SCAR THERES FANFIC SHIPPING YOU AND MUMBO

Doc had the nerve to snort, shaking out his head like a horse agitated by a fly. “I haven’t spoken with CuteGuy in ages besides the occasional nagging on both of your parts. Whatever you’re on about is between you two.”

“You exaggerated your involvement in my prosthetics. Heavily. Because you think anything not made by you is inferior. Because you want credit for this.”

“I’ve yet to meet an engineer better than the hivemind,” Doc returned evenly, almost bored. “At the time, your prosthetics were the best money could buy. Well.” Doc rolled his eyes. “Close to it. For all the medical malpractice taking place in that bed, your doctors were fucking pussies.”

Scar flinched, compensating with anger. “You are in no place to speak that way about the team that operated on me. You’re a bitter old man with a bruised ego.”

Whatever investment Doc had previously stocked in the conversation vanished in an instant, and Scar couldn’t fight the unwelcome distress in his heart when Doc truly looked bored as he spoke, turning away. “Of course not. I didn’t expect anything different.” Doc stopped, only for a singular moment, something indiscernible playing across his face. Scar caught a hint of teeth. “I suppose that’s not entirely your fault.”

“I’m not stupid.” 

Scar knew he was thinking it, he could tell, he could always tell, and Doc wasn’t trying to hide it like many others before him, but here, now, it just fucking pissed him off. 

Doc inclined his head. Bored, still bored! But at the same time.. there was something heavier behind that eye. Something tired.

“If you would like to speak like adults, then let us speak.” Doc began to walk away, hooves clicking against the floor. He did not look back, and Scar was forced to scurry after him. “I do not think you are stupid. You’re being used. Sometimes, that makes you stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s inconvenient for you to be stopped from testing your machines in Central Park.”

“[____ ________], by the time I was called on, the wrong they’d done by you was irreversible. There are no good people in this city. You were an opportunity. You were used.”

“Wow, very professional, very intimidating, you remember my name.”

“You were not HotGuy when I worked on you. You were a broken body. A boy. I remember your name because it was cruel. It stuck.” Doc stopped at a large desk, then turned to a filing cabinet, rifling through the dated papers. Scar watched, lip curled.

“Of course, because this is new information to me.” The voice that left him was so sarcastic, venomous, unlike himself, Scar felt like a spirit looking on as the Hurt, usually buried deep, deep, took the reins.

Doc ignored him. “I am not moved by compassion. Not then, not now. I take advantage of money, of opportunity, just like them. Unlike them, I was not aimless. I saw the body in front of me, and I took the necessary steps to fix it. Efficiency. That is my way.”

“You give yourself so much damn credit!” Scar nearly screamed at him, his voice cracked, possessed. “You didn’t do anything for me.”

“Who are you angry with, [____].”

“Stop fucking calling me that!”

“Who are you angry with, HotGuy.”

“You’re making my life harder. I don’t care about you. I don’t want to hear about whatever you did, I don’t want to hear about the abuse, the malpractice, I just want to live.”

“You came to me.”

“You lied! You started this!”

Doc exhaled long through his nose, removing a few blueprints from the cabinet. Scar didn’t want to see them. They didn’t mean anything. “Why does my involvement in the development of your prosthetics matter to you?” 

He asked like he knew the answer. Scar was afraid to speak. He wasn’t— He wasn’t stupid to trust them, his doctors, his employers, his parents. He had to trust someone. He had to rely on someone. He had to. He did not have a choice. His life couldnt be defined by being a fucking victim. He wouldn’t live this way. He had to trust them. That they were doing everything they could to keep him healthy. In shape. Painless.

“Does it hurt?” 

Scar froze, briefly terrified Doc could read his mind. And then Doc shrugged his mechanical shoulder.

“Some days are better than others. Different part of my back that needed reconstruction, but no amount of improvement has been able to eliminate the ache. Everything swollen, all the time.” Doc narrowed his eye, not unkindly, “But it’s better. Better than it would be after ten years of abuse and poor upkeep.”

“How would you even know,” Scar spat, but his will was wavering.

“Your legs were in my possession not that long ago. If I’m not mistaken, your back has caved at least once since then. That’s not routine. It’s negligence.”

“They’re doing their best for me.”

There was no kind way to say it. “No. They’re not. You are not stupid, HotGuy.”

“Don’t say that.” It was all Scar could do to fight the welling in his throat, his voice not much more than a whisper. “I don’t have any other options.”

Doc gave him a long look, something searching, intent. There was something there behind his physical eye, some emotion Scar could not parse before it was gone. “I suppose you don’t.”

Scar did not want Doc’s help. Beyond all the work complications that receiving random, unauthorized prosthetic upgrades from a literal supervillain would bring, Scar did not want Doc’s help, he didn’t want to outsource medical care from sketchy sources, and he didn’t want to be in moral conflict with the people he associated with.

He wanted— needed to trust the people who his health depended on. 

Does it hurt?

What kind of question was that. Of course it fucking hurt. Every single moment of every single day since the accident was an exercise in patience, tolerance, choosing kindness and choosing to be good when it would be so much easier to snap. It wouldn’t be easier to rot in a hospital bed. It would still hurt. Better to get up and make something of your life, be something good, than nothing.

It didn’t matter, in the end. That Scar was being taken advantage of, being suspended in a state of disrepair. Maybe with how often he got hurt, how often things got damaged, it just wasn’t worth the money. Why update anything when it would just break, and in turn, be more expensive to repair?

It just.. wasn’t worth it.

(Why was it, that Scar’s life had been worth so much in the first place? Enough to heal, but not to maintain. Maybe to his family, to the world, it was good enough that he lived. Good enough..)

Doc had laid out the blueprints by now. His proof. It’s not like Scar could make sense of them, connect the designs on paper to what was under his synthetic skin. He could have passed them off as prototypes that were scrapped, a story in line with what he was told all those months ago, but there was no point. Scar believed him. 

Numb exhaustion crept its way up his stomach, his esophagus, sitting heavy in his jaw. He wanted to go home. Sleep it off. But he was still at work, wasn’t he. Keep talking. Keep Doc busy.

“Right,” he mumbled, the words coming slow, mind slugging along, “I bet Grian will be pleased. Maybe not. She’ll probably just be angry. She gets in her head about this stuff, I think. Fantasies. Like this whole thing is anything but depressing.”

Scar did not expect Doc to respond. There was no bait, no reason for him to speak. But Doc did not leave, and it seemed he was comfortable in long, drawn out silences. 

“Did you really not know? No one told you, that I was involved at all.”

It was a benign, stupid question. A stupid question while Scar was hurting, one that deserved to be snapped at, asked by a selfish, cruel, miserable man. Scar did not know why or how his voice stayed even. Muscle memory?

“No. No one told me until I asked. When I asked, they lied.”

“Hm.” A dissatisfied sound. Irritated. “I would like to take a look at your back.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to, and if you mess with anything, the doctors back home would know I went to you. Which is a conversation I don’t want to have.”

Doc snorted, offended, “I wouldn’t touch anything, not without a plan. I just want to see how it’s been maintained.”

“I think you missed the part where I said no.”

“Don’t be obstinate.”

“I don’t know what that word means,” Scar shot back, just as stoic.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Doc huffed, extremely unconvincing despite the fact that Scar had not been concerned about this in the first place.

“Well to get to my back you’d have to get through the layers of fake skin, which is a delicate balance that can’t exactly be slapped back on. It needs to be replaced after all maintenance.”

“You— There’s no hatch or anything—?” Doc was genuinely appalled, and Scar grabbed his own hair in fists.

“I’m not a robot! It’s important to me that I look normal to the average eye, especially when I’m in my civilian disguise.”

“This is the most disgustingly inefficient method of maintenance and repair I have ever heard, and I haven’t even seen the damn thing yet. I could accomplish a better design with a slab of faux flesh and a roll of velcro. In minutes.”

“I’d rather not be held together by velcro.”

“Obviously, which is why what I’m going to do will be much better. If you could find out what your engineers use as a skin substitute, that would be helpful.”

“I’m not hiring you.”

“No, you’re not, but the results would be better if you laid down and let me take a look. Tell your doctors you got skinned. With the shoddy mess they made in the first place, I’m certain they won’t think anything of it.”

Scar’s lip curled, but at the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the opportunity for a high quality distraction. This was certain to keep Doc busy for long enough to get Ren out, and honestly, this wouldn’t be the first time the prosthetic skin at his back was damaged beyond repair in the field. It.. and despite himself, Scar trusted that Doc would be careful.

“Fine. But I want at least a pillow and a soft blanket. Two blankets.”

Doc cocked his head, and Scar caught a sparkle of amusement there, as well as something deeper, softer, before it promptly vanished before that gruff exterior.

“I— I am off tonight, yes, but this feels urgent, doesn’t it? A kidnapping or— domestic something or another, probably still kidnapping. I’ll alert the—“

“No, absolutely not, Scar. Hardly anyone else in this city has the gumption to do more than the bare minimum when it comes to Doc, and you know the governing body is especially egregious about keeping their own business and Doc’s business separate whenever possible. At most, whoever gets sent in our place will give away the element of surprise and walk home empty handed. Doc likes the both of us anyway, that will make this whole debacle a tad easier.”

Scar snorted. “Doc doesn’t like anyone, especially not me and apparently not his undead husband— which, I’m learning for the first time, resurrection is possible, and I’m assuming this isn’t a zombie situation.”

“No, don’t think so. But it’s Doc. Who knows.” Grian was quiet for a long moment, and Scar felt the weight of unsaid words. Scar was very familiar with this kind of pause; Grian nor Cub were the kind of people to think before they spoke, so when they did stop, it usually meant they were tiptoeing for a reason. “I think Doc might surprise you.”

Scar grimaced as he caught the potential meaning, one he didn’t care for in the slightest. He didn’t know how or why Grian and Doc had got to talking all that time ago, only that Grian was happy to take Doc’s words at face value when they supported her outlook on the world. Doc was a criminal, he had about a thousand reasons to lie about involvement with Scar’s prosthetics whether that meant special treatment or attachment that Doc could use to his advantage, and it— it was just frustrating. Grian had plenty of reason to hate the system they both worked under, and Scar absolutely had his problems with it, but he just wanted to do his best with the cards he’d been dealt, not revolt against it.

Scar couldn’t revolt. He didn’t— he didn’t even want to. He owed so much to the people who’d worked tirelessly to save him, who’d given their time, blood, sweat, and tears. Whether or not Scar thought the sacrifice was worth it was another matter, but the engineers that remade and maintained his body didn’t make that call. 

Scar was here now. He had some semblance of a family in his work life, and off the clock. He was happy. He didn’t want any wrenches thrown into the cogs by self-serving criminals and gullible friends.

Suddenly, the idea of putting off this rescue sounded much more appealing.

“We’ll go tomorrow then.”

…

Grian had to try very hard not to dislike Skizz, because honestly, if she wasn’t nitpicking, there was nothing to dislike. He was just a friendly, outgoing guy, extroverted and excitable, and that was great, Grian just had trust issues and didn’t like cars. Like, the main issue was that Grian didn’t like cars, and Skizz was Scar’s driver, so they were aversively connected in Grian’s brain. 

She technically didn’t have to be here, in the car, but Scar always begged that they travel together on a shared mission, and as much as Grian loved to say no to him, somehow she still ended up in the backseat. Scar’s magic touch, she supposed. Not even she was immune.

Regardless, if owning a car was Skizz’s biggest crime, Grian had absolutely no excuse for feeling so on edge when he was around. She knew that, she knew it, but no amount of repeating the phrase in her head made her fists unclench, jaw loosen. 

Unbelievably frustrating. Unpleasantness stacked on the already unpleasant experience of Being In A Car. 

Though, inexplicably, today wasn’t as bad. Grian did not feel so trapped, and she suspected it had something to do with how unusually quiet Skizz was today, eyes glued firmly on the road. He was even curt with Scar when on a normal day the two of them would jabber on all the live long day at volumes not suited for casual conversation, so it was quite strange and perhaps a little worrying, but not unwelcome. Scar looked worried. Grian didn’t like how that made her feel. She spoke up in an effort to distract him.

“So let’s make some semblance of a plan, shall we? Personally, I would love to do a lot more snooping around Doc’s crazy mansion while you distract him— you’re probably better at distracting him anyway, you can talk forever and I’ll just end up admitting what I’m here for if I run out of things to say..”

“We’re splitting up?” Scar looked mildly surprised, but Grian was relieved to sense he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

“If it’s a covert mission, I think that’s best. You enter first, and I’ll fly over the gate and find a way in after you. The longer it takes for Doc to discover I’m there, the better.”

“No!”

Grian startled, and Scar made a soft eep! of fright, but in the aftermath of their mutual surprise, neither could identify who had spoken. Skizz’s white knuckle grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Musta been the wind..?” Skizz tried, and Scar gaped, but he didn’t get a chance to cut in before the human shaped lump beside Grian began to wriggle.

“You can’t split up,” Cub said, though he was still struggling to escape the mass of blankets that had enshrouded him— how— You know, in hindsight, maybe the human shaped lump was suspicious.. “We were going to do this together.”

“Cub!?” Scar shrieked, both Cub and Grian covering their ears in response, “What— How did you— This is a top secret mission!!”

“You weren’t being very secretive,” Cub mumbled drily, not without some amount of affection.

“And how did you sneak into the car without Skizz’s noticing!?”

A beat of silence passed, and then another.

“It’s not my fault!” Skizz cried, caving immediately, while Cub shook his head in solidarity. “He’s just so— assertive! With a strong presence of leadership I can’t help but want to follow!”

“We’ve come to be good friends,” Cub offered, still wrapped in blankets and looking awfully content.

“Since— Since when are you two even talking?”

“Last night.”

“Cub—!” Grian cut in, unable to stand listening to this any longer. “You can not come with us on this mission. This isn’t— Quite frankly, I don’t have to explain to you why we’re turning this car around. Skizz. Take Cub home.”

“No.” Cub’s voice held a grave weight, impossibly contrasted with his being wrapped tight in a human burrito. “We’re going to Doc’s and rescuing his undead husband. Together.”

Skizz made a strangled sound, which pitched up an octave at the incredulous glares Grian and Scar threw at him. “Don’t look at me!”

“Skizz!” Scar’s voice cracked in his disbelief, “Take Cub home!”

“I don’t want to go home, Skizz.”

“He doesn’t want to go home!” Skizz cried, like surely this assertion would make Grian and Scar understand.

“Cub..” Scar started, and an insufferable bout of gentle parenting was so clearly about to take place that Grian had to cut him off.

“I don’t care what you want, your life isn’t a game we’re going to play with, Cub, we are going home.”

“No.”

“He said no..” Skizz mewled, and Grian was certain her head was going to explode. 

Scar’s gentle parenting turned on Skizz, but it was becoming increasingly obvious nothing was going to change, and if Grian had to be trapped here, she might as well make herself useful.

Cub was pretty well wrapped; Skizz had clearly assisted him in hiding, but Grian could do a better job, and quite frankly, needed to do a better job as revenge for all the times she’d been burrito’d in the past. Cub was perfectly content to hang limp as Grian manipulated his body into the perfect straitjacket, the two of them ignoring Scar’s protests at the lack of seatbelts in the backseat. 

It was at the point that Grian began securing Cub with various lengths of rope she found laying around that he began to Understand, but at this point they were already pulling into Doc’s estate, and no amount of wriggling would circumvent Grian’s expert knot tying. She buckled him in for good measure.

“Skizz!” Cub squealed, a rare, brilliant sound out of him. “Help me!”

“Skizz.” Scar’s voice was hard, snatching a frightened-looking Skizz’s attention, “You’ve seen the damage Doc has done to my body before. You’ve driven me screaming to the hospital time and time again thanks to his machines. Cub isn’t like me. They won’t be able to put him back together. Do not let him leave this car.”

“Just take him home.” Grian hissed over Cub’s whining, but Scar shook his head.

“We don’t know how long this will take. Once we have Ren, we need to be out of there before Doc notices. Grian, you get Ren to the car, all three of you can leave, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

Grian swallowed a retort, unable to suggest any better solutions. Scar liked Skizz for a reason; his loyalty extended more to Scar than their mutual bosses, and any other drivers might be touchy about Doc or unreliable in other ways. Scar had plenty of horror stories to share— just another reason to ditch cars altogether, but unfortunately it was more than likely Doc’s undead husband could not fly.

“Right. Let’s go then. You first, Scar.”

Scar nodded, sliding out from the front seat. Skizz made a show of driving away for the cameras that were most certainly there, hopefully giving the impression that Scar was on a solo mission. Grian struggled to relax in the backseat despite the fact that Cub had gone quiet. 

“This isn’t fair.”

Apparently Grian had spoken too soon.

“Why are you acting like such a child?” She whirled on Cub, but was harsher than she’d meant, and Cub’s flinch tore a little hole in her heart.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, closing his eyes, closing himself off, shutting a door Grian suddenly wasn’t ready to slam.

“You aren’t a superhero, Cub,” she tried, gentler, but when Cub opened his eyes, the look was sour.

“Neither were you, until recently. You’re not indestructible either. You can still get hurt. Just like me.”

“But I’m— You and I just aren’t a fair comparison, Cub, I don’t—“ Grian struggled to find the words, not because the reasoning wasn’t sound, but this just hadn’t been an issue before. Not even in therapy. More than anything, she was confused. “Cub, where is this coming from? I don’t understand, I didn’t think this— I mean, I know there’s a lot about this that you don’t like, but the injuries, the danger..”

“Of course it bothers me,” Cub was so quiet that Grian barely heard him, but the silence was too heavy for her to break. Cub closed his eyes. Opened them. Looked down. Then out the window. “I’m sorry. That’s not what this is about. Just an excuse.”

He seemed unwilling to say what was bothering him, and Grian didn’t know how to ask. She wished it was easier. She wished she was someone else, someone better.

“I’m looking for something..” Cub spoke, again, so softly, so unsure of himself. “A feeling. I’m trying to capture this feeling. I almost had it. It was almost fun, to be here, the three of us, a little banter, nothing serious, something we could laugh about later. But you weren’t laughing. Neither was Scar. Or Skizz. I’m sorry, Skizz. It’s not fun. I didn’t.. I didn’t want to stress anyone out. I just— I— I don’t know what I want—“ Cub’s breath caught, and immediately Grian lunged to release him, undo the restraint, give him room to breathe.

She didn’t understand. She wanted to. More than ever, her wings felt too big for this space.

“Sometimes I want adrenaline. I want to be part of something insane, somewhere I have no place,” Cub spoke like he was running out of time, and Grian had no words to soothe him. “I want to be funny. I don’t believe bad things will happen. I don’t care when they do, if it was fun. I want to be a unit. Grian, Scar, and Cub. I feel like we’ve gotten so close, but every time it falls apart. We can be Cub and Grian and Grian and Scar and Scar and Cub, but never all three of us, never for long. I want to be friends. I want to have a good time. I have these fleeting moments of goodness, where we’re all together, and it’s rough around the edges but it’s fun, but so many times the memories are just.. something always goes wrong. Isn’t that horrible? What’s— What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t..” Grian had to trail, stalling for time to find the right thing to say. In therapy, it always felt like she had more time— “I don’t think it’s you, Cub. I think.. Genuinely, I think we all just like. Kind of have a lot of baggage? And that makes it harder. And it’s not.. none of us are especially talented at reading the room.”

Cub sniffled, but said nothing. Maybe he didn’t have the words. Maybe Grian’s words weren’t good enough. The distance between them felt immense. Would it be okay to touch him?

“What kind of ice cream do you two like?”

Both of them looked up. Cub reacted before Grian even processed they were in a Dairy Queen drive-through. 

“Cookie dough.”

Skizz looked at Grian expectantly. She fumbled in her panic to respond in a timely manner, “I— uh— I mean, is chocolate okay?”

“Whatever you’d like!” 

“I’ll have chocolate.”

Skizz paid before Grian got the chance to offer. She would— she would have to tell Scar to reimburse him. The silence felt fuzzy through the motions of pulling up, receiving their ice cream, passing it back.. It felt normal. It felt strange.

Grian closed her eyes, the cold against her palms a more pleasant sensation than the assault of the rest of the world. 

Maybe Skizz was alright. Maybe Skizz was even a good guy, despite his sin of owning a car. Maybe there were more than a few good reasons why Scar liked him.

“I’m sorry,” Cub mumbled. “I’ve just been in a weird place lately.”

Well. Wasn’t that just the story of her life. Grian snorted a small laugh— she couldn’t help herself, “Don’t I know it..”