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Scar wakes up gasping and clutching at his chest. The phantom feeling of Ren's arrow in his back dances up and down his torso and he has to double over and hold his breath for several seconds until the pain relinquishes its tight grip on him and reduces into something more or less manageable.
Stumbling out of his bed, he drags himself over to the other end of the room and leans heavily down on the windowsill. He looks out of the window, hoping to see his friends the other Boatem members walking out of their houses to greet each other, hoping that maybe he can talk to them and everyone can forgive each other and they can all share a quiet evening around the Boatem Hole and everything can just go back to normal—
It's empty.
Of course it is.
He failed. He died and now he's here by himself for an indeterminate amount of time, surrounded by lifeless builds that only hold the memories of the people he used to call friends.
Silent.
Alone.
A viscid pain presses down on his chest that has nothing to do with his death just a few minutes prior.
Scar staggers back to his bed and buries himself in the orange blanket, curling up on his side and hugging his knees as he stares at the wall.
On second thought, he doesn't think he wants to see anyone at all.
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He wakes again to Jellie walking across his pillow, stepping on his cheek in the process before finally settling down right in front of his face. She blinks slowly, opening her eyes again and staring at him with an all-knowing look.
Scar reaches out with a shaking hand and strokes her head. Jellie nuzzles into his fingers, her loud purring filling the silence. He scratches her belly and she rolls over on her back. A feline show of trust. Scar feels he might die, so he continues petting his cat, letting his tears soak into his pillow as though they were never there.
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The next day, he remembers that Mumbo died earlier than he did. Slain by Grian. Robbed of his final life by the same person who stole two of Scar's.
Maybe he should go and talk to him, but the prospect of seeing anyone is still too daunting to take. He snuggles deeper into his bedding instead.
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Mumbo ends up finding him instead.
After spending four days in bed with no energy to even try to make himself get up, Scar decides that he needs to at least check over his builds to see if they've been doing fine with him gone.
As it turns out, without him around to breathe life into them with his vex magic all his builds have fallen into complete disrepair. His vat of honey is cracked, the villagers are hungry and the wheels of all his wagons have sunk into the mud. There's a ton of clean-up work to do and he immediately wants to sink back into his bed at the thought of doing all that work.
"Hey, Scar!"
Scar screams and throws his hands up, swivelling around to see Mumbo standing behind him, hand raised in a hesitant wave. Mumbo immediately starts laughing, but Scar is too busy trying to calm his racing heart and remember where he is to join in.
"Hey, Mumbo," he replies breathlessly, looking Mumbo up and down, noticing his clean suit and neatly combed hair and eventually landing on his eyes.
Not green, or yellow, or red. Just black, the same black they've always been.
They're on Hermitcraft. Mumbo has no reason to be trying to kill him.
He's safe.
"So, uh," Mumbo fidgets with his tie, "welcome back to the server?"
It's posed as a question.
Scar supposes he understands the awkwardness of greeting someone after spending weeks trying to kill each other. Not exactly an occasion you'd prepare cake and banners for.
His eyes are black Mumbo has no reason to be trying to kill him they're on Hermitcraft he's safe he's safe he's safe—
"Why thank you," he says with an attempt at his usual flair and takes a sweeping bow, realising belatedly that he left his hat at home when it doesn't fall off his head. "I've been settling back in quite well so far, if I do say so myself. What about you?"
"Getting used to not killing things again, I guess." Mumbo laughs nervously. "Peace, love and plants, you know how it is."
Come to think of it, he didn't bring his jacket or waistcoat either.
He's also not wearing any armour.
He's safe—his back is completely unprotected—he's safe.
He's safe.
"So anyway, you died later than me, any idea when the others will be back?"
Scar's hand flies to his waist before he tries to disguise the reflex by hiding it in his pocket instead.
"Oh, I—I don't really know, to be honest."
He doesn't want to think about the others' return.
"Things kind of got crazy back there."
It's all he's thought of.
"Yeah, they sure did," Mumbo mumbles, scratching the back of his neck and looking past Scar. "I suppose I'll see you later?"
Scar nods numbly and attempts a smile that feels like he's forcibly pulling his face apart.
He doesn't think it was himself who was just talking to Mumbo. He doesn't think he's the one thinking these thoughts right now. Does he exist? He doesn't know who he is.
Mumbo didn't look quite well, either.
He's safe.
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Cub drops by later in the afternoon, showing up at his door mostly unannounced and with a vex cake in his inventory that he immediately plops down on the nearest table once Scar lets him inside.
"Welcome back, Scar," his best friend says after taking a bite out of his piece. Scar gives a small smile. "So tell me, how is the champion of Last Life doing?"
Hearing Cub's voice immediately makes him feel a bit better and he laughs quietly before answering, "Yeah, I, uh, slayed them all. Yeah, totally."
Cub nods, "Of course you did. And you're feeling okay after all that slaying?"
Scar's smile slips off his face. He picks at his cake.
"Yeah," he mumbles, not looking up. "Was—fun, I suppose."
Cub places his plate on the table and walks across the room to sit next to him. "It was?"
He shrugs, fiddling with his sleeve.
"Scar."
Scar sets his plate aside and leans his head on Cub's shoulder, sniffling. As usual, Cub understands without words and pulls him into a hug, rubbing circles into his back.
"Will you be okay?" he asks after a while, and Scar lifts his head up off his shoulder to consider. Does he need immediate help? No, he supposes not.
"I think so. Just—we're friends, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Cub says gently. "Always."
For some reason, that casual admission of friendship makes him feel sadder than it has any right to.
He matters to someone.
So why is he so miserable?
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The following week, Scar is drawn outside early in the morning by loud laughter and cheers announcing the return of the others. He almost doesn't want to, but he hopes knows they'll want to say hello to him at some point. Best to get it out of the way early on.
He walks out to see Pearl and Impulse hugging as Grian looks around in anticipation, lighting up when he sees Mumbo emerge from his RV.
"Mumbo!" With a screech, he shoots off towards his friend. "Mumbo, I'm so sorry—"
"I'm so sorry, too—"
"Oh, hey, Scar!"
Scar stares as Grian and Mumbo embrace in the cactus ring in front of the Boatem Pole.
I'm sorry, too.
He blinks rapidly and stretches his mouth into a smile as he turns to the others.
"Hello to you, too, Pearl! Hello, Impulse!"
"Hey, Scar!"
His cheeks hurt. His entire face feels as if he's wearing someone else's skin, mouth stretched too wide and eyebrows high up on his forehead.
Scar suddenly remembers that Impulse died before him as well. Did he see him earlier? He's not sure. Can he trust himself?
"Yeah, so I've uh—I've got to, um—"
He gestures vaguely in the direction of his base. Pearl's smile drops into a concerned frown and she takes a step forward, tilting her head questioningly.
"Are you okay?"
He shrugs, throat working for a moment, before nodding quickly, "Yeah, I—I'm fine—yeah. I've really got to go now, actually."
Not giving anyone else an opportunity to talk to him, Scar sets off a bunch of rockets and zooms away in the direction of his base, narrowly clipping the door with his shoulder and almost crashing face-first into the floor.
He sits on his bed, fully clothed, and tries not to listen to their voices outside. His chest heaves.
They left him alone.
Scar quickly brings his hands up to his eyes, pressing them frantically into his eye sockets. He chokes on a swallow, rocking back and forth, and grips his knees with his fingers, digging his nails into his skin.
They left him alone.
Scar doesn't think he'll ever be safe again.
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There is a party held that evening for everyone who participated in Last Life. It’s meant to be a safe space to resolve any residual emotions, as well as a reminder that they’re in Hermitcraft now and that world no longer exists.
Scar hides in his vibe room and stares out the window at the sunless grey sky, music flowing into his ears and reverberating through his base. A million thoughts drift in and out of his mind, but none stay long enough to become coherent. A feeling of loss is ever-present at the corner of his conscience, and Scar pretends he doesn’t know what caused it.
Later that evening, he is informed that everyone was looking for him. Scar can’t imagine why they’d want him to be there.
After all, it’s not like they ever needed him when it mattered.
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He dedicates the next few days to fixing everything that's broken within his starter base and trying to think of nothing else. Nobody bothers him during this time and he's left to half-heartedly replace blocks of deepslate by himself. Scar wonders if he really looks that damn busy or if it's just that nobody actually wants to talk to him anymore.
Grian doesn't even come around to say hi.
Don't think of how he immediately sought you out after 3rd Life don't think of how he pressed you to his chest don't think of how loved you felt don't think of it don't—
Scar places another block of deepslate and leans back against the wall, willing himself to focus. He has to finish this, he has to clean up his wagons in order to move on to his megabase, he has to—
It just seems like so much work.
He exhales, looking over at his mountain. Placed right on top of Grian's alley, surrounded by other people's bases at every end.
Somehow, even the prospect of terraforming doesn't seem so enticing anymore.
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The days slow, a stark contrast to the lively, buzzing atmosphere that Boatem used to hold. Scar's melancholy is reflected in the echoing stillness and the gloomy weather, sky constantly overcast with clouds that match the fog in his own head. Interactions with the others are few and far between and he imagines subdued gazes to feel less alone in his despondency.
Nothing really takes the loneliness away, though. Pearl and Mumbo don't visit for any purpose other than to borrow resources, and Grian is conspicuous only in his glaring absence.
Impulse comes over at one point and asks to use his enchanter.
“I died in lava,” he admits sheepishly, shifting on his feet and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “And, well, I don’t wanna use up all my anvil uses and I figured you’d have one for sure, you know?”
It makes sense. Of course it does.
(Scar has been carrying an enchanter in his inventory ever since he got back.)
He places it on the floor and moves back as Impulse steps forward to use it. Watches him carve runes into his diamonds and tries to stave off his growing panic, sword flickering in and out of his hand.
He does not let Impulse stay long afterwards.
Scar waits for someone, anyone, to show up for him. To look at him, listen to him. To ask him how he feels.
To acknowledge that Last Life was real.
Sometimes it feels like no one even remembers that he was part of Last Life, like it was a dream all along and he’s just the unlucky one that didn’t forget.
Scar can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s the only one who’s torn up over what happened. Maybe it’s him who’s broken.
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He wasn't thinking.
That's the only explanation Scar has for why he spontaneously decided, without putting away any of his stuff, to hurl himself into the Boatem Hole.
He didn't sleep all night because the pressing feeling in his chest was too much to bear, and then he almost drowned trying to get glow inc sacs, and he was walking back home and shivering from more than just the dampness of his clothes when he noticed that Boatem was unusually quiet, meaning that the other four inhabitants were away, likely together, without telling him, and what did he expect—
It was too much.
Scar is now doing the walk of shame from his base to the Boatem Hole to retrieve what remains of his stuff, because not only did he throw himself into the void, he also somehow managed to miss it and died on a nearby piece of bedrock instead.
As he approaches the Boatem Hole, he hears voices and his insides go cold.
"—look, Pearl, you can't just—"
"I'm not doing anything! Blame Impulse."
"What?!"
"Guys, how about we just focus—"
They're having a Boatem meeting. Without him.
Scar breathes in, steels himself and attempts to gracefully make his way down. "Attempts" being the key word, because he ends up tripping and falling all the way down, landing on his behind and thanking the stars for the pain suppression that comes with having unlimited respawns.
"SCAR, NO!" he hears Grian scream and then they all burst out laughing. Scar tries to ignore them as he looks around, searching for anything of his that might have survived.
"Hey, have you guys seen my—?"
"Your stuff's over there, Scar," Mumbo says, pointing towards a chest on the other side of the hole. Scar nods and makes his way over, putting his shoes and hat on before holding up his elytra, scanning it for tears in the scaly material.
The other Boatem members haven't stopped laughing. Scar gets the feeling that there's a joke here that he's not in on.
Maybe he is the joke.
Scar straps his elytra on as fast as he can and prepares to fly back to the surface.
"So Scar, how'd you end up falling into the Boatem Hole, anyway?" Grian asks once he's finished laughing.
"Oh, uh, elytra broke," he replies, feeling his face heat up as he checks his inventory for rockets.
"But isn't your elytra—"
Scar spams a bunch of rockets and escapes the Boatem Hole before they can come to their conclusions.
They were hanging out. Without him. Again.
Reaching his base, he takes a careless landing on the ladder and has to haul himself the rest of the way up. He fumbles with the door for a moment before stumbling upstairs and curling up in the space between the jukebox and the window. He's shaking so hard he thinks he might faint.
He hates them.
He just wants them to be his friends.
Scar pulls his knees close to his chest and bites down on his hand so he can pretend that the pain is the reason why his eyes are watering.
He's the joke.
He's the joke.
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A peaceful, pervasive kind of silence drifts above Boatem. The night pulls and twists, phantom smoke curling in the air. Laughter echoes somewhere in the distance that Scar knows all too well.
It was always meant to end up this way, he thinks. Good things don't last and by God, they're better off without him. Maybe he's finally back where he belongs.
Scar sits up and watches as the stars burn holes in the sky and feels like he's burning with them.
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He gives up on fixing his starter base halfway through. He'll get it done. Someday. Maybe.
Scar instead goes back inside and busies himself with cuddling with Jellie and drawing vague outlines of terrible builds that all look like a mixture of a sandcastle and a wizard's hut. He realises what he's doing half an hour in and viciously rips the papers apart before setting fire to them, scaring Jellie into leaping off the bed and hiding under his table.
In the midst of that chaos, a knock comes sounding from downstairs at the most inopportune moment.
"Sorry Jellie—coming!" Scar yells as he trips over his bed in his haste to get downstairs.
He pulls the door open to reveal Grian standing there, an unsure look on his face. Immediately, Scar wishes he'd pretended to be asleep.
There's ash on his fingers. He hides them behind his back and stares impassively at his former friend as he asks, "Yes? Was there something you needed?"
Grian shifts on his feet and pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his fingers, looking guilty and slightly scared.
"I, uh, I wanted to apologise. For how things turned out."
Scar's mind screams at him to ask how, in Grian's opinion, things turned out. He refused to speak to him for months while they were stuck there and he still won't speak to him now. Scar doesn't need a mindless apology. Scar needs an acknowledgement. He needs to be seen.
But he pushes that down and says stiffly instead, "I accept your apology, Grian."
"I—"
"Was there anything else?"
Grian looks taken-aback. If he was expecting a reunion like last time, complete with happy tears and fucking confetti—
It's too late.
"Scar—"
"Grian, I appreciate the thought, but really, I have to—"
"Are you okay?"
He reaches out and touches Scar's shoulder. Scar freezes.
"Everything's fine, now, if you'll excuse me, I'm really busy—"
"Scar—"
"—so you have to get out."
Scar advances on Grian, making him back up, and, as soon as the other man is out of his house, slams the door in his face. He leans back against it, panting, and feels his whole body shudder. The place where Grian touched him is sending sparks shooting across his skin. It feels as though he just got stabbed. He would know.
Scar hits and scratches his shoulder until it's bright red, but doesn't get rid of the phantom feeling of Grian's fingers.
He wants to cut his skin off.
He wishes Grian never pulled away.
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Pearl spots him once as he’s walking back home from his stripmine.
He pretends not to hear her and hopes that she’ll leave him alone, but Pearl calls his name again and out of the corner of his eye he sees her jogging awkwardly to catch up to him. Scar halts in his tracks and stares at the grass.
“Hey, Scar,” she says, panting.
Realising belatedly that he should probably answer her, Scar mumbles hoarsely, “Hey, Pearl.”
“So,” Pearl swings her arms back and forth and bounces on her feet, “how are you?”
A pause.
“What?”
“Scar,” she says patiently, “I asked you how you are.”
Why does that matter?
“I—yeah, fine. I’m fine.”
By the time he remembers that he’s supposed to ask her back, Pearl is already gone. The cool breeze strokes his cheek and Scar lifts his head, letting the wind ruffle his hair, momentarily closing his eyes and trying to feel as warm as he did in another life.
The sky is grey yet again. His neglected wagons and half-finished mountains stand proudly between beautiful houses and breathtaking landscapes.
No one will ever accept him for who he is.
Scar thinks he’s made peace with that.
After all, how could he possibly force his presence on anyone when it’s clear that all he’d do is disappoint?
(He hates them.
He just wants them to stay.)
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Scar does his best to avoid anyone who isn't Cub after that.
He finds a nice place far away from Boatem and stripmines until his hunger bar is almost depleted, has a golden carrot or two and stripmines some more. There is a forest nearby that he razes to the ground, then excavates the dirt it was standing on. He mines out all the gravel in a 500 block radius, but avoids the nearby desert like the plague.
He doesn't know why he's collecting all these resources, considering he's not at all interested in building. Scar does it, anyway, because looking like he's preparing for a big project prevents him from letting on how lost he truly is.
He bumps into Bdubs and Etho once while collecting acacia wood and has to dig his nails into his palms and fly all the way back to his base to prevent himself from slaughtering them then and there. He hides under his blankets and trembles way into the night, then climbs up onto his roof and stares at the moon as he thinks of all the ways in which he's messed up. The moon stares back and Scar wonders if it's laughing at him or pitying the disaster he's become.
He keeps thinking of Last Life, replaying every moment over and over until it drives him crazy, creating scenarios where he did something differently and didn't end up hated and alone.
No matter how much he tries, each scenario always ends the same. With Magical Mountain deserted and him lying in a pool of his own blood.
Cub comes over frequently, but Scar makes sure to control his emotions after that first meeting. If he doesn't convince his best friend that he's doing just fine, then he hopes that he's at least made it clear that there's nothing Cub can do to help.
He craves to be noticed, to be talked to and held and seen.
Panic grips his chest at the thought of interacting with anyone.
Scar keeps staying up, and his thoughts keep running in circles, and nothing really changes.
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Grian whispers to you: scar can you come down to the boatem hole
Scar clenches his comm tightly. His fingers shake as he types out a reply.
You whisper to Grian: I'm busy
Grian whispers to you: scar please
Grian whispers to you: its important
As usual, Grian does not care about anything but what's important to him.
And as usual, Scar can't help but follow him down into the abyss.
He lets his hands linger on the last shulker after he twists it closed and kneels there on the stone, chill seeping into his legs. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he sighs and makes his way up from his stripmine, squaring his shoulders as though he's preparing for battle.
He doesn't know that he ever stopped fighting.
Scar dives into the Boatem Hole, pulling himself upright when he sees the others and gliding past them, stumbling slightly as he lands. He looks around and feels glad when he sees that it's just a hastily dug out cave this time, no crazy contraptions to be found. He couldn't handle pretending to be happy. Not now. Not when his happiness has never mattered less.
The others look awkward, fidgeting and sharing glances that Scar pretends he can't see.
It's painfully obvious how far away he's standing.
"So, Scar," Grian begins, clearing his throat, sounding strangely somber, "welcome to another Boatem meeting."
He stays silent.
"Scar."
Scar lifts his head and looks Grian in the eyes. He doesn't know what to say.
Grian is the first to break contact, looking away and fiddling with the hem of his sweater. He takes a deep breath and continues, "Scar, we're here because of you."
Dread starts to spiral in Scar's stomach. This is it. This is where they lay their feelings plain—where they kick him out of Boatem and wash their hands clean, forgetting him as though he never existed in the first place.
Despite the growing numbness overtaking his insides and making his head spin, Scar manages to pronounce, "Me?"
"You."
He doesn't know what's worse—to be strung along for weeks on end, never fully cut off but always just out of reach, or to be told, finally, that there's something broken deep within him and no matter how hard he tries, he will never be anyone worth caring for.
"It's just, we're worried about you, Scar," Pearl speaks up, looking up at him with an expression he can almost believe is earnest.
"Oh, yeah, well, why's that?" he laughs nervously, playing at looking calm and unaffected and knowing that he's failing miserably.
"Scar, you haven't—you haven't really talked to anyone since Last Life."
Scar feels a deep, insidious hopelessness twist his throat. He doesn't understand it. He doesn't know what they want from him. He gave them his friendship and it wasn't enough, and now he's given them his silence and it still isn't enough.
"Maybe I just don't want to be talked to as if I'm nothing," he spits out, a bitter sort of satisfaction contorting his mouth when he sees their shocked, remorseful expressions. Pity me! he wants to scream. Be upset, cry for me, feel guilty because you did this! You! Pity me because that is all you are capable of and all I will ever deserve. He wants them to hurt, he wants them to feel as bad as he does, he wants them to feel the crushing loneliness and know what it's like and know that they're the ones who made him feel this way, they did this, they did this.
"Scar, what—"
"Don't pretend not to know what I'm talking about. I know you all never cared for me. I know that you hate me. I know, all right? You don't have to pretend."
"Scar, I genuinely don't know what you're talking about—since when do we hate you? You're just not thinking straight—"
Scar starts laughing hysterically. Of course he isn't. They're all allowed to be hurt, but no, not him. Never him.
"Go on, do it!" he exclaims, still laughing. "I know what this is about, I know that you want to be rid of me, so do it!"
"What, no—Scar, what on earth are you talking about?"
Scar laughs harder, laughs until he can't breathe, and then he's stumbling backwards until his back hits the wall and suddenly it feels like he's dying. Overwhelming misery is clouding every inch of his head and Scar swore to himself that he wouldn't cry, they don't deserve his tears, but his vision is blurring and his breath is hitching and he's choking desperately on everything he wants to say that he knows they'll never understand, but he needs them to, anyway, he needs them to know the devastating pain he's in and that he's shattered and he's suffocating—
"Don't tell me that what I'm feeling isn't real. Because it is," his voice breaks and the tears spill over, but Scar continues, "You—you left. Over—and over—and over—and you didn't care at all."
"Scar—"
"I just wanted us to be friends," he cries. "I just wanted friends. Is that—" he hiccups and feels a shudder run through his entire body, "—is that so bad? Why—why did you leave?"
Through the water clouding his eyes, he sees someone approach him and presses himself against the wall, whimpering quietly, "Don't."
Whoever it is retreats and Scar whines softly, heartbrokenly, knowing that if anyone touched him right now he would only see a clenched fist or the sharp point of a knife. He hugs himself desperately, letting his tears collect on his chin and fall to the ground, pretending for just a second that the hands on his back belong to someone else.
Another person approaches and Scar recognises Grian's voice and the bright red of his sweater when he says hesitantly, "Scar, I'm sorry. We all are."
Scar rubs at his eyes and tries to even out his breathing long enough to make eye contact as he replies, "I don't forgive you."
"That's fair. Is there anything we can do to help you feel better?"
"Just leave me alone," he chokes out between sobs and flies out of the Boatem Hole.
He wishes it would swallow him whole.
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Scar spends that night crying in Cub's arms.
"They hurt me," he repeats over and over again. "They hurt me so bad."
"I know. You don't have to forgive them. It's okay, Scar. You're allowed to be mad," Cub soothes and that just makes him cry harder.
The next day, eyes red and puffy, he returns to Boatem to pick up Jellie and some of his things. Cub comes with him. Scar knows he's there to keep him from doing something he might regret.
He's got nothing to worry about. He never wants to see this place again.
(If Cub wasn't here, he'd apologise and sob into their knees and never let go.)
He does not come back there after that. Messages from the remaining members of the village are ignored, and Scar feels relief warring with the all too familiar stinging in his chest when his comm's screen finally goes black. They don't care, and he'd rather be left alone than keep up this charade of wasted concern.
(They do care. Maybe that's what hurts the most.)
Because deep underneath the betrayal, he knows that every pledge that comes out of their mouths is said in earnest. The concern is real—but it's misplaced. They're not liars, and Scar has never craved deception more.
They do care. But it's too late.
He does not speak much in the coming days. There is so many words bouncing around in his head that not more than a few escape. Scar has so much to say that, in the end, there's really nothing left to say at all.
Words never made anyone stay, anyway.
He can't sleep alone, either. He tries, and half an hour is all it takes for him to show up at Cub's bed—blanket over his shoulders, pillow tucked behind his arm and a forlorn expression on his face. Cub scoots over to the side and holds him, and Scar falls asleep with the realisation that he might never stop seeing shields and swords every time he closes his eyes.
He doesn't go back to his own bed.
In the morning, he chances a venture out into the dripstone forest. Cub finds him stifling choked gasps into his knees and Scar can't make himself admit that these days seeing a Boatem member fly overhead is all it takes to bring him back to blood and death.
(He went outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the people he used to call friends. Scar never got anything he didn't deserve.)
One night a few days after leaving, Cub wakes to him packing his things. Scar can't explain what he's doing when asked and Cub doesn't press, instead pulling him back down to the bed and stroking his face, rubbing imaginary stains from his cheeks.
His fingers are warm and Scar never felt colder. He doesn't try to leave again.
Scar stays at Cub's base and watches the people fly by and does his best to ignore the ever-present longing spreading beneath his ribs.
He never wants to see them.
(He misses them like he misses the desert sun.)
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Two weeks into his self-imposed exile, he finally checks his comm.
As expected, he has a good deal of unread messages, most of them from the remaining Boatem members. Those are filled with apologies and promises—but they're not asking him to come back. The sheer amount of the messages shocks Scar—people outside of Boatem, even people who weren't in Last Life, weren't there have texted him to offer their sympathy and comfort.
Overwhelmed with all the attention, he raises his eyes towards Cub and gestures helplessly, "I—I don't know what they want from me."
With his gaze he begs for the answers that his best friend always seems to have. Cub doesn't disappoint.
"I know that they didn't mean to hurt you," he says slowly. "And I know that they miss you—just as much as you miss them."
Cub always has all the answers—too often.
"Did they ask you to talk to me?"
"No. They just asked me if you were all right."
Scar can't stop his surprise from showing on his face. And he looks down at his comm again. And something new—unfamiliar, warm—swells beneath his weary ribs.
Maybe they would stay, after all, if they care enough to let him go.
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It does not take long for the heartache to fade into something numb. Once his emotions have been spent, all that's left is exhaustion singing on the tips of his soul in an empty void. Scar can't bring himself to feel the burning pain again.
And as it turns out, he can't hide from his problems forever.
The cocoon of rejection and misery is the only thing that feels safe nowadays, but he can't stay eternally in the dark. Even the weakest butterflies grow, and at some point the time comes to spread his bloodied wings and leave the poignant solitude he's become so acquainted with.
Scar can't be sad for the rest of his life.
In the end, he seeks them out himself.
Cub doesn't go with him this time. But he does touch his arm and ask, "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah," Scar says in response. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, "I—I think I need this."
Cub nods and doesn't question him, and Scar tries to push past the quivering of his knees. Maybe they'll meet him with open arms, and maybe they'll spit at his feet and push him from Boatem to never return, and he has to face both possibilities as something no less real than his own name.
He doesn't know what's going to happen. He places his hat on his head and flies out of the pit of dripstone, anyway.
When he lands on the grass-covered expanse of the village, the sky is bright in a way it hasn't been in weeks. Letting his shoulders fall back, Scar looks around the place that brought so much joy and pain. It's strange, being back here, and yet, despite everything, it feels a bit like coming home.
It does not take long before he comes face-to-face with his former friends.
Grian, collected as ever, breaks the silence.
"Scar...welcome back."
Are you back for good? is the unspoken question. Will you stay here, stay as we never did?
It's a question Scar doesn't know if he can answer, and so he says instead, "I want to talk."
It's blunt and to the point. Looking at the people he used to share a whole history with, he feels scars that never fully healed pang with months of unspoken grief. In front of him, uncertainty and guilt paint their expressions, and a shiver runs down his body.
"We're listening."
His mind cycling through a myriad of emotions, Scar takes a deep breath.
"You hurt me."
It's stated like a fact, and there's nothing else it could be. They hurt him, and saying it out loud won't take that away, but staying quiet never did more than make his cuts reopen.
"You left me alone."
Another fact, and it's met with an exchange of apologetic glances.
"I—we're sorry," Impulse begins. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we never meant for everything to turn out the way it did."
"It still did though. And... I want to forgive you, but I don't know where we go from here."
"You can come back to Boatem," Grian offers hesitantly, yet with a touch of hope. "We can be friends."
"I promise, we'll never leave again," Mumbo adds, and Scar wants so badly to accept. To fall into their arms and never let go and never let Last Life be anything more than a bad memory. To take their friendship and make it his own and believe that he could ever keep something so precious and pure.
He doesn't know how to, though. Last Life broke him and Scar doesn't know if he can ever be more than what he is.
"You hurt me," he repeats again instead, as though if he says it enough times, then the pain he went through, is still going through, will become real.
"We did," Pearl nods, and it's the acknowledgement he craved for but never got. "We hurt you and there's no excuse for that. But now we would like to make up for it. And you don't have to accept our offer of friendship, but if there's anything we can do, anything at all—"
A long pause rings out. Pearl's arm jerks upwards as if to reach for him. He wishes the coldness inside would go away.
"Scar."
There is nothing but love in their expressions and it feels like being split in half. They hurt him and they want to be friends with him, and he's wanted this for so long, so why, why is he still frozen, still a contradiction upon himself, still back there—
Grian takes a step towards him. He flinches. Eventually he lets out a hitching exhale, "You fucked me up so bad."
"Scar, we didn't mean to, I promise—"
Scar strides up to Mumbo, jabbing a finger into his chest, "You left me alone on that mountain. You," he swivels around to point at Pearl, "kept making fun of my robes. And you—"
He breaks off, trembling hand falling against his side as his eyes dart away from Impulse and Grian just as fast as they landed there. He's panting; he thought he was done with the misery and the soul-crushing abandonment but he wasn't, he's just the same—
He inhales. He needs this to be over.
"Scar...how can we—I help you?" Grian asks then, and his face is a picture of regret. "I'll do whatever; just—just say the word and I'll—"
"I thought you didn't need me."
While sobbing unrestrainedly into Cub's chest, Scar swore that he would never cry over anyone again, and he doesn't.
But nothing can stop his voice from breaking, and nothing can prevent the tears pooling in his eyes when he continues, "I thought—I thought I would die and no one would give a shit. I thought I already did die, and none of you remembered me."
He looks down, wiping his eyes. It hurts, but not like before. It hurts because they left him alone, and they never meant to. It hurts because none of this should have ever happened. It hurts because it did.
"I thought I could never belong anywhere." He gives a watery laugh, "I still do. You're all so good, how could I ever compare?"
"Oh, Scar...you do belong," Pearl says, and her voice is salvation. "You're the glue of Boatem. Boatem, Hermitcraft, the world—any world wouldn't be what it is without you."
The others nod their agreement and it's everything he thought he could never have. It's you're not alone and you're not broken and we care, we care, we care. It's knowing that they'll stay and not knowing if he can let them, if he's too far gone—
Scar takes a moment to steady his breathing.
"I don't know if I can trust you again."
"That's okay. But let us try?"
Shuddering, he considers.
He can't let himself get hurt. He can't get left behind. If he opened himself up, only to go back to being alone...he wouldn't make it. Scar has been lonely and he's been betrayed and he understands now that he would rather die than live a hollow husk.
But, they're here. They're here and they care and they're sorry.
"And you don't need crystals, or lives, or—or enchant passes?" he still asks just to be sure, and his voice is achingly small.
"No, Scar. We don't," Grian says, and Scar tastes desert sand in the passing wind. "We never needed anything but Scar. That's all you have to be."
"I—I don't know what Scar is."
Something in Grian's expression breaks, and yet he smiles, "And that's okay. You don't have to. You don't have to be anything at all. We'll be here regardless."
Scar isn't sure if he can believe that.
But maybe he doesn't have to. Maybe he just has to trust that the other Boatem members his friends will be there to remind him.
He doesn't hug them, and they don't ask. But they all sleep together that night. Curled up in a pile of blankets, his friends at every side, Scar goes to sleep with a heartbeat in his chest and air in his lungs.
The next morning, he stands on the grass in front of his wagon and inhales the smell of sun and dew and new beginnings. He has no idea how he is or what tomorrow brings—but maybe he doesn't have to know. Maybe love never had to be earned, after all.
Pearl waves from her base and Grian yells an enthusiastic greeting as he flies past and Scar smiles.
He's okay.
He can try.