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Grian was doing okay, sure he was newly made a red name, sure he didn't trust Joel or Cleo with a penny, sure they were his only friends now but Grian was doing alright and that's all that matters.
However on the bad days, (he swears, it's just the bad days) he finds his gaze lingering on the cobble walls of the Southlands and cringes whenever anyone inches away from him in silent terror.
Sometimes, though Grian figured at this point it may be more than just ‘sometimes’, he wants to go back, to have his yellow name again, at least he wore that proudly like a gold star you would give to a first-grader. Even the light green name that filled him with joy in the short time he had it. Thinking about it now only brought thoughts of blood and his arms aching to be wrapped around Bdubs’ bleeding neck.
The red name was changing him, however ridiculous that might sound.
Sure he was mad at Bdubs and Scar, Grian had even written their names on his ‘list’ but he had never even considered revenge the way he was now. It wasn’t him. Or maybe it was just with a little extra motivation, an incentive to dig deeper into plans that had never made it to the forefront of his mind. The thought that he had always been like this, that it had just been lurking under the surface, made Grian feel sick.
It had to be the ‘red mist’ or whatever the boogeyman always claimed to see, but Grian hadn’t seen any mysterious mist yet the urge to throw Bdubs, or anyone really, off a cliff was bubbling as if waiting for the moment to pour over like scalding hot tea overfilling its cup burning whoever’s closest.
It was fair to say the red name made him want to kill, yet also kneel over and beg for something, Grian didn't know what he would be begging for. Comfort? Warm hands patting his shoulder or kind smiles joking about nonsensical words. He had felt that before, it was nice, (they were nice).
For some reason, Joel's hands felt cold. Would Grian’s hands feel that cold soon?
And Cleo’s smiles were manic. Filled with the need for revenge.
Cleo had shouted in joy when she saw her name in red, Grian had wanted to fold over and cry, or maybe yell at someone for a chance at redemption. A chance to be better, to listen when Mumbo had said Joel was right there, or never talk to bdubs in the first place, hold onto Scar’s stolen life for a little longer.
But that hadn’t happened, that wasn’t going to happen. His former alliance members had cast him out, even if Grian had proclaimed it first to Jimmy and Martyn he knew no one would want him anymore anyway.
He didn’t blame them.
So lying in Joel’s spare bed Grian started at the wall, it was nothing interesting yet he spent his time counting each of the lines stretching through the wood panelling. It wasn't doing much to distract his influx thoughts but he was trying.
After what felt like an eternity but had probably only been a few hours, Grian picked himself off of the mattress and as silently as he could as to not wake Cleo, who he shared the room with, and opened the door.
The cool air hit his face and Grian let out a breath of relief.
The room had been suffocating yet Grian had only now come to notice it. The air was grounding and abled him to cool down his thoughts that had become a little too unhinged.
Grian didn’t want to go back into the house, at least not yet, he was doomed to have to eventually.
But in the meantime, Grian decided to grab his weapon out and start walking through the forest. Clearing through mobs and ignoring how good. How right, a sword felt in his hands. Grian strolled onwards, he didn’t really have a direction, but his feet were moving and Grian wasn't going to stop them.
Scanning the area around him Grian admired the way the trees waved at him and the moon peaked between the branches every now and then to greet Grian with a moonlit path, eventually Grian poked out the other side of the forest and at what he saw his face dropped.
Grian had walked straight to the Southlands, his whole being wanted to be there, with them, but that wasn’t happening and Grian tried to turn himself away, to go back.
Back to the cold cabin. Back to the people who liked him only because they had no other option. Back to the sleepless nights in the perfectly fine bed, that Grian couldn't help but feel stiff and unwelcome lying on.
Maybe he didn't want to go back. Yet.
Surely his past friends wouldn’t hate him too much if he took the opportunity to stargaze on the hill the group had been clearing out the day he died, making jokes about Jimmy using ‘word’ in the most absurd context.
So convincing himself it was alright, Grian walked up to the hill, turned around and just fell onto the dirt. It was like a trust fall with no one to catch him. Actually that pretty much summed up how he was feeling at that moment.
Faintly Grian heard leaves crunching, not a mob they were less careful, it was a player. But they couldn’t attack him so he wasn’t really in that much danger. He wasn't even in the Southlands so they had no reason to even want conflict. So Grian just lay there not making any move to check who might be looking over at him from their respective distance.
He didn't have to in the end as a voice called out a soft, “hey.”
Grian immediately knew who it was and it didn’t make the situation any better. So Grian just lay there silently wishing he would sink into the ground and disappear for a bit. Maybe forever. Perhaps that would be nice.
“What brings you here?” The tentative voice continued.
Grian didn’t respond, maybe the voice would leave eventually so Grian could be alone in peace, (is that what he really wanted though?).
Seeming to get the hint, the person stopped talking. However to Grian’s surprise instead of walking away they lay down on the grass as well, still not too close though. Grian couldn’t help but look over to the man, who had his eyes on the stars far above both of them.
“You don’t have to answer, I was just wondering, you’ve been keeping your distance so far,” the man was always persistent Grian liked that about him.
“Just going wherever my feet take me,” Grian left out that it wasn’t just his feet that brought him here, practically all of him wanted to be there, “you know how it is Mumbo,” he finished.
“Your feet took you here? Instead of, I don’t know Scar’s house? Isn’t that just up the hill from Joel’s where I presume you're staying?” Mumbo inquired, a light chuckle accompanying the question.
“I don’t think Scar fairs well with night time visits,” Grian mumbled unsure of how he felt with the conversation.
“You say that like Martyn or Timmy wouldn’t have a heart attack seeing you turn up in the dead of night.” Grian frowned slightly at the nickname for Jimmy, he doubted he could use that nickname now.
“And you?” Would Mumbo be just as terrified as the others, see him as just another red life. He knew that the other’s did.
“I..” Mumbo seemed unsure for a moment before continuing, “well I wouldn’t have to be if you give me that fair fight I asked for in the nether, after you..” the mustached man trailed off.
“I would give you a fair fight. You deserve one. And for that reason I'm not going to fight you… I don’t want to die forever Mumbo and when I do I want it to be…” Grain was stumbling over his words unsure of what he was trying to say, “I don’t know what I want it to be actually, I just don't want to waste it trying to pull one of my… past allies down with me.”
Looking over at Mumbo, Grian found a surprised look on his face. “You aren’t going to kill us? But you're a red name now?”
“I don’t know if you can tell but Joel has gone pretty much insane, yeah?” Mumbo nodded, “I don’t think it was the loneliness, and there’s certainly no red mist or ominous music playing whenever you think about killing someone, all that changes is that death feels like a plausible solution more.”
“It’s just that? But Joel-,” cutting Mumbo off Grian answered his incomplete question, “that’s what it's like now, I've spent only days as a red life, and while I sure as hell don't want to attack the Southlands right now, who’s to say how long this sanity will last.”
“So if I came closer you wouldn’t murder me immediately?”
Grian let his mind consider the question, he should. He really should. Yet still the answer, “no,” was all Grian could force out.
“But you already have tried to kill me, at the ghast farm?”
The memory wasn’t a fond one, the tidal waves of murderous ideas being let out by floodgates that his mind has kept under tight lock had clouded his judgement. And perhaps it was the loneliness too. Well the urge hadn't really subsided, in fact, it was growing, only now Grian had taken control of his thoughts and become aware that he didn’t have to kill anyone and everyone he saw.
“I did do that.” Grian wanted to apologize but he couldn’t. It didn’t feel… right. But apologizing was always good even if you believed you weren’t wrong. Maybe that was the problem; apologizing was good, and Grian wasn’t.
There was some shuffling and Grian found Mumbo right next to him, their bodies only a few feet apart.
Turning his head back up to the sky, Grian's mind swam, why had Mumbo moved closer? Grian hadn’t apologised or even sounded remotely sorry.
“You know it's partly my fault, that you're red I mean.” Mumbo’s voice was soft and not meant for ears other than the two of them.
“You know that wasn’t your fault,” Grian mumbled back.
“Maybe it wasn’t but the ghast farm was my idea. You didn’t even need to help! So if I don’t take some of the blame I'm going to feel even worse about this.” You could always tell when Mumbo was being sincere, he wasn’t good at faking it. And when Grian couldn’t hear a hint of lies in Mumbo’s words, he smiled sadly.
“I really shouldn’t even be here. I should be at Joel's in that spare bed. In that humid room. With Cleo’s breaths distracting me from ever actually getting some sleep!” Yet with that said Grian made no move to get up but instead rolled over so he was facing Mumbo. “Why are you still talking to me? Why haven't you taken your turn to run away like everyone else?” Grian asked voice tinted with something akin to fear. Though he wasn’t afraid. Had that been taken from him too?
“I, I’m not really sure.” Mumbo replied, turning on his side to meet Grian’s eyes. “Grian, the alliance is a mess. You weren’t just the founder, you were the glue that held us together, the ‘on’ switch to the redstone machine that was our group.”
The man’s metaphor made Grian laugh a little.
“Grian- I… I think I might want to join the red lives.”
Grian’s heart leapt, sang and fell all at once when those words left Mumbo’s mouth, “you want to-, what?” Grain chocked out.
“I.. think I want to be a red life.”
The thought of a kill made blood rush through Grian’s veins... But this was Mumbo, and as much as the Southlands alliance was apparently failing, Grian couldn’t let Mumbo succumb to the fate Grian was already facing.
So wordlessly Grian propped himself up on his elbows and shuffled over to Mumbo who had closed his eyes tightly.
Reaching over, Grian pulled the other man into a hug. Mumbo seemed to tense up at the contact but after a moment pulled himself together slightly and croaked out a short, “Grian?”
“Mumbo…” was all Grian replied with.
With that Grian let the man go, missing the burst of emotions it gave him and pushed up off the ground and walked away. Grian didn’t turn around when he heard a desperate, “Grian?!” shouted from the man still sitting on the grass stuck in place by shock.
Grian had already tried to kill his ex-best friend once. He didn't want it to happen again, (he just hoped in the future, he could keep that promise).