#mutuscout

“Gotta take a leak,” John mumbled to the others, setting Beary down in his chair before he scurried off the the restroom.

Beary under no circumstances was allowed in the bathroom. Too many water sources, one being quite..unsanitary, that he could fall into. It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, John could manage a shower or bathroom break without him. It was for both of theirs sake. 

John whistled as he washed his hands, itching to get back to the living room where the other 3 were. Roger was doing a bet, which John was sure he gave to himself, that he could drink a 6 pack and top off a bottle of wine without getting shit faced. It didn’t seem possible but it was definitely fun to watch.

He hurried back out, ready to throw himself back into the mix when he saw that his chair was empty. 

He didn’t panic at first, assuming his little friend toppled over without anyone noticing. He wasn’t a particularly vocal member of the group, you know. 

He knelt down by the chair and looked under it. Nope. Then on either side. Nothing.

Maybe someone took him. The guys sometimes liked to take Beary for cuddles or just to fiddle with, which was fine most of the time. But right now, they were all in different stages of drunkenness. The last thing he needed was for them to accidentally rip out an eye or burst a stitch. Or vomit on him. Roger was looking a little green on the sofa he was swaying on, singing to himself, of all things, a lullaby.

John looked at Freddie’s hands but all he was holding was a nearly drained wine glass. 

Brian’s hands and lap were empty too, his arms flailing awkwardly as he tried to dance to the record player in the background. 

Roger’s were too, only nursing a cheap bottle of wine (with an outrageous alcohol content).

Okay, now was a good time to panic, John thought.

He started to comb through the room, throwing pillows around, shoving people over, checking the bathroom. He himself wasn’t entirely sober, so perhaps he’d misplaced his companion without even realizing it. 

“Where’s Beary?” he hissed to himself, heart beginning to race at the prospect of losing him.

“What’s the fuss John?” Freddie said, his tone a little slurred but not faded like the other two.

“Beary! Where is he?” John snapped, a few fingers going into his mouth to nibble on. They tasted like soap.

“He has to be somewhere around here, Deacy. He can’t have gotten up and walked,” Freddie said, laughing at his clever little joke. John didn’t laugh as he emptied a box from the corner of the room, spilling knick knacks onto the floor. No sign of the brown eyed, smiling bear.

“Beary? The name sounds familiar,” Brian added to the oh so stimulating conversation, arms pausing in the air as he contemplated the existence of a person named that. 

John ignored him too, flipping couch cushions, his body filling up with bad feelings. Thunder clouds and mud puddles.

And Roger wouldn’t stop singing those goddamn lullabies, rocking himself from side to side, eye’s fluttering open and closed.

“When the wind blows the cradle will rock...Rock-a-bye baby....baby...rock-a-bye...Beary...on the tree top...”

John’s ears perked up at the name, rushing over to Roger. The drunkest of them might be the key to Beary’s whereabouts.

“Roger, did you move Beary?” John said, holding onto his wobbling friend’s shoulders.

Roger smiled widely, head lolling around before putting a finger to his lips, wine bottle still in hand.

“Shhhh. The baby is asleep, sweetie pie,” he said while giggling. 

John blinked for a few moments, trying to decipher the clearly cryptic words from the blond before he got up and walked to Roger’s room. 

He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or collapse when he saw Beary tucked into Roger’s bed, which he could not verify was clean. But he was safe and in one piece.

John snatched him up and gave him a tight hug before pressing his belly into his face, breathing in softly. The fur tickled his nose and cheeks, sending familiar tingles into his stomach. Oh thank god.

He walked out the room, rather cross with Roger. What had inspired the man to tuck in Beary? He could barely walk! How did no one notice?

Any yelling he had to do would have to wait. Roger was now on the floor, joining Brian in their interpretive dance, off beat. 

That was no better sign to go home.

“I’m leaving,” John said, crossing the room, hand grasping the door knob. 

“Deacy, you live here,” Roger mumbled, somehow coherent enough to remember that. 

The 3 beers in John’s system sung.

“Oh my god,” was John’s only reply, turning on his heels before stomping off to his room. 

He let out some confused flaps, promptly going the fuck to sleep afterwards, Beary snuggled up in his arms. 

“and i… appreciate you too.”

He took Scout’s hand in his as he brings it to his chest. Guiding him as the man feels up and down the scars on his body. Feeling the ridges that were deeply sunken in, where the flesh seemed tight as they had healed in horrible parts. Flesh overlapping and growing over. To Scout, they probably looked like normal scars. But, to Mick, It was grotesque to him. Something that reminded him every day of the monster that was on his team. What he had done, how he was allowed to get away with such things. Just showing them to the man made his stomach turn inside of himself.  He looked away. His light grey eyes unable to look at the man as his hand stilled. No longer directing him around his chest just holding it there where Scout could feel his heart beating hard in his chest.  “This is why, I don’t go shirtless love...”