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Grian knew he shouldn't be here. Only a fool would run headfirst into a super fight, especially knowing the weapons the Agency now brandishes. Hell, they made the crime alerts so civilians like him could run away from fights, not towards.
But Grian's heart makes him do stupid things. Things like heal one supervillain, then all his friends, then invite him into his house and heart. He used to be able to blame his impulsive, curious nature. Now he places the blame on the feeling in his chest anytime he gets to see Scar, mask or no.
Still, this is dangerous, even for him. It's a big fight, one that's spanned halfway across the city and shut down major districts and roads. But the second Grian saw Jimmy, hauled over the side of a building by his fellow teammates from a long drop, he gave chase. He wasn't the only civilian scrambling among the streets as the heroes and villains fight upon rooftops, though he's probably the only one without a camera heading in the same direction as the fight.
Skittering into the alley Jimmy had nearly fallen into, Grian watches a cloaked figure jump overhead of him, then take a hard left, away from the road Grian first spotted his friends from. He clambers atop an overflowing dumpster, praying the box he's balancing on won't give way and plummet him into the stinking trash below. As much time as Grian spends just trying to get around buildings and over barriers, he's already lost sight of the Bamboozlers, the last hint being Lizzie's bright pink hair as she catapults down a fire escape.
Were they on the ground now? Could they double back? Maybe Grian should just go home, prepare his medkit for an inevitable visit from one or all of the supervillains. Then he thinks of the weapons, of Scar that night they met, alone in the alley, bleeding out. And Grian keeps up his chase.
The sounds of battle grow closer, alerting Grian that the Bamboozlers must've stopped running, and turned to fight. He may be foolish, but he's not that foolish to run headfirst into a skirmish. Not only would he likely get hurt, but his friends would get hurt trying to protect him. So Grian lingers back, taking a side street parallel to the fight. Listening to the sounds, hoping Scar and the others will be okay.
And absolutely not paying attention to his surroundings. He should've noticed the grey stretch on the ground, like a cover for power cords and wires, but only once Grian's foot has planted firmly upon the device, and he feels it depress beneath his feet, does the vet realize his mistake. White film bursts around him, entangling his limbs, his hair, his clothes with the streetlights and walls. Sticky, gooey liquid clings to his skin, like spider silk and silly string meets superglue. Immediately, Grian tries to bat the material away, but in doing so, he only traps himself further.
After a long moment of fighting and only getting more ensnared, he regains control of his thoughts, and stops thrashing about the material around him. Opening his eyes- he didn't even realize he closed them when the trap went off- and observing his surroundings. Observes his predicament.
One arm is firmly glued to his side, the other stretched out and chained to a nearby wall by the hardened filaments. The road just barely grazes one foot when he stretches, but his other has tangled up in a large glob of the web. The fight or flight adrenaline fades from Grian's figure, allowing rational thought to eek back in.
"A fine place you've found yourself." He huffs to nobody. If he hadn't been so surprised by the trap, maybe Grian wouldn't be so tangled up. If he had stayed still, and slowly wormed his way out, then he wouldn't feel like a fly ensnared in a spider's web. Because that's exactly what it looks like, at this moment. As if a giant spider had woven a web from filaments the size of ropes, and Grian was the unfortunate prey that happened by.
Racking his thoughts, he can't think of any hero that has a theme related to spiders. It doesn't matter either way- Grian needs to get out, but the more he struggles, the more entangled he gets. No, Grian needs to get out of here. His first thought wasn't about his own safety, like it should have been, but of his friends. What if they get hurt, arriving at his apartment for help, only to discover he's missing? How long will he be left to hang here, before a civilian- or worse, a hero- happens to find him? How will he explain why he was following a fight?
The sounds of the fight draw closer, and a new fear sparks into Grian's thoughts. What if he's caught in the battle? Surely the heroes wouldn't see him as fodder, just to take out the Bamboozlers. Right? An explosion rattles the buildings and Grian, spurring him to fight against the web with a renewed vigor.
All he manages to do is break one arm free, just to get it stuck again in an even more uncomfortable position. Well shit. Grian can't even reach for his phone to call for help. And he doesn't want to cry out now, to be discovered by a hero or distract a villain.
Hundreds of different half baked ideas run through Grian's mind, some scattered quickly for better ideas, others discarded for their mere stupidity. Every crash and boom from the nearing fight sends his mind into overdrive, and he tests the strength and stickiness of the webbing he's trapped within. If he wasn't so exhausted from work, maybe he could strain enough to grab the bag at his waist, and pry free any number of equipment he could use to cut free. Instead, he simply hangs there, turning over potential realities in his mind, and hoping one of the better ones comes to pass.
It doesn't help Grian's starving. Damnit, he was so looking forward to dinner tonight. Sure, it was leftover pasta, but it was food Scar made him, and turns out the villain has more than one superpower- he's a hell of a cook. Just by using ingredients Grian had around his apartment (and some basil stolen from a neighbors window garden), the villain made a dish bursting with flavor that had Grian drooling and dreaming about all day. Sometimes, he had wondered how Scar convinced Lizzie and Jimmy to join him, dressing up in such ridiculous outfits. Maybe he just bribed them with food.
Lost in the thought of his waiting meal, Grian doesn't notice that the fight has moved to be just above him. At least, not until he hears Scar's voice. That quickly rouses him from his stupor, straining his neck against the trap in hopes of just a glimpse of the Ringmaster. Shots are fired across the street, taunts hurled just like weapons. The building at Grian's back, the one the Bamboozlers must be holding their ground on, is taller than the one the heroes have claimed. He can't see his friends, and his friends can't see him. Yet Grian still watches, searching for the striping of Scar's shirt, the glow of his mask. His wild hair and brilliant, bright eyes.
"I have the high ground now, fools!" It takes everything in Grian's power to not roll his eyes. Of course Scar would taunt with movie references. The rough hew of Scar's voice behind the mask sends shivers down Grian's spine. Not of fear, though he's not quite sure if he's ready to place a name on what it really is. "Eclipse, Boogeyman, why don't we show our friends here the Bamboozler surprise."
"With pleasure." Lizzie's accented voice drips with an excited poison, like acid vying to burn away skin and bone. He can practically imagine her quirked lips, the coy grin before the world goes dark around her. It's likely that Jimmy has already disappeared, little more than a shimmer in the night, like the haze of a hot summer day.
But before either can make the crossing over No-Man's-Land, where Grian finds himself trapped, an unknown hero barks out a laugh, one that stills even Grian. "Good luck getting past this then."
A can, about the size of a bottle of spraypaint, is tossed into the street lazily, almost carelessly. The world seems to slow as the sizzling can falls, metal casing shining as it passes just beneath the light to Grian's right.
Then it hits the ground, and the world goes green. Grian braces, closing his eyes and pulling his head as the air fills with whatever the grenade held. A moment passes, and he dares to open his eyes, expecting the gas to just be a smoke bomb, a method of escape.
Until he takes a deep breath, and feels his lungs closing within him. The air feels small, each breath burning as panic sets in, like being held underwater with no way to gasp relief. A small part of his brain warns him not to breathe, to only take breaths when he needs to, but the panic, the animalistic adrenaline makes his heart pound and heaving speed up, introducing the poison into his body. Each breath falters, less and less filling his lungs, entering his veins. Grian can already feel his head start to swim, black dots at the edge of his vision. His throat burns like he swallowed fire, and his lungs ache like they've been turned inside out.
Weak and terrified, Grian looks up, to where the can had been thrown from. He sees three figures through the cloud of fog, red and blue glowing like beacons of hope. Lips part, but when Grian attempts to speak out, to call Scar's name, it falters and fails. Little more than a whine, more like the squeak of a broken dog toy than a cry for help. Black smears across his vision, sight swimming as the world begins to fade, but for a moment, Grian foolishly believes he can see green eyes through the green mist.
Yet he remains alone. Trapped, gasping for air where there is none, lungs burning and throat seizing. How could the heroes do this? Using knock out gas or smoke bombs was one thing, but to so carelessly throw a chemical grenade into the streets? Endanger civilian lives? The line between hero and villain is beginning to blur for Grian, much like his vision.
Blinks become slower. Longer, rattling gasps like a fish out of water rack Grian. He doesn't even have the fight to break free from the webbing that binds him. His head lolls, consciousness slipping from the vet's grasp for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes. He can't tell, he can't think. All he feels is the pain, the burning plea for air.
Eyes blinking open, the last vestiges of Grian's impulsive fight like the death sputter of a car without gas, he discovers he's no longer alone in the haze. Blending in at first with the neon green gas, a deeper, sharper emerald begins to take shape, gaze unwavering as footsteps echo off the buildings. Blue and red begin to glow just beneath the deep green, and a blink later, all of Scar is outlined by the gas.
"Sc-Ringmaster." Grian wheezes, hope filling his voice even as his lungs remain empty. His lips part and an attempt to breathe in happens, but only more burning fills this throat and lungs.
Scar's hair is messy, as it tends to be after a long chase, and he lost his silly little hat at some point. Grian can't help but rake his gaze over the man before him, looking for wounds even when he's the one at death's door. There's no smile in Scar's eyes, no crinkle of crow's feet at the rim of his sockets, his gaze looking over Grian in a similar fashion as he had just done. "Oh, Doctor. What have you gotten yourself into?"
If he could think. Grian would find some clever response, a tongue lashing only someone as brave and foolish as he could give to a dangerous criminal. If he could breathe, he would laugh, just relieved that he won't die alone, suffocating on the gas around him. If he could find the bravery, he'd at least tell Scar how he makes the veterinarian feel any time their eyes meet. The patches at the edge of Grian's vision fills his sight, and what little he can see is smeared and unstable, yet it's all still just Scar.
At least his last sight will be those lovely eyes. The brush of fabric gloves traces along Grian's cheek, warm and gentle with a slight tickle as loose hairs are pushed away. At least Grian will fade with the warmth of Scar's touch.
If only he had the voice, had the strength, had the guts to tell him how he feels.
Grian's sight fades, and sounds grow distant. A deep, shuddering gasp. A hiss.
And the press of metal against Grian's skin. The cold material startles Grian's mind, vision still lost but Scar's calm, sure voice guiding him in the darkness. "I need you to breathe, G. It won't latch on until you do."
Breathe? He wants him to breathe? Like Grian hasn't been trying since that damned trap ensnared him! He does as the Ringmaster says, if just to find a final last gasp so he can at least go out scolding the villain.
Instead, Grian feels the metal clasp around his chin, a bit awkward, but tightening against his jaw, clinging to his cheeks. A low hiss, and when Grian takes another breath, this time his lungs fill with the sweet taste of pure oxygen. It's intoxicating, and Grian nearly causes himself to pass out just from the quick gasps he takes, drawing as much as possible into his aching, burning lungs. His throat and mouth still burns, but oxygen fills Grian's veins, and after a moment, his sight returns.
Green gas lingers heavy in the air, framing Scar like he's laying in a field of fresh grass. What's more startling for Grian, however, is that he can see all of Scar's face. His own green eyes, the wide, long bridge of his nose, traces of scars across his skin. And his smiling lips, a soft, relieved smile that nearly breaks Grian's heart and shatters his fears. A smile that he wants to see every time he opens his eyes for the rest of his life.
His breath slows, from shallow huffs to deep, chest rising gasps, and Grian finally has the strength to put little pieces together. He can see Scar's face. He can't see Scar's mask. "Where is-"
Grian found out as soon as he spoke. A voice that was his, yet wasn't. Lower, more gravelly, with a twinge of an electric edge. Scar wasn't wearing his mask because Grian is. A gas mask, perfectly suited to filter out whatever poison lingers in the air, saving his life.
Grian is wearing the Ringmaster's mask. Scar is without his hidden identity, eyes watching over him even as he breathes in the fumes. Pulling against the webbing that continues to trap Grian, he fights to try and pry the mask off. "But now you won't-"
"Don't worry about me, Doctor." Scar hums, his smile becoming lopsided. "You take my breath away all the time."
"But your identity." Grian whispers, unused to the way his voice sounds. Scar only then seems to realize what he's talking about, and snaps his fingers. He leans back, and Grian notices that Scar's holding his breath. Only taking gasps when necessary. A black fabric mask is positioned over his face, but Grian can still see that smile at the edges of Scar's eyes.
"Good thinking, G-man. Listen, I can't cut you down right now, but I'll get Eclipse and Boogey, and their weapons will get you free. Just…no matter what, don't take off my mask." As quick as Scar appeared, he ducks out of the gas, and Grian can hear a few wheezing, rattling breaths just beyond the fog.
His own deep breaths become the only sound that surrounds him. The aftershocks of a super fight always leaves the evacuated areas quiet, a haunting whisper of what the city normally is. No one on the streets, no cars honking or engines revving. Even the trains stop passing through this area, so the only sound is a soft wind above the buildings, and Grian's breathing through the mask.
Scar's mask. The single thing that immediately identified him as the Ringmaster when they first met, the barrier between Grian and Scar until he trusted him enough to reveal his whole face. The cool metal warms against Grian's skin, form fitted for Scar's more angled chin than Grian's rounder features, and his lips brush along the inside of the design with every deep, oxygen rich breath. This is Scar's mask. He expected it to smell like Scar or something, but instead of focusing on the scent as it covers Grian's nose, all he can think about is Scar's lips. Soft, plush lips so often quirked into a cheeky smile, brushing against the very metal Grian's own thin mouth touches now. Like a shared breath between them, the ghost of Scar's touch leaving shivers down Grian's spine. He's no longer thinking about his near death experience, caused by the very heroes supposed to be protecting civilians like him.
All Grian can think about is Scar. His lips pressed against the metal, and now that metal pressed against his own. A kiss, passed across the mask that saved Grian's life. For a moment, he can almost pretend the rough material is Scar's chapped lips, pushing life back into his body with every breath. A kiss of life, shared across the covering of faces. A touch of Scar's mouth, even when he's not here.
Thoughts still linger on that fact until Scar returns. The gas has faded, now just tinging the air like green lighting, but Scar has on a real gas mask, just in case. It takes a few swings of Lizzie's spear before Grian falls to the ground, legs failing him and Scar all that keeps his head from hitting the concrete. If there wasn't a mask between Grian and the villain, maybe he'd have kissed his savior, regardless of what kind of teasing it would bring on from the other two. He doesn't care. He's had a taste, a taunt of Scar, and he wants more. More than just the thought of his lips in the same place as Grian's, the whisper of touch on his lips. He wants the real thing. He wants to kiss Scar.
But his traitorous, impulsive heart can't seem to break past the barrier his logical mind has constructed.
"You look good in my mask, Doctor." Scar muses, and Grian discovers another wonderful design to wearing a mask- it hides his blush. Wearing Scar's mask. He'd never been one to think much of couples wearing each other's clothes, but this? This feels different. This is a part of Scar, a part of his identity. And he willingly gave it to Grian. It almost makes him never want to take it off, to be a part of his. His ally, his friend, his doctor, his-
"Alright, you two. Quit making goo-goo eyes, we gotta bolt before someone finds us." Jimmy's voice breaks Grian's thoughts, and a well of anger fills Grian for such a rude interruption. He's totally going to prank Jimmy after this.
"Besides, the last thing we need is for someone to see Grian in a Bamboozler mask. People will start making connections that are bad for everyone." Lizzie, always the voice of reason (save for romantics) brings up a good point. Scar helps Grian stand, his legs feeling more like that of a baby bird than his own limbs. Grian holds onto Scar's hand even after he finds his footing, and after a few minutes of walking, they're still clasped together.
A dark alley is where they stop, far from the gas and the fight scene, behind a nightclub that shakes its own foundation with the thrum of music. No one would look twice at a group just out the back in the darkness. They could be a group of friends sharing a smoke, or trading illicit goods, anything but supervillains and their pet vet.
Reaching up, Scar presses at the side of the mask, and a low hiss breaks the metal free from his jaw. Grian nearly presses his features into Scar's touch, like a cat desperate for attention. "There we go, identity reveal of the newest Bamboozler. Just as beautiful as the rest of us."
This time, there's no mask to stop Grian's blush, so he turns his face away and stares at a pile of trash, mouth twisted into a pouting scowl. "You know well I'm not gonna be lured into your shenanigans."
When he looks back, Scar has already replaced the mask on his own features, the glow of his eyes matching the glow of the mask. "Shame, but we appreciate any help as always, Doctor."
Even though his face is now partially obscured, Grian still can only think of the inside of that mask, and Scar's lips. Pressing against the metal, just as Grian had. The touch of his lips, just like a kiss shared across the barrier. A breath shared between their lips, life giving and changing.
"Well," Grian brushes some of the sticky webbing from his figure, hoping the rest will come off with a good shower and trip to the laundromat. "It's a good thing you guys wear gas masks as your outfit."
"Thank Zip for making them!" Jimmy puffs up his chest, proud of his not-boyfriend roommate. Grian, Lizzie, and Scar share knowing glances, smiles hidden behind masks and Grian's hand.
"Stylish and functional." Lizzie muses, but her attitude changes on a dime, as if she just realized something. "If we didn't have these though… if it wasn't our Grian down there, but a whole group of civilians?"
"They could've suffocated a whole city block, just to catch us." Scar mumbles. It takes Grian's mind to get past a few things before reaching a similar conclusion. Namely, being their Grian. But also, seeing villains that he was always warned cared little for other's lives, more concerned about the general public than the heroes were. Or maybe they were just considering the change in tactics the Hero Agency was taking. A means to the end, all to catch them.
Foolish of Grian to think supervillains like the Bamboozlers cared for the general public, when they've been known for their crimes well before Grian met them. But still, would the heroes really be willing to kill others, just to kill the villains?
Would they kill him, to get to the Bamboozlers? To Scar?
How much is Grian truly worth to him then?