Chapter Text
Grian would like to say he got this job a few summers back because he enjoyed looking after forests. He’d like to say that this had nothing to do with a childhood friend’s sudden disappearance. He’d also like to say it hadn’t been nearly 15 years since his friend had gone missing. However, the 32-year-old could not say those things. He had no interest in forests or plants, and this job was indeed his only way of looking for his friend Scar.
Obviously, in other circumstances, he would have just left it to the police to look into. Sure, he would have asked about Scar, but he wouldn’t have dropped his job and moved back to his hometown. That’s exactly what he had done though, and he was tired of waiting for the police to recover a 12-year-cold case. So he was going to find Scar, or what was left of him, in this forest by himself. Minus maybe with the help of Mumbo and Pearl, but otherwise alone–oh, and the other rangers…but otherwise completely alone!
HermitTown, as the residents called it, was full of bright people willing to lend a helping hand whenever. That was the best quality of the town. They didn’t ask questions, they just did as you asked them to.
When Grian arrived at the parks, he was met with a load of questions from old friends. “Where did you go?” Mumbo had asked, meeting Grian with a smile and tilt of the head. He looked like a dog. “Just a town over, to Evolution. It was…interesting there, to say the least,” he supplied, shrugging off his backpack in the locker room. Mumbo nodded along, following after Grian. Grian hadn’t minded it at all, since he knew Mumbo was right behind him. He clocked in and walked out of the small ranger’s pavilion, Mumbo still following behind and ranting about all of the latest things in HermitTown.
Mumbo paused, waiting to hear something from the blonde he was now walking next to. “And how’s Martyn?” Grian asked, a cheeky smile on his face as he looked up at Mumbo. The two were walking down a path that led to a campsite. Nobody would be there, though. “Oh, yes, M- Martyn?” Mumbo asked, raising an eyebrow. Grian nodded, smile turning into a gentle frown. “Are you two not…y’know anymore?” he asked, watching Mumbo’s eyes flash in surprise. “Wh- Grian!” he yelled, smacking the other’s shoulder lightly. “We never were together, you pesky bird! Sure, there was something at first, but things change. He’s fine though. He just came back from Evo, like you have,” he said, continuing his walk the way he always had. Shoulders slightly hunched, eyes trailing the ground to ensure he wouldn’t trip over or step on something. Especially not living.
Grian nodded. He hadn’t seen Martyn in Evo. Not once. Which is surprising for a place like Evolution, where everything had been so close together. The middle of the city had been 10 miles from the boarder. In a city like that, everybody knew everything about one another. You had to.
“So he’s doing okay?” Grian asked, stopping once they had gotten to the campsites. He searched around, picking up any forgotten trash. Mumbo nodded. “He’s been okay, as I said before. He’s changed though. Similar to how you have, but not in the same depth,” Mumbo said, leaning against a tree. He could be one if he was still and had leaves, Grian thought.
Grian paused. “I’ve changed?” he asked, watching the raven-haired friend of his nod. “You have. A lot. Maybe because you’ve been around yourself all these years, you don’t see it. But you have this new look in your eyes. That look of seeing something you wish you hadn’t. One of exhaustion, too, but there’s always been a bit of tiredness in your gaze,” Mumbo rambled, hand coming up to smoothen out his mustache. Grian looked him straight in the eyes, staring at him as more words fell out until he decided it was enough. Mumbo stared back, giving a look of not understanding, but knowing. Because he couldn’t have understood something in detail if Grian had said nothing about it, but he knew something happened. Grian guessed he saw the same look in Martyn, just with less intensity. It was because of Evo, after all.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you don’t. You don’t like looking at your own eyes much, do you? I’m just surprised you haven’t noticed it in your posture. The way you hold yourself is different too.”
Grian turned his head. Screw Mumbo for having such a good memory and attention to details. Screw himself for teaching Mumbo to be that way. He sighed. “Elaborate,” he pushed, stuffing things left behind in a hurry in his pocket. How the rangers had failed to do this themselves baffled him, but he assumed there was good reason. Something felt off here, anyways.
Mumbo sighed, standing straight up and rolling his shoulders back. His neck popped as he twisted it to the side. “When we were younger, you used to have your wings resting against your back and your shoulders were always sloped downwards. You had this way of holding yourself that said you were happy to be somewhere, ready to explore and cause mischief,” he started, taking a breath. His head lulled to the side, and Grian stood, putting the items away in his pockets. A few flashlights, old cans, a pocket knife and rope. Nothing to suggest somebody had gotten hurt. “And now?” Grian asked, turning to face Mumbo.
“Now, your shoulders are raised like somebody wants to hurt you at every chance they get. Your wings look like they’re tied to your back. One of your feet is always turned so that you can push off it and run. I haven’t seen you laugh once since you’ve been back,” Mumbo said, staring Grian down. The blonde felt as if Mumbo’s eyes were picking him apart, placing new things he was finding in a separate box from the things he used to know. As if he was judging everything he did and cornering him against a corner in an alleyway with no room to move. As if he were a bug being pinned down to a piece of felt to be put on display.
Grian looked away. “Quit looking at me like that,” he hissed, his top lip moving up, ready to defend. Mumbo’s eyes traced his figure one last time before he directed his attention to his hands, picking off pieces of tree sap from his palm. “You did it again. You’re acting as if you think I’m going to kill you once you turn your back to me.”
“And what if I said I thought you might just do that?” Grian challenged, wings puffing up and shifting outward. Mumbo sighed, eyes moving back to Grian’s.
“Do I look like I could even hurt you if I tried, Grian?” he asked, challenging Grian’s idea. Grian looked at his feet. “You look like you’d feel bad about killing an ant with your foot.”
That’s when Grian realized he’d been out of it. Mumbo had always cried when he saw things die. He was the kid who picked up spiders and walked them out of a classroom full of screaming kids. He was the one who had insisted that, as children, there would be no need to bring weapons to a fight if they could just talk it out. Something was wrong in this forest. It was messing with his perception. Or maybe that was Evo.