Chapter Text
Grian naturally appeared in the last place he’d been on the Hermitcraft server - which, apparently was in a bed haphazardly placed in the front hall of his mansion. Though he’d regained his memories of Hermitcraft and could recall placing each block that made his mansion into the build it was, the first sight of those walls felt alien to him. It didn’t feel like going home. It felt like visiting a strange, unknown place.
After a brief battle with the thick, red blanket that had somehow ended up tangled around his legs, Grian stumbled onto his feet. Ignoring the chests lining the walls around him, and sparing no time to explore the old-new place, he stumbled at a half-run down the hallway towards the front entrance.
There, he froze.
There was an expanse of stone under his feet, and grass, further away. For some reason, there was a half-wall of jungle wood not far from him, absolutely covered in cocoa pods. Further, he was surrounded by a proper jungle, thick swaths of vines hanging off tall trees, with a perfect blue sky filling the horizon between them. Thick, white clouds drifted by. The mansion rose behind his back, reaching for those very clouds.
“Scar,” Grian muttered, breath catching in his throat.
He tried to think back. To the days when he was here, on this server, playing with his friends, restocking the barge, pulling pranks, and trying to convince everyone to vote Mumbo for mayor.
Where would Scar be?
His volcano -
No, no, that was from season six. Scar didn’t have a volcano in season seven. He had his snail, of course, and his fantasy village, a sprawling collection of homes and bridges that connected custom trees together. He might not be there, though. He had his big dig, as well, with the massive drill he’d constructed, which was meant to dig all the way to the nether. He had the shopping distract, too, since he’d been mayor, and his various shops within it, and -
Grian couldn’t get to him. He didn’t know where he was, and it wasn’t like his wings worked anyway. Panic started to build, and he clutched at his chest, digging his hand into the fabric there. His wings snapped open and shut, while the wings on top of his ears squeezed close to his head. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His breaths started to come out as strained gasps, and he crouched down, squeezing his eyes shut.
The world was spinning. He felt dizzy.
Where was Scar?
Was he dying again? It felt like he was dying. What life would he be on, if he died?
Hands clasped his shoulders.
Before he had even opened his eyes, Grian was moving. He lunged, and slammed into the other player. They both went crashing down. Grian pinned them hard to the ground, his knees bracketing their sides, one hand on their chest while he pulled his sword from his inventory, into his other hand. His wings flared, trembling, their feathers puffed out. His breathing remained ragged, and he clenched his teeth, struggling to focus his vision.
“Grian! Grian, it’s me.”
That voice, so familiar, cut through the fog like a knife.
Grian froze.
The person beneath him didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back. They just remained there, below him, breathing slow and even, letting Grian hold them in place.
“Grian,” Scar said again, gently. “It’s okay. What got you all worked up, huh?”
Grian blinked, and his vision started to clear, just a bit. He saw wide green eyes looking up at him, and it became easier to think, and breathe. Grian’s breath hitched. His grip loosened.
“I -” he croaked. “I thought - I didn’t know where you were - I couldn’t get to you -”
“I know,” Scar murmured. His hands moved slowly, as he lifted them, and rested them lightly on Grian’s hips. “I’m here now. You’re okay. We’re both okay.”
The panic cracked and spilled over. Grian collapsed forward, burying his face in Scar’s chest with a broken noise. His hands clung to Scar like he was the only thing anchoring him to reality, and he burst into tears at last.
In front of the Watchers, he’d been able to keep his cool. He had a point that he had to get across to them, and there was never any room for weakness or hesitance in front of those two. Anger propelled him forward. But now, as Scar held him close, murmuring sweet words into his ear, it felt like he was crumbling apart. All of the stress that had slowly accumulated over the years tore into his mind and heart at once.
It was a
lot
of stress.
Grian didn’t know what Scar was saying to him. He only registered the tone, the soft, comforting way he spoke, the way his hands clutched at Grian’s body just as tightly as Grian clutched at his. When Grian interrupted him, that lulling tone ground to a sudden halt, but the grip of those hands only grew more constricting. “Scar.” Grian pushed his partner's name out from between his teeth at last. “What did you wish for.”
“G, c’mon, keep breathing, please. I told you, it’s not as bad as you think.”
Grian tried to rise up, peeling his sticky, tear-stained face from Scar’s chest, but Scar refused to let him. Grian only managed to pull mere centimetres away before he gave up, and let Scar pull him back down. Still, he started to take a closer look at Scar. Staring at him with eyes that could See much more than his usual pair could, anyways. Examining his body, his code, his heart, his mind…
Scar huffed out a frustrated noise. One of his hands slid from between Grian’s wings, up to the back of his head, where Scar tangled his fingers into Grian’s hair and gave a light, punishing tug. “Stop looking,” he scolded, somehow, inexplicitly, knowing.
His admonishment came too late. Grian had already Seen.
He tried to sit up again. When Scar refused to let him, he fought - straining his muscles as he started to peel away from Scar, elbowing Scar to loosen his constricting grip.
“Oh, don’t start that.” Scar sighed, like he was acting unreasonably, and suddenly, with a heavy motion, rolled them over so that Grian was the one pinned underneath. It put his wings at an awkward angle, squished below them as they were, but Scar hurriedly pushed a hand behind Grian’s back to force the avian-shaped player to flatten them out more comfortably.
He should keep fighting, probably, but Scar was stronger than him, and something about his weight was comforting. Something about it got through the withering storm in his mind. “Scar,” Grian said, choking on his partner's name this time. “Why would you - do you even know
how long
-”
“I know now,” Scar chuckled.
The sound of that laughter caused a rush of frustration to flare through Grian. There was nothing funny about it.
Having his Third Life and Hermitcraft selves fused together had been agony. Scar, who had his Hermitcraft and
all
of his Third Life selves fused together at once…
“You remember it all?” Grian asked, voice cracking.
“Every last timeline. And yeesh, there are some downright nasty ones in there.” Scar winced. “We can talk about that later though. You really need to calm down, Grian.” A hand brushed against his cheek, and Scar’s expression was screwed up with concern. Grian hadn’t even noticed he was crying again. Scar’s free hand flailed uselessly in the air, as he fussed. “We’re home now. It’s over. We’re going to be okay.”
Grian shook his head. “We’re not,” he whispered, voice hoarse and desperate. “You don’t - you don’t just wish for that. You don’t remember all of it, and then say it’s fine now like that’s - like that’s not horrible, Scar, what they did to us - what I -” His voice cracked. He tried to turn his face away, shamed, but of course, Scar didn’t let him.
Instead, Scar leaned down, letting their foreheads rest against each other. “You’re right,” he said, quiet now, and taking his words seriously. “It was horrible. What they did. Everything that happened. But I don’t care. I’d make the same wish again. Because you don’t deserve to suffer alone like this.”
“I still would have had you,” Grian protested.
“Of course.” Scar scoffed, practically rolling his eyes at the thought of any other possibility. “Always, but - that’s not the same. One year of suffering, versus… well, it’s really not the same thing at all, is it? You deserve someone who knows what you’re going through, and I’m your partner. That means I’ll always stand by your side.”
Scar took a deep breath and continued before Grian could speak. “I remember you,” he said. “Across every timeline. You were trying to save me. Trying again, again, again, like maybe this time it would end differently… and I didn’t know, back then, the full extent of it. But I do now.”
Grian swallowed hard, jaw clenched.
“I could have wished for anything.” Scar paused, then added, “And maybe I could have thought of some other wish they would have granted, without twisting it, one that would have had your approval… but I don’t care. When you could have wished for anything, you wished for me. So of course I’d wish for you, too.”
“I hate you,” Grian grumbled.
Scar pouted. “If you keep saying that, I’m going to get mad,” he huffed, petulant.
The laugh that left Grian was shaky and wet, but Scar smiled back with the brightest expression anyway.
According to the player list on their communicators, all of the hermits who had been in Third Life had returned to Hermitcraft; but other than the Third Life hermits, the server was empty.
Luckily, they didn’t have to worry about the whereabouts of the missing hermits for long. Grian couldn’t bring himself to look at the chat, but Scar scanned through it and quietly confirmed that the other hermits remembered everything that happened in Third Life. Though, of course, they only remembered the latest timeline - and knew nothing of any events that transpired after their final deaths.
As Scar was relaying this information, he suddenly straightened up. “Xisuma, Keralis, Mumbo, and Joe just joined,” he said quickly. “All at the same time.”
“Huh.” Grian pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the surge of painful, conflicting emotions there. “... I guess they saw our return.”
Mumbo…
Grian missed him. He had been missing him, even when he couldn’t recall who Mumbo was. It had been so long since he’d seen him. It was their longest separation, from Grian’s perspective, since the two had met - much longer than when the Watchers had taken him for the first time, even.
At the same time, some part of Grian didn’t want to see him. No matter what Scar tried to insist, guilt weighed him down. He thought of his friends, dying by his hand, suffering in the server he’d invited them into.
He’d invited Mumbo to Third Life.
Mumbo had declined. His reasoning had been that he’d wanted to focus on the end of their Hermitcraft season, and wouldn’t be able to split his attention between that and a new server, as temporary as Third Life was meant to be.
What if he hadn’t declined? Would things have gone differently? Would Mumbo have joined the Sand Lands with Scar and Grian, or would he have been their enemy?
Would Grian have hurt him too?
Would he have hated him? Would he have pinned Mumbo to the ground, in the mud, with a sword piercing through his flesh, his bone? Would he have led him into explosions, laughed at Scar’s side, smiled at the feeling of Mumbo’s blood on his hands? Would it have made him happy - killing Mumbo, if it meant protecting Scar, pushing Scar closer to a win?
Grian remembered his past now, but that didn’t mean he’d gone back to being who he had been before Third Life. He was still the same player who committed all those atrocities.
How could he let Mumbo close, knowing that? What if he still hurt him, now? If Mumbo got too close to Scar and put Scar in danger… even by accident… Grian might not be able to control himself. If he even thought someone was approaching Scar with bad intentions, even if he was wrong, his instincts would push him to respond before any intelligent reasoning set in.
He felt like TNT himself, ready to go off at any moment - like all of the parts of him that had rotted away had been filled in with violence.
“We won’t hurt him.” Scar’s sudden words knocked him out of his mental spiraling, and Grian focused on his partner with only some difficulty. Scar’s expression was grave. Not only did he understand what Grian must be thinking; Scar was probably thinking something very similar. “We won’t hurt any of them, not anymore. If you lose control, I’ll be there. If I lose control, you’ll be there. We cover each other, like always.”
What if I hurt you, too?
Grian nodded. It felt like he was lying, though he wasn’t sure why.
They didn’t have any more time to talk. Xisuma must have been using his admin powers because, with no warning, Mumbo appeared only a few blocks from Grian and Scar.
Both of them flinched, and lunged to their feet, startled by the unexpected appearance of another player.
Mumbo hadn’t changed. His soft black hair was slicked back, but a few strands hung loose in his face. His mustache had the same curl as always, and he was wearing one of his expensive suits, vest, tie, dress shoes, and all. He did look tired, though. The bags under his eyes were several shades darker than usual; darker, even, than the times he stayed up for days working on his redstone products. There were anxious creases around those eyes, too, and as Grian looked at him, and Saw him entirely, he noted the lack of redstone that normally stained his friends' fingers and the heavy weight of his limbs.
Mumbo whipped around to face them, and Grian couldn’t help but think how strange it was, to see his friend so unchanged, when everything about Grian and his world had changed.
It wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way, but in this case, prior experience didn’t make it any easier.
“Grian,” Mumbo exhaled, his eyes wide. His shoulders heaved, and then he smiled at them, relief seeming to instantly brighten his expression. “Scar! You’re okay. You’re both okay. You’re home!”
Mumbo moved toward them with a single-minded focus. As he cast himself forward, pulling them both into a hug, Grian couldn’t help the way he flinched away. Even more violent was his impulse to grab Scar, and yank him away from Mumbo. He wanted to push his partner behind his back, and refuse to let anyone else lay a finger on him.
But it was Mumbo, so Grian bit down the urge. It boiled under his skin, and his fingers twitched with violent want, but he managed.
Mumbo’s hugs had always been so comforting, to Grian. Never before had it felt like this - like a constriction, a cage.
He made himself hug back, anyway, after his initial flinch. He wrapped an arm around Mumbo, knotting his fingers into his friends' vest, and sagged slightly against him, letting Mumbo take his weight.
Home.
They were home.
“Hi Mumbo,” Grian muttered, voice hoarse, “we missed you.”
“Every minute of every day,” Scar agreed, somehow able to keep his voice injected with false cheer. He submitted to Mumbo’s hug, but Grian could feel how tense his body was, beside him. Scar only managed to stay within Mumbo’s grip for four seconds, before he pulled back and away, grabbing Grian’s elbow to forcibly pull the other player with him.
Mumbo’s expression fell as they moved back. It was barely noticeable, but it seemed like Grian’s ability to read his friend's expression had at least remained the same.
“I missed you too. Where - where have you been!? It’s been almost an entire year! Ten months!
Ten months!
” Mumbo ran a hand through his hair, knocking more strands free. “We thought - we - end of the season, you know, some of us dip early, and we planned to have a four month break between seasons anyways, and sometimes we get quiet during breaks, but - none of you were talking to anyone, so we got worried, and then… and then… you were nowhere. Just - gone. Even your ‘Third Life’ server wasn’t anywhere.”
“I know,” Grian said, quietly.
“Xisuma called in so many favors, he tried to get other admins to help out, and we realized others were missing, too! Even Scott - MCC had to go on an unexpected hiatus, and a lot of the big players started getting worried at that point - Scar, Grian, where have you been?
Where have you all been?
”
Grian exchanged hesitant looks with Scar.
Third Life wasn’t something that could be put into words. Not easily; it was something you had to experience, a poison that injected itself beneath your skin.
“... It was…” Mumbo’s voice quieted down, becoming hushed. “It was them, wasn’t it? I thought it might have been, but I hoped…”
Them.
Grian hesitated longer, but before he could confirm or deny Mumbo’s assumption, Scar nodded. “Them,” his partner repeated, “as in the Watchers, right? Because you would be right on the mark, Mumbo Jumbo!”
Mumbo’s dark eyes widened, and his head swiveled towards Scar. “So - so you know about -?”
“Grian told me, but none of the others know. It should probably stay that way.”
“They’ll want answers,” Grian pointed out, uneasy.
Scar shrugged. “We’ll act like we’re just as clueless as everyone else is.
Right,
Mumbo?” The stare he fixated on Mumbo wasn’t the joking stare of Scar, the hermit. It was the piercing, warning stare, of Scar of Monopoly Mountain - a stare that promised retribution to whoever stood in his way. Mumbo had no way of knowing this, but there must have been something in Scar’s stare that even he picked up on because he shivered regardless.
“I...” Mumbo nodded. He kept looking between the two of them now, his expression pale and lost, drawn tight with stress and concern. “I’ve kept Grian’s secret for years. Of course, I’ll - I’ll keep it. Xisuma probably knows, though.”
“But he has no confirmation?” Scar confirmed, glancing at Grian. Once Grian nodded, he saw the way Scar relaxed. Xisuma probably wouldn’t remove Grian from the server, even if the truth came to light. But there was no certainty in probability, and it seemed like his partner didn’t want to risk it.
Grian wanted to grab him. He wanted to dig his claws into him, under his skin, to crawl into his ribcage, and finish decaying there. He wanted to press their mouths together, to taste Scar -
He settled for shuffling closer, pressing their sides lightly together. Scar reacted in an instant, tilting his body casually so he could slide a hand behind Grian. He rested his hand on Grian’s back, between his wings, at an angle where Mumbo wouldn’t be able to see. Showing care and support for others, making your bonds clear - it was sure to get you in trouble.
… But this is Hermitcraft,
Grian remembered, a beat too late.
It didn’t change the way he felt, though. The anxiety that surfaced at the thought of being openly affectionate, even in front of Mumbo.
Grian grimaced, and Scar’s fingers dug into his back, a grounding pressure. “So, this server seems pretty deserted,” Scar remarked to Mumbo, gesturing around with his free hand. “I guess the season is over. Is the next one up and going?”
“No,” Mumbo squawked. “No, of course not! Not with everyone missing. It’s… I mean, it’s set up, but nobody logs on. We’ve all been too busy searching for you and - everyone.”
“Ah. Well, hopefully after Xisuma’s round of questioning gets him nowhere, we can all head to season eight. I really think we’re all just… eager to be home. I want to move on. Put this nightmare behind us!”
“Did X say what to do with us?” Grian asked.
“He wants us all to meet at spawn,” Mumbo said, slowly. It seemed like he still wanted to ask a lot of questions, but honestly, Grian wasn’t in the mood to answer them. Not now. Maybe not ever. “... Are you sure you -”
“Let’s go to spawn then!” Scar’s hand fell away from his back, and Grian had to hold himself back from launching himself towards his partner as soon as the contact broke. Overly aware of Mumbo, he forced himself to stay still, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Scar took two steps away, and then froze, and turned to look at Mumbo with a sheepish expression. “Can you lead the way? I don’t remember exactly where it is.”
… Huh.
Grian couldn’t remember, either.
Three months after Third Life ended, Grian opened his eyes to a new server.
They were surrounded by all the members of the Hermitcraft server, but Grian’s gaze focused on Scar’s, bypassing everyone else. It took effort to even focus on the introduction of their two newest members; Gem and Pearl. Pearl especially deserved more of a welcome from him, considering their history, but Grian’s mind was too chaotic at the time to give her the welcome he should have.
Luckily, those who had been stuck in Third Life together avoided one another, so some of the chaos settled as they started to split apart in smaller groups and explore the land that would be their new home for quite some time.
That’s when Grian did something quite awful.
He left Scar behind.
I’m not running away, he insisted to himself, feeling sick, even as he was grabbing Mumbo’s hand and pulling his friend along. Mumbo went willingly, of course, and he was even happy to fill in for Grian’s stilted responses to his conversation with meaningless chatter. (He really was a great friend). The entire time, Grian felt sick to his stomach.
It was an actual physical sensation; it made him feel shaky, and dizzy, his stomach churning with each step he took. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, feeling his steps falter. But each time, he would force himself to keep moving forward, even if he had to dig his nails into his palm or bite the inside of his cheek to do so. Mumbo seemed to be growing increasingly worried, but he’d been worried since they came back, so it wasn’t anything new.
(Too great for someone like him).
Distractions helped. A little. They collected wood and found a shipwreck. Grian discovered a buried treasure map, and they jumped on a boat to go treasure hunting together. Grian collected his first diamond, didn’t think about blue sword boys, or netherite swords, and laughed when Mumbo laughed.
Mumbo didn’t comment when Grian avoided Ren’s group as they passed them by. Maybe he didn’t miss the way Ren had tensed, ears pressing flat against his head as his tail bristled, just from laying eyes on Grian.
There was nothing Grian could do as they ran straight into Scar on the shore. It looked like he was waiting for them. Grian wanted to scream.
His partner was smiling at them pleasantly while anger only Grian could spot shone in his eyes. Still, Scar acted perfectly pleasant as the three of them explored a ravine together - Cleo left with hardly a handful of words - and even joined in on Grian’s half-hearted teasing towards Mumbo. In the meanwhile, any attempts Grian made to subtly slide away from the group were naturally intercepted, of course.
“Are you gonna replace that?” Grian asked as Mumbo mined through an amethyst geode. “Once you’ve mined it?” He forced the words to sound amused, instead of flat, exhausted, or stressed. He hadn’t touched Scar in over two months, and his partner - his friend - his fellow hermit was right there. He wanted to scream. Or claw all his skin off. Or blow himself up.
“Look,” Mumbo exhaled, frustrated from previous teasing, “Grian, I don’t have to replace every single thing that I’ve mined! Peace love and plants, dude, are these plants? …Wait, are they plants?”
“Didn’t you know?” Scar questioned immediately, jumping on the slightest waver. “Geodes are alive!”
“Are - are - no, they’re not!” Mumbo floundered. He sounded doubtful for a moment, before doubling down, and Grian couldn’t help but snort. He tried to peek at Scar from the corner of his eye, without being too obvious about it. Scar had on a whole new suit for the new season, and Grian had seen it earlier, but he really wanted a closer look. He wanted to touch and tug and question until he knew every inch of Scar, and his outfit, like he should -
No. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Third Life was over, and things had changed.
Scar caught his glance, and raised an eyebrow questionly. His smile was cold, and Grian swallowed. Still angry, then. That was… fair. He felt sick.
“Do we actually need any of this stuff, or are we just mining it and taking it for no reason?” Mumbo added, pausing mid-strike against the geode. Grian had his own fair share of geode in his inventory, and he shrugged. A reply was on his tongue, and then he heard the subtle shift of bone on bone and whipped around.
A skeleton. Aiming at Scar.
All he had was a stone sword; but he moved anyway, shoving himself between Scar and the skeleton. He brought the edge of his stone weapon down on the skeleton bow, and the wood splintered under the strike, leaving the mob basically defenseless during his next several swings. In less than five seconds, the skeleton was eviscerated, nothing left but glowing experience that was quickly absorbed by the three players.
Mumbo stared, mouth agape. “Oh! Wow, Grian, that was quite impressive!”
Grian’s head spun.
“I didn’t realize you could move that quickly.”
He turned to face Scar.
Green eyes. His usual green, not the too bright, sickly shade Grian was so used to. Hermitcraft. Infinite respawn. Increased pain tolerance. Some of Scar’s anger broke, and his partner frowned, starting to shift closer. His hand twitched, and then moved, rising towards Grian’s face.
Grian jerked away, spun, and took several steps towards Mumbo. He wasn’t running away. He just…
Needed time. Space. Both of them did. What they had wasn’t healthy. This was what was best, for both of them.
“Thanks,” Grian managed to say, breathing through the churning, sick sensation in his stomach. “What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”
They made their way north. Hermitcraft was on an island, that season, and they were near the edge. It was a nice area, with some different biomes and resources close by. There were no walls. Just blue skies.
Mumbo placed a bench, Scar placed a torch, Mumbo placed a boat. Grian added a bed. Scar added another boat, Impulse, and Pearl arrived, and soon enough they had a whole totem of boats and players.
Grian still felt sick, throughout it all.