Chapter Text
The air tasted like blood.
Well, it tasted like salt, from the seaspray of the ocean, which lapped at the foundations of the town of Saltlook. But to Scar, stepping off the train and onto the platform, all he could taste was the salt-iron of blood.
Scar wasn’t superstitious. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He wasn’t very superstitious, but sometimes, little signs and small details couldn’t be ignored. He was a detective, for star’s sake! Details were the most important things sometimes! Especially when the first thing he was greeted with at what’s to be his new home was the taste of blood. That had to mean something, had to be some sort of omen meaning this was bad, this was wrong. Meaning Scar didn’t belong.
Scar already knew that, though. He didn’t need the salt coating his tongue to tell him that. Not when no one on the train had paid him any attention. Not when the humidity made his bad leg ache. Not when the very air felt wrong in his lungs. Not when he hadn’t even wanted to come here in the first place.
He sighed, heavily, shifting his weight so he could lean slightly on his suitcase while a bored looking man checked over his passport. He had promised Cub he’d try to enjoy it here. He had promised he would at least try to make this place into home.
This was supposed to be a fresh start. Saltlook was known for its beauty, for its small-town charm, for the interesting and curious local folklore. It was a small, tight knit community, but a welcoming one. The local police force had always been friendly with Scar’s agency, providing extra manpower to the city whenever needed, seeing as there wasn’t much for them to do in such a small, safe town. Scar was supposed to feel safe here.
He didn’t know how he would. But he’d try! He promised Cub that he’d at least try.
The walk from the train station to his new home was a bit farther than Scar had anticipated. It was late, too, and no one was on the streets. Scar supposed it made sense. Saltlook was mostly a town of families and retirees, so there wouldn’t really be much of a night life at all. It was lonely, though. The others who had spent the long train ride from the city along with Scar hadn’t gotten stuck with the train security. Scar supposed they were natives, so it made sense. It made sense that they wouldn’t talk to him during the ride, then, as well. So much for being welcoming.
Well. That wasn’t exactly fair of him. He was a stranger, an outsider. Despite coming from the city, he knew what it was like, the oddness of someone new joining a group that had been together for ages. He remembered when Cellbit had joined the force, just before the incident, and how awkward it was having a new person begin to exist in what had always been an already tight dynamic.
He supposed Cellbit had an easier time fitting into the group, now that Scar was no longer a part of if. That thought made the blood-salt air sour in his lungs, though, so Scar tried to push it, and all thoughts of being an outsider, away.
He focused instead on the walk. On putting one foot in front of the other on the old cobblestone path, on dragging his heavy suitcase behind him and trying to avoid uneven patches of stone. The town around him, too, that was something he could focus on. Though they were filled by the lack of sunlight, Scar could tell that the buildings were all brightly painted cheery colors that would look beautiful in the daytime.
The architecture, too, was wonderful, simple but lovely in a charming, old fashioned way that Scar greatly admired. He had always been a fan of architecture, and would sketch building designs in his notebooks on long stakeouts. It was only ever a hobby, but it was something fun to indulge in. Perhaps now he could have the time to give it more thought, to expand his skill.
A small bit of pride filled his chest. He was doing exactly what Cub had asked of him. It felt good, really. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.
Unfortunately, Scar, despite his happy nature, was a stubborn man. And when he arrived at the house he and Cub’s parents had left them, he realized that he was wrong. This would be too bad.
The house was big. Scar didn’t remember it being so big, from the brief memories he had of going there as a small child. It was too big, Scar thought, staring up at it, at the front porch with stairs that would be a total pain to go up with his bad leg. And with his suitcase. It was as pretty as the other houses in town, but secluded from the rest of them, on the end of a long, winding trail that ended right at a cliff overlooking the sea. A cliff that Scar’s new house just happened to be positioned on.
Scar was many things. He was devilishly handsome, according to the nickname his fellow investigators had given him. He was very smart and detail oriented. He was kind, or he tried to always be, at least.
One thing he was not was coordinated. It wasn’t fully his fault! His hearing wasn’t the best in his left ear after the accident, and he was a bit wobbly from his bad leg. He was also just sort of clumsy in general, though. Which made living on a cliff overlooking the ocean a little bit precarious. Just a bit.
Okay, a lot. Scar, after finally struggling up the steps, and struggling again to pull his suitcase up them, looked over the porch’s railing, staring at the waves below. It wasn’t that high up, but still. The sea was stormy, dark, with white waves breaking against a scattering of rocks. It made Scar shudder. Though the height wasn’t enough to kill him, the rocks or the water itself would. It sort of made him understand why the air would smell like blood, here.
He let out a breath of air, tearing his eyes away from the drop, and back to his stubborn suitcase. With another huff of breath, he went back to dragging the stubborn thing, until he had it at the door. The door was painted a nice warm yellow, and Scar smiled a bit at that, before he remembered he needed to get his key, and fumbled for a few seconds trying to remember which pockets held the key.
Finally, he felt the telltale chill of the cool metal. The key was old, like the rest of the house, and a bit rusty. It was made of iron, or something like that, because of some sort of old story about iron keeping bad people out. To be honest, Scar hadn’t really listened to Cub when he was telling Scar about the house’s history. Scar had been focused on trying to pretend to be enthusiastic to truly listen to what he was meant to be enthused about.
“Okay, enough of that,” he breathed to himself, the first words he had uttered in a while. It was almost a record for him, really, to go this long without talking. He was just lost in his head, really. “Yep. We’re going in the house. This is. This is gonna be good!”
Even his own voice betrayed him, it seemed. He couldn’t find a way to make it sound genuine. But the key turned in the old lock after some fighting, and the door opened, and Scar was met with the sight of his new house.
He promptly sneezed. It was dusty in the house, the door’s movement and Scar’s footsteps disturbing the thick layer that was resting on the floor. He decided that dusting would be one of the first things to do, and put that thought on a mental checklist. Then he pulled out his phone to make a note on an actual checklist, because stars know he’d forget to and end up developing some sort of lung condition because of all the dust around.
Not even the checklist app could help his scatterbrained self, though, because there was a reminder that he had completely forgotten about until it was here, staring him in the face.
“Call Cub when you get off the train,” it read, and Scar wished he could forget about it again. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Cub. No, he did, really. He missed Cub. This would be the longest they had ever lived apart. They had grown up together, of course, and then Cub had moved into Scar’s small apartment to finish out college after their parents had passed. They had moved out of that apartment, yeah, but there had really just been no reason to ever live apart.
Scar missed his brother, and knew it would be worse in the coming nights, where he wouldn’t have anyone to talk to in the late nights when neither of them could sleep, or the days to come when he’d make too much food expecting to have to feed another person.
Scar had never lived alone before, not since that brief stint in the apartment, and even then, he’d visit his family, and his friends, and hardly spent more than a couple of nights on his own. Standing in this big, dusty house, with his small suitcase and small phone held in small hands, Scar couldn’t help but feel so completely alone.
And that was why he didn’t want to call Cub. He didn’t want Cub to see this side of him. He was the older brother, the stronger one, he was supposed to protect Cub from these sort of feelings. Especially when he was the one feeling them.
But he also couldn’t just leave Cub without calling. So Scar sucked in a big breath, closed his eyes tight, and pressed the call button.
“Oh, hey. Was starting to worry that your train had crashed into a mountain or something.” Cub’s voice, flat but with a bit of pitch to it that only Scar could pick up on, betrayed the fact that he actually had been worried, at least a little bit.
Scar cringed a bit, fidgeting with the handle of his suitcase. “Sorta got swept up in the security check, sorry man! Who knew you had to get your passport checked for somewhere in the same country, I mean, come on! That doesn’t even make sense.”
Cub didn’t laugh at the joke. It wasn’t very funny, but still, that hurt a bit. “You’re deflecting.” Cub commented, in that no-nonsense way of his. “Did something happen on the train?”
And here it was. The reason Scar didn’t want to call Cub. “No, nothing happened, I just—“ Scar was never good at locking his emotions away, no matter how hard he tried. He had never mastered it. “It’s just different, you know? It’s a big move, I’m just feeling— different.”
“A good different?” Cub asked, though Scar thought he should know the answer to that. For a second, Scar felt a stab or annoyance at Cub. No, it wasn’t a good different. Scar had lost his job and his entire life had been uprooted. None of that was good. But it wasn’t like he could say that. Not to Cub, who had pushed so hard for Scar to come here, for Scar to have a place away from the city where he could heal.
Well. He could. Maybe Cub deserved to feel a little of the turmoil Scar was feeling. He had pushed for Scar to come here, after all. “Not really,” Scar murmured, in a clipped tone he barely used, especially not around Cub. “The house is big, it’s kind of lonely. And it doesn’t seem like there’s much to do around town.”
“Big’s good, though.” Cub’s reply was clipped too, just a tiny bit sharp, like the point of a needle dedicated to sewing the mess that was Scar’s thoughts shut. “And besides, it’ll be good for you to have a little down time. It’ll help you come to terms and stuff, you know?”
“I’m not sure I want to come to terms with ‘stuff,’” Scar shot back, evenly. His tone was sharp too. Not angry, never angry, but sharp. Sharp and flat, like a knife blade. Scar had never been good with knives, much better with ranged weapons. Well, he supposed he wasn’t too good with those anymore either.
Cub brought him back from his head with a loud sigh. “Scar, you couldn’t stay in the city. You couldn’t stay on the force. You need to rest, dude, rest and heal, and you couldn’t do that in the city. This is good for you.”
Part of Scar wished he could get angry easier. It was just unfair. It was unfair. Cub, his supervisors at the force, all of them seemed to know what was good for Scar. But Scar was a grown man, a talented private investigator, not a child that needed to be told what to do. He didn’t see the sense in making him move away, in treating him like he didn’t know how to take care of himself.
But just like so many other things, he couldn’t say that. “Right. I guess you’re right, Cub. Thanks for checking in. I love you, talk to you later.” Scar didn’t wait for Cub to respond before hanging up, and putting his phone on sleep mode.
Not that he was going to sleep any time soon. His brain was far too awake for that, and he had to blow up the air mattress, and maybe unpack if he got around to it. He didn’t really want to blow up the air mattress or unpack, though. Not after his conversation with Cub. That would make this feel too permanent.
Scar took another breath of the dusty air. The salty, bloody air was better than this.
He stepped out the front door and back onto the porch, taking in a lungful of clearer air. It felt gross in his mouth, wrong like taking a sip of blood, but it was better than the air inside. He leaned against the door, closing his eyes, letting the salty breeze ruffle his hair. That was comforting, at least. Scar always liked a breeze.
This wasn’t like the breezes from home, though, that came with the sounds of cars beeping and police sirens sounding and just people existing. It was quiet here, save for the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.
Scar opened his eyes, coming back up to the railing. He didn’t want to think of home, or of the oppressive silence of this place. He didn’t want to think at all. What better than the terrifying depths of the ocean to steal his thoughts away?
He came back up to the railing, looking over once more. The rocks were just as sharp, the waves just as wild and dangerous. But this time, there was something in the water. Scar almost panicked for a second, leaning over the rail for a better look. He couldn’t really swim well, not at all, but he could at least call for help if someone was down there.
There wasn’t anyone, though. Just a bunch of seals, their heads bobbing out of the water. Scar breathed a sigh of relief, his face relaxing into a smile. He had never seen wild seals before. They were quite cute, if he was being honest! Just a bunch of little heads, bobbing in the water, looking up at him.
Okay, the looking at him part was a little bit scary. Maybe Scar’s nerves were just shot after the coffee cup this morning and the call with Cub and all of it, but it was just sort of uncomfortable. He didn’t know much about seal behavior, having switched his major from marine biology to criminal psychology halfway through his first year of college, but he was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to glare at you.
He shuddered. Maybe he just needed to go to bed. Before he went back inside though, he spotted a piece of paper fluttering on one of the columns that he hadn’t seen before. With a frown, he pulled it off where it had been tacked down.
It was a missing poster. Reading “have you seen me,” with a picture of a smiling person Scar couldn’t recognize. He hasn’t heard of any missing people here. Cub had told him that Saltlook had an extremely low crime rate. For a moment, something felt incredibly wrong.
Scar just needed to go inside. He locked the door behind him, even though it made him feel a bit silly. He pretended he was locking it because of his lifetime in the city, and not the weird seals and the weirder poster. Honestly, he was just ready to collapse in bed.
Right. He still had to blow up the air mattress.