Chapter Text
Grian and Cub were wrestling in the yard like cats, which, given the pitched yowling, wasn’t exactly a shock to Scar when he wheeled his way outside, but it was still a small surprise to see them hissing and rolling around in the grass.
Grian’s jaws were still clamped around Cub’s ankle, but with a remarkable flexibility for a man Cub’s age, he had a fistful of Grian’s hair while being bent over backward to also yank on Grian’s pointy tail. Neither of them seemed to be winning this fight, a writhing mess as they were, so there was no use letting it go on until they seriously hurt each other— if that was possible— Scar didn’t know, he’d only met angels before.
Regardless, they were making an awful racket while Mumbo was off to sleep, and as Mumbo’s back-from-the-dead never-really-dead-in-the-first-place imaginary friend, he had a duty to— he needed to— needed— Mumbo—
Something snapped.
Was it adrenaline that had kept Scar intact, breathing in normal, if not slightly elevated intervals? Maybe it was the floaty feeling of finally being home, seeing Mumbo come down those steps, their reunion, as chaotic as it had been. Mumbo had retreated, but that had been Scar’s fault the first time, Scar not paying attention to him in such an emotional moment, and Mumbo in turn had not heard when Scar called his name.
Mumbo could have been Cinderella as he picked his way back down the stairs just a short while later, short at least in comparison to how long Scar had been waiting for the chance to come home. Mumbo was not very talkative, but he had always been shy, and with all the new people around he was certainly overwhelmed; nothing Scar couldn’t facilitate. Scar was the old, the safe, and the familiar, he was Mumbo’s best friend, even all these years after they’d been torn away from each other, kicking and screaming, had Mumbo heard Scar’s screams from his lonely bedroom?
‘I need some space.’
Scar had tried not to look like he’d be cleaved through the chest. He might have been successful, because Mumbo moved on quickly, so quickly, like he didn’t care at all, like he had been relieved Scar was gone, because Scar had always just been in the way, a nuisance.
Mumbo had forgotten how close they used to be all those years ago, even before the angels had decided that Scar needed to be destroyed.
Scar had only wanted to remind him. Show him what their lives could be like, together, just them, that Scar was just as fun as Mumbo’s other friends, that Scar could be just as real. Isn’t that what Mumbo wanted? (No. It hadn’t been. It hadn’t been enough, because even when Scar proved to Mumbo that he could be real, Mumbo still wanted space. He still wanted his other friends, he still wanted Scar to make new ones, but how could Scar make new friends when all the people in his own world were angels. Angels didn’t like Scar, even before they decided he needed to die. If even the people in Scar’s own plane didn’t like him, how would he fare as an outsider in the real world? He was willing to try, for Mumbo, but he knew the truth.)
And now, Scar had just come home. How was it that Mumbo already needed space from him? What had he done? What had Skizz said about him?
“Hey buddy, can we talk? I don’t like how things played out earlier this evening, I want to make it up to you. I have a secret, one I haven’t told anyone in a long, long time.”
Scar had been so young. Part of him wanted to say he’d been stupid, but how was he supposed to know just how far things would escalate?
“Alright..” he’d said.
“Can we walk and talk? Mumbo’s asleep, I don’t want to disturb him.”
Scar never should have agreed. Never should have left that bedroom. He hadn’t even wanted to, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. Or worse.
“What’s your secret?” He’d asked in the hall. He really had wanted to know; Skizz— rather, Friend, as Scar had known him— was so involved in his life, but Scar knew next to nothing about him in return. An angel. Mumbo’s angel.
Friend had been quiet. Something was wrong, Scar should have known, but he could sense a vulnerability just beneath the surface of the angel’s skin that he craved to understand. Scar would have clawed it out and taken it for himself if he could’ve, but alas, even desperate for connection, taking domesticity by force never really worked out for him..
“Angels are a private people. Our purpose here on Earth is not to befriend our humans, but protect them. They aren’t ever supposed to know we’re here, but.. Well, obviously, Mumbo is a special case. I can’t help but be involved in his life, as much as I’m not supposed to be. I do my best to stay away. That distance is passed down to you as well, since you are a manifestation of him as well.”
“That’s not a secret.” Scar had crossed his arms, annoyed. Impatient.
Friend had smiled. It was not a happy smile. “I know.” He walked on, and Scar had been forced to follow. “But I.. I care about you, Scar. I love you in the same ways I love Mumbo, and I wanted you to know that, because I.. I really messed up tonight. I really messed up. I know you’d never hurt Mumbo, Scar, and I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression I thought otherwise.”
Scar eyed him warily, first at the mention of love (of which Scar did not entirely believe him), and then at the remorse, too heavy an admission for the crime. Unless.. Friend understood..? Understood what this meant, how important it was that Scar become real, captured Mumbo’s approval. Friend had always been determined to be an obstacle before, always pulling Scar aside, lecturing him on boundaries as if the pressing threat of Mumbo’s new friends didn’t even matter, but maybe Friend was changing his tune. Friend could help Scar, certainly, Mumbo loved Friend, Friend had influence and beyond that, raw power enough to maybe— Scar wasn’t sure! Could Friend speed up the process of Scar’s humanization?
Delusion. If Scar had thought about it any longer, maybe he would have realized it made no sense.
Friend must have mistaken Scar’s furrowed thought for doubt. “I didn’t think you’d believe me. Maybe you’re right for that.. I go out of my way to be distant, and I fear I’m not.. someone you can rely on. In the way I want to be. So I’m done with distance. For however much time we have left, I want.. I want you to be happy. So ask me anything, anything you’d like, and I’ll answer.”
Scar’s heart had soared, excitement bubbling in his feet so explosive he couldn’t stop from bouncing on his tiptoes. Friend could make Mumbo understand. Friend. Even if it was accurate, it was still a stupid thing to be called.
“What’s your real name?” Scar remembered laughing at the befuddled look on Friend’s face. “Do you even have one? If not, you should tell Mumbo to give you one, he comes up with great names.”
Skizz.
A name to the face that had taken everything away.
Scar had a lot of time to reflect when he was nothing— well, nearly nothing, ripped and dissolved fragment by fragment until only his will was left, a speck of life undetectable by even the most unconscionable evils that had destroyed him in the first place.
LIAR
So easy to survive when shock and betrayal and false hope culminated to one horrible cry, one last scream, before Scar was too nothing to even feel the pain, too nothing to think or feel anything for years.. so many years he’d missed, floating in empty consciousness, saved by retreating inside of himself before all of him could be truly destroyed.
Scar did not know how he did it. He stopped asking why. His will was always the answer.
When it was dark and quiet in his own exile, he wanted more, and then he had lights, music, visions of almost-people, and pink elephant parades. He watched silhouettes march by even when he had no eyes, no body, a speck of consciousness only alive enough to lucid dream.
He’d thought the angels had found him more than once, wherever he was. He couldn’t walk, see, or scream, and here they were, hunting, trying to tear the last pieces of him away.
He learned to destroy them. Take control, flip the script and set the world on fire. He knew exactly what he’d do when he returned.
It wasn’t easy to exist. Scar had no sense of time in the artificial dark and regenerating his life still felt agonizingly slow. By the time he had a body again, he’d forgotten how to use it, limp, eyes cemented shut. He wasn’t aware of the chair until he miraculously had one, like at the back of his mind he understood he needed more help, but that did not change the slump of his back, arms hanging uselessly at the wheels.
He was consumed by panic, staring eyes closed at his knees, too vividly imagining angels swooping down like ravens, taking chunks out of the back he’d fought so hard to recreate.
It started with his fingers. Fingers that wanted throats beneath them, enough to twitch to life, desperate to swat at the evil above.
He made a fist. Felt life in his elbows. He breathed, ragged with the effort of a single inhale. But there were still birds clawing and pecking, taking everything away, he felt them, heard their cackling laughter, he had to stop them, so with a Herculean effort, he wrenched himself upward and snatched at the air.
He didn’t even catch feathers. Their raucous cawing tripled in intensity.
Scar opened his eyes. His lungs spasmed, and stopped working altogether.
Here he was, exactly where they’d left him. Above where Scar sat in the grass, was Skizz, suspended at the second story of the house outside Mumbo’s bedroom window, looking around like something had Changed.
Scar froze. Every dream of violent retaliation vanished, he was nothing, could do nothing but watch and wait for Skizz to see him.
Their eyes met.
Skizz saw straight through him, and looked away.
Nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.
Scar had forgotten how to move, and even when he learned, he couldn’t get up the front step, but when Mumbo left the house for the first time, it took Scar a moment to even recognize him. Mumbo was.. older— so tall, he might have tripled in size, covered in acne, and the facial hair— was he about to drive a car!?
Scar spoke for the first time, called out despite his fear of Skizz, but no one heard him. Mumbo didn’t even look back.
No one ever saw him. Not Skizz. Not Mumbo. Not even other angels and ghosts.
It was as much as a relief as it was horrendous, the pit in Scar’s stomach bulbous and nauseating. A different kind of lonely, without the thorns of Scar’s past life, but more constricting with the heavy weight of what this meant.
A plane of existence of his very own. That’s how he’d escaped.
Could he leave?
Of course he could. He could do anything he wanted.
But he wouldn’t. Not with numb legs, lungs, and an unsteady heart, entirely shakable and petrified at the idea of being known again, no, Scar would not leave. He was too weak. Too afraid. He could not take anyone on in this state. Loneliness was a familiar beast, one he could cope with for just a little longer, he just had to hold out until he could catch Mumbo alone.
Scar had plenty of chances.
He did not leave for thirty years.
“Is he seriously still— hey! Can you shut the fuck up already?”
“Hey, man, chill out,” Cub mumbled, Scar blinking rapidly just in time to hear him speak. “It’s a little awkward, but..”
“It’s ruining the vibe.” Grian spoke remarkably clearly for someone who still had Cub’s ankle in its mouth. “We were here first. Shouldn’t have to abandon the prime wrestling location because someone couldn’t handle the heat.”
“I don’t think we caused this panic attack.”
“I—“ Scar croaked, cringing back into his chair, “I’m sorry, I’m—“ not used to being seen. Not used to being paid attention to, even when I’m visible. Exceptionally talented at dissociating.
“You should be sorry!” Grian huffed, biting harder for emphasis, then squeaking when Cub hit it over the head several times in quick succession. Grian caught his arm with a growl. “We shouldn’t have to run around the block just to escape you.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Cub hummed, smacking Grian with his other hand until it caught that one too. “It helps having a soul, to like, empathize with other people and stuff. I’m guessing you don’t have one of those. Well, I guess technically I—“
“Kill yourself.”
Cub shrugged. “Already dead.”
“Shit.”
Scar was getting sick of this. Whatever good graces Scar had for Grian after it’s favor to Mumbo was running dry. He raised a hand, letting his palm hang half-limply above his lap, examining the lines on his fingers. He was suddenly.. very tired.
“Enough of this. Mumbo doesn’t need you both yowling outside his window when he’s trying to nap. Cut it out.”
Cub mumbled something under his breath while Grian snorted, baring teeth over Cub’s ankle. “Mumbo’s fine, thanks to me. There’s no more problem here, I’ve taken care of it, so you can go on ahead and be grateful now.”
“I will not stop screaming,” Cub deadpanned.
Scar felt his patience wear. “Just let him go.”
“And what, let him whine his way right back to Mumbo’s room? I don’t think so.”
“I think he’s learned his lesson.”
“I haven’t learned shit! This is my house!” Cub threw up his arms, but the moment before Scar was about to throttle him, Grian opened its big mouth.
“Exactly! And what are you going to do about it, huh? Shed a few tears. Gawsh, what a pity you’ve been fucked over just like the rest of us, let it all out, why don’t you.” Grian made a brief, but viciously intentional glance at Scar’s chair. “Since that’s all you can do.”
Spirits on this plane did not need to breathe, exactly, but their existence was fueled by a circular flow of energy similar to pumping blood, necessary for existence. As almost-nothing, Scar was acutely aware of the slow cycle of his own life, fighting, constantly fighting for existence, regenerating the lost pieces that had been raptured.
Like holding your breath, you don’t instantly die if your life force halts. But there are cracks.
Grian was forced to let go when the cracks split its jaw, its face, its clawed, now-splintered hands flailing at its throat for that sensation to return. It did not scream. It physically couldn’t; though the soft choking wheezes were enough to feel its pain. Scar let it writhe. Let himself feel good. Let go.
Grian gasped, fighting for breath it didn’t need as if that would fix the flow of life inside itself any faster, and with one last terrified look at Scar, scampered away down the block. Scar hadn’t raised a finger.
“I suddenly feel a deep remorse for all perceived wrongdoings.” Cub floated in place. Rubbed his ankle. Made zero eye contact.
Scar closed his eyes. “You’re fine.”
Cub was quiet. Stationary, yet almost frantically looking for some kind of escape. Scar had never been feared before. Well. Not.. like this.
(Is this what Skizz had worried he’d become?)
“You can go.” Scar spoke through gritted teeth. It did not feel empowering now, not against a human, someone like Mumbo, caught somehow in the crossfire of angelic agendas. Cub was old. Scar didn’t.. he rarely existed around the elderly, but from what he’d seen, they way people talked about them; they were frailer, as much in mind as they were in body. Cub wasn’t.. he was probably innocent. Confused. Just like Scar. Maybe this house was all he knew before it was stripped from him by Skizz.
Cub did not go, expression dark and unreadable.
Desperation gripped Scar. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not— I’m not bad. Grian— Grian’s a demon! Those are bad, aren’t they? I was defending myself.” Scar had never fought for anyone else’s attention besides Mumbo, anyone else’s opinion. It felt horrible. How could humans manage so many connections? Why couldn’t they just foster one good one?
“I don’t think you’re bad. I’m just thinking.” Cub was so calm. Slightly, ever so slightly, Scar’s anxiety quelled.
Not even to keep him quiet though. “What are you thinking about?” He couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“I probably shouldn’t say.”
“You can say.” Scar spoke too quickly. Even the following second of silence was unbearable. “Please say.” Cub did not grace him with a quick response. In fact, he took so long, Scar thought he wasn’t going to speak at all.
“I was just wondering. If you could do that. You could probably also do the stuff you were threatening Cleo about. And if you can hurt angels. How did Skizz..?”
Oh.
God. Scar’s chest felt inexplicably lighter. He almost laughed. Why did it feel so good?
Maybe he’d gone crazy after all these years. Better to realize it with a stranger rather than Mumbo.
“I was just a kid. Mumbo’s imaginary friend. Once Skizz was done with me, he and Mumbo’s parents’ angels tricked me. Destroyed me. But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t die.”
“Ohhhhh. Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”
Scar snorted. “Does it?”
“I mean, if I was in your shoes and this was my first time coming back in that long, I’d cry too. I might still cry. Jury’s out. I just kinda.. feel nothing. I don’t know. Ten years passed, and I had no idea. I feel the same as I did before. I just wanted to protect my home.”
Scar bit his lip. “Does it mean a lot to you? Your house?”
Cub nodded, slight and solemn. “I didn’t get a say. Everything I owned is probably in a landfill somewhere, so.. I don’t know. It wasn’t anyone else’s to take.”
“That’s kinda how I feel about Mumbo.”
Cub gave him an odd look. Scar didn’t know why. Either way, Cub seemed to shrug it off.
“So what, are angels just like, okay with infanticide? I mean, I figured the moral compass wasn’t entirely strict given the imprisoning of any spirit that blinks at you wrong for potentially decades at a time, but that still seems pretty crazy.”
“I— I mean, I wasn’t an infant?”
Cub looked mildly surprised. “How old do kids have imaginary friends anyway? Are you all sentient? It’s a common thing, isn’t it, do you really all stick around forever?”
Scar’s face pinkened, overwhelmed by the questions he couldn’t answer. He waved Cub off. “You really are ancient, aren’t you? Don’t even remember having an imaginary friend..”
“I— Okay, I am not that old. Aren’t you Mumbo’s age, and he’s what, mid-forties? I’m at most twenty years older than you, that is not ancient. I guess— at the time of death at least. Last ten don’t count.”
“Why shouldn’t they count?”
Cub shrugged, like the answer was too obvious to say. “I never had an imaginary friend, that’s why I ask.”
“Well if you had a guardian angel, I’d count you lucky. Or them, rather— the ‘they’ that doesn’t exist.”
“Fair assessment.” Cub leaned back, reclining on nothing but air. “Well, I feel better knowing you’re around just in case that Skizz comes back. Or I guess in case the new angel decides to do their job.”
“Skizz isn’t coming back.”
Cub looked up. “No?”
“No.” Scar had to be certain. There was no other way.
Graciously, Cub didn’t push. “Well, that’s a relief. I hope the new angel isn’t evil. I kinda like her, just something about it, I dunno. Not everyone can pull off being a bitch and cool.”
Scar couldn’t stop himself from gaping, only shutting his mouth when Cub looked at him funny, like that reaction was completely off-kilter. Scar didn’t know why he cared what Cub thought all of a sudden, that was a new and unwelcome feeling, but he felt himself cringe under the social weight, scrambling to correct himself with a short squeak.
“Really?”
Cub’s deadpan expression could not have been any less reassuring. Then he shrugged. “I dunno, if she’s in jail for angel crimes, maybe she’s on our side. Well. Not on their side at least. And someone has to humble Mumbo, all high and mighty like he owns the place.”
“You know— Mumbo has had a really stressful day, Cub. You could stand to cut him some slack.”
“Mumbo’s been living his life for the last ten years while I’ve been in the dog house. If he didn’t want to get haunted when his guardian angel went kaput, he shouldn’t have set up in my room.”
“Mumbo didn’t even know you existed. He can’t help that he moved in here!”
“Don’t care.” Cub really looked the part, but that suddenly changed when Scar started bristling, the ghost’s eyes averting, shoulders pulling in, posture hunching. “I mean. He’ll get his day of peace. I’m gonna bother someone else instead. Cleo, by process of elimination.”
It took Scar a long moment to realize Cub was afraid of him. The second blow came as Scar finished processing what was said.
“You’d rather hang out with an angel than me?”
Cub scrunched his nose. “Are you a sensitive guy, Scar?”
Scar sensed that was a bad thing to be. “No.”
“Then don’t take it personally.” As much as Cub could ‘get up’ while being suspended in thin air, he was back on his feet, not giving Scar a chance to respond before he was walking away back to the house. Scar watched him phase through the wall.
Wow.
So that’s what making new friends was like. Scar never wanted to do that shit again.
