#thaw au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hearts401 · 6 months

Text

A Shitty Brother Kinda Christmas

(7,441 words)

Evan invites Michael over for Christmas after not speaking to him for over two years now. Shenanigans ensue

Michael was cold.

He was also annoyed and bored and excited and the slightest bit nervous.

But right now, he was just cold.

He was sitting out in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus that had either already come or was nearly a half an hour late.

He was praying it was the latter.

It didn’t help that he’d had literally no time to prepare. Evan had called him at six in the morning and he’d had to rush to find a gift and means for transportation and it didn’t help that everything was closed for Christmas. So he’d thrown on the only coat he had and went for the first bus he could catch. Now he was stuck out in the snow waiting for a bus that might not even arrive.

But some things were worth getting hypothermia for.

Unfortunately for Michael, this was not feeling like one of those things. But it was a second chance, and he’s fucked up too much to give up on a second chance. Frankly, when Evan had asked for his number, he’d already expected not to hear from him ever again, and he’d made peace with that. As much peace as he could at least. It wasn’t something he thought about a lot, and he doubted Evan thought about it much either.

But today his head’s been full of it, as unpleasant as that is.

When the bus finally pulled up, the driver assured him that the snow was what caused the delay, and apologized profusely. Michael didn’t care, he was just glad it came at all.

The bus was almost entirely empty, which made his life a lot easier. He clicked on his phone, not that there was anything to look at. It was Christmas, after all.

When Evan had invited him, he’d known it would be disappointing to Jeremy; He always looked forward to Christmas, but he promised they’d have their own little Christmas when he got back, but this was the first time he’d spoken to Evan in… Forever. His little brother had a house for god’s sake! A house! And he lived with his friend! That friend who’d punched Michael, the friend who always let Evan stay over his house, the friend he’d totally definitely not gotten into a fist fight with more than once all because of his own stubborn attitude.

So yeah, Michael was a jerk. But in his defense, Gregory was stubborn too.

His phone pinged and he picked it up. It was Evan again. Geez, why did he keep calling? Michael had already agreed, he didn’t want to talk to him right now, not yet.

But he can’t keep putting it off, and he doesn’t wanna seem like he’s avoiding Evan. (Even though he is, technically.)

“Hello? Hello, hello?” He said, “What’s up?”

“It’s me.” Evan said, “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay? I’m really sorry it’s such short notice.”

“It’s whatever.” Michael replied, “The bus was late though.”

“It’s Christmas, that’s expected.” Evan replied.

This was weird. Not a bad weird, but not a good weird either.

“Yeah.” Is all he said, “Uhm, is there anything else you need? The service here is ass.”

“Uh, no, I was calling to tell you if the bus hadn’t come to just forget it because I didn’t want you to keep waiting. It’s cold outside.”

“No shit.” He said with a dry laugh, “I’m gonna go now. Bad service, you know how it is.”

“Oh? O-Okay, yeah, bye.” Evan said.

“Bye.” Michael said before hanging up and sitting back against the seat.

“Shitty service?” He mumbled to himself, “Idiot.”

“Well, that sucked.” Elizabeth said. She was hanging decorations she’d brought since their house wasn’t “Christmas ready” in her words.

“He’s probably just tired.” Charlie said, “I’m sure he’s happy you invited him.”

“Well maybe the invitation isn’t what’s got him in the dumps and maybe it’s more the timing?” Elizabeth said.

Evan shrunk back, “I really didn’t notice how close it was getting to Christmas, I just… I couldn’t decide if I wanted to invite him…”

Elizabeth shrugged, “Fair, I guess. I usually invite him over but he spends his Christmas with his friends a lot.”

“His friends?” Charlie asked, “Jeremy?”

“And those other kids from middle school.”

Evan scrunched up his nose, “He still hangs out with those guys?”

“Yeah?” Elizabeth climbs down the small step ladder she was on, “They’re his friends.”

Evan huffs, “Yeah, I know.” He mutters.

Charlie offers a small smile at him, nudging him, “He’s not bringing any of them, it’s just him, Ev.” She says, “I’m sure everything will be okay.”

He nods slowly, “Yeah, yeah I guess.”

“Hey, Evan?” Gregory calls from the other room where he’s helping Sammy set up for dinner.

“O-oh, yeah?”

“Why does Michael do that weird ‘hello? Hello, hello?’ thing?”

Evan blinked, “I… I don’t know, actually.”

“Oh my god he does that all the time I don’t think he even realizes it!” Elizabeth said, “It drives me insane!”

Charlie laughed, “Yeah, Sammy says he does it every time he calls him.”

“He does!” Sammy said, “Every time. I asked him about it once and he was just as confused as me! He just does it. It’s like an instinct.”

Gregory laughed too, “That is funny as hell I’m never letting him live that down.”

“Oh, speaking of living things down,” Evan hopped off his bed and headed to the kitchen, “You’re gonna be on your best behavior. If you and him fight, I’m sticking you both outside.”

“If you put me outside with him I’ll bury him alive in the snow.” Gregory said.

“I’m serious.” Evan said, “I don’t want you fighting with him.”

It’s not that Evan didn’t appreciate Gregory standing up for him, but it was stressful. He didn’t want his friend hurt for him, and he certainly didn’t want to spend Christmas breaking up his brother and his best friend.

Gregory looked over at Evan, “Yeah, of course.” He said, “No fighting.”

“And that means no punching, kicking, swearing, snapping, pushing, shoving-”

“Okay, okay, okay, no fighting.” Gregory said, “But he needs to back off sometimes, I’m gonna let him know.”

“I can let him know.” Evan said, “We’re going to have a nice Christmas like a family!”

They all turned to look at him.

“We’re going to have a nice Christmas like a… decent dysfunctional patchwork family…” He rephrased, “I-I guess.”

Gregory laughed at that, “It’ll be fun, I’m sure.”

“I wish you could’ve invited Nessa,” Evan said, “I’m sure she’d have loved to meet Mike.”

When Michael finally arrived, he was met with the entire house laughing at him. Even Evan couldn’t hide his amusement at seeing his brother pull up to his house soaking wet and shaking like a leaf.

“You look great.” Sammy said.

“Piss off.” Michael muttered.

“Come inside, you look like you’re gonna freeze to death.” Charlie said.

“I feel like it too.” Michael muttered.

They brought him inside and Evan found himself suddenly regretting every decision that led up to this.

He felt sick, and he realized with a shock that there was a reason he had avoided Michael. He didn’t know what to say to him, what to do with him, or what to talk about. What do you say to your big brother who you ghosted for nearly two years after getting his number? What do you say to the person who ruined your life? What do you say to the person who treated you like shit and almost killed you and only formally apologized a couple years ago?

Gregory must have noticed because he discreetly led Evan back to his room and sat down with him.

“Not ready?” He asked.

“Not at all.” He said, flopping onto his back.

“What is it?” Gregory asked, laying down beside him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in forever and I was cool with that but then we did talk again and then we split up again and I just… How can I never speak to him again after that? How can I not give him at least a chance to be better? But at the same time… I don’t want to talk about The Thing, and I don’t want to bring it up but I can’t move on if I don’t and I feel sick thinking about it because what if it goes wrong? What if I fuck it up? What if he fucks it up? What if all this bullshit was for nothing this whole time and I’m just gonna end up hating him more than I already do?”

Gregory listens intently, staring at Evan, “You know, I told you not to invite him.”

“I know but-”

He continues speaking, interrupting Evan, “But! You insisted. Why?”

“Because I want to give him another shot.” Evan said.

“And he came because…” Gregory raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Because he wants to take that shot.” Evan said, slowly understanding.

“So, you want to give him a chance? You don’t have you, you don’t owe anything to him, especially forgiveness. Do you wanna cut this short? Nobody would blame you if you did. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Evan sits up, “I guess.”

Gregory smiles, “Why don’t you take some time, dinner’s not done yet. Nobody’s rushing you, and I’m sure Michael is just as nervous. The only difference is that he deserves it.”

Evan laughs a bit at that, “Be nice.” He said.

“No promises!” Gregory called as he walked out of the room.

Frankly, Gregory was right. Michael was just as nervous. In fact, he wanted to curl up in a ball and sink into a hole and die right about now. He didn’t know where to sit so he ended up standing awkwardly off to the side.

Unfortunately for him, Sammy was quick to act like he owned the place. Gregory and him were like siblings, to be fair.

“Come on Mike, sit down.” Sammy said, “What’s wrong, are you nervous?”

“No. Not at all.” He muttered, “I just prefer standing.”

“Yeah, well, you look out of place with the Christmas decorations and I need to take photos so unless you wanna be my santa clause, I suggest you move.” Elizabeth said.

“You're as blunt as ever.” He muttered.

“Thanks, I try my best.” She replied with a grin.

He sat down next to Sammy, pulling out his phone, only to have Charlie grab it away from him, ignoring the indignant noise he made.

“Aw, Jeremy? Are you guys dating yet?” She teased.

“Wha- no! Give that back!” He lunged, reaching for it, but she snatched it away too quickly.

“Come on, Mike, you’ve gotta have something interesting in your life, how’s my dad?”

“Uncle Henry’s doing fine.” He answered as he continued to chase her around, “Give it back Charlie!”

“What pictures do you have? Aw, is that your dog?” Charlie pulled up a picture.

“No, it’s Jeremy’s! Now give it back!”

“What’s its name?” She asked.

Michael looked over at Elizabeth and exaggeratedly gestured at Charlie, but she just laughed at him.

“She missed messing with you, this is your own fault.” She said.

“She’s right, messing with Evan isn’t as fun. He doesn’t get mad like you do.” Charlie said.

Michael scowled at her, but he couldn’t deny that it made him feel a lot better though.

When Gregory and Evan returned, Michael offered a smile and a small wave at Evan, that his brother slowly returned.

Evan was pale, but Michael didn’t mention it; He probably was too. Although that could just be from sitting out in the snow for half an hour.

He was still a bit upset about that.

Elizabeth invited him to sit beside her, which ended up sticking him right beside Evan, who had Gregory on his other side, who had Sammy next to him, and then Charlie beside him, and then it came full circle back to Elizabeth.

Great, cool, cool cool cool cool cool. This could go one of two ways:

One, it goes horrible and awful and everything that could go wrong does go wrong.

Or two, it goes fine and Michael’s overreacting.

But he could tell Evan was uncomfortable, and the tension was uncomfortable for him as well.

He took a breath before standing abruptly, “Actually, I ate at home and I could totally just grab a hotel or something so I’m gonna-”

“You’re not leaving.” Evan said.

Michael turned to him, “I’m sorry what?”

Evan shrunk back, “I-I just mean- you can stay here. Uhm… Unless you really don’t want to which is fine but you know you should stay here with us because it’ll make it easier and honestly who sleeps in a hotel on Christmas Eve I mean-”

“Okay! Okay. That- we can do that, that’s fine.” Michael said. He sat back down slowly, staring hard at his plate.

“And I can tell you didn’t eat at home.” Evan said, “I don’t like that you’re lying to me.”

Michael doesn’t reply to that, shrugging.

Evan’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything else. Gregory leans in next to him and whispers something, though.

So it went bad. Not awful, but bad. Michael didn’t eat much, but the food was good. Henry knew how to cook, and it seemed like he’d taught the twins how to cook as well.

Elizabeth leans back in her chair, “So, now that we’ve invited Michael, who wants to send a call to dear old dad? I have his number.”

Evan groans, “Not again with this…”

“Please, please Evan it would be so funny please.” Gregory shot up in his chair, “Please you didn’t let me do it to Michael let me do it to your dad.”

“Do what to Michael?” Michael asked.

“They wanted me to prank call you guys and send you random shit. Gregory, my dad will find and kill us all. I hope you know that.”

Prank call his dad? Prank call the William Afton?

“No wait I like this idea, Ev, we should do it one hundred percent.” Michael said.

“See? He agrees.” Elizabeth said.

Evan rolled his eyes, “You guys are the worst.”

“We’re the best actually.” Charlie said, “And it’s uhhhh… five against one.”

Evan sighed, “Do what you want. I need to set up our room anyway.”

Charlie cheered.

“I actually think I’m still in his contacts.” Michael said, “He keeps texting me, I don’t read 'em though.” He didn’t tell them that he repeatedly hesitated and refused to block his dad for a reason he himself couldn’t fathom. But to be fair, Lizzie hadn’t blocked him either. In fact, she still messaged him back sometimes. Even if the conversations weren’t friendly, he couldn’t imagine talking to his dad ever again, he didn’t know how she did it.

“And we don’t wanna start today, let’s use Charlie’s phone.” Sammy said.

They spent the night sending random images to William until he blocked them, and then they went on to relentlessly call Jeremy, who had apparently been asleep, before they went on to call Gregory, and stayed on call with him while he and Evan set up.

It was weird how normal this was. It was weird how quickly it had become just spending Christmas together instead of unloading 15 years of bullying and 21 years of loathing.

But then again, they were the Afton family, pretending to be normal was their whole thing. They did it for the first eighteen years of Michael’s life.

But he could sit back and enjoy this before the incredibly uncomfortable conversation that was inevitable. If him and Evan would quit avoiding it.

Gregory then came in to let them know the room was ready.

Sitting down in Evan’s house was one thing. Sleeping in it was a whole other thing. He felt like a teen again, when his dad was in the hospital for one of his springlock accidents and Michael had to stay with Henry while he was gone. That had sucked. His dad hadn’t wanted to bring him over Henry’s house, so he hardly knew Charlie and Sammy, and because of that he’d felt so out of place in their house. Not to mention his siblings were there, and by then he was sick to death of them.

Thinking back on it, he did have a lot of issues as a kid. Maybe he still had them. Who was he to dwell on it, though.

Michael Afton has issues, like that’s news.

This time he made a point to sit beside Elizabeth. She wasn’t the best choice, but she was the only one who still messaged him. Despite how she acted, she always wanted a family. But she got the Aftons, which is more like a classification than a family.

She gave him a disappointed look, but he ignored it.

The decorations in the room were really cool. They had lights strung up on the walls and they’d put up blankets to hang over them, as well as covering up the window. The floor was layered with blankets and pillows, and Michael noticed it looked like a nest.

He had taught Evan how to make nest-like pillow forts when he was only four. Michael had been seven, and hadn’t even been good at teaching, but Evan had really enjoyed it. Michael hadn’t enjoyed teaching him, but it kept the kid quiet and that’s all he’d needed. But this fort was obviously not a product of his teaching, since it was unlikely Evan remembered that.

Weird that he’d remember that. It felt like a karmic “fuck you” from the universe.

Evan was really enjoying this. He didn’t feel as anxious anymore, and it felt almost normal. He had been preoccupied with everything else to think about The Thing and it made him feel a lot better about it. He was also proud of the pillow fort, which Gregory had helped with a lot. They’d had it planned for a while, and he was glad it turned out so well.

Good food, good bed, good friends, and so far no issues with Michael. None that he wanted to talk about yet, at least.

This was a good day! A great day! And hopefully a great Christmas day would follow!

He was quick to pull his friends into it and talk to them about it. He loved how cozy it looked. Like a shiny little nest. It was awesome and he loved it so much.

“Wait. Wait! I need my camera!” He went out to the kitchen, “Gregory? Do you know where I put my camera?”

“I put it in the end table drawer! The bottom one, next to the couch!” Gregory called back.

“Awesome. Thank you!” He grabbed it and ran back into the room, “Mike get in the back you’re the tallest, Gregory and Charlie, I need you guys up front. Elizabeth, get closer to Mike, come on. Sammy, you’re perfect there don’t move. It’s on a ten second timer so hold that for a moment!”

He ran over to them, positioning himself beside Michael and behind Gregory.

He went to grab his camera when it was done, smiling at the picture, “It looks awesome, I can’t wait to print it.” He said.

The others crowded over to see.

“You’re pretty good at sitting still and looking pretty.” Charlie teased Michael, “It’s your one redeeming quality.”

Michael shoved her face away with his hand, “Oh piss off.”

“He said the thing again!” Sammy cheered, “He said it earlier too. I feel like I’m in England every time I talk to him.”

“Did I tell you guys about that time Evan screamed ‘you cunt’ at the top of his lungs?” Gregory said.

“No! No! You promised you wouldn’t tell them about that!” Evan wails, grabbing Gregory’s arm.

“He was playing a racing game or something and he just lost big time. Huge time. Horribly. Awful. It was embarrassing.”

“Gregory!”

“And he just shouted at the top of his lungs. In the most British I’ve ever heard him, it was insane.” Gregory continues, “He had to apologize to our neighbors. It was hilarious.”

Evan covered his face, “It was awful, I felt so bad.” He groaned.

Michael chuckled, “That’s funny, Lizzie was always the one who used British slang. She got it from our father.”

Elizabeth shoved him playfully, “Okay Mr. I-Say-Bloody-Hell-And-Piss-Off-Every-Five-Seconds.”

“Pi- leave me alone!” Michael said indignantly.

“He almost said it again!” Charlie said, laughing.

“Jeez, you people are impossible.” He said.

At that moment, his phone rang. “Oh, shit, it’s Jeremy. I’ll be right back!”

Evan watched Michael leave, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Gregory nudged him, “Feel better?”

“A bit… Thanks.” He answered.

Gregory smiled, “I told you it’d be okay.”

Evan nodded, “I’m stressing out a bit still but I do feel better. Maybe I was just overreacting.”

“Mike is being super weird though.” Elizabeth said, “He’s not usually like this with his friends.”

“Well duh,” Charlie said, “he’s overthinking just as much as Evan is. He’s just shit at hiding it because he’s not a ball of fear and sadness the way Evan is.”

Evan frowned, “Well I wish he’d just act normal. I don’t like that he keeps lying to me. He makes everything harder than it has to be.”

Charlie hummed, “He’s just scared. Like a little animal in the woods.”

Evan couldn’t stop his sudden and loud laughter at that.

But he did feel angry. He wasn’t going to say it, he wasn’t sure he was ready to say it, but he felt it. Michael wasn’t even trying.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick.” He told Gregory.

Michael knew the call wasn’t Jeremy. He also knew it would end long before he wanted it to. It’d been one of his friends from middle school, and they had hung up several minutes ago. But he liked the silence while it lasted.

“So, you’re avoiding me?” Evan asked from directly beside him.

Michael jumped with a shout, nearly falling off the couch.

“Jesus Christ, Evan!” He gasped, “Don’t do that!”

Evan didn’t react, “Whatcha doin’?”

“Sitting… on the couch?”

Evan’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked like Dad when he did that.

“No, actually,” he said, “you’re being a bum. Alone on Christmas? Come on, we’re heading to bed now.”

Michael nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

They spent the night doing random things. Charlie told some scary stories, they watched a movie, Michael showed them his playing card collection and Evan beat Gregory at war at least ten times, and Elizabeth got a whole console out and they played a few different games.

Of course, the tension did not leave. Everytime he accidentally bumped into Evan or one of them said something a little too… Iffy… it only got thicker.

When he looked over at his little brother, he noticed he was asleep. Him and everyone else.

Well, except for one.

“Can’t sleep?” Gregory asked.

Michael shrugged, “Who can sleep on Christmas Eve?”

Gregory eyed the others, “Them, apparently.”

Michael chuckled, “Yeah, I guess so.” He said.

They fell silent, and Michael laid down on his back, staring at the blankets hung above him.

“You know I don’t want you here, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But he does. Don’t ruin that for him. Or Elizabeth. She said she’s been trying to get you to come over for Christmas.”

Michael stares at him, “I don’t talk to her a lot, I thought she was just being nice.”

“She was.” Gregory said, “I don’t doubt she was. But she still likes talking to you. I don’t know, don’t you think maybe she actually cared if she asked every year?”

Michael scoffed, “I told her every year that I spend my Christmas with Jeremy. Or Henry.”

“Speaking of Henry, what’s he doing for Christmas if Charlie and Sammy aren’t there?”

Gregory sat up, “Charlie said He remarried or something.”

“Really?” Michael said, “That’s… He didn’t tell me that…”

“I might be wrong but that’s what I heard.”

“Hm.”

Gregory looked over at him, “You’re kind of a loser, you know that?”

Michael stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing.

Gregory shushed him, “You’re gonna wake them up, shut your mouth!” He hissed.

Michael flopped over on his back, still laughing, though he tried to keep quiet, “You are incredibly blunt.”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t particularly like you very much,” Gregory said.

“I can tell.”

When Gregory heard him go quiet, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Lightweight.”

Evan woke up with a pillow being chucked at his face the moment he sat up.

So he stayed down.

But he could hear Charlie and Michael laughing.

Michael sounded like he’d been doing this for a while, and Charlie kept squealing. The noise was quickly giving him a headache, but it made him feel better about the day, and that’s all he needed anyways.

The day?

Holy shit it’s Christmas.

Evan bolted upright, “It’s Christmas.”

Gregory laughed, “Yeah, it is.”

Elizabeth threw herself on Evan and pulled him into a hug, “Morning sleepyhead!” She said, “You’re the last one to wake up.”

“We’ve been waiting forever.” Sammy groaned, “So I started chucking pillows at you and seeing if you’d wake up.”

“I told him not to.” Gregory said.

Evan smiled, “You guys are amusing. Has anyone made breakfast?”

Charlie points at Michael, “I told him to.”

Michael pushes her finger away from his face, “And I told her that I have not cooked something edible since I was 15.”

Elizabeth shuddered, “That lasagna was not edible.”

“Har har har.” Michael muttered, “at least I tried.”

Charlie sat up, “Me and Sammy made dinner, it’s someone else’s turn.”

“I vote Greg does it.” Sammy said.

“What? Why me?” Gregory whined, “I always do it!”

“I’ll make it.” Evan said.

“I’ll come help.” Elizabeth jumped to her feet.

She grabbed Michael’s arm, “I’ll show you what edible actually means.”

Charlie waved Michael goodbye with a smirk on her face as he scowled.

Evan took out the stupid cinnamon rolls in the weird circle can thingy? He didn’t know anything about them but they were good so who cares.

Michael frowned, “This is breakfast?”

“You look like you live off ramen noodles, shut up and enjoy Christmas dinner as it should be.” Evan said.

Michael blinked a few times.

“… You don’t… You don’t actually live off noodles, do you?”

“…”

So Evan learned several unpleasant things about Michael’s eating habits.

But so far, so good. He’d only felt soul crushing anxiety twice since Michael got here!

So… Good?

He wasn’t sure but it wasn’t bad so that had to mean something.

Despite joking around, Evan was a bit irritated. Michael was still being weird and it didn’t help that Elizabeth clearly didn’t understand the tension.

“You two are too quiet, come on, it’s Christmas.” She said, “Loosen up!”

“I’m just tired, Liz.” Evan said.

She flicked his forehead, earning a yelp from Evan.

“Well, don’t be, it’s Christmas!”

He didn’t like how much this reminded him of home. He didn’t like that this reminded him of his sister avoiding and ignoring his problems or his brother never listening to him.

They were all so different, but some things never change.

Unpleasantly, his mind drifted to his dad. But he pushed those thoughts away. He didn’t know why he always thought of his dad when he talked to his siblings.

“Evan, it’s done.” Elizabeth said, “Do you wanna frost it?”

Evan nodded, “While they’re still hot.”

She smiled at him, “Then we can open gifts? You’re gonna love what I got you, I promise.”

No, his siblings were nothing like his dad. No doubt they have pieces of him in them—No doubt Evan did too—But they were not him.

Maybe he could learn to live with those pieces. He’d done it with Elizabeth.

But it was just so much harder with Michael. Even now, when they were laughing and pretending to be okay, he felt dissatisfied. He wanted more than this, he wanted reassurance that his brother actually wanted to change and didn’t just feel bad. What if Michael was doing this for himself? To make himself feel less guilty? Less at fault?

As cruel as it sounded in his head, he found himself regretting giving Michael this chance. He didn’t deserve closure, not when it had taken Evan over a decade to get his own closure. He knew Michael was trying, but why did he get to decide when this change of heart came along? Why did he get to decide when this ended?

He settled in his seat beside Gregory, who was talking to Charlie and Sammy. Elizabeth was quietly talking to Michael, and Evan stayed quiet. He had things to think over. A lot.

When they finished, Charlie and Elizabeth practically dragged him to the tree.

Michael hung back, and Evan felt a twinge of… Something. Sadness? Anger? He didn’t know. But it was something.

Elizabeth insisted he opened hers first, so he did. It was a camera. Except it was yellow and had little bear ears and…

“It’s Fredbear!” He exclaimed, “It’s so cute! Oh my god, Lizzie, this must have taken forever!”

“Charlie helped with it,” She said.

He looked it over, “And it’s brand new… Smile!” He pointed it at Elizabeth and Charlie, snapping a photo quickly, “Oh my god, I love it, Liz.”

She grinned, “I knew you would.”

Gregory smiled at Evan, pushing a small box closer to him.

Evan unwrapped it slowly, before slamming it down and giving Gregory a playfully harsh look, “You did not.”

Gregory laughed, “I really did.”

He held up the sweater, “This is so dumb I’m gonna wear it for the rest of my life.”

The sweater was black with a skull on it, but it was sporadically decorated with random Christmas things. It looked so strange and out of place and he loved it.

Of course he got Gregory an equally ugly sweater, one with flowers on it, but the middle of the flower was replaced with Glamrock Freddy, one of the characters made for Fazbear Entertainment after his father had sold it off in response to the horror rumors about it.

Evan knew they weren’t true, but they still made his skin crawl sometimes.

Sammy bought him a crochet kit, with a bunch of colors for him and Gregory to mess with. He must have remembered Evan mentioning that he wanted to pick it up as a hobby.

They continued exchanging gifts, and Michael was quiet for the most part, as if he was dreading something, which Evan found amusing; of course he was nervous, he’d had one day to find thoughtful gifts for people he hardly spoke to.

Suddenly, just as Evan was going to stand, Michael tossed something to him, and he jumped in surprise.

“I didn’t know what to get you, to be honest. I, uhm, I hope this isn’t a shitty gift…” Michael said, “I also hope it doesn’t like… ruin your day… it’s a hit or miss, so I’m taking a shot.”

Evan blinks a few times, “Alright…”

He carefully unwraps the gift, gasping softly when he sees it fully.

The fur is worn, and the stitches are messy—the handiwork of his uncle, no doubt—and one of the ears has a hole in it, but there’s no mistaking it.

It was Fredbear.

The original plushie.

The one he hadn’t seen since he moved out of his dad’s house.

He’d had another, one that Gregory’s dad had made for him, but it’d never been quite the same. It also didn’t talk to him.

… Well maybe that was a good thing.

He didn’t take his eyes off it as he spoke softly, “Where… did you get this?”

“Dad sent it to me since he didn’t have contact with you. He didn’t give me a chance to say I didn’t either. Henry patched it up and it’s just been collecting dust for the past few months.”

He stared at it. It reminded him of a lot of things. The animatronics on stage that terrified him, being bullied, his nightmares, his dad, The Thing, meeting Gregory, that day he broke his ankle, that time Mike almost hit him with his car his first time driving it, when he spent that first night with Gregory, and so many other things.

“Huh…” He said.

“Is it… a good gift…?”

“Yeah, yeah I missed him.” He said, “Thank you.”

Michael smiled.

Elizabeth stood up, “Well, that was sweet,” she said, “let’s get this picked up now.”

They all groaned, and Lizzie clicked her tongue, “Come on, guys, this isn’t our house, we can’t trash it and leave.”

So they picked up. It wasn’t hard, but at some point Charlie bumped into Elizabeth, who playfully pushed her away, and then that ended with the two of them wrestling each other to the ground. Sammy jumped in and for a moment Evan thought Gregory would too, but he didn’t.

So the two of them just continued cleaning while Charlie squealed. And he glanced over at Michael.

He was picking up alongside them, and Evan couldn’t stop himself from laughing a bit.

Michael frowned, “What? What am I doing?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just funny that you’re cleaning. We were lucky if Dad got you to pick up a sock, much less your room, much less Henry’s house.”

Michael scoffed, but didn’t say anything.

Thanks for participating in the conversation, I’m glad we’re talking. Evan thought sarcastically.

Gregory looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit his tongue when Evan gave him a look.

“No fighting, I know,” He muttered.

God this sucked a lot.

Michael didn’t know what to say. And he was annoyed that Evan would bring that up. He got so much shit from his dad for not picking up his room, but he could never bring himself to care. He’d hated that house, he’d hated his dad, he’d hated his siblings, and god he’d hated his little brother.

Not that he knew exactly why, though.

His thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth grabbing his arm, “It snowed last night, do you guys still get snow over in Utah?”

“What? Of course we do!” He said, “Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know, you seem so grumpy I thought you must have never experienced a good thing in your life.” She said.

Evan winced and Michael frowned, “I’m not grumpy.” He said.

“Sure, as if you haven’t been moping around. You know, if you were just going to sulk this whole time you shouldn’t have come,” Elizabeth crossed her arms, “Nobody forced you to come, but you’re acting like this is the worst place to be right now.”

“I’m just… nervous…” He said slowly.

“Nervous? About what? You came because you wanted to see us, didn’t you?” She challenged, “You’re just being dodgy today, I don’t know. You just nudged gifts to us and mumbled ‘thank you’ and hung back, why aren’t you at least trying to participate?”

“I am trying! I’m just not feeling it, okay? Why do you even care, you’re not the one who invited me!”

Elizabeth scoffed, “I invite you every year and every year you shut me down, but not Evan? Is this even about him? Because it feels like it’s about you!”

Michael stared at her, “I’m trying my best!”

“Avoiding us is your best!?”

He fell silent. One look at Evan and Gregory told him they had been thinking the same things.

Goddammit.

He really had been neglecting his sister, hadn’t he? It’s not that he meant to, it’s just that he didn’t know how to talk to her. Her life fell apart pretty quickly once their father’s parenting… declined… but even then she still reached out to their father. Whether she actually thought he could change or if she was just doing it for herself, though, he had no idea.

He was trying to settle these things one at a time! why did he have to fuck up with both his siblings?

“She’s not wrong.” Gregory said, “You’ve been weird lately, and it’d be much easier for everyone if you just… I don’t know… talked? You’re not getting anywhere sneaking around like a dog.”

Michael felt his anger spark at that, “I’m not sneaking around! And don’t call me a dog!”

Elizabeth clenched her fists, “Well if you were really here to make amends, you’d put some effort in, but instead this feels more like a shitty way of getting closure and making yourself feel better-”

Evan stepped forward then, “Okay, that’s enough!”

“-And maybe if you hadn’t almost killed Evan he wouldn’t hate you so much!”

The whole room fell silent.

Evan stared at her, “Elizabeth…”

“It’s true!” She said, “It’s true! He’s always done this! You just avoid us, you shut us out, like that will help, and then you come crawling back for forgiveness so you don’t feel like shit about it!”

“Elizabeth!” Evan shouted.

She turned to look at Evan, and they locked eyes for a moment. She sighed, “I’m going… To go to the gas station for a bit. Call me if you need me.”

Michael watched her go, silent. His gut was twisting and he felt sick.

He was a shitty brother all around, wasn’t he?

He couldn’t even get his sister to like him. Not that he’d tried very hard. Elizabeth made herself feel untouchable. She avoided her brothers because she didn’t want to be caught in the middle of whatever they were doing. She hadn’t been talking about Evan, not entirely. She was probably lonely, he realized.

He looked at Evan, “I didn’t… I’m… I’m sorry…”

Evan stared at him, “Do you want to talk about It? Now?”

Michael laughed, but it was dry and humorless, “No, but I’m willing to, if you want to.”

“We’ll leave you guys alone.” Charlie said, grabbing Gregory and Sammy and pulling them away.

“Liz is right, you’re not really proving anything other than the fact that you feel bad. Which is… It’s annoying.” Evan said, “I know you feel bad, I’ve known that since I got out of the hospital when I was ten, Mike. I don’t need to know you feel bad, I need to know you care and want to make an effort to change.”

“Well, I am trying I just-”

“Don’t know how?”

Michael looked up at him.

“...Yeah.” He said softly, “I don’t know what to do, I hardly know you guys anymore.”

Evan sat down beside him, “None of us do, it took Elizabeth years to even look at me, and even longer for us to finally start actually talking. There’s a lot of things we can’t fix. Elizabeth will always be blunt, that will never change. It’s something she got from Dad. She can’t help that, but she can make it better.” He looked up at Michael, “And I think you can, too. If you just talk to me, but you won’t. And that’s making it hard. I don’t want to push you or bother you but I really really need to just… understand this.”

“So… About The Thing…”

“Yeah, The Thing. Me almost dying, you putting my head into heavy machinery? That Thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I… I still have the scar, you know? It healed over pretty well though, head wounds do that. But I still dream of it, you know. Do you have nightmares?”

“Of seeing my little brother’s head get crushed like a grape? Yeah,” He took a deep breath, “Hard to forget that when I spent at least five minutes staring at it.”

Evan stares at the floor, “... I don’t even remember when it happened. I didn’t feel it at all. Not until I woke up, at least.”

He takes a deep breath, “I… Can I just ask you why?”

“What?”

“Why did you do all that? Why did you treat me like that?”

Michael fell silent. He never talked about the why. It’s not that he didn’t know. He knew. He had known since he started, since he watched his brother’s skull get crunched in front of him.

“I thought it was funny,” He said, “I didn’t like that Dad did all that shit to me. He obviously enjoyed it, and I enjoyed doing it to you. Some kind of fucked up stress relief, I guess.”

Evan stares at him, looking hurt, “That’s brutally honest.”

“You said you didn’t want me to lie to you.”

Evan nodded, “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a bit, before Evan spoke.

“I don’t know if I want to forgive you or not,” He said, “It’s not that… It’s not that I don’t think you’ve changed but… I still have nightmares. I still remember these things that happened to me and they… they suck. But sometimes I feel like a jerk because I know you’re trying and I know you don’t get why this is so hard for me but… But I really hate you. I hate that you are here for closure, I hate that you are here at all. But I invited you.”

“I think I do get it.” Michael said.

“Hm?”

“I… I haven’t blocked Dad yet, did you know that?”

“Really? I blocked him the day I moved out.” Evan said.

“I keep not wanting to. I keep thinking, ‘what if something happens? What if I need to talk to him?’ even though I know that’ll probably never happen.”

“So I guess I can get where you’re coming from. In a weird twisted way, you know? I don’t know how to cut him off, but I don’t know how to talk to him. It’s like there’s a door open in front of me and I’m too scared to walk through it but what if I close it and it locks? What if there was something good in there?”

Evan doesn’t take his eyes off Michael, before he says, “Give me your phone.”

Michael blinks at him, tilting his head, but he slowly hands Evan his phone, “What’re you doing?”

“Blocking Dad.”

“What!? Did you not hear anything I just said?” He reached for his phone, but Evan was quicker and pulled away from him.

“There’s nothing behind that door, Michael.” He says, startling Michael with his intensity, “Nothing that you want or need. You left that room forever ago and you deserve to stay out of it for the rest of your life. You and Liz.”

Michael watched him and his hand dropped back to his side.

Maybe Evan was right. Maybe there was nothing behind that door. Maybe he was just wishing there had been something in that room. It’s like he was closing and opening it in hopes for something new.

“...Thanks.”

“Always available for cutting off shitty family members. I’m incredibly good at it.”

Michael laughed, “... Yeah… you are.”

Evan stood up, “I think that’s enough for now, I don’t know if I forgive you, honestly.”

Michael shrugs, “Eh, that’s not the most of my worries,” He says, “I guess this was something of a test run?”

“If it was, I think it turned out okay.”

When Elizabeth got back, Michael took her aside to talk to her. Evan didn’t listen in, but he knew what they were talking about, and he did indeed see them hug tightly. It wasn’t Evan’s business. He left it alone.

So things weren’t fixed. But they were better. They had wrapped old wounds. Nothing was healed, but they weren’t bleeding anymore, and that was good.

The rest of the day was fun. Elizabeth insisted Michael stayed, but he had to go home eventually, and there was a mutual understanding that he needed some time alone after all that. It was overwhelming, and Evan was definitely done with seeing his family for a bit. They weren’t friends, but it was something.

He watched Michael walk outside, where Jeremy had come to pick him up.

“Hey, Mike?” He called.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming.”

Michael smiled at him, “Thanks for letting me.”

Not forgiveness, and in the end he would always prefer the family he’d made for himself, but otherwise this went well.

That being said, he was never inviting that many people over for Christmas again. He should’ve gotten them together for Thanksgiving instead.

Gregory pulled Evan back inside, “Dude, it’s freezing, come inside.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Gregory looked inside, “This place is a mess. What happened to ‘we can’t make a mess and leave it’?”

Evan laughed.

#im participating in the thawing of Mariah Carrey and I'm not sorry #Christmas #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #my writing #michael afton #evan afton #no specific au #elizabeth afton #charlie emily #sammy emily #gregory fnaf #really hope u guys like this i spent forever on it #no beta reader bc im impatient #some of the characterization might get choppy but to be honest i really really enjoyed writing this #afton brothers #flashlight duo

148 notes · View notes

sleepless-in-southlands · 5 months

Text

The House Always Wins (With You, I Never Lose)

Ao3

Summary: A look into both the pasts and presents of Grian, Mumbo, and Scar. Content: AU- Mob Bosses, violence, homoromanticism; betrayal, (neck) injury, trust issues, bad ways of addressing trust issues, threats, tension like you wouldn't believe, obligatory characters not CCs Pairings: Romantic scar/mumbo, fruity as FUCK grumbo + scarian they just refuse to say it Notes: Part four of the Bloody Fruits au, chapter three (scar) of The House Always Wins (chap1 grian - chap2 mumbo)

Past

“I think a toast is in order, wouldn’t you say, Scar? To the coming glory of the Glass Empire!”

Scar had a few choice words to say about that supposed glory, and if it weren’t for the fact he was nearly choking himself trying to keep his carotid from bleeding him dry, he might have made them known. Although he had a funny feeling his extremely fired right-hand could guess most of them.

In theory, the night should have been a celebration. The Empire had recently made a few well-placed territory expanses and suffered minimal blowback from the other organizations in town for them, their ranks had grown, their various fronts had been making more money- all good news! The perfect reason for Scar to settle down with his closest confidant for a night of light bookwork and congratulatory chatter.

And then Dolos had lunged at him with a knife, and the whole evening went downhill faster than a rollercoaster.

“Nothing to say, hm?” Dolos asked mockingly, overexaggerating a frown at Scar’s silence. “You’re usually so talkative.”

Even if he could speak right then, Scar wasn’t feeling very chatty anymore. Not verbally, anyways. But if Dolos were to just lend him his knife for a moment, Scar was sure he would be able to communicate a few points well enough.

A gun would have been helpful, but he had made the (in hindsight) poor decision to take off his holster, leaving it and its weapon hanging over the back of his chair. The only plus to this choice was the fact that Dolos had followed his lead, leaving both of them without a firearm. Technically Dolos could retrieve one if he so desired, but that would require him turning his back on Scar, and he wasn’t quite stupid enough to do that.

But he still had the knife, dripping crimson from where it had made a good mess of most of Scar’s upper half before hitting its favourite mark in his neck, and that meant Dolos still had the advantage.

“I know you might not want to see it my way, but you can understand how this is for the best, can’t you?” Dolos was steadily approaching where Scar had backed himself into a wall, unhurried. “I mean, really! Not seeing this coming? What sort of boss doesn’t even notice when their right-hand starts aiming for them?”

Scar gritted his teeth. So Dolos had been a blindspot. Isn’t that the point of a right-hand man? To take care of the threats that get too close? Excuse Scar for trusting him to do his job!

(A voice that matched Dolos’s in the back of Scar’s mind refused to do so. A mob boss, trusting someone? Had he really expected that to end any other way? He truly was unfit for his title.)

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now.” Dolos continued, ignoring Scar’s internal debates. He paused in his advance, close enough that he could nick Scar’s chin if he fully extended his arm. “Seeing as how I’ll be relieving you of your position posthaste.”

Scar dug his fingers into his neck, as if trying to meld his palm to the wound. He wanted to snap something about over my dead body, but given that seemed to be the plan, he doubted it would have much impact.

Dolos took another step closer, twirling the blade he was about to put through Scar’s chest between his fingers like it was a dinnerware utensil. “Any final words? Or would you prefer to go with some dignity, for once?”

The thought of spitting one last curse at Dolos, however effective, was a tempting one. It would be the last thing Scar ever said, yes, but his time was already up on that front. Might as well go out with a bang.

Before Scar could settle on something even slightly clever to say, however, both he and Dolos were startled by the sound of the office door opening.

“Hey, sorry to bother you two during the celebration, but there’s-” Bdubs looked up from the paper in his hand as he entered the room, sentence dying as he took in the scene before him. Within the half second it took him to process it, the paper was discarded, Bdubs’s gun drawn before it was even halfway to the ground. He aimed it at a midpoint between Scar and Dolos, gaze flickering between the two men. “What exactly is going on here?”

Dolos recovered from his shock at the interruption too fast for Scar’s liking. “Exactly what it looks like, I should imagine.”

Bbuds’s grip tightened on his gun, adjusting his aim to point more towards Dolos. “It looks like you’re trying to kill my boss. Which isn’t going to end well for you, I should imagine.”

It was with satisfaction that Scar noted the sarcasm in Bdubs’s tone as he echoed Dolos’s words back at him. If Bdubs was on his side, he had a chance. But only if Bdubs silenced Dolos before he started talking again. If Dolos was able to convince Bdubs to help him-

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so hasty. Think about this for a moment.” Dolos’s voice was charming, his words casual despite the situation. Scar slumped against the wall he was pressed to. “This Empire needs fresh blood. The boss always has to step down at some point to make way for the future. I’m just bringing the future on a little faster.”

“And if I’m happy with the present?”

“You’re not thinking of the big picture. Once I replace Scar here, I’m going to need my own right-hand. And you, Bdubs… well, I think you could be just the guy for the job.” Dolos explained, smirking like he had already won. “All that stands between you and that position is one Scar Chronos.”

Bdubs glanced over at Scar as Dolos finished his proposition, face unreadable. Not for the first time since Dolos had begun slashing at him, but possibly for the last, Scar wished he could speak. To make his case to Bdubs, make his own offers, whatever it would take to keep the only active gun in the room on his side.

But he couldn’t, the risk of worsening his injuries past the point of recovery too great to take. So long as Scar couldn’t speak, Dolos had every advantage, including Bdubs.

Scar closed his eyes, accepting his fate and bracing himself. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, Bdubs would suddenly become a terrible shot, and he’d have a chance to viciously fling himself at Dolos one last time and try to claw out one of his eyes or give him blood poisoning. If those were his last moments, Scar could die at least somewhat content.

He flinched when Bdubs’s gun fired, less from the sound and more in expectation of the usual pain that came with a bullet wound.

…None did.

Confused, Scar slowly opened his eyes, wondering if his last minute wish had come true and Bdubs had somehow missed. His gun was lowered, his stance slightly more relaxed than it had been, suggesting he had indeed fired. But his angle was all wrong if he had been aiming at Scar, his line of sight focused on the floor across from the boss. Scar followed his gaze.

Dolos was splayed on the ground, expression still smug despite the fact that his skull was shattered and his brain was splattered across the office’s cheap tile. The knife he had been advancing on Scar with was still in his hand, but his grip on it was loose, if the slight curling of a dead man’s fingers could be considered a grip at all.

“Oh.” The sound slipped past Scar’s lips, weak and gargled, as he realized what had happened. Bdubs hadn’t sided with Dolos. He hadn’t shot Scar.

Not that it mattered, Scar considered as his legs gave out on him and he slid down the wall, given he was still going to die. At least Dolos was dead too.

Bdubs was at his side in a moment, Scar having missed the point where he re-holstered his gun and pulled out his phone. He was speaking to whoever he was calling, not Scar, which was likely a good thing given Scar wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying. It sounded like orders.

Distracted by trying to figure out what Bdubs was saying, Scar didn’t notice Bdubs’s free hand reaching out until it was on Scar’s neck. Instinctively, Scar tried to pull back and out of Bdubs’s reach, but his employee just followed the motion through the few inches Scar managed to move. It took Scar a moment to realize that all he was doing was putting pressure on the wound Scar himself was covering, not trying to strangle Scar or cause more damage.

“-ar? Scar?”

And in that moment, apparently, Bdubs had once again changed, phone put away and full attention directed towards Scar. He was frowning, concerned. “Scar? You with me?”

Scar managed what was less of a nod and more him bumping his head into the wall behind him.

“Alright. Try to stay conscious if you can, okay? I’ve called some of our people. Only the ones we can trust, who have the least connection to… your former business partner.” Bdubs's tone was professional and collected despite the situation, only dipping into disdain at the mention of Dolos. “I suspect the Empire may have to perform some spring cleaning after this, but that will have to wait.”

Everything Bdubs was saying made sense. Mob bosses weren't overthrown without backup, and Scar needed help, not a knife in his back. Any co-conspirators would have to be found and dealt with accordingly, but not while Scar was half-alive and weak, which was why Bdubs was focusing on deciding who could still be trusted rather than who had to go- although Scar wouldn’t be surprised if he learned Bdubs was also starting that list in the back of his mind.

What didn’t make sense was the fact that Scar was still alive for any of it to matter. The cut across his throat might not be fatal, but the person currently helping him hold it shut should have been.

After all, if Dolos would betray Scar, why wouldn’t Bdubs? Forget being a right-hand, Bdubs could take over the Glass Empire all by himself as long as he played his cards right, and Scar knew that Bdubs knew enough about their business to do so. Once again, all that stood between Bdubs and an entire kingdom to himself was Scar, and Bdubs was smart enough to know that too.

Which made it rather odd that Scar wasn’t yet dead. Bdubs wasn’t usually this bad at killing people. He took care of Dolos without any issue.

“Something you want to say, Scar?” Bdubs said his name with an unusual stress on the ‘s’ sound, the remnant of how he used to call him ‘sir’ until Scar had personally requested he just call him by his name, twice. He was looking quizzically at Scar, and it took Scar a moment to realize that he was returning Scar’s own pensive look, having got so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed himself staring. “You look… troubled.”

Scar made a vague gesture with the hand that had been holding his neck together before Bdubs took over.

“I guess you can’t really say anything, huh?” Bdubs caught on. “Well, we’ve got time, and I need to keep you awake. Is it a concern about any of your injuries?”

Scar shook his head.

“Concern about how trustworthy the people I’ve called are?”

Another shake.

“Did you see Dolos’s hand twitch and think he might get back up? I can shoot him again if you want.”

Scar managed a small smile at the lightness to Bdubs’s voice before once again shaking his head.

“It can’t be anything too pressing then, which is good.” Bdubs shifted slightly, settling himself more comfortably without taking any pressure off of Scar’s injury. “Is it about Dolos? His betrayal, what it means for your empire?”

Scar shook his head after a pause. Dolos had started this whole mess, but he was no longer the focus of it.

Bdubs paused as well, taking a moment to think before he asked his next question. “Is it about me?”

A slow nod.

“Is it about how I could kill you, right now, and have the Glass Empire to myself? And you’re not sure why I haven’t yet?”

Scar didn’t move his head, as if it was a trick question and the moment that he confirmed his doubts Bdubs would turn on him and do exactly what he had described. But his lack of answer was just as damning as a yes, Bdubs nodding to himself in lieu of Scar’s, and Scar braced himself as best he could for whatever Bdubs would do next.

“The main reason is that I don’t want the Glass Empire.”

Of all the things Scar was expecting Bdubs to say, the idea that he wouldn’t want to take over as boss of one of Heremita’s main mobs was low on the list, if it was even on there at all. For the average person, sure, it was a perfectly acceptable response. For someone like Scar and Bdubs? Not so much.

“I don’t want to be one of the bosses in general.” Bdubs went on, what Scar assumed to be a clarifying statement only confusing him more. “And if I did, I’d start my own organization to run, not backstab my way into the position.”

Given their line of business, and given the slowly-cooling corpse sitting five feet from the two of them, the sentiment of wanting to make an honest dishonest living was oddly admirable to Scar. Foolish, perhaps, but it hadn’t seemed to have gotten Bdubs killed yet.

“Doesn’t mean I want to be a lackey forever. I do have slightly higher aspirations than cannon fodder, even if I don’t want to be boss. I think I could make a good right-hand.” Bdubs’s voice got tight, and he spared a surprisingly venomous look back at the remains of Dolos. “But not his.”

Scar let his head rest on the wall, the effort of keeping it supported on its own starting to become a strain. Part of him wanted to make a joke about what elevated Scar over Dolos- his charisma? his good looks? the fact that his name was objectively cooler? Part of him was starting to wonder just how much blood he had lost.

He settled for the middle ground of not thinking about it and instead fixing Bdubs with as puzzled of an expression as he could manage, hoping it would be enough to prompt the rest of the explanation from him.

It worked, Bdubs noticing his look as soon as he had turned back towards Scar. “Let me guess: ‘what’s so wrong with my traitorous deceased right-hand?’ I didn’t think I’d need to explain that one to you, Scar, given the situation.”

Scar lightly tapped his own chest, doing his best to indicate yeah, that’s why I don’t like him. Why do you care so much that he tried to kill me?

As if Bdubs could hear Scar’s unvoiced question, he shrugged. “If he’s willing to betray his boss as a right-hand, what would stop him from betraying his right-hand as a boss? I have better odds running errands in enemy territory than standing at his side.”

Mentally, Scar conceded to Bdubs’s logic. A traitor didn’t just make for a bad subordinate.

“Besides, it’s one thing for a lackey to try and go after a higher up. But a betrayal between a boss and their right-hand man?” The casual tone Bdubs had carried for most of the one-sided conversation dropped suddenly, voice hard. “Dolos deserved worse than a bullet to the head.”

Scar raised an eyebrow but didn’t try to push Bdubs to say anything else. He could tell it was personal. He didn’t need to pry.

The sound of cars coming to a fast stop in front of the building seemed to snap Bdubs out of his thoughts. He put his free hand on his holstered gun, seemingly more as a precaution than a necessity.

“That should be our people.” Bdubs informed him, giving Scar a quick once-over as if to remind himself of his condition. “We’ll make sure you get through this, and hold down fort until you can take back over. And I’ll make it clear as glass that anyone who wants to take advantage of the situation can join Dolos in whichever empty lot or dirty harbor he gets dumped in.”

Scar managed a slight nod before the office door was opening, people Scar could recognize as some of the Empire’s filing in and Bdubs launching into directing them about. The sudden uptick in activity and noise was too much for Scar to focus on, and he let the ruckus wash over him as Bdubs handled it. Despite the blow his trust had just taken, Bdubs’s conviction against Dolos and inexplicable lack of desire to be a boss seemed sturdy enough for him to rely on.

Plus, assuming he truly did survive the next few days, he’d be the one needing to replace his former close confidant. And Bdubs had said he’d make a good right-hand man. Scar could consider this his test run.

And even though he had no reason to, Scar had a good feeling about how Bdubs would do.

Present

“Mumbo, dear, as much as I appreciate the thought, I really don’t need you to have your waiter tortured and killed for me.”

Mumbo, who, unfairly, seemed more upset about the situation than Scar was, frowned. “It won’t be any trouble.”

“I know it won’t be, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessary.” Scar leaned back on Mumbo’s desk, one hand braced against the wood. His cane rested beside him. “Accidents happen! Not every injury is the result of an attempted murder.”

“Maybe accidents would happen less if those who caused them were… made an example of.”

“They tripped, Mumbo, that can happen to anyone.”

Mumbo crossed his arms, seemingly unwilling to let Scar’s lighthearted mood get to him. “You’re hurt.”

Scar bit back a joke about how he hadn’t forgotten that. He could tell from Mumbo’s tone, and the way he was looking at Scar, that he wasn’t just referring to the physical cut.

And, yes, perhaps he should have realized how obvious he was being. Despite his own attempts to write off the injury as nothing more than a scratch, his hand was pressed over it hard enough to bruise his neck, as if he might bleed out if he loosened his grip in the slightest. And while he had allowed Mumbo to lead him into the End Crystal’s office, he had pulled away from him almost as soon as they were inside the room, rushing to put space between the two of them.

A space Mumbo hadn’t tried to enter, standing across from his own desk at a respectful distance, looking the entire time as though he wanted to step closer but knew it wouldn’t end well. The similarity of the situation to the one with Mumbo’s former bartender was not missed by Scar.

“I’ll be alright.” He said instead, trying his best to sound reassuring. “I’ve survived worse.”

Mumbo’s eyes flickered the slightest bit downwards, right to the proof of Scar’s claim, and his frown deepened. Scar shifted his hand slightly so as to cover more of his neck as he looked away from Mumbo.

Now neither of them were feeling reassured. Scar was doing spectacular.

The door to the office quickly opened and closed, and Scar turned his gaze towards Grian as he approached the two of them. He came to a stop next to Mumbo, easily picking up on the purposeful space that had been put between him and Scar. Similar to Mumbo, Grian looked more agitated than Scar felt he had the right to.

“Everything’s been cleaned up, and security detained the server without issue.” Grian informed them, glancing at where Scar’s cut was hidden underneath his hand. “Once we attend to you, Mr. Chronos, me and Mr. Eris can… discuss what happened today with them.”

“You know how much I love seeing you two beat up people and call it a discussion, Grian,” Scar put emphasis on Grian’s name, still in the process of trying to convince the South (namely, his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s not-boyfriend) that it was ok to use his first name, even when none of them were actively dying, “but it’s really not necessary in this case.”

Grian frowned. “It won’t be any trouble.”

“That’s what I said.” Mumbo grumbled.

“Yes, yes, it’s impressive how in sync you two are. Have you ever tried the newlywed game?” The only response Scar received were two near identical unamused stares. He decided not to comment on how they weren’t exactly proving him wrong. “Hey now, I don’t think you’re allowed to be angry at the injured guy.”

Mumbo sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want us to do anything to them?”

“Positive.”

“What if we do something anyway?”

Scar tilted towards Grian. “The End Crystal needs to maintain a somewhat nice reputation, doesn’t it? I feel like bleeding someone dry for tripping would achieve the opposite effect.”

“We’d be fine,” Grian replied, sounding sullen as he continued on with, “but I suppose I can tell security to let them go this time. Though they’re still fired.”

“They probably already quit.” Scar pointed out. Grian shrugged.

“I’ll leave them to squirm a bit before finding out.”

“You may as well hand them their termination papers now.” Mumbo said, looking apologetic when Grian glanced over at him. “I was refilling the office first aid kit when Mr. Chronos came over and left it in the storeroom. If you wouldn’t mind grabbing it, you can also let our former employee know their services are no longer needed here.”

Grian rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked the typical annoyance that came with it. “You’re a spoon.” He told Mumbo before turning back towards the door, heading off to do as he had been indirectly asked.

Scar shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t, uh, need to do that. The Glass Empire has sufficient resources.”

“As does the South.” Mumbo responded, bemused. “Similar to our reputation, our supplies will withstand you using a few.”

Again, Scar looked away from Mumbo. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mumbo’s frown return right before he took a single step toward Scar.

In an instant, Scar’s eyes were back on Mumbo as he flinched back, pressing closer to the desk, body tensing and gaze wary. It suddenly didn’t matter that Mumbo was his ally and his partner, that he had no reason right then to hurt Scar, that both he and Grian could have killed Scar a dozen times over on any given day he spent with them and had never tried. All that mattered was that he was too close to Mumbo, physically and otherwise. All that mattered was that he trusted Mumbo.

A mob boss, trusting someone? Had he really expected that to end any other way?

Scar dug his fingers into both wood and flesh. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Whatever Mumbo did next, he was ready for it.

…Admittedly, he was not ready for Mumbo to immediately step back, raising his hands placatingly.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to get in your space.” Mumbo apologized, as if there still hadn't been a solid five feet between the two of them, as if Scar wasn’t in the epicenter of what was most certainly Mumbo’s space, not his. “This is going to make bandaging your neck a tad tricky, though.”

"I can do that myself." Scar replied, confused but no less defensive.

"Are you sure that you should?" Mumbo asked, rushing on before Scar could respond, "I think- I think you want it bandaged right, and that's hard to do on your own."

Scar floundered. Mumbo was right, as much as he didn't want to acknowledge it (Mumbo knew him; Mumbo knew him). The cut wasn't very big, and for anyone else, it'd be easy enough to handle, but it wasn't anyone else. Scar needed help. Scar couldn't accept any help.

“Bdubs.” Scar forced out after a too long moment of silence. “He can… he’ll know what to do.”

Mumbo graciously didn’t point out the fact that wrapping up a small cut wasn’t very complicated to figure out. “Alright. Do you want to call him over here? Or, er, do you want to go back to your shop and meet him there?”

The way Mumbo paused on the second option made it clear which of the two choices he preferred, and Scar hated that he agreed. He would be safer in his offices over the End Crystal’s, but the journey to get there posed its own set of risks. He had the advantage of limited entrances and limited possible assailants in the room, and the fewer people who saw him clutching at a scratch like it was a fatal wound, the better.

You’d be safer taking an unarmed nightly stroll than you are here, a voice that had never stopped sounding like Dolos’s reminded him, snide and rotting, danger’s part of the job; trust is what gets you killed.

“Can you get him?” Scar asked, keeping his eyes on Mumbo despite wanting to look away, “He was pretty busy when I left. I don’t know if he’ll pick up my call.”

It was a lie, and a bad one at that. Bdubs was a right-hand, it was his job to drop everything to answer Scar's calls. But he needed an excuse to get Mumbo out, to get him away from Scar, and it was the first one that came to mind.

Mumbo took it without question, as if it was a reasonable thing for Scar to ask, as if it wasn't just Scar pushing the boss out of his own office. "If that’s what will help you, then of course. Do you want me to take Mr. Penemue with me?”

Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs. Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs himself, not by sending a lackey to fetch him. Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs and leave Scar, alone, in his office. Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs with Grian and leave Scar completely alone in the heart of his organization. Scar was starting to feel like he was the one who needed to be warning Mumbo about trust. Scar couldn’t make a sound. “He wouldn’t like that.”

“He’d understand.”

“He still wouldn’t like it.” Grian trusted Scar more than Scar had ever imagined he would- given Grian was actually willing to leave him alone with Mumbo- but Scar knew there were some things that never changed. Grian would spend the entire trip to fetch Bdubs thinking through every possible thing Scar could be doing in their absence, and the second he got back he’d rewatch his eyes’ footage five times over again just to be certain Scar truly hadn’t done anything more exciting than shift in place.

In response, Mumbo switched tactics. “Are you going to be alright if he stays here?”

It was a fair question. Scar was clearly flighty with only Mumbo. It didn’t make sense for him to be better off with his right-hand. He didn’t know Grian as well. He didn’t trust Grian as much.

And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Scar didn’t trust Grian, not like he trusted Mumbo. He wouldn’t be nearly as surprised if Grian tried to take him out now. That made Grian safer.

“It’s ok, Mumbo. I won’t mind.”

Mumbo studied Scar’s expression, trying to see if there was any sign of him lying, as if it wasn’t better for him if he left Grian behind to keep an eye on everything. Then, he nodded once, a self-confirmation of whatever he had determined in that moment. “Alright.”

Before Scar had a chance to argue Mumbo’s acceptance- why was he so willing to do what Scar asked? didn’t he understand the danger?- Grian returned, so well-timed Scar wouldn’t be surprised if he had planned it. He was carrying a dark case that looked about the right size to fit into a desk drawer, sleek and unassuming despite the reinforced lock on it.

Mumbo turned towards Grian as he stopped beside him, once again giving Scar a wide berth of space he had no right to. “I have to go fetch Mr. Centuria for Mr. Chronos, won’t be long.”

Grian inclined his head, glancing at Scar, glancing at the distance still separating him from them. “Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, because even Mumbo’s over-protective-to-a-fault boyfriend of a bodyguard was willing to put Scar above logic, for some damned reason.

“No need. I’ll be quick.”

And Grian accepted that, with a nod and a small touch as Mumbo passed him and headed out of the office, as if it was logical, as if anything they were currently doing made any sense given who they were. Grian switched the case between his hands, looking thoughtfully at Scar.

“You seem… perplexed.” Grian said after a moment, stressing the word to imply the inherent understatement in it.

“If Mumbo had asked you to come with him, you would have… just gone?”

“I always do what Mr. Eris asks of me.”

A lie, unless Grian didn’t count Mumbo asking him to rest as a real request- but that was beside the point. “And you think that would’ve been safe?”

The corner of Grian’s mouth turned up in the slightest indication of a smirk, though the expression didn’t seem amused, more perfunctory. “You’re hardly a threat, Mr. Chronos.”

Scar glared at Grian, though it wasn’t strong enough to elicit any reaction from him. Scar had the sneaking suspicion even a truly harsh look wouldn’t inspire much more than a raised eyebrow from the right-hand. “I’m not Mumbo.”

“You’re not.” Grian acknowledged gracefully, ignoring the low-blow in Scar’s words. Scar almost wished he hadn’t. It’d be easier to be fighting, to know Grian was against him, rather than going through the polite business motions Grian was so good at and Scar so hated. “And I’m not Mr. Centuria-”

“Bdubs, just call him by his name, it’s Bdubs-”

“-yet you didn’t mind me staying.” Grian finished, shutting Scar up. Grian tilted his head, gaze piercing. “I’m neither your right-hand man, nor your partner, but I’m still here. You had Mumbo leave, but you’ve passed the opportunities presented to you to have me do so as well. You want me here, for some reason, but your interactions with me are currently bordering on hostile.”

The unspoken why? in Grian’s words was loud, but Scar couldn’t bring himself to answer it. There was no good way to explain that he didn’t trust Grian, that he was waiting for even the slightest indication Grian was going to turn on him, and that was why he could stay but Mumbo couldn’t. There was no good way to explain that, despite all that, Scar couldn’t bring himself to jeopardize the safety Grian so carefully cultivated for himself and Mumbo in the End Crystal. There was no good way to explain any of it, so Scar steadily met Grian’s eyes instead, saying nothing.

A long minute passed like that, neither of them speaking or breaking eye contact. Scar’s fingers dug deeper into his neck with each second that passed in the silence, waiting for the tension to snap, for Grian to make his move. It was a perfect time to strike, and Grian wouldn’t catch Scar by surprise.

Grian sighed. “Do you want help stemming the blood?”

Alright, that caught Scar by surprise. He tamped down on the highly irrational urge to ask Grian to just stab him already. “What?”

“I could bandage it too, but I presume that’s why Mr. Centuria is coming over.” Grian’s tone was largely professional, but the usual edge on it was soft in a way Scar knew was deliberate. “And I won’t get close unless you want me to.”

“I won’t move my hand.” Scar said, in lieu of I can’t move my hand, of did you hear your own double meaning, of why would you want to.

“Your palm isn’t very absorbent.” Grian replied, not missing a beat, not giving away anything outside of the exact words he spoke. “I can clean up what slips through. Up to you.”

Though his behaviour spoke to the contrary, Scar knew the cut on his throat wasn’t nearly bad enough to warrant such attention. At most, a few drops of blood had trickled past his hand, and Scar wasn’t particularly worried about them.

Grian knew that too. His demeanour was unrevealing, unreadable, but his manner didn’t change how he was trying to produce any reason to get close to Scar. It was suspicious. Dangerous. Untrustworthy.

And wasn’t that exactly why Scar had been fine with Grian staying?

“You don’t have to do that.” Scar waited a beat, trying to gauge any reaction from Grian. Predictably, there were none. “But you can get close anyways, if you want.”

“You’re certain?” Grian asked, even as he took a step forward, testing the waters as he dropped the case in his hand into one of the chairs facing Mumbo’s desk.

“Positive.”

Grian continued his approach, each step measured, lingering a second longer than necessary with each one. He went further than Scar entirely expected, only coming to a stop when he was directly in front of him. The space left between them was courteous, but slim compared to the wide margin that had been there. A good distance to attack from.

With his hands free, Grian crossed his arms, fingers visibly splayed over the fabric of his suit. Not a very pragmatic stance- it would take him a moment to reach one of his weapons and actually use it, and that would give Scar an opening.

“Can I ask how you got it?” Meanwhile, Grian apparently remained intent on using his strategy of blindsiding Scar without so much as raising a finger. “The scar.”

“...You can ask.”

Grian huffed, eyes crinkling just enough to make it a laugh. “Can I know if they’re dead, at least?”

“What if I said I tripped?”

“I’d know you were lying. But I wouldn’t push.”

“How accommodating.”

“The End Crystal offers only the best in service to our voluntary visitors.”

Scar looked away from Grian, watching him from the corner of his eye. True to his word, Grian didn’t push, didn’t try to make a move while Scar was feigning distraction. Why had he even wanted to get closer? What was he going to do?

“He’s dead.”

“Was it slow?”

“As slow as a bullet to the head is.”

Grian tsked. “Pity.”

Scar turned his gaze back to Grian, a half-teasing, half-provoking comment dying on his tongue when he realized that Grian’s focus had dropped from his face to his neck, looking at the scar in the same way Mumbo had. But that couldn’t be right. That would mean something Scar hadn’t calculated for.

“Back in our old town,” Grian started, and if Scar didn’t know better, he’d describe the words as halting, “Mumbo’s first right-hand tried to have me killed.”

Scar’s eyes widened. Grian’s fingers twitched, still staring at the remnants of the large cut that had nearly taken Scar’s life, and for a fleeting moment Scar imagined him reaching out, tracing the line of the scar.

“I know what betrayal looks like.” Grian added, gaze drifting back up to meet Scar’s. “What happens when someone gets too close.”

Scar’s chest felt tight. Why was he so close? “Are they dead?”

“Yes.”

“Was it slow?”

Grian smirked, the sharp edges of his teeth showing as he leaned forward, resting some of his weight on the desk. “Agonizingly.”

Grian had a hand planted on each side of Scar, boxing him in between Grian and Mumbo’s desk. Paradoxically, Scar’s grip on his neck loosened from the point of near strangulation, some of the tension ebbing from his body. This he understood. This he was ready for.

“Are you going to kill me?” Scar asked, just to have it out in the open.

“If I was going to kill you, Mr. Chronos,” Grian’s tone was smooth, like he wasn’t surprised by the question, like he had seen it coming, “you’d already be dead.”

“My first name, please.”

“Why do you think I want you dead?”

Because everyone does. Because that’s the business. “You wanted to get close.”

“And you thought it was so I could attack you?” Grian didn’t leave enough time between his sentences for Scar to provide an answer to the question. Not that Scar would have given one. “Can I not want to get close just for the sake of it?”

Too late, Scar began to realize he had miscalculated again. The situation they had entered was dangerous- more dangerous than Scar had thought- but not for the same reasons. Grian wasn’t building up to a fight.

“Grian-”

“Do you consider us enemies?” Grian took a step into his space, nearly pressing the two of them against each other. “The South and the Glass Empire are friendly, but are we?”

“Why would you think we’re enemies?”

“You know what they say.” Grian shifted his balance, lifting one hand from the desk to raise it to Scar’s neck, fingers layering over Scar’s where he was pressing down on his accidental injury. Scar made to flinch, reflexes not nearly as fast as they needed to be, but Grian didn’t start choking him, didn’t produce a short blade to bury in Scar’s throat. He matched the pressure Scar was applying, not an ounce of malice in the gesture. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

Scar’s mouth was dry. He had lost his footing, stumbling past the point of no return without even realizing, and now Grian’s face was directly in front of his, hand on his neck, and yet the snide voice that usually rang out in the back of his mind, pointing out his every weakness and blind spot, was dead silent.

For less than a microsecond, Scar’s eyes darted down, looking directly at Grian’s lips.

“Are we enemies?” Scar barely managed to ask, hushed, anticipation almost sounding like fear.

“That depends, Scar,” Grian dragged out his name, so close Scar could practically feel it, fingers curling around the back of Scar’s neck to keep him from pulling away, “how close do you keep your enemies?”

Scar’s breath caught in the back of his throat. Grian had him trapped, literally and metaphorically, no space left for Scar to try and escape into even if he felt capable of moving, but for the first time since Scar had entered the office with his neck barely bleeding, he wasn’t waiting for a hidden blade to find purchase in his flesh. The hand Grian still had on the desk was pressing into Scar’s thigh, but Scar couldn’t imagine it doing anything other than moving to his hip, another point of connection as Grian did more than just hold him still, as he moved in a little bit closer as he pulled Scar with him, as-

“Are we interrupting something?”

If it weren’t for how tightly coiled he was with tension (a very different kind of tension then had been keeping him frozen five minutes ago), Scar would have jumped a mile in the air at the sound of Mumbo’s voice. While Grian smoothly turned away from Scar to face the door, hand still damningly on Scar’s neck, Scar forced his gaze in the same direction.

Standing in the doorway were Mumbo and Bdubs, whose arrival Scar apparently had missed. They both seemed slightly out of breath, as though they had been in a hurry to reach the office, but they weren’t nearly winded enough to not also be looking at Scar and Grian like they had walked in on something extremely amusing.

“I can turn around for a minute, if you need me to.” Bdubs offered. Given the reason Mumbo had fetched him, Scar couldn’t exactly immediately dismiss Bdubs back to their offices, but the thought of doing so was tempting.

“We’re not-” Scar’s voice came out three pitches too high and more guilty sounding than a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. He shut his mouth immediately, stringing together some colourful curses in his head in the meanwhile. What the hell was he supposed to tell Mumbo that would explain why he was so close to his right-hand? Especially when said right-hand was still holding his neck, a choice that was starting to feel rather shameless.

Was this how Grian was going to get Scar killed? If it was, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to be mad about it.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Grian said, sounding as though he were discussing the weather, completely composed save for a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks that even right beside him Scar could only barely see, “I’m merely helping Mr. Chronos with his injury.”

Mumbo, who Scar presumed could pick out Grian’s exact skin tone in a crowd from a mile away, seemed to catch the flush and grinned. “How… professional of you, Mr. Penemue.”

“Yes, well.” Grian finally took his hand away from Scar’s neck, slowly at first so as not to startle Scar before speeding up, turning fully to begin striding towards Mumbo and picking up the first aid case as he went. “Mr. Centuria, I’ll leave Mr. Chronos in your capable hands. Mr. Eris and I will be outside if you need us. Take all the time you see fit.”

Bdubs took a step into the office, startled, as Grian brushed past him. Grian grabbed Mumbo’s arm, tugging him out of the doorway and pulling the door shut behind them in one fell swoop.

After staring at the suddenly shut door for a moment, Bdubs shook his head, looking back towards Scar as he began to approach him. Tucked under his arm was one of the End Crystal’s grab-and-go first aid kits.

“I was going to apologize for not arriving sooner,” Bdubs came to a stop slightly to Scar’s side, moving the kit to his hands as he unzipped it. He seemed entertained by the situation, which Scar really didn’t appreciate, “but I guess I should have arrived later instead.”

“I don’t know- I don’t know what you’d expect to be different. If you had been later.” Scar very deliberately avoided meeting Bdubs’s eyes. He hadn’t told a lie that audibly flimsy since long before he had become an organizational head.

“Would you like me to describe what I had expected?”

“Would you like to find yourself rapidly unemployed?”

Scar’s (admittedly hollow) threat fell flat if Bdubs’s following chuckle was anything to go by. “I’ll leave it to your imagination, then. Raise your chin.”

Doing his best to not let his imagination run off on its own track, Scar did as asked. He took his hand away from his neck when Bdubs prompted as well, Bdubs applying pressure to the spot with a cotton ball in lieu of Scar’s palm.

Bdubs didn't say anything further about the matter (although Scar was certain he wanted to) as he went to work cleaning and disinfecting the site of the wound. No sound from outside the office made it inside, which meant that any conversation Mumbo and Grian were or weren’t having was unavailable for Scar to eavesdrop on.

“Do you think Mumbo's going to try to kill me?” Scar asked half-seriously, more to the room itself than Bdubs. Killing over Grian's honour would be extreme, but that was hardly a deterrent for the South.

“For what? That?” Bdubs scoffed. “Would be a bit hypocritical of him.”

“Hypocritical?”

Bdubs paused in his ministrations, shifting his focus from Scar’s neck to his face with a frown. “Wait. What are you worried about?”

“As much as I would like to pretend you went briefly blind upon entering the room, I know you saw, er, that, and I know Mumbo did too. And you know how they are.” Scar shot a glance in the general direction of the South leaders. “He’s teased us for some of our banter before, but admittedly we… looked….like we were doing a bit more than that.”

Bdubs blinked once, twice. “Scar, please. I can’t do this again.”

“Do what again?”

“When you finally accepted the South’s offer of a partnership, and you came back to our office and made a joke about business partnerships with benefits,” Bdubs was speaking very slowly, as if making sure Scar understood each individual word, “that was referring to Mumbo and Grian, right?”

Any concerns Scar might have had about blood loss went out the window as his entire face flushed red hot at the speed of light.

“Right?” Bdubs repeated, sounding desperate. When Scar remained embarrassingly silent, he dropped his head into his free hand, covering his face as he groaned.

“I don’t-” Scar paused to clear his throat. It had been a very bad day for him, in terms of acting like the intimidating mob boss he usually was. “Why did you think the deal was with both of them?”

“Because I have two eyes.” Bdubs deadpanned. “I don’t know if I should be more upset over that, or the fact that it means, of the two of them, you sent the one you aren’t dating to get me.”

“You know exactly why I did that.”

“I do. Doesn’t make it any less stupid.” With a sigh, Bdubs lifted his head again, turning his attention back to Scar’s injury. “But it worked out this time. This doesn’t need stitches, and the worst thing Grian did was forget to lock the doors.”

“Bdubs.”

Unperturbed, Bdubs went on with his work, bandaging Scar's neck. “And as to your question, no, Mumbo's not going to try and kill you. He also has eyes, and if he had a problem you would have heard about it by now.”

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“You’ll like it less if I say it directly.”

“Got me there.” Scar muttered, letting the conversation lapse as Bdubs finished up. His attempts to put his thoughts in order, regarding what had nearly happened and what Bdubs had said, were sabotaged by the distracting concept of what could have been had Mumbo and Bdubs arrived five minutes later.

By the time Bdubs had taped down the edges of the bandage, the only thing Scar had really managed to figure out was that Mumbo most likely wasn't going to kill him. If he was, Scar doubted he would have granted him the courtesy of waiting until Bdubs left to strike. As to everything with Grian, well- Scar had given up trying to think any of it through.

“Good as new.” Bdubs replaced his remaining supplies in the first aid kit, zipping it shut while looking at Scar meaningfully. “I’ll head back to the shop now, assuming you don’t need anything else.”

“Actually, I think I’ll come with you.” Scar took his weight off Mumbo’s desk for the first time since he had entered the room, putting his cane back to use. His other arm ached as he stretched it out, cramped from having been bent towards his neck for so long. “I’ve had my fill of the End Crystal for the day.”

“You don’t want to stay a bit longer? Maybe talk with your business partners first?”

Scar pointedly ignored the obvious implications of Bdubs’s choice in wording. “I’m sure Mumbo and Grian have more important things to be doing right now.”

“...Alright.” The disappointment in both Bdubs’s tone and expression was so thick Scar could have kicked it. Scar chose to ignore it too.

The walk from one end of the End Crystal’s main office to the other had never felt so long, and only partially because Scar was dragging his feet for it. Heading back to his shop still required passing by Mumbo and Grian, and Scar feared it was a little too soon for them all to pretend like today had never happened.

Bdubs, who Scar suspected wanted to leave him at the End Crystal for (at minimum) a fortnight before seeing him again, didn’t seem as concerned with the incoming interaction and pushed open one of the doors without any hesitation.

Mumbo and Grian were idling near the center of the waiting area, Grian leaning against the back of a couch that was much too nice to be used so casually with Mumbo standing next to him. Both were already turned towards the office doors, likely having cut off whatever conversation they had been having when they heard the sound of the doorknob turning.

“I hope you’re feeling better, Mr. Chronos.” Grian’s voice was professional, polite, devoid of any personal emotions. His countenance was the same, carefully closed off in the way it always was, in the way Scar was used to, in the way Scar was starting to hate.

“Much.” Scar answered with an enthusiasm he didn't entirely feel. “Now, while the South's hospitality has been as refined as ever, I'd hate to put you out more than I already have.”

“Your company never puts us out any.” Mumbo, in direct contrast to Grian, made no attempt to hide his continued amusement with the situation. Scar decided to hate that as well. “You're welcome to stay longer, if you wish.”

“I don't want to impose. And I really should get back to my offices.”

“If you must.” Mumbo said reluctantly, and Scar took a small comfort in the fact that at least some of his disappointment was genuine. “Safe travels.”

Without looking away from Scar, Grian tugged on one of his sleeves, straightening out the edge of it. Scar resolutely did not think about how it likely got rumpled when Grian had been holding his neck. “The South looks forward to your next visit.”

“You make it sound so impersonal, Grian.” Scar mindlessly quipped, a mistake he fully intended to blame on being distracted by Grian’s sleeves.

Granted, Grian entertaining him with a response was probably a mistake on his own behalf, but given Grian delivered his with a single raised eyebrow and perfect composure, Scar felt as though he was faring better than Scar was. “Would you prefer I make it personal, Mr. Chronos?”

Using what scant wisdom he currently had access to, Scar opted to not try and answer the trick question and hastily pivoted back to the main point of the conversation. “Ah- until next time, gentlemen!”

Scar made his departure with as much dignity as he could- which, admittedly, was not nearly enough. Bdubs followed a step behind him, and although Scar was no longer looking at them, he was certain Mumbo and Grian’s eyes were also following him out.

For a brief moment, in the stint of time between Scar opening the door to leave through and Bdubs closing it, Mumbo and Grian’s voices slipped out.

“‘Would you prefer I make it personal’?”

“Shut up.”

Bdubs gave Scar the courtesy of waiting until they were back on their own territory to treat him to the same. “‘You make it sound so impersonal’?”

“Shut up.” Scar replied with no bite, making a beeline for his office to hide in as soon as they were inside the jewelry shop. He heard Bdubs sigh, but his right-hand didn't try to pursue him, which meant the matter was as good as settled as far as Scar was concerned.

(It wasn’t, and Scar knew that. Not when he could still feel where Grian had touched him, white hot yet leaving his skin uncharred.

Grian could kill him. Grian probably wanted to kill him, all things considered, and certainly would without hesitation if he had any reason to suspect Scar of being a threat. Mumbo wouldn’t stop him. In the event of Scar’s bloody demise at Grian’s hands, Mumbo would- at best- be mildly disappointed. No, the South was as great of a threat to the Glass Empire as it ever had been- even more so now that they were allies, now that Scar had gotten so close.

The part of his mind that Dolos’s mimicry perpetually inhabited recoiled at the thought of Scar learning nothing and letting trust pave the way to the destruction and downfall of his empire. Dolos was a traitor, but he had understood that trust was best for use as a weapon and little else.

The part still focused on the burning, in counter, played on repeat the moment where Grian had wrapped his hand around Scar’s neck and hadn’t so much as dug his nails in.)

Scar slumped into his chair and dragged a hand over his face. Without even meaning to, his hand dropped from his chin to his neck, fingers curling around the back exactly as Grian’s had.

Fuck.

#hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #bdubs #mumbo jumbo #grian #mumscarian #scarianbo #scarian #m.y funky words #bloody fruits au #mfw: thaw(wyinl)#boys this is NOT how u deal with trust issues #anyways. everyone shout out to bdubs the long suffering

32 notes · View notes