Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He is floating.

Grian floats, the void gaping wide around him. He floats, alone in a never-ending, gaping space of nothingness. He floats, for how long he doesn’t know.

Alone is a lie, though it feels like it. He holds his friends, because he can’t bear to let go. Pearl is tucked up against him, his arm wrapped around her, her helmeted head resting on his chest. Impulse is floating beside him, the same arm wrapped around Pearl holding his hand. Mumbo is further away, Grian’s spare hand just barely gripping his.

And Scar - Grian doesn’t want to think about Scar. Doesn’t want to think about how he had drifted, just out of reach before everything ended. How Grian knew - it would take the beat of his wings and a stretch of his hand and he could have caught his friend before it was too late.

But he would have had to let Mumbo or Impulse go.

And so Scar had drifted. Eyes afraid, but smiling. Lifting a small hand in farewell before he floated. Floated far, far away.

He was completely alone in the void, if Grian was not.

Void Sleep. Grian knows about it - no one spent any amount of time in the void without hearing about Void Sleep, and Grian had spent years here. Void Sleep, the body’s way of shutting down when the magic of the Void would not let you die.

He thinks he should be grateful. His friends are still alive, at least. He isn’t clinging to cold bodies, floating endlessly through nothing. He isn’t sure he would let go if he was.

He isn’t sure he would be able to tell the difference.

Hours could be minutes or days for all he knows. At first, it was fun. They had talked, laughed, joked. Made light of it, like they always did. Impulse and Mumbo had a deep conversation about Redstone. Grian started a small war that Pearl won. Scar made a bunch of pre-sales for whatever new set-up he would have in Season 9.

Now, Grian doesn’t think they would ever make it to Season 9. Maybe this was Season 9. Maybe Season 9 was the void, and was Pearl in his arm and Impulse and Mumbo in his hands.

Scar wasn’t here to claim his sales.

He doesn’t like being alone. He never liked it. It was too quiet, too still - and the void only amplified that.

“It’s silly, really,” he says, speaking aloud, though his voice is hoarse. “To be beaten by a void. There’s nothing here. That’s what a void is. And yet it still won.”

“Maybe it was always going to,” someone answers back. Grian isn’t sure if that’s real or not, but at least it’s someone to talk to.

“Maybe. But I’d have liked to say goodbye first.”

Void Sleep came quickly. He barely noticed it when Pearl drifted off first. They had linked hands after that, but Impulse fell asleep next, and Scar hadn’t noticed and his hand had slipped and -

Well, he’s gone now.

Grian thinks the void might be blinking at him, like a thousand tiny eyes Watching him. He decides he doesn’t like that.

“I don’t like that,” he says, his voice soft, barely a whisper. And then he decides he doesn’t need to whisper. “I don’t like that!” he shouts.

His voice is swallowed by the void and it isn’t actually any louder than the whisper.

Is it strange, to feel claustrophobic in a void full of nothing reaching into eternity?

He screams, just because he can. The void eats that as well.

Another year passes, or maybe it’s only a second. Impulse sighs in his sleep and it’s the most exciting sound Grian has ever heard. Another year or second passes.

He’s floating.

And then something else is. He’s not sure when it arrived, but now there’s a something behind him. Is it real, like Pearl and Impulse and Mumbo and Scar, somewhere out there, alone? Or is it like the eyes, fake and terrifying?

Grian isn’t sure it matters anymore.

But it’s big, and it’s something, and it’s grey and it’s bright when he looks at it. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not, but somehow, it seems familiar. Like maybe he’s seen it before - Before, when his world wasn’t Pearl in his arms and Impulse in his left hand and Mumbo in his right hand and the void.

Does Before even matter now? Grian doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that this strange, grey wall is new, and new is exciting because he’s been here for minutes hours days months years.

He’s moving towards it, he realizes. Maybe he could stop that, if he beats his wings. For a moment, he considers that. He could beat his wings, and move away from the strange-familiar-real-fake object.

But it is new. And he’s been here forever, so maybe he can see where it leads.

He moves closer and squints into the light that he’s moving towards. Is this dying? There’s always something about going into the light when dying, right? Maybe he’s dying. That would definitely be something new.

The light gets brighter and bigger and it’s starting to hurt his eyes. He blinks, squinting, and then decides he can just close his eyes.

And then everything explodes.

There’s a lurch and the entire weight of the world slams into him and there’s something hard on his back and his clothes are cutting into him and he can’t breathe because a planet has crashed into his chest and Pearl is pressed into his arm and Impulse and Mumbo are in his hands.

And it’s loud. There’s a shattering of exploding noise left and right and everywhere around him. He gasps and maybe that was loud or not, but he presses his shoulders into the glass of his helmet in an effort to cut out the noise noise noise noise noise. It’s so loud it hurts him, stabbing into his ears.

He can’t make out any actual noise, just SOUND. And he can’t open his eyes because he’s being stabbed there as well by the light. And his suit is cutting into him, he can feel every seam and thread in the entire suit and he can’t breathe because everything is heavy.

People are shouting. Through the noise noise noise noise ow noise he can hear shouting, voices. Pearl moves on his chest and he starts, pulling her closer, gripping tighter - somehow his hands are weak - on Impulse and Mumbo’s hands.

He can’t let go can’t let go can’t let them float away as well.

“Grian.”

He’s crying - he can feel water on his face and everything hurts hurts hurts and his head is stabbing him and his ears are bleeding. People are shouting but maybe that’s him.

He can hear other things now as well - mental creaking, buzzing, beeping, humming. Noise, noise, noise and it’s all pressing down on him.

There’s a hiss that deafens him for a second and he gasps, pulling away. Somehow that makes all the noise more more more more MORE and he wants to go back into the void where it’s quiet and safe. He can smell now, metal and people and sweat and so so much it hurts.

Something is touching his face and it’s warm (hot hot hot too hot) (he likes it comfortable warm please stay). Voices - are they familiar?

And then he feels something over his eyes and the light dulls. And something over his ears and the noise noise noise is dimmer, softer. The light fades more, the voices drift into the distance, and for a moment he feels like he can breathe.

“Grian?”

A voice. Soft, but it’s loud, oh it’s so loud it makes him want to scream. He tries to open his eyes and the light doesn’t stab him. He’s staring through tinted glass, up at a dark room. It’s almost as dark as the void, and he can see without pain pain pain.

Noise is muffled. It’s still loud - louder than the void, louder than the peaceful nothingness - but maybe he can cope.

“Can you hear me?”

Someone is talking. He knows that voice. He blinks, looking around but every movement - even moving his eyes - is heavy and feels like he’s moving through sticky black tar.

A hand touches his shoulder and he starts, pulling away at the burning hot hot burning sensation. He can feel his suit, and it digs into him.

“I need you to let go, luv.” A different voice, soft as well. Female? The first voice was male. He wants to see them but everything is heavy.

“You’re safe, Grian.” The first voice again, steady, even, familiar, safe. He knows that voice. He knows that voice well.

It’s the Hermits.

The Hermits have rescued him and that knowledge is almost enough to start him sobbing. But he can’t - he has to hold on because he didn’t hold on and -

“Scar,” he whispers, because they found him. They found him and they found Pearl and Impulse and Mumbo and maybe - surely - they can find Scar. He tries to sit up, but everything is heavy and hard and he wants to be sick. “Scar,” he repeats.

A hand carefully helps him sit up - he’s still holding Impulse and Mumbo and Pearl is curled into him, making his arm dead. Slowly, head spinning, he can make out some details.

The void is in front of him, swirling and black outside whatever room he’s in. A hanger bay, he thinks. He’s been here before.

“Take a breath, Grian,” the hand whose helping him up says - well, the person the hand belongs to. Grian follows the arm attached to the hand and finds a shoulder and then a face - though a helmet would be more accurate.

“X?” he whispers.

“It’s me,” Xisuma says, and Grian winches, bringing his shoulders up. He wants to press his hands over his ears, but he can’t let go.

“Scar,” he mutters again, his voice sounding weak and achy. Is that even his voice? Is he even still Grian? He doesn’t know anymore, but he knows he let Scar go and that’s not okay.

“He’s not here,” Xisuma says gently, every word stabbing Grian’s ears and heart.

“I let go,” he mutters. “Find him.” His voice catches, and he’s crying, the tears on his face flowing freely. “X, please. We need to find him. Please.”

“We will,” Xisuma says. He’s whispering, Grian can tell, but it’s so, so loud. He keeps crying.

“I need you to let go,” another voice says and he starts, whipping his head around to see another figure, who sits crouched beside Mumbo’s motionless form. Grian is still holding his hand.

Stress is here as well, her eyes soft as she gently runs her hand over the back of Grian’s. He stares at his hand, still holding Mumbo’s. He can’t - he can’t let go. He can’t let his friends float away again.

“You’re safe now, luv,” Stress says. “You can let go.”

“I - I can’t,” Grian whispers. He has a headache. He can’t open his hands, even if he wanted to. He’s been in the void so long he’s fused with Mumbo and Pearl and Impulse and made one giant Boatem Hermit.

Well, most of one anyway.

“It’s okay,” Stress says, and her voice hurts and he wants to go back to the silent void where it was just him and no pain, no noise or lights or headaches or smells. “I’ll help you.” She gently holds his hand and more tears fall because there’s so much, but she eases his fingers open, gently, carefully and his hands are stiff and it hurts, but Mumbo is free.

And he doesn’t float away.

He thinks he sees Iskall pick Mumbo up, but his head is spinning and Stress is helping him let go of Impulse and he’s crying so much he can’t focus. Impulse is taken away (safe, safe, safe, he’s not floating into the lonely void) and then Pearl.

And he’s alone. But he isn’t because Xisuma crouches in front of him, a gentle hand on his cheek and Grian isn’t sure if he wants to pull away from the burning sensation or lean into it.

“You’re safe,” Xisuma says and Grian keeps crying.

“Scar,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I -” He needs to find Scar. He made a mistake - messed up - and part of a prank was cleaning it up, right?

He tries to stand, but everything is so heavy and he sits back down again.

“I need -”

“You need to rest,” Xisuma says, his voice still even, still soft, still painful painful painful.

“Scar -” Grian tries again. “He’s - I let go. I let go. I need to find him. I let go.”

“We’ll find him,” Xisuma says. “I promise. We will find him.”

“I-” He can fly in the void. Grian knows that. He’s done it before. He can spread his wings and fly and he can find Scar and he can fix this and -

A soft-loud meow. Green eyes and white fur staring up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Grian chokes because it’s Jellie and she’s looking for her Person but he let Scar go he let Scar float away, away, away, and never come back.

Jellie presses her face into Grian’s leg and Grian sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and picks up a heavy, heavy hand that’s still curled as though holding a phantom hand and he presses his hand against Jellie’s fur and he cries.

“You did so well,” Xisuma says, and his voice is soft-loud but it’s softer than it’s loud and Grian needs to hear it. Xisuma picks him up and Jellie is heavy heavy heavy on his chest and they’re moving and it’s loud but he can still hear Xisuma. “You did so well, and you kept them safe and I’m proud of you. But now you can rest.”

And he wraps his curled hands around Jellie and she presses her face into his and he cries.

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