Chapter Text
Mumbo would by no means consider himself clingy. When Grian decided to participate in a new, long-term series, he didn’t bat an eye. Well, that made him sound uncaring. He didn’t make a fuss about it, is more accurate. Their relationship was by no means new, so there were no concerns that they had a strong enough connection to maintain it across different servers.
At first, it worked for them. Daily exchanges through letters. Grian would send long, excited rambles about the people on Evo. Occasionally, they would make little games in their letters, create inside jokes, or Grian would spam his mailbox.
Initially, Mumbo catastrophized that their relationship would wane. Slowly, the letters would teeter out. Grian would get overly invested in a project or meet new (better, more deserving) people and forget about their line of communication. Letters would become less and less and the distance would grow wider and wider until Grian wasn’t even speaking to him anymore without so much as a goodbye. That was what he feared. That wasn’t what happened.
One day, Grian had started an ongoing game in the letters where they would create a language that the other would try to decipher. The next day, there was nothing in Mumbo’s letterbox. It was the first time that had happened. Honestly, he wasn’t worried. At the best of times, Grian was easily distracted. But then the silence continued. After a week, Mumbo summoned the courage to send a followup letter. He agonized about it for days; he didn’t want to be one of those clingy boyfriends who didn’t let the other have their personal space. So, he made it as unobtrusive as possible. Requesting building advice. Something he would be thrilled to respond to.
Still nothing.
After a month, he was concerned. And maybe pulling his hair out, pacing, screaming into his pillow, eating cake until he got a stomach ache and face planting into the remaining cake while crying. As random examples.
Unintentionally, he made it the problem of everyone on the Hermitcraft server. He asked for advice from half the members. All of them had unique perspectives, but nothing was in that risk-free sweet spot he wanted. Sending more follow ups was needy, visiting the server was invasive, waiting until Grian responded could end up with their relationship dying out on both ends. Asking around wouldn’t be stalkerish, would it? If you have to ask that question, you probably shouldn’t do it. So he continued running through ultimately fruitless ideas and buried himself in his redstone.
Three months. It had been three months since Grian last messaged him. The other hermits had banned him from reading the letter again. Like he didn’t have every word memorized. The water stains made it practically illegible anyway.
What could he have possibly done so wrong to deserve complete silence?
Even if he was worthless, undeserving of his time and love, and stupid – stupid, stupid, stupid – wasn’t he entitled to something ? Pages upon pages of vitriol would be a blessing compared to the not knowing. It was slowly consuming his life. He hadn’t slept properly since week three of the cold shoulder. Although he was working practically twenty-four seven, his work was sloppy and uninspired and he was dying left and right.
The hermits threw an intervention.
It wasn’t surprising. In fact, he expected it to come sooner. He didn’t want to keep feeling like rubbish either, but nothing seemed to get his mind to stop spewing hateful thoughts.
“At this point, go talk to the server managers.” Xisuma suggested. The server managers had a log of every active world that every player was part of. Generally, you would only ask for someone’s server status if they were considered a missing person.
Mumbo expected to be labelled as the crazy ex and not given any information, but if it would ease the concerns of those at the intervention, he would give it a shot.
“Evolution SMP. Player name: Grian.” He tapped his fingers, unable to conceal his anxiety. The server manager’s previously bored expression flipped in an instant, head shooting up to stare at Mumbo. Did she think he was an insane stalker?
“Evolution SMP?”
“Erm, yes?”
“Oh dear,” She exclaimed, eyes turning to something akin to pity. “I’m so sorry, I thought we contacted all next of kin.” Huh? “What was your relationship?”
“Boyfriend?” He couldn’t keep the question out of his voice at the mention of their current relationship status.
“That must be why… Sir, I hate that this is how you find out, but the Evolution server was invaded by non player entities. Every member is missing and,” She took a deep breath. “Presumed dead.”
“Pardon?” She didn’t elaborate. “Is this some kind of joke? This isn’t - this isn’t funny, you know! You could get fired for that. Evolution has unlimited respawns, you can’t just die ! Grian just - we just lost contact, is all. He just stopped messaging me. That’s fine. I can deal with that, but he isn’t missing, and he certainly isn’t dead.” Mumbo wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t. Because it could not possibly be true. “Take it back. Take it back right now !” People were starting to stare as he raised his voice, but for once he didn’t care.
“I’m so sorry,” The woman was starting to cry as well (as well? When did Mumbo start crying?), looking very small. Another server manager came to the booth.
“Hey! What’s going on here? We don’t tolerate abusive behavior toward our staff.”
“It’s alright. He… his boyfriend was on Evolution SMP.” The other staff member tensed up, responding to the server name with something like recognition. Why did he recognize it?
“Don’t say “was”. He is on Evo, he’s still over there. Please tell her to stop lying, please.” The manager averted his eyes. “You don’t get it, he can’t be gone. We have to go camping this summer!” That was a ridiculous thing to say. Of all the things he planned in his life with Grian, camping was practically insignificant. But it was an annual tradition that they had never once missed, regardless of what server they were a part of. “Please,” He begged once more, hoping that with enough desperation, their answer would change.
“I’m sorry.” She repeated. Mumbo’s knees gave out under him. A crowd was starting to gather. The employees were trying to move him to a private space, but he couldn’t fathom so much as standing up. Xisuma had to be called into the center to bring him back to Hermitcraft. In any other situation, he would have been humiliated.
How could he have been so blind? So wrapped up in his own head that he didn’t even consider whether Grian was alright. In all his worst outcomes, his safety had not crossed Mumbo’s mind once. Selfish, selfish, selfish! He’d give anything to go back to the reality where Grian was ghosting him. Hell, he’d be over the moon if the man confronted him, shouting everything he hated about Mumbo! Anything to know he was okay.
He held out hope. Maybe there was some sort of mistake. Or they would discover that everyone on the server survived and couldn’t communicate with the outside world for some reason. Or something, anything that would dispel that horrible phrase. Presumed dead . No conclusion, no confirmation. Always playing in the back of his mind, never allowing him to settle. If he hoped, there was a possibility it would be crushed. If he grieved, he was giving up. A never ending limbo, a preemptive mourning. Presumed dead .
If he thought he was in a slump during Grian’s “ghosting” period, it was nothing compared to the torment of the following months. Truthfully, he doesn’t remember anything from that time. All of it was a blur of crippling grief followed by an even more unbearable hollowness. Someone forced him to eat. Whatever it was, it tasted like dirt. He didn’t have the energy to throw it up.
When he tried (was coerced into) showering, he passed out in the tub before he used the shampoo. There was someone outside the door who heard the thud. Mumbo couldn’t find it within himself to be grateful for the rescue. It was baths with supervision from then on. Later, he’d be embarrassed by this, but nudity wasn’t really his top concern at the time. Others were worried that he would try to drown himself in the bathtub or something, but it wasn’t that Mumbo wanted to kill himself. He was just… tired. Exhausted. Too many things in his head to process, much less get over. So he tucks it into his back pocket.
One day, without warning, he got out of bed. Made something vaguely resembling food that predictably still tasted like dirt. Changed his clothes, putting on a suit for the first time in (how long?) a while. Went outside. Breathed in the fresh air that burned his lungs. Started chopping down some spruce trees for a base that he didn’t have a semblance of a plan for. Mined for more redstone.
He busied himself tinkering with a few contraptions that didn’t do anything. His mind was somewhere else completely while his body worked on muscle memory. Memory that had been dulled by his however-long period in bed.
Impulse came rushing towards him in a panic.
“Mumbo?!” He looked up from his useless machine. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?” Impulse interrogated, breathing hard. In response, Mumbo silently tapped the contraption and continued working aimlessly. For a moment, there was a pause. “Okay,” Impulse replied, then kneeled down next to him, opening his inventory. “You need another comparator,” He explained, adding one to the project.
“Thanks,” Mumbo muttered, surprising himself with how hoarse his throat was. How long had it been since he spoke without crying? “I have no idea what I’m building,” He admitted. Something about that truth felt overwhelmingly vulnerable.
“Well, we will just have to figure that out, won’t we?” Impulse rubbed circles into his back. Crying would be far too much to handle, so Mumbo just dug his hands into the powder until it started burning.
Apparently, the entire server was looking for him. As Impulse alerted the others of his whereabouts, Mumbo apologized for the scare. “No apologies needed. It’s good that you’re getting out of bed! We were worried that… it’s, um, well it’s just good.” Trepidation laced his tone. They were dancing around the realities of the situation, and although he probably shouldn’t have been, Mumbo couldn’t have been more grateful for this avoidance. “Just make sure to tell us next time,” He ordered, hiding the severity with a chuckle. So, he still needed babysitters.
As far as babysitters go, Impulse wasn’t the worst choice. At no point did he treat Mumbo as incompetent or pathetic. Even if it might have been true. Besides, he knew redstone. Usually, he would claim he was also a bit of a redstone expert himself, but his brain wasn’t quite cooperating.
Every failure, a common occurrence in redstone, would send him spiralling. Impulse stepped in and resolved the issue when he sensed Mumbo was out of it. By the end of the day, they made a decent sugarcane farm. Probably one of the easiest farms to make, and Impulse likely already had one. Regardless, it felt like some sort of accomplishment. A tangible product. The first thing he’s built on this season of Hermitcraft since… since.
Sleep came easy that night, but nightmares came easier.
Grian’s body, bloodied and beaten, rotting without a grave. Grian, reaching out a hand, begging for Mumbo to save him, but he was unable to do anything but watch as faceless creatures dragged him into the void. Grian, alive, scared, missing, seeing that Mumbo didn’t look for him. Moved on without ever attempting to find him.
That was the one that woke him up in a cold sweat.
“I have to leave the server,” Mumbo told Xisuma, already packing his inventory full of the essentials. Not that he knew what the essentials would be or where exactly he was going.
“What?” Mumbo continued packing without looking up at him. “You know I let the players leave whenever they want, but you aren’t exactly in the state to be travelling alone,” He remarked. Resistance was expected, and he understood that it came from a place of concern, but it was still frustrating.
“I’m not a child, you know,” Mumbo said through gritted teeth.
“No, but you are grieving,” Xisuma replied. Caution laced his every movement, like he was bridging over lava.
“That’s the problem! He’s presumed dead , X, presumed . No one actually knows what happened during Evo, and no one is looking into it. Apparently, it’s too “high risk”. Well, I’m not just going to sit here and accept that before investigating myself!” His voice was laced with the bitterness he left simmering in his lost time. The other man was quiet for a minute.
“Fair enough,” He agreed with a shrug. Mumbo’s eyebrows shot up at the casual response.
“Really?”
“Sure. Obviously it isn’t ideal, but I know that you won’t be able to move on until you’ve at least tried to find him. There is one condition though,” He stated with an authority that he normally refused to carry. “You aren’t going alone.”
“You have to take care of the server,” Mumbo reminded him.
“True,” He agreed. “But there are many Hermits who are dying to help you out. Take your pick.”
For the next few days, the server was making sure he was adequately prepared. His inventory was stocked with food, armour and weapons (just in case), and a whole collection of potions. Once Xisuma was finished fussing, Mumbo logged out. Returning to the main hub after what was apparently four months was jarring. There were no builds or resources. Only a blank, gray waiting room with a giant screen in the middle. It showed all the servers he could join and the worlds Mumbo made and abandoned.
He scrolled through the options, realizing how completely directionless his search was. The server managers made it perfectly clear that they wouldn’t give out the information of the other Evolution SMP members. They also assured him that not a single one of their whereabouts were known.
Once again, Mumbo had looked through Grian’s letters from his time on Evo, and marked down their usernames. Would that help in the slightest?
“Where are we going?” Mumbo startled at the sudden exclamation from Scar. Out of all the Hermits, and boy were there a lot of offers, Scar was the one chosen to accompany him on his journey. There were a few considerations, but he was the best option. With his habitual optimism, even if they hit a wall, Scar was likely to keep hoping for answers as long as Mumbo did.
Plus, he was more averse to emotionally vulnerable conversation than Mumbo. No awkward questions. Probably wouldn’t mention how obviously unstable he was. The optimal companion.
“I’m… not sure, honestly. Apparently the server still exists, but it’s corrupted. Most of it has turned to void somehow. Said something about non player entities . Not mobs either.” Scar raises an eyebrow.
“Not players or mobs? What fits into that category?”
“That’s where we should start,” Mumbo concluded. He continued to scroll through the servers until settling on the information center.
“Oh no, do we have to read?” Scar whined. On second thoughts, he might have been the worst choice.
It had been a month since he and Scar left Hermitcraft to find what happened to Grian and, hopefully, all the rest of the missing players. So far, they had looked through countless books about non player entities (he found audio versions for his companion), but other than mobs, there were only myths. Gods, demons, and some unnamed entities that were rumored to be able to alter code, enter any world, and observe any player at any time. All nonsense.
Turns out that Scar had connections throughout many servers. Some of them were less than pleasant if he managed to scam them, but he was friendly with an absurd amount of people. Most of them, although eager to help, were unable to tell him anything about Evo except for the obvious. It had become something of a legend, which bothered Mumbo to no end. It wasn’t some spectacle; they were all people with friends and family to get back to! Still, Scar continued going through the list of his useful friends. One of them happened to be a hacker. The kind that could get them into private or banned servers. The kind that could, with the information that Mumbo happened to have, get two players through to Evolution SMP.
Before allowing them to enter, the guy got skittish.
“You sure you wanna do this, man? I know you’re probably looking for someone, but… what if whatever happened to them happens to you?” As if Mumbo hadn’t thought of that already. As if he wasn’t willing to take the risk. As if discovering what happened to Grian first hand was a terrifying prospect rather than exactly what he was hoping for.
On the other hand, Scar didn’t sign up for that. While he didn’t appear daunted by the hacker’s warning, he may not have realized how dangerous this could end up being. There was a possibility that they could get stuck in an infinite death loop in the void with no one to help them. Or they could be confronted by this rumored “non player entity” that was able to destabilize an entire server. Or a million other terrible things that could happen.
“You shouldn’t come,” He informed Scar. “Wait here, and if I don’t come back in a week, assume I ran into something deadly and don’t enter.”
“Are you kiddin’? I didn’t listen to hours of the most boring books in the world to miss out on the excitin’ part!”
“Scar, please, this is dangerous. The deadly kind of dangerous. You have no stake in this.”
“Wrong! I do have a stake, and his name is Mumbo Jumbo.” Scar looked him dead in the eyes, the facade of mirth fading, and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here to make sure you stay safe. I’m not about to mess up my one job.” With a heavy sigh, he allowed it. They entered the server together.