Work Text:
Grian was alone in Boatem when his legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground. He was alone in Boatem when his entire body shook with exhaustion, when his bottom lip quivered and fat tears threatened to fall from tired eyes. He was alone as he lay on the ground, blades of grass tickling against his face and mud staining his sweater. He was alone when a sob escaped his chest, and he was alone when he sent his desperate cry out into the world.
“Please, help me.”
The only replies were that of phantoms diving toward him, their sharp teeth sinking into his armour-less body, and he didn’t have the energy to fight them away.
At least if he died, he’d feel somewhat refreshed. At least respawning would leave his body with less aches and pains, his eyes less droopy and his body less gravitated toward a non-existent bed.
(The long walk back from spawn was enough to tell him, categorically, the dying did absolutely nothing to make him feel energized).
The sun rose again on Boatem and more of Grian’s friends appeared. He laughed with them, joked about the bags under his eyes and how long it had been since he’d slept, and pretended that he was fine. He told them over and over again that he was fine. He just needed coffee. It had been a while since he slept. He thought he was hallucinating. They should give up their beds too! Night-time was good, and he needed to study the moon. This was a good thing!
“Please, help me.”
No one stood in the observatory to hear his plea. The words echoed around the copper structure, the moon gradually rising higher and higher and paying no mind to his needs.
He reported, in the morning, that the moon had grown by about a block from where he had been standing - though it was hardly the most scientific analysis he’d ever done. He joked about how his friends should talk to his waffle, that the bags under his eyes made his face less pretty. He was fine. His fingers shook as he spoke. An earthquake hit, and everyone ducked for cover. Earthquakes had become commonplace enough that everyone knew to find a table or a doorway to stand in - or to move away from any large structures that could fall if they were outside. Nothing had been dislodged, but it was surely only a matter of time before something was.
“Please, help me.”
Grian sat on the platform built between the two G-Trains, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs as he rocked himself back and forth. He was seeing things, he was certain of that now. Blocks were flying, jumping felt weird, his mind was in a constant state of fogginess. He was going crazy, he knew he was going crazy. But if he was going crazy, how could he be sure he knew anything?
He smiled to his friends as they came by to purchase cobbled deepslate, as they bought out the redstone and wool he stocked, as he watched stacks of nametags get purchased.
“Please, help me.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d even spoken the words aloud that night, but he knew it didn’t matter either way. No one was there to listen except the phantoms relentlessly tapping on his window, their claws grating against the glass and causing Grian’s hair to stand on end. He hated it. He hated them. He hated this. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep, he wanted nothing more than to be allowed to rest, but he couldn’t. He had to study the moon, and it would be angry, and he would be making things worse.
Grian wept again that night, for the second time in a week, though the tears were different this time. There were no sobs - they took far too much energy - and there was no shaking. He simply lay awake, bloodshot eyes open, shallow and quick breaths continuing for hours as silent tears rolled over the dark bags beneath his eyes.
In the morning, he couldn’t will himself to move from his bed. He had no energy left, no strength remaining, but he couldn’t sleep.
He couldn’t sleep.
Grian could hear his heartbeat in his ears, thunderous and deafening with every second that passed. He wanted to rip them off by hand, wanted to tug until the bone and cartilage was no more and everything was quiet. His clothes were too itchy, they felt wrong, but it went deeper than that. His skin was uncomfortable. It was too sensitive, it was too much. Everything was too much.
When he breathed in, the air was too cold. When he breathed out, his lungs felt empty. When he opened his eyes, the light stung. When he closed his eyes, he felt alone. He was hungry and yet he couldn’t bear the thought of eating.
“Please... “ He whispered, knowing the words would be lost on the floor of his home. The wood wouldn’t respond to him, it wouldn’t provide him with a bed to sleep in, nor would it care for him. “Help me.”
Grian’s eyes closed. He couldn’t fight the urge to sleep anymore. He was just too tired, the battle had been well and truly lost, and his heart plummeted.
Mumbo would be so disappointed in him.
Grian closed his eyes and he slept for the first time in nearly a week, not caring that the sun was high above him in the sky or the fact that he was on a cold, dirty floor.
All he dreamed of was the moon, and of Mumbo, and of Boatem, and of everyone. They were hurting because he’d failed, they were hurting because of him. Him. Him. This was all his fault. Yet he didn’t wake up, didn’t stir from the images of his loved ones being tortured and massacred, because he was exhausted. Because he was selfish and greedy and a terrible, terrible friend.
When he awoke, the moon beginning to rise, he could only think of how angry it was with him. How it would yearn to punish the Hermits because he had slept.
“I’m so sorry.” Grian whispered, with enough energy to pull himself back to his feet and stumble out of his home. There was only one way to fix it, there was only one way to apologise to the moon. Grian carried himself lethargically across the town, feet heavy along the grass pathways that lead him back toward the Mooner circle. The blue flames flickered and crackled, beckoning him closer. They danced in a way that hypnotised him, his eyes widening and head tilting ever so slightly to the side. If he hadn’t been resolute in what he had to do before, this would have been enough to draw him in.
Grian stepped inside the circle, taking in a breath as darkness fell and fireworks launched themselves into the sky. His feet took him forward one step at a time, his breath hitched in his throat, and flames began to warm his skin in a way that felt comforting. Safe. Right.
It was only a few more steps until he was within them, only a few more steps until he gave his life as an apology. There was, really, no other way.
Grian felt a hand on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks, tugging at him gently but still causing him to stumble backward. He felt a squeeze, heard his name spoken somewhere in the distance, and he looked up to see who was there. It took longer than he wanted to admit to recognise the moustached man, but it only made Grian feel worse. Mumbo was there, speaking to him, saying words he couldn’t understand, and all Grian could think of was the fact that he’d slept. The fact that he’d let him down. The fact that he’d failed.
“Please.” He whispered, voice broken, and he hung his head low. For the first time, someone heard him, and he continued to speak what had gone unnoticed for days. “Help me.”
Suddenly there were arms around him, enveloping him, holding him closely and carefully. Suddenly he was warm, and safe, and able to cry in the embrace of someone that cared for him. Suddenly, someone was going to help him.
He just hoped that the ominous red hue the moon had taken on was just another hallucination.