Chapter Text
Grian was only vaguely aware of what Mumbo was saying, what he was doing. It was easy, simpler to let whatever was happening wash over him. To accept his fate.
He was just tired. Tired in the way where his mind was stumbling through every hoop, thoughts slipping through his fingers like blood. Sticky and crimson, painfully obvious.
He wondered if Mumbo was laughing at him. Mouth moving in a frantic fury as if it would somehow convince Grian to come back. As if he could single handedly take on whatever would come out of that.
He might’ve smiled at the thought. A spot of wonder. Of childlike delight.
And then it burned.
It burned like metal on flesh, sizzling with the gasp that fell out of his mouth. Silent. Terrified.
A gentle hand rubbing painful circles on his back, a brand leaving its mark on delicate skin.
He should be crying, he thinks. Sobs choking their way through his throat and tears trailing down his cheeks. Sirens ringing loudly in his ears. Crimson a rainbow of colors around him, mixing with oil and rain.
There was something warm around his shoulders. Not hot. Warm. And he curled into it, a soft whine escaping his lips. A blanket, he recognized thinly, thick and comfortable. Way softer than anything he had in Japan. Maybe even before that.
It was disarming, in a way. And not only because the hand was gone. It was a shield against the world, against the monsters under the bed.
He closed his eyes, body soaking in the warmth, shivering despite the softness encompassing him.
And when he fell asleep?
He dreamed.
-
Mumbo had realized quite quickly that whatever he had said, certainly wasn’t the correct thing. It should have dawned on him earlier, really. Way before Grian had curled in on himself, eyes blank and distant. Frighteningly familiar.
He shook himself. Stop staring. Calm him down.
He started slow, gentle words and quiet encouragement. Statements that were undeniably true. The sky is blue. The flat is made out of wood. It’s a Tuesday. He was safe here. No one could hurt him. Mumbo wouldn’t hurt him. He was going to be okay. The clouds are white. The Nether has lava. It’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.
Then a gentle hand on Grian’s shoulder. One quickly withdrawn after the flinch. Blanket, then. He draped it over his shaking form. Weighted and warm.
It seemed to do the trick, as Grian drifted off slowly, muscles relaxing into an uneasy sleep.
-
“Hey Taurtis?”
“Yeah?”
“Do- do you have any food?”
“Uhh-”
“I have food!”
“I-” A hesitant pause. “Thanks, Sam.” Grian took the bag dangling from his friend’s fingertips. The… meat? —was it meat?— was a pale brown, crimson in places. Dry looking and burned. “What- what is it?”
“Jerky!” Sam answered eagerly, ears perked with excitement. “I made it myself!”
“...I see.”
“Well? Aren’t you gonna eat it?” Grian hesitated, watching Sam’s smile widen in the corner of his eye. He took a bite.
It was… good?
“What did you make it out of?” he asked, working his way through the bag. Hunger had exploded in his stomach, desperate and impatient.
“I’m not telling you! It’s a secret!” Grian raised his eyebrows. “Well you have to promise not to tell anyone.” A beat. An expectant look.
“Fine. I won’t tell anyone Sam.” The boy grinned, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper.
“I made it with Salex.” Grian frowned.
“What?”
“Salex.”
“Salex?” Sam nodded. Taurtis went pale.
“What did you say?”
“S-” Sam elbowed him. Hard.
“Nothing!” Taurtis whipped towards Grian, desperation in his gaze.
“Grian, what did he say?!”
“I-” There was a knife against his back. Digging into his sweater. Metal cold against skin. Grian froze, heart nearly beating out of his chest. “Nothing!” The word came out fast, squeaky and instinctual. He cringed. Taurtis rounded on Sam.
“What did you make it out of?”
“It’s a secret!”
“Tell me, Sam!”
“Say the magic words!”
“I’m not saying the magic words!”
“Well then I’m not gonna tell you!” There was a pause, a staredown. A challenge to see who would back down first. Then there was a sigh, a hand reaching up to fidget with red and blue headphones.
“Please, can you tell me what it’s made out of?” Sam grinned.
“Salex.” Taurtis paled once more. And suddenly, the name clicked in Grian’s head.
He thinks he might throw up.
-
Grian woke up with a gasp, a pounding headache, and bile in his throat. None of those were an uncommon occurrence. However, normally it occurred with less blankets and with concrete as the dirtied ground, not a wooden floor.
He blinked down at himself, mind struggling to recall the night —was it night?— from before.
Again. Not an uncommon occurrence.
He knew this was someone’s flat. He had ended up in it twice now, he thinks. He blinked again, cringing at the mess he had made, the disgusting substance he had covered himself and —more importantly— the blanket in.
Mumbo’s blanket.
He wasn’t quite sure why the name clicked then. Why he had remembered it in the first place. It shouldn’t have been important. All that mattered was getting out of the damned place.
He stumbled to his feet, brain finally clicking into functioning mode and gaining his bearings.
Ah. There was a person on the couch behind him. Clearly they hadn’t meant to have fallen asleep, based on the rumpled day clothes and the slumped sitting position they had ended up in. Grian cringed, taking in Mumbo’s disheveled state.
Not my problem, he thought to himself, taking a slow step back. He just had to get out of here, move to a different part of town so he didn’t run into Mumbo again. He could forget about this whole thing!
And then the fucking floor creaked.
Mumbo stirred, and Grian froze, mind going blank in a frustratingly familiar fashion. Why did he have to get stuck with the most unhelpful danger response?
And then, Mumbo’s eyes fluttered open.
-
When Mumbo woke up, he was pretty certain that Grian would be gone. That’s why he had tried to stay awake in the first place. So imagine his surprise when he was greeted with his frozen guest, dirtied blanket strewn behind him like faux wings around a baby bird. He blinked, finally processing Grian’s wide eyes and tense frame.
Ah. So he was intending on leaving. There was a pause, the pair staring at each other as two beings. A baby fawn standing on knobbly knees, staring up at a wolf. Terrified of moving. Terrified of staying still. Mumbo really should say something, shouldn’t he?
“Hi?” There was a long, long pause.
Then, “Hey.” Mumbo took that as a win, standing slowly and pretending not to mind the wary eyes following his every move. Grian took a stumbled step back. “Wait-” Mumbo paused, waiting for fumbled thoughts to meet air. “I- I need to go.” Neither of them moved. Mumbo thought through his next words carefully.
“Okay. I- I won’t force you to stay.” Grian blinked, waiting for the catch. “But may I ask- may I ask why you need to go?” That seemed to make him pause, eyes flicking around the room.
“I- I just-” He couldn’t seem to get the words out. The snappish attitude gone and replaced with barely concealed panic. “I can’t stay here.”
“Okay?” Grian flinched.
“You can’t make me.”
“I can’t.” A pause. “But can you stay for a little bit at the very least? You’re still hurt. I- just until you’re healed?” He was grasping at straws. Why? He didn’t have the faintest of clues. He just– he just wanted Grian to be okay. There was a long, long pause.
Then, “Fine.” The word was whispered. Barely audible over the sound of cars rushing by. Mumbo had to resist giving his new —temporary?— flatmate a lopsided grin.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Grian nodded hesitantly. And really? Mumbo wouldn’t have asked for anything more.