmy and Eclipse too.”

“How are they?”

“Hm?”

“Timmy and Eclipse,” Grian specified. “I saw you all taking pretty bad hits today. Timmy couldn’t even stay invisible for more than a minute.”

Ringmaster’s brow twitched. “They’re fine.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” the villain insisted. “I wrapped their injuries myself, and I learned from the best.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Grian smiled. “That’s good.”

They lapsed into silence. Grian was comfortable with it, basking in the pleasant hum still vaguely present in the tips of his fingers. It seemed his companion was less so. Ringmaster crossed his arms, finger tapping over and over again. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Ringmaster started after a minute, with a tone that lacked any of the humor that was supposed to accompany that descriptor. “Hearing you call Jimmy by his real name, I mean. Or, well, as close as you ever get to his name.”

Whatever Grian had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He frowned at his companion. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it's just,” Ringmaster stammered. The tips of his ears were twinging pink. They’d done that often recently. “We’ve known each other longer, but you’re only on a first name basis with Jimmy.”

The vet was pretty sure there was subtext he was missing, but he was still barely beginning to come down from the worst of his drunken haze. There was no chance he was going to catch any amount of subtlety tonight. So, he responded to the surface-level statements instead. 

“That’s not really my fault. I wasn’t supposed to know personal stuff about you guys.” Grian raised a brow and swallowed. Anxiety nipped at him. “Why are you bringing it up? Should I stop calling him that?”

“It’s not bad. I’m sure Jimmy doesn’t mind at all,” Ringmaster replied, but it felt like he was avoiding the question. 

Grian watched him closely. “You say that as though you mind.” 

Suddenly, Ringmaster was adjusting his position again. His torso turned, allowing him to fully face Grian. His eyes were hesitant, struggling to fully meet the vet’s gaze. They kept slipping down Grian’s face and lingering there. 

“I might mind,” Ringmaster said, tone quiet. “Just a little.”

A hand shifted to ghost over Grian’s open palm. The contact sent sparks rocketing up his spine. 

“As ridiculous as it is,” the villain whispered. “It makes me wish you’d call me by my real name too.”

“That is ridiculous,” Grian laughed nervously. His cheeks were hot, but it was different from the warmth provided by alcohol. He felt like he was dangling over the edge of a cliff. “I don’t even know your real name.”

“Scar.”

Grian blinked, frowning. “Excuse me?”

“My name,” Ringmaster said. “My name is Scar.”

Everything came to a screeching halt. The vet sobered entirely in a second, the haze dissipating to make room for newfound clarity. A single word took over Grian’s brain, looping over and over again. He opened his mouth, drawing in a breath. 

Shakily, he heard himself whisper, “Scar?” 

The name fit perfectly between his lips, tasted right upon his tongue, and weighed heavily on his soul. It felt comfortable, like he was always meant to know it. Grian’s chest ached. His vision spun. His sole anchor, the one feature of the universe that remained solid and perfectly within focus, was the other man.

Scar.

Scar smiled, green eyes crinkling. “Hi, Grian.”

Something between them seemed to crack. It was as though Grian was beholding the world through an entirely new lens.

This was no longer a dangerous criminal with a couple of moments of humanity shining through. This was no longer an anonymous stranger that he could questionably think of as a friend. This was a person, with a name and a home and casual clothes and beautiful eyes and the sweetest laugh and Grian couldn’t make his heart slow down.

“Hey, Scar,” Grian choked out. A treacherous confession tipped to the edge of his lips, one he hadn’t even fully known to be harboring until right at that moment. It had to be reeled in, replaced with a hasty, “I think I’m… really drunk right now.”

And that wasn’t a true admittance anymore, not entirely. He’d come down a lot, thanks to the effects of time and the sips of water settling in his system. Still, it was the only excuse he could think of to communicate his dizziness and heavy tongue, which originated now from a totally different source. 

Grian was mortified by how immensely this one new piece of information had affected him. Scar tilted his head, amusement coating his expression. To some degree, he seemed to sense the struggle the vet was undergoing. 

“We should get you to bed.” The other man stood, giving a big stretch. Grian’s eyes dipped to the way his shirt rode up as he raised his arms, and then snapped back as Scar held a hand out to him. “Come on, G.”

He tried to be nonchalant, taking it and standing with minimal need for assistance. It was hard to be entirely calm, though, when Scar did not let go of his hand while leading him down the length of the hall. Their fingers intertwined perfectly, slotting together like pieces of an endlessly confusing puzzle. He escorted Grian to his room, and paused there. 

“I’ll let you take care of the rest,” Scar said, a finality to his tone. “Goodnight, Grian. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Alright,” Grian whispered. “Goodnight, Scar.”

Scar smiled, and squeezed his hand. He took a step back, staring for a moment, before returning the way they’d come. Grian stayed there until he heard the click and lock of his front door shutting. 

Stumbling steps managed to get him into bed. He fell asleep nearly the second his head hit the pillow, pulled in that direction by alcohol and a new sort of giddiness that he didn’t have the words to describe. Whether or not those feelings were translated into his dreams was entirely his business.

Chapter Text

It’d been a very long time since Grian had woken up with a hangover quite as bad as the morning after his night with Mumbo. He wasn’t blackout drunk — remembered everything quite well, actually — but the effects certainly tried to make him feel as though he was. 

Immediately, he was aware of his own drunken forgetfulness in the form of his blinds not being drawn. Sunlight poured in, burning his eyes and churning in his skull. He couldn’t think through the pounding agitation there, made worse by a wave of dizziness when he attempted to sit up.

His whole body felt heavy, like something was sitting on his chest. Grian hadn’t been quite so weighed down since the time a Great Dane had gotten loose and barreled into him full-force two months prior. He wasn’t exactly pleased to experience the sensation again. 

It took a few minutes for him to work up the motivation to get out of bed, and longer still to hobble into the bathroom to pop some painkillers. His reflection looked dejectedly back at him as he swallowed around the pills and grimaced at the taste in his mouth. 

Grian sighed, resigning himself to a few more minutes of pain while he tried to tame his bedhead. He really should’ve chugged a whole lot more water the night before. Maybe he would’ve if he hadn’t been… distracted.

The vet paused, taking a deep breath in.

Ringmaster’s name, a kiss upon the shoulder, fingers intertwined with his own.

He was mortified. Grian was going to crawl into a hole and die, or change his name and move to another city. At the very least, he was never going to drink like that again. Grian had only ever seriously allowed himself to let go that much around Mumbo before.

What a horrifying way to find out that he was a touchy drunk.

Kissing his friend’s shoulder and invading his personal space was a new low for him. There was no way he was going to recover. The nightmarish mental picture of Ringmaster – Scar – staring at him in abject horror as he’d done such stupid things would be haunting the vet until the sun died. 

God, Scar’s face had been so red, his eyes so wide, his jaw dropped to the floor. He had really, truly been shocked at that. Grian couldn’t even blame him if he never wanted to be near the vet while he was drunk again. It would be a completely reasonable reaction, and one he would probably have to.

Imagining their positions flipped, if he were taking care of Scar while he was drunk – unlikely as that was with their individual identities in play – that stuff would’ve shocked him too. Without a doubt. If Scar leaned in without telling him, pressed lips to his skin, whispered comments that could easily be misconstrued into his ears, then Grian would…

Grian would…

Well, he most certainly wouldn’t be calm about the situation at all.

And, in fact, even the picture playing behind his eyes now had a strange effect on him. Not unpleasant, per say, but definitely strange. Inexplicably so.

Grian slumped against the sink, something new blooming in his chest. It reminded him of nausea, worked to heighten the symptoms of his dizziness, but burned like nothing else. The feeling sparked along his fingertips, ran through his lips, found an end behind his ribs, and refused to stop. 

“What–?”

His hand drifted up to rest over his heart. It was hammering furiously, almost like it was trying to break free, though he wasn’t sure what was causing it. 

Grian was scared, he realized suddenly. That had to be it. His racing pulse, sweaty palms, and quickened breathing were explained easily by an emotion of that variety. Although, for the life of him, Grian couldn’t figure out why.  

Was it because of the name he’d learned? 

Honestly, the vet wasn’t worried about getting his head lopped off this time around, since his standings with the Bamboozlers were all relatively positive. Maybe it was still possible that he was having some twisted version of a pavlovian response to the information?

Last time, when he’d accidentally stumbled across Jimmy’s real name, he’d nearly died. It was only due to the trio’s generosity and his own unthreatening nature that it hadn’t amounted to anything. Perhaps his self preservation instincts – few and far between as they were – had kicked in for this scenario specifically. There was nothing else, with his limited cognizant ability, it really could be besides a delayed fear response. 

Regardless of the emotions ailing him, Grian forced himself to focus on the present. He made himself breakfast, fed the cats, and then got himself ready for work. The painkillers did kick in somewhere in the middle of that, which was a huge relief. Not all of his grogginess and grossness had faded, but the worst was over. 

After he was dressed in his scrubs, he collected his bag and left. Grian had slept in late enough that his shift was nearly upon him, giving the vet little time to truly recover from his night out. Not that it was horrendously necessary. He’d operated on less fumes in the past and been alright. 

The walk was peaceful, uninterrupted. There were no villain attacks or people crowding the sidewalks to speak to heroes. Grian got to his job without any problems. 

Mumbo was not present – but Grian had expected as much. His friend wouldn’t have agreed to go out if he had a shift anytime before the early evening the next day. He was more practical than Grian in that regard, certainly kinder to himself. 

Skizz was there, though, friendly and talkative as ever. Grian barely had time to situate himself when he’d been engaged in conversation. He could not, however, keep track of it in the slightest. Skizz wasn’t talking particularly fast or about anything confusing, but the hangover was still clinging onto life in Grian’s skull, slowing his reaction time down significantly. 

“G-man,” Skizz tutted eventually, raising a brow. “I feel like I’m not getting to you.”

“Sorry, sorry. I zoned out,” Grian replied, doing his best impression of someone who had been actively listening. “You were saying something about your friend?”

Fortunately, it was easy to get Skizz to dive into his topic again, even if it wasn’t easy to follow along. Since they weren’t busy at the moment either, the other vet was happy to just trail behind Grian while he went about his business, yapping away. Several things were checked off his to-do list with his friend at his side and a lingering bad taste in his mouth.

Skizz didn’t seem to notice that his contributions were shallow at best and nonsensical at worst. As terrible as it was, Grian couldn’t give more. If he weren’t so dreadfully occupied with the heaviness in his own shoulders, he definitely would’ve done his best to be adequate company. As it was, he wouldn’t be able to make himself focus on much outside of his own inner turmoil for long enough to genuinely reply.

“Doctor,” one of the techs called as they came around the corner. They seemed surprised to see Grian there, having obviously not realized Skizz was talking to someone, given how quiet the other end of the conversation had been. Grian received a wave, and then their attention was away again. “The dog in exam room four is ready for you.”

“Oh, perfect, perfect,” Skizz chirped, clapping his hands together. He gave Grian a firm smack on the back, nearly knocking him over in the process, and then skipped away to do his job. “Bye, G!”

Grian was left alone to wander to the lobby again, ready to check over the schedule for the day. He was not expecting to step behind the desk right as the bell on the door chimed. A man stepped inside, a carrier crate under one arm and a hood pulled over his head. Grian watched him approach the desk, neck bent to keep his face out of view. There were no other people in their waiting room, though, so the vet couldn’t understand why he was acting this way.

“Excuse me, sir,” Grian called, causing the man to flinch hard and for the crate in his arms to give an irritated hiss. A cat, then. “May I help you with anything? Do you have an appointment or is this an emergency visit?”

“Um,” the man started. “No appointment, but it’s not, uh… not an emergency either.”

Grian frowned. Something about the guy’s voice was familiar to him. Not quite the sound of it, though — higher pitched and bashful. It was more the cadence and the tonality of the words, the way his sentence was strung together, that drew Grian’s attention. He got the strangest inkling in the back of his mind, even through the lingering weariness of the night prior’s activities.

The vet straightened, almost certain that a good look would put all of his fears to rest. “Wait a minute… Lift your head.”

The man took a deep breath in, and did as he was told.

Grian slammed his hands down on the desk, leaning forward fast enough to send a couple of papers flying. “Timmy?”

“Oh, gosh, Grian,” Jimmy groaned through his fabric mask. His brown eyes were unmistakable, and his nose scrunched with annoyance in a way that Grian knew by heart, because he’d seen it a million times. The voice was a surprise, though. “You have to use that name even here?”

“You mean, your name?” Grian nodded. “Obviously. And who is this little guy?”

The vet turned his attention down to the carrier, where a fluffy face was lingering by the door. In truth, he didn’t need to be introduced. He had seen pictures of Jimmy’s cats before enough times to recognize the little guy instantly.

“Hello, Norman,” Grian cooed. “Are you not feeling well, buddy?”

“It’s the same stuff as I mentioned the other day,” Jimmy sighed. “I wanted to bring him in sooner, but our, uh, mutual friend told me not to bother you. I’m not sure I’m even allowed to be here right now.”

“Hm? Oh, Scar?” Grian reached a finger through the bars of the door to let Norman sniff him. He wasn’t really thinking about what he was saying. “It’s fine. We got it sorted. That was all one big misunderstanding.”

“What did you just say?”

Grian paused, glancing up. Jimmy had gone very still, eyes widened in disbelief and face pale. The vet hadn’t seen him wear an expression like that since…

Oh God.

Scar hadn’t told the other Bamboozlers that Grian knew his name.

“How did you—? Why do you—?” Jimmy stammered, raising a quivering hand to point at him. “You called him—!”

 “Scar, yes, I did,” Grian confirmed quickly. He made a placating motion, coming around the desk to be face to face with Jimmy. The other was horrified, white as snow. “Listen, Tim. It’s no big deal. He told me last night and—“

“Last night?” Jimmy practically shouted now. Grian shushed him, looking around. There were no vet techs checking in on their conversation yet, but that probably wouldn’t be the case for long. “He saw you last night? After he practically threatened us with a swift end if we bothered you unnecessarily again?”

Grian frowned. “He did what?”

Jimmy didn’t answer him, much too preoccupied. “He saw you behind our backs, and then he told you his name? Oh, Eclipse is going to eat this up.”

“Well,” Grian fumbled, suddenly feeling flustered. The odd sensation from that morning came back without explanation, fluttering in his gut. His face felt hot. “He was taking care of me while I was drunk, and one thing led to another—“

“One thing led to another?” Jimmy’s eyes bulged wider. “Did he finally—?”

“Don’t cut me off, Tim,” Grian groaned, though this reaction was weird, even for him. 

Grian hadn’t noticed anything abnormal until Scar was mentioned, and then, all at once, a cacophony of things he couldn’t digest was being thrown at him. Though he couldn’t diagnose the reason, his temper got a lot shorter, mind racing to overanalyze everything the other was saying, and another bout of rapid pounding starting up in his heart. 

He must just be scared that Jimmy was jumping to conclusions about him — that was a reasonable line of thinking. Jimmy was friendly towards him recently, but he was once the Bamboozler most likely to end his life. To witness him have such a bad reaction towards Grian’s new knowledge was bound to stir up loads of unpleasantness. 

“Scar told me his name because we’ve known each other for a while, and it was frustrating to him that I didn’t know it,” Grian clarified. “Nothing nefarious or whatever you were thinking.”

Jimmy’s furrowed brows certainly implied a level of continued terror. “Nothing nefarious… Yeah, I’m sure. Not on your end, at least. You’re far too dense.”

“Dense?” Grian’s jaw dropped. “What in the world—“

“Not that I blame you,” Jimmy interrupted, putting his free hand on his hip and tutting. “I bet it hasn’t even registered as a possibility in your mind when it comes to him. Anyone else acting so painfully stupid around you, and you would’ve noticed for sure.” 

“Noticed?” Grian blinked, thoroughly out of his depth. “Noticed what? Is someone hurt again or something?”

“Ah, there it is. You only think about work around us,” Jimmy said, snapping his fingers as though he’d realized an important detail. “We’re just a job to you, probably barely your friends.”

Grian opened and closed his mouth over and over again. The swirling in his gut was climbing up his throat, bringing with it a new wave of almost-dizziness. Clearly, he was more than a little overwhelmed to suddenly be called a friend to the Bamboozlers. “What are you talking about, Timmy? We’re… friends.”

“Mhm, sure. You hesitated, though,” Jimmy pointed out. “Means you take longer to reach conclusions about us. Which, for a civilian, makes sense, but it also, y’know, explains quite a lot. That’s all I’m saying, dude.”

The blond man raised his brows at Grian, and the vet sputtered, beyond confused. He was relatively sure his ability to understand social cues was being judged, and yet it sounded like an entirely different conversation at the same time. Jimmy wasn’t the best at getting his point across when he had one hip cocked to support the weight of his cat and a smug glint in his eyes. 

“Oh, can it, Tim,” Grian eventually huffed. He rounded the desk again to check over some basic scheduling things. 

“Fine, fine. Process this at your own speed,” Jimmy relented, shrugging. “He’ll take anything you give him, even if you don’t know what he’s trying to communicate.”

“Either tell me straight to my face, or stop with your nonsense,” the vet shot back. “I don’t have time for puzzles.”

“If I said anything more, I’d be stuffed and hung from the ceiling like a really gangly chandelier,” Jimmy replied, which was a horrible mental picture that worked to sufficiently scare Grian away from pursuing their topic. “Anyway, can you check Norman for worms?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can,” Grian muttered. “Room two is open right now, and the other staff are busy with their chores, so they shouldn’t ask questions. Come on.”

“Wait, don’t I need to fill out paperwork? For your files?”

“No, Tim,” Grian scoffed. “I still value my life, thank you.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t kill us to fill out one sheet,” Jimmy told him. “We do tons of paperwork when we go anywhere else that requires it, and no one there has to die.”

“Yeah, but they just think you’re regular civilians, so it doesn’t matter if you’re in their database.” Grian gathered up his stuff and started towards the exam room, trusting Jimmy to trail behind him. “I bet you don’t even wear masks to those appointments.”

“Why would we? They don’t know anything about us,” Jimmy said, doing exactly as expected. “Actually, Scar only just made us start carrying these fabric ones around with us, since that day he ran into you in public by accident. Before that, we didn’t have to worry about some random civilian spoiling our identity.”

They ducked into a small room with an exam table in the center and a couple of cabinets and a sink off to one side. There were chairs too, though Grian wouldn’t take long enough for those to be necessary. “Why would I be the only person that would recognize you guys? Wouldn’t the heroes also be able to spot you while they’re out and about?”

“Technically, yes, but it’s less likely. You’ve seen us up close for hours at a time,” Jimmy explained. “They see us in fights only, and those don’t usually last for long if we can help it. It doesn’t give them time to get to know our mannerisms. Like how you could tell it was me just now, despite never having heard my voice before. A hero couldn’t do that.”

“Really? I mean, I guess that makes sense.” The vet showed him where to set the carrier down, and they began the process of coaxing Norman out onto the table. “Still, aren’t there pictures and stuff out there? Couldn’t they memorize what the upper half of your face looks like?”

Luckily, the little guy was fairly friendly. The furball emerged, and sat politely while Grian did a basic examination of his physical state. Norman was healthy – a good weight, with an alertness in his eyes that was pleasing to see. 

“Pictures don’t do as much as the heroes would need them to. Tons of people are born with similar enough features that it’s hard to distinguish,” Jimmy said. “Besides, the bottom halves of our faces are too exquisite for anyone to notice the top halves when we’re out on the town.”

“You three are all the same,” Grian grumbled, remembering the similar way Scar had bragged about the Bamboozlers’ beauty during one of their first meetings. He’d brushed it off back then, but hearing it again now, he couldn’t help wondering how true the statement was. Grian’s chest gave yet another lurch, so he forced himself to focus on his job.

Figuring Jimmy wouldn’t have thought to collect a stool sample before coming, he went ahead and raised the cat’s tail and checked underneath. Grian furrowed his brows as he spotted something amiss — little white bits, like grains of rice. He’d seen them hundreds of times in the past.

“Tapeworms,” Grian said. “We can collect a stool sample too if you’d like, but I already know the result.”

“You’re certain?”

Grian nodded.

Jimmy straightened. “Is that, like, bad?”

“Not if it’s treated properly,” Grian reassured him. “I’ll prescribe him some medication. Won’t take long to clear up.”

“Oh, okay,” Jimmy sighed, relaxing. “Thanks, Grian.”

They chatted for a bit longer about the necessary steps, how to prevent this in the future, and whether or not his other cat would have to worry about getting worms as well. The vet found it easy to get lost in his job — in these discussions he had every day. It was normal, routine. Compared to the subtle twisting of his insides throughout the day, which was slowly driving him insane, he appreciated the familiarity. 

Eventually, it came time for Grian to bid him farewell. There were no other clients or staff waiting for them in the lobby, so they were safe to talk openly. No one would know that he’d completed a whole examination for a Bamboozler when they weren’t looking. The idea of getting away with something like that was oddly thrilling.

In all honesty, he’d forgotten his promise to make Jimmy pay full-price. So, he was a little shocked when he was offered a goodbye handshake, and several bills were slipped into his palm.

“Four hundred should cover it, right?” Jimmy shot him a smile via his crinkled eyes, and then ducked out the door. “Bye, Grian!”

“Should cover it?” Grian blinked. “This is way more than I would’ve charged.”

But his companion was already gone. He pursed his lips, watching through the glass as Jimmy’s form retreated further down the sidewalks. 

“Wait, don’t go,” he muttered under his breath, words barely audible. “You overpaid. Come back.”

Jimmy, predictably, did not acknowledge him or come back. It was unlikely such a quiet exclamation had even reached him.

“Oh no, he can’t hear me! That sucks.” Grian pocketed the money, not feeling nearly as guilty as he probably should have. “Nothing I can do now.”

He returned to his tasks, a whole shift left to complete. Skizz waved him over, and he promptly forgot about the tightness in his heart.

A scream, blood-curdling and overflowing with the fear of death echoed through the small room. It came to a deafening end, and then restarted once more, like a broken record of unbearable pain. 

Grian sighed, his focus interrupted by the sound. “Do you mind?”

“C’mon, Grian! Lighten up,” Eclipse snorted from where she was perched at the end of the bed. “It’s funny. You’ve seen the clip, right?”

Grian looked up from the makeshift cast he’d only just finished putting on Jimmy’s ring finger. It wasn’t his best work, but having pulled it together from what he could find at the clinic after the text telling him about the situation, it could’ve been a lot worse. 

The clip in question was the source of the screaming being emitted from Eclipse’s phone. It showed the blurry drone footage of their most recent heist at a warehouse on the edge of town, said to be holding quite a few valuable artifacts from a museum. There was nothing intense or impressive about that footage, though. Just pure stupidity.

In the video, Jimmy was pictured slipping cartoonishly off a crate, limbs flailing out around him, and eventually, his whole body weight landing hard atop his hand on the concrete ground. The result was the shrill screech now circulating through the entire city’s social media feed. 

Honestly, the cause of the injury was so unbelievably stupid that Grian couldn’t even be fully mad that he was doing work on his day off from the clinic. He’d actually needed to take a minute to calm down from his fits of laughter when he’d been filled in on the situation at hand. A broken bone was bad, but it was such a Jimmy way for the whole ordeal to go down that he struggled to think of it as anything beyond pure comedy. 

No hero was involved, no massive fight, no crazy clash with a weapon had brought this upon him. It was just his own clumsiness and gravity. 

Perhaps the only genuinely frustrating part of it all was the fact that it was a widely-known injury, meaning the city’s hospitals would collectively be keeping an eye out for patients coming in to get broken hands or fingers treated over the course of the next few days.  

The city always sent out alerts to the local hospitals whenever they were aware that a villain had sustained an injury that might be identifiable. Grian hadn’t known that when starting this little hobby of his, but it was officially divulged to him not long ago — explaining why he remained as their primary medical aide, even for problems that should’ve been taken to a human physician. 

“Of course, I’ve seen it,” Grian replied, but he let Eclipse shove the phone in his direction once more. Jimmy made a noise of complaint, which was quickly covered by that same familiar shrieking. The vet smiled at the goofy way the video version of Jimmy collapsed, falling after being a bit too cocky about his ability to hold something heavy. A brilliant consequence. “You’re kind of dumb, Tim.”

“Hey!” Jimmy scoffed, crossing his arms. “It really hurt, you know! Not funny!”

“Yes, breaking one singular finger and screaming like you were being stabbed repeatedly is not funny in the slightest,” a new voice said, the door opening behind them. “I bet five hundred dollars that if I got the same injury, I wouldn’t scream at all.”

“That’s hardly fair. Your pain tolerance is inhuman, Scar,” Grian said, rolling his eyes. He glanced back at the other man. “But I’ll take that bet, so long as I’m the one that gets to break your finger.”

“If that’s what you want, Doctor,” Scar laughed from behind the cotton mask adorning his face. He was dressed in casual attire – a white shirt that hugged his frame just right, and some regular jeans. Grian was still getting used to seeing him like that, but it was hardly his biggest adjustment as of late.

For the last three visits Grian had with the trio, whether in their base or elsewhere, they’d taken to wearing these types of medical masks instead of their usual gas masks. Two of the three had been heard on various occasions, but Eclipse was a new addition to that mix, and it was freaking his mind out. Luckily, she was too preoccupied with the video to speak often.

Scar’s voice was, as always, an anchor of familiarity, something he knew by heart already. It was nice, honestly, to hear it so often recently without the robotic twinge. He preferred this sound much better — the rumble of it in his chest, the way it pitched from high to low, the extravagant tone it took on when he was being dramatic. Grian loved it.

His stomach flipped, threatening to knock him over and steal the breath from his lungs. The vet was barely able to shock himself out of his daze before he could be consumed by heat with a firm pinch to his own arm. 

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes from the other man’s face. Staring wasn’t polite, especially not with his new tendency of going a little red every time he did it. 

He still hadn’t found the root of that problem, but it was especially prevalent around the Bamboozlers. The vet just couldn’t think of a single emotion that made sense with the scenario. A civilian surrounded by villains capable of ruining his life should have a pretty clear set of options laid out for him ahead of time. 

Yet, none of the guesses he’d explored quite suited this miraculous sensation, and he was running low on options. It wasn’t fear, like he’d originally hypothesized, nor was it paranoia, sadness, nausea, anger, irritation, or anything of the sort. Nervousness was the closest he’d gotten, actually. But it also made very little logical sense. Why would he feel nervous around someone like Scar, who put in extra effort to keep him as comfortable as possible?

Grian gave one thorough smack to his chest, willing his heart to stop skipping beats at inconvenient times, and turned his attention back to Jimmy. The cast kept his finger straight, taped to the one beside it, as was the usual procedure. It’d work fairly well for the time being, but the vet would keep an eye out in case things went south. If Jimmy’s finger seemed to be healing wrong, he’d take him to the hospital. 

He wasn’t worried, though. Breaks were similar enough between humans and animals. He double-checked his handiwork, then decided it was good enough.

“Alright, Tim,” Grian started. “You know the rules of a break, I’m sure. I’ll check up on it constantly, but until I say it’s fully healed, don’t do anything to push yourself. No pick-pocketing or punching or taking the cast off without my permission. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy replied, giving him a mock salute. “I’ll only pick-pocket a little bit.”

“Good luck,” Eclipse said, tone rife with amusement. Her voice was a smooth thing, almost melodic without the distortion of her modulator or the rasp of an oxygen mask. “Invisible or not, no one’s gonna be able to miss you stealing from them with that bulky thing on your hand.”

“Oh yeah?” 

Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest, and then, in the blink of an eye, disappeared. Grian blinked, staring at the spot on the bed where he had been. The mattress remained weighed down as if someone were seated there, but not even a sliver of the man could be seen. It decompressed a second later, indicating Jimmy standing, and eliminating the last clue as to where the guy might be.

Grian glanced at his surroundings, trying to decipher what was happening. Jimmy’s room wasn’t particularly remarkable. 

Compared to Eclipse’s bright pink aesthetic, and Scar’s homely vibes, Jimmy seemed like a regular bachelor without much passion for decorating. His bedsheets were plaid, matching his pillows, there was a regular wooden desk against one wall, some lamps in each corner of the room, a plush chair, a cowboy hat hung up like it was on display, and not much else.

Despite his observations, he still wasn’t able to narrow down Jimmy’s location. He couldn’t hear steps, heavy breaths, the ruffle of clothes, or anything of the sort. It was unnerving, actually, to lose track of someone otherwise known for their noisy presence. 

Grian glanced at Scar and Eclipse, intending on gauging their reactions, but both of them had let their eyes fall shut. He supposed they were listening. Though, for what he wasn’t sure. Grian couldn’t hear a thing. 

Suddenly, Eclipse reached out, grabbing onto something and twisting. 

“Ow, ow, let go!” Jimmy’s voice screeched. He became visible with the contact, the room’s light distorting to bring him back into view. Eclipse had latched onto the man’s wrist with impressive precision. “Geez, alright, let me at least get to the pick-pocketing attempt before you snatch me out of thin air!”

Eclipse released him and rolled her eyes. Jimmy shimmered out of visibility once more. Not a second later, Grian felt something in his back pocket.

“Timmy,” he spat. “Get your hand off my wallet this instant!”

The sensation fell away, replaced with a disgruntled grumbling somewhere behind him. “Aw, man,” Jimmy said, fading into view. “That’s the first time Grian’s ever caught me.”

Grian’s jaw dropped open.

Scar beat him to the punch. “The first time?” 

He looked just as baffled as Grian felt. 

“Chill, dude! Just took small bills, nothing he’d notice!” Jimmy raised his arms defensively, a nervous smile on his face as his gaze bounced between his teammate and the vet. “Right, G? You never noticed?”

“You decided to steal,” Scar hissed. “From the one civilian who freely helps us with problems we can’t solve ourselves?”

“It’s fine, Scar,” Grian sighed. “No, Tim, I didn’t notice.”

It was the truth, at least. No matter what amount had been stolen from his wallet, Grian didn’t tend to carry much money around with him, so he knew it couldn’t be anything genuinely devastating. 

Besides, Jimmy’s four hundred bucks – with the assistance of his most recent paycheck – kept his bank account very warm for the past two weeks. He’d used it to purchase an unhealthy amount of takeout. It felt good. 

“Right. Go easy on him, Scar,” Eclipse chimed. “It’s not like he’s taking enough to cancel out the cash we’ve all seen you smuggling into Grian’s wallet.”

“You,” Grian started, whirling around to face the other man. “What?”

This was the first he was hearing of such things. Probably for good reason, too.

They had talked about this after the incident with the watch. He allowed the gift to be a rare exception, but anything more was against his wishes. Grian didn’t want dirty money, didn’t want to be paid for his services, and he especially didn’t want to receive that sort of thing after explicitly making it clear that he didn’t want it.

Scar shrunk back as Grian stepped closer, jamming a pointer finger into his chest. “You…”

“Oh, now Scar’s in trouble,” Jimmy snickered. “Good thinking, Eclipse.”

“Yeah, good thinking, Eclipse,” Scar muttered, pale. His hands felt around blindly behind him, obviously searching for an escape. Unfortunately for Grian, he found one in the form of the doorknob. “You know what? I’m just realizing that I left something in the oven. Let me go take care of that.”

“Don’t you dare–!” 

Grian started forward, reaching out like he was going to grab the other, but he was forced to stop by a sudden red glow. The thick sensation of Scar’s powers surrounded his arms, slowing them nearly to a stop. Green eyes shot him a wink, and then he was gone. 

Instantly, once the door shut, the glow faded, and momentum returned. Grian stumbled forward, just barely stopping himself from hitting his head on the wall. Vengeance thwarted, he spun on his heels, turning to his only other options.

“I need one of you to go make him regret not listening to me,” he told Eclipse and Jimmy. “Drop an ice cube down the back of his shirt or something.”

Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. “What would we get in exchange?” 

“Never mind that! Grian’s giving us an excuse to mess with Scar,” Eclipse exclaimed, jumping to her feet and throwing her phone back onto Jimmy’s bed. She rushed to the door, almost knocking the vet over in the process of yanking it open. “I’m not passing it up.”

“Hey, wait,” Jimmy stammered. He also got to his feet, hurrying after her. “Wait for me!”

Grian was left alone in Jimmy’s room suddenly, all three Bamboozlers elsewhere. He took the moment to dig through his wallet, grumbling to himself all the while. It wasn’t hard to figure out what didn’t belong there, given his aforementioned personal philosophy of never carrying around a certain amount at a time. 

The excess was dropped on Jimmy’s desk. It was accompanied by a sticky note containing a list of things he could buy for the future, when they’d inevitably have to do minor amounts of physical therapy to get his finger back to working order. Grian didn’t know the most about stuff like this, but he had time to learn the basics before the other was healed enough to need it.

Distantly, there was a screaming from down the hallway. He was about to leave the room to check on the three when there came several dinging sounds. Grian frowned, glancing towards where Eclipse had dropped her phone. 

The screen was on, and it looked as though a text message had come through. Not thinking much of it, Grian picked up the phone, intending on carrying it to its owner. He hadn’t really thought about what might accidentally be waiting on the screen for him when he got there.

Car Guy

Hey Lizzie! We still on for today?

Car Guy

Slayer’s giving me some trouble, so I might be running a little late, but I’ll be there!  

Car Guy

Unless we’re not on for today… haha… in which case… I won’t be there! Love you and all that!

Grian frowned at the assortment of messages. His eyes scanned them over and over again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He shouldn’t have looked at all — some muted part of his brain repeated this over and over again — but now, he’d seen something he absolutely shouldn’t have.

“Oh, great,” he muttered, wincing. It would be just his luck that something as classified as a villain’s name would be waiting out in the open for him to find. Grian forced himself to look away, clearing his throat. The world was distant around him, made unimportant by the new information he’d just learned. He straightened, clearing his throat. “Okay, just play it cool. Play it cool. She doesn’t have to know.”

She doesn’t have to know how horribly her personal space was just invaded, the nasty little voice in his head added, guilt welling in his throat. Play it cool.  

He stepped out into the hall, where the sound of voices had gotten significantly louder. The phone weighed heavily in his hands, buzzing again as that contact obviously sent another message. He forced a neutral expression, but his knees shook as he rounded the corner into the main area. 

It wasn’t hard to find the Bamboozlers once he was there. They were all crowded around the middle of the room. Jimmy had jumped on Scar’s back, and was screeching as the other man was attempting to throw him off. Eclipse — not Lizzie, just Eclipse, because he wasn’t supposed to know that yet — had wrapped herself around one of Scar’s legs in an attempt to trip him. They made a ridiculous picture, one that certainly would’ve brought a smile to his face if he weren’t so mortified.

“Um, Eclipse,” Grian spoke up, willing the shaking in his voice to lessen. All three of them froze, the whole of the room's attention shifting in his direction. He held out the phone, screen down. “I think… someone’s texting you.”

Eclipse’s brows furrowed. She untangled herself from the others and trotted over to him. 

Grian swallowed hard as she took the phone — bad move. She was keen as ever, gaze catching the involuntary tell instantly. Her eyes narrowed. “You okay, Grian?” 

“Yeah,” Grian lied. He could feel himself paling, barely restraining his outward fear. Guilt gnawed at his chest, churned in his gut, and shot pangs of cold terror through him. He’d screwed up, and now, Eclipse was looking at him with a scarily calculating awareness. 

His heart jumped into his chest as she flipped over her phone and the screen came on, revealing the recently sent messages. He watched her read them, watched her realize what had happened, watched her look back up at him. Her blue eyes hardened, not a shred of doubt hidden within them.

“Grian,” Eclipse whispered. “You saw these, didn’t you?”

Grian swallowed again, forcing a tight smile. He couldn’t make himself form the words, so he settled for a smaller admittance. “Maybe? Who… Um, who is that guy? Do you, uh, have a date later or something?”

“A date?” Both Scar and Jimmy’s attention had been caught by that. They stopped their fighting to scramble over to the two of them. Eclipse’s attention did not stray away from Grian for a single second, not even to close her phone or hide the screen from her teammates. The damage was done the second their heads peered over her shoulder. 

Scar spoke up first, “Car Guy? Who’s Car Guy?”

“Love you?” Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “Why’s there a guy saying that he loves you in your messages?”

 “Wait a minute,” Scar trailed off, growing quiet and confusion turning into something else. “Is that your… real name?”

“Grian,” Eclipse gritted out, lips pulling up into a sneer. “I’m going to kill you.”

Grian knew she wasn’t joking.

He stumbled back a few steps and she lunged forward. Scar was faster, catching her arm and yanking her back. Jimmy attempted to grab her too, but she elbowed him in the gut, causing him to double over. Eclipse was genuinely fighting against them, genuinely straining to get away, genuinely trying to kill him.

Grian didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where he could run, didn’t know if he could run even if he did. His legs were shaking too hard, fear catapulting through his veins. Rooted to the floor, all he could do was hope that Scar’s hold on her was enough. 

It was not.

Eclipse changed her stance. 

Scar saw it before Grian did, squeezing tighter, but nothing was able to stop her once she’d made up her mind. The three in the room could only look on in horror as shadows encapsulated her body, her eyes changing from blue to an inky black. Suddenly, without warning, it was exploding outwards. Grian saw a wave of black raging towards him, and then, he saw nothing at all.

It hit with a force that sent him stumbling back, tripping over his own shoes, and falling to the ground. Grian thought he’d closed his eyes in the commotion, but when he went to open them, he found that they already were. He tried to look down at his hands, but he couldn’t find them. It made his mind spin, and nausea well up in his gut. Grian tried again and again, blinking rapidly, but his eyes wouldn’t open, his vision wouldn’t clear.

Every ounce of his sight was lost, not a drop of light or shape remaining. The expanse of nothingness stretching out before him wasn’t due to shut eyelids or a blindfold or some other cause. He was actually, genuinely blind.

In a matter of moments, he’d come to understand why other civilians caught within this shadowy veil often sought psychological help. It was like losing a piece of himself, and all over some stupid text message.

The vet heard a grunt a little distance away, then hurried footsteps. 

“Grian!” Scar sounded winded, not too far off, but not within range either. Grian didn’t know where he was, how much he’d moved, what the rest of the room looked like. “Lizzie, leave him alone!” 

A hand latched onto the front of his shirt, and he was yanked up. He stumbled as he was dragged, everything a blur, his whole body disoriented. Finally, he was shoved forward. His knee bumped into a wooden post, sending pain rocketing up his body. There was a slamming noise behind him, followed by the click of a lock, and the metallic shing of something being unsheathed.

“What did you see?”

Eclipse was close, maybe a foot or two away — or maybe not? Grian couldn’t get a read on the room’s depth, or the distance between them at all. He was lost like this. 

Figuring it best not to leave an already-angered villain hanging, he forced himself to choke out a small, “What… do you mean?” 

He felt something cold against his throat. Sight wasn’t necessary to deduce exactly what that was. Eclipse’s voice was low and growling as she repeated, “What did you see, Grian?”

“Everything,” Grian admitted. He couldn’t even begin to form a lie. It wouldn’t be fair to her to try, anyway. It was Eclipse’s classified information that he’d accidentally seen, and to pretend like he hadn’t disrespected her that way would be cruel. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to.”

There was a loud sigh, and the tip of her spear retreated. Grian felt a hand on his shoulder, and then a palm covered his eyes. “Release.”

Instantly, Grian was blinded by an onslaught of lights. He hissed, scrambling to rub at his eyes. Color and brightness and sensation returned to him at a shockingly fast rate, burning his brain. 

“Ow, man,” Grian complained. “Were you always able to do that on command?”

“Only sometimes. It eats up a lot of energy, so I don’t do it often,” Eclipse replied. 

When Grian’s surprise had subsided enough for him to make out his surroundings, he realized they were in her bedroom. She was leaning against the door, spinning her spear – which had been retracted into its knife form – between her fingers. Though she looked relaxed and wasn’t poised to slit his throat anymore, the vet didn’t lower his guard. 

Eclipse was, after all, still blocking the only exit. 

Judging by the sounds of muffled curses and furniture scuffing, he guessed the other two would be blind for a while longer, unable to come to his aid. He was stuck in the room with a villain he’d wronged and no guarantee he would make it out alive. 

“I can’t believe you,” Eclipse muttered, scowling. Her eyes, which were now used to glare holes into his head, had returned to their usual blue color. “What a stupid way to have my identity exposed. I’d been hoping to last significantly longer than those other two idiots.”

Grian smiled nervously. “My bad.”

He remembered how shocked Jimmy had been to learn Scar had revealed his name so easily, but that was apparently nothing in comparison to Eclipse’s reaction. Scar told him later that she’d yelled at her teammates for hours about their inability to keep themselves safe. The only thing that had stopped her was being reminded that she was, actually, the one responsible for revealing Jimmy’s name.

“If you’d like, I can pretend I never saw anything,” Grian offered. 

“Don’t bother. It’s too late,” she huffed. Eclipse pushed herself off the door and stepped forward. Begrudgingly, she extended a hand in his direction. “My name is Lizzie. Nice to meet you, or whatever.”

Grian stared at her open palm for several seconds, as if trying to deduce if she was going to use the handshake to pull him in and kill him, but eventually went through with it. Her grip was firm – too firm – almost as though she was attempting to break his fingers. Sucking in a breath, he chuckled, “Um, Lizzie?”

She didn’t seem to hear him, simply glaring down at their hands and squeezing tighter. Grian clenched his teeth to keep from appearing too distressed, but sirens were going off in his head. The only thing that cut through the room’s tense silence was the sound of a ding, like another text message had come in.

“Lizzie, your phone,” he choked out. “I think… Car Guy texted you again!”

Lizzie’s eyes went wide, and she released him with a gasp. Grian panted for air, stretching his fingers to test if they were broken. Meanwhile, Lizzie fumbled for her phone. As soon as she’d pulled it out of her pocket, it began to ring. He saw that same contact name from earlier flash on the screen.

She became visibly worried, glancing between the phone and Grian. He shrugged and gestured for her to answer. Nodding, she picked up, and then resumed a rushed version of her previous nonchalant lean against the door. Clearing her throat, she said, “Hey.”

A muffled voice replied to her, but Grian couldn’t hear that part. Lizzie’s furthering furrowed brows were his only clue. She straightened, reaching up to nervously fidget with her hair.

“No, babe,” Lizzie hastily blurted. “No, I wasn’t wanting to call off our…”

She stared at Grian, visibly uncomfortable.

“Our date at all,” she finished. “I meant to answer you. Just like Slayer’s messing with you, my Bamboozlers were distracting me.”

Grian frowned. 

Babe? Date? Slayer? Bamboozlers?

None of those words made sense in this already confusing context. The first two implied romantic interest, which was crazy in and of itself, because he was pretty sure her teammates would’ve told Grian if they knew she was seeing someone. It was the last two outstanding words that threw him off balance, though. 

He’d been too preoccupied earlier to fully process all the text messages he’d read. Now that he had time to think about it though, he did vaguely remember seeing Slayer mentioned – capitalized and everything, like it was specifically referring to the hero. And just a second ago, she’d casually mentioned the Bamboozlers, as if the person on the other end knew very well that she was part of that group.

But that couldn’t be the case, right? He had to have misheard her or misunderstood something, because if he was guessing correctly, then that meant Lizzie was dating someone who was associated with the heroes and knew about her status as a Bamboozler.

It clicked in his head.

The vet’s jaw dropped. “You’re dating Furioso?”

Lizzie whirled around to face him, eyes wide and brows raised. She practically tackled him in an attempt to shove a hand over his mouth. Notably, though, she wasn’t denying it. He was exactly right.

While he absorbed this new discovery, Lizzie finished up her phone call. “Listen, babe, I have to go. Pick me up at my place tonight?”

There was a buzzing answer on the other end, and her face flushed.

“Right, love you too,” she replied, tone almost sheepish. “Bye.”

She hung up, and Grian felt the blade return to his neck. He gasped through the hand that still covered his mouth. The vet expected to be threatened again, to have his every fear displayed before him, to be cursed by the woman until he crumpled into dust.

“You can’t tell the others,” she said instead, desperation bleeding out of her. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and he could feel her hand shaking. “You can’t.”

Grian’s brows furrowed, but he nodded. She released him, stepping back and falling onto her bed. Pink hair splayed out behind her, and an arm tossed over her eyes, she looked nothing like the terrifying villain that had dragged him into the room to begin with. 

Unsure of how to begin, he chose to simply sit next to her and say, “They don’t know?”

“No,” she groaned. “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell them, but it’s just… this isn’t really a topic you can bring up at the drop of a hat, you know?”

Grian didn’t know, but he could make some assumptions. A villain dating a hero was a scandal like no other. A few months prior, simply the idea of Furioso crushing on Lizzie was absurd to him. Dating was on an entirely different level from that. 

“How long have you been seeing him?”

Lizzie shrugged. “A year.”

Grian dug his nails into the mattress to keep from freaking out. He didn’t think she needed that kind of energy at the moment. “Oh? A… whole year?”

“In my defense,” Lizzie sighed. She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. “Six of those months were spent trying to figure out if a relationship like ours could even work. It also took me a while to realize he wasn’t just doing this to get information out of me.”

There was a glint to her eyes that Grian had never seen before, something soft and secretive. It was as if the mere mention of her partner made her happy. The vet had little experience with romance himself, but he knew this was what it was supposed to look like. 

As unconventional, difficult, dangerous as a relationship between a hero and a villain was bound to be, the two were obviously getting through it together. He had no room to impose on them. Lizzie was content, no doubt having already considered all the downsides long before she’d ever met Grian. If she had her heart set on it, he knew she could achieve anything.

“You should tell Scar and Jimmy soon,” Grian said. She glanced over at him, visibly unsure. “It’ll only be worse to keep putting it off. Besides, those guys are both giant softies. I’m sure they’ll understand that the heart wants what it wants.”

Lizzie considered him carefully, mulling over his advice. “Yeah,” she whispered finally. “Yeah, they probably will.”

“I’m on your side, at least,” Grian assured her. “But there’s nothing to worry about. They care about you a lot.”

A loud banging on the door startled both of them out of their moment. 

“Lizzie!” Jimmy’s voice echoed through the base, fists falling hard against the wood. “Scar’s got an axe. Release Grian, or we’re breaking in ourselves!”

“Oh my God,” Grian groaned. He stood and stormed across the room, irritated. The door was thrown open to reveal Jimmy, with his hand still raised to knock, and Scar a few paces behind him with an axe held above his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Lower that this instant!”

Scar did as he was told, hiding the weapon behind his back. “Doctor! You’re alright!”

“Of course he’s alright,” Lizzie declared, joining him at the threshold to glare at her teammates. “We were just having an… enlightening conversation. I was never actually going to kill him.”

“Good,” Jimmy chirped, clapping his hands together. “Now that this whole thing’s cleared up… Who’s the guy on your phone, Liz?”

Lizzie’s brow twitched. She shot a look at Grian, worried and panicking. He patted her back, and stepped over to the man with the axe. “I should get going. You can have these deeply personal conversations without me. Come on, Scar.”

Scar nodded, abandoning the weapon to escort Grian out the usual way. The vet donned his blindfold, and allowed himself to be directed up and out to the car. It was a little disconcerting to be unable to see again, but he was kept calm by the knowledge that this was only temporary, just a cloth over his eyes and nothing more. 

The drive was mostly silent. They were nearing the end of it when his companion piped up. “Sorry that Lizzie scared you today.”

“It’s alright,” Grian said. “I deserved it for prying.”

He was, for the most part, already over the terror. The Bamboozlers rarely scared him these days, and it wasn’t often his life actually felt like it was at risk. He bounced back a lot faster when it did occasionally occur. Maybe that should’ve been concerning, but he had quite a bit more on his mind.

The car pulled over, meaning they’d arrived, but Grian didn’t pull the blindfold off yet. “Hey, Scar?”

Scar hummed in acknowledgement. Grian blindly reached out and took him by the hand, squeezing it.

“Promise me that you’ll listen to everything Lizzie has to say to you when you get back,” he said. “It’s important to her that you and Jimmy understand.”

There were a few beats of silence, and then Scar laughed slightly. “Well, if you asked it of me, Doctor, then I’ll be sure to do that.”

His hand was brought up, and a chaste kiss was pressed to his knuckles. 

Grian flushed, that same unfamiliar sensation of heat and buzzing returning to his gut. He could feel the imprint of Scar’s lips against his skin for ages after his hand was released. The world became such an immediate daze that he didn’t even realize he’d gotten out of the car until all that was left of it was its retreating tail lights.

The vet forced himself to focus on walking the rest of the way home, putting the odd sensation behind him. Maybe he’d figure out what this meant for him eventually, but for now, he couldn’t wrap his head around it. There was still time. No reason to rush.

The television buzzed with melancholic music as the expected third-act breakup began in Grian’s mindless movie. 

A trashy script combined with a cacophony of clichés made for a rather boring display. Misunderstandings always got resolved quickly enough that he didn’t understand why they bothered including them in the plot, and the two characters that actually had chemistry didn’t even end up together.

He could already tell that this movie wouldn’t occupy his thoughts for a single moment once it was done. It wasn’t even worth leaving a scathing online review for it, as he was wont to do on occasion.

He’d put it on out of curiosity, and stayed because he had nothing better to do. The evening air was chilly, so walking around was out of the question, and Mumbo was on shift, meaning plans weren’t possible either. Grian had already gone through his usual list of activities to do when alone for the day, but it was rare he actually ended up resorting to terrible movies.

His shift at the clinic wasn’t bad that morning. He’d worked early hours, and after taking a nap once he got home, Grian made food, played with his cats, read up on new medical journals, watched the latest episodes of a show he was binging, and then fell into silence. 

Embarrassingly, without a fight on the news or the promise of his favorite trio paying him a visit, he was bored. Were it not for the nap taken earlier, he would’ve just called it and gone to bed, but the hours ticked into midnight and he still wasn’t tired.

The movie was supposed to fix that. Maybe he couldn’t get genuine enjoyment out of it, but Grian had hoped the sheer stupidity of its content would be a little funny. Still, as it echoed the same oversaturated plot made a million times before, he found that it didn’t quite hit the spot. 

So, when his phone vibrated on the coffee table beside him, he nearly threw out his back trying to jump to his feet. The screen lit up with a text message from a contact that made his heart thump against his ribs and his stomach twist. 

Your Favorite Guy 💍

Hey, G! Are you busy? I might need help with something.

Your Favorite Guy 💍

Might be a big ask though.

Grian didn’t hesitate to send his response.

Grian

I’m free! What can I do?

The other man took a minute to get back to him. In that time, Grian grew anxious. He could already tell by the tone of the message that it had something to do with Scar’s work as a villain. It didn’t explicitly describe an injury though, as his texts regarding that measure usually aimed to do, so what exactly this could be about was up in the air.

To ease some of his concerns, he switched channels over to the news. Unsurprisingly, there was a report of villainous activity. However, the specific situation caught his attention. 

“A bank robbery,” Grian whispered, scanning the words that ran along the bottom of the screen. “My old bank… They finally did it.”

After weeks of misdirection through the medium of various little other crimes, the Bamboozlers had, at last, pulled off their big heist. Judging by the worried look on the reporter’s face, it’d gone off exactly as planned too. Grian listened intently for several minutes, growing more and more excited as he learned new details.

Allegedly, if the police were to be believed, the vault containing the passcodes and account information of one of the city’s richest men had been infiltrated in the dead of night. A currently unknown amount of cash had been stolen alongside the USB drive containing those important records. Should the heroes fail to apprehend the criminals soon, it was set to be one of the most infamous bank robberies the city had ever seen.

And, to make things that much more interesting, the Bamboozlers apparently were only barely spotted that evening. If not for an emergency call made by a shop owner closing up across the street from the bank calling in some suspicious activity, the trio would’ve escaped without so much as a whisper to indicate their presence. 

They’d broken in precisely above where the vault was hidden in the floor, and cut into the metal from the top, making it a scarily quick endeavor. Their positioning was so precise that the police were apparently planning to investigate the employees, claiming it could be an inside job. 

Without really thinking, Grian’s chest swelled with an unbelievable sense of pride. It made him hesitate, reevaluate. This was strange. Cheering for a team of villains to succeed was strange. He should’ve been terrified, appalled, concerned for the state of the city’s security, as every other civilian surely was at that moment. 

Instead, however, all he could feel was extreme joy — a jittery sensation, like the kind that might take over one’s body after their favorite sports team wins a championship game. He’d watched them map this night out, accounting for each second of time, and picked up details of their plan throughout. Grian now knew exactly how much effort went into a heist at this level of perfection, and he was completely enthralled. 

His excitement would’ve continued further, but a sudden ringing jolted him into the present. To his surprise, Scar was calling him. He picked up as fast as he could. “Hello?”

“Hey, Doctor. Sorry for calling without warning,” Scar started. Immediately, Grian noted how his modulator wasn’t on. He was speaking in his civilian voice. “Just thought it’d be easier to explain out loud.”

“Right, that’s fine,” Grian replied. “What’s going on, man? Great job on the heist, by the way. I saw the news.”

“Oh? Are they saying good things about us? That’s perfect,” Scar said, sounding relieved. “Means Jimmy and Lizzie haven’t been caught.”

“Caught?” Grian frowned. “What do you mean? Aren’t you with them?”

“No, we got separated. Listen, G, there’s a bit of a problem,” Scar continued, sucking in a sharp breath. “The Agency has deployed every single hero in the city to try and find us. They’re one step short of putting the entire place on lockdown to make it easier to corner us. The billionaire we stole from tonight apparently had some tight connections.”

“What? Really?” Grian stood up, worry building in his gut. “Is there a chance you’ll be caught?”

Scar let out a nervous laugh, and a second of silence passed. It served only to worsen the vet’s mood. 

“What can I do, Scar?”

“Well, uh, I was wondering if I could borrow some clothes? Civilian clothes, specifically,” the other man replied sheepishly. “And then, I was also wondering if maybe you could… bring them to me?”

Grian paused. 

It sounded like Scar wanted to escape from the heroes by disguising himself as a civilian. That was fine on its own, not that big of an ask, but he could see why the guy might be nervous requesting Grian specifically bring them to him. 

An innocent person seeking out a villain currently on the run from every hero in the city was the fastest way to get implicated in a crime. If caught, Grian could be thrown in jail for months, and lose his job. 

But, if caught, Scar would never see the outside of a prison cell again. They’d make sure of that. Ringmaster and his Bamboozlers were an undeniable threat. The city would not risk them escaping once in custody. 

And that thought scared Grian even more than being implicated. 

Without another word, he stood and began searching through his closet. Luckily for Scar, Grian had a phase during which he was a frequent thrifter, so the sizing and style of his clothing varied heavily. He found a large t-shirt with some lame movie quote plastered on his front, and a pair of too-big jeans he’d intended to cut up and remake into something new. It’d fit the other man fairly well, if he had to guess. 

He also added a medical mask to the mix just in case. Once his packing was complete, he told the man on the other end of the phone, and Scar gave him another suggestion – particularly, he asked Grian to change into his scrubs, just in case his presence at that hour of night was cause for concern to those patrolling. After that was done, he relayed his location.

“You know that park a few blocks away from your apartment? I’m there,” Scar specified. When Grian confirmed he knew of the place, he continued, “I’ve locked myself in the public bathroom. No one saw me enter, but I don’t think it’ll be long until they decide to check here. Knock four times on the door, and I’ll let you in.”

Grian agreed, and Scar hung up. 

The vet threw on a jacket to keep out the cold air, leaving his apartment in a rush. He was immediately struck by how empty the streets were. It was late at night, of course, but his apartment wasn’t exactly in the middle of nowhere. There were typically at least one or two cars passing by, and civilians on the street. However, as Grian walked, he saw limited signs of life. 

Scar wasn’t lying when he said they were getting ready to shut the city down. Though his neighborhood probably wasn’t close enough to the crime scene to get an official alert advising him to stay inside, he suspected many were taking those precautions anyway. It’d make his presence even more obvious to the thrall of patrolling heroes. His bag weighed heavier and heavier upon his shoulders.

Luckily, he got to the park without incident. It was only once he’d entered the slew of trees and grassy knolls that Grian caught sight of something he didn’t like. 

Someone, actually.

In the distance, on one of the rooftops that overlooked the park, he spotted a figure. They were draped in flowing clothing that was difficult to make out, and had their back to Grian, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the individual was a hero. Encountering them this close to his goal had the potential to ruin everything. 

Grian picked up the pace, the public bathroom in sight. It was a small building — the kind of place that might have a concession stand during the daylight hours, and had two bathrooms around the back. He hurried to find the door, knocking four times as instructed.

The vet had expected to simply hand the bag of clothes off and be done. He was not anticipating Scar pulling him inside and pressing him against the wall. Grian would’ve shrieked with surprise if not for the hand that quickly slapped itself over his mouth. 

He came face to face with his friend, who hovered mere inches away, eyes wide with crazed fear. Grian could smell his cologne, and feel the rapid fire beating of his pulse where their chests touched. The proximity stole his breath, his fight, his fear all at once. He could only see, hear, care about Scar directly in front of him. 

Grian raised a hand, gently tapping at his friend’s arm. 

Scar seemed to register the situation, and pulled away, releasing the vet. 

“Shoot! Sorry,” he gasped, vocal modulator fluctuating. “I couldn’t remember if I told you four knocks or five, and I kinda lost count when you started, so I thought I’d take my chances—“

“Scar,” Grian interrupted, a small smile on his face. “It’s fine. I get it.”

It was, to be clear, a bit of a foolish mistake on Scar’s part. Giving set instructions and then forgetting them moments later was the opposite of what a person in his situation was supposed to be doing. But honestly, he couldn’t hold something like that against the guy. 

Scar looked frazzled. He was almost closer to a spooked wild animal than a human. His hair was a mess, pupils blown wide, face flushed, and his chest heaving. No doubt the circumstances had him on edge. His flawless plan had been disrupted, and now an entire city’s worth of heroes were hunting down him and his friends. One slip up could send all three of them to jail. Little details were bound to be forgotten in such a chaotic mental state. 

Grian would just have to fill in for the other man’s temporary loss of common sense himself. He could do that. 

The vet went ahead and gestured for Scar to lean up against the wall. Once he was steadied, Grian locked the main door to the bathroom, then began digging out the clothes he’d brought. The handful of medical supplies stopped him. He glanced up at the other man, surveying quickly for visible damage. “Are you hurt at all?”

“Um, no,” Scar replied. “No, I don’t think so.”

True to his word, his friend didn’t look wounded. His Ringmaster costume was unharmed, no scratches or rips to be seen, and his skin was unblemished, aside from the old healed wounds that usually decorated his body. 

On a similar note, Grian didn’t hear any wheezing in his speech or stuttering in his breath that could indicate internal injuries to the ribs. Just to be sure, the vet leaned forward a little, surveying his pupils for signs of a concussion. Scar did him the favor of remaining perfectly still while he swayed closer. 

Ultimately, though, there was nothing to be found. Obviously, if he’d fought anyone during his escape they hadn’t been able to land a significant blow.

“Alright, here,” Grian said, leaning back and passing over the clothes. “Hurry and change. It won’t be long before the heroes come around.”

The bathroom was one of two single-stalled rooms in the little building where they were sheltering, so Grian had to turn to give Scar privacy. He counted the tiles on the wall as he listened to the rustling of fabric. Ringmaster’s costume had a lot of little facets, meaning it was no quick process.

“So,” he started, keeping his mind away from the precarious situation. “You brought your phone with you on your mission today, right? I thought you didn’t typically do that.”

“Hm? Oh, no,” Scar said, and his vocal modulator wasn’t there to distort the sound. “I just added your phone number as a contact on my watch. I can call you or use voice commands to send short texts with it. It’s safer than carrying a phone.”

“Ah, I see,” Grian hummed, intrigued. He hadn’t really thought to ask about the Bamboozlers’ communications before. Something warm opened up in his chest at the thought of being included in that. “I’m your emergency contact, then?”

Scar did him the honor of laughing a bit. The lovely noise made the bathroom feel brighter for its brief duration. Grian wished he would do it again, and again, and again. It reverberated in his heart, softening his edges. Despite the reality of danger lurking just beyond the building’s dingy walls, he found himself completely at ease with Scar nearby. 

“Grian?”

“Yeah?” Grian perked up, realizing the rustling had stopped. “Are you done?”

“Um, yes, for the most part. There’s just… a tiny problem,” Scar replied, and Grian’s heart dropped. Before he could inquire further, though, Scar cleared his throat and said, “You can turn around now, I guess.”

The vet’s mind spun with worries. Were his mental measurements wrong? Did it not fit? Did something rip? Was Scar bleeding from a wound he hadn’t noticed and now the clothes were ruined? Had a hero somehow teleported into the room while he wasn’t looking?

Grian turned around, eyes finding Scar instantly. 

And then, his gaze lowered. He sucked in a sharp breath, blood running cold.

Scar wasn’t wearing a mask.

Grian whirled around again, panic soaring through him at record speed. An apology tumbled out, “God, Scar, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you weren’t wearing a mask, but I swear, I didn’t see anything—!”

His voice cracked and he cut himself off, immediately struck with guilt over lying. Grian couldn’t help it, though. It was impossible not to see when the guy was standing just a few feet away, blatantly maskless. 

Even now, as he stared at the blank wall, his mind flashed with visions of everything he’d seen in that brief moment. There was a strong jawline, pink lips, a solid nose, and new scars that Grian had not previously been able to spot. 

A dangerous part of himself declared that one brief look hadn’t been enough, urging him to steal another peak and drink in the reality that was his friend’s uncovered face. He fought it back, mortified.

“Grian, it’s okay,” Scar said, a sick sort of fondness in his tone. “I’m not wearing a mask on purpose.”

“But,” Grian stammered. “But why not? I brought a fabric one. Did you not see me pull them out of the bag?”

“I did, and I really appreciate it,” Scar replied. “I just can’t afford to wear anything over my face right now. If a hero spots us, it’ll make me look even more suspicious.”

Grian supposed that made sense. The upper half of Scar’s face was well-known to the heroes, even when he donned civilian clothes. His enemies would be looking for a man like him — same build and hair color — and a random guy walking around with a face covering in the middle of the night would draw their attention immediately. It served to reason that the best way to subvert those expectations would be to remove the mask entirely from the equation. 

However, that logic had completely disoriented Grian. He was dizzy, out of breath, filled to the brim with adrenaline from the shock. Scar might’ve been ready and willing to use his secret identity to his advantage, but the vet was clearly not on the same page.

“I said it was fine, G. You can turn around,” Scar called. “I’m okay with you looking.”

When Grian still didn’t move, he heard the other man sigh. Two steps echoed off the walls, and then a hand landed on his shoulder. Grian flinched as he was gently spun around. The moment a sliver of Scar’s face came into view, he squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching. 

“Are you sure it’s fine?” He was certain he was being ridiculous, but every second of this felt taboo, like he was breaking a rule that never should be broken. Grian couldn’t make himself react differently, couldn’t make his brain accept the situation at hand. This felt like something of untold importance – the last step in a sequence they’d been playing out for months.

“Grian,” Scar whispered. “I told you it was fine. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to see your face just because you have no other choice,” Grian blurted, and the room fell silent. 

Until the words were out, Grian hadn’t realized how much he meant them. However, now that he’d admitted it, he knew that was his real worry. He wasn’t concerned that Scar might hurt him for discovering his true identity, or that this would shatter their friendship into pieces. They were past such a fragile point. 

The reality of the matter lay in the intention behind the action. It was embarrassing, but it was the truth. Quietly, as if he might scare the other man away, Grian added, “I want you to want me to see.”

“Oh,” Scar replied, equally as soft. Grian felt his hands come up, and sucked in a breath as they ghosted along his jaw. “Oh, Grian.”

Grian felt unbelievably stupid. He was making a big deal out of nothing, and he was fully aware of that. Scar gave him explicit consent multiple times, but he was still holding on to some nonexistent boundary between them. 

“You’re too sweet. This really isn’t good for my heart.”

The hands settled, cupping his face. Scar’s palms were warm and anchoring, callused but not uncomfortable. The anxiety left him all at once.

“Grian,” Scar continued, smile audible. “There is no one else in the entire world that I want to see my face more than you. Please, look at me.”

At last, Grian listened. 

He opened his eyes, and took in the sight that waited for him a few inches away. His breath left his lungs, and his cheeks heated. Never before had another person stolen his words so immediately, filled his brain with static so instantly. 

Scar was smiling at him with those usual crinkled green eyes of his, sparkling and bright. Except, this time, it was possible to witness the full extent of that most lovely expression. Grian saw the way his lips parted, and his cheeks indented with dimples. He got to watch as Scar let out the smallest laugh, and the sound matched the movement of his mouth. 

His face was covered in markings from old battles, long healed wounds and barely-there blemishes. They helped to emphasize the line of his jaw, and the rosy hue in his cheeks, adding character to someone who already overflowed with vibrance. Grian wanted to trace those patterns until the sun rose on the horizon, and then stare more at the way the daylight added to his friend’s endless shine. 

The longer Grian looked, the deeper his blush grew. Redness crept along his cheeks, to his ears, down his neck, and dissolved into sparks of electricity as it reached the tips of his fingers. The feeling that he’d been refusing to name for ages surfaced with a fury.

He was a weak man before, when all he knew was an alias and a few of the guy’s most infamous crimes. Now, though, Grian had to force his body weight to lean him further against the wall, fearing he might tip forward into dangerous territory. 

“Unfair,” he croaked out, hoarse and barely registering his own words. “You can’t be charming and handsome.”

As soon as he said it, Grian slapped a hand over his mouth. 

The palms cupping his cheeks fell away, and it was Scar’s turn to become a blushing mess. His voice came abruptly and slightly strained, “Really? You… think I’m handsome?”

Grian scoffed, partly at his own slip up, and partly at the absurdity of the situation he’d gotten himself into. Still, he answered, “Yeah… Not what I was expecting.”

If he thought Scar’s smiling face was a knock-out, Grian’s heart practically caved in on itself when those lips tipped into a smug grin. With a brow raised, and his eyes shining, the mischief in his expression was stunning and treacherous. It sang with a kind of trouble that Grian couldn’t resist.

“What were you expecting, Doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Grian replied honestly. He had to think about each breath he took. “The face of a hardened criminal, I guess? Less teeth, a crooked nose, maybe a half-grown out beard. It’d suit your terrible personality.”

“Right, you wish,” Scar huffed, rolling his eyes. “Luckily, I don’t match the average expectation for a hardened criminal, do I? Y’know, since you said I’m handsome.”

“Yeah, luckily,” the vet echoed. He forced himself to regain some amount of composure, urging the critical part of his brain to the forefront. “If you looked any different, the heroes would be more likely to pull us aside.”

Now that he was able to observe clearly, Grian took in the sight of Scar in his clothes. The shirt was a little tight around the shoulders, but other than that, everything seemed to fit alright. Scar could absolutely pass as a regular civilian. 

Well, almost.

“Come here,” Grian said, extending a hand. Scar frowned, but leaned down anyway. Immediately, the vet began to drag his fingers through his friend’s hair, which was disheveled beyond belief. 

Grian wasn’t surprised by the mess. He’d seen the way the heroes and villains ran across rooftops and jumped from jaw-dropping heights for the fun of it. Their hair was likely always tangled to some degree – slicked back according to Ringmaster’s usual style or not.

Scar was, to his credit, patient while Grian fixed the visible strays. If he minded that he was being fretted over like a kid without the ability to care for himself, he didn’t say anything. 

“There we go! Much better,” Grian declared after a minute. He scanned his friend for more details out of place, but found none. Scar looked as sweet and innocent as ever. “Okay. Go ahead and put your costume in my bag, and let’s go.”

Grian glanced past Scar, then paused.

“Scar, where is your costume?”

The floor of the bathroom was devoid of fabric, and his bag was deflated, meaning it was still mostly empty. The gas mask and Ringmaster costume seemed to have disappeared into thin air. 

“I hid it.” Scar jerked a hand up, pointing towards the ceiling. Grian raised his gaze, finding one of the overhead tiles was displaced slightly. “I’ll come back and pick it up in the morning, but if, on some off chance, they search your bag, we’ll be in trouble.”

“Yeah, alright, makes sense,” Grian replied. “So, are you ready to go, then?”

Scar nodded. 

Grian took a deep breath, gathered his stuff, and together, they opened the bathroom door. 

The chilly night air hit them at the same time. Grian was prepared, but Scar was significantly underdressed without his costume to keep out the wind. He shivered, and the vet’s eyes lingered on the way the other man sucked in air through clenched teeth. 

Before it could become embarrassing, he turned away, focusing entirely on walking forward. Grian took in the sight of the trees, cast in the soft glow of street lamps, the movement of shadowed leaves, the shivering of bushes as little critters darted between them. He did not think about Scar’s warm palms cupping his jaw earlier, did not think about his pretty face, did not think about the fact that he’d trusted him enough to show those features off in the first place.

In fact, he was so focused that he nearly ran into another person stopped just ahead. Grian wasn’t expecting anybody to enter his view, so he was startled, not able to catch himself in time. Scar grabbed his hand at the last second, tugging him backwards right before they were set to collide. Grian was already halfway through an apology when he got his first good look at the newcomer.

A man draped in sparkling black robes stood before them, a head of bright blue hair on his shoulders and a mask over his eyes. There was a staff in his hands, which crackled with electricity. His stance was wide, purposely strong, as if preparing to move at the slightest suggestion from them.

Definitely not a civilian, then.

Grian’s mouth fell open, apology melting into something mangled and impossible. Shakily, he raised a hand, pointing at the stranger.

“You’re a hero,” he gasped, awestruck. “No way.”

And not just any hero. Grian actually recognized this man from the front of countless magazines, as well as the headlining pictures of truly baffling amounts of news articles. 

It was Morphling, the city’s sweetheart, and a member of the notorious Gs. 

He was known for his ability to shapeshift into any animal. While that on its own didn’t seem like much, watching him fight was terrifying. The guy could switch between a bear to strike with sharp claws, a shark to lunge with ripping teeth, and a bird to escape out of sight before his opponent could even recover. 

“Very good observation,” came an amused, slightly mocking tone from the hero. Morphling raised a brow, lips tipping up into a slight smile. His head tilted, and Grian felt as though, suddenly, he was being heavily scrutinized. “And you… seem to be entirely nondescript.”

It took that sensation of being judged for Grian to remember his position.  

He blinked, straightening his posture and squeezing Scar’s hand tighter in his grasp. Grian needed to think clearly, needed to get them out of this unharmed. Between the two of them, he was the only one completely innocent here. Lies would be easier, more believable, if they came from his lips. 

Grian started off by doing his best to seem borderline offended. “Excuse me? Nondescript?”

“I apologize,” Morphling hummed, though there wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

His modulator was off-putting. Instead of coming from a mask over his mouth, it was the result of a small device attached to a choker around his neck, directly manipulating the tone of his words as they left his voice box. The noise that came from his mouth was tinged into something almost robotic, and vaguely musical at the same time — like autotune, if autotune had an estranged, haunting cousin. 

Combined with his too-relaxed posture, the guy unnerved Grian beyond belief. He felt as though he was being watched by a predator, just waiting to jump out at its prey. It was an odd vibe to be picking up so soon into their interaction, because Grian could’ve sworn there was nothing suspicious about them. They hadn’t even been given a chance to speak. Why were they already being observed this closely?

“Then, how did you mean it?” Grian put one hand on his hip, the other remaining firmly intertwined with Scar’s own. It was comforting to know that his friend was so nearby during such a peculiar encounter. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen the alerts, right?” Morphling gestured to the phone sticking halfway out of Grian’s pocket. “There are dangerous criminals on the loose tonight. You’ll have to pardon my blunt approach, but I can’t help but be a little surprised to see you lovely men outside under these circumstances.”

“Oh, so you’re here to escort us home? Enforcing a curfew, are you?” Grian scoffed, rolling his eyes. His legs were shaking slightly. He wished he were allowed to move along, walk it out. However, since that wasn’t an option, he forced himself to double down on his approach. “Look, there’s no need for that. I’m a vet at Spanner’s Emergency Clinic. I only recently got off shift, and I’m on my way home.”

He was glad, at that point, for Scar’s quick thinking when it came to Grian changing outfits. This could save them.

“An emergency vet, you say? I suppose that would make sense.” Morphling’s brows raised. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fully buying the alibi yet. He prodded further, “Could I see some identification?”

“Identification? Sure, yeah,” Grian replied. “Not a problem.”

He relaxed a bit — this part was easy for him. As long as they were talking about him, focusing on him, buying his stories, he could go on forever. Anything to keep the heroes off Scar’s back for a moment longer. 

Grian pulled out his wallet, and flashed his veterinary ID. It wasn’t anything fancy, nothing more than a little card he’d clip onto his lanyard whenever he came into work, but it was official enough. Whether it looked faked or cheaply made, the hero probably wouldn’t care. Morphling would undoubtedly recognize how unlikely it would be for a villain to be carrying around a false veterinary identification for the rare occasion in which he’s stopped at night. 

As expected, after a quick look, the hero leaned back with a sigh. 

“Alright. I believe it,” he said. Grian almost felt relieved, but then the hero’s head tipped towards Scar, and any semblance of happiness drained away. “And who are you? Another vet?”

Grian sucked in a breath, looking back at Scar. The other man appeared, at first glance, calm and composed. But Grian knew him — knew how to actually read him — even if he hadn’t been able to see the guy’s full facial expressions until a few minutes prior. 

Scar’s fingers were tightening their hold, and his free hand had to be shoved in his pocket to avoid revealing his nervous tendency to fidget. His eyes shone with a glassy sort of light, meaning he was trying too hard to stay subtly alert. 

Not to mention, Scar had been tired when Grian first met him in the bathroom, and that hadn’t really changed. His shoulders were slumped, posture heavy. With such little energy, concealing tells in front of an opponent would be extra difficult.

Suddenly, the panic in Grian’s heart spiked into his throat. If Scar said something wrong here, both of them would be in serious trouble. If he hesitated too long, talked too much, or stayed too quiet, they’d get revealed. Morphling was perceptive, and actively looking for evidence to prove their guilt. A hero like that wouldn’t miss the signs for long.

Grian was jumping in before he could stop himself.

“This is my boyfriend,” he blurted, forcing a tight smile onto his face. Scar’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and Morphling made a noise of surprise. “He’s walking me home. Came all the way to my work to do that because he was worried about the bank robbery. Isn’t he sweet?”

“Oh? Your boyfriend?” The hero’s gaze darted down to their connected hands. “I see. That is sweet.”

Grian ignored the mental images that came to him when he imagined Scar as his partner. Those were not relevant to the task at hand, and only served to put them in further danger. It didn’t matter that a pretty pink flush had come to Scar’s face as soon as the idea was introduced, and it didn’t matter that Grian’s skin tingled along every point of contact between them. 

Morphling whirled around to Grian again, lips pursed. “Where do you live, exactly?” 

“Third street,” Grian answered easily. He figured lying as little as possible was going to be the way out of this, and wavering would add more suspicion to their name. 

But he definitely should’ve considered the validity of that response before saying it, because something in his response caused Morphling to frown.

“Third street? Interesting.” Morphling tutted, “I know where both that and the Spanner’s clinic are, but if you’re commuting from work, this park is awfully out of the way for you.”

“He’s coming back to my place,” Scar said. It startled Grian, as it was the first time he’d opened his mouth since the hero arrived. “I live near Mountain Street. It’s through this park and two blocks down.”

Maybe it was the amount of practice he had as an established villain, but even while his nervous tells were still plain as day, Scar spoke clearly. His voice didn’t shake, and his tongue didn’t trip over its words. He was the picture of confidence to any outside perspective. Honestly, Scar was so convincing, Grian almost believed he’d told the hero his actual home address.

“If I might ask,” Scar continued, stepping closer to Morphling and looking around conspiratorially. “Is there a reason you’re stopping us here, sir? Was there a villain sighting nearby? Should we be concerned?”

Morphling considered him. His eyes drifted between Scar and Grian, then back again. 

It felt like a decision was being made, like this was the final test keeping them from safety. If they could get past the hero, they would be home free. Grian was itching to move, run, disappear into the night. As cool as it was to be speaking to one of the city’s most famous protectors, he could only delight in it so much from the opposing side.

“It’s nothing,” Morphling said, breaking the tension. His head lulled back, and he sighed up at the sky. “Nothing that a civilian should need to worry about, at least. The Bamboozlers haven’t been purposely targeting innocents recently. They don’t even take hostages anymore. I doubt they plan on changing that tonight.”

Grian blinked, surprised. He chanced a look at Scar. The other appeared unbothered by that tidbit of information, as if he already knew it would be the answer. 

Though the vet hadn’t paid enough attention to past cases, now that he thought about it, Grian couldn’t remember any times in which the Bamboozlers had gone out of their way to go after civilians as of late. But prior to their becoming friends, he definitely could recall hostage situations, innocents caught in the line of fire, and a couple of deaths of cops, exactly as the hero said.

The vet had to hand it to the Agency — they obviously knew the tendencies of their enemies, ever-changing as they apparently were.

Grian did wonder secretly to himself why the trio had changed, though.

“Not the most reassuring,” Scar muttered, drawing the vet from his head. “But I’ll trust you. Are we good to go? Do you need anything else?”

The hero clicked his tongue, eyes drifting. Grian flinched as a finger was pointed at his bag. “Would you mind if I checked that?”

The vet sucked in a breath. Scar squeezed his hand. It’d been a good decision to leave the costume behind after all. 

Grian nodded, holding out the bag. Morphling took it, brows raising at its weight. He checked inside. “Huh. Fairly empty, isn’t it?”

“Most of my personal tools are back at the clinic being sterilized,” Grian replied, not missing a beat even as his heart definitely did. “I wasn’t going to leave my bag overnight.”

Morphling handed it over, putting his hands on his hips. “Okay. I’m going to let you off with a warning,” he concluded. “Ignoring crime alerts can be dangerous for you, while also impeding our ability to catch villains. Keep that in mind in the future.”

Scar gave a solemn nod, though from Grian’s point of view, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. It was out of place — the kind of look he might wear when watching a prank play out. His visible nerves had also stilled, leaving only that minuscule shine and a general expression of false concern for the hero to read from him. Otherwise, he seemed completely relaxed. 

Weirdo, Grian’s mind whispered. Can’t believe he’s finding this funny.  

Rather than voicing anything genuinely running through his head, Grian replied, “Yes, we’ll be more careful next time. Thank you so much. Have a good evening.”

Before the hero had a chance to speak again, Scar dragged them both away. 

Grian turned over his shoulder to get a final glance at Morphling, and was just in time to see him overtaken by a flash of blue. Something like a small explosion of energy and unnatural glowing occurred around his form. What eventually emerged from the light was not human. 

Grian shrieked as the small, feathered body of a dove zoomed past their heads, soaring up and over the park in a mere moment. Morphling was gone, presumably replaced by the form of that bird, off to do his heroic duties elsewhere.

Scar tugged on Grian’s hand, slowing so they were walking shoulder to shoulder. Quietly, he whispered, “That was too easy. Morphling might follow us all the way back, so try not to lower your guard.”

“Oh, great,” Grian grumbled. “Just what we need.”

His shoulders drooped, and it took everything in him not to just collapse onto the nearest bench. Grian had exhausted all of his energy getting them through that tense interaction. The late night was catching up with him. Yet, he was expected to continue until the hero disguised as a bird decided to stop following them? 

He rubbed his face with his hand and groaned.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Scar chuckled. “What? Do you hate the idea of being my pretend boyfriend that much? You can’t handle a single lovey-dovey walk home with me?”

Grian straightened instantly, head whipping around to face Scar. The other man was grinning at him, wide and gleefully mischievous. Despite it being a beautiful sight, it sent a shiver down Grian’s spine. He wasn’t sure he would like being on the receiving end of this guy’s antics when their overarching topic was being romantic with one another. With the butterflies already stirring in his gut, that could only ever end badly for him.

“No, idiot,” Grian replied, trying to seem far more nonchalant than he felt. “I am a wonderful actor. I was simply… worried that we were going to get caught in our lie. My place is the other way, but we told him we were going to yours.”

“That’s an easy fix,” Scar said, blinking innocently. “We can go to mine. We’re already walking in that direction. I didn’t lie about where it was.”

Grian’s mind went blank.

“What?” 

Scar’s home? He was being taken to Scar’s home? Not the Bam Bunker, but Scar’s civilian home?

“Isn’t that–?”

Scar cut him off with a raised brow.

“It’s not dangerous,” the other man replied, shooting him a playful glare. “It’s not an invasion of my personal space. You’re not risking your life by coming to my place for a change.”

He tightened his grip on Grian’s hand, eyes far brighter than his outward expression.

“You keep jumping to conclusions whenever I try to show you something new,” Scar continued, scoffing and scrunching his nose. “Isn’t it my choice to let you see these things? Do you really still think I’m going to kill you every time I offer you a glimpse into my private life?”

Grian’s jaw dropped and he huffed out a quick, “That’s not what I was implying—!”

He stopped short.

It had been exactly what he was going to imply.

He looked away, defeated. “Sorry. I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Scar hummed, perking back up the instant he got his way. “Now, cheer up, lovely boyfriend of mine. There’s a little birdy on the power line up ahead, and we can’t have you down in the dumps when I’m being so romantic.”

Grian shot him a glare, cheeks heating, but a subtle glance confirmed his friend was telling the truth. Though the bird was hardly visible, when searching with intention, the white feathers of a dove stuck out rather clearly against the night’s dark background. 

Morphling had indeed not given up on his endeavor, exactly as Scar had suspected. Grian supposed it wasn’t just the heroes who knew their enemies well.

“Ugh, this is a lot of pressure,” Grian mumbled under his breath. Unfortunately, the wind wasn’t enough to keep that from reaching Scar, who tilted his head curiously at the vet. “I’ve never had to pretend to have a boyfriend before.”

“Oh, yeah?” Scar smiled, clicking his tongue. “I guess that makes sense. You are quite the catch.” 

Grian stumbled on the sidewalk, nearly tripping if not for Scar’s steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’m what?”

“Quite the catch,” Scar repeated. He made a big show of swinging their arms back and forth over and over again, elaborating as he went. “I bet you never had to find a fake date to your school dances. You probably just got real ones instead.”

“What? School dances?” Grian opened and closed his mouth several times confusedly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Am I not allowed to talk about my tragic past with my beloved?” Scar had the gall to pretend to be hurt, pressing a hand over his heart and everything. “I’m so disappointed in you, babe. How will I ever recover?”

Grian gagged, reaching over and swatting at Scar’s head. The other dodged, laughing, “What? What’s that for? Why are you being violent?”

“Don’t call me ‘babe’ like we’re teenagers! I’m a grown man,” Grian said. He shuddered. “I pay taxes and rent and I have a doctorate. That’s gross.”

Scar’s laughter tapered off into something gentler. “Resorting to bragging about your degree, are you? I didn’t realize a simple nickname would strike such a nerve, Doctor.”

Around them, the scenery of the park had melded into regular city streets. Lamps lit the way ahead as they made slow progress, in absolutely no hurry to get anywhere. The power line, utilized by one stray dove, passed by overhead. The two ignored it in favor of bickering with each other as they always did. 

“I should be allowed to do that every so often,” Grian decided, nodding to himself. “Bragging, I mean. Don’t I deserve it after working so hard all the time?”

“Sure, sure, yeah,” Scar agreed. “Fine by me. I’ve always liked my men with a bit of an ego.”

“I like mine significantly less obnoxious,” Grian snorted, smacking him gently. “I guess I got the short end of the stick, huh?”

The pink hue on his face was going to become a permanent feature, at this rate. He was alright with that, though, just for now. Scar wasn’t unaffected himself, and that was enough for Grian to put aside his own worries briefly. As long as they were mutually mortified, he could keep himself from feeling completely stupid. 

There was the faintest fluttering of wings, then the dove was disappearing further down the street, beating them to every mark on the way to their destination. Even with the hero confirmed to be out of sight, Scar didn’t waver with his content smile, or the grip he had on Grian’s hand. 

Not that the vet was in a rush to change that fact. Honestly, it was the opposite. He was a little obsessed with how easily their fingers intertwined and remained together. Grian was certain he’d never get tired of the feeling of wholeness this contact brought on. It was unlike any other in the world.

They kept walking at a mild pace, neither in a particularly large rush. 

“Thank you,” Scar said eventually, breaking the stillness. The teasing edge to his tone had evened out into a smooth softness. “I probably wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t here.”

“Heroes or not,” Grian sighed. “I’m sure you would’ve gotten home. You’re too smart to get caught that easily.”

“Well, maybe,” Scar replied, nodding. “I meant in general, though. Thanks for everything, Doctor. You never had to do all this stuff. If you decided after my second or third time being injured that you were sick of this illegal work, I would’ve left you alone.”

Grian gave him a funny look, confused as to what had brought this on. He took a deep breath and said, “Scar, you know how I have a tendency to get tense whenever you reveal parts of your identity?” 

“Yes?”

“In the same way, you tend to thank me whenever I do something even vaguely nice for you,” Grian accused. “Calm down a little, man. You’re grateful, I know, but you make it seem like I’m sacrificing my entire life to help you out. I’m doing this willingly.”

He watched Scar process that — his face changing from a confused frown, to a contemplative neutrality, to an almost-smile, and then down again into a defeated slump. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I like hearing it every now and again,” Grian continued. “But in the same way that I’m always tense, you seem to always be worried that I’ll forget how much you need my help.”

Grian tugged him closer, allowing their shoulders to bump into one another. 

“We’re both predictable.”

Scar laughed, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess we are.”

Although the vet wasn’t really paying attention to their route anymore, the buildings around them had gradually switched from businesses to townhouses, and the roads had gotten slightly smaller. This district of the city was greener, lined with old trees and uninterrupted beauty. 

They turned the corner, and he saw a nearby sign that indicated they’d reached Mountain Street. Grian scanned his surroundings, and spotted Scar’s car parked in front of one of the homes. The townhouse was similar to those around it, with bricks painted a pale green, and the windows accented with a tasteful white. The shutters were propped open, revealing a darkened interior. 

It hit him, at that moment, harder than it had before. This really was Scar’s house, wasn’t it? Grian was actually going to see his friend’s home, wasn’t he? 

He wanted to get lost in that fact, get lost in the wonder of the idea. Unfortunately, a leering dove had positioned itself in the branch of one of the trees that lined the quaint street. The atmosphere was disrupted by the gnawing feeling of being watched. 

Grian suspected Scar was equally as irritated by it, because his steps suddenly picked up speed. His friend was careful to make it a subtle increase, so as not to tip off the hero, but the vet noticed. House after house passed them by. Some of them emitted golden glows from lamps positioned by windows, shining despite the hour. Others were as dark as Scar’s own home. 

The breeze whistled through the branches, rustling the leaves overhead. The air was sweeter here, permeated by the various flowers decorating the tiny bit of green space at the front of every townhouse. Each bush was in full bloom, every flower unfurled, allowing their petals to take on a layer of dew. 

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a set of steps, leading up to the pale green house he’d seen earlier. Grian was pleased to discover that Scar too had nurtured a small shock of flowers on his plot. From the looks of their purple coloring, and the way the flowers were grouped together, he guessed it was a young lilac bush. 

This one bush wasn’t the only plant life for which Scar cared. As they ascended the steps, and paused at a white wooden door, there were two potted ferns guarding the threshold. Neither they nor the lilac bush seemed to be wasting away, obviously very loved. 

His friend bent down to the pot on the left, and retrieved a tiny silver key from beneath it. Not the most secure place to hide such a thing, but Grian supposed anyone unlucky enough to break into this man’s home was more at risk than Scar possibly could be. 

Instead of immediately unlocking the door, Scar turned to face him. Grian raised a brow. “What’s up? Having second thoughts about letting me in?”

“No,” Scar replied instantly, then winced. “No, I’m just trying to remember if I cleaned before I left today.”

“Wait, really?” Grian snorted, tipping forward a bit to smile up at his friend. “Are you embarrassed that I might see you in a less-than-perfect state? That’s never happened before.”

He was delighted by the way Scar’s cheeks darkened, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly. After a second of gathering his bearings, he grumbled, “Yeah, I guess, but seeing me all bloody and gross is different from seeing my house in shambles.”

“Oh, come on,” Grian scoffed, swaying further into Scar’s personal space. He rubbed circles into the skin of the other man’s hand. A teasing smile spread over his face. “That’s a lame excuse. You don’t get to back out now.”

Scar didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, pupils dilating as he was distracted. His gaze didn’t meet Grian’s own, but rather, drifted down lower. There was something intense, both calculating and mindless in his expression. It made Grian want to shiver. 

For the first time since they’d arrived at the house, Grian realized just how close the two of them were. There was an inch of space between their chests, with only the height difference preventing their faces from being the same way. Simultaneously, he was overcome with the urge to pull back, and to draw nearer. 

Scar let out a shaky breath, swallowing. “Grian?”

His voice was a low rumble, quiet but clear. It was like freshly melted chocolate on a cold night, or rays of summer sun cast through a break in a canopy of leaves. Grian wanted to stop and enjoy its sound, let it wash over him, warm him to his core.

“Yes, Scar?”

A hand came up, tentatively ghosting over the small of Grian’s back. 

“Excuse me for what I’m about to do,” Scar whispered.

Grian was pulled in fully at the same time as Scar dipped down and kissed him. 

Instantly, the entire world came to a crashing halt. It was a soft thing, gently brimming with untold potential. Grian’s eyes widened, static rushing up to consume him. Fire licked along his skin where Scar held him close, his heart slamming against his ribs. 

Everything clicked into place right at that exact moment, turning chaos into logic, fear into comfort, the unknown into familiarity. Grian knew the name of the feelings he’d been repressing, the ones he’d failed to acknowledge simply because he was scared of them. He knew the flutter of romance, the blush of intense interest, the pangs of developing affections.

Grian liked Scar. 

For weeks now, whenever his heart gave an involuntary thump, his mind conjured scenarios that no normal person would ever think up, or he allowed the other man to get away with things that he realistically shouldn’t have, it’d all been because he liked Scar.

Grian wanted to be this close, wanted to kiss him, wanted their teasing and bickering to involve into this. He’d wanted Scar long before he’d seen his face, or learned his name. From the moment he had really begun to know the man, he’d started on this treacherous path towards loving him.

But before he could melt into it, let his entire being dissolve into it, the kiss was over. Scar pulled back. His breaths came quickly, and his face was hot to the touch. Grian was frozen in place, completely rapt by the sight of the lips he’d just felt against his own. 

“Sorry,” Scar said, eyes widened with disbelief. “I’m so sorry.”

The words jarred Grian from where he’d fallen silent, like the honking of a horn on a lovely quiet morning. He physically recoiled, confusion furrowing his brows. 

No part of him could understand why the other might be apologizing after such a perfect kiss. It was unexpected, but every bit what he’d always imagined and more. How could anyone second guess that? How could anyone question that? How could anyone look as upset as Scar did now about that?

Grian realized very abruptly that he hadn’t gotten a chance to reciprocate. He’d been so caught up in his realization, in his entire universe beginning to make some sort of cosmic sense, that he hadn’t kissed back or even moved at all. From Scar’s perspective, he’d been stunned, not enjoying the connection in the slightest. 

He didn’t know how much the vet had been craving that, didn’t know how long he’d dreamt of a moment like this one. Scar didn’t know how often Grian thought of doing this exact thing, how often he wanted to grab the other by the collar of his blood-covered costume and pull him in. He was finding it to be a ridiculously frequent occurrence, especially now that he was allowing himself to feel this way. 

Grian opened his mouth to express his intentions, to mend the accidental misunderstanding, but Scar cut him off by blurting, “I just figured that was what couples did after an evening out! A kiss on the porch is cheesy, I know, but I think Morphling is definitely convinced now. No questions in his mind!”

The vet paused. His heart stilled. “What?”

“Morphling’s still watching us,” Scar said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Grian felt something in him break as the other released him, turning to the door and unlocking it. Without their hands intertwined, and Scar’s touch against his back, he felt unbelievably flimsy. A faint breeze could’ve knocked him over. 

What had Scar just told him? It was an act for Morphling? Was that really what he’d just called the kiss that had solidified Grian’s most tender emotion into definite reality? An act?

He couldn’t believe his own ears. There was nothing stupider in the entire world than that. Grian had felt the kiss, felt the passion, felt the reciprocated yearning.

Or, at least, he thought he’d felt that. 

His legs shook and his chest ached. 

Grian didn’t have the most experience with romance – nothing beyond a few partners here and there. His schedule was odd due to his job, and his youth had been spent studying to get his doctorate. He didn’t know, in truth, what actual mutuality felt like. He’d assumed it was that, but if Scar was declaring that it wasn’t, then how was he to be sure? 

When he moved to follow Scar inside, it was completely on autopilot. There was a ringing in his ears, as well as a new dizziness springing up in his skull. 

A kiss for show. 

Scar had only kissed him to ensure a hero would buy their story. Nothing more, no matter how world-shattering it had been for Grian. 

He should’ve known from the softness of the other’s lips on his, from the chaste way he was given just a taste of what he’d always wanted. It wasn’t everything it could’ve been. It wasn’t layered with real emotion. It wasn’t an expression of actual care. 

Grian had believed, for a second, that it was genuine, and he’d been a fool to do so.

It made sense, looking back, for it not to be, but the mind was cruel in its present perception. He was an idiot for getting thrown off balance so easily. Grian was gullible and stupid, and now he was paying the price for it.

He hardly noticed the interior of the home he’d entered over the throbbing of his chest. Through thick emotions, he noted it was a lot like Scar’s tiny room at his base – all earthy tones and soft edges. Nothing looked out of place. The little bit of visible mess was the expected sink full of dirty dishes and a couple of empty to-go boxes on a table.

Scar talked at him for several minutes, explaining his design choices and home layout in far too much detail, words spilling out faster than they could be processed. Grian’s mind spun, but he listened to every second of it, because his ears were always happy to catch the slightest sliver of the other’s voice. They hadn’t yet taken into account his heartbreak.

The townhouse itself wasn’t large, but it had high ceilings, two floors, and an attic for storage. The downstairs held the kitchen, dining room, and living room, whereas the upstairs had the master bedroom and a guest bedroom. Scar explained all of this to him, pausing when he noticed Grian was struggling to digest the information.

“Sorry again, Doctor,” Scar sighed, a profound sadness glimmering in his eyes. The apology was like a repetitive stab to the chest. It took everything in Grian not to react. He focused only on the other man, not on himself. “I should’ve asked before deciding on a way to solve our issue on my own. I see now that all I did was make you uncomfortable.”

Grian blinked, throat closing at the mere suggestion of being uncomfortable around Scar.

He shook his head frantically. “No, Scar, really,” Grian tripped over himself to say. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind. It was smart. I wasn’t expecting it – that’s all.”

His chest ached. Damn his people-pleasing need to always make sure Scar wasn’t terribly upset. Even in the midst of some of the worst pain he’d ever experienced, he couldn’t stand the thought of his companion viewing him that way.

“Oh, okay. Good.” Scar looked a little relieved. He continued, laughing sheepishly, “I just thought, y’know, a romantic gesture might get him off our tail and solidify our alibis.”

Grian nodded stiffly, full to bursting with unchecked emotional baggage, but stopped when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. 

Scar had begun fidgeting again. 

Subconsciously, he was pulling at the hem of his shirt, chewing on his lips, letting his hands come up and drag through his hair a little too often. It was as if he couldn’t remain still, as if every syllable spoken had to be punctuated by movement, as if his limbs were communicating something his mouth could not. 

Grian knew what those actions meant, especially when combined with the way he wouldn’t fully make eye contact. He’d seen them when they were about to pull a prank, when they were trying to get a rise out of the two other Bamboozlers, and just now, when they were talking to the hero.

Those were nervous tells.

Scar was lying.

Grian’s mind went blank, honing in on every little motion. 

Why would Scar be lying right now? What exactly was there to lie about? Everything he was saying sounded perfectly reasonable, so what was prompting him to behave like he was being interrogated again?

An unwelcome part of the vet’s head whispered an idea to him that set his cheeks alight, and widened his eyes all over again. It brought him back to their kiss on the porch, to the blurted apology, to the nervous rambling about the decor. It sat like a rock in his gut, while simultaneously making his heart feel infinitely lighter. 

Worst of all, it had the potential to be completely true – not just some overstatement by his mind, or a conclusion he’d reached without evidence. 

Grian was so immediately embarrassed by his own almost-discovery that he wasn’t able to get his expression in check before Scar noticed.

“Grian? Are you alright?” 

“Huh? Oh, um,” Grian stammered. Suddenly, being in Scar’s presence again was dangerous. “Yes, yeah, fine. I’m just… suddenly realizing how tired I am. How long do you think we have to wait for Morphling to leave before I can head back to my place?”

“Back to your place? While the heroes are still out?” Scar scrunched up his nose, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You’re staying in my guest room tonight.”

Grian’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head. “Stay here? With you? No, I couldn’t possibly! Uh, I have no overnight bag. No pajamas or anything.”

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Scar said easily. “Then, we’ll be even. C’mon, follow me.”

Without another word, he turned and trotted up the stairs. Grian hesitated for a second, short-circuiting, but eventually mustered up the energy required to move. He didn’t have much choice. If he didn’t trail after the other, he could be questioned again, and he really didn’t trust himself not to answer too honestly.

The guest room that Scar showed him to was nice. It had a double bed with a plush, blue comforter, and white pillows neatly propped up against a wicker headboard. The carpet was soft underfoot, and very well-maintained. There was a dresser, a desk, and a decorative shrub in one corner. It wasn’t overly filled, but it felt homely all the same. 

Scar disappeared down the hall and returned with a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from his closet. Grian accepted them gratefully. As soon as that was out of the way, Scar moved onto another matter, “Do you need to shower or anything? Should I get you a towel?”

“No, uh, this is perfect,” Grian replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Could I bother you for maybe a glass of water, though?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Scar said, already turning and leaving the room. “You want ice?”

“Yes, please,” Grian called after him. “Thank you!”

He stepped inside, and collapsed against the closed door. His face flushed, head reeling, and heart thundering away behind his ribs. Grian felt like a child with a crush for the first time, like he was drowning at the same time as he was flying, like every single action taken around him was further proof towards his theory.

Scar was lying earlier, but the exact subject that caused him to do so was up in the air. Grian had a suspicion, one that sent electricity through his veins and heat to his cheeks, but that he desperately wanted to be true. 

He needed more time to prove it, more time to gather evidence, more time to analyze, more time to come to terms with these feelings. Staying over for a single night was a good start, but he needed to take a step back and view the world through this lens for a while, if only to bask in the thrill of it. 

Scar might not have been kissing him for show. He might’ve wanted it just as much as Grian did. And wasn’t that a wonderful possibility? Wasn’t that an experiment worth lifetimes of research? Wasn’t that something he could latch onto while the truth evaded him, at least for now?

With a renewed energy, and an extra pep in his step, he used the remainder of his time alone to get changed. 

As expected, both the pants and the hoodie were big on him. Not by much, since Scar had likely found the smallest selection from his closet, but it was still a little loose. Thankfully, the sweatpants had drawstrings, so they weren’t going to fall off. 

It was good to get into something more comfortable. He did not notice at all the way that everything smelled like Scar, or think about how this meant they were both actively wearing each other’s clothes. 

And of course, those thoughts – which he did not have – had no effect on his heart rate, the butterflies in his gut, the redness of his cheeks, and absolutely didn’t do anything to encourage the whisper in his mind. To imply otherwise would be ridiculous, delusional. 

A knock came at the door, and Grian opened it. Scar held out a glass of water, speaking without missing a beat, “Alright, is there anything else I can–”

His sentence died on his lips as he saw Grian. Scar’s eyes drifted down over him, and then gradually back up. His lips were parted in shock, chest rising and falling quickly. Grian noticed the water was rippling from the white-knuckle grip Scar had on its glass. He rushed to take it before any could spill.

“Scar, what’s the matter with you?” Grian said, raising a brow. “Cat got your tongue or something?”

“Cat?” Scar’s voice was weak, barely audible. He straightened, snapping his fingers. “Cat! Where’s Jellie?”

Without another word, the guy wandered off, leaving Grian alone in the doorway. Baffled and slightly awestruck by his sudden shift in behavior, the vet followed after him. Scar trailed down the hall listlessly. Grian didn’t fully enter his room when he turned in there, but the vet did linger at the threshold.

Scar’s room was a near carbon copy of his one at the Bam Bunker, with the bamboo accents and everything. It was clear he had a favorite decorative choice when it came to his most personal spaces. The only variances were the smattering of framed posters from old bands and classic movies that dotted the walls. In that area too, Grian noticed a pattern of mostly space-adjacent themes. 

“There you are!”

Grian looked over as Scar’s tone tipped up into something he’d heard in the past when the guy was talking to Pearl and Maui. Unsurprisingly, he saw Scar bend and scoop a little grey cat out of an armchair in the corner. She purred loudly, snuggling into his chest as he cooed at her. 

“Hello, Jellie,” he chuckled. “Did you miss me, honey?” 

“Oh, so this is the famous Queen Jellie?” Grian smiled at the sight of the pet he’d heard so much about. Scar brought her over, and Grian let her sniff his hand. Evidently, she was better with guests than his cats, as she didn’t hiss or grow anxious from his presence. “You are just so sweet, aren’t you?”

After weeks of Scar chatting about her, it felt a little like meeting a celebrity. He definitely understood the hype. Jellie was an adorable thing, and clearly well cared for by her owner. Her coat was shiny, her eyes were bright, she moved with energy as she tried to practically climb onto Scar’s shoulder to snuggle in closer. 

“If you leave your door cracked tonight,” Scar told him, voice slightly muffled as Jellie chose that moment to shove her tail in his face. “She’ll probably come to sleep with you. Jellie loves new people.”

“I will absolutely be doing that,” Grian said, smiling so widely that his cheeks had begun to hurt. “I’m sure I’ll get lots of good rest with her by my side.”

Scar rolled his eyes, huffing, “Great, now I’m jealous.”

“Hey, if you’re worried she might like me more, I’ll shut the door,” Grian said, shrugging. “But then, you’ll have to admit that you’re only winning by forfeit.”

“No, no, let’s do this fair and square,” Scar replied. He flashed a smile in the vet’s direction. “I’m going to settle in now, G. You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

Grian’s eyes got stuck on his friend’s expression. His lips burned, remembering suddenly what it’d felt like to have that smile pressed against them. He forced himself from that daydream, replying hastily, “Yes, yeah, of course. Goodnight, Scar! Sleep well!”

“Goodnight,” Scar said, but Grian was escaping into the guest room before the word was even out. 

The door was left slightly ajar, Grian switched off the light, and threw himself onto the bed.

He wanted to say that sleep came to him easily. The mattress was soft, and he was tired. The day had been arduous, packed to the brim with surprises. He wanted nothing more than to let it fade into background noise, to stop thinking about it until he was well rested and capable of critical thought. 

But that just wasn’t what happened. Unconsciousness was hesitant to encroach on his racing thoughts, made worse by the smell of Scar on every aspect of that damned guest room. The second he thought he was finally on the brink of rest, another vision of that pretty face and brilliant kiss would burn itself into his eyelids, and he’d be doomed to focus on it for another half an hour. 

When she did eventually decide to join him, Jellie helped the process by sitting herself directly on his chest, providing a comforting weight while he drifted off. It was the last push he needed to finally fall under. 

Grian slept fitfully through the night, though, awaking to an alarm from his phone far earlier than he wanted. His first thoughts were about their kiss, set to plague him evermore should nothing become of his theory. 

By the time he was dressed, with vague effort put into brushing his bedhead down with his fingers, Scar was also awake. 

He’d made breakfast, and announced that excitedly the second Grian arrived in the kitchen. Bacon, eggs, and fluffy pancakes were put onto a plate in front of him. Grian was able to enjoy Scar’s cooking to the fullest extent, this time while also enjoying the sight of him first thing in the morning, and both were delicious.

Neither of them talked much, aside from idle conversation about the meal and gratitude for the mutual favors they’d exchanged. They were both clearly tired from the night’s events. Scar didn’t apologize again, thankfully, and Grian didn’t pry. 

He wanted time to ensure he was absolutely correct, so he’d allow them to stray away from the awkward topic for the moment. Grian had to get back to his apartment so he could change for work anyway. Scar offered to drive him, and they spent the remainder of their morning together in comfortable silence.

When they went their separate ways, Grian felt strangely whole, like he finally had something to look forward to. Hopefully, if all went well, he would.

Chapter Text

Gathering information on another person’s emotional state was not quite as simple as Grian had expected it to be. He’d assumed that, in the wake of their kiss, a shift would occur that might point towards a clear answer and solve every problem the vet had ever thought up. From there, he’d be able to come to a conclusion and either put his feelings to bed, or act on them.

Life, however, was anything but constant.

None of the Bamboozlers had gotten caught after their heist two days prior. Scar had called to reassure him of this when Grian had noticed the news being purposely vague about the whole ordeal. The reporters were all repeatedly assuring the civilians that things were under control, that the necessary steps had been taken, and that they no longer had to worry.

Apparently, that was just a tactic on the Agency’s part to disguise the severity of the incident – damage control. They hadn’t caught the perpetrators, nor had they recovered anything from the robbery, so they were clearly panicking a bit. Whatever was in that safe really had them up in arms. Their so called ‘steps’ were unlikely to be anything genuinely worth worrying over.

Thankfully, the Bamboozlers had gotten away from the scene of the crime with only a few minor hiccups, all of which Scar was happy to relay to Grian over the phone.

From what his friend said, Lizzie hadn’t been able to get back to her home due to Slayer on her tail. She’d been forced to use her powers, despite being horribly tired from the mission already, and duck into the Bam Bunker, which was luckily near enough. It still took around two hours to find the chance to do so, though, because Slayer’s power could cut through Eclipse’s blindness. One would have to first tempt the hero into using her power, and attack during the cooldown. 

Somehow, Jimmy had an even less fortunate time. 

He couldn’t fight back due to the cast still over his fingers, so running away was his best bet. As Scar had explained, though, sprinting was difficult while trying to remain quiet and invisible. It led to his opponents, Blackhole and Audiophile, following him through several laps of the downtown area before he could be successfully lost.

Teleportation powers were able to cover distances faster than Jimmy physically could, enhanced hearing could track every little movement he made, and the villain was unable to stay invisible for long while exhausted. It was a cacophony of the worst possible outcomes until he was able to scale the side of a building and hide on a fire escape until they vacated the area.

On top of that mess, Blackhole seemed to have absolutely no problem punching a man who couldn’t hit back, and his specially-designed metal gloves made sure every blow hurt. Audiophile had been more focused on keeping track of what his ears could catch, and hadn’t joined in on the beating quite as much. Still, Jimmy’s face was sporting more than a few bruises after being at the receiving end for up to an hour. 

Grian hadn’t expected himself and Scar to have the easiest of all the run-ins with the heroes. Morphling was persistent, but not physical. They’d made it out unharmed and in record time compared to the others. For all that it had inwardly killed Grian, their civilian routine had worked. 

The severity of the rest of the Bamboozlers’ encounters was also a feasible explanation as to why Grian had heard next to nothing about their condition until that specific phone call. It was due to the group’s usual policy during high-intensity heists, which had been mentioned to him briefly in the past, but was recounted for him in detail this time around.

“We always wait exactly twenty-four hours to check in with each other, since Lizzie had a solo mission a while back that we almost ruined by trying to communicate with her,” Scar had told him, phone shuffling as he moved around on the other end of the line. “She was breaking an old villain friend of hers out of jail, which led to a day-long chase through the city as the heroes tried to catch the both of them. Crazy stuff.”

Grian had hummed, “And how’d you almost ruin it?” 

“Lizzie went out without us, so obviously we were worried, and we didn’t realize she was involved in a chase,” Scar went on. “She was hiding, trying to lose them while waiting for her powers to recharge, and we tried to check in, and it scared her enough to make her accidentally reveal her hiding spot. So, yeah, no more of that.”

“You can’t, like, text with your civilian phones?” Grian opened his laptop, balancing his phone between his cheek and shoulder as he searched for whatever case Scar was talking about. He found a couple of results to read later. “Y’know, since you don’t take those on missions, and you’d only be able to respond when you’re at home?”

“Nah, that’s not safe either,” Scar sighed. “If one of us is caught, it’s only a matter of time before their civilian home is raided, and their phone is found. A text at that point could give the rest of us away.”

Grian hadn’t considered that, but it made sense once it was said. There was a reason he wasn’t the villain between the two of them. The Bamboozlers were ten steps ahead of him in every subject that wasn’t medical. 

The call ended soon after that point without much else exchanged between them. Grian had intended to listen to Scar’s voice and try and decipher any lingering awkwardness from it, but it’d been indistinguishable from his usual tonality. From that interaction alone, his little experiment was off to a bad start. 

To get his mind away from his shortcomings, he returned his attention to his computer. The search results regarding the old jailbreak were still on the screen. He clicked on one article and scanned it quickly. It was written four years prior, and the page had shockingly few views for its subject matter. 

The report itself stated something similar to what was already explained to him, though the Agency’s sugarcoating and downplaying was rife throughout it. If it really were recounting the details of a failing of the heroes’ security systems, he wouldn’t be surprised to see anything about it repressed. 

The villain that Lizzie saved was not one Grian had heard about before. Surprising, considering the trouble that had evidently been caused by his escape. He was called Locust throughout the article, but when the vet searched for that alias, only information about the bug came up. No amount of specification changed that. 

Grian typed a wide variety into his browser.

‘Locust jailbreak.’

‘Jailbreak four years ago Locust.’

‘Locust escaped with Eclipse.’

Nothing. 

It seemed only his use of Eclipse’s alias had allowed him to find the original results in the first place. So much as mentioning Locust caused the results to be censored. He was no investigative journalist, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. The Agency clearly didn’t want that information to be found, and they were perfectly content to tamper with the past to make it happen. 

Luckily, Grian did have an extensive history of crawling through the depths of the internet to find things that he wasn’t supposed to see. Namely, academic journals hidden behind paywalls, and pirated versions of movies. Tracking down details on an unknown villain wasn’t too different.

An online forum, now hugely inactive, was where he eventually found what he needed. The whole thread seemed to focus on smaller villains that were around at the time. A good portion had since been knocked out of the field or arrested, but notably, they were all people that Grian had heard of before. 

He saw Locust for the first time when he was almost to the bottom of the page. Hidden amongst clips of fights from people in varying amounts of spandex, he saw a person he didn’t recognize. Grian clicked on the video, and watched all the way through.

It was shaky footage from a phone camera, obviously taken by a civilian hiding on the balcony of a building near the fight. He sat up a bit straighter as he saw Morphling standing in the middle of the street, his electric staff crackling just as it was the night Grian had met him. His hair was dyed red instead of blue, but his costume was unmistakable. 

The audio caught the sound of a loud laugh, one that was very obviously distorted by a voice modulator, but it didn’t come from the hero. Without warning, the road in front of Morphling split open, and a thorny vine shot upwards, grabbing the guy by his wrist. His staff was dropped, and fully engulfed by another cacophony of vines that emerged from the earth. 

Finally, the camera panned over to the figure standing on the other end of the street, one hand outstretched. 

Even through the blurry lens, Grian could see a costume that looked like it was made of fragments of flower petals. The villain wore long, green pants, with a top that fluttered with pinks and reds as he cackled. He wore a hood that resembled a large leaf, and which came up to cover the lower half of his face. 

Morphling was quick to escape his bindings by shifting into a smaller creature, and then switching into a tiger to cut his staff free. The vines were troublesome, though, continuously emerging from the split in the pavement to grab at the hero’s limbs, his staff, even his cloak. 

When they did eventually engage in hand-to-hand combat, it was hard to keep up. Locust moved fast – faster than a weapon as large as Morphling’s could keep up with. As they spun around one another, Grian was able to see that the villain also had a cape draped over his shoulders. It was a shimmering, slightly translucent thing, vaguely reminiscent of a pair of fairy wings that had been folded over his back. 

Halfway through their close combat, Locust dropped low and rolled out of the way of an attack. Before even beginning to stand, he rocked his weight back onto his hand, kicking to sweep Morphling’s legs out from underneath him. Something about it struck the vet as familiar. He paused and rewound the video several times before he realized why that move was recognizable.

It was reminding him of Lizzie.

Actually, a lot of this guy’s fighting style reminded him of Lizzie. His lightning-quick movements, utilization of his whole body when it came to fighting, and his unpredictability. Lizzie did all of those same things, though she incorporated a lot more offensive moves than this guy did. Grian wouldn’t be surprised if the two had trained together at some point – a fact that would also explain Locust’s ability to maneuver around a staff with ease.

This singular detail practically confirmed to him that they had been friends at some point in time. It was a little surreal, but it was undeniable.

The video did not, however, explain what had happened to cause the Agency to wipe the guy’s very existence off the face of the planet. There was no mention of him on the forum any sooner than four years ago, and even those were few and far between.

Only one comment from an unknown account made Grian stop his scrolling. 

Posted 4 years ago by @deleted-user

What do you guys think about the theory that Locust defected? The Agency did mention a new hero debuting soon? Just saying!!

“Defected?” Grian muttered aloud to himself, “A villain can defect?”

The comment didn’t have any replies or likes, though. Grian couldn’t fully trust it without sufficient confirmation that it was a valid thought process. 

His search ended shortly after, once he’d reached the bottom of the forum. It wasn’t possible to locate more pieces of information. His curiosity would have to be satiated from that much alone. Locust was definitely a real person, one that had, at some point, been close enough to Lizzie to have a similar fighting style. 

Unable to do anything else, Grian had just packed up and gone to work. He no longer had to fret over the Bamboozlers’ health, and he had a lot to mull over on his walk to the clinic. On top of his plan to discover if their kiss was genuine, now he had to contemplate the reasoning behind a villain potentially becoming a hero.

Thankfully, the former of those problems had an answer he could more readily work towards. In the period of time between his visits with the Bamboozlers, he would have plenty of opportunities to invent ways to prove his hypothesis.

There was, of course, the ever-obvious revelation through Scar’s patterns of speech. If Grian could catch him in more lies, they would eventually add up into worthwhile evidence. He could also look out for slip-ups, hesitancy, avoidance of certain topics, and so forth. These would be harder, though, since they could be difficult to distinguish from jokes.

A few peer-reviewed psychology journals had suggested Grian also keep an eye out for body language. Research had led him to discover that frequent fidgeting, a lack of eye contact, an influx in getting caught staring, and subtle decreases in space between them were other indications of how one might be able to tell.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure body language would be the most useful under his particular set of circumstances. Scar was prone to doing all of those things already, long before Grian had noticed anything more than platonic feelings between them. They were just regular parts of his mannerisms, it seemed. Studies published in journals couldn’t always account for every single person’s actions, at the end of the day.

Either way, he planned to keep an eye on changes to their typical routine during his expedition for the truth.

Another possible method, and the one from which he was most likely to gain results was flirting. Monitoring how well Scar handled certain levels of expressed admiration, how coherently he responded, and if it became a reciprocal thing was a definite way to be certain of the theory he hoped was true. And he was pretty sure that it wouldn’t take too much effort on his end to achieve either. 

Which was, as anyone with more experience than a couple of one off dates and short-term partners could’ve told him, a massive misconception.

Unfortunately, Grian didn’t learn that until three days later, when he finally saw Scar in person again.

It wasn’t an expected visit — a factor that didn’t necessarily cause his utter failure, but absolutely played a part in forming it. This wasn’t an encounter with any member of the Bamboozlers while in costume, or when they were in need of medical assistance. It was the polar opposite, in fact.

Grian was shopping at his usual grocery store, a mindless endeavor. The building itself was located not far from the park where he’d saved Scar, but he didn’t really think about the implications of its placement. He didn’t think about the fact that his apartment wasn’t a huge distance from a certain townhouse. He didn’t think about the fact that everyone had to buy food somewhere, and that there wasn’t another grocery store for a couple of blocks.

He only realized all of that when he was pushing his shopping cart down the snack aisle and nearly tripped over his feet at the sight of a familiar side profile.

The first thing that shocked Grian about seeing Scar in public was the normal way in which the interaction began. Scar wasn’t lurking in the shadows, wasn’t strategically waiting for them to bump into one another, or stepping into view from around a corner. It wasn’t a manicured, flashy entrance like the kind the vet was used to witnessing. 

Instead, Scar was simply standing there, reaching for a bag of chips with a pensive expression on his face. He was wearing baggy clothing, with colors faded from years of repetitive washing. His hair was spiking upwards in some areas, as if he had rolled out of bed a few minutes prior and not even bothered to run his hands through it. 

And it was at this first unexpected glance that Grian experienced the start of many uncontrollable mishaps. 

His heart gave a leap up into his throat, and startled a small, squeaky noise out of him. This did, of course, prompt Scar to check over his shoulder, and the second their eyes met, Grian was bombarded with thousands of visions of their kiss. The vet’s tongue went numb, face flushed red, and his whole body weight was leaned onto his cart. The latter reaction caused the wheels to jerk to the side and accidentally bump into the very man at which he had been gawking.

The impact made Scar scrunch up his lovely, unmasked face and hiss in pain, “Ow, ow! What was that for?”

“Oh my God,” Grian babbled. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going and you just—! And then I—!”

“Geez, Doctor,” Scar gritted out, dropping his bag of chips back onto the shelf to clutch at his hip. “You know, when you bump into someone in public, it’s usually not so literal. That is definitely going to bruise.”

Grian wanted to reply quickly. He wanted to say something witty, something along the lines of their usual back and forth like, “You probably deserve it.”

Unfortunately, Scar chose that moment to open his eyes and look at the vet directly. Under the glare of the overhead fluorescents, the green color was exceedingly vibrant, like shocks of forest leaves or moss upon a cliffside. Or maybe that was just Grian’s mind inflating details again. It seemed to be doing that a lot when he imagined Scar’s appearance as of late.

“Um, Grian?” Scar tilted his head, amusement filtering into his already perfect countenance. Grian was mortified by the way his name from those lips sent shockwaves through his body and jarred him efficiently back into the present. “Is something the matter? Did I scare you somehow?”

“Scare me? No,” Grian heard himself say, though his actual mind was miles away. “I was just…”

Again, he wanted to say something on topic — something witty to foster banter between them and help him in reaching his end conclusion. A comment that could have sufficed would’ve been along the lines of, “I was just admiring the view.”

Instead, like the eloquent fool he was, Grian simply trailed off, staring at Scar in abject horror as he realized why his entire plan was going to fail.

He couldn’t flirt.

Grian couldn’t flirt.

Realistically, logically, statistically, psychologically, medically, there was nothing preventing him from being able to flirt. Hell, he’d even come up with a million lines ahead of time on the off chance he’d get to use them in conversation. 

Now, though, that conversation was here, and Grian was finding out that no amount of science or research could overpower the firm grip that this singular man held over his entire being. Whether he was capable of forming rational thoughts, experiencing stable feelings, reacting in expected ways, speaking the sentences he’d rehearsed in his head a million times — all of that depended on Scar.

And since Scar had decided to look so damn good in the middle of a grocery store aisle, Grian’s mind had decided that silence was the most he could manage.

His plans had just gotten a whole lot harder. 

“Doctor?” Scar’s amusement shifted into concern, and he stepped forward. To Grian’s absolute displeasure, as the impending disaster was visible from miles away, Scar reached up and placed a hand on his forehead. “Are you alright? You’re acting really weird.”

Scar’s palm was warm, familiar. His touch was tempting, encompassing. Grian almost wished he were actually sick, and able to justify the way his cheeks burned from such a minor amount of contact. 

Although, it wasn’t the minor contact that made him so embarrassed. The thoughts that accompanied it were far worse. His memories like to remind him of what it had felt when this same hand had pulled him in, right as Scar had dipped down, right as he’d pressed their lips together, right as he’d both ruined and enlightened Grian in one fell swoop.

“Oh, yeah, um,” Grian stammered, but it was too late for him. “I’m so okay. Just peachy.”

Scar didn’t look entirely convinced, but he withdrew his hand anyway. Grian, mortifyingly, almost complained about it. He bit his tongue hard to keep those most unmentionable feelings of his under control. 

“Uh, alright,” Scar said, frowning. “Anyway, it’s funny to run into you here. I didn’t realize we shopped at the same store.”

“Mhm, me either,” Grian croaked. Some amount of control returned to him, but only enough to manage casual replies. He was not going to be able to handle anything regarding his theory for the foreseeable future. “Makes sense, I guess. Our neighborhoods aren’t far from each other.”

“They aren’t,” Scar agreed. “It was really convenient anytime I needed to get home after seeing you.”

Grian gave a weak laugh, “Right. I can imagine it would be.”

An awkward quiet settled over them. Grian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt well and truly awkward around Scar. It was disorienting. He rocked on his heels, gripping onto the handle of the shopping cart like it was all that was keeping him anchored. Although, that wasn’t actually something reliable, given its squeaky wheels were practically begging to slip out from underneath him with every second that passed.

“Well,” Scar said, sucking a breath in through his teeth. He gestured to his basket, which was on the ground at his feet. A handful of ingredients were waiting there, and the bag of chips he’d been grabbing when he was rudely interrupted was added to the mix. “I’m stocking up. What’s up with you? How’s your day?”

“Same, and it’s not bad,” Grian replied, suddenly both overwhelmed and completely enthralled. “And you? How’s your day?”

“Could be worse,” Scar said, pursing his lips. “That drive we got the other day has been giving us some problems recently. It’s apparently locked behind some pretty advanced firewalls or whatever, so we have to have a specialist look into it. Besides that, nothing interesting is going on.” 

“That sucks,” the vet tutted, shaking his head almost robotically. Scar’s posture changed, as if he were noticing the odd behavior. Suddenly, Grian felt like he was under a microscope. “Actually, I need to… get going. I have a shift later, and I have to finish my shopping.”

“Oh, really? You do?” Scar raised a brow. “But your shift isn’t until later tonight?”

“Ah,” Grian said, wincing. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Must’ve lost track of the day.”

Scar blinked, eyes trailing to Grian’s wrist, where a certain timepiece ticked down the seconds. The smile he tossed the vet was smug. “Do I need to steal another for you, Doctor?”

Grian flushed brighter, slapping a hand over the watchface. “No! Absolutely not. If you so much as think–”

“You’ll do what, Doctor?” Scar took a step closer and leaned in slightly, his form blocking out the lights for only a moment. The shine reflecting in his irises still felt as warm as all the rays of the sun, though. “If I steal for you again, how do you plan to discourage me?”

Grian was pretty sure that this was what it was like to be on the brink of death. This weightlessness and buzzing in his veins, combined with the heat in his cheeks and the butterflies in his gut made it impossible to process the world around him. Scar was standing a foot away, in arm’s reach, and wearing that terribly charming grin. 

In a moment of panic, the vet could almost always count on the logical part of his brain to chime in with information that was absolutely not useful to him in the slightest. Right then, it was commenting on Scar’s open body language, half lidded eyes, and tilted posture — all of which were indications of flirtatious intent as stated by the numerous papers he’d read. 

Grian’s brain, unhelpfully, listed off the most embarrassing things he could possibly respond with at mach speed. None of them were things he could possibly form into words, knowing his track record for their interaction already. It was frustrating to have a perfect opportunity presented on a silver platter while being unable to take it. Yet, he could do nothing to bridge the gap. 

Unfortunately, without his input leading the conversation in an advantageous direction, Grian couldn’t use a single bit of this as evidence. 

There remained a divide between what could be considered playful, friendly flirting for the sake of a joke, and what could be counted as romantic in nature. Scar had a history of engaging in the former, given his love of teasing remarks that he offered to everyone around him. It remained true that, until Grian could figure out definitely what the line in the sand was for this man, he wasn’t able to make any progress.

What he really needed was to retreat and regroup at home. He needed Scar to quiet down with his musings for the time being and revisit them at a later date. He needed to somehow return to his mental state prior to their kiss, when he didn’t overthink every little thing he did.

Overthinking – yes, that’s what he was doing! Grian had to quit his method of taking things slow, analyzing everything. He could review once the interaction was over, but for the moment, he just needed to get out alive. 

And there was actually a beneficial element in him insisting on a friendly atmosphere between the two of them. Should he continue this conversation casually, and should Scar continue to steer it back in a flirtatious direction anyway, then it had to imply some interference of an outside goal. 

Regular conversation. Grian could definitely manage that. He’d done it for months already.

He opened his mouth, finally ready to respond, but Scar cut him off with a sigh.

“Sorry, Doctor,” he said, leaning back and out of Grian’s personal space. He crossed his arms over his chest, closing off his previously-open body language and tossing aside the interest in his expression. “I know you’re probably a busy man outside of your job. I’ll leave you be. It was good to see you!”

Grian could only watch as Scar picked up his basket and left the aisle, heading in the direction of the check out. 

Damn it. He’d hesitated for too long.

The vet was alone, stunned and disappointed in himself. So much introspection wasted because he’d hesitated for just a second too long. Wasn’t that pathetic? 

At the very least, Grian’s day remained endlessly free with time to return to his apartment and stew in his misery. No amount of overthinking could disrupt his flow there. Only Pearl and Maui experienced his despondency as he routinely paused mid-feeding them to think about his own failure. 

It was embarrassing enough that he made sure to be thoroughly prepared for his next meeting with the other man. He had several contingency plans to fall back on should his brain turn to mush like it did at the store. Grian was determined to find out the truth.

His following encounter with his criminal companions was significantly more in line with their usual circumstances. Therefore, it was not nearly as big of a disaster as anything before it. Grian had gone over to the Bam Bunker to check on Jimmy’s broken finger. The cast had gotten too loose now that the swelling had gone down, and Grian had already arranged for a replacement. 

To get there, obviously, he had to ride in the same car as Scar. A week prior, that would’ve stressed him out. However, he was finding that the blindfold was actually far more useful than he’d anticipated it being. 

Without Scar being able to distract him with his appearance, Grian could almost completely return to normal. All he had to do was focus on the familiar feeling of the car turning onto roads he couldn’t see, and his own heartbeat threatening to tear through his ribs. He wasn’t quite to the level of being comfortable enough to return very obvious jabs yet, but he could speak, and that was an improvement. 

When a conversation started, he was able to continue it. When Scar mentioned anything regarding the night they’d robbed the bank, Grian didn’t immediately jump to thinking about the feeling of warmth against his lips. When Scar was laughing at a funny joke and he reached over and playfully hit Grian’s shoulder, the vet barely even felt mortified by the blush creeping up the back of his neck. 

They arrived not long after, and went inside. 

There was, as could be expected from any dealing with the Bamboozlers, a bit of worrying back and forth at first. Nothing that made the vet’s blood pressure spike, but certainly enough to kickstart his heart again. 

Lizzie got into his personal space, blue eyes flashing as she scowled over her mask. “Scar showed you his face, huh?” 

“Oh, come off it, Liz,” Jimmy sighed, pulling her away. “It was obviously only a matter of time before we all did that, anyway. He knows everything else about us.”

It was not obvious to Grian. Never once had he considered that they might reveal their identities to him under circumstances that were not life or death – but the vet was used to being several steps behind these people. Words like obvious meant something completely different to them. 

Lizzie huffed, pausing her tough act to let her shoulders sag. “But why did Scar get to it so early? I wanted to make it more of an event.”

“Trust me,” Grian scoffed. He pushed past to start towards the kitchen table, where he could get out his supplies. “It was plenty eventful when we were lying straight to a hero’s face.”

He pointedly did not mention their kiss. If that was to be revealed to the Bamboozlers, it was going to have to come from Scar’s mouth. The man seemed not to have told them about it prior to his meeting them, as he definitely would’ve been teased the second he stepped into the bunker if they knew. 

“Well, some people don’t enjoy keeping secrets as much as others,” Jimmy retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as the three trailed after Grian. “By the way, you still have yet to tell us who the mystery guy in your phone is. I don’t suppose you’d be more keen to share now that your closest confidante is here.”

Grian tensed, head whipping around to face Lizzie, who was avoiding eye contact. 

She hadn’t told them?

He was certain she was setting up to do exactly that when he’d left on the day he learned her name. It’d been weeks since then!

Both Jimmy and Scar were looking between the two of them, as if trying to deduce whatever they could from the silent conversation. The vet wasn’t worried, though. There was no chance they could guess the insanity that was Lizzie’s year long fling with her enemy. 

“That’s right,” Scar said proudly. “We know you told Grian all your secrets. C’mon, Liz, spill the beans! You have to!”

“I don’t have to do anything,” the stubborn woman grumbled. Jimmy took her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Lizzie,” he whined. “We won’t judge you if you’ve got a crush or whatever! It’s only a little bit embarrassing to be whipped for some stranger we’ve never met before.”

“You cannot lecture me,” Lizzie snapped back, gesturing to Jimmy. “You are literally wearing Tango’s hoodie right now.”

Jimmy jumped back like he’d been slapped, arms coming up to cover his torso. His ears turned pink and he was stunned into silence. He had to open and close his mouth multiple times before managing a squeaky, “It’s perfectly normal to share clothes as roommates!”

Grian raised a brow at this reaction, intrigue spiked. The hoodie, under closer inspection, didn’t actually seem like something Jimmy would own of his own accord. It was rust colored, with flame decals along the sleeves and drawstrings that had very clearly been chewed on often. He’d never so much as seen Jimmy fidget with the drawstrings on his clothing, so it would add up that he was not the original owner of this item.

A separate detail caught his attention. Specifically, the way to which this person, whose name Grian had never before heard, was referred. It was almost as if this fellow were involved romantically with Jimmy. Only one person had been talked about with the same language. 

“So,” he started, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Zip is actually called Tango?”

Two heads whipped around to face him – Lizzie being the exception, as she seemed adamant on not meeting his eyes still. Scar and Jimmy, however, looked horrified. “Lizzie!”

“Relax. It’s not a secret,” she groaned. “Those three buffoons have accidentally said each other’s names so often on live television that their personal social media accounts are linked at the bottom of their wiki pages. The Agency basically keeps them around for entertainment purposes nowadays.”

Grian simultaneously absolutely could and definitely couldn’t believe what he was hearing. On one hand, how could any villain be that clumsy with their personal information. On the other hand, these were the Tuff Guys. It was always within the realm of possibility for them. 

Still, he hung his head and sighed. “Tim, do you seriously have feelings for someone like that?”

“Liz, please tell me your guy is better,” Scar agreed, making a face. “I can’t handle another idiot-in-law.”

Grian bit back a wince. Instead, he managed to catch Lizzie’s eye for the first time since they’d breached this topic. She seemed anxious, visibly contemplative. He did his best to put on an encouraging expression, and it appeared to work. Lizzie straightened the slightest bit.

“Grian, do you, uh,” she said, pointing vaguely in a direction down the hall. “Think you could step out for a moment?”

“No problem,” Grian assured her, even though stepping out was kind of the opposite of what he’d been brought to the base to do. Jimmy’s cast still needed his attention eventually. It could wait a bit longer, though. This discussion was overdue. Besides, at the very least, if he was in the base while she told them, then he could listen through the door to make sure she actually did it this time.

God, for a bunch of criminals, they really were all cowards when it came to romance.

Assuming, of course, that his tests proved true eventually. If it turned out Scar wasn’t lying about his reason for kissing Grian, then he would retract this internal statement.

Feeling too uncomfortable to actually go into anyone’s rooms while he waited, Grian opted to duck into the bathroom for the time being. It was decorated according to an extremely stereotypical ocean-theme. Everything was a shade of blue, white, or covered in some form of seashell. 

The icing on top was the collage of photos on the wall, though. They’d very clearly bought specific frames that were designed for families to document trips taken together, each with little cheesy quotes engraved along the edges. The only problem was that they had never taken the display photos out of the frames, so random stock images watched Grian as he entered the room. Not a single one was personalized.

He noticed that one of the Bamboozlers had left their costume hanging on the back of the door. Presumably, it was either Scar or Jimmy, since Lizzie’s outfit had shorts instead of long pants. These clothes also had a couple of tears in them, some of which had obviously been recently sewn back together.

In fact, there was a sewing kit left out on the countertop. Grian peeked at it, and was surprised that Jimmy’s name was written on the top. He hadn’t known that Jimmy, of all people, was the person in charge of fixing their costumes whenever they got messed up. It definitely painted an interesting picture in his mind’s eye.

Putting that aside, the conversation had started outside. He leaned against the door, eager for any amount of muffled talking that could be picked up from where he lingered. Not much of it was audible, but he did hear the exact moment Lizzie let the information slip. He could tell because of the way both Jimmy and Scar’s voices had raised about twelve octaves out of shock.

“Furioso? Seriously?”

“A hero, Liz?”

“A whole year?”

They were certainly loud about their responses. Neither Scar nor Jimmy sounded particularly angry, though. Just surprised. Which, all things considered, wasn’t the worst, especially since she’d put it off for so long. The Bamboozlers wouldn’t be easily broken apart. 

There was a lot more chattering. A couple of times, Grian thought he heard his name. Still, he didn’t leave until he was certain they were calling specifically for him. When he returned to the room, it was quiet.

Lizzie looked relieved, and she greeted Grian with a nod of confirmation. It was over, and it had gone well. The two remaining were clearly processing, taking things slow, but the vet had been in their shoes. He knew what was running through their heads. 

Grian figured he might as well get down to business while they recovered. And it didn’t take much longer. Though no one touched that newly-learned piece of information again, they did resume idle conversation.

Jimmy was a good patient, sitting still and just mildly complaining as his injury was disturbed. The vet kept his gaze firmly on the cast, stopping only to reach into his own bag from time to time. His extra focus definitely wasn’t because he could feel eyes on the back of his head, and he definitely didn’t fear his own reaction should he look up and see exactly who he thought he’d see. That simply couldn’t be the case.

He distracted himself with his practice, only letting his attention wander if it was for the sake of analyzing the state of the people around him. Grian usually did that immediately upon spotting them, but he’d been interrupted earlier. Now that he was really looking, it was easy to see that Lizzie and Jimmy had rough experiences with their bank heist the other day. Each of them was layered with bruises, and they had zip-up sweaters tied around their waists that could be shrugged on to hide the evidence. 

Jimmy got the worst of it, of course, since he couldn’t fight back. Grian did remember being a little surprised that he’d gone along with the heist while he wasn’t at his best, but when asked, the Bamboozlers simply said that timing was important. The date they picked apparently aligned with some inspection or whatever — nothing that Grian was particularly concerned about. He just accepted the answer, and moved on.

As soon as he was done, and Jimmy’s finger was no longer in a badly-sized cast, it didn’t take long for Grian to lose his ability to focus on other things. Lizzie’s difficult topic had been broached, all details related to medical work had already been covered, and the trio had tired of teasing each other. There was no other distraction from the ache in his chest.

He’d done a great job of putting his feelings on the back burner for as long as he could, and now, they insisted on being acknowledged. 

Scar was, unfortunately, still as upsettingly beautiful as ever once Grian finished packing away his things. 

Turning around to see him standing nearby with his arms crossed over his chest, made worse by the fact that he was wearing a sleeveless tank top, was not doing much to maintain a breathable atmosphere in that bunker. Grian was halfway tempted to ask Lizzie to blind him to remove the worst of his problems.

It was weird, if he was being honest, noticing someone else’s looks. Grian supposed he’d always done that to a degree when it came to Scar — spending far too long staring into his eyes or at the curve of his back — but then, it had been closer to aesthetic attraction than anything noticeably deeper. Who wasn’t capable of appreciating a nice figure every now and again? He was inept when it came to emotions, but he had taste.

This was different from all of that, though. This was warmer. This was more delicate. This was tedious and thrilling all at the same time, and this was specific only to one man.

Obviously, he’d harbored these feelings for a while, tamped them down in light of this man being an infamous villain, and the reality of a vet liking a criminal being really strange. They’d been simmering beneath the surface, building in strength, value, genuine affection the longer he continued to push them down.

His judgement had been fogged by his own biases against the struggles of a relationship that could emerge between two people like them, but they were clearer as of late. At least, inwardly they were clearer, even if he didn’t yet understand how to communicate them outwardly. They made sense to him. 

Of course he’d fall for the guy that was just his type, with a soft spot for animals and a pension for jokes. Of course he would repress it out of fear. Of course it’d eventually overflowed as his heart kept swelling. Of course these feelings would lead him here, to this man, no matter how horribly he screwed it up over and over again.

And it didn’t really matter to him that Scar was a villain. Not anymore.

He’d seen Lizzie’s face when she talked about her hero boyfriend — seen how something so difficult could still bring her so much joy. She struggled to admit it to her team in the same way that Grian struggled to admit it to himself, but that didn’t make it any less prominent, any less worthy of exploration. 

His willingness to throw everything aside to pursue this avenue he’d only just realized existed was terrifying in its own right. But it was the only thing he could do, the only thing that he wanted, the only way to ensure he lived with as few regrets as possible.

“Alright,” he said, pulling his bag over his shoulder and facing the others. “I’ll be on my way then. Scar?”

Scar didn’t need to be told twice. Grian was blindfolded, escorted outside, and carefully helped into the car. The entire time, he was aware of Scar’s hand in his, honeyed tone in his ear, directing him as best he could to make the process easier. 

The drive was tense, somehow, despite the lack of visibility. Grian could feel Scar thinking from across the center console. It only took a few minutes for it to become tangible enough for the vet to blurt, “What is it?”

“Well,” Scar started, voice coming out as a gasp, as though he’d been holding his breath while also holding his tongue. “I was just… I wasn’t expecting Furioso, and I was wondering–”

“Wondering what I thought about the whole thing?” Grian guessed. Scar hummed in confirmation, and the vet shrugged. It was a difficult question. “Your group politics are none of my business. I was surprised, but you should’ve seen her after she talked to him over the phone that day. It was like she was a completely normal person. She really likes him.”

There was no response to that. Grian didn’t know what exactly had been told to the Bamboozlers. Presumably, it was more than he would ever really know. Maybe that was enough to warrant this concern from Scar, or maybe they were working with the same amount of details, and maybe he was just taking longer to understand. 

Which prompted an interesting question.

“Scar?”

“Yeah, G?”

“Do you dislike the idea of two people from completely different walks of life dating one another?”

He felt the car give a jerk. They must’ve come up on a stoplight a little too fast or something. Scar cleared his throat, and the drive resumed regularly. “No, no. I don’t mind. Not at all. Why, uh… Why do you ask?”

Grian did not miss the stammering. In fact, his ears honed in on it – the sound immediately pulling a pathetic thump from his heart. He realized after having asked the question that it technically applied to the two of them as well. A civilian and a villain were only a few degrees of separation from a villain and a hero in those regards.

And Scar wasn’t against it. 

Scar was adamantly not against it. 

Something akin to confidence formed in his lungs, swelling in his chest, and buzzing through his veins. An idea came to him – one formed after significant observation had recognized a pattern in his companion’s behaviors. He didn’t need to be able to see to know what to do next. 

Grian found himself moving suddenly, lifting his arm and resting it against the center console. Exactly as he’d expected, Scar was also resting his arm in that spot. Their skin brushed, and Grian thought he heard a breath sucked in through clenched teeth. Scar didn’t move, but he was obviously aware of the vet. 

“Then, if you don’t have a problem with it,” Grian said, slow and quiet. “What’s holding you back?”

He could’ve cut the silence that immediately filtered in with a knife. Scar was tense beside him, unable to respond. 

Grian had done it. Sure, he was still hindered by the blindfold, and therefore lacking the ability to track redness in the face or anything of the sort, but it was progress.

After Scar failed to respond for another minute, Grian decided to return them to their topic to relieve him of any inner stress he might be experiencing. As addicting as it was to know that his words could hold such power in this moment, he was satisfied. 

“Lizzie and Furioso will be alright. They’re a year in,” Grian commented. “They’ve resolved most of the bugs in a relationship like that. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, but Lizzie has you guys behind her now. And, hey, if Furioso breaks her heart, I doubt she’s above just killing him right then and there. She’s not helpless.”

Scar laughed weakly at that. “No, she isn’t. I should be more worried about Furioso.”

“Yeah, probably,” Grian hummed. He liked the sound of the smile in Scar’s voice. It kept him happy until they reached the end of their drive. The blindfold was removed, and Grian let his eyes adjust to the light.

To his surprise, when he finally glanced in Scar’s direction, the other man’s face was completely pink. His smile was tight, and he was blinking really fast when he met Grian’s eyes. “Bye, Doctor. Get home safely.”

“Oh,” Grian whispered, taking in the sight greedily. This was his doing. That expression was because of what Grian had said to him. Scar looked like that, and it was his fault.

And wasn’t that a beautiful realization? Such a small comment, phrased in such a vague way, and yet, his companion was still dwelling on it minutes later. Grian saw himself echoed in those mannerisms.

“Goodbye, Scar,” he said, a smile spreading slowly over his face. Grian stood and got out of the car, in desperate need of a walk to get rid of all this newfound energy. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Scar replied, barely audible. “Hopefully.”

Grian tossed him a wink, and closed the door. He began to walk away, pausing only to check over his shoulder. Scar was resting his forehead against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths. A thrill shot down the vet’s spine. He left without a second thought.

With an aspect of evidence gathered, he had quite a lot to contemplate at home.

Not much happened in the time after his last visit to the Bam Bunker. 

Five days went by with little to no criminal activity on the news, and the clinic wasn’t particularly busy either. The Tuff Guys had tried and failed to interrupt a charity event at the local university, but they’d been chased off campus by a collection of overly-passionate college students, so that hadn’t amounted to much. 

The Bamboozlers, having just finished their big heist, only went out every now and again for little things. They hadn’t gotten hurt, or really encountered any heroes at all. Scar told Grian over text that they were planning on scouting for a new project, and keeping the city on their toes with occasional appearances. Nothing had seriously caught their fancy yet. 

They weren’t due to go on any dangerous missions for a while. The trio was supposed to be fine, staying off the Agency’s radars, and only taking on easy tasks. He’d settled in, content to not have much action for a while longer. 

So, after a quiet night watching a mindless movie, Grian hadn’t been expecting a knock on his window.

It wasn’t often that he received knocks of any kind at all as of late, unless they were on his front door and far less hurried. The Bamboozlers knew they were welcome in his apartment. There was no need to sneak in for a casual visit or a basic check-up. 

This frantic rapping, however, was neither in the place he expected, nor for a leisurely matter. Grian was appalled to reach his window and find Scar sprawled out on the landing of the fire escape, waiting for him. 

The vet threw open the window and climbed out to join him, taking in his pale features. Scar was clad in the expected Ringmaster regalia, gas mask and all. Through the costume, it was hard to get a solid read on him, but it was immediately clear that something was wrong. There was blood, and the sound of wheezing breaths. He couldn’t yet see the source of his pain from this angle, though. 

“Grian,” the other man rasped as soon as the vet was in sight. Grian dropped to his knees beside him, putting a hand to his pulse, feeling the slow pace of his heart. His breathing was also concerningly shallow. “Please… let’s go inside.”

“Yes, of course,” Grian whispered, simultaneously shocked and horrifically present. “Stay with me. Deep breaths. Stay conscious.”

It was obvious that the guy wasn’t capable of walking on his own, since he’d barely made it to the window before collapsing. They’d encountered the same problem in the alleyway all those months ago. It scared him to see his companion in a similar state now. He needed to be treated without delay.

Scar was still bigger than him, so lifting him completely wasn’t possible without risking throwing out his back. Luckily, the primary difference was that his patient wasn’t dead weight this time around. Grian dealt with large animals frequently, and while it wasn’t necessarily comparable to a well-built human, he’d have enough strength to manage. He just needed a little assistance from the other to get there. 

Grian helped Scar into a sitting position, and slung his arm over his shoulder. They maneuvered his legs underneath him, gradually pushing for a standing position. Getting Scar through the window was the worst part. Grian had to scrape his side against the frame to prevent his friend from being bruised in his place. 

The second they were fully indoors, rather unceremoniously, Scar collapsed to the ground. His body made a loud thud, which earned a wince from the vet. He hadn’t meant to let him fall, but there was very little choice from their current positioning. Once the window was closed and locked again, he did his best to get Scar onto the couch.

Grian didn’t stop to survey the other man for wounds. He already knew from his complexion that he couldn’t mess around. The vet sprinted to his coat closet and dug through it until he found what he was looking for – the IV from months prior. 

He’d never quite figured out how to return it to the hospital without being accused of theft, so the Bamboozlers had just stowed it away here. Thankfully, there was also a single remaining bag of IV fluids. It wouldn’t work forever, but it would be a good short-term solution. 

Unfortunately, Grian didn’t have any oxygen tanks. The spares of those, leftover from when Jimmy had panicked and ordered fifteen online during Lizzie’s brief duration of needing one, remained at the bunker. 

“Okay,” he panted, rushing back to Scar’s side with the gathered stuff, all too aware of how out of shape he’d gotten recently. While he hooked the drip up to his friend’s arm, he asked, “What’s happened? Where does it hurt?”

“My side,” Scar rasped. He shifted to allow Grian to lean in, pulling up his shirt to reveal the wound that had been hidden earlier. The vet expected a bloody mess – the result of another embedded projectile or deep stab wound. He could not have prepared himself for what waited there instead. 

Grian squinted, a little confused.

Scar had indeed been injured, but it wasn’t anywhere near fatal, or even dangerous.

“Scar,” he said slowly, pausing his fussing. “You are just as capable of cleaning up small cuts as I am. If you wanted an excuse to hang out, you could’ve called me. What’s with all the dramatics?”

The man’s side boasted a decently-sized cut, which was bleeding, but not an immense amount. It wasn’t deep enough to puncture, or even leave much of a mark during the healing process. A normal person would be worried, but compared to the possible other injuries they often sustained, this was the kind of thing a villain could simply clean, bandage, and forget about. 

“No, Grian,” Scar gasped. He propped himself up on one elbow, using his other hand to reach over and squeeze the vet’s shoulder. His eyes were glassy, like he was holding back tears. “It’s not a cut. This is different. It’s worse.”

“Worse?”

Grian searched his friend’s face, trying to garner meaning from his words. He took in the situation again, reassessing his original observation of pale skin, with an additional note towards Scar’s ragged breathing, general weakness, and outward panic. 

None of those symptoms should’ve been the result of a regular scrape. They were severe – enough to panic him before he’d seen the injury itself. Had he never laid eyes on it, he would’ve continued to treat it as something potentially life-threatening. His intuition knew better than to let what he saw get in the way of his instincts.

“Who did this to you, Scar?” 

His friend collapsed down onto the cushions again, a pained groan leaving his throat. Grian finished attaching the IV, but it didn’t ease any of his concern.

“I was shot,” Scar said. He was interrupted by a coughing fit, and had to quickly remove his mask to shove his face into his sleeve. Grian didn’t like the dull color of his lips. “One of Necromancer’s arrows caught my side while I was scouting.”

“Necromancer?” 

Grian knew that hero. 

They were another member of the Gs, alongside Morphling. She was known for her ability to briefly possess a person’s mind and control them for up to thirty seconds. Though it was a strong power, it couldn’t be used often enough to change the tides of a fight on its own. To make up for that gap, they had a compound bow strapped to their back. 

Scar nodded. “But something was… off about the arrows she used tonight. I can’t describe it.”

“Off?”

A nasty idea clawed to the front of Grian’s brain. He drew in a sharp breath, recounting the symptoms again and again. To his utmost displeasure, they aligned scarily well with what he suspected to be the cause. The vet’s eyes drifted to the wound, terrified by the angry red of the skin surrounding it. 

A pit formed in his gut.

“The arrows were poisoned,” Grian whispered. 

Scar blanched, eyes growing wide. “What? Poisoned?”

“Stay calm,” the vet advised. He disappeared to grab his other supplies and returned as fast as he could. “It’s probably just the kind that’s meant to… incapacitate you for a while.”

“But I wasn’t incapacitated,” Scar said, clenching his teeth as a tremor shook his body. Not a good sign. “I finished the fight and came to you. Pretty slow-acting incapacitation drug if that was their goal.”

“Maybe because you were only cut,” Grian guessed. He began cleaning the area. “If it’d been a puncture wound, or maybe even a slightly larger injury, you probably would’ve been temporarily paralyzed.”

At least, Grian hoped that was what he was dealing with. 

He wasn’t a physician, nor had he the slightest clue how to handle something of this caliber. Alcohol poisoning, snake venom, and bad reactions to food and medicine in animals were about the closest he could get, but he couldn’t imagine they were even the same genre. Stomach pumping was unlikely to work against a poison in the blood.

He hadn’t even thought to research stuff like this. It hadn’t even registered in his mind as a possible threat for villains to experience. Not that anyone could blame him. This was beyond bizarre.

Suddenly, he recalled a report from a newscaster awhile back, stating that the heroes were taking necessary steps. They’d all brushed it off then as nothing of concern. Staring down at Scar now, though, proved they had been dead wrong.

God, the Agency had to be more than a little peeved about the recent robbery if they’d greenlit literal poison-tipped arrows. It was a cruel tactic, meant to cause suffering no matter the severity of the injury. The mere notion made him sick.

Maybe, beneath the surface, the heroes weren’t as merciful as a regular veterinarian once viewed them to be. Maybe this wasn’t about incapacitation at all. Maybe they would jump at the chance to kill off one of their biggest nuisances. 

“Oh, man,” Scar gasped. He sat up suddenly, moving like he might try to leave. “I have to warn the others. I have to tell them to watch out for–”

He was interrupted by another coughing fit and a wave of dizziness that visibly crossed his eyes. Grian gently pushed him back down, tutting. “You’re not going anywhere, idiot. Use your watch instead.”

“Right, yeah, you’re right,” Scar stammered. He raised his watch to his mouth and spoke into it. “Guys, arrows are poisoned. Don’t get shot.”

With that message delivered, he dropped his hand unceremoniously, and then Grian watched his eyes roll back into his head. Scar passed out instantly, slumping against the couch. 

The vet startled, lurching forward to check his pulse and his breathing. His airways didn’t seem to be blocked. His heart rate was also not terrible. Both were, of course, fainter than he might’ve liked for a healthy person, but Scar wasn’t taking a nosedive, so that was all he could really ask for. Most likely, he’d just passed out from the pain.

Grian sat back, taking stock of the situation. 

Whatever poison had been in those arrows was obviously stronger than a sedative. It left the wound angry, and Scar’s body a wreck. Grian felt helpless. He didn’t know how to do more than treat the symptoms he was seeing. 

The vet did what he could, finishing up his cleaning. He used warm water and soap, washed it thoroughly, and wrapped it once he was done. Whether his friend was immediately at risk of death or not, Scar was clearly in bad shape, and only declining as the minutes passed. Tremors shook him often, and he let out more than a couple unconscious groans. He’d begun to sweat heavily too.

Grian stayed by his side, anxiously tracking the uneven rise and fall of his chest. He only deviated when a knock came at his front door. The vet answered, relieved to see Lizzie and Jimmy in their civilian outfits waiting for him on the other side, although that quickly shifted into shock.

They weren’t wearing their masks.

The other two Bamboozlers stared at him, eyes wild and mouths agape to suck in air, looking like their world was crumbling at their feet with each second that passed.

“Is he here?” Lizzie asked as she pushed past him. She had a piercing, one little silver stud on the side of her nose. “Is Scar here?”

“Uh, yes,” he responded, dazed at the sight of her full worried expression on display. Jimmy waited in the doorway, giving Grian a weak smile. “Why aren’t you two–?”

“We couldn’t risk being spotted on our way over,” Jimmy explained. He had a light dusting of freckles over his cheeks. “We changed and came as soon as we heard Scar’s warning. His tracker told us you had him, but we were scared.”

“Right,” Grian whispered. “Come in, then.”

He allowed Jimmy inside, and he joined Lizzie as they looked over the edge of the couch at Scar. Both of them were frowning, mouths downturned and brows furrowed. Seeing it all at once almost made Grian dizzy. 

He kind of forgot that they had a lower half to their heads that wasn’t just a mask. The entirety made sense, but it was yet another adjustment that he’d have to get used to over time. He hated that it’d happened under these circumstances. 

After a minute, Jimmy spoke up, “What’s wrong with him, G? Is it actually poison?”

“That’s my best guess,” Grian confirmed, nodding. He walked around to the side table, where he’d set up a clean cloth and a bowl of water. Lightly, he began to dab the sweat from his friend’s face. 

Lizzie chimed in next, “Is he going to be alright?”

Grian stopped, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’ll do what I can. Poison isn’t something that can be… completely cured with my skill set.”

“What?” Lizzie straightened, eyes going wide. “You can’t help him?”

“No, I mean I can’t make it go away instantly,” Grian said, flinching under her terrified gaze. “I don’t know anything about this poison, or how much this one cut will affect him.”

Jimmy and Lizzie shared a look, anxiety visible. Guilt chipped at Grian, knowing the same fears had taken root within him as well. He wished there were more he could do immediately. Seeing the tension in Scar’s body, the pain written clearly over his features, made Grian want to crawl in a hole and never come out. 

It was weird feeling helpless in this situation. Countless other times, Lizzie, Scar, and Jimmy had all been in equally dangerous situations. Any number of stab wounds, or stray arrows could’ve put them into a state like this one. 

But they hadn’t, because Grian knew what to do there. He knew how to clean infections, stitch up slashes, and create makeshift casts. For the first time, Grian could only do so much. The majority of the healing process would rely on Scar’s own ability to gradually purge himself of the toxins. 

The vet wondered if things would be different if the arrow had worked as intended. Were Scar to be captured and brought back to the Agency, would they have administered an antidote? Or would they have left him to suffer – rotting, and perhaps even dying inside a prison cell? 

Would they have bothered to bring him to the Agency at all? With an arrow buried in his flesh, and a poison of unknown levels of danger seeping into his blood, would they have bothered to take him away, or would they have left him to fade in the middle of the street?

That was too brutal to dwell on for long. It hadn’t happened. Scar had only been sliced. He shook himself out of his depressing stupor, turning to the other two. “I’ll need to keep an eye on him for the foreseeable future. He can stay here, in my bed.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Jimmy knelt down beside Scar, tentatively touching his hand. 

“I don’t know,” Grian replied honestly. “Poison is… tricky. Scar is strong, though, and otherwise physically healthy. He’ll do better than most people would have under the same circumstances.”

Lizzie sighed, eyes hazy, “Can we do anything?”

“Well, it’d be nice to have someone around to monitor his condition while I’m at work,” Grian said, resuming his gentle wiping of sweat. “And more fluids, as well as Lizzie’s old oxygen mask would be beyond helpful.”

Jimmy took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll fetch the tank right now. Liz, can you handle the fluids?”

“Consider it done,” she promised, such conviction in her words that Grian couldn’t doubt her for a second. Neither of them were going to sit idly by while their teammate suffered. Lizzie looked down at Grian, opening her mouth as if to say more, and then stopping. She shook her head, and settled for, “Keep him alive.”

Grian nodded. They left, and he remained by Scar’s side. 

The world was heavy upon his shoulders. The pulsing of a life was featherlight beneath his hands. The figure of death crept through his friend’s blood. The apartment was quiet.

Grian remained.

Grian hung his coat on the rack, kicking his shoes off beside the door. The air as they’d gotten into the start of autumn was beginning to descend upon the city. The chilliness of the evenings lasted longer into the days, and the nights came sooner than Grian would’ve liked. 

It was warm in his apartment, though. Pearl and Maui rushed to greet him as soon as he stepped foot in the living room. They mewled and flicked their tails, making their irritation known to the world. He sighed, “Did you guys not enjoy spending time with Lizzie? She’s very nice, I promise.”

“Grian? Is that you?”

“Yes, coming!” Grian followed the sound of Lizzie’s voice down the hall and into his bedroom. The door was already open, with a familiar woman waiting inside. Lizzie smiled at him. Her eyes were, as always, dull and puffy from crying. Three days had not improved her state. 

Scar was asleep on the bed, as per usual. Grian’s gaze dragged over him, finding nothing had changed. He was still perspiring, though not quite as much as that first night, and his face was perpetually red. 

Grian asked, “Did he wake up while I was out?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Lizzie sighed. “I gave him some of that activated charcoal medicine stuff like you told me to, but he passed out again before I could see if it was working.”

Grian nodded solemnly, understanding her disappointment. Scar’s moments of consciousness were brief and painful, not something either of his three caretakers particularly enjoyed witnessing. He’d experience heart palpitations, abnormal breathing, and he’d vomited a few times over the course of several nights.

The vet stepped over to check the heart rate monitor – which Jimmy had stolen for him recently against his wishes. It’d tracked several uneven spikes, all of which had leveled out when Scar presumably lost consciousness earlier. Not pleasant, but at the very least, his condition had reached what they presumed to be rock bottom, stopping him from getting any weaker. 

Grian didn’t let himself think about how easily one bad reaction could ruin everything while he was like this.

“Thanks, Liz,” Grian said, dragging a hand through his hair. It was gross after his long shift, and his scrubs were in need of a wash too. “Feel free to head out. I’ve got him from here.”

“You sure?” Lizzie replied. “You look tired.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Grian insisted. “Jellie’s probably missing out on human interaction by now, and Pearl and Maui won’t let me feed them until you’re gone.”

“Always worried about the cats,” the woman grumbled. “You and Scar really are well suited for each other.”

Grian didn’t have the energy recently to care about those types of little jabs. The only thing they did was remind him of how badly Scar was doing. Only a week prior, he could’ve laughed at that. A week prior, his heart would’ve given a flutter. A week prior, that comment would’ve made both him and Scar blush.

Now, they were lucky if they received even the slightest reaction from their friend at all. 

Lizzie stood from her chair and exited the room. The sole farewell she offered was a pat on the shoulder. None of them bothered with pleasantries during these switches. From down the hall, he heard the door open and shut. It was locked with the spare key he’d given to both her and Jimmy. 

Pearl and Maui galloped into the room right on cue. Neither of them cared about Scar’s faint presence, too busy weaving through their owner’s feet to mind. They probably couldn’t even tell there was another body occupying their space. 

Grian let some of the day’s tension roll off his shoulders. He was exhausted, more than he’d like to admit, but that would have to wait. There was more to be done.

He fed his cats, checked on Scar once again, then opted to take a shower. Grian was anxious about stepping away for too long, but he wasn’t the type to be capable of standing poor hygiene for long. He did his best to make it short.

Grian returned not ten minutes later, his room quiet aside from the beeping of the heart monitor and the hiss of the oxygen mask. Scar was unmoving. The room was cold. The lights were dim.

The vet settled himself in the chair beside the bed. He tossed his towel in the vague direction of his laundry basket, and just watched the rise and fall of Scar’s chest. Somewhere in the apartment, his phone rang with Mumbo’s usual ringtone. Grian let it go to voicemail.

He leaned forward, propping one arm up on the bed and resting his cheek in his palm. 

“I miss you, Scar,” Grian whispered, words falling upon deaf ears. The vet let his hand find Scar’s own. It was limp, clammy, but it was still his. He swallowed past a lump in his throat and squeezed. A week ago, he would’ve gotten a squeeze in return. “Please. Come back to me.”

Scar did not respond. Scar could not respond.

Grian was completely alone.

Chapter Text

Grian watched the microwave spin, its light illuminating the otherwise darkened kitchen around him. A hum broke through steady silence, occupying space that was far too empty on its own. The timer counted down achingly slowly, a lethargic minute turning into creeping seconds, and then, after an eternity, finally reached zero. Its hum was replaced by a shrill beep, so near and yet so far from that of the heart monitor in the other room. 

He didn’t grab his food immediately. His arms were tired, and he was comfortable with a hip propped against the counter. A stillness had overtaken him, one that was not easily disturbed by loud noises or timers or the smell of a pathetic reheated dinner after a long shift. All he could find the strength to do was listen to his surroundings — the intake of his own breath, the hush of the oxygen machine, and the pitter patter of two small cats coming to check on their owner.

He glanced down at Maui and Pearl, looping through his legs to stare up at him. They didn’t mewl or call out, didn’t try to rouse him into action when they knew he’d been incapable of it for days. Feeding them and sitting in their presence was the most he could manage. 

The microwave’s light gave up, as if sensing he couldn’t be bothered to reach for its contents. His kitchen was plunged into darkness. Feeble moonlight filtered through half-drawn curtains. Only a singular window remained unlocked, stuck that way after Grian had tried and failed to find the willpower to clean the bloodstains off his fire escape. 

Scar had been unconscious for a week.

A week since he’d dragged himself, trembling and fading, into the vet’s apartment. A week since he’d spoken his last coherent sentence. A week since he’d been safe and healthy and alive.

Grian hung his head, hunger pains squeezing his stomach. He had to eat — he knew he did. His limbs were heavy, eyes drooping, energy dipping, but he had to eat. 

Jimmy had left a little while ago, when Grian returned home from a fourteen hour shift sometime after midnight. It wasn’t a horrible day at the clinic — with a couple of emergency procedures at the beginning that tapered off as the evening ticked on. He was able to put his feet up occasionally, but it wasn’t satisfying. Typically, once he had finished a shift like that, he would come home and crash under his covers.

But there was no reprieve to be found in his home. 

He couldn’t fall into bed, because a familiar face was still waiting there for him, with a thousand little things that needed to be done. There was medicine to give him, sheets to change, diagnostics to check, IV bags to replace, oxygen tanks to switch out, bandages to tie, animals to feed, and any number of extra tasks depending on how much Jimmy or Lizzie had done. Then, and only then, could Grian begin to think of himself.

Which did not, in all honesty, work out as well as he needed it to. 

To say he was tired was an understatement. It wasn’t uncommon for him to forgo eating just to doze off faster, or in favor of helping Scar through one of his fits of consciousness. 

Tonight though, despite his pathetic nature, his body wasn’t keen on walking away without some semblance of nutrients. 

Grian forced himself to open the microwave and remove his bowl of ramen. It was still warm, but not enough to burn his hands after the long wait. The noodles would undoubtedly be chewy by now. He sighed, mixing in the prepackaged flavoring and letting it sit for a bit. 

Suddenly, a loud cry echoed from down the hall. Grian was off without a second thought, bursting into his bedroom and taking in the situation.

Scar was awake, eyes wide and chest heaving. His heart monitor was shrieking, and his oxygen mask had sent him into a coughing fit. Grian was by his side in an instant, helping him sit up and rubbing his back while he choked on air. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’ll be alright.” 

His words fell upon deaf ears. Scar began to claw at his mask, so Grian helped him get it off. On instinct, used to this dance, the vet reached behind him and grabbed the tiny trash can. He placed it in front of Scar, then dragged his fingers through his hair to keep it out of his face. It wasn’t terribly long, but it could still be inconvenient in moments such as these. 

Immediately, he heard the unpleasantness of stomach acid being heaved into the bin. Nothing substantial, as no food stayed down long when they did succeed in getting Scar to eat at all, but enough to be uncomfortable. 

“Let it out,” Grian sighed. He heard a choked out sob between gags, and felt his heart shrivel alongside it. He readjusted his hands so that one could hold his hair and the other could rub circles into Scar’s back. “Don’t panic. This is fine. It’s totally natural.”

A minute later, Scar was finished. They stayed like that for a while, simultaneously to ensure it wasn’t going to happen anymore, and because Grian knew his friend ached severely with every large movement. Eventually, though, the vet reached over and pried the trash can out of Scar’s white-knuckled grip. He replaced it instantly with a cloth, wiping at his mouth. 

“There we go,” Grian hummed. “All better. How do you feel?”

Scar didn’t acknowledge him. It was clear by the haze in his eyes that he was barely conscious. Grian helped him down again, and with a minor amount of maneuvering, managed to get him on his side. Changing his positioning was important to prevent bed rashes. The oxygen mask was put on once more, and the beeping of the monitor slowed to its regular pace. 

As quickly as he’d woken, Scar fell back asleep. Grian wasn’t surprised. Whatever poison remained in his system was draining and depleting all of his strength. 

Grian opened his phone — an almost habitual action by now — and searched up every symptom he’d seen Scar exhibiting. And, as usual, the same several articles popped up. Nothing new, though. 

He’d clicked every single one of the links, spanning the first ten pages of search results, to no avail. Not a soul on the internet could tell him what was wrong with Scar. It didn’t matter if he repeated this process through hundreds of scholarly libraries or on any amount of less reliable forums. 

He sat himself in the chair beside the bed and rested his forehead against the mattress. For the hundredth time, he wondered if his lab at the clinic would be enough to provide decent results from blood work. The conclusion was that it wasn’t worth the risk — not with his limited expertise with this form of poison, and his need to keep this as secretive as possible. 

Perhaps, if he had access to the arrow that had originally caused the whole mess, he could’ve attempted to create a sort of anti-venom. He’d treated snake bites similarly before, and the injured parties emerged alright in the end because of it. 

But those were different scenarios. They were within the range of his previously-existing knowledge. They had significantly more context. They weren’t half as illegal. 

Their present predicament was just odd in every sense of the word. The internet was useless, activated charcoal was helping only minimally, and the symptoms were persisting without any sign of lessening even a week later. It was almost like this problem — this poison — didn’t exist at all.

Grian watched Scar sleep, watched him breathe, watched him fight to stay alive. When he could watch no longer, he stood, undid the bag in the trash bin, tied it off, replaced it with a new one, and went into the kitchen. He threw it in the larger bin there, where it would be taken out to the dumpster soon. 

Inadvertently, his eyes landed on the bowl on the counter. He slumped, stomach rumbling. 

So much for a half-decent warm meal.

Too tired to make another, Grian reheated the ramen, and did his best not to cringe at the soggy texture while he ate. It eased some of the uncomfortability in his abdomen, enough for his fatigue to take over as a priority. 

He abandoned the bowl in the sink, and returned to his room. 

Grian had never seen a need to own anything more than a one-bedroom apartment for the majority of his adult life. He could afford a larger place if he really wanted to upgrade, but every time he’d begun to consider as much, he’d let his logic talk him out of it. More space meant more to clean, more to keep up with, more inconveniences. 

Besides, Grian was never usually the type of person to host guests. Everyone important to him lived in the same city, all capable of going back to their own homes for any necessary naps, so why go through the trouble of having a guest room? 

He regretted that now.

For the first two nights that Scar had occupied his bed, Grian had taken the couch. In that time, he learned the true level of trouble that could be caused by having a high maintenance patient in the other room. He was forced to jump up and run nearly once every three hours to tend to Scar. 

And those were just the occasions in which Scar’s discomfort was loud enough to be heard from the living room. Grian would discover later that his poor friend was prone to waking up for spurts of minutes at a time solely to moan in pain, before passing out again. The vet had felt supremely guilty for not originally being by his side during those moments. 

On the third night, he’d given up on walking back to the couch. When he crashed, it was on the floor beside his bed with a stupidly little pillow under his head and a thin blanket covering him. 

It worked significantly better, and allowed him to be there for Scar during his rare conscious moments. His companion never had to feel anxious about his strange surroundings all alone, because Grian could be by his side in a flash to whisper reassurances and wipe perspiration from his brow until he calmed again.

Of course, Grian didn’t sleep on the floor like that forever. With the help of the other two Bamboozlers, they arranged a small corner of the room with a collection of pillows and blankets, where one could sleep with only a mild chance of waking to a crick in their neck. Mostly, it was used by Grian, but Lizzie or Jimmy could also knock out there if they needed to during one of their overnight stays. 

That makeshift bed was where he collapsed tonight, worn down and slightly-less hungry than usual. Too tired to fret over the lumps in his cushions or the awkward way he’d sprawled out, Grian gave in to the heaviness in his eyelids. He fell asleep to the sound of breathing and the steady beep of a consistent heart rate. 

“I did my best with the sponge bath,” was the first thing Jimmy said when Grian walked in. The vet set his keys down on the table beside his front door and kicked off his shoes. “He winced whenever I touched him, though, like his skin hurt or something. I think he might’ve gotten sicker.”

“I’m not surprised,” Grian replied. He bent to pet the top of Maui’s head, earning a delighted purr in response. “He’s immunocompromised under the effects of the poison, so it makes sense he’d get a fever.”

The cats were getting better about showing themselves in front of Lizzie and Jimmy, but they weren’t totally there yet. The two were clearly far more interested in spending time with their owner than anything else. Although, only Maui met him by the door now. Pearl was not currently within view, which was strange for her. She typically liked to fuss about the intruders in her home just as much as her brother.

“Any more issues? The bath went alright otherwise?” Grian straightened, eyes scanning the room for his second cat. No trace of her. 

“Yeah, all good there,” Jimmy confirmed. “He was partially conscious for most of it, obviously not speaking though. I gave him a break at one point so the sensations didn’t overwhelm him, but I’m getting better at it.”

“Thanks again, by the way,” Grian said, offering Jimmy a smile. “You’re saving me a lot of awkwardness there.” 

“Of course,” Jimmy said. “We’ve known each other for years. I’ve seen him in a million more embarrassing situations. This is nothing.”

Since time continued to move along, whether everyone was within good spirits or not, the three in charge of caring for Scar had been taking more proper measures to ensure their friend was as comfortable as possible. Grian was in charge of most medical issues, as well as primarily supervising everything. Lizzie had taken in Jellie and was routinely keeping Scar’s home orderly while he was away. And though he was nonchalant about the whole ordeal, Jimmy had actually been contributing quite a lot to the cause as of late.

Mostly, he had opted to do jobs that weren’t always the most pleasant. Regular baths were one of those chores, alongside helping to change Scar’s clothes and whatnot whenever he was able to do so. In order for him to recover as fast as possible, Scar needed a pristine environment — meaning no dirty clothes, or gathering germs along his skin. 

Had Jimmy not been around, these tasks would’ve fallen to Grian. The vet was confident in his own ability to get such things done as part of his job, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t completely welcome to be relieved of that burden. Jimmy had known Scar for longer than he was willing to admit to Grian. They’d experienced everything together over the course of several years. It was more comfortable for every party involved if he was the one that took those things on.  

“Do you need anything else before I head out?” Jimmy asked out of courtesy, though he was already shrugging on his coat. 

Grian thought about it, but couldn’t come up with a particular task. He shook his head. “No. Do you have somewhere important to be?”

“Nothing urgent, but yeah, I do,” Jimmy told him. There was a shine to his eyes and a furrow to his brows. “Tango called earlier to say he finally managed to get into that drive we recovered from the bank. He wouldn’t tell me what was on it over the phone — wanted me to see it myself, I guess.”

“Oh? Tango got through those security measures?” Grian perked up, not having known the speedy villain was capable of this. “Wasn’t it behind some super tricky code or whatever?”

“Yeah, it was,” Jimmy said, brightening slightly and puffing up his chest. “He’s really good with all things technical, though he’d never say it to your face. Don’t tell anyone, but he’s the guy who helped us make our comms system. Designed the watches and the earpieces and we just had to steal the parts he needed.”

Grian felt a teasing smile tug upwards on the corner of his lip. “You’re quite proud of his accomplishments, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Jimmy huffed. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s my roommate. I should get to brag about him from time to time.”

“Well, don’t leave your handsome, technologically-intriguing prince waiting for long,” Grian chuckled. He shooed Jimmy towards the door. “Tell me about whatever that weird rich guy was hiding when you find out. I’m curious.”

“Will do,” Jimmy said, throwing one final wave over his shoulder and leaving the apartment. 

The door fell shut, and Grian felt the emptiness swallow him. He tried not to think about it, glancing down at Maui. “Where’s your sister? Hm?” 

The cat mewled up at him and bumped his head against Grian’s leg. Then, he turned, walking further into the apartment. The vet followed him to his bedroom. 

Scar was waiting, as always, under the covers. He was in a fresh outfit, and there was a towel over his pillow to keep his drying hair off of it. To Grian’s surprise, his missing cat could also be found occupying the mattress. Pearl looked comfortable, curled up at Scar’s side, not even stirring as her owner returned. Maui didn’t hesitate to join her, hopping up and taking his place right beside the other furball. 

Grian stared, unblinking, for several silent seconds. 

The two cats that had once been so wary of this man now made themselves completely at home beside him. They purred in unison with the hiss of his oxygen tank, not bothered by his flushed face and furrowed brow. Neither seemed to care that his arms weren’t raising to stroke their fur, or that he couldn’t offer them any treats. They were content with his presence alone. They didn’t care — didn’t know — about the pain Scar was constantly suffering through.

But Grian knew. Grian could feel it too. Grian couldn’t be by his side without being horrifically aware. He could tell whenever his heart palpitations caused him discomfort, whenever burning poison in his blood roused him from fitful sleep, whenever the ache became so intense that his perspiration increased tenfold. 

Reality was uneven and disorderly and uncomfortable, but for a moment, if he let himself focus only on the content faces of his cats, he could almost pretend Scar was just asleep. Scar was resting, napping, stuck in a simple, brief repose. He’d be up soon. He’d rise to pet the kitties, to coo over their little meows, to melt when their purring grew louder, and then, he’d turn those big green eyes of his on Grian, and the world would feel alright again.

The heart monitor beeped. Grian left the room.

He woke slowly. The cushions beneath his body had slipped a bit in the night, resulting in an awkward tenseness right in the middle of his spine. Grian blinked away the thick filter of sleep, rubbing at his eyes unceremoniously. Scar had only one fit of heart palpitations the night prior, meaning Grian went mostly undisturbed. His rest was not terribly restful, though.

Nightmares waited behind his eyes — senseless in nature, nothing besides ridiculous unpleasantness waiting within them. He arose with a heaviness already settled in his gut, bringing about an unfortunate start for his day. Grian tried not to pay it much mind, going about his usual morning routine.

He washed his face with cold water, worked to untangle his hair, brushed his teeth, then went into the kitchen. The cats were fed, and a pan, alongside two eggs, was laid out on the counter. He didn’t do anything with them just yet, though, returning to his room first. 

“Morning, Scar,” he muttered, though he got no response. Grian started his regular checks on vitals, fluid levels, breathing, and so forth. Scar still had a fever, but his temperature was only a few degrees above healthy. The main thing ailing him remained the mystery poison. Lastly, Grian changed his bandages and administered the activated charcoal medicine. 

The cut itself was an ugly display. It was red, puffy, constantly reacting to whatever remained of the irritant. Grian had tried flushing the wound, going through with tweezers to pick out anything visibly disrupting the healing process, but it hadn’t helped much. 

Grian hesitated there, at Scar’s side, for a moment. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. His breath caught at the way Scar reacted to the touch, grumbling in his sleep and seeming to shift towards it. That was the most he garnered, though. 

Tamping down false hope, the vet returned to the kitchen. He made himself scrambled eggs, ate them, changed into his scrubs, and answered the door when the expected knock came right on time. Grian greeted Lizzie with a smile and she did the same.

“Morning,” she said quietly. He let her in, and she barely hesitated long enough to take off her shoes. The both of them were back beside Scar in a matter of moments. Neither were fond of pleasantries so early in the day. “Everything alright with him?”

“As good as it can be,” Grian replied. “I almost slept through the night.”

“That’s progress.” She felt Scar’s forehead with the back of her hand. “Maybe he’s improving.”

Grian nodded, but he didn’t speak. Lizzie wasn’t someone in need of his realistic pessimism. She was already coping badly with the situation, and he didn’t want to add to that by reminding her of his consistently poor health. 

“I’ll be off, then,” Grian said. “Call me if anything happens.”

“Of course.”

Lizzie escorted him to the door and locked it as soon as he stepped out into the hall.

The walk to work was, as everything tended to be recently, unremarkable. One foot in front of the other again and again and again and again and again. The hypnotic rhythm lulled him into a pathetic daze. Though he had slept better than usual the night prior, fatigue was a familiar factor in every aspect of his life.

Grian arrived at the clinic eventually. Skizz had just clocked out, so there was a pretty immediate gap for him to fill. Someone had brought in a young pet snake with something that was absolutely not food lodged in its throat, which needed to be urgently removed. The little sucker was ambitious in its attempt to swallow a whole plastic bottle cap with such a tiny body, that was for sure.

Afterwards, he assisted in the daily treatment of the animals left in their care. There were a couple of vet techs around for that bit, helping to hold dogs that wouldn’t sit still or cats that were prone to scratching, but Grian wasn’t bothered for the most part. It was only around lunch time, when he finally got a minute to sit down, that he had his first real conversation.

Somewhere in the middle of the clinic’s morning rush, Mumbo had arrived and clocked in. Neither vets had a major opportunity to see one another for those hours, but now, there was a break.

Mumbo had only just set his bag upon the desk as Grian collapsed into his chair. There must’ve been something in the vet’s appearance — maybe his hair was a mess, or there were bags under his eyes — because his friend took one look at him and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Grian looked up at the other vet, whose scrubs were covered in hair and whose face bore a fresh scratch mark from a cat he’d just finished seeing. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“No, Grian,” Mumbo sighed. “No deflecting. You’ve been off for a week now. What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Grian replied immediately, aiming to sound as laid back as possible, despite how clearly he could feel his whole body aching. It came out short and curt instead, something that made Mumbo raise a brow. “It’s not affecting my work, so it’ll be fine. Nothing you have to concern yourself with.”

“Well, maybe not affecting your ability to work,” the other vet grumbled. “But your attitude could certainly be improved. I fear for whatever poor child has to hear that their beloved family pet has gone on to the big farm in the sky from your sorry mouth.”

“Hey,” Grian scoffed, hitting him lightly. “I wouldn’t do that badly.”

“You’re not convincing me,” Mumbo replied, gesturing to his face’s resting expression — which, as of late, had started to resemble a scowl more than anything neutral. Even Grian cringed a little whenever he caught his reflection in passing glass. “So, tell me: What is wrong with you?”

Grian opened his mouth, panicking inwardly. He opted to stall further, focusing on the phrasing by echoing a quiet, “What’s… wrong with me?”

Luckily, it was easy to get Mumbo wound up when it came to social situations. 

“Yeah, alright, I heard how it sounded the second it left my mouth,” the other vet sighed, flushing slightly. “Not wrong with you, just… wrong. You’re wrong.”

Another beat passed.

“No, you’re not wrong, you’re just–!” Mumbo threw his hands up. “I’m making a fool of myself. Tell me what’s inside your head already!”

Grian smiled, weak but real, at the ridiculousness brought about by his friend. “I told you, man. I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Evidently, Mumbo found no amusement in the situation whatsoever. He leaned down and took Grian by the shoulders, grip tight. “I know you’re lying to me. You’re tired, Grian.”

“Really?” Grian did his best to stay calm and relaxed. “Am I?”

“Yes,” the other vet exclaimed. “You’ve blinked a whole two times more than your usual per-minute average, meaning your eyes are dry and strained and you’re keeping secrets!”

Grian’s jaw dropped. “You count how much I blink?”

“I count how much everyone blinks!” Mumbo said, “It’s how I ignore the fact that people are looking at me!”

Grian hid his face in his hands and sighed. He needed a second to gather his bearings without a strange interrogation distracting him. His best friend had caught on to his abnormal behavior. He wasn’t surprised, as much as he wished he could be. 

With the way things were going, it was really only a matter of time before that came to pass. Scar took up all of Grian’s waking thoughts, and crept into his dreams more often than not as well. The vet would never blame the sick man for needing as much care as he did, but the fact that it was beginning to infect his daily life was undeniable.

Grian wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t finding the time to eat. Honestly, he could hardly sit still without worrying that something was going wrong with his patient at any given time. It was the most anxiety he’d ever felt over anybody before. 

Maybe it was because his condition was so unstable, or maybe it was just because Scar was the one who was suffering, but it plagued Grian. Enough that the people in his life were realizing. 

That absolutely wouldn’t do at all. He didn’t want other people worrying for him, not when he was already consumed with worries of his own. He needed to reassure Mumbo, just to get him to calm down and stop overanalyzing — lest that genius brain of his actually come to a conclusion that was less than pleasant for everyone involved. 

With his colleague consumed by a flurry of big feelings, and his every action being observed carefully, Grian opted for the truth.

“I’m fine, genuinely,” Grian said. Before Mumbo could argue, he added, “But my friend isn’t. He’s sick, so I’ve been taking care of him at my place for the last few days.”

Mumbo’s shoulders dropped and the tension in his face unwound. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah,” Grian confirmed, nodding. “I’ve not been sleeping well as a result. That’s all, mate.”

“Well, uh,” he muttered. “Now, I feel a bit silly for causing a fuss.”

Grian shrugged, not really wanting to dwell on the topic. If this was good enough to get Mumbo off the scent of something slightly more suspicious going on, he was happy to allow that to happen. Surface level truths had proved to work better than lies when it came to talking about Scar to his coworkers in the past. The less he had to force those out, the better.

Unfortunately, Mumbo wasn’t quite done. While he was fishing through his bag for something, no longer looking Grian’s way, he asked, “So, what’s up with him? Your friend, I mean. Why’s he sick? What’s he got?”

Grian tensed. Of all the things that might be brought up, this was probably the worst. Still, through clenched teeth, he mustered the best half-truth he could. “We don’t know, exactly.”

“Oh?” Thankfully, Mumbo didn’t notice the change in his posture. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full, then.”

The vet made himself busy, flipping through some of the papers on the desk absentmindedly. “You could say that.”

“Must be pretty serious if it's keeping you this occupied,” Mumbo noted. “Is there a reason you’re not taking him to a hospital instead?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not an option,” Grian replied, a little too fast. Mumbo glanced over, eyebrows raised in surprise. “He’s… uh…”

Great. Nice going, Grian’s mind hissed. Not suspicious at all.

This part couldn’t be a half-truth. He needed to come up with a genuine lie for his friend now — a genuine reason why a sick man couldn’t go to the hospital, why he was relying on a vet for medical assistance, why this had fallen on Grian’s shoulders instead of a human physician. Worst of all, Mumbo was well-versed in their field. A regular person without a doctorate or any sort of medical knowledge would be much more easily convinced that a hospital was unnecessary in this particular instance. 

At the very least, Mumbo hadn’t actually been told the extent of it, didn’t know the details, wasn’t able to see how terrible of a state Scar was in. The heart monitors, IV, and oxygen wouldn’t have to be explained away. Grian could still technically lie and say it wasn’t that serious. For all Mumbo knew, Scar had the flu. 

But when it came to threading those thoughts together to form the perfect lie, the one that would cause his friend to abandon any doubts, Grian panicked. He could only sit back and listen as he blurted, “It’s because he’s scared of hospitals!”

And that was dumb. Beyond dumb. The dumbest thing on the face of the planet. 

Out of every possible excuse he could’ve ever used, being scared of hospitals was perhaps the least believable. There wasn’t a world that Grian could ever picture in which Scar, the man behind the infamous villain, Ringmaster, would ever fear a hospital. Even Mumbo, who did not know Scar, and therefore, could not see the true stupidity of what Grian had just said, looked surprised.

“Scared of… hospitals,” Mumbo echoed, giving a slow nod. “Uh, right. I’ve heard of people like that before. I guess it makes sense, all the needles and fluorescents and people walking around.”

He gave a shiver. 

“Yeah, I agree with your friend, actually,” Mumbo concluded. “That many employees trying to talk to me over the course of a single stay would probably make my heart stop. Remind me to call you next time I get sick too.”

Whatever response he was expecting Mumbo to give, it had not been that. Grian stared, awe and disbelief written plainly on his expression. He couldn’t even be bothered to attempt to hide it.

Mumbo bought it? Really?

Mumbo, the man with years of experience and the keenest eye on their side of the medical field — who just admitted that he was able to read people based on how often they blinked — had bought it?

“Um, okay, sure,” he muttered, because there was little else he could say without revealing his hand. “Just give me a call.”

Something akin to wonder broke through his racing heart, expanding rapidly outward. Grian couldn’t believe it. Not one bit. He was lucky, that was for damn sure. Skizz would have hesitated, pressed further until Grian couldn’t lie anymore. Mumbo, however, was only really perceptive when he knew he needed to be, or it was beyond obvious. Past discovering why Grian was acting weird, he clearly had turned off the part of his brain that was looking for faults in the other’s argument. 

Grian could breathe for the time being. Thanks to sweet, innocent, gullible Mumbo. He felt guilty for the lie, felt guilty for rejoicing in how easily it’d been accepted, since that meant he was exploiting his friend’s trust in him as a means to an end, but he didn’t feel guilty for very long. Mostly, he was just relieved.

“Obviously, you should take him to the hospital regardless if it gets to a point, but you definitely know that already. Give me a shout if there’s ever anything I can do for you,” Mumbo went on. “I’m always willing to pick up shifts and whatnot. Skizz would probably say the same thing — we were both worried about you.”

Suddenly, Grian was immensely thankful he hadn’t encountered Skizz. If bumping into him meant he would be delivering this speech and not Mumbo, he’d have been screwed. It wasn’t surprising to hear that they were both worried, but this was the better of the two by which to be lectured. 

“Right,” Grian croaked, relaxing a little. He let himself smile. “Thanks, Mumbo. I might take you up on that sometime.”

Mumbo stepped away from his bag, and closer to him. His expression shifted into something stern – a seriousness that was almost worthy of concern. A big hand came down onto Grian’s shoulder. “Remember, dude. You can’t take care of anyone if you don’t take care of yourself too. Keep that in mind.”

Grian took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Mumbo said, brows unfurrowing. He swayed towards the threshold. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just saw someone walk in the front door, so I’m going to hide in the back until I absolutely have to do my job. Bye!”

“Bye!” 

He watched Mumbo’s retreating form as he exited down the hall, then turned back to doing his job.

And over the course of the next few days, Grian really did try to take his advice. He cared about how his friends perceived him, cared enough to not want them to be concerned for his well being, cared about being better for their sakes. It was just hard to truly internalize it when he was far more consumed with Scar.

Nights got easier, but that didn’t mean Grian slept through them. If anything, he had become more anxious. Scar didn’t wake as often, which meant the heart palpitations and vomiting had begun to slow, and his condition was theoretically improving. However, it also provided the vet with room to entertain more fears. 

He had nightmares now. Nightmares of Scar flatlining in his sleep – passing silently and leaving Grian alone with a corpse. The stillness that replaced the previous spells of panic was haunting, oppressive. He couldn’t shake the looming idea that this was the calm before the storm, and that it was going to get worse.

Oftentimes, the vet would stare up at his darkened ceiling for hours on end, just listening to the other man breathing. Just listening to ensure he still could breathe. 

On occasion, that wouldn’t be enough. During those shameful nights, in which his paranoia got the better of him, he’d spend the entirety at Scar’s bedside. He’d watch the rise and fall of the other’s chest, a hand on his wrist, counting out each beat of his heart. Dusk would bleed into dawn like that, and he still wouldn’t move.

Early one morning, he found himself in another of those dazes, fingers tracing patterns over Scar’s pulse and head pounding from the weight of the sunlight through his curtains. There were things to be done with the arrival of the day, but he couldn’t make his body move, or his mind detach from its fixation. All of his attention was focused on the man before him. Grian was tuned into every intake of breath, every beat of his heart, every twitch from Scar’s brow. 

“I don’t have to go to work today,” Grian whispered, as if volume would be the thing to finally wake his friend. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

Scar remained deaf to his ramblings. His lip did shift, though, turning down ever so slightly at the corners. His pulse picked up a minuscule amount, not indicating anything significant, but Grian noticed. Scar was having a bad dream, most likely, or his pain was flaring the tiniest bit. 

The vet sat back, ignoring how his shoulders ached and his bones protested after so long of remaining in the same hunched position. He took the damp towel from its bowl on the side table, and began to wipe at Scar’s forehead. The cool sensation loosened some of the tension there, opening his patient up to deeper breaths, a steadier heart rate. Whatever had been ailing him faded, and he returned to looking as though he were simply sleeping again.

“Oh, Scar,” Grian said, low and somber. 

He paused his tender movements to stare. Morning light suited Scar well, bathing him in a golden glow, blooming like marigolds around his form. In tandem with the effects of sleep, it worked to smooth out the roughness of the evening, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the dip in his lips. The splotchy redness of his face evened out under the healthy shine, almost enough to ignore the reality of their situation. 

Carefully, Grian set aside his towel, and let the skin of his palm ghost over Scar’s cheek. He was interrupted only by the stagnant barrier of his oxygen mask, cold and distant and terribly necessary. Visions of flowers wilted with each puff of air it forced into the lungs of the sleeping man. It left little room to appreciate unobstructed, natural beauty through its plastic encasement. 

There was no reaction to his touch. No stirring or flustered stammering or bright smiling or pointed teasing. The room was silent before, and it was silent then. 

“Wake up soon,” Grian whispered. 

His chest squeezed, voice cracked. He needed to be heard, seen, felt. He needed to laugh again, to feel joy again, to sleep again knowing Scar would open his eyes come morning light. He needed to return home to a bloodied figure waiting to be stitched up, because at least that was a wound that could be healed, a tear that could mend. This cliffedge between life and loss, between having Scar, and never getting a chance to know him, was worse than any intermittent pain. 

“Please, Scar. For me. Wake up soon.”

But the morning birds sang, the oxygen mask breathed, the heart monitor beeped, and over it all, Scar could not hear him.

Grian knew that, should reprieve ever decide him worthy of its mercy, it would not be finding him today. 

The vet leaned forward and let his lips press into the sleeping man’s forehead. It stung like a farewell, though Grian never left his side. Not before. Not then. Not for a long while yet. 

Grian didn’t sleep. Scar didn’t wake. The world kept turning.

“Thanks for letting me bring Jellie,” Lizzie said as she stepped through the threshold into Grian’s bedroom. The door was closed behind them, putting a barrier between a curious Pearl and Maui — both of whom would have a fit if they knew their favorite spot was being invaded by an unknown cat. “She’s just been so down in the dumps. I don’t think he’s ever left her for a full week and a half before.”

“It’s alright,” Grian hummed, watching Lizzie set the pet carrier on the ground beside the bed. “Last thing I want is for Jellie to be in bad spirits. Scar would kill us both if we let his queen be sad for too long.”

“He really would,” Lizzie agreed. “Well, he’d kill me. You’d probably get out of it just by batting your eyes or something gross like that.”

Another time, under different circumstances, Grian would’ve denied it, or tuned her out. Before his tests, before his realizations, before his world had nearly died in his arms, he wouldn’t have let himself find meaning in her words. He thought it ridiculous that someone as bold and bright and known as Scar would ever truly turn his eyes upon someone so many leagues beneath him. 

He knew better now — or he hoped he did. Only the future could really answer his overarching questions. Only the future could really confirm what he’d devoted his entire being to figuring out. Only the future, and a clarity in Scar’s lovely eyes, could reach him completely. In the meantime, though, he’d formed his own opinion, his own version of what he wanted to be real, and he could comprehend everything that Lizzie was suggesting. There was no longer a point in lying, in denying, in keeping it to himself. So, he just sighed out a small, “Maybe.”

The woman shot him a look, dull and yet intrigued, but she didn’t ask the inquiry on the tip of her tongue. He answered her anyway with a look of his own, more honest than he’d let himself be in a while. An understanding passed in the space between them.

“He’ll get better,” was her response. “He will.”

“I know,” Grian said, because there was nothing else to say. “Let Jellie out. She’s getting restless.”

Jellie was perfectly quiet, but Lizzie opened the carrier anyway. A round head poked out first, nose twitching as she sniffed the air. Maui and Pearl’s scents were undoubtedly lingering, causing her to hesitate for a minute. 

Lizzie knelt and held out a hand, encouraging the sweet girl to step into the open. Jellie still took a beat or two, just observing her surroundings, as if an enemy cat could jump at her at any moment. Then, finally, she emerged. 

They watched her wander gingerly around the perimeter, neither pushing her any which way. Luckily, it didn’t take long for her to pick up on Scar’s scent. The exact moment she realized he was nearby, her tail began to whip faster, and her steps picked up speed. She had to hop onto the chair first before she could reach the top of the bed, but she certainly managed. 

She landed on the mattress beside Scar with a small rumbling noise and a purr already building in her tiny body. Lizzie smiled at the way she galloped over to him, pausing only to sniff a trail from his hand to his face. The oxygen mask put her off a bit, but she was bumping her head into it not long after discovering its existence. 

“Those two have such a cute bond,” Lizzie whispered, as if speaking too loudly would break the moment. “If I got sick, Meri probably wouldn’t even notice. She’d be all too happy to just stay with Joel for a while. That traitor has always liked him more.”

Grian raised a brow. “His name is Joel?”

Lizzie glared at him. “I never told you that.”

“Consider it forgotten.” Grian nudged her. “You have a terrible habit.”

“Tell me about it,” she huffed. “I’m as bad as the Tuff Guys.”

Grian shook his head. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself. Your information isn’t plastered all over the internet. It could absolutely be worse.”

Both of them were distracted from their conversation by a meow from the bed. Jellie was staring down at Scar’s sleeping face, tilting her head from side to side. She meowed again, and when she received no reply, rubbed her whole body up against him. 

Jellie gave up on his face, padding down to where his hand rested at his side. She crouched and dug her nose underneath it, as if trying to force the appendage up. Scar still did not move. The cat didn’t understand why.

She mewled again, louder this time. Nothing. She began to knead at his wrist, chirping every few seconds. Scar did not stir. Jellie stopped, glancing back at the only other two in the room.

Lizzie sucked in a breath. Grian felt part of himself shatter.

Jellie’s tail ceased its swishing. She slumped on the spot, settling the whole of her body atop Scar’s unresponsive hand. Her eyes closed, and the mood of the room sank irreparably.

Grian took it upon himself to step forward, scratching Jellie’s head gently. “It’ll be okay. He’ll wake up.”

He ignored how similar these words were to the ones he told himself when the quiet became too stifling. Jellie took a similarly little amount of comfort from them, not even reacting to him. 

Grian met Lizzie’s gaze solemnly. “Come on. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, opening the door and stepping into the hall. Pearl and Maui ran off, having obviously been caught sniffing at the door. Unfortunately, Grian was too downtrodden to find their slipping and scattering amusing. He proceeded into the kitchen, hearing Lizzie’s soft footsteps echoing his own. 

Two cups of tea were prepared in silence, and then consumed in the same fashion. They stayed at the kitchen table — all the chairs in the living room having been stripped of their pillows a week prior.