Archive of Our Own

The stories always began with two wayward, lost and lonely souls, echoes of emotions, pains and wounds that were not their own and an invisible red string guiding them along. Such stories ended one of two ways- with happily ever after or in hopeless tragedy. 

Ever since the day someone (and he had no memory of who this someone was, a face from too long ago, from before the fire came and took everything away) explained to him why his eyes shone in two shades- why his eyes that once shone green like forests and poisons were now different, why his right now burned orange and amber like fire- he wondered. 

He dreamed. He wanted that picture perfect fairytale ending, where his eyes would meet their perfect reflection and everything would fall into place. When he would find that someone to whom he could be something more than just a pet experiment, some abominable magic creation, someone who would look past the monster to see the boy struggling to belong.

(Days after the fire- fire, where he had been rescued by an Avian and was left with wings riddled with small tears, burns shaped like the moth holes in the cotton robes his savior wore that dark day, holes that the delicate magic feathers could not hide- he met someone with dark eyes that matched only one another, and those eyes that did not set sight on any red string of fate, no matter how many years passed them by, saw him for the scared and hurting boy he was.)

He searched and searched, gaze scanning the crowds but never, ever did he once see the forested green and burning amber reflecting back. 

Around him, around him and Mumbo, all of their friends found their partners. They found the ones who would always be there.

Scott met Pearl. Cleo met Martyn. Jimmy found Tango. Ren found BigB. Impulse found BDubs. Although some of them did not fall in love- although Pearl held a torch for Scott, who could not bring himself to even pretend he could love her as more than a dear and beloved friend- they all fit together, like puzzle pieces finally snapped into place. They painted a beautiful picture that no one was able to see without the other. 

And, for a while, Scar was sure fate could make no mistakes. 

It all looked so perfect.

It seemed perfect, right up until the moment Scott and Pearl declared one another their enemy, Martyn left Cleo for Ren, BigB left town without a word (and only Ren's eyes, still two different shades of brown, proved that he was even still alive), and Jimmy tearfully broke down and confessed his love for Scott.

That had been one very messy Friday night, and nothing had been the same since. 

Their friend group fractured, and for the first time in his life Scar considered... maybe he and Mumbo were the lucky ones, after all. 

The one who couldn't find his soulmate, and the one who never had a soulmate in the first place. 

“I’m turnin’ seven tomorrow!”

Scar gave the little girl an award winning smile as he handed the flower decorations and bouquets to her parents- parents who had perfectly matched eyes and perfectly happy smiles. “Wow! That’s a big birthday! Are you excited?” he asked her, pushing aside his own true feelings on the matter.

“Yeah! My eyes’s gonna change colors and it’s gonna be so fun and I hope my right eye turns blue, ‘cause Jeremy- that’s my friend from the park!- has blue eyes and I think me and him would be a good team and I wanna marry him-”

“That’s enough, Emily,” her dad cut her off with a laugh, and Scar couldn’t help the gentle smile in turn. Sometimes it was nice to remember that not all soulmates were miserable together, and the soft, genuine smile Emily’s parents wore- the hands so casually clasped together like lifelines yet not with the force of a forced connection- gave away the sheer amount of love the two held for each other.

(He pretended that Jimmy and Tango hadn’t held hands in that same exact way before. That Cleo and Martyn had never casually entwined their fingers during movie nights, when no one else should have been paying them mind. That BigB and Ren never just stood side by side, shoulders brushing together for no other reason than they could.)

“Well, take it from me Ms. Emily,” he started, winking his amber eye almost emphatically, “no matter what color your eye turns, you’ve got a big adventure ahead of you.”

“And don’t let it hold you back from fulfilling your dreams!” Cub joined in, throwing an arm around Scar. 

Emily tilted her head curiously at Cub. “Why are your eyes the same color if you’re all grown up?”

Cub winced and the little girl’s parents immediately scolded her. “Oh, most people’s eyes change but some of them don’t,” he told her, quickly throwing on a wide smile. Scar’s own smile became strained. “Sometimes things... happen. But don’t you worry about it, I don’t mind at all! It just means I get to forge my own destiny, don’t it?”

Of course Scar knew it did, in fact, bother him. It bothered almost everyone who didn’t have a soulmate- who would never know that bond that would so often steal lovers away, who never had the socially-accepted assurances for their future, who so often received pitying sidelong looks. So many people, those with soulmates anyway, did not trust the love offered by someone whose very heart they could not feel beating in sync with their own. Whose pain they could not share, whose very feelings could not be bared in its purest, truest form. 

Rarely did the soulbonded trust those who did not know how it felt to have your heart in the palm of another’s hand, how it felt to be tied forever to another with an invisible red string, to feel the pull and the warmth. Those feelings the bondless did not know.

Except Cub did know, and that was why it bothered him so much.

After all, according to the stories, the unlucky and grandparents everywhere, the pain of the red string snapping was the most intense pain one could ever feel through the bond- like dying yourself, he remembered someone on the television saying, like you know you can’t, shouldn’t keep going on.

The eyes were the only sign of what had truly happened.

(Once, he and Mumbo had speculated that Mumbo’s soulmate died before Mumbo turned seven. The red string would have still been there, Mumbo’s grandfather had told them when they voiced their theory, it would have still snapped, Mumbo would still have felt it.)

“Have a happy birthday!” Scar wished to Emily as the happy family left the store, Cub’s paper-thin explanation quickly forgotten. A few moments passed before Scar looked at Cub. “Do you need...?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Cub dismissed, waving Scar’s concern off as he turned to arranging a special occasions bouquet. “It’s been ten years already, Scar.”

“I know,” Scar said, drumming his fingers against the counter nervously, “but still... They were, uh, they were your soulmate.”

Cub let out a small laugh. “This from the man who declared soulmates overrated?”

Scar leaned on the counter, absently straightening up a ribbon on a wreath. “Well I mean, some of us just aren’t meant to find them, ya know? Like, they cause more harm than good. But when it works it works, right? So, I guess, even though I stopped looking for mine, it doesn’t mean I can’t be there when all of... well, when it’s getting to you. Ya know?”

There was a beat of silence. “Thanks, Scar,” Cub said, voice softer than before. “You’re a good friend.”

He smiled brightly at Cub. “Anytime, Cub.”

“Are you sure you’re not interested in finding yours?” Cub asked, nudging him. “You know, find that someone who sees you as you are underneath everything?”

Scar laughed at that, waving his hand towards Cub. “Aw c’mon, if I’ve learned anything since Aqua Town, it’s you don’t need a soulmate to have people who love and understand you! I mean just look at Mumbo- no soulmate but he’s got that Grian fellow wrapped around his pinky.”

“You and I both know Mumbo’s wrapped around Grian’s pinky,” Cub snorted.

“They’re wrapped around each others’ pinkies, then. Do you know what Mumbo told me the other day? His favorite restaurant in Aqua Town shut down and he was whining about not bein’ able to get those weird square pasta things he likes so much, and Grian flew three cities to the nearest branch to get them! If that’s not wrapped I don’t know what is,” Scar laughed, Cub snorting beside him. 

“As if you wouldn’t have done the same,” Cub lightly teased, grinning.

“Oh yeah no, in a heartbeat.”

“So is Mumbo planning the wedding yet?” Cub asked, his voice faltering only a moment. Scar pretended not to notice it. “Y’know, I mean...”

“I doubt he’d start planning a wedding with a guy we haven’t even met yet,” Scar chuckled, focusing back on the wreath. “He keeps saying he’ll get the guy on video chat one day but apparently he doesn’t like pictures being taken of him and he keeps disappearing around mine and Mumbo’s weekly call...”

“Aw, he’s shy,” Cub said with a grin. “Hey, maybe it’s time to head back to Aqua Town for a bit? Y’know, visit the old crew, maybe look into expanding the shop.”

“If we went to Aqua Town, who would watch the shop and take care of the greenhouse?” Scar asked, raising a brow at him. “Not to mention the crystals in the back...”

“Hey, I never said I’d go to Aqua Town,” Cub said. “I like Boatem, thank you very much, Aqua Town is just too... much for me. But, ya know, Boatem is a small town- not much in the way of business ventures here. Aqua Town? That place is bustling. Busy and alive! So much to be done there and oh, I like being in Boatem but we- well, we really do need to expand the business, Scar. Proms and school dances and seventh birthday parties and anniversaries can only keep us going so long, we should do it while we have the means to. And I think our old stomping grounds would be the perfect place.”

Scar hummed, considering Cub’s words. “Will Impulse help you take care of the plants and the crystals?”

“Plants yeah, but you know Impulse- he’s not... magic’s not exactly his thing. He’s much more into the science thing.” He grinned. “You’re just gonna have to trust me with them!”

“Welp, there goes all the magic I’ve put into them.”

“Hey!”

Scar laughed as his friend playfully smacked his shoulder. “Okay, okay! After all, you’re right- we should expand into a bigger city and I know my way around Aqua Town. Plus my reputation wouldn’t hurt us at all,” he added, crossing his arms as he thought about it. He’d lived in Aqua Town for most of his memorable life, most of that time as the mayor’s ward (until he eventually just became his son), and during that time he had made connections that served him well, even all the way in Boatem nearly thirteen hours away.

(He tried not to think about all the cons that came with those connections.)

“It’d also be nice to see the old gang again,” he added with a ghost of a smile. “Or- well, at least the ones still there. Gosh, I haven’t seen Mumbo in months- we’ve both been so busy this year...”

“So it’s a win-win on all fronts,” Cub said with a firm nod. “Also- you know, not saying you have to say anything but- well. Maybe you should tell Mumbo the truth before it’s too late...?”

Scar’s smile fell and he brushed Cub’s hand off his shoulder. “Ah, Cub- it was too late for that years ago. Besides,” he added, grabbing the wreath to hang it up in the front window, “now he’s got that Grian fella, and...”

He looked at his reflection, at the green and amber staring back at him.

“I’m not gonna ruin this for him.”

Scar didn’t go back to Aqua Town often. Twelve hours and thirty minutes was a long time to drive or even fly- and though he appreciated the elytra his father got for him to replace his ruined wings, and he loved to fly like he used to as a child in the forest, it just didn’t feel as normal or natural, and flying long distances just didn’t sit well with him. 

So he rarely visited Aqua Town, and Mumbo rarely visited Boatem, and one would think all that time and space apart would cause the two childhood best friends to drift apart. 

Yet somehow, some way, they didn’t.

Weekly phone calls never stopped, and sometimes random letters would show up at the other’s home. Random calls at three AM when something terrible had happened, or something amazing, something they just had to share with the other were made and answered, never a single call gone ignored for more than three rings. Gifts were still sent whenever they saw something that reminded them of the other and Scar still sent Mumbo a new protection totem every six months- exhausting and expensive, magically speaking, to make, though Mumbo didn’t need to know that.

(Distantly, he remembered when he first started gifting Mumbo those totems. It took him months to perfect carving the soft sandstone into the right shape and inlay them with the magic emeralds spaced just so perfectly apart for optimal magic conduction, and even longer to get the spell just right. He’d had to rely on distant, fuzzy memories, of cold hands and clipped voices and books of writing in other languages, but if he never had to see Mumbo caught in the midst of a creeper explosion again- if he never had to wonder, fear for even a single second if Mumbo was safe, okay, alive- then it was all worth it.)

So, while anyone else would have expected the two to not be nearly as close as they had been six years ago when Scar first left Aqua Town, Scar did not falter even a second as Mumbo tackled him in the Aqua Town airport.

“There you are!” the man laughed, stepping back to get a proper look at him. “Three weeks in Aqua Town, Scar, you’re really spoiling me now! Stay long enough and I might decide you can’t leave again.”

Scar laughed, clapping his hand against Mumbo’s back before he moved over to the baggage claim to grab his stuff. “Oh Mr. Mumbo Jumbo,” he said with mock-politeness, “Y’know I can’t stay away from Crystal Blooms forever.”

“Oh but if you’re thinking of opening a second shop here then maybe you could,” Mumbo suggested none-too-slyly, side-eyeing his friend’s clearly-marked (and rather eccentric, if one were to ask... anyone, really) luggage coming down the conveyor belt. Scar grabbed it but made no move to leave, cluing Mumbo in that he had more coming. Made sense, of course- three weeks. He knew Scar couldn’t go three weeks without his magic tools. “Though I suppose Grian wouldn’t be too keen on you staying in our house forever, now... He barely agreed to three weeks.”

“I still think three weeks is excessive,” Scar sighed, but he smiled so Mumbo knew he wasn’t actually irritated. He couldn’t have the man thinking that, after all. “I bet I could find a location in two weeks, tops, but you and Cub...”

“Don’t forget you’ve got to get together with everyone else, mate,” Mumbo reminded him, snagging one of Scar’s smaller bags. “Both Pearl and Scott are in town this month and you know you can’t let them in the same room without being prepared for death.”

“Yeah, I mean after the whole skeleton thing she set on Scott last time we tried that...”

He trailed off as he remembered that disastrous attempt at getting the two former friends and soulmates to reconcile. Needless to say, that had been the last time any of them tried to intervene- it was best to let whatever might have been left die.

“Don’t want a repeat of that.”

Both men shuddered at the memory. Whatever was happening with their red string, of course no one could know (only gods and minor deities and the most magic of magic creatures could see them, according to the stories, and Scar wasn’t quite Vex enough, in the end), but whatever it was Pearl seemed to be much more affected by it than Scott.

Neither even wanted to mention Scott and Jimmy’s wedding three years before.

“Man it was all so much easier when we could all just meet up together,” Scar whined, turning to look at Mumbo with a pout. Mumbo snickered and looked at him.

Then something weird happened.

Mumbo froze.

His smile fell and his eyes widened, as if he had just noticed something for the first time, and for a moment Scar panicked because does he know? Is it obvious? Am I obvious, does he know I love him can he see it on my face what did I do-

“Mumbo?” he asked softly, not even noticing as his last bag passed him. He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous or scared as he felt. “Are... is everything okay?”

When he got no response, Scar carefully reached out, setting a hand on Mumbo’s shoulder, and the man finally seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in. “Oh, Scar, your eyes-” Mumbo said, sounding oddly choked.

Scar blinked, confused, and glanced at himself in the mirror on the other side of the conveyor belt. His eyes were their normal green and amber, the way they had been since before he even met Mumbo.

“What about my eyes?” Scar asked, looking back at Mumbo- but the man in question had disappeared. Scar panicked, looking around, but then Mumbo was back with his runaway bag, his face somewhat flushed from running through the crowd. “Mumbo, what’s wrong?”

“Let’s not talk about it here,” Mumbo said, his voice devoid of any of his previous excitement or glee. 

In fact, it sounded like it had been replaced by dread.

Scar could do nothing more than follow Mumbo out of the airport and to the car park, where Mumbo’s prized (and somewhat embarrassing) sports car, still complete with the old “race car” paint job they’d given it when they were seventeen and thought it would look cool, was waiting for them. Any other person would have hesitated to get in the old thing but Scar, who knew how proud Mumbo was when he finally raised enough money from three summers of part time jobs and under-the-table deals to be able to afford the old clunker, was still just as proud as he was the day he had... tried to help Mumbo fix it up. He was more of a hindrance than a help, but Mumbo wanted him there anyway and he was happy to stay.

(Mumbo was always better at science and mechanics than Scar was. Scar was better at art and magic. Art and magic and selling things was all Scar really felt like he was good at, but Mumbo- Mumbo was smart, and amazing, and he understood things Scar had no hope of understanding, building machines using nothing more than redstone and copper wires in Scar’s garage with nothing more than a single screwdriver and his bare hands.)

Scar wondered the whole way to Mumbo's house why his hands clutched the steering wheel right enough to turn his knuckles white. 

Mumbo lived outside of the city limits, out where the stars still shined and the occasional mob would wander out of the treeline and the closest neighbor was too far to see inside the windows, and the drive was tense. Tense had never been a word Scar used to describe any interaction he had with Mumbo, not even at nineteen going on twenty when he realized his teenage crush had only evolved into a first love. 

So why now? Mumbo didn't seem to want to talk about it yet and Scar got more and more nervous every minute that passed in silence. 

Then they were there, at Mumbo's quaint little two-bedroom house that Scar sometimes felt would fit in better in the Boatem village.

As they got out of the car, the door opened to reveal an Avian with dirty blond hair and red and green wings. 

"There you are," he called out to them with a grin, and Scar noticed the cat curling around who he assumed to be Grian's legs. "The cats have been throwing a fit since I started clearing out the spare room."

"I told you, you're spoiling them!" Mumbo snickered. "Really, they don't need a whole room to themselves."

"I don't mind sharing with cats," Scar said, smiling at the cat looking at him. He already missed his Jellie. "I love cats."

"You spoil your cat, too," Mumbo said dryly. "Grian, this is Scar. Scar, this is Grian."

Satisfied that he had assumed correctly and not noticing the weight in Mumbo's voice, he finally looked up to greet his best friend's partner. 

The words died on his lips as he met his reflection.

His eyes reflected in an unfamiliar face. 

His blood ran cold and Grian's eyes widened, and Scar wondered, briefly, if he looked as horrified as Grian did. 

o

When he was fourteen, Scar finally noticed his crush. He had no idea how long those feelings had been there, sitting in his chest and waiting for the moment to rear their heads, but he was fourteen when he finally put a name to them. He was fourteen when he looked at Mumbo and knew.

That was the time before Pearl, before Ren and Cleo and all the disasters that followed their completed bonds. That was before any of his friends had found their soulmates. Back when Scar still looked at the stories of soulmates finding each other and living happily ever after with stars in his eyes, when he dreamed of how it would feel to find the person meant to be beside him. When the echoes he felt and welcomed into his heart, when the invisible string’s warm thrumming brought him comfort that someone out there was meant to be by his side.

That was back when he didn’t know soulmates could be anything other than lovers.

Before he knew soulbonds did not truly tie people together- and, in fact, often only hurt.

(Or, at least, the social expectations hurt, tearing down what might have been a good relationship by making them believe only romantic love was a valid way to love a soulmate. The strange glances you received when you loved anyone who was not your soulmate- the wary looks when your love for your soulmate ended at “friends” or “like siblings.”)

So still dreaming of that person- a person who could understand him, read him, feel him in the ways no one else could, that person standing on the other side of the fated string- he pushed it away. Pushed it aside and buried it deep under his dreams and kept searching. 

Many people in his generation found their soulmates through social media- pictures online, survival games played in the middle of nowhere and recorded with hardy tech, the works- but no matter how many greens and browns or greens and golds Scar saw, it was never right. Never the right shade, never the right gleam, never the right specks.

He didn’t give up, and by the time their friends all fell apart and he realized soulmates weren’t the only people who could love unconditionally and truly, not the only one who could read him and understand him, not the only one who would see past the monster his creators made him to see the boy- man- he really was... it was just too late. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

He moved to Boatem. He loved Aqua Town of course, but his GoodTimes name- the name of the mayor, his father, the one person he knew he could count on no matter what- held weight. It held weight even all the way in Boatem, but not nearly as much as it had in Aqua Town. In Boatem people had faith in him, believed in him, called him neighbor and frequented his shop for his flowers, for his crystals, for his magic, and they supported him in his dreams.

Aqua Town just had expectations.

They expected him to follow his father’s footsteps.

They expected him to do great things. Specific great things. They whispered about favoritism and nepotism and then turned around and encouraged him to do it, to give up on his magic (because only monsters and hermits did magic, only licensed magicians enchanted, only witches and evokers played with wild magic the way Scar did, only Vexes thrived in the throes of aforementioned wild magic) and his flowers and his business ventures. To settle down in Aqua Town, to learn from his father and become a politician, to reject the few gifts he had been given by the ones who created him.

So one day he packed his bags, hugged his father and told his friends goodbye.

He left for smaller towns and greener pastures, where his name was recognizable but did not make him.

Maybe, had Mumbo agreed to go with him, things would have been different.

Maybe if they didn’t see each other only twice a year, if they lived in the same house, if they didn’t live completely separate lives, maybe Scar would have told him. Maybe, if there was no phone between them and no way to take back letters from the mailbox, Scar would have told him.

But Mumbo’s family was in Aqua Town. All their friends were in Aqua Town, and he had just started up his restaurant and how could Scar ask him to give all that up to move to a town thirteen hours away, a place where zombies and skeletons and creepers and giant spiders still ran rampant?

So Scar never even asked.

(Sometimes he can’t help but wonder what Mumbo would have chosen, but he stops those thoughts before he can start dreaming.)

When Mumbo had told him about the regular in his restaurant ("He only ever gets a strawberry milkshake but he comes in every Tuesday and hangs around a while and I think he's quite swell and may have asked him out on a date?") he had been, he could admit to himself, jealous. When, weeks later, Mumbo said they were dating, Scar felt a pang in his chest, a jealous longing twisting around his heart. 

The happiness in Mumbo's voice made him push all that aside and congratulate him. He was happy for Mumbo. 

He had never met Grian. Never had a chance in the past two years to go back to Aqua Town, and the Avian never came to Boatem with Mumbo when he visited. He didn't like pictures being taken of him (and Mumbo had never been the type to live his life on the phone or in photos, always there in the moment- Scar doubted if the man even had a picture of Scar at hand, he took so few) and he always seemed to have an errand whenever the two would decide to video call. 

Scar figured he was just a very private person and never tried to push the matter.

Mumbo, it seemed, had completely missed the fact that they had mirrored eyes, right up until they were at the airport and he was actively thinking forward to introducing them. 

When he looked at Scar's eyes while thinking of Grian and realized the colors were exactly the same. 

Mumbo cleared his throat. "I hope this doesn't... complicate things," he said carefully, and both men's attention snapped back to him. 

"Complicate things?" Grian repeated, sounding much calmer than he felt. Scar closed off the bond on his side, the anxiety and despair rolling through only adding to his own. "Mumbo, love, this changes nothing! Let's go inside and have tea, shall we?"

(Later, Scar would talk to Grian while Mumbo was in the bathroom. Later they would admit they stopped searching for each other over a decade ago. They would admit they don't want this, that their only real tie is Mumbo, and the soulbond was nothing compared to that. Compared to him.

Later, Scar would talk to Mumbo while Grian went out to pick up takeout. He would reassure Mumbo that he had no interest in Grian, that those childhood dreams had been foolish flights of fancy, that he had no intention to come between Mumbo and Grian. He would offer, if it would make them more comfortable, to go stay in a hotel or with his father for the three weeks, but Mumbo would deny that- demand he stay, that he trusted them and if Scar wasn't against it, Mumbo would really like him to stay. So he'd stay, and he'd block off the connection as much as he could, to keep the phantom touches off of his own skin.)

They avoided each other for the first week. Scar spent a lot of his time out with his other childhood friends but when he came back to Mumbo's house, he would go to the guest room, pet the cats, give Grian and Mumbo time to finish up whatever couple-y things they were doing (and he tried to pretend he didn't know exactly what they were doing half the time, like he knew they pretended they didn't know he knew) and then join them in the living room. 

Sometimes he and Mumbo would go out on the town, Grian giving a mumbled excuse as to why he needed to stay home. Sometimes Mumbo would convince him to come along. Both of them stuck to Mumbo like glue, keeping him between them and hardly saying a word to one another. 

And really, it wasn’t so much that they didn’t want to interact, but- well, Scar figured Grian knew as well as he did about the moments where Mumbo doubted he even deserved to be loved. The days when he would look in the mirror and wonder if the gods deemed him unlovable, if that was why he was the only one among their friends who wasn’t given a bond. If he simply wasn’t worthy of the gods’ favor. Scar figured Grian knew as well as he did, and that they had mutually agreed without a word that they didn’t want to be the reason those thoughts would flare up.

This, it seemed, did not go unnoticed by the man in question. 

"Oh for the love of- I'm just going to make tea!" Mumbo finally broke after the first week, throwing his hands in the air and stopping Grian halfway out of his chair. "Just sit here and talk! Look, I'm not so insecure that I can't have my boyfriend and my best friend having some kind of friendship outside of me, come on!"

"I didn't say you were insecure," Grian said at the same moment Scar said, "Mumbo, I've known you for twenty years."

The two gave each other a look while Mumbo slapped a hand to his face. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do but honestly, you are making it even more awkward than it should have been. I'm going to make tea and you two are going to sit here and have a proper conversation without me, okay?"

The two tried to protest but Mumbo left the room. For a full minute the TV was the only sound filling the room. 

Scar coughed. "Okay, I guess maybe avoiding each other like the plague wasn't the best idea I've ever had."

"Me neither, I suppose," Grian sighed, curling up into the recliner he'd been reading in. His wings wrapped around himself and he looked at Scar, caution written on his face. "After all you are his best friend and I'm not going anywhere, so we have to get used to each other."

Despite their words the two fell into awkward silence, the sound of Mumbo putting the kettle on the stove stretching out between them. 

(And it shouldn’t have been so awkward, Scar silently scolded himself. He had decided years ago that if he had ever met his soulmate they could just be friends, normal friends, nothing weird about that. But Grian was Mumbo’s boyfriend- the man Scar loved was in love with the man who was Scar’s soulmate, and Scar couldn’t help but be jealous.)

Neither knew what to say. Grian opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and-

"You have no idea how badly I want to prank Mumbo right now," Scar finally said, and Grian's eyes immediately lit up. 

"Prank, you say?"

"Oh yeah," Scar said with a grin, latching onto the topic. "I used to prank him all the time! Every visit we have together, ya know, it's like a tradition. We prank each other and it's great. After a week, I bet he's let his guard down."

Grian hummed, interest piqued. "He did tell me about some of those, I think. Say, what exactly do you have in mind?"

Scar grinned and held up a hand, letting his fingers glimmer. "What's your opinion on magic?"

Minutes later Mumbo returned to the living room with three cups of tea. Scar and Grian were quiet, the latter reading while the former looked through a magazine Mumbo had on the coffee table (Scar didn't like to read, the words swimming and shifting in front of his eyes, but he liked looking at the pictures in the art magazine that Mumbo had never bothered to cancel his subscription to when Scar left Aqua Town). 

He let out a breath, dropping down onto the couch beside Scar. "Great conversation, you two."

Scar grinned at him, tilting his head to the side as he gave Mumbo his full attention. "Your sarcasm is obvious even to me, Mr. Jumbo," he said. 

Mumbo stuck his tongue out childishly. "No but seriously, did you two even talk about anything? I'd have thought you two would have a lot of things in common, both being flying hybrids and all."

"Flying hybrids?" Grian repeated, looking up from his book to face Scar and Mumbo. "Isn't he just a human like you?"

"You looked at this man and thought he was just a human?" Mumbo guffawed, vaguely gesturing in Scar's general direction. 

Truth be told, Scar knew he had a fae feel about him, being partially Vex. He had been told many times that it was obvious, even with his long hair tied back in a way that hid his pointed ears and when he kept his mouth closed to hide the razor sharp teeth inside. Something about the air around him or the way he carried himself. Someone had once even described him as “oddly beautiful, but in the way a dragon is beautiful”- dangerous, mythical and not wise to engage. Ethereal, someone else had said. Out of reach.

Even without his ruined wings on display, even when his markings- invisible to the human eye but on clear display to all fae-adjacent creatures- didn't glow in the daylight, many people around him just knew. 

So it was a little surprising to him- and, clearly, also to Mumbo- that Grian, the observant and intelligent Grian who already saw Scar's magic, did not realize that Scar was not completely human. 

(It was funny, since Scar was also Illager, between the human and the Vex. Sometimes he doubted he was human at all.)

"I... yes?"

Scar grinned again and this time Grian actually paid attention, eyes flicking to his teeth. He leaned against the arm rest, tilting his head over onto his hand so his hair fell away from his face, exposing the sharp tip of his ear. "Well, I'm more human than Vex so it's fine to call me human!" He assured the Avian with a chuckle, one that may have sounded a little more predatory than he'd intended. 

(And for a moment he didn't think Grian would catch the lie, wouldn't question what else the Vex hybrid could possibly be when he looked so human. Everyone always forgot Illagers could look incredibly human, too. After all, what were Illagers and Testificates if not just two other different humans?)

Grian's eyes narrowed slightly before closing completely. "That explains the Undeath Totems."

Scar's grin fell and he sat up straight. "What?"

It had been a long time since he heard that term- what the Evokers of the manor called the protection totems. 

Grian waved a hand in the air. "Undeath Totem, Totem of Undying, Protection Totem, Revival Totem... lots of names for one very tricky little artifact," he said, opening his eyes once again. "I noticed Mumbo has a bit of a collection now."

"Undeath Totem?" Mumbo repeated, blinking owlishly. "That sounds-"

"Illager magic, Vex magic, very little divergence," Grian told Mumbo, eyes nearly sparkling as he was given the opportunity to share his knowledge. Knowledge that Scar already knew, of course- knowledge that Grian likely knew he already knew. "While most gods turned their backs on the Illager aligned, certain gods favor them, Lady Death being one of those. So only one connected with their magic could ever make an Undeath Totem."

Scar ran a hand almost anxiously through his hair, a spark of a memory igniting in his mind. He could distantly remember cold hands guiding his own across the surface of a sandstone block, chiseling and carving the soft and delicate stone with a burning hot tool. Words, fuzzy and distorted in his memory, were murmured in his ear.

"I suppose a Vex hybrid could be close enough to do it, too," Grian mused thoughtfully, peering curiously at Scar's face. "Though how you learned I can't help but wonder, Illagers are notorious for not accepting those outside their own clans, regardless of whether they’re human, fae or Illager."

Scar cleared his throat, caught off guard by Grian's curious expression. Most people, upon finding out he was Illager Adjacent, cast him in suspicion. 

(But not Aqua Town, who watched him grow up, and for the most part not Boatem, so full of outcasts and strange hybrids alike. Aqua Town knew him and Boatem had more faith in goodness and love than many people ever deserved.)

Of course he should have known Mumbo would never bring him around someone who would hate him for his ancestry, his heritage, his past. Of course Mumbo could never love someone who would cast him out for such petty reasons. 

Mumbo was his best friend. 

So instead of giving the Avian a cautious, wary look, he just smiled. "I learned a long time ago. I just had to refresh it. But hey! Mumbo's safe and sound and that's what matters."

"He has nearly twenty Totems," Grian deadpanned. 

"Nearly?" Scar blinked innocently, looking at Mumbo now. "Where'd the others go?"

Mumbo's face turned a soft shade of red and he cleared his throat now, looking away from both his boyfriend and his best friend. "I will admit I may have made some... miscalculations in my lab. A few times."

"Keep giving him Totems," Grian said. Scar nodded in grave agreement.

"That's the plan, G-Man."

Mumbo latched onto the name, looking for a new topic for them to focus on instead of his penchant for almost dying. "G-Man?"

Unknown to Mumbo, however, that was Grian's cue.

Thirty minutes and a few spells later, the trio were all collapsed on the floor, feathers flying and illusions of mobs fading into silvery light, laughing as if this were normal. Grian laid halfway across Mumbo's chest, lightly batting away a few errant sparkles from Scar's glamor spell, and Scar himself sat up and shifted himself against the couch, trying to catch his breath once more. 

"You lured me into a false sense of security," Mumbo said breathlessly, his narrowed eyes betrayed by the twitching of his mustache. "I'm not sure whether to be annoyed, proud or impressed the first conversation you two have is plotting against me."

"When I hear the word 'prank' I can't resist," Grian sighed dramatically, throwing himself across Mumbo's stomach and draping a wing over his own forehead. 

"I know where you both sleep," Mumbo warned, reaching down to grab Grian's hand. 

"The cats will protect me," Scar said sagely, the cats in question happily climbing up onto his shoulders. 

Grian almost pouted. "Why do our cats like you better than they like us?'

"I bet he's feeding them secret treats," Mumbo said, looking up at Scar with accusation. "He's spoiling them."

Scar just grinned, scratching the cats behind their ears. "What can I say? Animals tend to like me."

The phone ringing at 4 am drew Scar from a deep sleep, leaving him blinking groggily in the spare room of Mumbo's house. The light from his phone was blinding, compared to the soft light given off by the luminescent marks on his skin and the gentle glow of his eyes. 

He stared at the offending phone for a moment, then finally registered the caller ID on the front- Impulse.

Oh no. 

He sat up and grabbed his phone off of the table. "'lo, Scar 'ere," he greeted, voice thick with sleep. "Wha's go'n' on?"

"Scar! Scar! The water system broke, the sprinklers aren't activating and there's too many flowers for us to manually water I can't figure out the problem to fix it help-!"

Scar groaned, laying back against the pillows. "Imp, why in the world are you in the greenhouse at-" he paused. "Three am?" Boatem was an hour behind, it was even worse than he originally thought. 

"I got an alert on my phone that the shop lost power so I went to get it back on, cause we all know you'll never forgive me if I let your flowers die, I know how much you put into them and I don't want-"

"Impulse, calm down," Scar said, keeping his voice as even and gentle as he could after being woken up at 4 am. "This is something that can be dealt with in the morning. I have a list of people you can call in proper daytime hours, including the water system guys, in the shop office. In the meantime, just go up to my apartment, get the green crystal from my collection and set it up in the center of the greenhouse. It'll keep the flowers vitalized until the water system is up and running."

"Of course you have a magic backup," Impulse complained, though he had clearly relaxed at Scar's words. "But still, I don't even know what happened."

Scar knew, of course. Even Boatem had a few bad eggs, a few people who didn't like having a fae or someone who was, in any form or fashion, related to the Illagers. Or any non-human, at that- Doc had a few problems with this very same type of thing in his shops. 

Yet neither Doc nor Scar had ever told Impulse or Cub about them, and Scar had no intention of telling him now.

"The water guys will handle it," Scar assured him, silently cursing the fact the little gang had struck while he was out of town and his friends, completely unaware of the little anti-hybrid gang harassing Scar, were the ones having to deal with it. "Just get the crystal out there, go back to sleep and call them in the morning, alright?"

After a few more words were shared, Scar hung up the phone and dropped it on the bed beside him. He stared up at the ceiling- there went his plans for tomorrow. He just knew he'd be on and off the phone all day. 

A cat lazily stretched out next to him, and he scratched her ears. "Why are people like that?" He asked with a deep sigh. The cat responded with a soft mrow, and Scar smiled softly. "Ah, yes, of course. Those people are everywhere, but at least you don't have to deal with them. You're just a cat. Which sometimes I think would be so much better than..."

He let his thoughts trail off, and the cat lifted her head to look at him. Distantly he recalled Grian had referred to this one as Pearl, awkward as that had clearly made Scott (but no one could say anything, after all, the cat had the name before Grian even met Mumbo, let alone Pearl). Pearl the cat. Sweet as a treat in the summer heat, he had cooed at her, and laughed when Grian made somewhat disgruntled noises as the cat in question happily let Scar shower her in his affections- something he had learned by now that she never let anyone do. 

Sometimes he could swear both cats could understand him. They looked at him expectantly when he spoke and when he trailed off they would bump their heads against his hand, an encouragement to continue. 

Now, the other cat- Maui- jumped up onto the bed from where he had been scratching on the post in the corner, and he began kneading at the blanket across Scar's chest. 

"You're probably right," he agreed, as if he knew what the two cats were really saying. "I don't think I could give up my magic like that. It's... the only thing I'm really good at..." he frowned. "Though I guess if I never had it to begin with I couldn't miss it. Maybe those people would leave me alone, if I was more... human. Or a cat."

There was a soft knock on the door and Scar flinched at the unexpected sound. Had he been too loud, he wondered? Grian and Mumbo's room was at the end of the hall but that was still only a closet and a bathroom between them. 

"Uh-" he stuttered, sitting up again (and he ignored Maui's offended yowl as he flopped down from Scar's stomach into his lap). "Yes?"

The door creaked open and an amber eye peaked inside. "Scar? I heard voices. Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, just got a call from home," Scar said, waving his hand dismissively. "Didn't mean to wake you."

The Avian watched him for a few silent moments. "You didn't wake me," Grian said at last. "I was getting a drink when I heard you. You... sounded upset."

No. He hadn't sounded upset, but he had felt upset. Scar could read between the lines- four am, Grian hadn't bothered to try and tune out Scar's echoes. He had clearly felt enough to know Scar was at least mildly distressed. 

"It's fine, just-" he cut off as Grian raised a brow. "Right... I can't lie to you, can I?"

"Not really, no."

Pearl chuffed and pressed her head against Scar's arm. He could practically hear the if you're awake, give me attention! the action expressed.

"It's four am," Scar said, scratching behind the cat's ear as she commanded. "Just a lot on my mind, yeah?"

It was vague. A non-answer. But Scar couldn't tell Grian- because Grian would tell Mumbo and Mumbo would get worried, and a worried Mumbo was unbearable.

(He loved the man to death and back but last time Scar got hurt, Mumbo spent three days on his bedroom floor and refused to leave his house until Scar could walk without crutches again, and as heartwarming as it had been it definitely didn't make it any easier to crush in silence.)

"If you're sure..." Grian said, doubt obvious even without the thrumming of the bond string. Scar gave him a smile. "Well, alright then. Try and get more sleep, Mumbo plans to drag you around looking at lots tomorrow- well, today. Pretty sure he's also trying to trick you into moving back, by the way."

It was both a redirection and a polite dismissal, both of which Scar was grateful for. He nodded in agreement and gave Grian a half wave as the Avian closed his door, and then he laid back down. Right, he thought, time to actually do what he came back to Aqua Town to do. 

(And pretend that it was the real reason.)

"I dunno, none of these places feel like... ya know, good for a greenhouse," Scar said to Mumbo, absently biting on the end of his pencil. It was more of a nibble than a bite, of course, barely enough for the tips of his exceptionally sharp teeth to dent the wood, but it was a habit he'd had since he was a kid. 

Mumbo and Grian, who had decided at the last moment to tag along (and Scar noted the curiosity echoing across their bond before he gently and politely shut it out), peered over at the photos Scar had taken of the lots he'd looked at that day, so as to see them next to each other. 

"Well if you do a humble greenhouse and not another monster greenhouse they could work," Mumbo pointed out. "... but I know better than that."

"Mumbo said your greenhouse is twice as big as our whole house," Grian said, tilting his head- and there, in his eyes, Scar finally caught the curiosity and interest that had been thrumming in their bond since they first began to actually talk. 

"More accurately probably about three," Scar admitted. "The one I'm planning here isn't quite as big as the Boatem greenhouse but I still want it to be a good size. And these lots here are... well, more storefront cafe size."

"Do you have any designs in mind?" Mumbo asked, not-so-subtly eying the thick binder at Scar's side. 

Scar grinned. "You know me well, Mumbo!" He said, opening the binder and pulling out a sketchbook stashed in there. He began flipping the pages, the other two barely catching glances of his sketches of arrangements and floorplans and buildings and landscapes, until he found his most recent drawings- concept sketches. 

There were three double pages with the designs- outside designs, interior designs, walkways, little flourishes in the buildings, all the way down to the landscaping.

Mumbo gave a low whistle in response to the sketches- extremely detailed and complete with numbered measurements, in some cases. "You never cease to amaze me, mate."

Grian leaned over, eyes widening slightly as the sight of the drawings. "You made these?"

Scar laughed as Mumbo said, "Oh yeah he did these a lot when we were kids! Probably the best artist at least in our school year."

"I've always been interested in this kind of thing," Scar said in explanation as Grian's eyes scanned over the designs. His gaze landed on a certain one- a rustic-modern storefront with a large greenhouse attached to the back and a smaller garden on the side- and his eyes lit up. He pointed at it. 

"I think I know the perfect place for that."

And twenty minutes later, at the edge of the shopping district standing on a large empty corner lot, Scar had to admit- Grian was right. This far out from the center of the district the lots became larger and the buildings less pressed together- more personalized, more individual. It still had plenty of people walking past, shopping and hanging out, while avoiding the absolutely overwhelming crowds at the heart of the district. 

At the moment the lot was overgrown and the foundation of its past building was cracked and crumbling, but Scar knew this spot well. He knew what it could be. 

"I remember this," Mumbo said, voice pitching up in excitement as he looked around. "I almost forgot!"

"Man, what's it been? Twelve years?" Scar laughed, running his fingers over the leaves of the bush next to him. "I didn't think it'd still be empty after all this time."

"What was it?" Grian asked, turning to look at them. "I used to pass it a lot going from my apartment to Mumbo's restaurant. I thought it looked like a nice lot but no one's even touched it since I moved to Aqua Town."

"This was a little local ice cream parlor," Mumbo said. "It burned down in a fire when we were seventeen, and they knocked down what was left and removed the rubble but never rebuilt it. Scar, Ren, Scott and I used to come here after school every Friday."

Scar looked at the old "for sale" sign stuck in the ground. Although the sign was old the numbers on it had been updated fairly recently, obscured only by the tangled grass growing wild in front of it. There had to be some irony- or maybe that was the wrong word, but Scar didn’t care enough to ponder it- that the sign was taken better care of than the plot itself.

It was no surprise no one bought the old lot yet, when it was treated like that. It would be a lot of work to get it back to perfect order- he knew without even looking at the documents that everything under the ground would need to be replaced and updated, the old foundation of the ice cream parlor torn out and the ground landscaped. Probably the biggest reason, besides how neglected it looked.

Thankfully, though, Scar had not only a decent amount saved up for business expansion, he also had quite a bit stashed away from the money his father had practically forced him to take when he moved towns. Really, the old man was always too worried about Scar.

(It warmed his heart, really, but how could it not when the only other memory he had of any parental figure was ice cold hands, words muttered in his ear and books he had no hope of reading?)

He pulled the sketchbook out and flipped to the design in question, looking between it and the lot thoughtfully. With a grin he nodded and said, “Yep, Grian, you are absolutely correct. This is perfect.”

Grian smiled. “Of course I’m correct.”

“He always is,” Mumbo said with a small smirk, nudging his boyfriend. Grian rolled his eyes, his smug smile turning fond as he did so.

“You’re darn right, I am.”

Scar laughed and pulled his phone out, saving the number on the sign to call once he had a moment alone- business was always best conducted without friends around, he had learned.

“C’mon, let’s go get lunch.”

Aqua Town was alive in a way Boatem never was, and in its endless energy Scar was brought back to freshman year college, just a few months before he dropped out to pursue an apprenticeship with one of his father’s business partners.

(At least, that’s the reason he told himself he dropped out.)

It had been festival time, eleven o’clock at night with the city lights blacked out and the neon lights lining the buildings and illuminating the rides, lighting up the whole of downtown.

He remembered, clearly, how he and the others ran around like they were children once more- back when everything was okay, back when everything felt right. He remembered grabbing Mumbo’s hand and dragging him along to his favorite ride, in his excitement not even realizing or caring about what he had done.

Martyn and Cleo were close behind, hands held tightly and giggling like they were in middle school again. Scott was further behind, giving Pearl a piggyback ride as her shoes and socks- soaked from the water ride they had made the mistake of riding first that night- had rubbed blisters into her heels, and the feathers of her wings, heavy with water, kept her from flying along. Ren and BigB had disappeared somewhere else and Scar had never bothered to ask what they were doing, the red mark on the canine hybrid’s neck answer enough when everything was said and done. Cub's eyes were on his phone, ridiculous grin on his face, as he left them behind to join his partner.

The night had ended in a tragedy.

(A freak accident, the papers had reported the next morning; a ride malfunctioning, an engine catching fire, three lives lost and a few dozen more people injured.)

He remembered the ambulances, the fear as he searched desperately for his friends, the fear clouding his mind. He remembered the magic sparking at his fingertips, begging- for something, he wasn’t sure. Something to help. Something to find the people he loved, the people his heart was beating wildly for.

He remembered the smoke that choked him, taking him back ten years, back to a nine year old hiding underneath the staircase of a mansion as the whole thing burned, as his brethren (his captors, his creators, his betters) were slaughtered around him and their prized totems snatched before they could shatter- to the night an Avian in green robes lowered his sword and called him human, human enough (victim) . To the smoke that burned his lungs and licked at his skin before the Avian swept him up and took him away from there, away to a place where he would only ever know love and safety.

The fire that had spread through his mansion, through his city as people ran, as paramedics arrived and the fire department tried to get it under control. The homes which were lost to the flames, the lives that would never be the same again.

He remembered finding Mumbo, sitting by an ambulance as a medic spread regen pot on his shoulder- the blackened skin falling away into shiny pink before healing almost completely over, the skin stitching itself back together into a barely noticeable off-colored patch.

He remembered Pearl and Scott, with Pearl’s hair burned up to her shoulders and an unfamiliar jacket over her shoulders- over her wings- to hide the bandages on her back and around her torso, to hide the feathers burned away, feathers that would never regrow, and with Scott’s hands blackened with soot and palms and fingers burned smooth, never to have fingerprints again, from his attempts to put out the fire.

He remembered Ren and BigB running up to him, shouting indecipherably as they threw their arms around him, crying and just glad that he was alive.

He remembered Martyn and Cleo- Martyn, face healing from where shards of burning metal had blown just past his head, lucky to be alive, holding Cleo’s hand as the medic tried so hard to save her, as they tried to save her from the burns and lesions that she had not been so fortunate to escape (and Martyn would admit later in the darkness of Scar’s room, when it was just the two of them, that it was because she shielded him and he couldn’t protect her). If Cleo had been any more human, any less Zombie, the medic had told Martyn, she would have certainly died- but her human half had been brought back with an overdose of regen pot mixed with a blessed golden apple, a miracle and one of the only ones that night. Yet she had died that night and they all knew it, they all saw her empty gaze and limp hand and saw the way Martyn screamed and cried and how he clung to her when she breathed again, as if he would never let her go.

He remembered Cub, knelt on the ground with his hands tangled in his hair, sobbing, because he didn't get that miracle.

(The papers called it a freak accident. They called it the worst night of their lives.)

That was the last festival in Aqua Town, the last festival any of them ever went to, yet every now and then, when the music playing outside the cafes was a little too loud and the moonlight reflected off a colorful sign just right and children ran around screaming while they played along the sidewalks and on the playground nearby, Scar found himself right back to that moment- to that moment ten and twenty years ago, when fire and smoke and pain and fear was all he knew.

“You’re thinking again,” Mumbo said quietly, his tone telling Scar that he knew exactly where his mind had wandered.

It was nearly the end of the second week and the two of them had gone out for a late-night walk through the downtown area, just enjoying each other’s company before Scar had to focus on business and getting everything in order.

“Sometimes it’s hard not to,” Scar said with a halfhearted chuckle. He slowed to a stop by what was now a little garden memorial, but in his mind’s eye he didn’t see the beautifully cared for flowers. Instead he could only see Martyn kneeling in red and green blood, his ripped jeans forever stained as he held onto his soulmate, held on even while he could feel the bond being ripped away. 

Mumbo set a hand on his shoulder, gentle and light. “We’re all okay, Scar,” he reminded his friend, voice as soft as his touch.

(Except it wasn't true, not really. Cub was alone because of that- they never even got to meet his partner.)

“Do you ever think that was the turning point?” he muttered, gazing at that spot and seeing a scene that was so long ago. Something that was reversed, something that was saved but forever damaged. “Nothing was the same after that.”

And it was true, he realized as he voiced it. It was barely two months later that everything fell apart completely, that awful Friday night. This was the last good night, the hours before that attack accident.

“Maybe.”

Mumbo’s agreement caught Scar’s attention and he turned to him, eyes widening very slightly.

The man shrugged his shoulders, avoiding Scar’s gaze. He looked distant and sad. “Did you ever notice the three pairs with us that night are the three pairs in our group that fell apart? Even when Jimmy left Tango they stayed on good terms, and BDubs and Impulse are still like two peas in a pod, but the others...”

“Yeah,” Scar agreed simply, looking back at the little garden memorial. Three names carved into a stone, three names Scar did not really know, but three names nonetheless. Three names that meant something to someone out there.

“Come on, let’s just... go.”

Scar willingly followed Mumbo away from that one cursed spot, trying to push his memories away. It was hard, with the full moon glowing in the windows of the shops around them. Mumbo seemed to hesitate a moment before setting his hand against Scar’s back once again, a grounding weight reminding Scar where (and when) he was.

He resisted the urge to lean into the touch, instead allowing the man to guide him back to the parking lot where they had left the car. It was time to leave.

“Come on, you can stay, like, another week,” Mumbo whined, playfully clinging to Scar’s arm. “Or two, or forever!”

Grian and Scar both laughed at Mumbo’s antics. “Sorry, Mumbo Jumbo, as wonderful as that sounds my bags are already on the plane,” Scar joked back, carefully dislodging his arm from Mumbo’s grasp. “But I’ll be back in town soon- gotta keep an eye on the new shop and greenhouse building, after all!”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay at our house anytime you like,” Grian offered, and it warmed Scar’s heart to feel the truth singing between their bond. 

He laughed. “Well I appreciate it but I don’t wanna be in your guys’ hair any more than I already have been,” he said with a grin, though he was sure Grian caught the warmth underneath his words. “Besides, Dad was pouting the whole time I was with him that I wasn’t staying with him, so next time I think I’ll crash at his place. Y’know, so he stops pouting.”

“He’s such a puppy,” Mumbo laughed. “Man, I’m gonna miss you. Call me when you get to Boatem, yeah?”

“Will do!” Scar gave them a wave as he went to the gate, his plane being called to board. As he turned away he thought, for just a moment, he could feel their gazes lingering. He didn’t dwell on it, chalking it up to his imagination, and soon enough he found himself up in the air and Aqua Town just a speck in the distance.

(His home was in Boatem now, and he loved Boatem so much, but somehow he couldn’t help but feel like a part of him was being left behind in Aqua Town, among all the good and bad memories.)

He called Mumbo when the plane landed, as promised, and with Impulse and Cub there to meet him he headed back to his apartment above his shop, eager to show his friends and business partners everything he had planned and accomplished. As he settled back into his routine he managed to forget, just for a moment, the echoed touch he could feel on his skin.

“Surprise!”

“Oh my gods!” 

Scar’s hand covered his chest, his heart racing wildly against his palm, as he whipped around to see Mumbo’s grinning face. 

“You can’t do that to a man! What are you doing here in Boatem?” he asked, his face breaking out into a grin of his own as his heart settled down- for the most part, at least.

“It’s the anniversary of our first meeting, you ridiculous man,” Mumbo said matter-of-factly, dropping a box onto the counter with a thud. Of course- Mumbo (and his father and other friends growing up) found any excuse to basically celebrate a birthday for Scar, though he did not know his date of birth. 

The day he met Mumbo? Birthday! The day he became the mayor’s ward? Birthday! The day he was officially adopted? Birthday! And, of course, “birthdays” whenever anyone wanted an excuse to buy a birthday cake and have a small party. 

(“Come on, Scar, for all we know it could be your birthday today! So let’s celebrate just in case!” 

“How can I argue with that?”)

It had decreased over the years as they all went their separate ways but Mumbo always sent him something for this day (and Scar would send something in return, insisting this anniversary was about both of them, not just him!). So really, he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was that Mumbo would show up without warning.

Scar eyed the box warily- Mumbo’s gifts were either the greatest gift or the greatest prank, no in-between, and the fact that he’d brought it personally... left him a little suspicious of it.

“Grian’s here too,” Mumbo added, “but he’s staring into the Boatem Hole right now.”

“Oh no, the Boatem Hole,” Scar laughed, bringing his attention back to Mumbo. He could imagine the Avian perched on the fence around the Hole, staring down into the dark depths below. “Have you told him the stories?”

“No, not yet. Figured I’d let you have the honor of sharing those stories,” Mumbo told him, waving happily towards Impulse when the man walked out of the back. Impulse returned the gesture but focused on his work, knowing he’d have time to catch up with his old friend later. “Hey Imp, I’m gonna steal Scar for a bit!”

“Steal him away,” Impulse said. “He’s been here since five this morning!”

Mumbo gave Scar a Look and Scar laughed nervously, glancing at the clock. Four thirteen PM, it read. 

“Then I’m stealing him for the rest of the day,” Mumbo declared, pushing the gift into Scar’s hands before ushering him out the door. Scar’s protests landed on deaf ears and Impulse just waved after them.

Boatem was a peaceful village by the sea in the north. It snowed in winter and summers were warm enough to swim, and the roads were cobbled and wide and not car-friendly. You could walk from one side of the village to the other in twenty minutes, and the center of the village was the old marketplace- once a social hub in the old horse-and-wagon days (which, sometimes, it felt like Boatem never really left) when people would come from all around for the fresh fish and fruits found in its long-abandoned stalls.

Of course, Boatem still had its drawbacks like any town. Settled between a mountain range and the sea, it was rather isolated from the rest of the world around it and not the easiest to get to (another reason Mumbo so rarely visited- getting from the airport to Boatem was a journey, to say the least). It had strange weather because of the warm ocean wind and the cool mountain air. Beautiful views and a surprisingly strong tourist industry, all things considered, yet with a population of less than a hundred it was easy for it to feel rather lonely and empty- a perfect place to run away find a new start.

In the dead center- the heart of Boatem- was the remnant of a dark history hidden beneath the quaint countryside feel. A gaping hole, long since fenced off so no one could lose their footing by its edge, had been dug into the center of the old marketplace, an ancient totem pole erected in its center. Paint chipping, wood damaged from years of neglect, yet the images carved into its surface still told the story- the story of small ships crossing the ocean, an ancient oppressed people seeking the safe barrier of the mountain and the seas to hide from those who would destroy them.

The totem pole of the Boatem hole, Scar liked to say. 

All of the stories surrounding the hole were different, but one thing remained the same between each and every one.

“Grian!” Scar greeted the Avian, who tore his eyes away from the Hole to look back at him. He gave a smile and waved. “Y’know I think there’s better things to look at in Boatem than this old thing,” Scar said, peering over the fence and down into the darkness, far beyond what even he with his excellent night-vision could see.

“What is this thing?” Grian asked.

“Well that’s a good question,” Scar said, leaning on the fence- wrought iron and up to his chest, cemented into the ground with no hope of breaking or tripping over. “It’s the Boatem Hole. According to one story it was dug by the founders of Boatem, as a way to mark the land as theirs. Another story says it was dug by a god, to connect it with its people. A different story says it was always here, since the start of time. All those stories? They all say it leads straight to the Void.”

Grian’s feathers ruffled, back straightening almost imperceptibly. If Scar noticed he didn’t say anything. “The Void?” Grian asked, voice somewhat strained. “The Void’s just a fairytale.”

Scar shrugged. “Well I wouldn’t know, I haven’t exactly gone down the Boatem Hole. No one knows how deep it actually is but it’s too deep for us to go. Supposedly in the really old times it was easier to reach the Void- less earth between us and it- so Voidism was a much more popular religion, or cult, or whatever you might call it.”

“It’s a bit of a scary fairytale, isn’t it?” Mumbo asked, leaning against the rail on Grian’s other side. Their arms just barely brushed together. 

“It’s just a fairytale,” Grian insisted and Mumbo raised a brow. Scar shrugged again.

“I dunno, when I was a kid-” he paused. “Some of the books we had in the mansion talked about it. I don’t remember much about it but- ah well, ya know.” They did not but neither said as much. “Those books said it tied all the universes together, though. That it was the reason we could do magic at all. But, ya know- Voidism is dead anyway,” he laughed, looking at the information board mounted to the railing. Half the information was warped and unreadable, thanks to a crack in the protective glass, but no one had ever cared- the stories of the Void were infamous. “According to the stories, the first residents of Boatem were devout Voidists, and the Boatem Hole was where they offered sacrifices to the Void.”

Grian pulled his hands away from the rail, as if he’d been burned by the knowledge. “Sacrifices?!”

“Yeaahh, livestock and gold and all that kind of thing,” Scar said, his smile turning wry. History was never pretty. “Sometimes volunteers from the village.” Hybrids. “Of course, doesn’t make it right, most of them had been brought up believing in all... that.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the Hole.

“And you choose to live here??”

“The sacrifices aren’t happening now,” Scar laughed, turning around to look at Grian- he had taken a few steps back now, keeping distance from the Hole. “That’s all history.”

“Still.” Grian eyed the hole uneasily. “I think I prefer to not be where people were sacrificed to something that doesn’t even exist.”

“That’s fair,” Mumbo said, though something in his tone told Scar he was missing context there. He brushed it off- they were a couple, of course they had their secrets. “Come on, let’s go so you can open your gift.”

It turned out the gift was not a prank and was instead a photo album, filled with pictures of them and all their friends- mostly taken by Cleo or Martyn or Pearl, the three who loved to take pictures for memories sake. Smiles and laughter, moments that Scar had forgotten until that moment- the park swings when they were ten, taken by Mumbo’s mom; the ice cream parlor at fourteen, a selfie taken by Scott with Scar, Mumbo, Cleo, Jimmy, Impulse and Ren standing just behind him barely fitted into the frame; high school graduation, surrounded by their soulmates who attended different schools... memories from so many nights together, except that night.

Scar hated that such a simple thing could make him cry.

The first time Grian’s number popped up on Scar’s phone, he had no idea how to react. Grian wasn’t one to call, he usually just waited for Mumbo to call and then he’d “cause problems on purpose,” according to Mumbo. Sometimes he texted Scar between the weekly calls, just to “make sure you’re still alive, mate,” as if Grian wouldn’t be the first to know if something happened to Scar.

(He pretended not to notice those texts came after bouts of stress with the business or the local gang, or when phantom pains licked at his nerves and sent anxiety swirling, clenching in his gut. He pretended not to realize Grian had stopped blocking his echoes even during the day.)

However, Grian never called. It was something all their other friends said, too- the only person Grian actively called was Mumbo, though he would send texts and pop into Mumbo’s calls. The man seemed allergic to actually calling from his own phone, and Scar wasn’t sure if the Avian was just anxious about phone calls or if he was worried about overstepping boundaries because all these people were Mumbo’s friends first and foremost.

(One would think, after a year and a half of dating Mumbo and being friends with everyone back in Aqua Town, and after being friends with Scar for four months now, he’d have realized they were as much his friends as they were Mumbo’s.)

So of course a million thoughts raced through Scar’s mind- something happened to Mumbo, or maybe Grian needed advice that Mumbo couldn’t help with, or he needed help somehow, or-

He forced himself to answer the phone. “Grian?”

“Well that’s no way to greet somebody.”

It was so casual, lighthearted, and it immediately calmed Scar. There was no way Grian would sound that way if there was actually trouble.

“Sorry! Hi Grian, what’s up?”

“That’s better. Hello Scar! I’m just baking a cake right now. You’re not at work, right?”

It was six o’clock. Scar had just been putting dinner in the microwave, too tired and alone to cook. Jellie was curled up in her bed, ignoring the food he had put out for her at the moment.

"Nah, just making something for dinner right now. Why are you baking a cake at seven?"

He wanted to ask why he had called. He didn't want Grian to hang up, though. Scar felt somewhat... happy, that the Avian would call him, even for something as mundane as being bored while baking. 

"Mumbo got a call from work and had to deal with it," Grian said. "And I was left alone with all the ingredients for chocolate cake, so how can I possibly resist?"

"Mm, I see, I see. You make an excellent point," he chuckled. 

"Of course I do. So, anything new happen since we last talked?"

It had been literally three days since Scar and Mumbo's weekly phone call, and Grian had appeared halfway through it. 

"Not much happens in three days," he lied without thinking, pulling his food from the microwave one second before it would beep.

There was a pause on the other side and Scar mentally cursed to himself. 

"What happened, Scar?"

He had forgotten, for just a second, that Grian wasn't blocking his echoes anymore. 

Of course. That was why Grian called- because Mumbo wasn't there to listen, and Scar couldn't lie to him without being called out. 

Of course the twisted anxiety in his gut, the stress aching in his muscles, would echo through his soulbond. 

If it had been Mumbo, he could have claimed it was just stress from the Aqua Town location being worked on- paperwork and bureaucracy and red tape and the like. If it had been Mumbo, he could have just said he was tired and thinking too much. 

He had only known Grian for four months and the man could read him like an open book, and half the time Scar wasn't sure he was even relying on the bond between them to do it. 

"It's not important," he said instead. "I'm dealing with it."

The shattered glass pane of his greenhouse, the broken flower pots and the crushed flowers he had spent two years meticulously breeding could be replaced, eventually. The paint sprayed on the storefront had been swiftly cleaned and repainted, though now Cub and Impulse were aware of what was going on. It was under control. 

"Scar... whatever it is, I promise it is important."

"It's all replaceable anyway," Scar said, not realizing his slipup.

"Replaceable?"

Great. He just couldn't hold his tongue, could he?

He picked at his food a bit- reheated spaghetti, not the best leftover but better than nothing- and mulled over how to continue without digging himself in any deeper. 

Gods knew how Mumbo would react if he found out about the rise in anti-hybrid behavior in Boatem. 

Then again, eventually news would reach the world beyond the mountains, and when it did it would begin in other cities, the gangs bolstered by the small town's vocal (and newly destructive) minority. 

What had for years been a safe place for hybrids to belong had rapidly, over the last year, become... not. 

"Scar? Whatever is going on, please just tell me. Mumbo and I are worried about you."

Of course Mumbo would know he was lying, too. How could he think he could ever lie to Mumbo and get away with it? The man knew Scar better than he knew himself. 

"There's been... some things going on," he said carefully, unsure of how much to reveal. "A group of... certain people... have been causing issues for the less human population of Boatem."

"Anti-hybrid group?" Grian almost murmured from his side of the phone, the silence around him telling Scar that he had paused in his cake-making. "They've been bothering you, too?"

He hesitated. "... Yeah. They've been... targeting my greenhouse."

"You mean targeting you," Grian said, a hard lilt to his voice. 

"... Yeah. Just yesterday I woke up to a... sign on my door. Telling me to go back to the forest. Just- that kind of thing. And some damaged flowers. It's- I've got it handled."

"Scar, you shouldn't have to handle that," Grian said, voice softer than before. 

"I've got this," he insisted, though he sounded much less confident than usual. He knew Grian could feel it in their bond.

There was a moment of silence. 

"You don't have to deal with it alone," the Avian finally told him. "You could always come here for a while, get away from it all."

"And let them win? Not a chance."

"This isn't about winning, Scar," Grian said, voice pitching up in distress. "This is about safety. It's only a matter of time before they actually hurt or even kill someone! And they're targeting you!"

Scar winced at Grian's words, the echo of his worry and fear managing to slip past the blockade Scar still left up. 

"You know, I did some reading up on Boatem after our visit last month," Grian said, voice level once more- level, but not steady, as if he was holding something back. "About the Boatem Hole, and the sacrifices made by the Voidists. You conveniently left out the fact that hybrids were captured and sacrificed as readily as livestock and gems."

Of course he should have known Grian would do his research. 

"Have you ever considered that this group might be a revival of those old Voidist values? You're in Boatem, the one place that allegedly has an opening directly to the Void. If anyone was going to restart Voidism it would definitely be there."

It wasn't as far-fetched as Scar wished it was. Not much was known about Voidism, except it was prevalent around the time when the Testificates and Illagers began diverging and hybrids had begun popping up around the world, back when there was absolutely no legal distinctions between hybrids and mobs.

It wouldn't be unwise to assume Voidist doctrine even defined hybrids as beasts, impure and aberrations of the gods' natural order, crossing and dancing on the boundary between man and mob. 

"Scar? I'm sorry if I'm overstepping here, but it really doesn't feel like you're safe in Boatem anymore. I know things like this can, and do, happen anywhere, but a small town like Boatem hours away from your family? What if something happens and we can't get there in time, or-"

He cut off and then silence between them was louder than any words that could have been spoken. 

What if you die?

Scar swallowed, staring at his once-again cold spaghetti. It didn't matter, though- he wasn't hungry anymore. 

"Even if it's only until it all blows over," Grian continued finally, "I think all of us would be more comfortable if you came back to Aqua Town. Even if it's just for a few months, until things... settle down. Let your human friends run the shop and just- just stay safe, Scar."

The sincerity in his words and echoing in his chest was surprising but not unwelcome, and Scar couldn't help the soft smile- because Grian was genuinely concerned for him, and not just for Mumbo's sake. 

"I'll... talk to Impulse and Cub," he allowed- not quite an agreement but not outright denial, either. 

As if there was any question what his friend-employees would say. He'd barely gotten "Grian and Mumbo asked me-" out of his mouth before they were shoving suitcases at him. 

(Their expressions when they came to work that morning, seeing the graffiti on the brick and windows, their expressions at the words and the threat and seeing the damage, their expressions when Scar finally told them what had been going on the last year or so, those haunted, worried expressions came back to Scar the moment they practically demanded he leave Boatem until that gang could be dealt with. The fear they felt on his behalf, the worry they had of what would happen if that gang discovered Scar lived right above his shop- that they might already know and were escalating- was made even more apparent when they told him to take Jellie with him this time.)

And that was how, not even five months after his last trip to Aqua Town, Scar found himself yet again standing in that airport. This time, however, it was not excitement or joy that greeted him at its threshold. Instead it was a crushing sense of dread.

He was so sure something would go wrong.

Mumbo and Grian were there. Everyone else around them rushed around, happy reunions and tearful goodbyes, but the three of them could only share a tense smile before leaving the airport. 

And even though Scar had planned to stay with his father this time around, Mumbo convinced him to stay a night at their house. 

(Pearl the cat and Maui adored Jellie.)

"Scar!"

Scar whirled around, just barely managing to catch a familiar brunette in his arms. Snowy white feathers tickled his skin and he laughed. 

"Pearl!" He greeted happily, unconsciously running his eyes over her wings. It had been ten years, of course, but despite the bald scars arcing over and around her wings and the weak twitching of the muscles, Pearl had never been one for hiding her wings like Scar. 

She kept them out, on display, for the world to see. Like a silent declaration- see what the world tried and failed to do to me.

She pulled away from him, bright blue and yellow eyes sparkling in the sunlight- and he paused, caught off guard, because he hadn't seen her smile like that since Before. 

"Scar, great news, I just had to tell you!" She said giddily, clutching a paper in her hands. The way she clenched it between her trembling fists made the words swim even more than usual in his eyes and, after a few moments of trying, he turned a defeated look towards Mumbo and Grian. 

Please help, that look said, and Mumbo obediently leaned over, squinting at the paper. Hardly three moments afterwards, though, his eyes widened once more. 

"Approved!" He yelped and Pearl squealed, her wings flapping weakly and uselessly behind her. "Scar, she's been approved for wing grafting!"

"What!" Scar smiled widely at her. "Oh my god oh my god you're getting your wings back?!"

"I'll probably have wing braces forever," she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "but if the graft takes then I'll be able to fly again!"

(They had talked about it, once upon a time. In the nights following the attack, when she seeked him out for advice and comfort- from grounded fae to grounded bird, two beings that belonged to the skies doomed to never feel the wind through their feathers again- they had talked about that. Wing grafting- repairing the damaged skin and replacing the damaged feathers artificially, feathers that would have to be meticulously cared for because they couldn’t replace themselves. She had always said one day she was going to do it.)

He swept her up into his arms once again, spinning her around. She squealed a laugh as he repeatedly chanted oh my god, her wings tucking as close to her back as their bent frames would allow. 

"You're gonna fly again, oh my god I'm so happy for you!" he almost cried, his heart singing with joy.

"Only if it takes!" Pearl reminded him, though her feathers fluffed up at the words. "Scar, you should do it too!"

Scar froze at that and gently set her down, laughing awkwardly. "Aw, Pearlie," he said, "I think it's too late to save my wings. Twenty years is a long time, and the damage was pretty bad."

"Ten years is a long time too," she said. "And the damage to my wings is nothing to sneeze at, mister. It won't hurt to try- we could learn to fly again, together! Braces and metal and artificial feathers and all."

"Wouldn't he need to be approved for it first?" Mumbo cut in, glancing between Scar and Pearl. Before Scar could confirm, Pearl grinned wickedly and pulled a second paper out of the bag at her hip. 

"He already has been!"

Scar floundered while Mumbo laughed, "You applied for him? How?!"

"Is that even legal?" Grian asked, peering closer at the document. Despite his words and his disapproving expression, Scar caught just an echo of amusement and-

Excitement?

"Maybe, I have my ways, and technically so long as you don't get caught," Pearl answered proudly, beaming at her friends. "Of course Vex wing grafting is complicated in a whole different way than bird wing grafting, they say they'll need a feather sample from you in order to make feathers that will take, and to make braces that'll work with wings made primarily of magic, but honestly they seemed kind of excited to give it a try! It'd be pretty experimental, if you're okay with that," she added, her confidence dropping slightly at the last words and her smug grin turning nervous. 

Scar pondered it for a moment, gently taking the second piece of paper offered to him. His gaze scanned over the letter, taking in what he could of the words dancing there.

He could feel Grian's curiosity and intrigue in his chest, Mumbo's waiting gaze on his face, Pearl’s eager smile directed towards him. 

Twenty years of hiding his wings and relying on an elytra that never truly felt right... the doctors had offered an amputation, none of them confident the rips and tears of the thin Vex membrane could ever be fixed, that no amount of magic he poured into them would ever see them repair themselves or regrow their lost feathers. Despite all of that he chose to keep them, keep them braced against his back and away from the world’s eyes, away from the eyes of his own reflection. 

With their aching joints, torn and burned and scarred membranes, missing feathers, the weak muscles that could hardly handle their own weight- would he change it all, if he could?

... What a stupid question.

He smiled, grateful that no one commented on the trembling in his hands. "Well, it's not like my wings can get any more useless... so, why not?"

He decided it was already worth it when all three of them tackled him in a tight hug. 

He felt like he was already flying.

Scar had not preened his wings in a long time.

To be fair, he wasn’t even sure that Vex even preened.

Their wings were shockingly delicate, made of thin membrane- leathery and soft, much like a bat when he thought about it- hidden by a thick layer of shiny, glowing silvery feathers. The feathers were formations of pure magic, and though they certainly did shed they usually took care of themselves, either falling to the ground on their own or dissipating as his magic formed a new one to take its place.

The holes in his wings, jagged and rough and rendering his wings useless, refused to close up no matter how much magic he poured into them.

The Vex were fae creatures but they were still mortal, their bodies made of flesh and blood, and unfortunately the gray membrane was as organic and natural as Scar’s own skin. Only the feathers could be replaced with magic, and only along the membrane- and despite his best efforts, the holes were simply too large and uneven for even his longest feathers to thoroughly cover.

Looking in the mirror at that moment, staring at the disarray of his wings and feeling the twitching and twinging of muscles that he had neglected to properly exercise for... a while, he felt the rising of guilt.

His wings were weak, and being bound to his back for so long with little care had left them somewhat twisted and difficult to spread at all. He hissed when pain spiked through the nerves of his wings and down into his back, instinctively closing them back.

It hurts.

Jellie let out a low mrow from where she laid on the guest bed of Mumbo’s house, Maui and Pearl the cat curled up near but not with her. It had been a spur of the moment decision of theirs to invite (though Scar might go so far as to say they demanded) him to stay a few nights at their house, since Mumbo was on vacation and the building of Crystal Blooms’ Aqua Town location was about to start, yet they had gladly let him go pick up Jellie first.

(“I’m starting to think you like me for my cat,” he had joked to Grian, who had happily played along, amusement bright in his eyes. It was a good look for him, Scar decided before promptly dismissing the thought.)

“Mate, your wings are a mess,” Mumbo said from the door. Scar jumped with a gasp and turned around.

“Mumbo!” he said, wings twitching behind him. Mumbo had seen his wings before, of course- had helped him with them a few times over the years. “Way to give me a heart attack.”

Mumbo raised a brow at him. “Sorry,” he said, walking over to Scar and carefully reaching his hand out, brushing down a few errant feathers. 

It felt like electricity, Scar couldn’t help but think.

“You should take better care of them,” Mumbo murmured, his gaze still on Scar’s wings. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Scar said dismissively.

“You always say that. You always lie.”

He winced at Mumbo’s tone. “Oh...”

Mumbo let out a breath, focusing on Scar’s eyes. Scar wanted to look away, really, he did, but Mumbo had always had a way of capturing him, holding him in place.

“I really wish you wouldn’t lie to me,” Mumbo told him sincerely. “It makes me more worried than I would have been.”

“I’m sorry,” Scar said, because there was nothing else he could say. “How... long have you known?”

Mumbo gave him a wry smile. “Oh, I suspected for years now but Grian confirmed it.”

“Ah.” Right. Of course- Grian had wings, he had the necessary nerve endings to feel the echoes of his wing pains and know what they were. “Somehow I forgot he could feel that.”

Mumbo snorted. “Of course you forgot, that’s what you do.” He gestured for Scar to turn around. “Let me help you, before you hurt yourself more.”

Scar made no protest, obediently turning around to look back in the mirror above the old dresser. He tried not to breathe in too sharply as Mumbo began running his hands through the feathers- soft and warm and unnatural, glowing and otherworldly. His hands were gentle, careful as they had always been, straightening up and flattening down some feathers and carefully removing some others that hadn’t been given a chance to fall on their own, unable to separate from the membrane for one reason or another. His touch was unnecessarily gentle, considering they were Vex wings- a care that made sense when Scar considered how Mumbo probably helped Grian with his own wings.

Scar didn’t know much about Avian wings, of course. He’d never touched Pearl’s wings- that was something she had only allowed Scott to do, her soulmate and once-best friend who she’d trust with her very life- but he had understood that it was a very personal thing for Avians. An extension of trust, almost like baring your most vulnerable and insecure parts of yourself, knowing that they could be used against you and trusting that they would not. 

“They’re very sensitive and easy to hurt,” she had told him once, when he’d asked.

His wings weren’t like that. The feathers, being constructs of magic, didn’t twinge as they were pulled away. They didn’t itch when new ones grew in, instant and not gradual. They weren’t overly sensitive, the skin of his wings didn’t tickle and touching them didn’t make him shiver. They were fragile and having hands brush against them made him tense and anxious, knowing how easy it would be for the wrong person to dig their nails in and rip what was left of them, but they were not sensitive. The dirt and broken feathers were easy to brush and wash away with little to no pain.

Pearl had always said she didn’t want people touching her wings because they were sensitive.

He didn’t want people touching his wings because he was ashamed.

(Shame, shame that they were so thoroughly ruined- ashamed enough that he hid them away, neglected them, compounded every problem he had and the shame only grew, grew until he wanted no one to ever see them, let alone touch them, again. Yet still he could not bring himself to get them removed- they were dead weight on his back, yet the thought of their absence weighed heavier in his gut.)

But Mumbo had always been different.

Of course he had been different. Scar’s best friend for twenty years, the first and only person Scar had ever gone to for help when he went too long without caring for his wings, the one time his magic feathers matted and stuck to the skin of his wings uncomfortably and almost painfully.

(And maybe that night, fifteen years old and sitting on the floor of Scar’s bedroom, with Mumbo’s hands- clumsy and shaky, having never done anything like that before- carefully moving through his feathers, carefully pulling on the worst of the worst until they were loose enough to fade and dissipate on their own, maybe that was the night Scar really knew for the first time that his school crush wasn’t just a school crush.)

Scar had been careful to never let it get that bad- to always keep his wings at least somewhat brushed and to keep them clean, never let the feathers matte until they were so wound together and pressed into the membrane that they couldn’t break loose from the source of his magic on their own. When things got bad- when the shame and anxiety had gotten the best of him- then Mumbo was there with gentle words and caring hands.

No, this was long from the first time Mumbo had touched his wings. His hands were gentler than they used to be, and they did not tremble or hesitate as they brushed up against every feather, but now more than ever Scar couldn’t help but feel like his touch burned.

“Do Cub or Impulse help you with this in Boatem?” Mumbo asked, almost sounding worried. “You’ve never been good at being good to yourself.”

Scar scoffed at that. “Oh come on, have more faith in me than that.”

“I take that as a no, then. Scar, magic or not, your feathers can cause you problems, didn’t you figure that out when we were kids?”

Scar hummed and Mumbo rolled his eyes behind him. “Sorry, Mumbo,” Scar finally murmured, focusing on the feeling of Mumbo’s hands on his wings. It felt nice, his hands cool against his warm feathers.

"Just take care of yourself, yeah?" He asked, resting his hands dangerously close to the base of his wings. "And not just because you could be getting use of these back. Just take care of yourself."

"Well, I'm here aren't I?" Scar said, and Mumbo raised a brow at him. 

"Only because Grian basically begged you, and Cub and Impulse practically shoved you on the plane."

Scar snorted, and Mumbo’s face broke out into a grin, and soon the two of them were laughing. Not even really sure why they were laughing, the two leaned into each other to hold themselves up- chest to wings, soft and flittering at the contact, but neither paid it much mind. 

"Gods, you're so stubborn," Mumbo said once their laughter faded. He didn't move back and Scar certainly didn't mind. They were friends. 

Friends, he told himself. 

A soft knock on the door had both men snap to attention, turning to look at Grian in the doorway.

(Mumbo had left it open, Scar realized belatedly, so of course Grian hadn't thought anything about entering the room; open doors were often open invitations, after all.)

If the Avian was bothered at all about the way Mumbo and Scar stood together, or by the fact that Scar's shirt was tossed on the bed and being used as a cat pillow, he hid it well. 

(He wasn't bothered, Scar knew. The amusement in his eyes was echoed along the line between them.)

"Sorry to interrupt," Grian said, brow raised at the two men, "but supper's ready."

"Right," Mumbo chuckled, moving to join Grian. Scar went to grab his shirt, wings instinctively folding closer to his back, but then there was a hand on his arm, stopping him from moving. 

He followed the hand up to mirrored eyes. He wasn't sure how Grian had moved from the door so fast to be standing beside Scar now, and Mumbo in the doorway gave absolutely no explanation. 

"Scar, didn't Mumbo just ask you to take care of yourself?" Grian asked, and Scar wondered just how long Grian had been watching them. "That also means not doing that," he added, gesturing vaguely towards the wings pressing against his back. "You should let them stay out. You'll only undo any progress you've made by doing that."

Logically Scar knew Grian was right. However-

"I'm not gonna just walk around shirtless," Scar laughed, gently pulling his arm from Grian's grasp. 

"Oi, why not?" Mumbo asked cheekily, making a show of looking Scar up and down. Scar quickly turned back to getting his shirt away from his comfy cat, hoping to the gods above that neither Mumbo nor Grian saw how his face went red in a second. "We wouldn't mind, really."

Scar was sure he'd die if he had to think about Mumbo (and Grian!) seeing him without his shirt for longer than necessary. Just the thought of their eyes on him left him fumbling and his face burning.

Grian must have picked up on some of that, as he made a small sound towards Mumbo that Scar could only guess was a hush it cue.

"I have shirts made to be worn with wings," Grian said while Scar struggled to coax Jellie out of her nap. "I wouldn't mind lending you one until you get your own."

Scar wanted to question that- really, he did, because Scar knew they definitely did not wear the same size. Grian was short- undeniably short, head barely reaching Mumbo's shoulder, and Scar was a few inches taller than Mumbo.

And that wasn't even bringing their general frames into consideration. He'd never seen Grian without his shirt on (and oh gods why was he imagining that now-) but Scar was- well, he liked to work out, from time to time. 

(If you asked anyone else, they'd tell you straight out that Scar was buff. His muscle wasn't subtle or wiry, easy to see even when he was wearing a sweater or a button up, and though Scar was rather oblivious to it, in his young adulthood he'd had many eyes on him. His long silky hair and general fae airs were already a deadly combination for most hearts and Mumbo often lamented this, calling it unfair that Scar got to be both pretty and hot at the same time. All Scar got from such lamentations, of course, was that Mumbo thought he was pretty and hot.)

"I don't think-" but Grian had already disappeared out the door and down the hall before Scar could point any of this out. 

Mumbo shrugged with a small, familiar grin. It was a grin that often warned Scar of some kind of plot. 

Then, before Scar could begin interrogating his best friend, Grian was back and pushing a shirt in his hands. 

It was pale green, a far cry from the reds that made up Grian's typical wardrobe, and the back of it had buttons to safely secure the shirt around the base of wings.

It took Scar a few moments to really register that the shirt was in absolutely no way, even in terms of baggy fashion, even near Grian's size. 

Scar raised a brow at Grian and Mumbo. "Huh. I've never seen you wear green."

Grian grinned back at him, and Scar couldn't help but compare him to a cat that had caught its prey. "Something new every now and then doesn't hurt," he excused with a shrug, as if Scar was just going to ignore the fact that Grian had clearly got this shirt in exactly his size. 

And he was, because thinking about it made something twist and dance in his stomach and he was not about to try and face whatever that was. 

(He knew what that was.)

"Come on, then. Supper's getting cold."

“What are you doing?”

Scar jumped, turning to his bedroom window. “What the- Grian!” he yelped, hand over his heart as he stared at the Avian perched on his windowsill. “You know that’s breaking and entering, right?”

“I broke nothing, your window’s unlocked,” Grian said, a smug grin on his face. “That’s practically an invitation.”

The Avian hopped down into Scar’s bedroom, glancing around as he did. It wasn’t a big apartment- a little studio apartment a few blocks from the new shop location- but Scar didn’t need much more than it, seeing as he spent more time between his father’s manor and Mumbo and Grian’s house.

“Why are you packing a bag?” Grian asked, nodding towards the small suitcase abandoned on his bed, Jellie already halfway inside it. “Where are you going?”

“Aren’t you full of questions, mister,” Scar huffed, though he couldn’t actually be irritated. It was actually pretty funny, he thought. “Well, my Boatem shop doesn’t cease to exist just because I’m in Aqua Town for the foreseeable future.”

Grian’s neutrality immediately fell into a small scowl. “You’re going back to Boatem? Already?”

“I just need to drop by the greenhouse, is all,” Scar assured the Avian, noting (with a strange mixture of amusement and concern) how Grian’s feathers fluffed. “Aside from the watering system, my greenhouses are... maintained... with crystals- which my flower shop also sells, might I add- and Cub texted me that he accidentally broke one of them and I need to go make a new one for it.”

“Send it in the post,” Grian said, and for a moment Scar could have sworn he was pouting. “You don’t need to go there, especially when nothing’s been solved yet!”

“It’s just a few days,” Scar assured him, raising his hands placatingly. “I’m just gonna go there, stay two nights making crystals, then I’ll be back.”

Grian clearly didn’t like it- Scar didn’t even need to open the roadblock he had up on his side of the bond to know that. It was clear in the scowl on his face, the sharp gleam in his eye.

(For a moment- just a moment- an impression of protective, possessive flashed across Scar’s mind. He dismissed it without a second thought.)

“Are you going to hide your wings again?” Grian asked, eyes briefly flicking to where they settled against Scar’s back, exposed but still tucked uncomfortably- but familiarly- close.

“Um, yes...?”

It was an honest answer, and the one Scar had assumed Grian would have wanted to hear, what with Scar going somewhere where anti-hybrid sentiment was growing. However, Grian made a strangled, frustrated, displeased noise somewhere between a chirp and a shriek, and Scar flinched at the sharp sound on his ears.

“What?” Scar asked, watching Grian with wide eyes. “I mean, some folks in Boatem are targeting me for being a hybrid so isn’t it better that I look as human as possible?”

( You’re not human, he heard echo in his memory, but for the life of him he couldn’t place the voice.)

Grian only seemed more distraught at that. “You shouldn’t have to do that,” he said. “Scar, why do you always try to make yourself look human? So many of your friends are not human, why are you so afraid of being seen as not human?”

Scar took a step back, as if he’d been struck, and stared at the Avian in front of him, eyes wide. “Wh- I’m not- I’m not ashamed of being not human!” he protested. Grian raised a brow.

“You hide your ears, you smile carefully so your teeth don’t show, you hid your wings for twenty years, and you avoid going out at night unless you’re literally dragged out? You hide all your obviously inhuman traits. Your magic is the only thing you ever embrace, and even that you keep lowkey!”

Scar clenched his teeth. “I’m not- ashamed of not being human,” he said, hyper aware of how close Grian had advanced in his little rant. “I’m not ashamed of not being human,” he repeated, as if saying it a third time would convince the Avian.

“Then what? Why are you always hiding it?” Grian asked- demanded. He looked Scar in the eyes, his own a furious mixture of passion and righteous anger. Scar knew, looking into those eyes, that he couldn’t lie to Grian.

Of course he couldn’t lie to Grian.

He swallowed, then finally- finally, he bit out, “I’m not ashamed of being not human. I’m ashamed of being Illager.”

And it was the first time he’d admitted it out loud- that he was more than human and Vex, that he was just as much an Illager. That he was from a sect of humankind that acted more like mobs, like monsters, so much like monsters that monsters didn’t attack them. That he was something no one- neither human, Illager, Testificate nor Fae- could stand.

(That he was from a cold, dark mansion in the middle of the forest. That frozen fingers and steely voices made up his earliest memories. That he was never just Evoker or Human or even Vex, but always something different to everyone around. That he was “the human” to his Illager blood, that he was “the Evoker” to his human blood, that he was “the mortal” to his Vex blood. That he was and was not, all at the same time, with nowhere to turn to. That he was Illager enough to learn the words, the writings, the spells, but too human to contribute to the clan. That he was Vex enough to learn the magic and learn to fly but too human to be welcome within the court of Vex. That he was human enough to learn the language of the outside, to be allowed to wander through the humble villages of the Testificates, but too Illager to be allowed to linger.)

All the feelings coiling in his stomach must have breached the soulbond, as Grian’s expression softened before falling completely.

“You think you’re a monster.”

Scar swallowed. He made no move to answer, but he knew Grian knew he was right.

Grian took a breath, all the fight having left him at this revelation. Slowly, softly, he lifted his hands to Scar’s face. Scar tensed as Grian’s fingers slid past his cheeks and up to his hair, and he carefully pushed his hair back, tucking it behind his ears.

(Scar begged his heart to stop beating, because why-)

Grian’s hands fell to his shoulders and it felt like fire. “Do you think Cleo is a monster?” he asked. Scar’s eyes widened.

“What?! No-!”

“But she’s part zombie. Do you think Doc is a monster? He’s part creeper. What about Scott? The starborn?”

“No, of course they’re not monsters,” Scar cut in before he could continue any further. “They’re too- they’re too good to be monsters.”

“Then why can’t you see you’re the same?” Grian asked. “You think your nonhuman features make you look like a monster, but you’re wrong. Scar, you’re a beautiful person, inside and out. And you shouldn’t be afraid of who you are. Even in the dark, when your skin glows in random patterns, and even the funny silver strands in your hair.” Grian smiled at him once again. “Whether you’re fae or human or Evoker or some combination of all three? That just makes you you, Scar, and what you choose to make of yourself- well, that’s you. All you. You’re not a monster. I’ve known monsters.”

Grian dropped his hands back to his sides finally, never once breaking eye contact, and Scar could almost swear Grian could see his very soul.

He swallowed again. “Did... did you know- the only person, when I was a kid... who said I was an Evoker- an Illager, one of the clan, that I belonged in the mansion, was my... my father? My human father? Everyone else called me a human, or Vex. The Vex just called me mortal,” he said in barely a whisper. “I was never the right thing to the right person. I don’t think my mother even saw me as her son. She just taught me spells that the clan head told her to, and nothing else. I was just- there. A funny little experiment to be had. A guinea pig. See what happens when you mix these three things together. And you get me, someone who doesn’t- who can’t belong to any world.”

Grian was shaking his head before Scar even finished. “You belong to our world, Scar.”

Scar studied Grian’s eyes, his own eyes reflecting back. “I didn’t know until years after the fact why my eyes were different colors. No one else’s was. My father never told me. When I found out I was... I was happy. Because it meant maybe I was just another person, after all. Maybe I was real, and I had a soul and the gods everyone is always talking about don’t despise me, after all. Maybe I’m just another person.”

“You’re not just another person, Scar,” Grian told him with a wry smile.

(It was a knowing smile, but Scar for the life of him couldn’t puzzle out what he knew.)

“Then what am I?” Scar asked, feeling ridiculous at just how hopeful he sounded.

Grian’s smile was softer, more genuine this time.

“Isn’t it obvious, you ridiculous man? You’re Mumbo’s best friend. You’re former Mayor GoodTimes’ son. You’re Pearl and Martyn and Cleo and all of them’s friend. And you’re my soulmate.”

Scar couldn’t help it. He pulled Grian into a bone crushing hug, though the “bone crushing” didn’t seem to affect the smaller Avian as much as he simply wrapped his arms around Scar.

“Please be nicer to yourself,” Grian whispered. “If not for your own sake then- well, for ours. Until you’re able to do it for you.”

“I’ll try,” Scar answered, hoping Grian wouldn’t comment on the fact that Scar was absolutely crying. 

“Good. Now.” Grian stepped back, hands on Scar’s shoulders again, and looked up at him seriously once more. “I won’t stop you from going to Boatem on one condition.”

Scar raised a brow at that, trying and failing to subtly swipe at his eyes. “And that’s...?”

“You call me and Mumbo twice a day, at least. Not text, call. When you wake up and when you go to sleep, so we know you’re okay.”

“Gri, you’ll know if anything happens to me,” Scar reminded him.

“Yes, but Mumbo won’t. And Mumbo will want to be kept in the loop, too. So?” Grian tilted his head and Scar knew he wasn’t getting out of it.

“Alright, alright,” Scar agreed with a tired smile. “I’ll call you guys every day. But I’ll only be there a few days- not much can happen.”

O

Sometimes Scar wondered if he was jinxed, or maybe just destined to curse his own future.

An accident, the papers would say about the bodies found at that old mill in Boatem. A freak accident with no clear cause.

(Scar would never find out what actually happened that day after he stumbled into the greenhouse, blood dripping from a wound in his chest. All he remembered was an attack, and a flash of magic as he made his grand escape. All he remembered was Cub, Impulse and BDubs frantically trying to clean the wounds that littered his chest and torso, the call to the Boatem emergency service and his own phone lighting up with multiple panicked calls from Mumbo and Grian.)

An entire cult found dead at the site of their makeshift church, cut short before they could really begin to grow.

(The attacks and threats against hybrids in Boatem stopped after that, but Scar didn’t know.)

No, Scar had little to no memory of the past week in his hospital bed. He had little to no memory of being moved to his father’s house, with a full staff of in-home nurses and doctors watching over him. Scar had no memory at all of how close their red string came to snapping and his soul to escaping.

He had no idea how Grian’s eyes flashed bloody murder when Cub told him everything he knew.

Days bled into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Mumbo had returned to working five days a week, Grian did- whatever Grian did during the day, Scar chose not to ask- and Scar, finally out of his father’s house and back in his own apartment, oversaw the construction of his new store and greenhouse.

He always loved overseeing things himself, watching his little dreams be brought into reality. 

Time passed, snowballing forward, and the doctor's appointments came and went with more trepidation than they were really worth. Autumn and winter were left behind them, Impulse and Cub visited during the holiday when all of Boatem basically shut down, and then it was spring again and the grafts were healed, the faux feathers settled. 

It seemed optimism had won out. The manufactured feathers in Scar's wings were pale, almost white compared to the silvery-blue of his natural feathers (and really, it was the first time he had ever even noticed they were blue, not just silver), but Pearl's once pure white wings now sported rainbow-colored spots, her faux feathers a multitude of colors across the spectrum. Her delight was contagious and Scar couldn't even bring himself to feel self conscious about his wings, standing out there on Mumbo's back lawn with all of their friends. 

( Not all of them, a traitorous voice whispered. Scott and Jimmy were notably absent, but Scar- Scar understood. Really, he did. This moment was about Pearl, of course Scott and Jimmy wouldn't come.)

At that moment Scar was standing with Mumbo, wing curled around himself and absently running his fingers along the cool metal brace extending over it, keeping its bent frame straight and giving them support they no longer had the strength to give themselves. His eyes, however, were glued to Pearl and Grian. 

Grian was holding Pearl’s hands, keeping her steady as they lifted off the ground, wings flapping in tandem. Pearl found her rhythm quickly enough, impressively quickly all things considered, and Scar wondered if flying was like riding a bike. 

Or maybe it was instinct?

Whatever it was, Pearl had started grinning and Grian's own smile was morphing into a smirk. Scar felt a moment of excitement spike before both Avians took off into the sky. 

Grian was never far from Pearl, close enough to reach out and catch her, steady her when she fumbled, but the two raced along through the air in a way Scar had never done before. Everyone cheered as Pearl’s laugh echoed around them, delirious with joy, and Scar couldn't help the tears that stung at his eyes. 

Her hair flew wildly around her as she rose and fell, twirled and flipped through the air, the braces on her own wings more than enough to keep up with her. 

"This is the greatest day of my life!"

Scar smiled- he smiled so wide it hurt. 

"Look at her go!" He laughed, following her with his eyes. 

It was beautiful. She was free again and oh, how wonderful- to see her in the air once more, right where she belonged. 

"Mate, are you crying?" Mumbo asked and Scar quickly wiped at his eyes. He wasn't embarrassed of course, Mumbo had seen him cry before, but still!

He knew, better than anyone else standing there, just how big it was. How much it really, truly meant for a person to regain their wings. Even when metal bones and fabric feathers were needed, even when the surgeries hurt, even when it ached and burned-

What it meant to fly again after so long, to truly be free again. What it meant to be worth it all. 

Mumbo's hand gently touched his back, careful to avoid the base of his wings. They weren’t as big or fancy as either Avian's, much more wild looking than theirs, with a much sharper silhouette, but they twitched with the anxiety and excitement and fear that came with watching Pearl and Grian racing through the sky. 

He laughed. "Just gonna go ahead and say, I will not be anywhere near as cool or graceful as that," he said, watching as Grian reached out to Pearl to steady her. They slowed and gently cruised down. 

As soon as their feet were firmly on the ground, Martyn and Cleo had Pearl in their arms. Quickly everyone else followed, and Grian was trapped in the center with his fellow Avian, and Scar and Mumbo laughed as they wrapped their arms around as much of the group as they could. 

"Your turn, Scar!" Pearl laughed, breathless. Her face was flushed red and her hair was standing up wildly in so many different directions. 

She looked so much like the Pearl in his memories.

"I don't know if I can follow that up," he said, raising his hands up in surrender. "Twenty years and I don't even know what my wings are capable of!"

"Don't worry!" Grian laughed, managing to break free from Cleo’s ironclad hug. He moved around to Scar and held his hands out to him, palms up, as if letting Scar have the choice of whether or not to take them. "We can move at your pace, Scar. And I promise I won't let you fall."

Scar bit his lip, uncertain. "I don't think Vex fly exactly the same as Avians..."

"That's fine, we'll figure it out together."

(He ignored the flipping in his stomach at those words. He hoped Grian did, too.)

Mumbo nudged him from his place beside Scar, and the others began calling out their support- they were there, it would be okay, they were there and they wouldn't let him fall. 

So he smiled, and Grian smiled back as Scar finally took his hands. "I might completely embarrass myself here," he warned, joking. 

"You won't," Grian assured, serious. 

(He couldn't be feeling this way. Not about Grian. Not about Mumbo’s boyfriend.)

And just like that, Scar allowed Grian to pull himup into the air, much shakier and less sure than Pearl had been.

It had been twenty years since he’d done this, since he’d flown up higher than he was allowed and peered across the canopy of the forest to the horizon beyond. 

Grian’s hands were steady in his, holding tightly but gently as he guided Scar off the ground, coaxed him into the air, and Scar focused on finding his own pattern. It was easier when he focused his magic, allowing his feathers to glimmer and glow even in the sunlight, and steadily he found himself in the air.

He had absolutely no desire to go zipping around like Pearl had, and it seemed Grian had already gotten that energy out of his system as he stayed by Scar’s side, releasing one of his hands but holding fast to the other. He pulled Scar along and Scar willingly followed.

The fear and anxiety melted away every second that passed in the air, and soon he was grinning widely. Grian answered with a grin of his own and he pulled Scar higher into the air.

The air under his wings sent shivers through Scar- a feeling he couldn’t even remember, but now he could feel it clear as day, the wind under his wings and the sun on his feathers. 

He didn’t even know how much time had passed in the air, so caught up in the elation of just flying as he was, but all too soon he became aware of a dull ache in his shoulders and along his wings and knew it was time to land.

He didn’t even have to say anything, of course- Grian, feeling that same ache that came with exhaustion and over-exertion, drew him close to his side (to support him, so he wouldn’t fall of course, Scar knew that instinctively) and guided them both down to the ground. Scar’s feet had barely touched back down before Mumbo was on him, drawing both Scar and Grian into his arms and saying something unintelligible through his tears, something that Scar couldn’t understand over the sound of his heart beating wildly in his ears.

And in that moment, with Grian pressed to his side and Mumbo with his arms tightly wound around them both, Scar knew that he had a very, very big problem.

Aqua Town was one of those strange places, somewhere between a large town and a small city. Always bustling and busy, never a quiet moment, new faces every night simply passing through, bound to be gone by the morning sun. 

It was so, so easy to make a mistake. 

(Of course Scar had made such mistakes before, in the curiosity and experimentation of his high school days and his brief stint in college. Curious but never wanting to commit, still dreaming of his happily ever after and pretending he wasn't in love with someone else already.)

The hands trailing across his chest were not soft and gentle, but he hadn't expected them to be. Their nails dragged across his shirt in a way that sent shivers through his entire being, their touch cold like ice and leaving an uncomfortable ache beneath his skin. 

The lips pressed against his were soft and demanding, and he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling, letting them take the lead. Their bodies pressed together in the dark corner of that bar, half past midnight and more than a few drinks behind them. He wanted this.

He told himself he wanted this mistake.

Lips trailed away from his, pressing greedy kisses to his throat. His breath caught in his chest.

(Something curled in his stomach, something like shame and disgust. Somewhere further away, distant and faded and muted, something warm in the least pleasant ways scratched.)

"Should we take this somewhere more... private?" A voice whispered in his ear, breath hot against his skin. 

This was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake by the way every icy touch burned, burned in the worst ways, sending guilt and revulsion through his system, disgust and loathing lodging themselves in his throat.

He knew it was a mistake because, in his attempt to forget about Grian and Mumbo for a single night, all he could do was think about them. 

He could only imagine their hands against his chest, their lips against his throat, their voices whispering dangerously in his ears. 

He could only think about them, who knew him and cared anyway, and not the stranger who only wanted him because he was a pretty face and had a thing for scars.

It wasn't fair. 

Not to him and not to them. He had to put a stop to this, he knew. 

He couldn't do this. 

This was a mistake.

"I'm sorry," he choked, gently grabbing their hands and pushing them away. "I can't- I..."

The stranger stared into his eyes, and Scar looked back. Their eyes were gray and red.

Maybe they understood where he was coming from. Maybe they saw the expression in his eyes, the regret and hesitance and pain. 

Maybe they didn't understand and just thought he was cheating. Thought his change of heart was because of the bond.

(He wasn't cheating. He was no one's lover. He didn't belong to Grian or Mumbo. He wasn't cheating. So why did he feel like he was betraying them?)

The stranger simply nodded and disappeared into the crowd, likely to find a new fling for the night. Scar quickly stumbled his way out of the club and hurried home, the alcohol doing nothing to mute the burning, swirling storm in his chest.

(It was all on him. He was blocking the feedback loop, he couldn't feel what Grian was feeling. He wondered if Grian had him blocked, too. Or maybe he hadn't noticed what was going on in his sleep. Or maybe he did and just didn't care. Scar wasn't sure which one he would prefer.)

He dropped face first into his bed, letting his nails ( too long too long, too sharp need to cut ) tear into his pillow. He pressed his face, burning from everywhere that stranger had kissed him, further into the pillow and, for the first time in a long, long time, he wished it would just smother him right then and there. 

(He tried to make a mistake. He made a mistake. A terrible mistake. Why did Vex have to be so damned loyal to their family? Why did his ridiculous Vex instincts latch onto Mumbo and Grian, label them his and him theirs? Why did it have to decide that even a moment in an unfamiliar bed, in unfamiliar arms and against unfamiliar lips, was a breach of trust, a betrayal of something that wasn’t even his?)

He let out a low groan. It was all he could manage to do. 

(No one brought it up later. No one asked what he had done, what had happened. He assumed they didn’t know.)

The new Aqua Town Crystal Blooms location was done.

It was an exciting moment, standing in the middle of the finished (but not yet filled) greenhouse, setting the tables up with the help of Scott, Jimmy, Martyn and Cleo. The flowerpots, already planted- some largely unique blooms delivered oh so carefully from Boatem by BDubs during his most recent visit, a gift sent by Impulse and Cub so he had some of his familiar flowers around him- were lined along the sides of the glass building, clearly labeled and waiting to be set up and arranged on the tables.

The garden outside, beside the greenhouse, had been set up by the landscapers and was everything Scar had hoped for, but the greenhouse was something he wanted to set up himself.

Shining yellow stones were set into place along the edges of each table exactly three and three-quarters feet apart- a vitality stone, imbued with magic to encourage health and prosperity in the flowers. It would help the flowers grow larger and produce more blooms, but it would also lessen the amount of brown spots on the petals and- probably his favorite part- the flowers, after being cut, lasted days before they would even begin to die.

“Color me impressed,” Scott said, stepping back and studying their handiwork. The greenhouse was big, because of course Scar could never not go big, but the tables were in place. Rows and rows of long tables made of a beautiful dark cherry wood, treated with a glossy finish to keep the moisture out of the wood itself.

(The vitality stones inlaid into metal settings would also help prevent the wood from decaying, which was a bonus in Scar’s book. He much preferred to use wooden tables over metal or plastic.)

“Now for the hard part,” Scar chuckled, looking over at the plants. Martyn and Jimmy let out groans- not serious, more mocking than irritated. “Hey now!” Scar said, hands on his hips in a playful ‘I’m the boss’ stance. 

“Yessir, yessir!” Jimmy said with a lazy salute. 

“The spots are labeled,” Cleo told Jimmy and Martyn, smirking at their dramatics. She moved to the side of the greenhouse and picked up some pots. 

“There’s so many spots,” Martyn sighed, moving over to Cleo and dramatically draping himself over her shoulders.

(Cleo and Martyn were on speaking terms, but Scar hadn’t known the two had grown so close again.)

“It’ll take longer if you keep flirting,” Scott warned, and Scar choked.

“But flirting is fun.”

“Wait wait wait, back up-” Scar said, setting down the flowers he was carrying in the completely wrong spots. “Martyn is flirting? With Cleo? What?”

The four of them looked at him, confused, before Jimmy slapped his forehead. “No one told Scar.”

“Told me what?” Scar asked, looking at them expectantly.

“It happened during the whole ‘wing grafting and learning to fly again’ thing and that felt more important so we didn’t say anything, and I guess after that it just kinda slipped our minds,” Cleo started, having the decency to look embarrassed about it, “but Martyn and I are... back together.”

Scar began sorting through his memories of the two of them over the last few months, since the procedures started, and was ashamed to realize that he had spent very little time with either of them. Of course neither of them lived in Aqua Town anymore, both living an hour away, so it wasn’t like he saw them every day, but...

“Wow, I was not paying attention,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I had... no idea. But- what about Ren?”

“Oh yeah, Martyn’s still dating him,” Cleo laughed, relaxing. Scar belatedly realized they had all been waiting to see if he’d be mad. Why would he be mad? Life was hectic sometimes. “The three of us sat down and had a talk about it.”

“Well that’s great! Congratulations! Late congrats are better than none,” Scar said, grinning at them. Now, though, his mind was racing.

Cleo, Martyn and Ren? It was possible to love two people at once? It was possible to date two people at once?

(Cleo and Martyn had repaired their relationship.)

“Thanks, mate!” Martyn grinned.

“But work comes before flirting, so!”

“Aw, man!”

They continued, Cleo managing to shoo Martyn back to work. However, it seemed, the conversation wasn’t actually over.

“So, Scar,” Scott started, “what’s been up with, y’know... you and Mumbo and Grian?”

“Up with?” Scar repeated, glancing over his shoulder at Scott. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I mean... are you three...?”

“What?” Scar’s face began to burn. “Wait- did you guys think we-? No- no! I’m just their friend-”

“Well I lost that bet,” Jimmy sighed, pulling his wallet out to hand Cleo twenty dollars. Scar’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know, you and Grian seemed real cozied up in the sky,” Martyn said thoughtfully, tilting his head. Scar’s wings twitched at the reminder. “And Mumbo seemed real happy watching you two.”

“You- misunderstood... the situation,” Scar insisted, busying himself with his flowers. “We’re not- they’re not- it’s not like that. I’m just- Mumbo’s best friend and Grian’s soulmate, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Scott hummed, clearly not buying it.

“Can we, uh, drop this conversation?”

“Of course, Scar,” Cleo said, gently. 

Scott set a hand on Scar’s shoulder, and Scar jumped- he hadn’t known Scott was right behind him.

“We can drop the topic,” Scott agreed quietly, “but I really think you need to talk to them, Scar. You’re only hurting yourself.”

(A bitter voice asked what would you know? but he bit his tongue. That would just be cruel. It was as much Pearl’s fault as it was Scott’s.)

“Maybe,” Scar said instead, the words like cotton on his tongue. “For now I just want to focus on the flowers.”

Scott backed off and Scar was grateful.

The sandstone under his fingers was so familiar, like a lifeline. Of course it literally was a lifeline- that was the point of them, after all. 

For Scar, however, the gritty texture and the way it fell from his chisel were all it took to make him feel at ease. The familiar shape coming to be under his hand brought comfort, settling some kind of anxiety in his chest.

Gold-plating paint and two shining emeralds sat on the table, thrumming with magic and creating a strange sort of feedback loop as he worked, soft sandstone shards falling away as he expertly carved out the totem. After having made twenty-six totems since he was seventeen it had become second nature, the shape and curves and corners and size, he could almost swear he could do it in his sleep.

It was late at night. Jellie was curled up against Scar’s thigh, so used to this twice-a-year routine that she didn’t even bother to watch the chisel move or bat at the fallen stone anymore.

(Scar realized, belatedly, that he hadn’t made a totem last time. He’d been so distracted, so focused on other things.)

Soon the totem was carved and he set the chisel down. He brushed the loose, gritty sand off of the surface of the sandstone before he began to coat it in the gold paint.

Totems couldn’t be made from pure gold, he knew. They could be coated in gold, which strengthened the magic, but they needed the fragility of the sandstone to work. A totem needed to be able to shatter, to take the killing blow, to cover its owner in its magic and heal their injuries. It couldn’t do that if it couldn’t shatter.

Gold was a very good conductor for magic, though, so he always took the extra, not-necessary step of painting it with gold. Not pure gold- that could interfere with its functionality, hold it together when it needed to break- but enough gold to amplify the power of the totem. 

No, totems weren’t cheap to make- monetarily or magically speaking. The constant use of magic as he carved and painted, the magic he poured into the totem and the emeralds and the spells he had to use, left him feeling physically weak. It made sense, of course- invoking the blessing of a god in order to extend a person’s life beyond their fated time was big, and he wasn’t even sure he was someone who should have been able to do it.

(He would never tell Mumbo about the first time he made a totem that worked. He’d never tell him how he tested that he had gotten it right.)

Yet there he was, after a few hours with a totem thrumming with his magic and the gift of a god who favored him and his ancestors for reasons he would never know, and his hands shook from magical exhaustion, but it was done and he was glad.

He gently moved Jellie and laid down on the couch, the cat settling down against his stomach as he curled a wing around himself and her, the other pressed awkwardly against the back of the couch. He was too tired to try moving to the bed.

He fell asleep quickly, and slept through the rest of the night and far into the morning. It was around midday when he finally stirred awake, mind groggy and limbs heavy from the magical exhaustion and, probably, from sleeping on the couch. He hadn’t quite recovered but he was used to the feeling, so he gathered his will and forced himself up, tossing off his clothes as he went to shower.

The water was warm but it felt cold on his skin, and he relished the way it cooled him. Making totems was hard and left him feeling ill, sometimes, but a good shower always helped.

He stood under the spray for a while, then finally he got to work- his long hair wouldn’t wash itself, after all.

(There were new silver strands, he noticed, glowing softly in the dim light that reached over the shower curtain. There always seemed to be more, after he made a totem. He wondered if that meant anything. If every time he made a totem he was giving up a little more of his humanity, if he walked a little more on the fae side when he did. He tried not to think about it.)

He dried off, taking ten minutes to blow-dry his hair before he stepped out of the bathroom, intending to go to his closet to find something to wear.

He had definitely not been expecting to see someone in his living room.

Grian, whose back had been turned as he looked at the totem sitting on his coffee table, turned when he heard the bathroom door open. Scar froze as their eyes met and Grian’s greeting died on his tongue.

Because Scar hadn’t expected anyone in his apartment. Where he lived alone. With blinds on his windows.

“Sorry!” Grian cried, hands immediately over his reddening face as he turned away, and Scar shut the door of the bathroom quickly, his face burning and heart racing.

“This is why you should call first!” Scar managed, embarrassingly high pitched and choked as he scrambled to grab his towel and wrapped it around his waist.

“It’s noon, I didn’t think you’d be in the shower!”

Scar opened the door again and scurried over to his closet and dresser, quickly choosing an outfit before hurrying back into the bathroom to change. Grian kept his back turned, respectfully, and Scar would never live this down, he just knew it.

(Even though it was his apartment, and Grian had showed up unannounced and uninvited. So really, this whole awkward situation was completely Grian’s fault. And really, normally it wouldn’t have bothered him- a lot of his friends had seen him in the buff, after all- but it was Grian, who Scar had been thinking about a little too much, too fondly, to be friendly , how was he supposed to handle this?)

“Sorry!” Grian repeated, not looking up until Scar had left the bathroom again, this time fully clothed. “I just- got worried, you didn’t answer Mumbo’s call so I just- tuned in, you know, and got worried you might be sick so I came to check on you and-”

“It’s fine,” Scar cut him off, waving his hand dismissively in the air. His face was still red, and so was Grian’s, but what was done was done. “It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s cool, everything’s cool.”

“I should have knocked,” Grian groaned. Really, he was taking it worse than Scar was. “You even told me not to use the window and I did anyway, I am so sorry-”

“Grian!” Scar reached out, hand gently touching Grian’s shoulders, and it startled the Avian into silence. “It’s okay. Really. I was just surprised, is all. I’m sorry I worried you guys, I just... had a rough night, is all,” he said, honestly. Grian studied him for a moment, his eyes trailing along his hair- loose and falling about his shoulders and nearly down to his waist, shimmering with the ethereal glow of a Vex, shimmering much more than normal- and then they flicked over to the totem sitting on the coffee table.

It clicked.

“How... much do those take out of you?” Grian asked carefully, looking at Scar again.

Scar grimaced, and that was apparently all the answer Grian needed. “Well- I mean, there’s a reason Evokers usually only make one or two in their life,” Scar said anyway.

“Scar...” Grian frowned. “You know I was joking back then, right? When I said keep giving Mumbo totems? He has more than enough.”

Scar fidgeted, picking the totem up and looking at it. “Er- well, the thing is, I... didn’t make this one for Mumbo,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb along the emerald eye. “Mumbo- already asked me not to make more, so he doesn’t get careless with his life. It’s- easy to get careless, when you have a room full of these.”

“He said it because he knows what making them is doing to you,” Grian corrected him, frowning. “You look ragged, Scar. And you’re glowing more than usual.”

“Yeah, that happens right after I make a totem,” he laughed. “I guess I’m tapping into my Vex magic when I do it, instead of- well, Evoker magic, I guess. Very little difference, but-”

“One is gifted and one is fae,” Grian finished, and Scar couldn’t even be surprised that he knew. “So your Vex magic is doing what it can to regenerate.”

“Yep. It’s a bit exhausting and decides to show itself, but hey, that’s life.”

“You’re tearing yourself apart with this,” Grian said, absently reaching up and tracing the new silver in Scar’s hair. “You’re being self-destructive. I know you think it helps, Scar, but I promise none of your friends think your health and safety is worth these pretty little statues. Please, let this be your last totem.”

The touch was gentle. Scar felt like he should move away from it- felt like something wrong was happening here- but he didn’t.

“I-” promise? He couldn’t promise. Sometimes he just felt like he needed to. So, instead, he said, “I’ll try.”

Grian didn’t look satisfied but he accepted it, letting his hand drop. “Alright,” he said, nodding. “I’ll hold you to that. So who is this new totem even for?”

Scar had only ever made totems for Mumbo before. 

(In his mind, somewhere in his memories, he could recall his mother handing a totem to his father. He never got an explanation but every time he saw anyone who had ever made a second totem hand it off, it was almost always to their non-magic lover. A lover who was unable to make one for themselves. He wondered, briefly, if perhaps the drive to make those totems was present in all Evokers who loved those who couldn’t make them. Maybe it was instinct, a way to protect those he loved even when he wasn’t with them. Maybe it was just some strange, twisted version of a love language.)

He fidgeted with the totem, feeling awkward in Grian’s gaze. “It, uh, actually- it’s for- you.”

Grian’s feathers fluffed, just a bit, at the admission. “Wh- me?” he asked, and Scar averted his eyes awkwardly, trying not to think of what the red returning to Grian’s cheeks could mean.

“Yeah, I- uh, just. I dunno, it just. I. I don’t know how to explain, but- yeah, it’s for you.”

He held the totem out and Grian looked at him, surprise and confusion in his eyes.

(He was confused and Scar didn’t know why.)

“I...” Grian looked at the totem, but when he reached out he didn’t take it. Instead he wrapped his hands around Scar’s, around the totem. “If that’s the case,” he said, looking at Scar again- and Scar was caught, he couldn’t look away. “If that’s the case, then I want you to keep it. Keep it with you, and if you ever feel like you need to make a totem again, you already have one. You don’t need to make more when you already have one, right? So... Please, keep it. Even if you think of it as mine, keep it.”

(Scar had never kept one of his totems before. Every Evoker in the mansion had a totem of their own, and they only gave their second totems away. Was Scar driven to make totems because he kept giving them away? Because he never kept even one? Was he the one feeling vulnerable?)

Scar swallowed, his heart racing. Grian’s hands were like fire over his, so much like Mumbo’s touch. He wondered, briefly, if Grian could feel it.

“Please?”

That one word cracked any resolve Scar may have had. He smiled tiredly.

“Anything for you, G-Man.”

Grian smiled. “Good. Then come along- Mumbo said he’d have lunch waiting for us, if you felt up to going out.”

This is awkward.

That was all Scar could think as he stood in his greenhouse, Pearl at the door and Scott standing right next to Scar. 

The two, with their matching shades of icy blue and bright yellow, had locked eyes and were at a standstill, neither making any move. The Avian and the Starborn stared each other down, tense, and Scar wondered if Scott was about destroy his greenhouse, oh god not this again-

“Scott,” Pearl finally said, slowly and carefully by way of greeting. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’ve been helping Scar,” Scott answered stiffly, his grip tightening on the pot he’d been moving. “So I think you’re the unexpected one.”

Pearl’s eyes narrowed and her feathers puffed up and Scar just knew she was about to attack.

“H-hey,” Scar interrupted, inserting himself between them (probably not a good idea, considering the magic Scott had at his fingertips, much more dangerous and volatile than Scar’s own spells and charms). “Look, can we- uh, not fight? In my greenhouse? It’s been open barely a month and I rather like my plants not exploded, thank you.”

Pearl lifted her chin and let out a huff, spinning on her heel and walking out. Scar winced.

“Her wings,” he barely heard Scott murmur. Scar glanced over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, we did- you know, the grafting thing? We did that together,” he told Scott, not sure if anyone had bothered to inform the Starborn. It was possible they hadn’t, of course- people tended not to talk about Pearl in front of Scott.

For his part, Scott actually looked conflicted. Somewhere between upset and relieved, though Scar wasn’t sure what those emotions were for. Was he upset that Pearl showed up, or because no one told him she had her wings once again? Was he relieved she was gone, or because she could fly again?

(Martyn and Cleo had made up. They were back together.)

“Hey, Scott...” Scar started quietly, “I think... if you want to talk to her about- well, all... that... if you- I dunno, if you want to try and make amends- I think this might be the best chance you’ll ever have.”

(Scott and Pearl hadn’t been in the same room in over eight years. Neither raised their voices this time. Neither went to attack. The fire in their eyes was dim. Not dead but also not blazing fury.)

Scott’s brow scrunched up and the pot in his hands cracked but did not shatter. After a few seconds- long and drawn out yet fleeting and slipping through their fingers- Scott set the pot down.

“Pearl!” he called, hurrying out of the greenhouse, and Scar hesitated only a moment before he followed. He shouldn’t have- he knew he shouldn’t have, he should let them have this moment, but they were his friends. They were important. He needed to know they would be alright.

Pearl was already in the air, though she had lingered for- some reason, Scar didn’t know but he could hope. She was turned around, wings flapping to keep her hovering seven feet above as Scott, followed not far by Scar, rushed out of the shop.

“What?” she demanded coldly, staring down at her soulmate. Thankfully it was midmorning on a Thursday and the streets that far from the center of the shopping district were almost empty, and most of the people who caught sight of the confrontation hurried along, so their audience was limited to only a handful of people.

“Pearl, come back down,” Scott said, almost pleading but not quite. “Let’s- can’t we talk?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Pearl said, turning her face away and crossing her arms.

“Please?”

Scar knew how much effect a genuine plea could have. He’d been brought down with a simple “please?” from both Mumbo and Grian multiple times over the past year alone. However, the way Scott said it- the way Scott pleaded, even from the outside looking in Scar could feel the pain, the brokenness, the I miss my best friend please can’t we talk it out finally?

Pearl didn’t need her soulbond with Scott to feel the sincerity and desperation in his voice.

(Ten years is a long time. Ten years is way too long to fight over something petty, over something that Scar could barely remember. Ten years is a long time to push out your best friend, your soulmate, the one person you can’t be rid of until death- no matter how much you might want to.)

“What’s with that tone?” Pearl almost hissed, dropping down to the ground in front of Scott. “You left me, remember? You were the one who abandoned me, so don’t ‘ please?’ me!”

“Pearl, I didn’t mean to abandon you,” Scott told her, voice shockingly soft considering how loud Pearl was. “You- completely misunderstood what I was saying.”

“You said you didn’t want me. You said you didn’t want to be with me. What’s there to misunderstand?!”

Oh, right. That had been the poor choice of words that started the whole fight that snowballed out of control. I don’t want to be with you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Scott said. “You never gave me a chance to explain. I didn’t mean I didn’t want you to be my soulmate, I meant that- I didn’t want- I can’t love you, Pearl, that’s all I meant. I can’t-”

“Love me?!” Pearl’s voice pitched up and Scar winced. “I never asked you to love me! I asked you to be there for me! To be my best friend, my confidante, my soulmate! Did you think- did you think I loved you?!”

Scott blinked, looking lost, and to be honest Scar was too. Everyone knew Pearl carried a torch for Scott.

(But thinking back, why wouldn’t she have favored him among their friends? None of them saw her show any interest in anyone, it had seemed obvious that she had eyes only for her soulmate. Then again, Scar couldn’t recall a single instance where she gazed at him, or blushed just from something he said, or even any split second expressions when they would grab each others’ hands. Thinking about it, she had never looked at Scott the way he had, and sometimes still, looked at Mumbo.)

“All I wanted was to be there for you,” Pearl said, wings flared out on either side of her. “I just wanted to be your friend and confidante. I wanted to be the person you could rely on, I wanted to be the person who gave your boyfriends shovel talks, the one making an embarrassing speech at your wedding, I wanted to stand beside you! I didn’t want you to love me! I don’t love you, Scott, not like that! I never did!”

“You gave up your wings to save my life,” Scott said quietly, guiltily.

Is that what happened?

“Yes, big surprise, Scott, you were more important to me than my wings were! You’re my soulmate and you- I loved you like I’d love a brother,” she said, voice losing its fire. “Are you telling me that when you said you didn’t want to be with me, you meant you didn’t want to date me? Because I already knew that. We were on the same page there.”

Scar made a strangled sound. Unable to keep quiet, he shouted, “Are you telling me the last ten years have been over a misunderstanding?!”

Pearl’s attention snapped to Scar, eyes wide, before she looked back at Scott. Scott, for his part, looked somewhere between devastated and chagrined.

“Pearl, I am so, so sorry,” he said finally, ten years and two major life events too late.

Pearl tensed.

“I know we can’t make up for ten years,” Scott said. “I know we can’t go back or- or change any of it, and I can’t make this right, but I am so sorry and I- I missed you so, so much, Pearl.”

Scar felt like he was invading now, watching how the two soulmates stared at each other. The fires in their eyes were cooled and Scott was choking, and Pearl was impossible to read.

She was no longer aggressive, though. Her wings relaxed and her gaze softened. “I- I appreciate it,” she said, voice uncertain. “I really do. But I don’t- I don’t think I can forgive you yet.”

(Pearl had been called a mad lady, psychotic, crazy, many things. The pain caused by the perceived rejection of her soulmate- the pitying gazes, how her friends treated her like glass- had been so, so much, and Scott only made it worse when he should have been the one to help her.)

“I- I get that,” Scott said softly. “But- do you think one day...?”

Pearl tilted her head slightly. “... Maybe. I think I’d like to try.” She took a breath- steadying, grounding- and held a hand out. “I can’t promise it’ll be like it used to be, but... let’s try?”

Scott smiled, a sad but blinding smile, and Scar felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders as they clasped hands, shaking on it. “I’d love nothing more than that, right now. I’ll be better, Pearl. I promise. Anything you need. And take all the time you need.”

Scar stayed back, letting them have this moment. He could cry- in fact he could feel the telltale stinging at the corner of his eyes. This is right, he just knew.

“Still got Tilly?” Scott asked, his warm smile morphing into a small grin.

Pearl grinned right back. “Of course, I could never get rid of her.”

Scar had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

“Well then- Tilly death do us part?”

Yep, no clue whatsoever, but Pearl was laughing softly so whatever it was, it was a good sign.

“Tilly death do us part,” she agreed. They released their hands and Scar could breathe again.

“I can’t believe you actually got them to make up.”

Scar shrugged from where he sat beside Mumbo, a drink sitting on the table, untouched, in front of him. It was the first outing since Scott and Pearl had sort-of made up, and the two- along with Jimmy- were deep in their own conversation at the table next to theirs. 

“I didn’t really do anything,” he said. “They already wanted to talk, I just- gave Scott a nudge in the right direction.”

“Still,” Mumbo sighed, leaning dramatically against Scar’s shoulder. He tried not to think too deeply into the way Mumbo rested his hand against his chest. Mumbo was always a drama king, he reminded himself. “Last time we tried that Pearl nearly killed Scott and he almost returned the favor.”

Scar laughed. “And they almost killed us, too.”

“Can’t really blame them for that,” Mumbo admitted sheepishly. “We did kind of spring it on them, didn’t we?”

“Oh yeah, I probably would’ve wanted to kill you guys if you forced me in the same room as someone I hate, too.”

“Except me, right?” Mumbo asked with a smug smirk and oh, was he always leaning so close? Scar cleared his throat and averted his eyes, seeking out Grian’s form across the bar.

(It was the same club as that night, just a couple weeks ago. He tried not to think about it.)

“Of course, I’d never murder you,” Scar agreed, finding Grian talking with Cleo and some people he didn’t recognize. Probably friends of Grian’s, he supposed. “That would be a waste of a couple dozen totems.”

Mumbo laughed. “You’re right, that would be very counterproductive.”

They lapsed into silence, both just listening to the music and chatter around them. Pearl’s laughter and Jimmy’s wheezing rose over it all. Martyn and Ren were dancing (very badly, but Scar couldn’t really criticize; he knew how to waltz, he knew nothing about dancing on a club dancefloor), and Scar relaxed. Everyone was accounted for.

( Not everyone. Not BigB. Not Cub. Not Impulse or BDubs. Not everyone is here. Not everyone is safe. )

He ignored the little voice in his head and turned his attention back to Mumbo, realizing he had said something. “Sorry, it’s loud in here, I missed that?” he said, only half true.

“I asked why you’re not drinking.”

Scar blinked and his gaze fell to his ignored drink. “Oh. Uh, I just. Not in the mood, I guess.”

(It was his favorite. Well, not really his favorite. More accurately, it was the only thing he would drink, something that somehow managed to be bitter and sweet at the same time. It was what he drank that night, what he could taste when he had kissed that stranger, when he had let their hands wander. It tasted like mistakes now.)

“Ah.”

They fell quiet again and Mumbo’s hand clenched into a fist. Scar tensed- something was wrong.

“Does it have something to do with the last time you came here?” Mumbo asked, voice barely above a whisper, and Scar’s blood went cold.

They knew.

He didn’t know why that sent a shock of panic through him. He didn’t know why it brought the guilt back, full force, once again. 

It wasn’t an accusation.

(But it was.)

Mumbo was just making a comment.

(He wasn’t.)

He didn’t belong to Mumbo. He didn’t belong to Grian.

(His heart certainly did.)

“I-” he cut off, not sure what he could say. “... Yeah.”

Mumbo let out a breath. Scar hadn’t expected a heavy conversation that night. “You know, Scar, if you- if you want to find someone, you- we won’t- we won’t hold you back.”

It was said through half-grit teeth, as if it was a lie. Bitter. Hurt. Like he didn’t want that.

Scar’s heart raced.

“I don’t-” he started, then stopped and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to... find someone,” he said, proud of how his voice managed to stay level. “I just. Wanted to. I- don’t know what I was trying to do. I didn’t...”

He trailed off, not sure how to continue. Mumbo knew, anyway.

“... We know. You changed your mind. Because you felt guilty.”

“I don’t know why I did,” he lied.

“Yes you do.”

A beat. “Yeah.”

It felt like this was something. Something important. Something Scar needed to be present for. Completely and totally present, because Mumbo’s brow was furrowed and the edges of his mustache were turned down into Mumbo’s typical “I’m thinking very carefully” face. That always meant that whatever came next was very important- the most important thing at that moment.

However, whatever had spurred Mumbo on seemed to die. He sat up straight after another moment or two and grabbed his own drink, whatever he’d wanted to say drowned out with whiskey. 

Scar wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

It was the dead of night and Scar was flying over a forest nearly thirty miles away from Aqua Town, just to try and cool his head.

It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. Especially considering his wings, while stronger than before, certainly weren’t ready for a flight like this and he had left his elytra abandoned on his coffee table, right next to Grian’s totem.

The night air was cool against his skin.

(He could feel fingers on his skin. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt them but tonight he just couldn’t ignore them. Knowing whose hands they were, whose body they were exploring, and his own inability to block them out tonight just-)

He breathed in the fresh air, eyes scanning over the forest. He was looking for something specific, somewhere he hadn’t been in twenty years. Nothing like good old fashioned bad memories to get him to not think about-

No, don’t think.

In the distance he saw what he was looking for- the burnt and rotten remains, nothing but the collapsed stonework and a few crumbling chimneys giving away the location of a long-since lost mansion.

(Sometimes he understood why. Sometimes he understood why it was destroyed. He understood why he was taken away, why they all said he was saved. He understood, because he remembered the cold and the taunts and the rejection, he remembered the nearly empty room he was sequestered to, separate from the nursery all the other children of the clan shared.)

He dropped down low above the trees and glided closer. He landed in the treetops, out of reach of the mobs wandering about below, and looked at the corpse of the first place he had ever known.

(Other times it filled him with rage. This was his home, once upon a time. His people, though he didn’t belong. His family, though he wasn’t loved. They stayed in the mansion, they studied their books and farmed their farms, they lived their lives away from the rest of the world, yet the outside world hunted their isolated home down. They burned it down and cut through everyone inside- man, woman, child, elder, even the fae. No matter who or what, they were killed. Their totems were stolen seconds before they could shatter, seconds before they could be saved, to be used by greedy hands they didn’t belong to, by people not given the blessings of Lady Death, by people with no ties to the hands that carved them. Scar only survived the massacre, burned by fire and cut from shattered glass and the blade of the first human he’d run into in the chaos, because one of their attackers was nonhuman enough to consider him human.)

The echo of lips on his own was driving him mad. He leapt out of the tree and glided over to the old rickety stone frame, settling on the old second floor. He didn’t dare step on the rotting remains of the wooden floor as he cast his eyes around. 

The soft light cast by his markings, his wings and his eyes, plus the gentle glow of the almost-full moon, was more than enough for him to see by.

(He could remember those halls. It was fragmented, flashes of memory, running down the hall to try and make it on time to his next class. So many classes, he can remember that- more classes than the other children, math and reading and spellcasting and flying and totem-carving, holy books and fae law and clan law and human law and always something new, something new because he was new and he had so many rules to follow and learn, and he was expected to learn even when he was only nine.)

He walked along the frame, using his wings to boost himself across gaps and to keep his steps feather-light so that he wouldn’t knock the remains down. In his mind the mansion rebuilt itself; plush red carpet along a dark oak hallway, stairwells tucked in random nooks and crannies, secret passages that ended up being no help at the end, a little private room for one tucked away at the back of the third floor...

A crackling fireplace, an old wood stove in one of the two kitchens, a long table in a dining room and a chandelier covered in glass...

(They had been minding their own business, the days of pillaging and crusades centuries in the past. Why was this their fate?)

He could smell smoke lingering in the air, or maybe it was just in his mind.

(He loved his father. He had loved his mother, while she lived. Not the ones who gave him life- no, he couldn’t remember ever having any attachment to them, they had just been an extension of the clan, people he had to obey. No, he loved the mother and father who chose him, who took him in and were the first to love him. Parents he’d never have had if this mansion never burnt down.)

Reaching the end of the frame he sunk down and pressed himself against the stone, closing his eyes. The chill of the night was numbing, numbing enough that he couldn’t even feel the echoes of Mumbo’s hands on Grian’s skin anymore.

So there he sat, listening to the creaking of rotten wood as zombies and skeletons- too far away to notice him up there- walked across the remnants of his childhood home. He let the bitter wind chill him to his core and pretended he could still hear the chanting and singing that echoed from the clearing.

(The clearing no longer existed. The Vex who had lived there, who had made their portal there- the Vex who survived the massacre- moved on when the ones who summoned and welcomed them were slain. The forest took over and now it was nothing less than just another overgrown creeper trap.)

His wings were tired. He’d flown for over an hour, faster than he’d ever flown without an elytra before- faster than he had ever dared to fly without Grian there- and now, now that he finally settled them against his back once more and settled down, they were aching and felt like jello. The metal along their bones was cold, so cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He shifted, wrapping his wings around himself, and settled back down. Without the echoes taunting him he could finally rest.

In hindsight, he really should have known that was a bad idea, precariously perched as he was as he let himself drift off in the cold. All it took was one lucky shot from a surprisingly-observant skeleton to send him tumbling off the stone, an arrow lodged painfully in his side.

(At least it wasn’t his wings.)

His wings flapped desperately, barely managing to keep him from hitting the ground at full force. He was winded and his side hurt, blood leaking, slowly, from around the arrow. A voice in his mind whispered don’t remove it, because then it would bleed faster and he didn’t know what it hit and-

There were groans around him.

This was a bad idea.

This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

(All because he couldn’t stand to feel those echoes, those phantom touches. All because he couldn’t block them out. All because he stupidly went to seek out something to overwhelm it. He was definitely overwhelmed now.)

He hissed and pushed himself to his feet, clutching at his side. He cast a glance around just in time to see another arrow flying towards him, and he barely moved enough so it only nicked his ear. 

He leapt up, his wings clumsily pulling him up into the air, but they ached and were cold, felt numb and he tumbled right back down and this is really bad.

( Is it really? a traitorous voice whispered in his mind. No ‘you’ means Grian will be free. No putting up with you. No constant reminder for Mumbo. No ‘you’ means Mumbo will be free. )

Scar stumbled up to his feet again and pushed himself forward, wings tucked against his back as best they could with the night chill to make himself a smaller target. There was once a time he knew these grounds like the back of his hand, when he’d run off to play by himself, when he’d skip his lessons and just-

( Some stories say when two people without soulmates meet they connect. Some say when you lose one color you can gain another. Wouldn’t it be nice if that could happen? Don’t you think that would be wonderful for them? )

“Oh shut up,” he snarled to himself, pushing aside an undisturbed rock- amazing that it had remained so after twenty years, completely untouched by the raiding outsiders. Under the stone was a small cavern. Thankfully no mob was able to get in and it was clear, with nothing more than the old musty blankets he had left down there.

His old hiding spot, many class-times spent there as his mother or father or teacher searched for him. 

He dropped down, pain spiking through him when his feet hit the ground, but he didn’t take the time to sit on it; he reached up and pulled the stone back over the hole, leaving him with only his own light in the darkness.

He sat down heavily against the wall, hissing in pain. It definitely hit something, he decided, carefully running his finger along the shaft of the arrow. Blood trickled down his cheek from the slice in his ear and he drew in a ragged breath, pain spiking as he did.

I need help, he thought.

( Do you? Wouldn’t it be better if you just stayed in that hole? Never to be seen again? Let them think you just went back to Boatem. Let them be happy. )

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the bloody fingerprint left on the screen when he unlocked it. He had a few unread texts and a missed call.

I need to call emergency services, he told himself, pulling up the numpad.

(He hesitated.)

His fingers were clumsy, numb and cold as they were, and he had to restart multiple times as he messed up, but finally he lifted the phone to his ear and prayed that he wasn’t out of service range.

( Maybe it’s better if you are. )

Thankfully the phone began ringing. Scar pressed his back against the stone, careful not to jar the arrow any more than it had already been. He evened his breathing, trying not to focus on the pain.

He silently apologized to Grian, somehow doubting that there was any way this pain could be blocked out.

“Scar?!”

Scar froze, eyes flying open. “M-Mumbo?!” He tore the phone away from his ear (and noticed he had, without thinking, pressed it against his bloodied ear), and saw to his horror that instead of emergency service he had hit Mumbo’s speed-dial.

“Scar, what’s going on?” Mumbo asked, panicked.

I didn’t mean to call them.

“I- is Grian okay?” Scar asked, his breaths labored.

There was a moment of silence- well, not really. It was more like the sound of the phone being snatched up, and Scar wasn’t surprised when it was Grian’s voice that answered him.

“Who the bloody hell cares if I’m okay?! Scar, what happened? Are you okay? Where are you?!”

Scar grimaced. “I, uh- went out for fresh air. Went to-” 

( Don’t tell them. You know how they are- they’ll come look for you. They’ll get hurt because of you. )

“I went back to the mansion,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Just to-”

“You’re in a woodland forest?!” Mumbo’s voice was shrill, but now Scar knew they had him on speaker. “The closest one is twenty-eight miles away!”

“Thirty,” Scar corrected without thinking. “Uh- I meant to- I was trying to- emergency service, I didn’t mean to- sorry, I don’t think I’m-”

“Scar? Scar, turn on your location right now, we’re coming to get you-”

“No!” Scar shot up straight and doubled over, and on the other side Grian breathed in sharply. “No no no, lots of mobs, stay home- safe there- I need to go, need to call- emerg-”

He didn’t hear whatever Mumbo and Grian were going to say next, hanging up before he could even finish. It hurt, it hurt so bad and sent pain searing through his body. He curled up for only a second, doing so only making the pain worse, so instead he straightened up again and leaned back.

He screwed his eyes shut tightly, clutching his phone in his hand.

( You should have died here anyway. Twenty years ago. You should have died with your family- your clan. )

He wanted to protest- his family, his dad and his best friends, were back in Aqua Town. His family, his friends, his clan, were in Aqua Town and Boatem and the Midnight Alley and Elfen Village. Those people who died in that mansion weren’t- they weren’t his family. They weren’t the people he loved.

(For years he’d had nightmares about this mansion. About it burning, about his birth mother and father, about his cousins and uncles and teachers, about their accusing looks. Taunting him, telling him how he couldn’t even belong enough to die with them. How he should have been left in the ashes with them.)

His phone lit up and he stared at Mumbo’s number on the phone. He didn’t answer, instead letting it ring.

(The thoughts plagued him especially late at night, when he was alone with only his thoughts. Sometimes he thought they were actual ghosts. Taunting him. Tormenting him. Mocking how he should never have had a soulmate, that he couldn’t belong. That he shouldn’t be alive.)

He dropped his phone and watched the screen crack, and winced. He hadn’t meant to do that.

It looked like a spiderweb, cutting through the picture of Mumbo.

( Just get it over with. Remove the arrow. You won’t make it until morning and you won’t call for help. Just do it. Do it. Join them. Join them. )

His fingers rested on the arrow. It just hurt too much, though. He couldn’t.

Sorry, Grian.

He leaned his head back, his breathing labored. He swore he could taste copper in his throat.

His body relaxed of its own accord and he felt himself falling- falling, falling, like he was asleep yet- he was sure he couldn’t be.

It was too soon for him to be dying.

It was too painful to sleep.

Yet he was falling.

o

Scar had often heard that your life flashed before your eyes right before you died. He had also heard that, when you died, you learned everything. Every memory, clear as the moment it happened. Every person who had ever touched your life, every lost face coming to life, every color you had forgotten filling in in the blink of an eye.

It was oddly comforting, in a way, that he found them to be true- remembering things he had forgotten long ago. The hands that clasped his, the knife that burned his hand, the hugs his true parents gave him after he finally accepted them, the books and the lessons he had no recollection of ever having...

Remembering.

He had been here before.

Somehow he knew that for certain, that he had been there in the vast expanse of nothingness before.

It wasn’t really nothing, though. More accurately, it was everything. Everything and nothing and all the messy little details between. 

A void. The Void. He knew it as readily as he knew his own name, thousands and millions of stars dancing like static far off in the distance, too far to ever reach. 

They felt like eyes burning into his soul. 

His soul. 

Red strings crisscrossed, tangled together, coming into existence right before his eyes. He looked at his hands. A pale red string, quickly losing its color, was tied with a tiny, elegant bow around his ring finger. It drooped down, looped around and tangled around his fingers, his hands, tied around his arms and hung off of him, draped around him like some mockery of blood running down, dripping off of his fingertips. 

The thread was frayed.

( Is this my fault? )

It looked ready to snap. 

If it snapped, Scar knew, he'd be gone for good. He'd be beyond saving. 

Soulbonds- red strings of fate- only broke when the soul could no longer be reached. When they were too far out of reach.

(He hoped Grian wasn’t in too much pain.)

Floating through the Void, feeling the peace of nothingness and the serenity that came with no fear, no regrets, he closed his eyes and let himself drift. 

He didn't know how long he drifted before he felt the tugging. A voice- one he couldn’t place yet familiar, all the same- echoed in his ears and he forced his eyes open once again. The almost-empty space was no longer empty.

Something was in front of him. Something unfamiliar yet painfully familiar.

A blond. A blond wearing a mask over their eyes and four pitch black wings- black as the Void around them. White dots of varying sizes- not dots, a hundred eyes, some smaller than a fingertip and some larger than a fist- were set into the feathers, staring out at him in place of the blond’s own two eyes. The robes were gold and red, shimmering in the expanse of Void in a way that Scar’s own markings did not.

Scar gazed at it. At him. He knew who this was, even though the man was nigh on unrecognizable. Even if he hadn’t known instinctively, the red thread tangled and twisted around his fingers, clenched between his folded hands ( folded, like a prayer, like a call for help ), would have clued him in. No, there was no mistaking it.

Of course, who else could have found him?

Grian, he tried to say. He couldn’t, yet the other heard him anyway. I didn’t know you were a Watcher.

Grian’s head tilted up. Scar wondered if Grian saw everything around them the same way he did. A hundred eyes on him but not his own two- so probably not, he decided.

You know about the Watchers? Grian asked, voice soft and echoey and so distant but everywhere all at once.

I learned about a lot of gods in the mansion, Scar answered simply, as if that answered everything. Honestly, it really did. As unfavored as the Illagers had been, they were a very devout and loyal people. It wasn’t a surprise that their children would be taught about the different pantheons.

Grian seemed to accept this- or maybe he already knew it. Scar, where are you?

Scar let his gaze wander, trailing away from Grian’s many eyes. The Void?

Well yes, but that’s not what I meant.

Does it matter? Scar looked back at Grian, who despite half his face being covered managed to look unimpressed.

Of course it matters. You’re not dead yet. I pulled you here.

Scar blinked. You did...? How?

Grian was closer now, close enough to reach out and touch. The thread was loose between them but Grian held his hands up- still clasped, still holding onto the thread. That made sense, Scar supposed.

I could just find you myself, but I can’t See here and in the physical world at the same time, Grian explained. And I can’t keep you grounded out there. Scar- please, just let us help you.

Aren’t you better off if I’m gone?

The thought escaped him before he could stop it and Grian reeled back, as if the words physically hurt him.

What?

Scar shook his head. I- I didn’t mean to say that-

Why would we be better off without you? Somehow, even in this endless expanse of nothing- eternity?- Grian managed to sound distraught at the words. We love you, Scar.

You-

You’re my soulmate, Grian interrupted, not letting Scar even try to refute his words. Once your life comes to an end you’re meant to join me in the Pantheon, in the Observatory- but not like this. Not this far away, not when you haven’t even accepted me. And- I’m not ready for that, anyway. I want-

He cut off, as if he weren’t sure how to continue, but Scar only watched him- waiting. Had he needed to even breathe in that Void he was sure he’d be suffocating.

I want to live out there, with you and Mumbo and all our friends, Grian said. I want- you. There, with us. With Mumbo and me. We love you. Both of us.

An echo of a heartbeat- fast, racing, one that didn’t belong to him yet was so very familiar. 

Grian seemed to hesitate and Scar got the impression that the Avian- no, the Watcher- was seeing something Scar himself could not.

Then, slowly, Grian unclasped his hands and reached out to Scar, hands with the palms turned up.

(A memory forced itself into the forefront of his mind, replaying like a movie he had no part of. An Avian, soft and encouraging smile, hands held out and waiting for him to make his choice while already knowing what it would be. Soft hands guiding him, arms supporting him when it all became too much, quiet laughter and excited hugs full of so much pride and love. )

Please take my hand, Grian quietly begged. We can find you out there and I can keep you safe here. I can ease your pain. Please, Scar. Please.

Scar hesitated. In a breeze that didn’t exist- or maybe it had always been there- Scar could almost swear he could hear Mumbo’s voice calling his name.

We’re here. 

We love you.

His breath- nonexistent yet suffocating- hitched. The Void, he remembered, was a place for eternal souls not bound by the laws of mortality- the domain of gods.

( “Words are pretty little things, but inherently they are full of lies. The gods care not for simple words and only speak with the heart. In their pantheons, only truth can be spoken because words cannot.” )

That was why the voice was unfamiliar. That was why he could not speak.

It wasn’t his voice or his thoughts. It wasn’t Grian’s voice or Grian’s thoughts.

Grian tilted his head and Scar knew he knew. He knew, because in this place how could he not?

In this place- his domain, his Pantheon- how could he not? How could he not when, now, Scar could see it too?

Then Grian smiled- that soft, familiar smile, the smile that looked so mortal, so Grian, and of course- their hearts still beat in tandem.

Watchers don’t often have mortal soulmates, Grian told him. Our souls are eternal. When we do have mortal soulmates, it is a soul that is found worthy of the Pantheon. I searched for you for a long time, Scar. I’m sorry I gave up. I looked in the wrong places. Of course no mere mortal could have been my soulmate; no mere mortal soul could have handled it. His hands were so close, and so close Scar could see the way the red thread twisted through his hands, embedded in his flesh- and he knew, then, that this wasn’t the first time Grian had held him here against nature. You have always been so much more than just another mortal, Scar. So much more than just a human, or an Evoker, or a Vex. You are mine. And you are Mumbo’s. You are ours, and we love you.

(He felt so stupid. Of course- how was he so blind? Of course it was obvious. The lingering touches, the intimate moments that made him feel like he was doing something so wrong, the bitterness in Mumbo’s voice when he asked about that night, the worry, the pleas to stay with them where they could see him, where they could know at a moment that he was safe. How did he miss it?)

Scar reached out and took Grian’s hands, his heartbeat (was it his own?) way too loud in his ears. Grian grasped his hands, and his hands were burning hot- and, Scar realized then, that he could feel nothing. No cold of the Void, no warmth of eternity- only Grian’s hands burning in his own. He clung to that feeling, letting Grian pull him closer- like he had when they flew together that first time, comforting and there and I won’t let go and I won’t let you fall and-

Grian pulled him closer, pressing a gentle, burning kiss to his forehead. It filled him with warmth and he closed his eyes, leaning into Grian’s hold.

I’m sorry, he couldn’t help but think- feel- as the world faded from around him.

The warmth was the only thing he could feel.

o

“He’s waking up!”

Scar groaned. Was he dead, he wondered?

“No, but you gave it your best shot, mate.”

Mumbo?

Scar slowly opened his eyes. The light was blinding but he needed to see.

Mumbo was there, leaning over him, and Grian was right behind him.

Something looked strange about the scene but Scar couldn’t figure out what it was- it was Mumbo and Grian, that wasn’t too strange.

“You utter fool,” Grian sighed, settling down on the floor next to the bed. “That arrow got you pretty bad but the cold was the worst thing. I can’t believe you went out flying thirty miles from home when your wings are definitely not up to a flight like that.”

Scar blinked at them. Grian looked strange but Grian was Grian.

(Grian had four black wings and a pale mask over his eyes and a thousand eyes.)

“Um...” he shook his head- what a strange dream.

(Was it a dream?)

“I don’t remember what I was thinking,” he said. Both Mumbo and Grian looked at him, clearly knowing that he was lying. “I just- needed air.”

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Mumbo sighed and tightened his hand around Scar’s- and oh, he’s holding my hand-

“I think we have a lot to talk about, the three of us,” Grian said. “But perhaps that can wait until you’re out of the hospital.”

Scar blinked and shook his head- he closed his eyes tightly and then opened them again. Something was crossing his vision, brushing against his skin, something that he shouldn’t be able to see.

( Not here. )

He turned his gaze to his and Mumbo’s clasped hands, to the transparent- quickly fading- threads he could see.

The threads tied to his and Grian’s hands and tangled around Mumbo’s between them- tied tightly and pressed into, through his skin, just like how they were seared into the palms of Grian’s hands as he defied Death ( twice ). They looked painful yet Mumbo didn’t seem to react at all.

(It wasn’t a dream.)

Grian seemed to realize what he was looking at. “Ah- that will fade in a few minutes,” he assured softly. “A side effect of my magic, I’m afraid. We’re not meant to see them while in the physical world, but I may have broken a few rules to keep you here.”

That explained a lot.

“So that wasn’t a dream,” he murmured. 

“You’ll probably forget what happened there soon,” Mumbo warned him. “I already don’t remember anything from it. Wouldn’t know I was ever there, if Grian hadn’t told me.”

Was Mumbo there? Scar could vaguely remember Mumbo’s voice but he couldn’t remember seeing him.

(But Grian had seen him.)

“So. Watcher, huh?” he said, voice rough and raspy, but he needed to ask before the memory completely faded- he was already struggling to remember the eyes, the wings, the mask.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but- well, I thought after the Voidists were dealt with you wouldn’t be almost dying again... especially after I told you to keep that totem.”

Scar laughed, though it sounded more like a rattle- gods his chest hurt. Did his lungs get hit? “Forgot it on my coffee table,” he revealed. “Right alongside my elytra. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, we already figured that out,” Mumbo said, his grip tightening almost painfully around Scar’s hands. 

“Voidists?” he repeated.

“The people who attacked you in Boatem.”

“Ah. Right. Should’ve guessed.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. It wasn’t comfortable and his wings were awkward beneath him but it was better than a hole in the ground.

“Scar,” Grian spoke up, voice too quiet for anyone outside the room to hear. “I don’t know how much of our conversation There you remember, but I told you that your soul belongs to the Pantheon, if you allow it.”

“I don’t think that’s what you said,” Scar said, grasping at the fleeting memories. “What I remember is... something along the lines of ‘you are mine,’ and that once I die I have a right to the Pantheon and a place in the... Observatory?” He thought that was the right word, and when Grian didn’t correct him he continued, “But you also said I was too far away and needed to accept you first... Is that what that meant? ‘Accept you,’ did that mean ‘allow it’?”

“When I said ‘accept me,’ I meant both as a Watcher and as your soulmate,” Grian told him. “By ‘allow it,’ I mean I can’t take you to the Pantheon unless you give consent to it, while you’re still alive and in your mortal body.”

Scar opened his eyes again, looking at Mumbo and Grian. “Mumbo knew about all this...?”

“Yes, well, I couldn’t very well start a serious relationship without telling him,” Grian said, smiling sheepishly. “But he couldn’t tell you, if you’re wondering. The secrets of Watchers cannot be shared by non-Watchers.”

“And if you’re wondering, yeah, Grian plans to drag me to this Pantheon of his as well,” Mumbo said, chuckling. 

“I’m well within my right to bring my mortal lovers with me, soulmate or not,” Grian sniffed, averting his eyes. “... And mortal family.”

“Oh no, are you planning to take us all with you?” a new voice cut in.

“Ah, the Starborn is here,” Grian said, glancing at the door. Scar blanched.

“Scott knew too?!”

Scott laughed as he wandered in. “Scar, I’m a Starborn. Of course I know, the stars work as the Watchers’ eyes. I know a Watcher when I see one.”

Scar sighed. “Right. I forgot that, too.” How was he supposed to remember that, anyway? He read it in a book in a different language twenty-three years ago.

(It was all slipping away. All he could remember, right then, was that Grian was a Watcher, Grian saved him again, and-)

“You said you love me,” Scar said.

“I didn’t,” Scott protested.

“Not you,” Mumbo snickered. “Grian and me.”

( And Mumbo? Mumbo said it too? )

“To be fair I didn’t really say it,” Grian reminded him, reaching over to brush an errant lock of hair out of Scar’s face. “But we did mean it.”

“I told you that you should talk to them,” Scott said smugly.

“Is Scar awake?” another voice outside the door asked, and soon enough everyone was piling into his room (much to the nurses’ irritation) and asking questions and-

Scar’s breath hitched.

How could he ever doubt his place here?

There was Ren and Martyn and Cleo, looking so relieved. Pearl and Jimmy, both with red eyes that betrayed their long-dried tears. Impulse, BDubs and Cub were there as well, looking tired but smiling so widely at seeing him awake, and oh, they even brought Doc along all the way from Boatem. Even Tango was there- Tango, who Scar had only ever heard from in texts over the last three years- and he had brought Etho- another old face, someone Scar hadn’t seen in person since highschool- along.

“Your father sends his best but figured he’d let you have time with us before he whisks you away to your old bedroom,” Impulse said with a laugh, and all Scar could do was roll his eyes.

“Oh great, another week or two in a mansion.”

(So many friends. So many people. So many loved ones. How could he ever doubt them?)

( But still not everyone. )

As if the universe had heard his thoughts- and honestly, at this point Scar wouldn’t be surprised if it could- the door opened one more time and Scar’s eyes widened.

“Scar?” BigB asked, and everyone’s attention snapped over to him. “X called me when he heard you were in hospital.” X? Xisuma?  

(A name he had almost forgotten.)

“Are you okay?”

Scar swallowed. “Hey, BigB. You sure took your time, huh?”

Then he smiled, and BigB smiled back, and the tension melted away like it had never even been. Ren threw himself at BigB and everyone else crowded around him, asking questions and demanding answers, and Scar felt at peace.

Mumbo lifted Scar’s hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “You know, if you don’t want to go back to your dad’s mansion, you can always just... come home,” Mumbo said. “There’s a spare room for the cats and a closet full of totems, you’ll never have to feel compelled to make another one again.”

“And there’s us,” Grian reminded Mumbo, as if offended that he was an after-thought.

Mumbo laughed. “And there’s us. And a kitchen full of your favorite foods, and a very comfortable bed.”

Scar smiled. “You know... I think I’d like that.”

“Scar, help!” BigB squeaked.

“Not a chance, BigB, you brought this on yourself!”

The laughter was like music to his ears.

The festival wasn’t big- nothing like the festivals in Aqua Town- but it was calm and nice. Floating lanterns lit up the night and a group of volunteers watched the perimeter of the festival for any unruly mobs.

Boatem was lovely all times of the year, but with the snow falling gently around them Scar was sure it was the most beautiful place of all.

There were no neon lights and not a million stalls or a hundred rides, but it was bright and joyful with children running around. Several paces in front of him Pearl was flying, carrying Jimmy along while Scott chased after them. Ren, Martyn and Cleo were off riding something that Scar had no interest in and BigB had disappeared with Impulse, Cub, Tango and BDubs to raid some poor, unsuspecting buffet.

Mumbo, right beside Scar and holding tightly to his hand, was looking around the town with its soft edges and gentle snow. “It’s nothing like that night, is it?” he said, glancing knowingly at Scar.

Scar smiled and shook his head. “Every year I avoided this thing,” he said, reaching up and brushing his fingers along the warm glass of a lantern. “But it’s so...”

“Nice? Peaceful?” Grian said, popping up on Mumbo’s other side. “Not deadly and perfectly safe?”

“Right,” Scar agreed with a small laugh. “Though I was gonna say perfect.”

“Nonsense,” Grian sniffed. “No such thing as perfect.”

“Ah, well,” Mumbo hummed, grabbing Grian’s hand with his other, “we’re here together, and they’re all here, and everything is okay, so I think right now perfect is a good word.”

Grian raised a brow but his lips quirked into a smile. “Alright then. Perfect it is.”

And when Mumbo brought both their hands up to kiss them, when they both snickered at Scar’s burning face (because even three months wasn’t long enough for him to get over that!), when they both advanced on him and pressed little kisses to his face and lips, Scar decided he was absolutely right.

This was perfect.

(The stories always start with two wayward, lost and lonely souls, guided by fate to find one another. They always end in either happily ever after or hopeless tragedy. Rarely do the stories talk about the journey to reach that end, but Scar found that he didn’t mind. The journey made the ending all the more worth it.)