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They had asked Xisuma for one more day before updating their current world, had flown to the familiarly jungled area where Xisuma and a few other hermits had decided to set up their bases and, Grian thinks, had it not been for Mumbo standing next to him, supporting him with an arm thrown over his shoulders, his hand squeezing Grian’s upper arm comfortingly, tears shining in his dark eyes, he might have started crying, too. Xisuma had patiently listened to the stuttered explanations, had nodded understandingly and had accepted their plea, promising to do everything in his power to stave off the update while still letting them know that, in the long run, there’s not a lot he can do about the world around them shifting, and that had felt so relieving at the time. Grian’s heart had been lighter as he raced back to the mustache-shaped mayoral meeting room where Iskall was watching over their sons for them, Mumbo just a few rockets behind him, the temporary joy covering up the inevitable grief like a sheet of ice stretching over oceans of shadow, the violent waves hidden from sight, roiling and harvesting a storm just beneath the surface.
That had been a yesterday.
Today, Grian is curled up in his old bed, the one that he keeps telling himself to remove, seeing as it is no longer needed here, but that he always forgets about, in the end, a soft blanket thrown over the other three people next to him. His eyes are still closed but, judging by the chill in the air, Grian can tell it’s still night outside, so he cuddles closer to the warm arm that’s resting beneath his head, long fingers still tangled in his hair in a comforting way, even as Mumbo sleeps on. The weight on Grian’s chest, light though it may be, moves slightly and that draws Grian’s attention. He rubs Jrumbot’d back in a comforting manner before patting his head softly, a shush on the tip of his tongue.
“Papa?”, he asks and Grian feels a small, cold hand settle on his cheek, which only makes him jolt with a sharp, almost painful breath. His lungs feel like they’re being squeezed and it has nothing to do with Jrumbot sitting on his chest, no, it feels like something washes over him, crashing into him, and it hurts .
“Everything alright, angel?”, he whispers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut until the small hand moves higher up his cheek, the tiny metal fist brushing against the corner of his eye.
“You’re leaking, papa...”
It is almost funny, Grian thinks as he opens his eyes with a long exhale, only to be met with the glowing turquoise eyes of his robot toddler, the brightness of them enough to highlight the sad expression on his face. Grian doesn’t think Jrumbot knows what crying means, doesn’t yet understand the implications of it, and he never will , but maybe he registers that Grian is… That he is…
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep, my darling?”, Grian offers in a soothing voice, raising his torso off of the bed, Jrumbot tucked securely in his arms, which prompts Mumbo to snore softly and turn to the other side of the bed, Grumbot sleeping on top of him sideways, undisturbed, his chest rising and falling with artificial breaths. Jrumbot doesn’t respond, but Grian feels it when he lays his head against Grian’s shoulder, the little antenna tickling Grian’s collarbone as he does so. Grian can’t help it when he hugs Jrumbot just that little bit tighter to himself, slowly standing up, the toddler rubbing his face against Grian’s campaign shirt with a little electronic sniffle, the sound similar to the one he makes when it’s too foggy outside and the damp air hits his circuits. It’s adorable and Grian can imagine the way his son’s metal decorative mustache twitches ever so slightly, even if it’s too dark to see. He walks to one of the large, circular windows and stares out at the picture his mansion paints against the dark night sky, the lanterns illuminating bits of it with an orange glow, which makes the whole view that much more ethereal, in a way. The moon’s white light bathes the green of the jungle in front of the window in something more ghostly, the glass of his old villager trading hall twinkling in the low light. Grian lowers his head to Jrumbot’s, lips meeting the cold surface of his little forehead, and even if the metal seems unyielding and motionless, it almost comes alive when Jrumbot raises a tiny hand to grip the short sleeve of Grian’s t-shirt, head still buried in Grian’s shoulder and his small shoulders relaxing as his sleep program kicks in. Grian rocks his son gently as he stares out the window, ignoring the way tears keep rolling down his cheeks, ignoring the way his heart squeezes inside his chest, almost as though Jrumbot’s little fingers were wrapped around it instead of his shirt.
Jrumbot is sleeping as Grian glances down at him, resting in the crook of Grian’s arm, unnaturally blue eyes now slits on the display of his little face, his antenna still glowing that periwinkle blue that Grian loves so much, and Grian moves a finger to a rounded metal cheek, tracing the soft curve of it with so much care that he’s sure that even if Jrumbot had more developed artificial nerves to feel it, he wouldn’t.
Grian’s face scrunches up and he has to take a stuttering breath, one that wobbles around a sob when he tries to tear his gaze away from his child , from the little robot he never knew he could come to love so much, even if it now seems so obvious, his affection for the little being sleeping in his arms almost as strong as the helplessness that makes his eyes sting, that makes his fingers turn cold, that makes Grian bring Jrumbot closer to his chest, the rocking motions not stopping, but gaining somewhat of a rhythm as he silences the sounds that try to escape him in his misery. Jrumbot sighs softly, getting more comfortable and clinging to Grian, his tiny hands holding onto him as if he knows .
It isn’t until Mumbo grabs him by the shoulder with a light grip that Grian realises Mumbo had been calling out to him, the whisper of his name lost to the crashing waves that envelop Grian’s mind with agony, the type that feels too heavy, too desperate for Grian to call it his own.
“You ok there, love?”, Mumbo asks in the softest voice he can muster as he steps closer and Grian notices that Grumbot is clinging to him, arms wrapped around his other dad’s neck and his face a similar display of content sleep to that of his younger brother. The gentle way in which Mumbo holds him, glancing down at both of their sons before focusing on Grian again, the look in his eyes that of a man who’s just gained everything and lost everything. In way, and Grian shakes his head, face adorned with a smile that hurts him, it is the tragic truth.
“No”, Grian mutters softly, vision blurred with tears. Mumbo steps in front of him, blocking out the pale moonlight as he pulls Grian to him with the arm that he’s not using to support Grumbot against his hip and Grian muffles the cries that he couldn’t have kept inside no matter how hard he tries against Mumbo’s chest. The hand at his back rubs the tensing muscles with a tenderness that Grian can’t handle right now, silent sobs wracking through his frame as he turns his head, only to see Grumbot’s sleeping face, only to glance down and see the way Jrumbot cuddles closer to him, only to have Mumbo’s arm tighten around him and, when Grian looks up, the feeling of loss swirling around him darkens just that bit further when he notes the tear trails on Mumbo’s own cheeks. Mumbo shakes his head, ever so softly, and blinks back his own tears. He lowers his head so he can rest his lips against Grian’s forehead in a soft kiss, one that’s painfully intimate as Mumbo then brings their foreheads together.
“Me neither. I don’t think I can let them go...”, Mumbo confesses and, as he holds his family to him, the tremble of his voice almost heartbreaking, as he gazes at them with a look so soft that Grian feels his own heart shatter into millions of little pieces, as another tear rolls down his cheek, Grian leans into Mumbo even further, bringing Jrumbot higher so they can both hug their sons in these last few hours before the illusion of their little family crackles and dies around them, along with their hearts.
Jrumbot and Grumbot sleep on as Mumbo and Grian cry together, as they mourn their children and, as the dawn breaks, red bleeding into the sky, which he can barely see from behind Mumbo in the way it outlines him, his face dark, despite the light illuminating him from behind in warm hues of pink and orange. Grian must have closed his eyes at one point, maybe to stope the tears from spilling, maybe because the agony had gotten to be too much, tearing into him like a poisoned arrow, the rot of it spreading through his body, eating at his pained heart, but when he opens them again, when soft blue eyes look down at his sleeping children, his heart stops .
Their antennas are dark now, even if their little faces look so peaceful, and Grian knows, he knows from the way their chests are no longer moving, knows from the way they seem colder than before, that inherent warmth that one could feel buzzing just beneath the cold metal plates that make -
made
up their little bodies, he
knows
but his heart won’t accept it.
He shakes Jrumbot a little, cupping a small cheek with gentle fingers, but nothing happens.
“Hey, angel? It’s time to wake up”, Grian whispers, but the urgency, the panic in his voice is clear, “It’s time to… It’s...”
And his voice breaks on a sob as Mumbo lowers all four of them to the wooden floor, his shoulders shaking even when his lover wraps both of his arms around their family, his mind reeling with something that Grian can’t - that Grian won’t name. They remain there, on that damned floor, for who knows how long and Mumbo keeps all three of them wrapped up in a tight embrace, not willing to let go, even as they both begin trembling, even as Mumbo begins grieving as well, his voice hitching as he tries to say something, as Grian tries to breathe .
Grian lets himself be held, squeezing his arms around Mumbo with as much might as he can summon, too tired even for the silent tears that fall from his unseeing eyes. He almost feels blank, empty , but it only takes another look at their children with the knowledge that they won’t wake up, never again, to have Grian screaming his pain out for the world to hear.
They try to rewire the circuitry, at first, denial blinding them to the agonising reality, but it doesn’t work . Grian holds Grumbot as his little body trembles with the overload of information that he can’t process, shushing him softly, humming under his breath a song that he used to sing them to sleep with, trying his best not to break down together with his son, as Grumbot’s small voice turns quieter and quieter, eventually fading entirely. They don’t attempt to do the same thing on Jrumbot, afraid of inflicting the same cruelty on him as well.
It is at this point that Grian realises, nothing can be done, that there’s no going back.
Acceptance is almost more excruciating than denial and anger and sadness, but it finally allows them to grieve their children properly, despite it all.
Grian builds a room between their two starter bases, using their messaging tunnel to link both of them up to the small build. It is roughly carved out of the stone and held up by dark, wooden pillars, beautiful in its simple design, and Mumbo decorates the walls with flowers and small shards of diamonds that Scar had helped them enchant into glowing crystals that hang from the wooden beams like little stars. The room is tiny and bare, only holding two pieces of furniture within it, two small beds, one red, one blue.
They visit their sons often.
It is almost cathartic, allowing themselves to mourn the family they lost, together, crying while holding each other. Grian realises, with time, that this wound will never heal, that it will only get easier to bear, but the pain will never fully leave, even as he, slowly, reintroduces his broken heart to the world. Mumbo holds his hand every step of the way and Grian holds Mumbo’s when the pain becomes to overwhelming, even if that happens less and less, the more the time passes around them.
The world seems just a little quieter, now.