Chapter Text
They found him during MCC.
At least, they should have. They were there, just on the outside of the world. They peered in through the fabric of reality and watched the games intently.
And if Grian knew they were there, they just HAD to see him as well.
He’d done so much to hide away; masking his magic and hiding his eyes and trying to blend in with the normal players. For being all powerful, the Watchers had trouble seeing into servers that weren’t created by them. Their gazes were locked on certain players, honed in on only their chosen. Spectral spectators who couldn’t look away.
He’d seen them lurking at the edges of Hermitcraft, looming in Pearl’s shadow, but never able to properly enter to watch the wider world. He’d managed to avoid their gaze for a long, long time.
But there they were, or at least one of them was, standing in the world and gazing into the decision dome. A full on Watcher in all its glory; dripping red from limbs of void and watching with eyes of creation and destruction, laced with stardust. Even knowing that its view was restricted wasn’t enough to stop the shiver down Grian’s spine.
The question was, then, who was it watching.
It wasn’t Pearl. They would have taken her when she first joined Hermitcraft. They’d had a chance as she leapt between worlds, but she was untouched.
It wasn’t Pearl.
So who was it?
Grian watched with every eye he could risk letting loose, and tried to figure out who could have caught the other Watcher’s eye. It wasn’t easy. Its enigmatic whispers weren’t easy to pick up between the team banter and conversations with stream chats. And on top of that, he had to focus on playing. On performing.
He was off the entire day, attention split between the games and his search. His team didn’t win, and he walked away without any answers.
The watcher returned the next MCC as well. He was ready for it to be there, this time, but its presence still sent a chill down his spine. He played his hardest, but it wasn’t enough.
It was after the failed escape from the Sands of Time that he felt the Watcher’s gaze sweep across him. It was like a spotlight, blinding and petrifying at the same time, and his breath caught in his throat.
For the first time in a long time, Grian was without words. He refused to meet the Watcher’s eye, but carefully noted where the gaze was coming from.
Luckily, his team didn’t notice his pause. False continued with something about Techno’s team and Grian latched onto that to keep going.
But the moment lingered at the back of his mind, and so did Technoblade’s crimson gaze.
It was fairly clear his team wouldn’t be winning, so Grian did what he was able to. He watched.
He watched Technoblade intently for the rest of the games and covered his observations up with friendliness and cheer.
When it was time for Dodgebolt and he stood waving an orange flag, it was enough to get Techno’s attention after a prompt from Wilbur.
The pigman turned and spotted him and smiled wide and bright, and the Watcher’s gaze turned with it.
“Grian I love you!” Technoblade called with a laugh.
“Go on, Techno,” Grian shouted down, “I’m with you!”
And maybe the words meant more than they meant.
Technoblade did not win that MCC. But he did win the next, and Grian continued watching.
He watched as the pig farmed potatoes and talked to himself and wondered why the Watcher had chosen this particular player.
Grian got his answer months later, when Technoblade was called to a new server and the Watcher’s influence was able to weave a bit stronger into the poor pigman’s soul. His answer came in the form of crimson. Bright, brilliant blood, shed across fields and into lakes and across a stage scorched with the fireworks the Watcher’s chosen wielded.
The Red Festival was a massacre. Grian lurked at the edge of the world and watched the Watcher as its whispers wove madness and Technoblade was swept along in it.
And Grian understood.
The chaos and the bloodshed the pigman could provide were enough to pique his own interest. He could only imagine how enthralling the other Watchers found it.
Technoblade was strong, both of body and will. The Watchers saw him as the perfect entertainment, and he proved it when he beat an ally bloody for doubting him. Grian strayed closer to the world than he ever had risked before, because the Watcher was so focused, so blinded to everything outside of its chosen.
“It stays in the pit,” Technoblade growled. And his voice was certain and firm and left no room for debate.
“The only universal language is violence,” Technoblade hissed, “And we’ve had that conversation. We’ve spoken that language.”
And the Watcher agreed, and a part of Grian did as well.
Grian had to leave after that. He left a single eye behind, to observe and lurk and hopefully remain undetected, but he had to go. That sort of bloodlust was no good for him. He wasn’t here for actual murder, he would never cave to the Watcher’s need for true chaos. He could settle for pranks, his hunger could be satiated by a few good laughs.
He didn’t need what Technoblade could provide.
September finished and October flew by and November was upon them. Every time Technoblade traveled from his new homeworld to the MCC realm, the Watchers drew him closer. Each time, Grian could see them pull him closer and closer to the edge. His body was physically fizzing at the edges, bleeding through realities.
Then, the sixteenth of November came, and Grian couldn’t look away. More Watchers were there, this time, lurking at the seams in reality. One was fixated on Wilbur, who looked more distraught and wild-eyed than ever before. One watched Technoblade, the same hulking red figure from the MCC arena. Another divinity followed Philza, the gentler presence of a lesser god. Grian was able to hide in the ripples the divine beings left behind, watching safely from out of view.
The battle was fierce and the destruction was swift, and when it was all said and done, the scent of death lingered in the air.
The Watcher looked away after the destruction, leaving Technoblade alone in his ransacked base. Grian allowed himself to push closer to the edge of the world as the warrior collapsed against the blackstone brick. He watched as Technoblade stared at his hands, which shook violently before he clenched them into fists and jammed them into the floor.
“You’re all gone now, right?” Technoblade breathed, so soft Grian almost didn’t hear the words. “No one can hear me? Stream’s done and all that.”
There was a long pause, a long silence where neither of them dared to breathe. Then Technoblade sighed and sunk against the wall, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
It took Grian longer than he’d like to admit to figure out what was happening.
“You can hear them,” Grian blurted out.
Technoblade was on his feet with his sword and shield in hand in a heartbeat, so quickly that Grian hadn’t even realized he had spoken out loud.
“Who’s there?” Technoblade called, “You’d better not be stealing my stuff.”
“Woah, wait, slow down,” Grian backpedaled, “Don’t get worked up, they’ll notice.”
“What?”
“Just, uhh,” Grian shuddered as the Watcher’s attention eased back toward them, “Techno, it’s Grian. I’ll explain in a second, but for now you need to just calm down. Sit down and say something about there being nothing or something. Quickly!”
“Where are you?” Technoblade frowned, eyes darting around his vault frantically, “What are you-”
Grian’s mind was moving a million miles a second, and his mouth was faster than his brain. He let it run, and it managed to say something coherent for once. “Do you want the voices to come back?”
Technoblade froze and from the expression that flashed across his face, the answer was no. He grimaced, then slowly let his weapon fade.
“I must be real tired, chat,” Technoblade hummed, “I think I’m hearing things that aren’t you. I should. I should go sleep this off.”
The Watcher’s gaze drifted across them just long enough for Techno to settle against the wall again. Then it looked away, called by some other promise of chaos or destruction.
Grian slinked forward to the edge of the world again, keeping his presence light and his voice soft.
“Can you hear me if I whisper?” Grian asked. He quickly added, “Don’t talk or it will hear you again. I can see you. You can nod or something.”
Techno nodded curtly.
“Good,” Grian sighed, “At least we can talk. Sort of. Wish you could talk back.”
Technoblade took a sharp breath, then pulled out a satchel and dug through it. He produced a book and quill, the cover labeled To Do, and flipped to a blank page.
“Oh, good idea,” Grian drifted to look over Techno’s shoulder so he could read. “That’ll work. That works.”
Technoblade took the quill in hand and began to scrawl words across the page.
How do you know about the voices? He wrote. And how are you talking to me?
“It’s a bit of a long story, but I’m kind of… between worlds right now?” Grian chuckled, “I’m not actually there, just watching.”
Technoblade frowned down at the words on the page and tapped the first question again.
“Okay, I’ll try to explain. Try to stay with me here,” Grian took a breath and let his voice flow. “You’ve attracted a Watcher, this big godlike thing that likes to go between worlds and watch players it finds interesting? There’s like three or four of us, I’m not entirely certain, but they’re not really the best of people, if you know what I mean. They found me, ages ago, and made me one of them and that’s now I’m talking to you now, but I didn’t care for their rules so I’m sort of on the run, and I found out you were being watched during MCC one time, and I’ve kinda been lurking ever since.”
Grian paused to take a breath and let Technoblade process. The pigman blinked slowly, and nodded even slower.
Not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, Technoblade wrote. He hesitated, then continued. What does this mean?
“I think you can hear your Watcher,” Grian said, “Your voices, they tell you to destroy things, don’t they? Things like kill, maim, hurt and stuff?”
Blood for the blood god. Technoblade scrawled.
“I figured,” Grian sighed, “Have they gotten worse?”
Technoblade nodded.
“I was worried about that,” Grian frowned, which was difficult to do as an astral projection of one's soul, but he managed. “I think I might be able to break you free, but I’m not strong enough to fight them head on. They like you, and they’ll want you to keep being entertaining. They need you to feed them blood and attention. Without it, they’ll grow bored and there’s a chance they’ll move on. You won’t be able to get rid of them, not really. The Watchers never just… leave. But you can probably get them to look someplace else.”
Technoblade flipped to a fresh page, labeled the top with the words To Do Part Two, underlined them three times, and wrote:
Find way to make life less incredibly interesting.
Grian laughed at that, and Technoblade smiled.
“Good plan, good plan,” Grian let his laughter die down, and Technoblade could clearly sense his shift in mood. “Look, Tech, every time you move between worlds, their attention will come back and it will be stronger. You’ll probably want to stay here for a while. Go hide out and let their thirst die down a bit. And when you think it’s safe again, come find me.”
Technoblade nodded and flipped back to the previous page. Where?
And that really was the question, wasn’t it? But it also wasn’t a question, not at all.
“MCC,” Giran said, “When you think the voices are manageable, come find me at MCC. I’m sure Scott will team us if you ask, right?”
Techno’s brow furrowed, but he nodded after a moment.
“Alright. That’s the plan then,” Grian confirmed.
Technoblade sighed and closed his book, leaning back against the wall.
“Hey, Tech?” Grian hummed.
A quirked brow was his only response.
“Just remember. They don’t control you,” Grian said, “The voices are just… urges. You can hold them back. It can help if you have someone you can trust involved, if you have someone who knows who can help you keep it all in check. Do you have someone like that here?”
Techno stared at the roof of the vault intensely, but nodded despite the twisting emotions on his face. If Grian had to guess, he was probably remembering the events of the day. It had been a rather… intense sort of day, no matter how used to bloodshed someone was.
“Talk to them,” Grian continued, “It’s not going to be easy, but talk to them. Don’t go at this alone.”
The pigman didn’t respond, his eyes closed and breath evening out.
“I’ll see you at MCC, Tech,” Grian pulled away from the world and hoped the Watchers would let Technoblade rest, “I’ll be watching.”
And watch, he did.
He watched as Techno pushed the voices away, as the others on the server brought them back with a vengeance. He watched the Watchers get fed off destruction and bedrock, and if Grian feasted a bit off the chaos, no one had to know.
Grian stepped into the spotlight after the destruction, drawing the Watcher’s attention to pull their gaze away from their other chosen ones.
And when Technoblade finally stood before him outside the decision dome, Grian smiled because the pigman’s expression burned with a familiar fire.
After the games, another Watcher was born. Created in secret, away from the view of any of the others, the Watcher would hopefully never be hunted. Not like he had been in the days before.
And if he was, Grian would make sure to make a show of it.