Work Text:
It was snowing.
He pulls his scarf over his nose as he trudges through the December weather. He passes Karl's house and enters his, pulling out a bag and food. A quick dump of an ender chest and he closes the bag, swinging it over his shoulder and entering the back of his house.
With a look over his shoulder, the boy Theseus stepped into the minecart and rolled it forward. The powered rail hooked the bottom of the cart and pulled it forward,and as he squinted at the sunset on the other side of the hill his house was embedded in, the typically stoic, loudmouthed, sixteen years old boy, shed dozens of silent tears.
One, for his brother, best friend, it was always him.
One for his leader, the father for his nephew, his ghostly, honeyed voice like the bite of a snake.
One for his ally, who shot his friend, who called him Theseus.
One for his father, his guardian, the green angel of death that killed his son.
More, for his friends, the fox, the troubled boy, a colorful sweatshirt, the newcomer.
More, for his home, his city, his family, his pets.
More, for his nation, his buildings, his land.
The tears still came after he got out of the minecart, docking it safely for when if it was used again.
The tears still came after he crossed the river mouth and passed his and Tubbo's second home. His third home, he still had his summer home on the mountain.
The sun glinted pink on the clouds by the time his knees failed him. A crossbow shot from a pillager tower stung his shoulder, and the boy Theseus cried.
He cried for his brothers, he cried for his father. His throat rubbed raw as he cried for his family, the brother that betrayed him, the brother that killed him, the brother that exiled him.
A single wolf in the thick spruce forest echoed his cries.
The boy Theseus leaned against the bark of a tree, hand gripping his shoulder where he was shot. Mobs be damned, he thought, as he wailed into the darkening sky.
Mobs be damned, he thought, as he slid down the tree and leaned his head into his knees.
Mobs be damned, he thought, as soft white fur and an equally pained cry met his hand
Mobs be damned, he thought, as the rattles of bone caught his ear.
I'll be damned, if I leave my home willingly, he thinks, as the groan of the undead comes closer.
But they'll be damned if I don't, he thinks, as his vision goes black.
And the boy Theseus was damned, and his third life shone dangerously dark.