love didn’t shoot him, he swears pt. 3!
not doing keralis either, sorry… last chapter of hotguy au tho! had a lot of fun writing this one
psa: this one is a bit darker than the others, mentioning in a bit more detail captivity and childhood trauma; please be careful!
Scar shifted, and his neck strained. He groaned, blinking away the sand in his eyes. He seriously needed some sort of pillow, his sleep schedule was hurting. He sat up, doing his best to alleviate the chafing on his wrists before sighing. At least Menores had turned the radio off.
The door slammed open, Menores himself stalking through the door. Scar had barely moved before his vision flickered, blindfold winding itself around his eyes. “Uh— Menores, what—“ he laughed nervously. “— what is this?”
“Nothing of importance!” Scar could hear the sinister glee. “Don’t you worry, you,” the villain continued.
“You’re not about to kill me, right?”
“You’ll be fine!” Wrists untethered from the bed but still cuffed, Scar was shoved through the door. After so long without the use of his legs, he almost collapsed, having to lean against the wall to stay upright. He obeyed, nonetheless. This was his chance! If he made it outside, he could call for help, he could…
The door clicked behind him. Simultaneously, the sharp cold of metal slid next to his neck. Scar broke out in cold sweat.
”Don’t be getting any ideas, alright? After all, no law-abiding citizen should ever have to see their favorite hero beheaded.”
Scar clenched his jaw, straining as far from the blade as he could. He walked sullenly, weighing how quickly he could move if given the opportunity. He didn’t like his chances.
He’s pulled into an elevator and into the open air. Menores’ grip on him tightened in warning, before a second set of hands yanked down on him. Panicked, Scar tripped, before falling onto… leather?
“What’s taking you nerds so long? Close the door, already!”
Wrathful? Confused, Scar racked his brain while he was squished into the backseat of a car. He recognized the feel of denim on the left of him, which only added to the racing thoughts.
Were all three of the Wardwatch— or, the Bad Boys, whatever it was— in the car with him? Surely they didn’t all want to watch his execution. Or perhaps they did. They were criminals, after all.
He opened his mouth, preparing to use this chance to escape regardless of whatever they had planned, before a sudden pothole sent him lurching in his seat. His knees clanged together, sending pain shooting through his body— a conspicuous reminder of how unstable his Blessing already was.
When the car brakes, the men on either side of him grabbed his arms. “W-wait a minute, what’s going on—“
”Not a word,” Menores threatened. Scar gulped.
Pulled back into the outdoor air, his feet hit sidewalk and a door in front of him clicks open. The sound is accompanied by a bell, almost like… a restaurant? Is he being dragged on a robbery?
The concrete turns to tile, yet his captors don’t stop as they stalk forward, opening another door and heaving him up a set of stairs. After so long without walking, with his already weakened legs Scar is huffing by the time they reach the top of the landing. He almost questions them again, before remembering Menores’ words.
”You got ‘im from here?” The one on his left, Chaos, asks.
”Yeah, no worries. Head on downstairs, I’ll be there in a minute.” Menores pulls him forward, out of the grasp of Chaos and down a small hallway. With his free hand, Scar tests the wall in front of him, measuring how far they walk in case of a quick getaway.
He is again manhandled through a doorway, brought to what felt like a wooden pole before Menores commands, “Sit.”
Scar frowns, reluctant to be bound to another piece of furniture; yet he folds his legs as Menores connects the cuffs to the bed with rope.
Without another word, the man steps away, before pausing. Hesitating? Scar hears the rustle of clothing behind him, before the binding of the blindfold is undone. His head whips around, surprised by the sudden lack of hostiity, but he’s not quick enough to catch Menores’ face before he strides away, only slowing at the doorframe to say, “Just wait. It’ll only be a couple of hours, anyways.”
As the door clicks behind him, Scar breathes, long and deep. It appeared he would not die today, at least not to this set of ‘Bad Boys’. He sniffs, wondering what exactly they were up to, before sniffing again. A strange scent was in the room. It reminded Scar of… yeast, like the bread he had with Chaos and Wrathful. His robbery hypothesis was gaining less and less traction.
He looked around the room, details sharpening in his mind. The bed frame he was tied to, the fuzzy pink blankets strewn on it, and the desk to the right of him. His eyes caught onto something, before growing wide. Scissors! He laughed in disbelief— escape was so close— before he remembered his hands were bound together. His laughter died.
A minute and several back-breaking attempts later, his foot hooked onto the scissors and he carefully maneuvered them into his lap. Awkwardly, he used his calves to push a blade into the small opening between his wrists and the bedpost; then it was only a matter of sawing away. Then, he was free! —Albeit still handcuffed. But escape was a simple window away.
He neared the window, preparing to unlock the hinge before he caught sight of himself in the reflection. His visor was still gone, but… seeing his uniform on with his face uncovered made Scar pause. Menores’ words echoed back to him. “Didn’t you hear, old man? You’ve retired.” If he went back now… he shivered to picture the look on the Heir’s face. He knew he wouldn’t be welcomed back. If he returned with insider information, though…
He took a step away, a single slow step away from freedom. He turned from the window’s soft city glow, and carefully stepped out of the bedroom. He gulped as his knees creaked. Espionage was not his, nor Hotguy’s strong suit. Yet he slowly made his way down the staircase, touching the same wall as before, footsteps light as he could make them. The walls were covered with all sorts of photos, many featuring an old woman and a young girl. As Scar continued slinking down the hallway, the young girl aged too, and a few boys— her friends?— made their way into the pictures.
Scar stopped at the stairway. He looked at the last painting. It featured the girl, now a woman, with her hair dyed a bright pink; she was surrounded by three boys and the woman— her grandmother, Scar thought— with a candled cake in her hands. What interested Scar most, however, were the boys; they looked familiar. Where has he seen those faces?
He blinked as the scent of baked goods wafted through once more. He walked down the stairs, gait clumsy and unused to the weight, before looking around the ground floor. He had stepped foot in a bakery, not a restaurant, and it looked well-kept and homely; lights were strung up above chalkboard menus, and the checkered floor was interspersed with tables and chairs. Hearing the sounds of muffled conversation coming from a kitchen, Scar crept up, keeping close to the wall.
”What’s the deal with your loaves, Grian? They’re so lumpy!”
“Oh, shut it, Jim. You know I make a mean loaf! Look, I can even put eyes…”
“Nah, but Jimmy’s right, I think. Your loaf is making me sick.”
”Like yours is any better, Joel! I might seriously puke if I stare at yours too long. Is it cancerous?”
Scar grinned. This was exactly what he needed to hear! Were those the names of the Wardwatch— Grian, Jimmy, and Joel? Although he was surprised to hear such… normal names from the trio, he couldn’t help but imagine the way he’d be welcomed back at HQ.
”Boys, boys! We all know each one of yours looks like a mess. No need to— oh, well, actually, speaking of a mess, what’s up with the guy you brought in? Was that Hotguy?”
Scar crept closer upon hearing his name. Though a bit miffed about being called a ‘mess’, he listened closer. This was a new voice. This he wanted to hear.
”All Grian’s idea. Saw him maskless and insisted on bringing him home.”
”Aw, Grian, did you get a little crush? Are you head over heels for a little Hot Guy?”
Scar made a face. Inside, he heard ‘Grian’ have a similar reaction. “No! That’s not… see, I recognized him.”
Scar’s brow furrowed. He recognized Scar’s face? Not Hotguy’s? He couldn’t say he had a similar reaction upon meeting any of the Wardwatch.
The kitchen had gone silent. ‘Joel’ spoke up. “Recognized him? You mean… from before?”
The tone of the man’s voice had dropped— as a matter of fact, the entire room had gone silent. It was like they were afraid of voicing something, something from the past.
“No, not… not that long ago, Joel. My memory’s worse than yours, anyways. It was, um… while I was there. In the hands of the Listeners.”
Scar gaped. The Listeners? As in, the group that had control of the entire city? Where Scar hailed from, where he had trained, where both his best and worst memories were created? Scar thought. For something to have happened in the past, that neither other Bad Boy knew about, it had to have been ages ago. He must’ve been a child.
Scar shivered as something clicked. He knew firsthand how miserable it was to be a child in the Listeners’ ranks.
In the kitchen, someone shifted. “Grian, y’know you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not very keen on sharing.”
”It’s fine, Jimmy. You were there when they took me, you deserve to hear what happened.”
”The Listeners, they didn’t know exactly what my Blessing was but they could make a guess. They kept me blindfolded and cuffed, for… I think it was days, don’t really— remember. When we arrived in the city, they stuffed me in a room by myself, and—“ He broke off.
Scar was shaking. He was shivering all over, memories bubbling to the surface like magma. Grian didn’t need to speak for Scar to relive what happened. He knew. He knew.
The soldiers had returned celebrating. They celebrated death they wreaked. The two Blessed that were chosen to go, the Heir and the Healer, returned with wide eyes, hands shaking. The other Blessed, like him, listened in from the shadows of their barracks. They weren’t allowed, they weren’t supposed to leave.
”Don’t remember how long I was in there either, heh. I— I don’t—“ He sniffed. “Thing is, I wasn’t alone. A boy came to my cell daily, tried to talk to me and cheer me up.”
Scar had left anyway. He had watched as a kid as tall as himself got pulled forward by a chain, sobbing quietly as bars locked behind him. Scar had seen himself in those eyes. He knew.
“And one day… one day he stole the keys to my cell. Remember the day you met me, Jim? That was the last time I ever saw him.”
Scar’s eyes burned, he had to keep himself from sobbing out loud. He tried his best not to remember his childhood, it… hadn’t been filled with much sunlight. The way Grian saw it, though… Scar’s stomach turned. Was Hotguy so sure he wanted to return?
His mental storm was cut short. Heart pounding, Scar stared at the furred thing currently looking at him like an intruder. It barked again. Scar panicked.
Inside, someone sighed. “Sorry for bringing down the mood, guys. I’ll go get Meri.”
Scar jolted again, looking for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere.
“Come on, Meri, let’s get you— S- Scar?!”
Scar flinched, knowing he had been caught. (Part of him caught him use his first name). Eyes screwing shut, he sent a silent apology to his future self, and reached for his Blessing.
”Hey, Menores, I was just looking for the bathroom! My handcuffs, as you can see, are still perfectly attached to my wrists! Speaking of, if you ever need a hug or anything like that, I happen to know the perfect guy to talk to! And if you’re wondering if I caught any of what you were talking about, no, mister, I can assure you I didn’t! I—“
Scar hacked, deep, and his eyesight blurred in warning. But he looked at Menores— he was still gaping at him.
”I never had any plans whatsoever to escape! I actually really like the dynamic you Bad Boys have, I never had any of that with the Listeners! Also, the b-bread smells absolutely amazing over here, can’t think of anything better to eat, and… and your real name is G-Grian, isn’t it? Not that I would, uh, ever eavesdrop on a conversation! Just happened to remember you from somewhere… e-else…”
Scar’s vision flickered. The feeling in his legs buzzed away. The last thing he saw before careening towards the ground was Grian’s baffled face.
thank you so much for reading!
i know i got major sidetracked, i really do wish i had time to write both stories; however my goal this month was never really to write every hermit, but rather to use HaDM as an outlet with which to improve my writing ;)
this is the last chapter in the fic, with some cool Grian/Scar backstory (meet-cute not cute) and fun Bad Boy dynamic!
see you tomorrow! <3 we’ll be back with HaDM