Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sunflower field seemed to stretch on eternally. Scar weaved his way through the stems, working his way toward Trader Scar’s before nightfall. He had it down to a science— based on the size of the wall relative to his current location, he could determine at exactly which point the sun would be in when he started heading back.

He shivered, and hugged his shawl closer to his shoulders. Winter was fast approaching, and he had to repair the Mounds to ensure the cold wouldn’t seep in so the Mounders would be comfortable upon their return.

They would return eventually. Scar saw them; in the distance, always turned slightly away from him. When he did get a glance of their faces, they were always in shadow or slightly blurred, making it impossible to determine their features. Scar suspected he was gradually forgetting what they looked like. He would yell and wave, but the figures would vanish with the blink of an eye and he would be alone again.

They would often visit Trader Scar’s, make meaningless small talk, and before the transaction was completed they would disappear, leaving Scar at the counter holding his goods.

There was one visitor that completed a trade. He was one of the shadow people, dressed in a dark purple cloak that covered his face. He had traded a “token from a friend” for one piece of amethyst, and when Scar had leaned down to take the pin in his hand, he had nearly jumped back in surprise when his fingers made contact with cold metal. He had looked back up at the shadow person, but he had vanished along with the amethyst.

The pin, which now sat on Scar’s shawl over his chest, was made of a dark iron and engraved with a small desert scene. A life tracker heart, which now glowed bright red, loomed over the horizon like a rising sun. The only thing that revealed anything about the pin’s origin was the small grains of sand that were snuggled into the nooks and crannies of the engraving.

Scar didn’t know which friend the shadow person said it belonged to, as he didn’t remember seeing one like it during the game, but he felt a strange connection to it regardless.

He turned and walked up to the statue of the Secret Keeper, reaching down and pressing the “task complete” button. He didn’t have a task— he hadn’t had one since he won, in fact— but it made him feel like he had actually accomplished something that day. This was a routine he’d had for a while. Still, he heard no whispers, and nothing poured out of the statue. He smiled sadly to himself and turned to leave.

The shadow person from before stood blocking his path.

“It’s you!” Scar said. He looked down to gesture at the pin. “I’ve still got the token you gave me. It’s nice. I like it.”

He heard shuffling of fabric, and when he looked up, he noticed that the shadow person had taken off his hood.

It was Grian.

His features were perfectly visible, unlike the warped apparitions Scar usually saw. He had a solemn expression, watching as Scar floundered for words. Gradually, Scar staggered forward, his hands outstretched to cup Grian’s face and run his thumbs along his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids— Scar started laughing giddily as his fingers traced warm skin, reveling in the tactile sensation of another person in his reach again.

Grian stood there, his brows slightly furrowed, letting Scar smush his face around like a toddler learning how to use his hands. Scar wanted to commit his face to memory, to never forget it again.

“Scar—” he interrupted. Scar jumped and put his hands on Grian’s shoulders, gripping the fabric of his cloak tightly.

“Sorry,”

Grian paused for a moment as he figured out how to word his thoughts. “How would you like to leave?”

Scar blinked at him.

“Leave? But the sunflowers, and Trader Scar’s, and—”

“Don’t you want to see everyone again?” Grian asked.

“Well, yeah, but they’ll come back. I know they will. You came back, didn’t you?”

“They’re not coming back, Scar,” Grian said solemnly. “But I can take you to see them.”

He extended a hand, holding it out in the space between him and Scar.

“They’re… not coming back? But you—”

“I’m saying they can’t come back. But you can leave. I need you to understand, Scar, that I can’t come back anymore, either,” Grian said. He sighed and dragged his other hand across his face. “It’s complicated, but I’m not really allowed. Technically, I’m not allowed to take you out either, but I don’t really care.”

Scar cast a hesitant glance at the fields of sunflowers, the dilapidated houses, and the crumbling walls surrounding Trader Scar’s, and took Grian’s hand.

“Good morning!” Scar yelled, slamming open the door to the shared bedroom with one hand. Only Scott jumped at the noise, who immediately groaned and rolled over in his bed away from Scar. “Up and at ‘em, Cabin Core! It’s cabin cleaning day!”

“Can’t we do it later?” Etho asked, his voice floating wearily down from the second top bunk along the back wall.

“Nope! We’ve got an entire campground to de-web, dust, repair, make sure there’s no raccoons living in the walls, all that fun stuff,” Scar said. He walked across the room and hoisted himself up the ladder to the second top bunk, shaking Bdubs awake. Bdubs, startled, sat up suddenly and hit his head on the wood ceiling.

“Scar!” He gasped, clutching his chest. “You can’t just do that to a man!”

Scar shrugged with his free hand and hopped off the ladder. “Last one up has to de-web the main office,”

That got everyone up. Bdubs ended up being the last, only because Etho had vaulted over the bunk railing and made Scott catch him to ensure he didn’t break his neck. No one wanted to clean the main office. It was a large, impressive wood building that was built by the original owners of the camp and clearly intended to be a house, but all four of them had decided that it was too big for their needs, so they converted it into an office space that also doubled as counselor housing.

The cabin they lived in was built by all four of them, and even had a hot tub built into the deck that they met in every night to talk about the day. Everyone usually got into swimsuits, except Etho, who for some reason sat on the edge in full winter gear and only had the water up to his calves. At least he had the thought to take off his shoes and socks so they wouldn’t get soaked and left out on the front porch all the next day to dry.

The worst part about the main office was the large vaulted ceiling in the entryway, decorated with an impressive chandelier that was also a haven for spiders. And Scar didn’t have to clean it. That was a win in his book.

They all filed out of the cabin, Bdubs and Scott still wearing their pajamas, Etho having somehow found the time to change into his winter gear. Scott had one of Bdubs’ moss-esque jackets draped over his shoulders, the sleeves obviously slightly too short for his arms.

Etho had begun ranting about the plumbing in the hallway bathroom, as it had been faulty the past couple of days and Scar, Bdubs, and Scott were all builders and did not know the inner workings of redstone, leaving Etho the only one who could fix it.

“We could just hire a plumber,” Bdubs yawned. Etho shook his head.

“It’s an unnecessary expense. I know how to fix it,” Etho said. “Maybe I should teach you all how to do redstone.”

“Please don’t,” Scar said. “It just goes in one ear and out the other, you know that. It’d just be a waste of time.”

“C’mon, Scott,” Etho said, wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “You’re smart. Let me teach you how to fix the plumbing.”

“If you all don’t shove the scheduling on me when summer starts,” Scott said.

“But I don’t wanna schedule,” Bdubs groaned.

“You’re so good at it,” Scar said, putting on that voice of his that oozed with charm. “We all know if I did my own scheduling, it’d be an absolute mess, Scott.”

“What if Etho did it instead?” Bdubs asked.

“Nuh-uh. I’m the technician,” Etho said. He wrapped his other arm around Scott and nearly hung off his shoulders. “Scott. Darling. Love of my life. Please don’t make me do my own schedules.”

“Hey! You never call me that,” Bdubs protested, lightly elbowing Etho in the side. Etho pulled his mask down to stick his tongue out.

“I’ll start if you start learning redstone,” he said, still hanging off of Scott.

“Fine, you can teach me redstone,” Bdubs sighed. Etho hummed in acknowledgment and moved to wrap an arm around Bdubs’ shoulders.

“Thank you, darling,”

“Ah, home sweet home,” Scar said wistfully as he unlocked the door to the main office and pushed his way inside. Dust particles illuminated by rays of light seeping through the windows floated lazily across the large entryway.

“Breaker time,” Etho said, intertwining his fingers and out in front of him and stretching his shoulders. “Scott?”

Scott nodded and disappeared down the left hall to get to the basement stairs in the kitchen. Etho’s phone rang a few moments later, and they had done this routine enough for Scar to know it was Scott.

“Main hall’s on,” Scott said through Etho’s phone. Etho flipped the switch on the wall next to the door and the large chandelier turned on, flooding the large space with a warm-colored light.

“All good here,” Etho said as he moved into the left hall after Scott, stopping at the light switch.

“Lower left hall’s on,”

Etho flipped the switch and the hall light turned on.

“All good,”

They continued this, Etho moving through the rooms and occasionally calling out to Scar and Bdubs that a light wasn’t working. Scar, meanwhile, had made his way down the right hall to locate the supply closet and fished out a broom. Bdubs was close behind him to maneuver a ladder out of the small space.

“You need help with that, dude?” Scar asked, watching Bdubs wrestle with the ladder. “Don’t want it to squash you like a bug.”

Bdubs glared at him from under his bandana and continued wrestling with the ladder. Scar laughed and pushed past him to leave the storage room.

Spiderwebs were relatively easy to clear when you had both feet on the ground. As he walked through the various rooms on the first floor, he could hear Etho and Bdubs’ voices float in from the main hall as Etho held the ladder. Scott had gone upstairs with his own broom to clear the cobwebs, and once Bdubs was done with the main hall, Etho would vanish into the walls to fix the redstone that had probably been chewed on by bugs or something during the year.

They took a break for lunch a few hours later, gathering around the freshly dewebbed kitchen. Bdubs was slumped over the island, Etho sitting next to him with a hand on his back, and Scott and Scar digging through the pantry to find any of the nonperishable food they had left.

“Now redstone dust carries the signal, but that’s the basics of the basics,” Etho was saying to a very non-observant Bdubs. Scar cleared his throat.

“Cabin Core,” he announced, “We are completely and utterly out of food in the main office.”

“Not it,” Bdubs said immediately, voice muffled slightly by the table. Etho and Scott echoed shortly after.

“Oh, we were doing that?” Scar asked. “Okay then. I’m off.”

Scar parked a few blocks away from the grocery store. He would walk there, get food, go back to his car, then walk to the pet store to get more food for Jellie. The grocery trip was pretty easy— Bdubs and Etho took turns texting him and demanding increasingly difficult things, like raw eel and that honey the archaeologists dug up from an Egyptian tomb, but it was otherwise uneventful. He carried the groceries to the car, put them in the trunk, and started walking to the pet store.

He was half way back with Jellie’s preferred brand of cat food in his arms when he heard an explosion. It was a little ways away, but close enough to Scar’s general area to warrant his phone going off.

Villain group the Lighthouse Keepers spotted in the area. Remain inside and away from the Third Street Bank for your own safety.

Scar read it and put his phone back into his pocket. He was further away from the bank than he was his car, so he didn’t pay the alert much mind. He would just put the cat food into his truck and drive off in the opposite direction. If he knew anything about the Lighthouse Keepers, it’s that they liked spectacle and extravagance— they wouldn’t go after one guy.

“Hello there,” a flat voice said from behind him. Scar whirled around to face the man, who had been so quiet as he approached Scar didn’t realize anyone was there at all.

He was standing regally, looking over Scar with an air of dissatisfaction, his shoulders square and his hands tucked behind his back. Scar felt his blood run cold. The man had soulless black eyes peeking through a curtain of dirty blond, almost light brown hair partially covered by a dark blue military-esque hat adorned with a golden insignia.

His attire was similarly military, in the same dark blue and gold as the hat. He wore a shoulder cape with the same lighthouse insignia over his chest buttoned in the front with a double-breasted panel over a sleek coat with coattails that fell to his knees and straight black pants. A dark blue and red mechanical mask covered the lower half of his face.

This was Quadrat. One of the Lighthouse Keepers. Going after one guy.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Quadrat said, gesturing with his head at the ground beneath Scar’s feet. “But you’re in the way and we really don’t need you interfering with our plans.”

“Huh? What do you mean by—” Scar started, but before he could finish, Quadrat had pointed at the ground with a fingerless-gloved hand. A hole, starting as a small square, grew beneath Scar’s feet until he fell straight down. It was large enough to accommodate him, and deep enough to stop him from climbing out by himself. Quadrat peered down at Scar condescendingly over the edge of the hole.

“Well. Enjoy your time in there,” Quadrat said, and turned on his heel and left.

Scar sighed and set Jellie’s food down before fishing out his phone to call Scott.

“Hey, Scott,” he said. “I ran into Quadrat and he kinda stuck me in a hole. You don’t think you could bring over a ladder, could you? I’m a few blocks from the Third Street Bank.”

“Oh, yeah, that shouldn’t be too big of a problem. Let me go get Bdubs and Etho,”

“I think Bdubs just used one,”

“How deep is the hole?”

“Couldn’t be more than ten feet max,”

“That one’s probably too tall,” Scott said. “We can look for another one?”

“If there’s not another in the main office, there might be one in the cabin attic,”

“We’ll see. Be there in a few, hopefully,”

“M’kay. Bye, Scott,”

“Bye,” Scott said, and hung up. Scar sighed and leaned against the wall of the hole.

Scar spent a few minutes watching a news broadcast outside the bank, where Canary and Obsidian were talking in front of the exploded door. They seemed to have reached an agreement, Obsidian lifted a piece of rubble, and the two heroes rushed into the building.

“Angelman and Oni are both pursuing Ganymede, but Whisper and Quadrat are still inside the bank,” the newscaster was saying. Scar got a notification from Etho in the Cabin Core group chat.

“Sorry Scar, we’ll be a minute. The ladder fell on Bdubs”

Scar sighed and shook his head in mock disappointment.

“I told him to be careful” he sent back.

A minute later he got a text from Scott.

“Bdubs is fine, but the ladder’s stuck in the door”

Scar groaned and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the opposite wall. It was going to be a long day.

Quadrat came back about two hours later. The rest of Cabin Core were not able to get the ladder out of the main office. The villain peered down the hole again.

“Oh. You’re still here,” Quadrat said, genuine surprise leaking into his voice through the voice modulator. Scar looked up at him.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You stuck me in a hole,” Scar said.

“Most people would have asked friends to get them out or something,” Quadrat shrugged.

“I tried, but they got the ladder stuck in the door,”

Quadrat made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

“Well come on then. I’ll let you out. I’m not a monster,” he said. Scar stood and the floor he stood on began to rise until he was level with the ground again. “Thank you for not interfering. It was very helpful.”

Scar opened his mouth to respond, but Quadrat looked up over Scar’s shoulder and waved. Scar turned to follow his gaze, where he spotted two more figures standing atop a building wearing similar attire to the man in front of him. Whisper and Ganymede, if he had to guess.

The red-haired one, Whisper, waved back. She had a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

“That’s my cue. Thank you for not escaping,” Quadrat said before pulling out a grappling hook and flying off toward his teammates. Scar watched as he vaulted onto the building, Ganymede grabbing his shoulder to help stabilize his landing, and all three Lighthouse Keepers walked off.

The Lighthouse Keepers really liked extravagance. It wasn’t necessary to blow up most of the front wall of the bank, but it was flashy. And the Lighthouse Keepers were nothing short of flashy.

Jimmy and BigB were tasked with civilian extraction. Jimmy, because he was light and fast, and BigB because of his super strength. Jimmy tried not to roll his eyes when BigB lifted a large piece of rubble out of the way that both of them could have easily climbed over. He just liked to show off his muscles.

It wasn’t like Jimmy was complaining.

They both walked into the building, and Jimmy turned to BigB.

“You wanna take the front or the back?” Jimmy asked. BigB shrugged.

“I’m less likely to get stuck if the rest of the building comes down. You take the front,”

Jimmy nodded, and they split up, BigB heading for the stairs while Jimmy scanned the lobby. There was one civilian stuck under the rubble of the wall, but most of them were further in and just shocked. Jimmy helped the trapped man and walked the rest of them out.

“Hey, Obsidian, I’m done with the lobby. I’m gonna head up to help look for people,” Jimmy said into his earpiece.

“Cool. Try not to get trapped yourself,” BigB said. Jimmy scoffed.

“You think that little of me?”

“You don’t have my biceps,” BigB said, and signed off. Jimmy sighed, and headed for the stairs. He flew up the stairwell to the top floor, figuring he could just break a window and fly the civilians out if necessary, and meet BigB in the middle.

The top floors were largely a series of office cubicles, the hallways occasionally broken up by a meeting room or private office with glass walls that opened up into the hallway.

He ran into quite a few people who didn’t think the explosion and alarms were cause to worry, so he sent them along their way down the stairwell. There hadn’t been any more explosions on the upper floors, thankfully, so he didn’t have to evacuate anyone himself.

Jimmy moved down another floor, and quickly spotted a man walking through the hallways who gasped when he saw him.

“Oh, hey, someone’s here!” the man said, his hair, which Jimmy now noticed was on fire, flaring for a moment as he ran up to Jimmy.

“Are you— is your hair—” Jimmy asked. The man paused.

“It’s genetic. Don’t worry, it won’t burn anything I don’t want it to,” the man said, shrugging. “Do you know the way to the exit?”

Jimmy blinked at him and cast a glance over his shoulder to the glowing green exit sign hanging from the ceiling overhead. The man followed his gaze, and clapped a hand to his face.

“Oh. There’s signs. Of course,” he groaned.

“Why are you still up here? Didn’t you hear the alarms?” Jimmy asked the man.

“Well, I would have, but then everyone started panicking and I was basically stampeded,” the man said.

“And you didn’t see the signs?”

“My friends tell me I have the observational skills of a rock,”

“Okay. Uh. Want me to walk you to the stairwell?”

“Oh, that’d be amazing. Thank you,” the man said.

And then Jimmy heard the beep. It came from somewhere in the ceiling, probably hidden somewhere in the tiles and vents above them. Jimmy realized what it meant just as the ceiling exploded.

He threw his arms around the man and spread his wings nearly to their full length, covering the man as best as he could from the blast. Jimmy yelled as a piece of the ceiling came crashing down on top of one of his wings, bending it at an angle Jimmy knew wasn’t natural. His knees buckled under the pain, but he kept his wings spread to protect the man from more debris. The man gasped and pulled himself away from Jimmy’s arms to look at the wing.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, wide eyes focused on Jimmy’s wince.

“I should be asking you,” Jimmy said through gritted teeth. He scanned the man, who appeared uninjured. He had solid red eyes, his irises a lighter shade than his sclera. His lips were parted, his brow creased with worry.

The building around them creaked scarily, and Jimmy pulled the man close again as the hall around them started to collapse. They were completely surrounded now, both men hacking and coughing the dust out of their lungs. Jimmy let go of the man with one arm and reached into his utility belt to pull out two N95 masks and handed one to the man, who gratefully pulled it over his head. As promised, his hair did not set it on fire.

Jimmy released the man to pull on his own. He noticed his wings starting to quiver with the weight of the rubble on them, and his muscles ached. He allowed himself to fall to his hands and knees, the man following him down to sit cross-legged next to him.

“I heard an explosion, Canary. You good in there?” BigB asked, his voice crackling through the radio in Jimmy’s ear.

“I’ve got a civilian with me and my wing’s broken. We’re buried in rubble,” Jimmy responded.

“Give me about an hour and I’ll be there,” BigB said. Jimmy sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just sit here then,”

BigB signed off.

“Was that your teammate?” the man next to him asked. Jimmy nodded.

“Obsidian. He said he’ll be here in about an hour to get us out,”

The man hummed in acknowledgment. They sat in silence for a few moments.

“I’m sorry I got us stuck,” the man said finally. Jimmy looked up at him.

“Yeah, okay. I forgive you. Just try to be more observant next time,” Jimmy said. The man nodded.

“My name’s Tango,” the man said.

“Tango?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah. Tango,” the man— Tango— answered. “Do you get in situations like this often?”

“Yeah. Kinda. I’m usually pretty unlucky. That’s why they call me Canary— I go down quickly,”

“Like in coal mines,”

“Exactly,”

They fell quiet again.

“Do you have a favorite band?” Tango asked, breaking the silence.

“Not really. I like rock in general,” Jimmy shrugged. “Do you?”

“They’re kind of a small local thing. I doubt you would have heard of them,”

“I know the area pretty well. Shoot,”

“Okay then,” Tango said. “The Half-American Rejects,”

Jimmy felt his heart skip a beat.

“Wait, really? I didn’t know very many people knew them either,” Jimmy said. Tango straightened and his hair flared again.

“Yeah! Oh, this is so cool,”

“Do you… have a favorite member?” Jimmy asked.

“I know people aren’t really supposed to have favorites, but between you and me,” Tango said, pausing for dramatic effect. “My favorite’s Jimmy.”

Jimmy was pretty sure his heart stopped for a second.

“Oh. C-cool. What do you like about him?”

“I really like his voice. It’s got a neat growl quality to it when he sings that’s kind of addictive,” Tango said. “It doesn’t help that he’s real pretty, too.”

If he wasn’t keeping both of them alive, Jimmy was pretty sure he would have died right there. Someone’s favorite band was the Half-American Rejects. That same person’s favorite member was Jimmy. And apparently thought he was pretty, for some strange reason. Jimmy shook himself internally.

Focus.

“Oh, wait, your wing!” Tango gasped.

“You just noticed?” Jimmy winced. “I literally told Obsidian over the comm.”

“Like I said, observational skills of a rock,” Tango laughed.

“I’m pretty sure it’s broken,” Jimmy said. “But if I put it down, we’re gonna get buried alive, so… I’d rather not.”

“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense,”

“My bones are hollow. It happens,”

“Do you have a favorite song?” Tango asked. “Sorry for all the questions, I mean you’re kind of a figurehead, and I feel like I want you to feel more human, in a sense—”

“It’s fine. I feel like it’d be better to be seen as a human, anyway,” Jimmy said. “I really like Curse,”

“Half-American Rejects?”

“Yeah,”

CURSE!! was Jimmy’s favorite song to perform. He got to do a lot of yelling when he sang, which was always fun, and the backing tracks were almost like a cacophony of sounds that shouldn’t have worked together, but did. It was one of BigB’s favorite songs to perform, too, because he got to bring out that stupid plastic egg shaker he was so fond of. Not to mention it was inspired by Jimmy’s horrible luck.

“Ooh, I like that one too. My favorite might be Worst to Ever Do It, though. Like the vibe,” Tango said.

“What do you think about Honey, Honey, Honey?” Jimmy asked, holding back a snicker.

“The terrible bonus track that sounds like it was recorded in the other room with a phone? I love it,” Tango said, his grin audible in his voice.

“Good. That is the correct answer,”

The rubble above them shifted, revealing a grinning BigB.

“Exactly,” he said. Jimmy scowled at him, but it was covered by the mask.

“You said you’d be an hour!” Jimmy said. BigB shrugged.

“I lied,” he said. “Didn’t take too long to find you, either. This was the only patch of rubble in the entire back half of the building.”

Jimmy sighed, and BigB reached down a hand to help Tango to his feet. Once Tango was safe in the hall, BigB walked around to move the rubble off of Jimmy’s wings. Jimmy stretched the broken one gingerly and winced when pain shot through it.

“Thanks, man,” Jimmy said. BigB shot him a thumbs up.

“I spotted Ganymede on my way over, but she ran before I could get to her. Still no sign of Quadrat,” BigB said as Jimmy stood.

“Wait, this was the Lighthouse Keepers? No wonder this was the only explosion up here,” Tango said. BigB turned to him.

“Can you get down the stairs yourself, or do I need to carry you like I do Canary here?” he asked.

“I can walk,” Tango said. He turned to Jimmy and scribbled something on a post-it note in his pocket before holding it out. “Oh, Canary. I don’t know if this is like, weird, but I liked talking to you, and if you’re down to chat again, here’s my number.”

Jimmy took it, and BigB cast a glance at him that said I’m going to tease you about this later.

“Thanks. I’ll think about it,” Jimmy said, hoping Tango could hear his smile. Tango just shuffled awkwardly.

“Well, we ready to go?” BigB asked, reaching around Jimmy to hoist him up in a bridal carry, careful to avoid the broken wing. Tango nodded, and the three of them descended the stairwell and out of the bank.

Chapter Text

Scar could almost hear the collective sigh of relief when he pulled up to the cabin. Bdubs, Scott, and Etho were all standing huddled on the porch, a clearly abandoned ladder wedged in the open doorway.

“You’re going to let all the heat out, you know,” Scar said as he stepped out of the car.

“The, uh, the door wouldn’t close,” Bdubs said. On closer inspection, Scar could see that one corner of the ladder stuck out of the threshold of the doorway about an inch, keeping it from closing properly.

“How’d you get out, anyway? We were about to call the fire department,” Etho asked.

“Quadrat actually came back and helped me out once he was done at the bank,” Scar said. All three of them looked at him funny. “What? He’s not a monster. Said it himself.”

“We’re just glad you’re safe, Scar,” Scott said, resting a hand on Scar’s shoulder.

“Did you get the honey I asked for?” Bdubs asked. Scar shook his head.

“I, unfortunately, could not find Egyptian tomb honey at the grocery store,” he said sadly. “I had to make do with regular grocery store honey.”

They all unloaded the groceries to be taken to the main office in the morning in a corner next to the front door of the cabin. Etho and Scott started on dinner, Etho resuming his lecture on redstone while Scott talked to Scar.

“Oh yeah, I had that weird dream again,” Scar said absentmindedly. Scott turned to stare at him.

“The one with the sunflowers?” Scott asked.

“Yeah! Except there was a guy there this time. One of the shadow people, except he took off his hood, and I think I recognized him, but now I can’t remember ever meeting him,” Scar said.

“I mean, you’ve had to have seen him at some point in order for him to appear in your dreams,” Scott said. He turned back to the cutting board.

“No, I feel like I know him. But I just—” Scar gestured vaguely at the air around his head. “It feels like I’m forgetting something.”

“I can never remember my dreams,” Bdubs groaned. “The only one I remember is one where I was a horse, and there was this other horse who was eating Etho’s hair—”

“Okay, you have weird dreams,” Etho interrupted from the stove.

“I don’t have weird dreams,” Bdubs gasped.

“I mean, I dream of endless sunflower fields and shadow people, so I guess my dreams are just as weird,” Scar said.

“Yeah, but at least you’re you in your dreams. Bdubs is a horse,” Etho said.

“And that’s not my fault!” Bdubs said, standing up from where he was hunched over the table to point accusingly at Etho. “It wasn’t my fault the horse was eating your hair, either!”

There was whispering coming from outside the cabin. It was mostly masked by the wind battering the windows and howling through the trees the four of them chose to surround themselves in, but Scar could hear it. It was always audible enough to be a constant itching on his brain, but incoherent and mumbling enough that Scar couldn’t make it out no matter how much he strained his ears. It came from all directions, wrapping Scar in almost a suffocating cocoon of noise just out of his grasp.

And just as soon as it started, it was gone. He had lived with it all his life, so its random appearances didn’t bother him much. It used to, as a child— he would ask about it whenever he heard it, and his mother would always tell him, there’s nothing there, Scar. You’re okay.

He hadn’t told anyone about them after that. They didn’t mean anything to him. As long as they didn’t do anything apart from just being a little spooky, there wasn’t anything to worry about.

“Who knows, the mysterious dream man might just be your soulmate,” Scott said. “How often do you dream of him, again?”

“He appears in about half of the sunflower dreams, I think,” Scar said.

“And it’s always the same guy?”

“Sometimes he’s in a red sweater. But yes, it is,”

“That’s obviously your soulmate, then!” Bdubs interrupted.

They continued back and forth like that throughout the night, the discussion continuing into hot tub time and finally fizzling down when everyone decided they were too tired to continue debating the logistics of Scar’s mysterious dream soulmate man.

The whispers returned in the middle of the night.

They were louder this time, less like an itch and more like a nagging feeling on the edge of Scar’s brain that he ended up waking up. His phone told him it was exactly midnight— twelve o’clock on the dot.

He sighed quietly, as to not wake anyone else, and got out of bed. The whispers stopped after a couple seconds, like they always do, but Scar felt like these were important. Otherwise, why else would they be louder? Why would they happen at midnight exactly?

He slowly opened the door and winced at the squeal it made.

“Scar?” Scott asked. Scar turned guiltily to face Scott’s silhouette.

“Sorry to wake you,” Scar whispered. “I just… thought I heard something.”

“Wasn’t you. I thought I heard something, too,” Scott said, shaking his head. “Mind if I come with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Scar said. Scott stood to follow him out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

They searched the outside of the cabin with flashlights for a few minutes, their search turning up nothing, of course.

“Hey, Scar?” Scott asked finally.

“Hm?”

“What you heard… could it maybe have been whispers?”

Scar froze.

“You hear them too?”

The rest of the Rejects had benched Jimmy after his wing injury. He almost didn’t mind, because he had more time to himself, but they were taking longer to respond to situations and Skizz had to start taking a more active role, meaning he couldn’t listen as intently to police radio so some things just flew under the radar.

One good thing about Skizz taking over for Jimmy was that he was stronger, so he could carry more people or supplies than Jimmy could. Still, they were noticeably less efficient, and Jimmy hated it.

Joel had offloaded some of the songwriting onto him for the time being, but it wasn’t the same as going out and helping people. Jimmy felt like dead weight at this point.

Fortunately, he had Tango to keep him company.

“Ren’s friend came over again today,” Tango said from over the phone. Jimmy had him on speaker, sitting on the table next to the half-destroyed notebook Jimmy was poring over, covered in his messy handwriting.

“Ren’s friend?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah. Me and Impulse don’t know his name, ‘cause neither of them have said it, but he clearly knows Ren’s and he drops by every week,” Tango said. “Ren’s really protective of him. Doesn’t let us talk to the guy because he gets to the counter first.”

“Kinda sounds like Squall and Oni. Squall keeps dropping by to annoy Oni and Oni keeps insisting Squall is obsessed,” Jimmy sighed.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen that on the news,” Tango laughed. “Doesn’t Squall insist Oni is the obsessed one?”

“Oh, all the time. My sister finds it hilarious for some reason,”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah. She’s Oni’s girlfriend,”

“What’s she like?”

“She loves causing chaos. And cute things. She’s also a really big ocean conservationist, and Oni makes her his entire personality when she’s involved,” Jimmy said. “It’s kind of annoying, how sappy they are.”

“Do you not like Oni or something?” Tango asked.

“Oh, no, I do. He’s a really close friend of mine. But he would stab me for a single chicken nugget,”

“Makes sense. I’d probably stab Impulse for a chicken nugget,”

“Well, if he ever comes up on the police radio, at least I have a suspect. Would you mind repeating that for the record?”

“I would never stab Impulse for a chicken nugget,”

“Thank you, Tango,”

“No problem, Canary,”

“What else has been going on with you?”

“Me? Not much. Ren’s been getting less nervous and fidgety around that friend of his. Impulse and I think he has a crush,” Tango said, his smile audible in his voice.

“Aw, that’s cute,”

“I know! And we think the friend might like him back, too, because he keeps coming by for almost no reason and tips Ren extra every time,” Tango said.

“You guys are the Gluten Guys, right?”

“Yup,”

“Maybe I could drop by some time. Not much to do since Angelman has benched me,” Jimmy sighed. Tango made a sputtering noise and Jimmy heard someone’s concerned voice filter through the speakers on Tango’s end.

“I’m fine, Impulse. Just peachy,” Tango said, voice slightly more distant as he probably turned away from the speaker.

“I mean, I should probably be seen out and about so people don’t think I died or something,” Jimmy said. “Although Obsidian would tell people I did if they asked. I don’t know why he does it.”

Jimmy and Tango continued talking about their respective lives, Jimmy ranting about Joel for the most part while Tango had brought up a video game he was working on making. It sounded impressive, and Jimmy told him he’d love to play it once it was released. Tango made more sputtering noises at that, but brushed it aside and claimed it “wasn’t much”. Someone who Jimmy assumed was Impulse immediately interjected.

Jimmy did not end up getting much song writing done that evening.

Tango woke up feeling wrong. There was something brewing in his gut that he knew wasn’t sickness or nausea and he just couldn’t put a finger on it.

Maybe he slept wrong, or something.

He got out of bed, made himself breakfast, brushed his teeth, and got ready for the day with no issue. He glanced at his phone, where Canary had responded to a text the night before after Tango had fallen asleep, apologizing for being busy so he couldn’t see it sooner as he had been recently cleared to go back on duty now that his wing was adequately healed. Tango moved to type out a reply, but as he reached out for his phone, his fingers twitched.

Invite him over. Go to meet him. His wing’s just healed, but he mentioned his bones are hollow, so it’d be easy to break them again. You could corner him and—

…Where had that thought come from?

Tango shook himself and brushed it off as an intrusive thought. The feeling in his gut stirred incessantly. He picked up his keys from the shelf next to the door and stepped into the hall. He turned and waved to his neighbor, an elderly woman who always carried a small purse, as he closed the door behind him.

She’s much weaker than you are. Your door’s still unlocked and there’s no one else in the hallway. You can—

His shaking hands tightened around the doorknob. They itched to wrap around her frail neck, snap it in two, and why was he thinking about this?

He took a few deep breaths, then pushed his door open and quickly stepped back inside his apartment. He slammed it shut behind him, leaning against the wood and ran his hands through his fiery hair. He debated calling in sick to work.

But you haven’t opened yet, so it’d be just the three of you. Ren’s not very strong, and even Impulse would go down fairly easily with a few hits from something dense—

Yeah, he was calling in sick.

Hands still shaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to call Impulse.

“Hey, Tango!” Impulse said cheerily when he picked up. Tango didn’t have to do this. It was too big of an opportunity to miss.

“Hey, man,” Tango laughed weakly. “I’m, uh…”

Ren’s not as well versed in redstone as you and Impulse. You could easily tamper with some equipment and—

“You alright?”

“No. I think I’ll, uh, stay home today. Not feeling too well,”

“Totally understandable. Take care of yourself,”

“Will do. Thanks, Impulse,”

“No problem. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Probably,”

“Cool. Feel better soon,” Impulse said, and Tango hung up.

The feeling in his gut intensified and his attention drifted to the doorknob next to him. He pushed off the door and nearly into the living room, finding his old heavy armchair and slowly moving it into the hall to block the door. Just in case.

Scar supposed he was the dedicated errand man this year. Etho needed an incredibly specific size of redstone pipe to fix the plumbing, and instead of getting it himself, he’d given Scar a picture of a diagram of the setup and a dream.

Scar had spent an hour trying to decipher it with the hardware store employee, a man with quite a wonderful mustache named Mumbo. Mumbo told him that he was fairly certain he figured out what the part was, but if he was wrong Etho was going back to get it himself.

He decided to take a route through the suburbs because he wasn’t too keen on getting stuck in another hole.

He was not expecting to watch a black car with tinted windows and no license plate pull into a driveway. He wanted to ignore it; maybe it was an FBI car, or something, and no matter what it was, he wasn’t going to get involved. The Lighthouse Keepers were the only real supervillains in the city, but it wasn’t like there weren’t others who tried to challenge the title.

He tried to drive past, but he didn’t get far before a nearby rose bush from someone’s garden started growing uncontrollably over the street, blocking the car from proceeding any further.

Looks like he was getting involved after all.

Three people got out of the mysterious car and approached Scar. They were wearing mostly civilian clothes apart from their mechanical masks marking them as the Lighthouse Keepers. Scar recognized the one on the right as Quadrat from the hole incident three weeks ago.

Scar stepped out of the car.

The redhead, Whisper, was the closest to him in the approaching group. She wore a dark blue hoodie over a flowy flower-print dress that could only be described as cottagecore and brown worker boots. Her hair was in its usual half-up half-down space buns style. The outfit did nothing to subtract from her intimidating glare.

“Well, you’re here for a reason,” Whisper said. “You can’t lie to me. Spill.”

She was right. Scar suddenly felt that he was physically incapable of lying to her— she somehow saw right into his conscience and pulled him apart into the things that made him up.

“Wanted to avoid being put in another hole today, so I decided to take the long way home to avoid the more targetable places,” Scar shrugged.

“That worked out wonderfully,” Quadrat said. He wore a black rain jacket over a dark red sweater matching his mask and gray sweatpants that were obviously too long for him. If Scar had to guess, they belonged to his last teammate, Ganymede.

Ganymede herself wore a dark blue trench coat darker than the hoodie worn by Whisper over a band t-shirt and black jeans. She had a ponytail at the base of her neck that held her long emo bangs out of her face.

“I don’t have any plans of reporting you to the police or anything,” Scar said, holding his hands up in front of him in surrender. “My buddy might kill me if I don’t get this redstone pipe to him soon. Or at least not fix the plumbing for another day just to annoy me.”

The three Lighthouse Keepers exchanged a look.

“Well since you’re here,” Ganymede said, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, indicating a smile. “You might as well help us wrangle the dogs.”

“Wait, dogs? You’re doing a kidnapping?” Scar asked. “I don’t think I want to—”

“It’s less a kidnapping and more a rescue operation,” Whisper interrupted.

“This fellow was really annoying us at the bank yesterday and we discovered that he neglects his dogs,” Quadrat said.

“So we’re getting them out of there,” Ganymede said.

“Do I want to know how you found this out?” Scar asked.

“Nope,” Quadrat and Whisper said at the same time.

“Okay. Y’know what? I’m in, as long as you don’t rat me to the police,” Scar said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ganymede said, and turned to lead Scar to the door of the house.

Quadrat bent down to pick the lock and the door swung open. A large white dog, obviously skinny and with small patches of fur missing, bounded up to the door and barked at the intruders. Ganymede gasped and rushed forward to fall to her knees in front of the dog. She held out her hands, and the dog reluctantly approached her. Ganymede buried her hands in its fur and scratched its ears.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed.

A second white dog, in a similar condition as the first, slowly came out from the living room to the side of the hallway. Whisper let this one approach her.

“Do you have a name? Can I call you Tilly?” Ganymede asked the first dog. It looked up at her and nuzzled into her hand. She let out a sound that sounded half sob and half squeal. “Tilly it is, then.”

“While they’re losing their minds, you help me get the dogs’ stuff,” Quadrat said, jabbing his thumb behind him and pointing further into the house.

“What do we want to name this one?” Whisper asked. Scar attempted to step past her.

“Villy,” Ganymede said instantly.

“Like you guys!” Scar said. “You’re like the Villies.”

“‘Villies’?” Quadrat asked. “That’s fun. I kinda like that.”

“Or the Lillies,”

“I like that less,”

Scar stiffened and shot a nervous glance over at Quadrat. He had turned back to the hallway and was peering into the living room, seemingly having moved on from Scar’s comment. Scar took a shaking breath and reluctantly followed Quadrat through the hall.

They found one chew bone that was clearly so heavily chewed that it was unusable behind the couch and one dirty food bowl and a stale bag of cheap dog food in the kitchen. Scar was pretty sure he snapped a blood vessel restraining himself from breaking something.

“How is he even allowing the dogs to live like this?” Scar snapped. “I mean, I love my cat more than anything and I’d go to jail before I did this to her.”

“I know!” Quadrat said. “I’ve got cats too.”

“What are their names?” Scar asked. Quadrat shot him a look. “Oh. Right. Supervillain and all that.”

“Exactly,” Quadrat said. “I don’t think we’re gonna find anything usable. We should head back.”

They walked back through the house to the front hall. Ganymede had picked Tilly up and held her in her arms, nuzzling her face into the dog’s fur. Whisper was sitting on the floor and gently petting Villy, who was lying next to her.

“Find anything?” Whisper asked. Quadrat shook his head. Ganymede’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Are we… going to get out of here now?” Scar asked.

“Probably. Come on, Tilly,” Ganymede said. Whisper stood and picked up Villy.

All four of them walked out the door. Quadrat pulled a note with a calling card out of his pocket and taped it to the still-unlocked door detailing the dog heist.

“Well, I’d say you can go,” Quadrat said, eyes crinkling slightly in a smile.

Ganymede waved a few fingers at the rose bush trapping Scar’s car and the vines retreated.

“Thank you,” Scar said, and quickly retreated back to his car before the trio roped him into anything else.

Impulse called as soon as the Gluten Guys bakery closed. Tango had holed himself up in his bedroom, only coming out to get himself food, trying and failing to write code for his indie game project Decked Out. He’d shut all of his curtains fairly early in the morning because he kept having murderous thoughts about the pedestrians who walked by his windows.

Tango reluctantly picked up.

“Hi Tango! We’ve got a few extra loaves after closing. Can I bring you one?” Impulse asked. Tango swallowed.

Yes.

“Nah, man, I’m good,” Tango said. “I’ve got plenty already.”

“Okay then. Maybe I’ll pawn it off on Skizz or something. Feel better soon,” Impulse said.

“I’ll try. Bye, Impulse,” Tango said, probably hanging up too quickly.

There was a building sense of dread in his gut. He’d tried to ignore it like he had with the homicidal urges, but it just kept heightening and it got to the point where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He had to do something now.

He shouldn’t have rejected Impulse. He instinctively reached for his phone to tell him he’d changed his mind, but stopped himself and decided it was a better idea to toss it onto his couch across the room so he couldn’t reach it.

Just in case.

Maybe he should look this up. But maybe he shouldn’t, in case he ended up on a watchlist or something. He resolved to just continue pouring himself into Decked Out. He’d finished the level one map and just needed to code the traps and do the art for the ravagers, and then implement the artifact drop spots, and the clank, and the hazards, and he was perfectly content to pretend the growing urgency was just choice paralysis and the consequences of his own actions.

Just in case.

He dumped his stuff off his bedside table and dragged in front of his bedroom door to barricade himself inside.

Just in case.

Jimmy sat perched on top of a regular unmarked office building, peering out over the city below at more regular buildings, some marked with various signage ranging from bright neons to faded handpainted wood. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Feeling better today, so I think I’ll be heading into work”

It was Tango. Jimmy smiled as he stared down at the contact. At least he wouldn’t have to be bored the whole time he was on patrol. He’d been up since barely before the sun had risen, and was pretty sure he was already losing his mind.

“Good for you man” Jimmy sent back.

“Did you have a cold or something?”

“I don’t think so. It was closer to just a bad headspace, really. But I’m all good now!” Tango replied.

“You wanna talk about it? I know I’m technically on duty but there’s nothing happening” Jimmy sent.

“It’s kind of silly, really. Every time I looked at or talked to someone I started plotting their murder. But I guess I probably shouldn’t be talking about this to a hero” Tango sent.

“You didn’t kill anyone, right?” Jimmy asked.

“Of course not” Tango answered.

“Then you’ve got no reason to worry man” Jimmy sent.

“Haha thanks. I should probably get down to my car and off my phone” Tango sent.

“Sounds good. See ya” Jimmy sent, and turned off his phone. Back to staring at the streets.

People milled about like ants from up where Jimmy sat. Skizz buzzed people on comms to ask Joel for assistance with a robbery, and Jimmy decided to help as well since it wasn’t like he was doing anything else.

He stretched his now healed wings and leaped off the roof to reach the corner store Skizz indicated. Joel pulled up with his motorcycle a few seconds later. They asked the cashier for a description and the direction the thief went in, and Jimmy took off to scour a street while Joel hopped back onto his motorcycle to search another. It took a few minutes of searching to find the guy, but he hadn’t gone very far because he was on foot.

Jimmy picked the man up by his shoulders and deposited him back in front of the corner store where the police were already waiting. They thanked him and he flew back up to his perch on the office building.

It took a few more minutes of mind-numbing people watching before his comm fizzed to life again.

“Hey, Canary, my dude,” Skizz said in his ear. “Just got word of a car crash out on the highway. Police radio says it’s pretty bad. Think you can go over and check it out?”

“Please. I’m losing my mind over here,” Jimmy groaned. He’d been half tempted to pull out his phone again and call Tango again, despite the fact that he was probably at work already and wouldn’t be able to pick up.

“Sending the location over now,” Skizz said, and the comm on Jimmy’s wrist pinged. He sighed, stretched, and dove off the building to fly towards the highway.

It was hard to see from the height Jimmy was at to avoid hitting any buildings and have a clear path to the crash, but he could very clearly see the flashing red and blue lights of police cars and the orange glow of a fire. From what Jimmy could tell, it almost completely engulfed the two cars. Two ambulances were pulled up next to the crash. He could see an approaching fire truck to the north, sirens blaring.

Jimmy dove down to get a closer look. The two cars were both facing each other, head-on-head, both crumpled like an accordion in the front. One car, what Jimmy could only assume was a dark green pickup truck, appeared to have skidded into the opposite lane to drive directly into the other, a standard black sedan. Both vehicles were too fiery to make out either driver.

One of the paramedics visibly sighed in relief when Jimmy landed.

“Oh, good, you’re here, Canary,” she said. “How far away is the firetruck?”

“Should be coming around the bend any second now,” Jimmy said, and not a moment later, the sirens came into earshot and the red truck rocketed down the highway towards them.

It parked a few yards away and quickly people hopped out of the truck and started uncoiling the hose. They sprayed the water at the flaming cars and reduced them to a smoldering wreck.

From where Jimmy stood, he got a near-perfect view of the driver of the black sedan. His head was on fire, the orange-yellow flames coughing and sputtering to stay alight. He was slumped over his steering wheel, his bright red shirt advertising a local mechanic soaked in his own blood, the rest of his body obscured by his deflated airbag.

No. He wasn’t on fire.

It’s genetic. Don’t worry, it won’t burn anything I don’t want it to.

It was Tango.

“Don’t worry about his head. Blaze hybrid,” Jimmy choked out just as a firefighter stepped toward Tango with a confused expression on his face.

He nodded and stepped back. A few of the paramedics from the ambulance rushed forward to try and get the drivers out of the vehicles. The driver of the green pickup was a middle aged woman with long brown hair, slumped over her steering wheel in a similar manner to Tango.

They were able to wrench Tango’s door open with the help of a firefighter and carefully positioned a brace around his neck, careful not to jostle his head. More paramedics returned to the ambulance, and Tango was being dragged out of the car carefully by his shoulders onto the stretcher that was being brought over.

He stirred, and Jimmy found himself rushing to Tango’s side. Tango blinked at him with bleary eyes and made a gurgling noise. Blood dripped out of his nose and mouth.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Jimmy whispered. “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

A horrible scratching noise came from the pickup truck. The other driver, covered in blood, with her limbs bending slightly wrong, had forced her door open, climbed out of her car, and was limping towards Tango. Some of the paramedics quickly rushed towards her, but she brushed past them.

“Actions have consequences,” she spat, blood spurting out of her mouth as she spoke. “Do not think you could have defied us.”

Tango stared at her, unfocused. She staggered and was quickly forced onto a stretcher. But Jimmy didn’t miss the almost perfect rectangle carved into her abdomen from the crumpled metal of her car. It seemed oddly familiar to Jimmy, in a way.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jimmy asked, turning to the nearest paramedic.

“You could maybe try to control the traffic? Get the road clear to get to the hospital,” he said.

Jimmy nodded.

“Sorry, I just want to know… is he going to be alright?” Jimmy asked, looking down at Tango again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy saw the paramedic open his mouth to answer just as Tango’s hair let out one final cough of smoke and sputtered out completely.