cat

Scar woke up exhausted. The storm had gotten so fierce that it was almost impossible to tell that the sun had long since risen, leaving nothing but dim thunderclouds overhead. Rain lashed against the windows, creating a din punctuated only by jellie’s soft snores from her cat tree. 

The noise of the storm kept him awake; and so Scar heard his earpiece crackle to life perfectly clearly at 7am on a Saturday. 

Debating ignoring it for a guilty second, he reached over, and slotted it into his ear. 

“Cub?” He yawned, pulling himself up into a sitting position. 

“We got a problem. Doc’s got these creepers goin’ again in the capital and it’s just a mess…” 

Scar sighed as quietly as he could manage. It’s not like he had plans, but still, it would’ve been nice to sleep in for once. 

At this point it was like Doc was doing this on purpose to cause sleep deprivation. Every other week. 

Well, he was needed. 

Fourty minutes later, he was sprinting through the streets of the capital, skidding on the wet concrete. The rain wasn’t good for his suit, he knew thqt, and Cub’s warnings crackled loud in his ear. Creepers were grotesque creations at the best of times, and decomposing in the rain didn’t improve their appearance. Doc’s mutants chased him down, their hisses a soft warning. Scar evaded explosion after explosion, swearing and gasping as he started to tire. These fuckers were fast- and worse, silent. Their usual giveaway footsteps, a doubled echo of a human’s, were drowned out by the sheer volume and force of the rain, and the wind shearing across the city didn’t help either. Thunderclaps deafened him, and bolts of lightning illuminated the wet shards of glass scattered across the streets. 

“Cub!” Scar yelled into his earpiece, 

“What the hell is going on? Where I are my reinforcements?” 

A loud staticky noise pierced his eardrums. 

“The storm—comms,” he managed to make out Cub’s voice, “reinforcements- hold out— just a bit longer.” 

“Fuck.” 

It should have been routine, a clean-up. But with no backup, and under these conditions? His left leg was starting to seize, the heavy rain had gotten into it. 

“Cub?” 

Crackle. 

“Are you there?” 

Crrt. 

…

Silence. 

“Nope. Nope nope nope.” 

Scar dived to avoid another explosion, only to come face-to-face with… that. 

A strangely glowing creeper. 

Scar barely had time to register the blinding arcs of electricity jumping across its decomposing green skin when- 

Sssss.

Boom. 

Scar was flung backwards through the air with a velocity he’d never thought capable. He was only dimly aware of his surroundings and the pain that shot through his whole body as his armour gave way. 

Smash, as the glass windows of the opposite storefront splintered. 

Crash, as he collided with the ground, a thud that reverberated up his spine and through his bones. 

Gasping, he opened his eyes. He was laid slumped in a puddle against some wall, surrounded by debris. Everything was spinning, and he realised he was groaning in pain that hadn’t fully hit him yet. His hands were pressed against his right side, and he realised with a jolt of adrenaline that he couldn’t move. His robotic legs were in pieces all about him. As he tried to sit up, his body screamed in pain. He was too weak, too tired. It started to settle in- he was well and truly fucked. The dull ache in his side started to grab his attention, and he moved his hands to see- 

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

Hot blood warmed his hands. 

There was too much. Even diluted by the freezing rain, it was too much blood. He knew that.

It was gushing out of the wound left by a giant slab of razor sharp glass from the charged creeper explosion. His first panicked reaction was to yank it out, but he stopped himself. 

“Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy.” 

He put pressure on the wound, groaning as the pain started to bypass the wall of adrenaline preventing him from feeling it before. 

“Cub?” He got out, but it was no use. He turned his head, still ringing from the impact, and saw his earpiece and face mask lying in a puddle to his left. 

“Aghhhh!” He gritted his teeth, weighing his options. Scar could wait for reinforcements, but he was already feeling the chasm of unconsciousness widening at the back of his mind. 

And if he fell into it, he knew he would never wake up again. 

He was going to bleed out here, in the middle of the city, and he would never have the chance to put everything right with- 

Who was going to feed jellie her breakfast? 

The thought panicked him. What if they identified his body as Hawk, not Scar, and no one showed up to feed Jellie? 

I still have my civilian phone. 

Scar pulled one a hand away from the wound, reaching inside his outfit to grab his battered phone. The screen glowed faintly. 

“Thank you, thank you.” He muttered, fumbling with one hand to call the first person he could think of. 

Grian. 

“Scar? It’s only 9’o clock, what do you waaaaant?” Grian yawned down the line.

“Hey,” he got out through gritted teeth, “I need you to do me a favour.” 

“Scar?” Grian’s voice changed instantly. “Are you alright?” 

“I ran into some trouble,” Scar groaned, “I need you to look after Jellie.” 

“You sound hurt,” worry crept into Grian’s voice. 

“‘S fine. I’ll live,” Scar lied. “There’s a spare key under-“ 

“Where are you?” Grian demanded. A shuffling sound echoed down the line, as if he was putting his shoes on. 

“Don’t worry about me. Under the doormat,” he continued, as the edges of his vision started to go black. 

“No, tell me where- tell me a sign, a shop,” Grian sounded panicked as he shouted down the phone. 

Scar weighed it up. 

Then he saw the blown out glass of the storefront thqt had so badly injured him, and it hit him that he recognised it. 

“The bakery,” he got out, “the one I got you the croissants from after you came out of hospital.” 

It would take too long for Grian to find him, he decided, but at least he knew where the spare key was. 

“It’s too bad,” he breathed down the phone, “it’s…” 

He dropped the phone, returning both hands to keep pressure on the wound without further injuring himself with the shard of glass that he was impaled upon. 

Grian’s voice rang out too quiet from his dropped phone. 

What was he thinking, giving away his location? He didn’t need Grian to see him die. 

—-

It was too much. The storm howled as Grian tried his best not to fall out of the air.  Small fires caused by creeper explosions sent plumes of acrid smoke into his nose. Why wasn’t Hotguy dealing with whatever carnage this was? The city was a grey fucked-up blur, and his wings were numb, but there! Ahead, that was the secluded street the bakery was on. It looked almost unrecognisable, blown to bits and covered in debris. His identity was sure to be blown, unless Scar was too out of it to realise Cuteguy was missing his regular costume. To anyone that saw him, he’d be Grian the Avian. But he had honestly never cared about anything less. Once he heard Scar’s voice, his wings were out and he was scrambling to find him. He was hurt badly by the sound of it. What had he been doing? Visiting the now-destroyed bakery so early in the morning? 

He flew in and crash-landed in the razor-sharp edges of glass, tumbling over glittering pieces that sliced at his wings and face. 

He didn’t notice it. 

Not when scar was right there in front of him, bleeding out onto the wet concrete. The rain mingled with Scar’s blood, running in rivulets onto the street where Grian scrambled to his feet. He rushed over to Scar’s slumped body. 

Please be alive. 

The wound was deep, too deep, but Scar was at least still breathing. And the suit… all around him was Hotguy’s suit. 

Fuck.

Why hadn’t he realised? 

Grian pushed the stunned revelation to the back of his mind, shaking Scar as much as he dared. 

“Scar, scar, please wake up, please.” 

He could have cheered when Scar opened his eyes slightly to look at Grian’s face. 

“How did you….?” 

“A little birdie told me.” Grian said, hauling scar up into a position where he could carry him. 

“I’m flying you to the hospital. Stay with me, don’t fall asleep.” 

Maybe he could make it. 

Scar was heavy, and he had never flown carrying someone before. His wings were strained, his muscles tearing under the weight as he forced himself towards the hospital. 

“He’s injured!” He screamed, the hospital paramedics coming into a blurry view through tears, blood, sweat and rain. 

He dived towards the ground, crashing in front of the entrance. He rolled, protecting Scar’s body with his torn up wings, hitting his head on the pavement outside the main entrance. 

Paramedics rushed to them both, pulling Scar’s weight off of him. 

Before he blacked out, he heard a familiar voice, 

“Get him into surgery!”