Chapter Text
Grian doesn’t even feel the pain following the fall. He can’t feel anything. He supposes that’s what he should have expected, this last life gone there’s supposed to be nothing. But there isn’t nothing. He hears voices. People talking over him, talking at him. He doesn’t know. And while he hears the voices he still doesn’t hear them. It’s only mumbling, words (is it even words?) in the back of his head.
Grian wants to talk back, wants to scream at them to be quiet, to talk clearer, something. Anything beyond the overpowering babel surrounding him. Grian can’t understand them but he recognizes the undeniable sneer in their distant voices. He doesn’t know what it means, even if he could hear their words he doubts he’d have the energy to interpret their tone. Grian tries to open his eyes.
Eyes.
The only thing surrounding Grian are eyes. They aren’t looking at him, until they suddenly are. All at once they turn. He shivers, not only seeing their gaze but also feeling it. He shouldn’t see this, he realises. He doesn’t know why but somewhere in the pit of his stomach he knows. There’s still voices, louder. More pointed. Grian wishes he could scream even more now. Scream at them to look away. Look anywhere else. But despite how unsettling the feeling is, it feels familiar. Like he’s meant to be here (he isn't. He’s meant to be in the desert, surrounded by flowers, holding the one person who almost didn’t betray him).
He closes his eyes and everything feels better. Safer, even if he still feels eyes on him.
Suddenly, all the noise, all the voices, stop. Only silence surrounds him. A moment ago he would have begged for this silence but all too quickly he comes to regret that. This isn’t the comforting silence he wanted. This is a tense silence. No, not a tense silence. A painful silence. A silence that feels familiar and yet it’s one Grian doesn’t remember having ever experienced. It’s maddening.
No sound at all.
No Scar talking his ear off. No birds chirping in the distance. No wind howling. No lava bubbling somewhere nearby. No zombies groaning in the night. No water pushed under his feet.
No begging for forgiveness in a cactus arena.
Grian isn’t allowed to linger on that thought though. The moment it enters his head the silence is gone. Birds chirping, wind rustling in the background, but most importantly, footsteps.
Grian opens his eyes again and far too many thoughts enter his head at once.
First, where is he? It’s a large room and certainly not one he recognizes. It’s not home. It isn’t flowers and desert. It’s comfort and it’s calm. A comfortable double bed (which he’s on top of), large open windows, bookshelves and a desk. It feels… It feels familiar. But not the unsettling kind he felt earlier. It feels safe. But that isn’t easing any of Grian’s other concerns.
Namely and, secondly; How did he get here? Normally this would be where he retraced his steps but there isn’t much to retrace past jumping off a cliff after killing Scar with his bare hands. Yes, there’s the voices, the eyes, the silence, but it doesn’t help him. That was more than likely all in his head, the emptiness of what lies beyond his last life. This isn’t that. It can’t be that.
Thirdly, and maybe most important, who’s approaching? Their footsteps are still some distance away, careful, but they don’t appear to be sneaking. Grian can’t figure out if they know he’s here or not. He’d rather not find out by having an arrow in his chest though. Quickly pushing himself off the bed, his eyes scan the room for anything he can use to defend himself. Anything to make sure he isn’t entirely defenceless against whoever brought him here. And Grian was always lucky in his unluckiest situation (just look at how everything ended), and there’s a chest right by the bed containing most things one would need when out of the house (inside the house too if Grian had anything to say about it). Tools, armour, blocks, food, a communicator. It’s better than what they could gather during their short time on the server, all the tools made of netherite. Grian doesn’t complain, only grabbing a sword for now, hearing the footsteps slowly but surely getting closer. He sneaks closer to the door, gripping the sword tightly, ready for the moment the person on the other side opens the door. He will get his answers.
There’s a knock? It catches Grian off guard for a split second. He’d expected whoever was keeping him here to walk in immediately, whether they knew he was here or not. He doesn’t move. Waiting one second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Then a voice.
“Grian? Are you in there?” Grian tenses. It’s an unfamiliar voice. It sounds hesitant, slightly nervous. Not scared. Just… worried? Grian doesn’t allow himself to read further into the male voice on the other side of the door. No, he’s more worried about the fact that this person knows his name. It’s one thing if he’d possibly found him somewhere and brought him here, but this makes things much more suspicious. Grain waits another few seconds, and then the door opens. It’s done carefully, as if this person were scared he’d wake someone up. Grian doesn’t even give the man a chance to look around the room.
Grian moves more on instinct than anything else, throwing his body forward, pushing the person with him against the other wall. The person in question lets out a loud yelp in surprise as he’s forced against the wall, pinned so his front is to Grian. The first thing he notices is the almost comedic moustache on the other’s face. If he’d met the man under any other circumstances Grian doesn’t doubt he’d comment on it. This isn’t any other circumstance though. This is one where he doesn’t know where he is, how he got here, found by a man who knows his name, all the while Grian is supposed to be dead alongside the rest of them. Otherwise, the man is wearing a suit, not unlike Skizz in that regard. This man’s suit is in good condition though, no arms ripped or signs of previous injuries or deaths.
“Grian?! What are you doing?” the stranger exclaims, letting out a nervous laugh. Yet, it isn’t as scared as Grian would have expected. He still sounds worried, more confused than anything. He pushes past that though, he’s here for answers, nothing else.
“Where am I? Who are you?” Grian asks, keeping his voice low, trying to appear threatening. It’s strange to do while the other is so much taller than him, but Grian is used to threatening people taller than him now. The stranger furrows his brows for a moment, more visibly confused.
“It’s me! Mumbo!” he exclaims like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. How self absorbed must a guy be to assume someone he hasn’t even spoken to knows who he is? Grian doesn’t let up, ensuring Mumbo doesn’t take advantage of his confusion.
“Well, Mumbo. You wouldn’t mind telling me where I am and how you know my name then?” Mumbo’s brows furrow slightly further, mumbling something quietly under his breath. Grian doesn’t catch more than ‘others’, he doesn’t let himself get distracted though, continuing to glare at the taller man.
“You’re on hermitcraft, mate?” There's some hesitancy to his words, but Grian gets the feeling it isn’t because he’s lying. ‘Hermitcraft’ doesn’t help him in the slightest. He’s never heard of the place, but then again, he supposes the question was a bit stupid in the first place.
“How did I get here?”
“My question is how you vanished in the first place! You, Scar, Ren, Impulse, Tango, Cleo, Etho and BDubs all just vanished suddenly. You’ve all slowly started returning with you coming back last.” Mumbo explains, speaking very quickly as he does. Grian on his end only grows more confused. How does this man know all of them? And why not all of them? Where are Timmy and Scott? Martyn, BigB, Joel and Skizz? None of it makes any sense. Grian not responding, mostly from the confusion plaguing him, seems to get Mumbo speaking again though.
“The others were confused but not like you. They didn’t know what happened either but they remembered-” Mumbo rambles. Remembers? And did Mumbo say returned? Are they…
Mumbo’s rambling and Grian’s train of thoughts both get interrupted by the sound of fireworks. Grian, for the first time, allows his gaze to leave Mumbo, instead looking back towards one of the large windows in the room, ready to quickly defend himself from the other direction. He’s not sure if he can defend himself from both Mumbo and the newcomer but he’ll have to try should it come to it. No doubt it would if Grian is pinning their friend to the wall.
His eyes lock with familiar eyes but with a colour Grian only got to see for a few short hours before Grian’s first prank. An emerald green on the face of a smiling man. A man Grian had plenty of time to get to know in the desert. A man Grian shared laughter and tears with. A person Grian yelled at, joked with, smiled at…
…A man Grian last saw dead on the ground in front of him…
“G-man! I saw you were back too!” a far too familiar cheerful voice exclaims. He flies(?) in through the window, landing not-very-gracefully. Slowly his smile falters just slightly to an expression of confusion. And yet despite the confusion, there’s that playful tone, as if he’s watching a joke or prank played out in front of him.
“Grian? Why are you pinning Mumbo to the wall?” And Grian can’t move. His eyes completely glued to Scar. Alive Scar. A Scar who’s lifeless eyes aren’t staring up at the desert sun. An alive Scar who’s still smiling at him. Who isn’t telling him it’s okay to kill him. Who isn’t screaming apologises back and forth with Grian. Grian doesn’t realise he’s let go of Mumbo, that he’s put away the sword, until he’s already wrapped his arms around Scar pulling him into a tight hug. It feels somewhat foreign. Grian can count on one hand the amount of hugs he’s received, much less given.
It takes a moment, but slowly two arms return the hug. The feel hesitant, confused. Grian can’t bring himself to care. His eyes are burning and Grian can feel the tears threatening to fall. Grian is confused, wants to know what’s happening, how he’s alive, how Scar’s alive. But that all gets pushed to the side.
Scar is here.
For just a moment Grian can ignore everything else. He can ignore many deaths on his hands. He can ignore the times he caused Scar’s death. He can ignore Scar betraying him. And for a moment, only a short moment, he can ignore the blood on his hands as he slowly backs away from the body beneath him. Instead he simply holds him close, almost desperately holding on. Scared that letting go slightly will make him vanish in his grasp.
“Hey, G? You okay?” a soft voice finally asks after what must be minutes of the two of them there. Scar. Grian knows he should let go. Not only are they in the open with a stranger in a strange place, but Grian shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t be hugging Scar. Not after everything that happened. Almost on instinct Grian tightens the hug anyway.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly, scared that speaking any louder will betray all the emotions hidden in his voice. Scared it’ll bring Scar back to the reality of Grian killing him, having a hand in every death he suffered through. Make him realise he should push away, protect himself. But Scar doesn’t. He keeps his arms around Grian, one hand on his lower back, the other slowly patting his hair. Insane Scar with no sense of self preservation holding his murderer. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again after a few seconds of agonising silence.
“What for?” is all he gets in return, asked softly, hesitantly, like Scar is scared he’ll scare him away. Grian only shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say. Scar doesn’t push for an answer though, seemingly content with letting Grian stay there for some reason. They do stay like that. Grian is able to push away all that haunts him, and Scar seemingly aware Grian isn’t ready to talk. It’s almost like nothing happened. Almost. Something is still screaming at Grian. Screaming at him to pull away, screaming it isn’t safe.
The door opens without warning, and Grian doesn’t hesitate. One moment Scar and Grian are safely in each other’s arms. Scar running his hand through Grian’s hair in an attempt to comfort him, and Grian keeping his head burrowed in Scar’s shoulder. The next Grian pushes Scar behind him, his wings widening slightly to make himself appear bigger, the sword back in his hand, glaring at whoever entered the room. Scar lets out a small yelp behind him at being pushed back, Mumbo, still standing awkwardly to the side near the door, also jumps slightly at the sudden shift.
The person who just entered doesn’t look too phased by the sight, pausing immediately, hand still on the door as he looks at Grian. He’s wearing some kind of helmet, although his eyes visibly move around the room to take everything in. His eyes finally land on Scar as Scar very gently pushes past Grian.
“Hey, hey, hey. G-man, it’s okay! It’s just X,” Scar walks in front of him, placing a hand on Grian’s sword hand. And if only that cleared anything up. Instead it only causes a hundred more questions. Who’s X? Why is he here? And maybe most importantly, how does Scar know him? Actually, Scar seems to know a lot more than him. He doesn’t like being so in the dark, he decides. Seemingly noticing Grian’s confusion he speaks again. “Xisuma?” he says, as if trying to refresh Grian’s memory. A memory Grian is sure he doesn’t have.
“Hey Grian, Mumbo called me over,” Xisuma is the one speaking now, cautiously. He stays by the door, seemingly more for Grian’s ease of mind rather than his own. The hand not placed on the door is out in the air, open so Grian can see it’s empty. It’s somewhat comforting. Grian remains silent though, eyes going between the three other people in the room.
Xisuma looks calm, but cautious, eyes focused entirely on Grian. Mumbo’s eyes aren’t too different from Grian in that they move around the room. He has a worried expression. Worried for what? Scar mostly looks confused, still standing close to him, hand still over his. Almost all his attention focused on Grian.
“He said you don’t remember a lot of things? You only seemed to know Scar?” Xisuma continues to explain, although it’s more him asking Grian instead. It does seem to confirm that Xisuma was called while Grian was holding Scar. Scar’s brows furrow slightly as he looks at Grian, his confusion turning to some weird blend between worry and curiosity. Grian doesn’t respond to Xisuma, only narrowing his eyes slightly at him, not sure what to think of him. Or Mumbo. Or this entire situation, and what do they mean not remembering? Seeing Grian not speaking Xisuma continues.
“This is Hermitcraft, your home server. Like Scar said, I’m Xisuma, your admin. You’ve been with us for almost three years now. You and a few others, including Scar, disappeared for a few weeks,” Xisuma speaks calmly, and Grian doesn’t know what to say. What to think. It would be easy to deny what he’s saying. But some of it makes sense. Almost too much. Grian doesn’t remember it, but there must have been something before… something before deserts and flowers. Before blood and war and betrayal.
“I… don’t know anything beyond the last few weeks,” Grian confirms cautiously, his eyes still on high alert between Xisuma and Mumbo, ready to use his sword should any of them try anything. Logically, he wouldn’t be able to do much, he knows. There’s no reason for him to believe he’s the only one carrying a weapon, and Scar is very clearly in the way of being able to do anything fast enough.
“Were you with Scar and the others?” Xisuma asks, although it looks like he already knows the answer.
“Probably,” Grian settles for. It’s what makes the most sense with what he’s told.
“And you remember all that happened there?” Grian does. He remembers craters from a failed prank and unsuccessful traps. He remembers lilacs and poppies offered hesitantly, pleading, a promise. He remembers a bloody crown on the ground and the bodies surrounding it. He remembers a clock lying broken in a small pond, blood slowly spilling into the previously clear water.
He can still feel the blood on his hands as the weight beneath him stops struggling.
“Grian?” It’s Scar’s voice that brings him back. Two red eyes filled with concern. No, emerald eyes. Two emerald eyes filled with concern. Grian notices the netherite sword now laying at his feet. When did it get there? Grian feels a knot in his throat, unsure what to say. How to continue. Was he asked a question? Why is everyone looking at him? And why isn’t he holding the sword?
It’s too crowded here. Too many eyes on him, and it feels like they’re all boring straight onto him. Grian wants to go. Be anywhere but here. Here, where he feels surrounded, trapped. Xisuma is standing in the way of the door. He can’t fly, like Scar apparently can (despite not having wings before). The room that previously felt so large suddenly feels like a small box. The windows are open, letting in air, but it isn’t helping. There’s too many people. Too little air. Too little room.
“Alriiight! How about we make some room and talk about this later, yeah? That sounds perfect! X, Mumbo! Message me in a bit and we’ll see? Sounds great,” suddenly the only comforting presence in the room is almost ripped away as Scar leaves his side. He hears some protest from Mumbo, light ones, but soon enough the door closes again. Grian looks up, ready to be met by loneliness, which somehow feels worse, but he isn’t. Scar is still there, a hand on the closed door. Scar visibly takes a deep breath, and then turns back around.
“Hey, G. Will you breathe for me? I’m sure that was a lot. Just follow my breathing, yeah?” Scar takes an overexaggerated breath, and it’s surprisingly easy to follow it. Grian takes a deep breath, it’s slightly shaky, but it does its job. “Nice! One more for me?” And Grian does, following Scar’s slow breathing. Scar smiles. “Do you want to talk or just sit down somewhere in silence?” he asks after a moment of silence. Grian takes another deep breath, gently shaking his head.
“Later.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll listen when you’re ready and I am an expert at keeping people out,” Scar says, winking. Grian lets out a soft chuckle in response, shaking his head, walking over to the bed to sit down. “And I’ll leave if you want as well. I just thought- I don’t know, you seemed comfortable with me specifically since you still remember me, not that I remember, but still me and-” Scar starts to ramble, and Grian knows that when it starts it doesn’t stop.
“It’s okay. You can stay,” Grian says, and the way Scar’s emerald eyes soften tells him better than anything he made the right choice.