Chapter Text
Something had changed between Mumbo’s two humans.
They were happier. Mumbo had very little baseline for human behavior besides these two, but they seemed happier, and when Mumbo bothered Atlas about it, they told him they didn’t care and didn’t want to talk about humans. Eventually though, Mumbo was able to needle a little information out of Atlas; the humans in the North did not touch each other and were violent and irritable, so surely the opposite of that meant good!
Mumbo took great joy from his humans’ joy. Over the next few weeks, he learned to take great joy from the things they loved as well, even activities that did not come naturally to him. If Grian and Scar did anything, Mumbo would happily involve himself.
“You don’t think he’s jealous, do you?” Scar said, sounding a little concerned when he glanced back at Mumbo, but Mumbo couldn’t guess why. This was the most valued human activity; Scar’s hand in Grian’s, Grian’s in Mumbo’s, and Mumbo’s back in Scar’s, making a perfect chain. Mumbo didn’t used to love this one, but the humans did it nearly every day, clearly this was a bonded act, and Mumbo would not be left out! He learned to love it. His favorite was when Scar got antsy, swinging both his and Grian’s arms somewhat absently. Sometimes Mumbo would parrot his movements and sometimes he would keep his arms purposefully stiff until Scar would squawk at him, and both he and Grian would work together to try and get Mumbo’s arms to move.
“Scar, I don’t think he even knows we’re together.”
They were on the beach less. That did make Mumbo sad, sometimes it made him feel uncertain, but mostly it fueled the homesickness that had been simmering in his gut for a while now. Atlas was not the only mer who wanted to go home. It was a weird feeling. Mumbo loved it up here, he loved how relaxed the surface felt, all the different animals and plants, he obviously loved his humans, but it was a little.. He was bored, oftentimes. He missed having an abundance of things to do. He missed taking care of a pod.
What the three of them did manage to do though, was make a schedule. Communicating the schedule was a little harder; Grian got Etho to teach him a couple mer words, but mermaids did not measure the passing of time by the sun, time was more of a sweeping concept, an intrinsic feeling from season to season, the more specific pieces measured by changing tides. With all the human yapping, Mumbo got the feeling that humans’ sense of time was worse than his own. But they all got there in the end.
Seven days and nights was a human week. They had names for each day, marking them differently in the sandy diagram Grian made, but it wasn’t too important besides the fact that Scar was coming on ‘Tue’ and ‘Thur’ and ‘Sat’ and ‘Sun’ and Grian was coming three out of the four same days. After Scar said the words out loud enough, pointing at the symbols as he went, Mumbo got to know them. Honestly, he was a little more caught up on humans having matching symbols for their words, but it was hard to focus on that when they were demanding his attention with other matters.
Mumbo was surprised when they arrived one night off-schedule; he’d never had a night visit before, so he and especially Atlas were quite on edge. Atlas had begged Mumbo not to go to the surface which.. that made Mumbo a little sad.
But it had in fact been Grian and Scar, overloaded with all sorts of big soft things. Fascinating. Mumbo had been a little nosey, reasonably in his opinion, but besides a little Grian frustration, they were acting as they always did, friendly and loud and a little stupid. The brigade of pillows and blankets were laid out in the most extravagant nest Mumbo had ever seen, and he was about to snuggle in before the humans could take the best spots before Scar turned, something familiar hanging from his arms. Mumbo bristled.
Scar stared. Blinked. “What?” He didn’t seem all too concerned to be in possession of an, albeit, limp snake monster, which gave Mumbo the impression it was dead, but when Scar had nearly been eaten all that time ago, Mumbo did not understand why he would mess with such creatures again!
“Can you get mine too?” Grian called without looking back, focused on the nest arrangement, and Scar mumbled his affirmation, glancing back and forth at Mumbo as he backpedaled toward the human pile of things. Mumbo advanced.
“Hey, man, you’re making me nervous,” Scar said, which was enough to get Grian to look up.
“What.. What—? What’s wrong?” The pinch of fear in Grian’s voice made Mumbo shrink slightly, forcibly relaxing his fins.
“Don’t know. Is there a really big scary spider on my head?”
“No..”
Mumbo took his chance to swipe Scar’s possibly-dead monster while he was distracted, slithering off with great speed so he could inspect it separately.
“Mumbo! Mumbo, no!” Scar fell over himself giving chase, but Mumbo was more relieved to hear Grian laugh.
Honestly, Scar’s monster did not feel at all how he remembered; it had been soft and bloodless, yes, but this felt far more like a human soft-thing, and Mumbo couldn’t find a single scale despite the way the creature shimmered like a fish. He’d sworn it had scales. Scar pouted beside him, whined, pushed at Mumbo’s shoulder, tried yanking his belonging out of Mumbo’s hands, and this was all getting very annoying, so Mumbo just pushed Scar until he fell back on his butt. Unfortunately, Scar must have thought this was a game, getting up just for Mumbo to push him again, then again, then again until the point where it looked like Scar was quite enjoying this and Mumbo was not having a very productive examination of this possible-monster. Ugh. Whatever. He would just drown it to make sure.
Scar wailed when Mumbo brought his soft-thing to the water, but this was for his own good! At least with Grian, Mumbo could trust him not to throw away his life on a whim, but Scar was too reckless, and if the humans were going to stay out here for a prolonged period, Mumbo was not going to let him be eaten. Given the cackling from Grian’s end though, this probably wasn’t a monster or alive and Mumbo had just been mistaken all that time ago. Well. Mumbo would not be embarrassed! If it was life or death, Mumbo would rather be paranoid than have his humans perish!
Scar was not so pleased when Mumbo handed him back his newly drowned soft-thing. It was a little sad. Those eyes.. But Mumbo didn’t want Scar to be sad; he was excited the humans were here tonight! So he patted Scar on the head exactly twice. Grian did that to Scar sometimes too, and it seemed to resolve all problems, so..
But Scar still looked droopy, and Mumbo wasn’t sure if four pats would be too overwhelming, so he left Scar alone in favor of returning to the human nest.
“I don’t suppose you have room in your sleeping bag,” Scar whined, miserable, but Grian just shrugged.
“I don’t know.. You’re a pretty big guy, and I need my beauty sleep. I’ll get hot sharing my bed with a furnace.”
“You share your bed with me plenty.”
“Sure, but in my bed I have enough space to wind back and kick you until you roll over.”
“Well if you don’t concede, I’m gonna have to drag my wet, sandy sack into your perfect little bed—“
“No—! No need. We can share. I like sharing, actually, but if Mumbo gets FOMO and tries to get in, you have to fight him off.”
“Yes sir!!” Scar made an odd gesture, hand horizontal against his forehead, but Grian only snorted, ignoring him. Grian laid his own bag-monster in the nest, feverishly tried to rid himself of all sand, then settled inside it. Scar joined him shortly. Oooooooo.
A bit of screaming and Scar’s fingers in Mumbo’s nostrils later, Mumbo graciously let them have the bag to themselves.
Mumbo could not nest with them the entire night, but he rested easy in the shallows, heart light and full.
How bittersweet when just a few days later, Etho walked alongside them. None of them had any idea this marked the end of Mumbo’s stay, at least for now.
Etho was already sick, so Mumbo let them be after a brief greeting, reporting back to Atlas in the meantime. The little involuntary trill that fluttered out of Atlas’s throat reignited Mumbo’s own excitement to return to the deep. Home. Oh, he really did want to go home.
By the time Mumbo returned to the beach, Etho had transformed, unsubtly trying to back away from Scar’s incessant babbling, only for Scar to follow them into the water up to his shins. Mumbo called their name, fins waving in amusement as Etho jumped on the excuse to escape. Mumbo gave the disappointed Scar a friendly flick of his fins before submerging to meet Etho.
‘I’d like to speak with you. All of you, if it’s not too much trouble so soon after your change. Atlas and I are returning to the deep; likely after you’ve finished your stay.’
Etho blinked, once, then twice, but ultimately, they did not seem all too surprised. ‘Of course. I’ll let them know.’
Scar lit up seeing Etho turn around, his joy doubling when Etho called for Grian with Mumbo at their side. It broke Mumbo’s heart to know they’d be getting bad news. Well. Not all bad.
“Mumbo and Cub are leaving soon. After I’m human again, I think.”
The drop of their expressions, particularly Scar’s, hit Mumbo way harder than he thought they would, and very suddenly he was overcome with a great desperation to mend this immediately.
‘Tell them I’m carrying.’
“Wh— What!?” Etho whirled around, forgetting to whistle, but Mumbo knew the word quite well by now. He cocked his head, amused.
‘Carrying.’
‘I got that! With— With Atlas? I didn’t know—‘
“What is it!?” Scar broke in, concern etching his tone, which, given Etho’s reaction, was probably warranted.
“He’s. Uh. Pregnant.”
The expression on both humans’ faces made Mumbo worry they did not think this was such good news as he did. Why were they looking at him like that? Did humans die during childbirth or care? Mumbo was pretty sure he’d heard of that occurring in some fish..
“Can I watch you give birth. Please. Please.”
“SCAR!!”
Scar proceeded to get defensive, and then the two humans started bickering, Mumbo’s name being thrown around way too much for it to be anything inconsequential.
‘Ghost, please tell them this isn’t going to kill me.’
“Oh my god, all of you be quiet.” Etho clasped their hands over their ears. “First—Scar, I am not even going to translate that, that’s insane.”
“It is not! No one in the WORLD has ever been able to witness first hand a mermaid birth, because, you know, they’re not exactly human-friendly, and— I mean come on! Are you not curious? It would be cool, this is science!”
“I am not curious,” Etho deadpanned. “And why do you think Mumbo is going back to the deep anyway, he’s not going to do his business on the surface, are you crazy?”
“Oh,” Realization dawned on Scar’s face, which melted to disappointment. “Darn..”
‘They know I’ll be okay?’ Mumbo asked, not wanting to be pushy, but all these unknowns were making him anxious.
‘They know,’
“Wait!” Both Mumbo and Etho flinched when Scar yelped, but he was not at all put out when Grian whacked his shoulder, “With Cub!? Mumbo! You didn’t tell us— oh no.” Scar whirled on Grian, the sudden movement making Etho flinch a second time, “You don’t think he’s rebounded, do you? Oh god, is this my fault!? What if Mumbo doesn’t even want a kid—“
“—No. Scar,” Grian rolled his eyes, “If mermaids don’t want their kids they probably just eat them, no need to be hysterical.”
“That’s worse!!”
“What, are you opposed to mermaid birth control? It’s his body, Scar.” Grian snickered, but Scar still looked horrified.
“That is not what birth control means, Grian!!”
Etho stared Mumbo dead in the eyes while the both of them made a fool of themselves, fin flicks growing progressively violent as their bickering continued for an abysmally long time. Eventually, Etho dipped under the water where the human voices were muffled, and Mumbo joined them.
‘So, are you and Atlas courting?’
Mumbo flicked his tail ‘no.’ ‘Atlas wants to pass their sire’s name. They are ancestrally inclined. They wish for their offspring not to fear the surface like they do now. I offered to carry. Our little one will accompany me to the surface after a season’s passing, or longer. Whenever I deem it safe. I will be careful.’
Etho’s fins fell, flicking anxiously. ‘You’re bringing your child to the surface? So young? Are you certain that’s a good idea?’
Irritation rippled through Mumbo’s fins, but he fought to still them. It was a fair question. Perhaps his own defensiveness stemmed from seeded uncertainty.
‘It depends. There is a chance the surface may be a better environment for them than the deep. Atlas and I aren’t exchanging scales, but it will be obvious when we return together after an extended period who is the sire. Atlas is.. not well liked in the pod. Very much so. I worry our child will take the brunt of their distaste. There are dangers at the surface, yes, but I have occupied this place for seasons worth of time with few to no issues. The humans will provide an environment of unconditional support. Plus, I.. want them to meet them. My child.’
Etho relaxed, and Mumbo along with them. But there was something else there, a deeper thought behind Etho’s eyes along with a soft rumble of unsaid words bubbling in their throat. They left the water, breaking through Grian and Scar to find their things on the beach, then digging through the bag. The humans watched Etho incredulously, barraging them with questions, while Mumbo looked on curiously.
They returned with a closed fist. Scar stumbled as he tried to look over Etho’s shoulder, but they paid him no mind.
They opened their hand to Mumbo. A scale.
‘I have no ambition to find any One mer in my life to share these with. I like the tradition, but not the meaning. I imagined giving them to friends, close friends, people who’ve changed me. This was for someone else, actually, but I think we’ll postpone our meeting with this being the last I’ll see of you for a while. And, being you’re the reason I can share my scales at all, I think it’s fitting you have one. My friend. To the mers in the deep, a lover you met on the surface, if you want to keep the sire a secret.’
Etho paused, fins lowering in stark anxiousness, ‘You don’t have to take it. And I’m not— This isn’t to say you shouldn’t bring your kid to the surface. Only an offer to put your mind at ease.’
Mumbo was at a loss for words. How could you speak when you’re so deeply moved. He couldn’t, so instead he spun over himself in the water, somewhat clumsily catching his tail between his teeth. Etho squawked in slight alarm, the humans babbling in turn, but Mumbo paid them no mind. He snagged one of his scales at the base, only growling softly from the pain when he ripped it out. He’d always imagined this to be a more elegant thing, but goodness, he felt stupid as he straightened, slightly more disheveled than before.
‘Well, you can’t trade without one of mine.’
Etho stared at him for a long time. Their mouth twitched, like the instinct of a human smile was fighting their anatomical reality. They extended their hand, and Mumbo gave his in turn.
What a special thing, to be friends. Mumbo only mourned that the mermaids in the deep would not get to fully experience just how special this white scale was, but truly, the most important thing was that it was nothing like Atlas’s.
Mumbo had not noticed the humans’ quiet until they exploded into a flurry of questions and exclamations, of which Etho begrudgingly gave answers. Mumbo found himself amused, mostly because they’d repeated themselves so much, that Mumbo learned the human word for ‘scale.’ Briefly, he retreated to the bottom of the lake to tuck this precious thing away lest any jealous human try to snatch it; that was Mumbo’s impression of the conversation, anyway.
…
‘Mumbo, just because you’re under the water with your eyes closed, doesn’t mean we can’t see you either.’
Mumbo blinked open his large, owlish eyes, feigning innocence, but he dove away when Etho snapped his teeth, no doubt planning on returning in the next five minutes. Not like it particularly mattered; Mumbo couldn’t understand English, but still, could he not give them a moment of peace?
Scar was giggling while Grian watched the water fondly, and Etho consciously refrained from rolling his eyes.
“So what haven’t you shown him?” Etho asked, snapping the two of them back to the conversation. “We could throw the football around all day today and tomorrow, but you,” Etho gave Scar a pointed look, “Want this to be special.”
“He’s having a kid, it’s a big deal!” Scar threw up his hands in defense, while Grian let his cheek rest on his fist.
“I can’t think of a single thing Scar hasn’t either given or shown Mumbo, seriously, at this point Scar’s brought all but the foundations of his own home to the beach. That’s why we’re asking you. When you first came to town, what stood out? What excited you?”
Etho’s lip curled in anxious apprehension. “I don’t know.. I wasn’t really looking at stuff on the mainland as much as I was overwhelmed.”
“After you were settled in with Bdubs, then,” Scar suggested, attitude cheerful enough to shoo away the unwanted memories.”
“Well.. There were Bdubs’ plants, he had quite a few I’d never seen before. The toilet was the craziest thing I had ever seen in my life, and that still stands. I mean, come on. That’s not really all that helpful though. I don’t know. It’d be easier to come up with something if I knew what you guys had already showed him. Like yeah, junk from Scar’s house and fishing supplies, he’s seen your phones, probably heard all kinds of music—“
“Oh, hey, music! I’d never thought about that,” Scar shrugged, missing Etho’s gaping expression entirely, “I was never a music guy, never really got it.”
“That’s a good idea,” Grian added, casual, like it was not completely fucking INSANE they had never played any human music for Mumbo before, “If I ever listen to music, I’m always wearing headphones. Never thought about letting Mumbo listen. That’s not really worthy of a grand goodbye gesture though; why don’t we do that today, and come up with something else for tomorrow?”
“Are you guys— seriously!?”
The two of them seemed to notice for the first time how worked up Etho had become, exchanging a glance like he was the crazy one.
“What?” Scar asked.
“Music is— Music is the mermaid thing. Song is the most culturally, biologically ingrained part of our lives, it’s extremely powerful and deeply impactful on our health— didn’t Mumbo give both of you music boxes!? That’s like one step away from handing out his scales! How have you not shown him music yet!?”
The two of them blinked in unison. Grian cocked his head. “It’s that big of a deal?”
Scar shrugged, “Maybe Mumbo isn’t a music guy. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard him sing. I’m a little glad.. it’s a little too.. visceral.”
“He sang a few times when we were first getting acquainted,” Grian mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought he was going to kill me. But there were a few other times where it wasn’t threatening.. I think he was trying to connect.”
Etho let his face fall into his hands. “Well no wonder he doesn’t sing much when you guys are around, then. If you guys started freaking out, he probably thinks you don’t like it!”
“Do mermaids not sing their prey to death?” Scar asked the question like a ‘gotcha,’ and Etho had to collect himself for a moment before answering.
“That isn’t— No. We have songs for all kinds of things, but hunting in the deep involves a lot more coordinated screaming. It’s a ‘song,’ technically, but not in the traditional sense. That’s just a myth.”
“That makes more sense,” Grian mused, and Etho’s head spun wondering just how many humans actually believed mermaids were singing sailors off the rails of their own ships. God.
He managed to collect himself, mind clearing enough to form coherent thoughts while Grian and Scar went off on some mermaid song related tangent.
“Wait,” Etho managed to cut in, his fins raising from their drooped position, “I have an idea.”
…
The last day.
When the humans went home for the evening yesterday, Etho had let Mumbo know they’d been able to confirm with the Evil Human that they could stay a mermaid all day in order to see Mumbo off, which was quite the touching gesture, one Atlas appreciated in kind (despite not fully understanding why Etho would want to stay human at all, though they admitted that was mostly a them problem).
Mumbo was enjoying a quiet morning doze in the shallows, but crashing in the woods much earlier than usual jolted him awake, scurrying off into deeper water.
Not that this was necessary beyond pure instinct; it was pretty obvious at this point Scar and Grian were just arriving early, and given the sheer size of their bulging backpacks, Mumbo got the sense they were planning on making the most of this final day.
Almost immediately Grian started setting something up in the sand, hanging a big white sheet between two poles, and Mumbo really wanted to know what he was up to, but Scar was demanding Mumbo’s attention elsewhere, so reluctantly he left Grian’s side to play Throw Ball with him and Etho. It was alright. A little more fun when Atlas poked their head above the water, only to be verbally accosted by both Mumbo and Scar in an attempt to get them to join the game. Atlas left immediately. Mumbo took the brief opportunity to play a new game of chase, but Atlas did not possess nearly as much anticipatory Energy, and the game stopped being fun when Mumbo got bit. Whatever, whatever.
When Grian had finished setting up his contraption, complete with a little stand and another device Mumbo had never seen before, Mumbo was not allowed to touch anything. Worst day of his life, borderline blasphemous, what was the point of new things if he couldn’t drown them. Maybe that was okay though, since Grian seemed to be getting really frustrated with his device, and if Grian hated it that much, Mumbo wasn’t too sure he was interested. Then again, more reason to drown it. Oh well. According to Etho, they were having [tech] problems, whatever that meant.
It was a cloudy day, cold, and Mumbo had been a little disappointed with the poor weather. Not that he minded, but even Scar didn’t want to touch the water when it was this chilly, and indeed, he’d hardly gotten his feet wet during Throw Ball, but then Grian’s white screen lit up with color, vibrant without interference from the sun, and Mumbo had to think this was not such poor weather afterall.
The humans and their new device had his full attention.
‘Humans make stories with art and music, millions of them, and collage them together to make [movie]. I just learned yesterday you’d never heard human music before; this is going to blow your mind.’ Etho’s fins were almost jumpy in their excitement, infectious in combination with the promise of human music— Mumbo had gotten the sense humans had the capacity to be musical, but he had seen so little, and now he was chomping at the bit for more, his fins twitching and waving in tandem with Etho’s.
Another twenty minutes of tech problems dampened his excitement, just a little.
But then. Then.
Human advancements were often beyond the scope of Mumbo’s imagination. Mumbo had been no stranger to being surprised in all the time he’d known these strange little creatures, but this. This was different.
Mumbo felt the effect of the the song immediately, loud, demanding, pulsing through his entire being, he almost closed his eyes against it, nearly missing the explosion of color on the screen, color and music, how was Mumbo meant to focus on the color when the triumphant cry of the score rattled him to his very core, he wanted to see, feel, experience, but for the whole first sequence, he could only sit back and take it.
Quietly, Etho explained the story, supplementing the voices Mumbo could not understand. He did not need to understand. He did not care. When the song was not so intense, Mumbo was struck speechless by the way the pictures moved. Their art. Human art. Moving. And then the art began to sing once again, and Mumbo was paralyzed by its opulence.
At some point, Atlas materialized behind him, and Mumbo would have been shocked to see Atlas nearly past the shoreline if he was not entirely consumed, hardly catching the whispered words of Scar to Etho.
“Tell him to put these on. Then he won’t have to be so far out of the water. If he doesn’t want to be.”
Etho was quiet for a short moment, perhaps similarly overcome. They relayed the message regardless. The first and only time Mumbo’s eyes were ripped away from the screen was when Atlas chirped, sharp and almost pained, to which Mumbo was certain they’d been hurt, perhaps by that human device now clamped on their face, but while Atlas held the sides of their head, they did not remove it.
‘What is this. Why can I see.’
‘Human invention,’ Etho answered simply, and Mumbo would have lost it at the vague description if he wasn’t so preoccupied, but then the music started up again and Mumbo stopped listening altogether, the sounds of Atlas shuffling backward and Scar’s giggling all but white noise.
Even with Etho whispering the story into his ear the entire time, Mumbo picked up nothing. How could you listen when you were lost in the belly of the beast, song, Mumbo had known song like this, song with layers, performances that consumed you, but this was— it was all— everything. Everything all of the time. How could the humans ever have kept this from him!?
And then it ended. Mumbo stared on in stunned shock.
‘Again.’ Mumbo demanded to Etho. ‘Tell them to play it again.’
...
Scar had been quite intentional with his pick of The Lion King, but honestly, he had not been expecting Mumbo to like it so much that he all but forced them to watch it six times. Etho had not, in fact, been exaggerating what had happened to him the first time he watched TV.
Hell, it’d even pulled Cub nearly all the way out of the water, almost [not even a little] docile the way he stared up at the screen. Scar did feel a little bad; Cub looked nervous, and Scar wanted him to enjoy the movie just as much as Mumbo clearly was! With zero ulterior motives, he handed Etho his old pair of glasses, and the stars must have really aligned, because Cub actually put them on. (And freaked out a little) And loved them!!! What a great relief, truly. Something had just felt wrong without the lab coat, and the glasses really tied everything together. Scar only mourned he’d never be able to take a picture.
Now, The Lion King was great, 10/10, but Scar did start getting bored about twenty minutes into the first watch through. There were a few exceptions, mostly the “Be Prepared” sequence and the moments where Mumbo got really into it, swaying and bobbing like a buoy on mildly choppy water or maybe a territorial bearded dragon, but those were only five minute stretches of time, and unbeknownst to him, Scar had many hours to kill. He didn’t mind spending them with Grian.
“I just can’t believe Etho was going to give Bdubs a Let’s Get Married But Friends scale first. Was he worried I wouldn’t say yes? Obviously I would say yes. I would love to get married to Etho. Well—“
“You sure aren’t getting a scale now,” Grian snorted, voice low so as not to disturb Mumbo. Honestly, Scar didn’t think Mumbo was on the same planet anymore, but it was a nice gesture. He followed suit.
“No, no, not any time soon, but just in case anyone was listening, it would be a perfectly suitable birthday gift. Christmas is even closer! Or just an out of the blue ‘I love you,’ gift works as well, it’ll be my favorite gift of the whole year, 10,000 reputation points, guaranteed.”
“If we’re suggesting Christmas gifts, I’d love Etho’s number.”
Scar heard the whap of Etho’s tail against the sand, but didn’t look back. Neither did Grian. Etho’s tail continued to lash.
“Neither of you are getting anything. Ever.”
“Did you hear that? A fly, maybe?” Scar asked, while Grian shrugged.
“I’m thinking I should choose my next words very carefully if I ever want to gain Etho’s favor enough for a very nice present.”
“You are never getting my number. I value my peace and quiet.”
“Actually Scar, I heard nothing at all.”
…
Atlas knew they would likely be the one to drag Mumbo back to the sea at the end of the day, but that didn’t make it feel any better. This was Mumbo’s special place, their home away from home, and Atlas understood how meaningful it was to have this, to cherish it, and be forced to let it go. Though... After an entire day of the same (admittedly, astonishing) [movie] playing, Atlas felt far less guilty. Listen, it was cool, it was very cool, and don’t even get them started on the human advancement of eye wear, but for goodness’s sake, the sun was going down at this point, enough is enough.
They were going to butt in when they noticed Mumbo getting tired, distracted, looking around instead of being glued to the moving pictures, but then Mumbo had caught their humans’ eyes, holding hands, and their attention was immediately recaptured.
Funny how that kind of joy could make Atlas yearn for something they would never want.
Atlas held the wrists of mers clawing at their face, they held fish to be eaten alone, held the water’s memory of spilled blood, and Atlas had never longed for anything more, especially not a human hand to hold. But Mumbo just had a way of making even the most unappealing activities enviable, they lived and loved like the world had everything to give, and Atlas almost hated them for it, hated how they could just live, completely unburdened.
Where would Atlas be now, unburdened? They closed their eyes. Bones at the bottom of the North ocean, likely. Even more likely, skinned alive and tossed back into the water as bait for their dwindling pod. Their family.
No one would come for them. They knew better. Atlas would not want them to.
They would die alone, in chains. Perhaps they were never destined for an unburdened life. Something happy, unworried. Maybe that was alright. Atlas would bleed a thousand times for someone like Mumbo to thrive in their place. Atlas would bleed a million flaming stars for their people to live on.
And they would.
Atlas would have a child. A little fry, a Northern mer, unburdened by Atlas’s chains. Oh, it was more than enough.
A piece of themself, unburdened. Would that little mer love human hands as much as Mumbo?
Atlas would endure it all. For the both of them, Mumbo and their unborn child, Atlas would endure it all.
And so they let Mumbo be, returning to the bottom of the lake. Atlas was in no rush.
…
The sun had long set, a chill rolling in as night settled over the cove, and Mumbo could ignore the humans’ shivers all he wanted, but it was clear their evening was coming to a close.
How unfair, when the three of them had gone through so much effort to prolong it.
It turned out that Scar and Grian had plans other than their magnificent moving pictures, both of their bags full of trinkets and magical little human artifacts. Mumbo could have played with each one for hours, but he did not take his time combing through them, especially the objects he’d already seen before. He no longer had all the time in the world. It was as gut wrenching as it was a relief.
Mumbo had left them before. He’d left them and he’d missed them, but somehow the last times it had been so much easier, it had felt necessary, whereas now it was a choice, a conscious decision to turn the page. It was horrible. Mumbo never wanted to go home.
The night slowed. The humans tired. Even Scar was running out of things to say.
Mumbo did not shy away when Scar stared at him, eyes wet and yearning and intentional, and Mumbo did not flinch when Scar threw his arms around his neck, holding him close. It was not uncomfortable. Not even for a moment. Mumbo met Grian’s eye, longing for him to do the same. Despite their great language barrier, the message made it through. Mumbo sighed deeply from his nose as he was perfectly consumed by both of them.
He rested his forehead in Grian’s hair. Then Scar’s.
‘I think it’s time to say goodbye.’
Separately, the both of them mumbled a similar sentiment. Mumbo did not have to understand them to know.
They all knew.
Scar never stopped waving, and Mumbo never stopped looking back. At the far side of the lake he could not see Grian’s smile, but knew it was there, just like he knew the two of them were holding hands, and missing his.
Goodbye, then. Here’s to a reunion all the sweeter.