Chapter Text
Sunlight dances on the surface of the water, shining through to the bottom of the shallow lake. It’s clear, like crystal, and as blue as the sky above. Trees tower around the lake, casting shade along its shore.
Grian steps up to the edge of the lake, taking in the vibrant colors. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or if he’s fallen into the past, but the world is painted in colors he’s never even seen before. Hues of purple shadow the trees, the emerald-green grass taking on an almost blue sheen beneath the canopy of the trees, and the sand is warm and golden under the sun.
In the middle of the lake a young boy stands on a boat, a fishing rod held in his hands. Next to him Scar sits, brown hair pulled back into a messy braid as he shows the child how to hold the rod.
“I think I caught one, Scar!” the child cries out, excited. He starts hopping up and down, though Scar is quick to catch him before he can rock the boat.
“Reel it in, Lamb,” Scar laughs. “But without the jumping, preferably...”
Tubbo- he can’t be more than ten years old, Grian thinks- does as he’s told, and soon a fish pops out of the water, flailing about on the end of the line. Instantly Tubbo’s excitement falls.
Scar catches the fish for him. “I’ll do this part for you,” he says, carefully maneuvering his fingers to pull the hook out.
Tubbo sniffles, sitting down in the boat’s second seat, and Scar looks up at him quickly.
“What’s wrong, Lamb?” Scar asks quickly, eyes scanning over the kid. Grian is struck, for just a moment, by how young Scar looks, how many fewer scars he has.
“The hook hurt the fish!” Tubbo cries, wiping at his eyes.
Scar’s expression softens from worry to fondness, and Grian leaps into the air, flying closer to them. He perches on the side of the boat, and it doesn’t even so much as rock under his weight.
“We’re catching fish for food, Tubbo,” Scar tells his son, reaching out before hesitating. He glances at his hand, his fingertips dotted with the fish’s blood, and he drops his hand away. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not,” Tubbo cries, face hidden behind his arms. “Why’s it gotta hurt ‘em?”
When Scar had told him this story all those long months ago, Grian had found it funny. Seeing it firsthand, however, his heart breaks for the child. He’d known Tubbo was a sensitive child, just from the small stories Scar would share and from his firsthand observation of the young Hybrid, but he hadn’t imagined the lengths of the kid’s empathy.
Most people- Grian included- never even thought about how the fish would feel.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Scar says quickly, carefully removing the hook from the fish’s mouth finally. He drops the hook and waves his hand, lightly brushing his fingers over the fish’s scales. They shimmer and glow and Scar grimaces. Grian laughs, shaking his head- even he can tell the Elf used way too much magic to heal a hook-wound. “See, look here, Tubbo-”
He gently lowers the fish back into the water, and Tubbo looks over the side of the boat to watch as Scar lets the fish go. It swims around in a circle before darting off through the water, and Tubbo brightens up.
“It’s okay?” he asks, looking up at Scar.
“Yeah,” Scar confirms, smiling at him. “It’s gonna be just fine.”
The wind blows cold and the light fades. Grian tenses up, glancing around. Dark clouds, storm clouds, move in and block out the sun, and thunder rolls.
“Tubbo?”
Grian looks back at the father and son, only Scar is alone in the boat. Grian’s wings fluff up as Scar looks around, eyes wide.
“Lamb!” he calls, standing up in the boat. Grian holds on as it rocks, waves all of a sudden crashing against the side. Scar pays the rain no mind as it starts pouring down, soaking through and flooding his boat within a minute. “Tubbo!”
His voice is drowned out by the wind, and Grian tips over. He yells, flailing as he falls backwards and hits the water.
“Tor-”
Water rushes past his ears as he sinks through the lake. Mud billows around him, the water turning brown and black. He closes his eyes as he’s dragged through the mud, down down down and further away from Scar and his storm.
When Grian opens his eyes again, it’s to Eternity- an ever-more familiar sight. He floats there, disconnected from everything- freefalling, or whatever the equivalent of floating through zero gravity is. Free-floating? He isn’t sure.
He closes his eyes again, letting himself fall again. This time he wakes up, staring at the canopy of their bed.
Mumbo is asleep next to him, arm heavy around Grian’s waist. Grian sits up slowly, stretching his wings out and yawning.
When he glances to his other side and finds it empty, his heart stutters. Scar isn’t there.
Which, to be fair, he usually isn’t. It’s only been a few days since they woke up from that strange dream world and Scar hasn’t needed to sleep since, the Elf preferring to spend the time they’re asleep searching for answers.
(The thought that some unknown person had nearly taken them out in their own home is... worrying, and they still don’t know what happened or how. Scar has made it his personal mission to find out, but besides Cleo Grian doesn’t know if there are any other leads.)
Grian’s feathers ruffle, frowning. Even if Scar is awake more nights than not, he still can’t help but feel nervous.
The dream comes back, his momentary pass through Eternity cluing him in that if it was a dream then it wasn’t his own.
If Scar isn’t asleep, then it might not have been a dream at all- but if it was a memory, then Scar must have been thinking about it.
And it changed.
Grian huffs, kicking the blanket off of his legs before turning to Mumbo and shaking him awake.
Mumbo grumbles, burying his face against his pillow, and Grian pouts.
“Mumbo, wake up,” he hisses, shaking Mumbo harder. Mumbo groans.
“Grian, love,” he starts, voice thick with sleep, “it’s like ten in the morning, it’s nowhere near time for me to wake up...”
“Do you know where Scar is today?” Grian asks.
“Mm, he told me that he was going to do research at his shop,” Mumbo mumbles. “Got more of his books there...”
Grian hums to himself. If he could, he’d call the glyph bird over, but last he saw it it had been returned to its place on Scar’s arm- so out of reach- and despite the months that have passed, Scar has yet to give Grian a new glyph. Though that was more Grian’s fault than Scar’s.
“I had a dream about him,” Grian says.
“Mm, was it a good one?”
“It started nice, but it went bad. I think it was a memory.”
Mumbo breathes out and opens his eyes, looking at Grian. “What?”
“I think I fell into one of his memories?” Grian shrugs, uncertain. “It didn’t happen the way it usually happens so I don’t actually know... but I’m just- well, our track record with dreams and memories hasn’t been great recently. Could you... pretty please call him?”
As if it wasn’t enough to just say please to Mumbo, Grian tilts his head and puts on his best puppy-dog eyes.
“Of course, love,” Mumbo agrees easily enough, sitting up. He reaches for the glyph on his arm but freezes halfway there.
Grian’s heart drops. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
Mumbo tilts his arm for Grian to see. It’s glowing, flickering rapidly between bright and dim.
“You said his shop?” Grian asks, though he doesn’t need to. Sleep forgotten, Mumbo is already throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn’t even bother with shoes, grabbing Grian’s hand and pulling him through a shadow.
They’re greeted by darkness. Not darkness like magic shadows, but darkness as in no light; the windows are blocked by the heavy blackout curtains that Mumbo had convinced Scar to put up what feels like a lifetime ago. The lights in the house are out, not even so much as a candle burning.
(There’s a distinct scent in the air, something between vanilla and honey, but it’s overwhelmed by something so much more bitter, something almost rotten.)
Grian blinks, trying to force his eyes to adjust faster while Mumbo breathes in sharply. It doesn’t take long for Grian to understand why.
Books and photos are scattered around the room, glass shards littering the floor. Every plant in the house- still so carefully cared for, because it’s still his son’s home- is dead. Deader than dead, Grian would even suggest; withered vines, saplings in their pots reduced to little more than charcoal, flower petals shriveled up and blackened...
“Scar?” Mumbo calls down the hall. When they get no response, they share worried glances.
He must have had another outlash, Grian thinks, following Mumbo down the hall. Scar’s bedroom is wide open and a quick glance inside shows it’s just as much a disaster as the living room- maybe even more, with the wallpaper ripped and peeling off of the wall- and they turn their attention to Tubbo’s door.
It’s cracked open, so Mumbo pushes it open all the way.
This room, they find, is in pristine condition save for the plants in the window. Dust floats in the dim sunlight filtering through the thin curtains, and Scar sits on the floor, back to the wall and knees curled up to his chest. His forehead rests against his knees and his arms are tucked against his stomach, his breathing fast and ragged.
“Scar!” Grian calls, relief washing over him- Scar’s okay, he thinks as he and Mumbo hurry over to their mate. Scar slowly raises his head and Grian stops dead in his tracks, caught by the glowing, burning gold of Scar’s eyes- and his expression.
Scar’s face is blotchy and flushed red, yet all the same he’s pale- more pale than Grian has ever seen him. There’s sweat clinging to his skin but he shivers, and tears leave tacky tracks down his cheeks.
Despair.
Oh gods, no...
Mumbo drops down in front of Scar. “Love, what’s wrong?” he asks, gently cupping Scar’s cheek in his hand, and Scar looks at Mumbo. His breath hitches and he tightens his grip on his arm, and for a moment- a long, terrible, horrible moment- Grian feels the world tilt.
Scar is holding his wrist, hand clamped around and squeezing so tight his fingers are turning white. His nails dig into his skin, little pinpricks of golden blood slowly welling up and dripping down his arm.
(There are still tears falling, yet Scar doesn’t make a sound.)
“Mumbo,” Grian starts, choking on his own words, and Mumbo glances down.
“Scar...” Mumbo calls softly, hardly more than a whisper. He holds a hand out and Grian steps closer, sinking down next to Scar. “Love...?”
Scar’s breath catches and a short, gasping sob escapes him, but he lets go of his arm. Mumbo takes his hand, exposing his wrist to them. Where there should have been a bee, there’s only a burnt, blackened mark against inflamed red skin.
All at once reality clicks into place, upside down and blurring together. Grian keens softly, pressing a hand to his mouth. Scar takes a deep, shaky, ragged breath before another sob rips its way out of his throat. Mumbo lets go of his hand and pulls Scar against him, holding him tightly. Scar leans into him, clinging to him as he breaks, every muffled cry like a knife in Grian's heart. All Grian can do is hug them both, wrapping his wings around them.
Between the sobs, in hardly more than a whisper, Scar finally speaks.
“He’s gone.”