wc: 1774

tw: discussions of grief

It had been a while since Mumbo had last slept properly. The days after the battle passed in a strange haze, and before he knew it, everyone was back on Hermitcraft, huddled in a tight group. Xisuma had quietly announced that they would be moving on to the next season as soon as he'd gotten a world set up. No one had argued.

Eventually, hermits split off to return to their bases and parse the past few weeks' events on their own time. Mumbo barely even realized- all he heard was the last crackles of static in Grian's breath before the comm cut, all he saw was the graying skin of his best friend, all he could feel was the awful knife twisting his gut with grief.

All this to say, when Mumbo finally reached his own bed after... an unbearably long time, he could barely bring himself to lie in it.

However thick the guilt was, the exhaustion was thicker. Mumbo collapsed on top of the blankets and breathed in the familiar air of a bed he'd carved himself.

He dreamed:

"Mumbo!"

There was Grian's face, split with a wide grin, wearing a familiar oversized jumper and sporting great, billowing white wings. He pushed himself forward with a flap, flinging his arms around Mumbo's neck.

"Hey, Grian," Mumbo replied, smiling softly and placing a hand on Grian's head. Something's wrong, the back of Mumbo's head whispered. This shouldn't be happening. "Wh- what are you doing... here?"

"Pearl let me come," Grian said easily, going on his tip toes to bump his forehead against Mumbo's. "I'll visit some of the others, too. Just to say bye."

"Why are you saying bye?" Mumbo frowned, tangling his fingers in the back of Grian's jumper. "Can't you stay? I'm sure I've got tea somewhere, and..." He turned to see a field, sunflowers swaying softly in a gentle breeze. "Where...?"

"Pretty, isn't it," Grian said, more of a statement than a fact. "I dunno where this is, either. It's a dream though, anything's possible, hm?" His eye twinkled. "Anything."

"Grian, what's happening?" Mumbo said softly.

"I'm dead," Grian replied, staring straight ahead at the gentle scenery before them. "At least, my physical body is."

Mumbo choked. "What..?" The brunt of a week (or two, or maybe three)'s worth of grief slammed into his gut like a steamroller, painful and heavy. "Grian, Grian, I-" He whirled, fingers reaching, only to find Grian staring up at him calmly.

"I'm still here, though," Grian said, his cadence soothing. He reached back, tangling his hand in Mumbo's. "I'll be here. And I'd do all of it again if it meant that we won." His smile widened from a soft thing into a sharp grin. "Which we did, Mumbo. We saved so many people."

"But we lost you," Mumbo said before he realized his mouth was moving.

"No you didn't," Grian retorted, cheeky. His flashed his gremlin's smile again, taking Mumbo's hand in both of his own. "You never did. Bye, Mumbo."

"Bye, Grian," Mumbo whispered, watching as the landscape blurred and faded away.

Mumbo woke with tears in his eyes and a soft smile on his face.

~~~

When Scar opened his eyes, he immediately made a beeline for his desk, yanking open his notebook and grabbing a pencil.

Quick lines began to make up a sketch of Grian's profile, lining the soft curve of his nose and the quirk of his smirk. Scar hummed as he worked, hands steady, never wavering. Even as a tear rolled down his cheek and splattered the paper below, he continued, marking out the angle of Grian's neck and detailing messy wisps of hair framing a beautiful face.

And then he wrote. Scar was not a writer, despite his way with words from the mouth- letters swam and mixed on the page, but Scar continued to scratch out the memory of the dream in careful handwriting. If he didn't, he knew it would slip away before he realized, always at the edge of his recall.

He smiled at me, Scar wrote, tears decorating the edges of the paper. And then he told me to stay alive. He said he'd help me. He smiled, and it was beautiful. He left, then.

Scar exhaled, leaning back and reaching for the familiar red fabric bunched on his bed. He brought it to his face, feeling the comforting scratch of the knit sweater and inhaling the scent of feather and ink and nature and petrichor and Grian.

Scar would not forget.

~~~

Xisuma called Keralis at four a.m, words barely comprehensible through the blubbering tears. Keralis silently pulled on his elytra as Xisuma went on about dream and field and Grian.

"Hey, hey, hey, Shishwammy, X, slow down, breathe," Keralis nearly cooed, leaning into the receiver as he gathered rockets in his hands. "I'm coming over, 'kay? Hold on."

"It- he- he talked to me," came X's staticky voice, still raspy with sobs. "He said- He said-"

"I know, I know," Keralis whispered, even as X's words descend into gibberish. "Give me five minutes."

He was there in three. The lights were all flicked on, and Keralis managed to fly in through the window, only barely stumbling on carpet. Xisuma sat on the bed in nothing but a loose t-shirt and joggers, eyes rimmed red.

"Tell me about it?" Keralis murmured, perching next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Xisuma leaned into Keralis' shoulder. It took a minute before he finally found his voice again, taking a few deep breaths and twisting his fingers into the bedsheets. "Grian," he said, eyes large and wet. "He was there, and we talked. He called me friend, and I said, that's my line, and then he told me he- he forgives me." Xisuma heaved a single sob. "And that I was the best admin that- that the hermits could have."

"He's right," Keralis said with a wide smile. "Always. It sounded like a good dream."

"It was," Xisuma whispered. He looked down at his palms, blinking blearily. "It really was."

"I'll make you a cup of tea."

~~~

The night following Joel and Lizzie's wedding, Joel swore that he talked to Grian. Lizzie had informed him that he had been quite intoxicated, but offered a small smile and said, yeah, maybe you did.

"It's like- I dunno." Joel stirred his soup with his spoon, his other hand clasped loosely with Lizzie's. "I don't normally remember much, y'know? But I remember everything. He told me- He told me really nice stuff, too. It was like he was really there." He shrugged. "To be honest, I didn't know him that well, but I feel like if he'd- he'd stayed, we could have been really good friends."

"I don't doubt that," Lizzie said around a mouthful of her own stew. "Wanna talk about it?"

Joel took a moment to study her- God, she was beautiful. Soft pink hair framed an equally gentle face, her eyes large and sparkling. The gill markings on her neck only served as another wonderful part of her. How did he ever stay away, ever wait, for her to become fully his?

"Honestly?" Joel tilted his head. "Nah. Not really." He leaned over to peck her on the cheek. "Maybe one day, though. It was a nice dream."

Lizzie smiled. It was gorgeous. "I'd like to hear it, one day."

~~~

Xayla leaned back in her chair, exhaling long and hard. It was frankly exhausting, and tedious, and frustrating, and scary, to have to rebuild an entire city. Sure, the battles fought were glorious in the aftermath, but no one ever talked about the hours of meetings and delegations and councils that took place after the initial liberation.

Of course, even that part couldn't be exhilarating. Xayla's eyes travelled towards the shelf, where the Staff lay. She tried not to think about its previous owner and failed.

The room was quiet. She'd always lived in groups, and now that she had an entire living space to herself, it felt so unnatural. Unnerving, almost; it reminded her vaguely of forests going quiet right before the attack of a predator.

Her thoughts travelled towards what she swore was a dream she'd had last night. Had it happened? Was it a daydream? She could hardly pin it down in her mind, and it was frustrating. Xayla groaned, slumping over the wood of the table.

Maybe it was her grief acting up, she thought, huffing a miserable laugh at the thought of the concept of grief as a misbehaving child. It was unpredictable, and sometimes she would let her focus drift off of it, only for it to sock her in the stomach with no mercy. Xayla gave in to the urge and stood, making her way to the shelf and picking the Staff off of it.

It was well worn from the centuries of use, but Xayla knew there was a flavor of Grian on it that she could swear was real. Maybe she would address that dream after all.

It had been a good dream, Xayla decided. She wouldn't forget it. It was real, it had been Grian who'd talked to her, and she refused not to think otherwise. No, she would never forget him, and she'd always thank him for the kingdom the Watchers were becoming.

Grian had been the first step towards this goal, after all. It was only right that she keep walking.

~~~

"Done?" Pearl's voice cut through the haze of dream and field and smile, and Grian opened his eyes. Or were they already open? Did he have eyes?

"Yep," Grian said, smiling softly. The dreams had been very good. There had been a lot, too- he'd visited quite a few Hermits, and some non-Hermits as well. Etho's eyes crinkling in lieu of a smile, Bdubs' boisterous laugh, Xerion's bewildered gaze, Stress' bouncing hair, Joel's defiant smirk, Iskall's sparkling eyes- he would treasure them forever, he knew.

Xayla had phrased it well. The first step. Grian mulled the thought over, even as he spread his wings and shot into sky. It was a grand notion, admittedly, but he could appreciate it.

He turned to wave at Pearl, who was quickly becoming a shrinking dot as he flew. He had things to do now, duties to attend to that he still didn't quite understand but executed perfectly anyway. This world was bright, and beautiful, and blissful, and perhaps one day, the world he'd left would become like this too.

It was all so beautiful. Grian inhaled the smell of petrichor and petals, savoring its sweet aroma, and grinned.

He flew.

one more chapter to go.

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thank you for reading! have a good day or night, wherever you are! 

-Ete