Chapter Text
Red managed to force his sticky eyes open, his face buried in the pillow. They ached, and so did his whole body. Slowly he pushed himself up from the bed, noticing that he was covered with two blankets. He looked around the room—not his own, so it hadn't been a half-asleep delusion. Red glanced at his hands—no longer covered in blood—and touched his face; it was clean. Throwing off the blankets, he carefully stood up, nearly tripping as he walked to the door. He passed by a large mirror and caught his reflection: Purple's clothes, disheveled hair, tear‑stained eyes, and the battle scars he had once been proud of. He jerked his head away and kept walking toward the door. The stickman touched the handle, pulled it toward himself, trying to make as little noise as possible. He opened it and peeked into the hallway—luckily, it was empty. He didn't want to stay here; he couldn't. Orange and Purple had been so kind to him—what if it happened again? Like yesterday. But they had looked at him without fear—maybe if he stayed here a little longer, it wouldn't get worse?
Red stepped into the hallway, controlling every step, looking around. His heart pounded as if he were in a cage, a lab mouse. Every extra step—and he'd be caught. He passed by the living room, not noticing the unfolded sofa and a couple of pillows and blankets.
He knew the King and Purple would stare at him, and he didn't want that. But hunger twisted his stomach so badly that he would have been glad even for rotten flesh. He entered the kitchen, glancing back one last time—and as soon as he turned his head, he froze. Too many people, too many eyes fixed on him right now. Especially those he wasn't ready to look at. Everyone present was silent, and Red could only open his mouth and close it again, his eyes darting from one face to another. The hallway, the portal, the door, the window—anywhere, as long as he wasn't here. Panic washed over him; his heart, already beating in mute fear, now raced at full speed. A veil clouded his eyes, and his mouth gasped for air, each breath growing louder and stronger. Red backed away, still frantically scanning between faces. Someone was trying to say something to him—Purple, it seemed, was cautiously approaching, judging by the purple blur Red saw. White noise filled the space, and the panic grew even worse when, through that noise, he made out a familiar voice.
"Red!"
Familiar... He bolted, anywhere, just to get away from here. Ignoring the voices behind him, Red trusted his legs, which carried him back to Purple's room. With a loud slam, he shut the door and threw himself onto the bed, wrapping himself in the blanket. He could endure this hunger as long as needed. Or never come out again. The window in the room looked more and more appealing.
***
They tried to call out to Red a couple of times, but he still ran away. The colorful stickmen wanted to chase after him, but Orange wouldn't let them; he sent Purple instead, who had already planned to check on Red. When he left, Green was the first to speak:
"So we can't do anything at all?! Why can't I even find out how my friend is feeling? I hate being useless!" He threw his fork onto his plate and leaned back against the table, crossing his arms.
"Rushing will only make it worse," the King said calmly, standing with his back to the group at the sink. He remembered his own rehabilitation and how Purple had helped him. They had helped each other. Purple knew how to deal with someone who blamed themselves for everything. But what about someone who was also afraid of themselves? "No one heals just from hugs and 'everything will be okay.'"
Green frowned even more and turned his head away. The others tried to keep eating, but their appetite had vanished after Red's appearance. Purple returned to the kitchen, and everyone immediately stared at him, ready to listen.
"He... is okay. At least he's not crying—he's just... hiding." Purple faltered, trying to find the most accurate description of the situation, especially when a pair of red eyes had been peeking out at him from under the blanket. "He doesn't want to see any of you."
Everyone looked at Purple sadly, but still, if Red was all right (which they all tried to believe), they could endure their brother's wish. Then Purple turned his gaze to Second.
"Especially you."
The words sounded like a verdict, and everyone stared at Second, who... showed no reaction. Though his facial expression gave it away. He pressed his lips together, gripping his notebook tighter, even though outwardly he seemed perfectly calm. For a while Second looked at the stickman before him; he didn't seem to be judging, but he clearly showed regret, because he looked especially sadly only at Second—until Second finally dared to look away from everyone. Did he know why? He suspected. Was he sad? Incredibly. Could he change it? ...He didn't know. Second had barely slept that night, constantly staring at the doorway in the corridor, monitoring in case he saw a red figure there. And every time he was afraid that as soon as he was noticed, he would run away.
After a long silence, Second suddenly stood up and addressed everyone in the kitchen.
"If we can't help Red directly, let's help him indirectly." He clapped his hands to get their attention. "We still have a lot of his things at home, including Ruben. I think Red would be glad to see that his friend is doing well. How about we go back for them?"
Second finished his speech and looked at the others, confident that they would support his idea. Even if not, he would go alone for those things—he was that ready to help Red in any way. He wasn't surprised when Green stood up, followed by Yellow, who adjusted his glasses, and Blue.
"Totally agree, great idea. I suggest we leave right now." Green headed straight for the hallway and the hatch, and Second smiled after him, then turned to the rest.
"I'll go with you—extra help won't hurt," Orange said, stepping away from the sink and shaking off his hands. "Purple, you..."
"I'm coming too." He interrupted his father and quickly cleared his throat when they looked at him questioningly. "My wings. I can carry several things at once quite quickly and safely. My help will also come in handy."
He pulled one of his elytra aside, showing off his abilities. It was hard to argue with him. Fast flight would be very useful for transporting certain things—even Ruben could be moved without much effort. The King propped his chin on his hand, pondering the decision. He glanced at the kitchen, apparently deciding who would stay to watch the house and Red. Suddenly Blue raised his hand.
"I can stay home. Besides speed potions, I can't offer much, and I'll have time to make Red breakfast." He stopped, waving his hands quickly. "I won't bother him—I'll just leave the breakfast and that's it!"
When Blue finished, he stood awkwardly, hands behind his back, waiting for Orange to say something. But he didn't seem to mind, because he shrugged and gave a tentative nod, and Blue nodded back. Just then Green's head poked out from the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently.
"Am I going to wait for you forever? Or are you discussing something without me?" He stepped forward, crossing his arms, and got a couple of awkward smiles in return.
Green surveyed the team and Orange as they hastily left the kitchen, discussing which things they could take and how they'd explain everything to Alan. Standing in front of the hatch, Second went down first, followed by Yellow. Blue remained standing aside, watching the team leave; Green noticed his detachment as he was climbing down. He popped his head back up, expecting Blue to follow, but Blue didn't move, so Green opened his mouth and raised a finger.
"Uh..?"
"I'll explain on the way—just go," Purple interrupted him, pushed down on Green's head to make him descend, and then jumped in after him.
Finally, the King looked back at Blue, still standing in the hallway. They exchanged glances, the meaning of which only they understood. With a nod, the King disappeared into the basement, closing the hatch behind him. Sighing, Blue turned toward the kitchen, thinking about what he could cook. Being alone in someone else's house was slightly intoxicating, so Blue moved around the kitchen as if in a trance. Of course, he had always been an ace at this. He started thinking about where to direct his cooking skills. Especially for the one he was cooking for. He didn't have to think long: pie. Of course, maybe it wasn't Red's favorite dish, but Red loved using it in his pranks. Not that it mattered.
There was no crafting table or basic Minecraft ingredients in the local network, but that was for the best! Blue, after all, loved experimenting with new dishes, so a quick look inside the fridge and Blue immediately chose what could work.
"I don't think Orange and Purple will be too upset if a couple of apples go missing," he said aloud, pulling out apples and a jar of honey.
He didn't cook this dish often, though the recipe wasn't that complicated. The tartness of the apples and the sweetness of the honey made a great contrast—a flavor everyone could appreciate, but no one had ever put it on their list of Blue's favorite dishes. Even Blue himself agreed that this recipe was basic and only made it in two cases: when Red asked him to, and when Blue saw that Red was sad. For a lover of spicy food, this rather sweet treat had become almost a favorite. Remembering how Red used to come to Blue's kitchen and ask about the pie, with Ruben trotting between his legs and grunting eagerly, Blue smiled.
He kneaded the dough, already used to going on autopilot when working in the kitchen. Masterfully he quickly sliced the apples and began pouring honey into the pan. Cooking distracted him from unnecessary thoughts, most of which weren't very cheerful, so Blue was grateful for that very autopilot. Though, to be honest, Blue couldn't stop thinking about Red. For a second his hand jerked, nearly dropping an apple slice—Blue felt a lump rising in his throat. He didn't cry; he swallowed it and shook his head, focusing on the cooking. If he could do at least something, cooking would help. Sprinkling cinnamon on top and putting the pie in the oven, Blue reached for the teapot and put the kettle on.
He was already making mint tea, and Red liked it, so the choice was obvious. Steam rose from the kettle, then a click—before Blue sank back into his thoughts again. He wasn't as bold as Green, or as decisive as Second, or as rational as Yellow. Or as impulsive as Red. Yes, he remained a battle stickman like all his friends, but for a long time he couldn't figure out exactly what kind of stickman he was. For himself, Blue realized that he was best at listening, as cliché as that sounded. And honestly, he didn't know how to deal with that.
When the oven light went off, Blue took out the pie and left it to cool. While that happened, he added a spoonful of honey to the tea—despite the pie's sweetness, Blue believed honey would soothe the throat, and mint would help relax even for a minute. And he hoped that at least this way Red would feel a little better. Cutting a couple of slices of pie, he placed them on a small plate and, taking a cup of steaming tea, forced himself to head to Red's room. The whole house was quiet compared to the kitchen, where Blue had been making noise just minutes ago. Walking down the hallway, he looked around as if someone else were in the house besides him and Red. Finally reaching the door, he stopped in front of it. His hand trembled as he reached to knock. Looking at the plate, Blue reconsidered his decision—he was just going to leave the plate by the door, but how he wanted to check on Red himself. Even just a peek. But he clenched his teeth and still knocked three times timidly. There was no answer.
"Red? It's Blue. I just came to bring you some food. You haven't eaten since morning, and you know how I feel about long breaks." He tried to joke, but the laugh was strained and unnatural. The attempt at humor was a terrible idea, and Blue would scold himself for it many times. He exhaled weakly and continued: "I know you don't want to see us, and I won't ask you to come out. I just want to know you've eaten."
Again no answer, not even a rustle. Blue pressed his lips together and bent down to set the plate and cup on the floor.
"I'll leave the food in front of the door and leave if you..."
Before he could fully set the food down, the bedroom door creaked open. Through a small gap, two red eyes peered out, curiously examining Blue. As if Red were an animal lying in ambush, watching its future meal. Blue's mouth fell open slightly in surprise, waiting for something. He nearly dropped everything he was holding because he wanted to throw it all aside and hug Red so tightly and never let go. But Red only looked at him with tired eyes, then stepped back from the door—but didn't close it, signaling that Blue could come in.
Without missing a second, Blue quickly stood up, nearly spilling the tea, and hurried into the room. Closing the door, Blue stared ahead; Red sat in front of him, but didn't dare to look up at Blue. Wrapped in a blanket, Red stared down at the bedsheet, hugging his knees and wrapping his arms around them. Blue carefully sat on the edge of the bed, placing the cup on the nightstand and keeping the plate in his hands. He studied Red's face—his disheveled hair, the circles forming under his eyes, and how he avoided eye contact. Then Blue lifted the plate with the pie and offered it to Red. Red, noticing the movement near him, finally tore his gaze from the sheet, first looked at the tempting fragrant pie, then at Blue, as if asking for permission.
Blue only gave him a gentle smile and nodded, and Red quickly grabbed the plate, immediately taking a piece of pie and biting into it, sitting down next to Blue. As he did, Red closed his eyes, savoring the taste, and the next bite quickly followed. Red devoured the pie greedily, washing it down with tea, which he had already taken from the nightstand. Blue watched Red eat without being able to stop, and warmth began to spread involuntarily through his chest—he was genuinely glad that Red hadn't thrown him out, had even let him in, and now was enjoying his pie with such relish.
They didn't exchange another word, neither while Red ate his breakfast nor when he finished. Gently setting the plate on the nightstand, Red stared downward, tilting his head toward his shoulder, avoiding Blue, still not saying a word. Five minutes passed, and Blue continued sitting next to Red, even though the reason he had come—to make sure Red had eaten—was already fulfilled. He didn't want to leave, however much he tried to force himself to get up and leave Red alone.
"I know it's none of my business, and if you don't want to talk, I won't insist. But maybe you'd like to tell me something?" Blue began uncertainly, constantly fumbling for the right words, so he spoke very slowly. He paused and continued: "We're alone in the house now. The others are out on business, so no one will hear us."
Blue placed his hands on his knees, noticing how Red, who had been sitting calmly, turned into an ice statue. His fingers gripped the blanket beside him. Blue saw him first press his lips together and open his mouth a few times, then close it again. Every time he tried to speak, his shoulders rose for a moment—then fell again. Blue could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat. His gaze darted across the floor, once or twice flicking to the door and immediately bouncing away. Red turned his head away from Blue so that his face was hidden, and stopped moving. Blue looked at him sadly. As he had already said, if Red didn't want to, he wouldn't beg him to open up. He sighed inwardly and braced his hands on the bed to stand up.
"Why does everyone I love leave me?" Red said quietly, almost in a whisper, as if he himself was afraid of his own voice. At first Blue thought he had misheard. He froze, sat back down, and held his breath, afraid that any sound would shatter this fragile moment. Red tried again, pausing, to say something.
"Animals... Why couldn't they stay with me longer? Am I really that bad that I can't even take care of animals?"
He stared at his hands, slowly clenching them into fists and then unclenching. Blue leaned slightly toward him, trying to keep his voice steady despite the sudden anxiety tightening in his chest.
"No! Of course not, it's not your fault they died." He tried to touch Red's shoulder, but Red immediately flinched away, moving farther from Blue.
"Remember that pig... If I had kept an eye on her, she wouldn't have drunk so many of your potions, she wouldn't have died when we had to fight her." He stumbled, and his voice began to tremble, growing quieter, as he struggled to force out more words. "I wouldn't have had to fight her."
Red grabbed his own shoulders as his body started to shake. First fine, barely noticeable, then stronger, as if something inside him was breaking. He curled up, his shoulders rising toward his head, and his torso began to bend over his knees, as though he was trying to make himself smaller. Disappear.
"Red, it was my fault. I got too carried away with my potion‑making. I shouldn't have left so many potions lying around on the floor... You shouldn't blame yourself for one unfortunate accident." Blue's voice wavered, but he tried to speak firmly.
"You think it was just one?!" Red suddenly stood up, causing Blue to recoil; he rose from the bed and looked at him. His hands were shaking, clenched into fists, pressed forcefully against his thighs, as if trying to keep himself from smashing something.
"Do you remember the two parrots? Or the llama? Or my livestock?! I counted them every morning, rejoicing when they were all there. They all died, and I never had time to bury them properly..." His voice cracked into a rasp.
He paced back and forth, frantic, nearly grabbing his head to occupy himself with something—because Blue felt that if Red didn't do that, he would go mad.
"With everyone... With everyone I took in, something happened! They loved me, they got sick, they died." On the last word he went quiet. Just for a second, before speaking loudly again, no longer hiding the coming hysteria. His voice broke, faltered into sobs that he tried to swallow, but they burst out along with his words. His hands trembled, and with each new step, his eyes filled more with tears, which Red wiped away to keep them from falling. "They died, and I couldn't do anything!"
"Red, listen to me," Blue nearly begged, but his voice was too soft, too quiet to overpower the shouting. "You couldn't have foreseen that!"
"I killed that bee, Blue!" Red stopped. He spun around to face him and pressed his palms against his own chest, pointing to himself as if to a criminal. "I'm just a pathetic killer who can't even take responsibility for his own actions!"
His voice broke on the last word, and he froze. A heavy silence fell, one that Blue could feel even if he hadn't been in the middle of it. Red breathed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling. A couple of tears finally rolled down his cheeks, too tired to build up anymore. His mouth, still open after he had shouted, closed. He dropped his head, and his body seemed to lose its support. Blue didn't know what to say. He looked at Red—at his trembling hands, at his hunched shoulders, at how he tried to keep himself from falling. And instead of shouting back, instead of saying the right words, Blue simply sat down on the floor. He sat on the floor beside the bed—not right next to him, not too close, but so that Red could see him. He stretched out his legs and waited. Red, without looking at Blue, slowly returned to his place. Slowly, as if his legs were giving way, swaying from side to side. He plopped onto the bed, which dipped under his weight, and bowed his head over his knees, covering his face with his hands.
"It was my fault that I stole Yellow's staff, my fault that I put a lucky block in it, my fault that I put everyone in danger... Again." He spoke softly, finally extinguishing his shout and burying all his emotions somewhere far away. Blue hoped it wasn't so. Red resumed speaking, still burying his face in his palms, making his already quiet voice muffled. "And my fault that the creeper-bee died."
Blue watched Red shaking, barely visible salty drops seeping through his fingers. Blue had seen them cry many times, each of them—from pain, from stress, from fear. Loudly, gasping for air, constantly sniffling, especially as they began to calm down. When Red cried, it was either too fast or not at all, only occasionally revealing droplets at the corners of his eyes. Now he was sobbing silently, covering his face with his hands, and only his ever‑trembling shoulders showed that he was not himself. And Blue didn't know what to say. For the first time, a situation like this—a time when he had to search for words for a long time. Because they wouldn't believe him, wouldn't trust any word he said, if he said everything would be okay. After all, he should have said that earlier.
Blue took a deep breath and raised his hand, though he wasn't fully sure of his actions. He slowly placed his palm on Red's leg, trying to distract him at least a little. Red pulled his face away from his hands; tears were still flowing, but his body was too weak to resist. Blue moved even closer, kneeling, and looked directly into Red's eyes.
"You won't believe me. That's okay. I don't know how to prove to you that you're not to blame. I know you did everything you could." He whispered, his voice soft, despite how much the sight of Red tore him apart inside. Blue turned his head away, feeling shame for his own past actions and those of the gang, furrowing his brow. "We should have told you about the lucky world, should have said how dangerous it was. You wouldn't have lost a friend, you wouldn't have had to blame yourself so much."
He closed his eyes, remembering that day and realizing that Red had known nothing about the lucky world—it hadn't existed there when they first met him. He had literally been unaware, but, as Yellow had said, ignorance doesn't excuse you from responsibility. But if Yellow were standing here now and said that, Blue would punch him so hard he'd bite his tongue for saying such nonsense.
"You had a tough time, especially when you made the bee explode there, but you saved us all by sacrificing your friend. None of us had ever experienced that, and what you did, you did for the greater good, and you shouldn't blame yourself. You... You're not like everyone else. Your actions... They helped us. Without you, we would... I don't know, we wouldn't have made it." Blue turned back to him, looking at Red, who had stopped crying and was listening attentively. His body was still trembling, but not as much as before. Blue gave him a soft smile, taking his hands in his own, making Red lean slightly toward him. "You may not believe it, but I do. Everyone does. You can be sure of that. We'll be there for you, no matter what."
As soon as he finished, for a couple of minutes Red just stared at Blue. Didn't move, didn't speak, only blinking showing that he was present. Blue felt a tremor in his hands, but he controlled his body. Then a sob came, and Red threw himself at Blue, sliding to the floor and hugging him tightly. And Blue froze, not knowing if he was allowed to hug back. But then he gave in, hugging Red tightly, closing his eyes. Red wasn't crying like yesterday—sobbing loudly, painfully, on the verge of hysteria. It was calm; Blue would call it normal crying, not the kind that bursts out when you can no longer hold your emotions in check. Blue stroked his back, barely holding back his own tears.
"Thank you. Thank you so much," Red said through his crying and sobs, into Blue's hoodie.
Red pulled back, wiping his tears with his hand, now calming down on a more conscious level—not just to avoid showing his weakness again.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and through the small gap Ruben's head poked in. Spotting his owner, he grunted anxiously and ran straight toward him, jumping up and starting to lick his face. Red looked surprised and even a little frightened at first, but then he laughed, hugging his beloved pig tightly as it grunted furiously, as if scolding him. Blue first looked at them, then at the doorway, where he caught Orange's face—realizing they had returned. He immediately tensed, afraid of how the King would react. After all, Blue had broken the main rule he had set for himself. But Orange just nodded at him, smiling, and silently, without a sound, closed the door. Blue guessed that Orange had suspected this would happen, but he couldn't prove it.
The pig, having finished polishing Red's face, settled on his lap, wanting to be petted, and Red couldn't refuse. He didn't look like his old self, but right now he clearly felt at ease. Blue chuckled when Ruben twitched his snout amusingly, and Red played along, smiling.
"Should I bring you more pie?" Red nodded, and Blue smiled, getting up from the floor.
He took the empty plate and cup, ruffled Red's hair, and headed for the door. He wanted to tell the gang everything. Absolutely everything. This was the first successful attempt at talking with Red, and they had made progress, and it seemed Blue understood how they could help Red. Pushing the door open and about to close it behind him, Red stopped him with a nervous voice, making Blue turn around.
"You won't...—" he swallowed, asking a question that stuck in his throat and was so frightening to hear the answer to. Because Red wasn't ready to hear the wrong one. "—you won't leave me, will you?"
Red looked at Blue with anxiety, pleading, and a question. Blue calmly smiled at him, shook his head, and then gave a low laugh, giving the obvious answer.
"Not for anything in the world."
To be continued...