Chapter Text
There’s no light, no sound. He can’t see, can’t feel anything except for a tugging, pulling at his back, right in between where his wings are. Wings were? They aren’t there anymore. They can’t be there anymore because he is not him anymore. He is just an extension of what they made him to be, and he does not deserve his wings anymore.
He is being pulled up, up, up, he can feel himself being dragged, like bait on a fishing line up, up, up, hear himself say, “Help. Guys, help me.” His mouth does not move. It is not his voice. He doesn’t have a voice anymore. He says, and he laughs and the laugh is not his own but now he can see something flying towards him, a ring of stars hurtling through the air—
Grian blinks his eyes, he has eyes! As Pearl slams into him, wings moving faster than he thought they could go—he didn’t think she could fly at all—he forgot she had wings. When did she get wings?
“Griba,” Pearl yelps, pulling him close. “The rest of the hermits have left, it’s just you and I now… what’s going on?”
“I don’t know-I can’t remember-you measly ants were ruining my plans,” Pearl stutters backwards, and Grain has to keep holding onto her to keep her from falling from so, so, so high up, so tightly that his fingernails dig into her arms and he can feel the tiny purple crescents form on her skin. “Dance, little puppet.”
Grian sways and flies and flings Pearl around like a ragdoll, both in shock because Grian is speaking but it's not his voice, it’s not him who is speaking. It is a monster. He can feel the tether attached to his shoulder blades move and squirm and suddenly realizes that it is controlling him, and suddenly can very much feel the pulsing, moving mass attached to him. He can feel something leeching into his bloodstream like an IV, like pollutant into a stream, can feel the void mass overtake him. And then he cannot see anymore, cannot feel, just hear a horrible, horrible laugh echoing and echoing in his ears.
The puppet sways on his marionette strings, moves his hands as the puppeteer does, and stays silent, head limp. It is dangerous for him to have a voice, because it is what the puppeteer has the hardest time controlling. Eventually the strings will wrap their way fully around his vocal cords, will no longer have to worry about pesky emotions or memories flooding in. But the puppet keeps fighting and winning, occasionally, and the puppeteer is not pleased. He must be dealt with. He and the pesky little fly buzzing around must be dealt with. They must be taught a lesson.
The little fly is clinging to the puppet like she has been stuck to fly paper, and the puppeteer has to laugh. It laughs and laughs, because now they are both caught, trapped in a web that was only meant for one but can hold as many as needed. It’s a real shame the rest of the ants escaped. They would have been such a nice treat.
“What the fuck do you mean Grian and Pearl are still in there?” Mumbo crosses his arms, pacing. X and Doc are watching them, watching the portal like guard dogs on high alert.
“I mean,” Cleo says, annoyed, “That whatever freaky monster is through there already had Grian, and Pearl went after him. There was nothing we could do.” He sputters, and Cleo glances briefly behind him at the rest of the hermits. They’re asleep or tending to their wounds, looking pitiful.
“Nothing you could do?” Mumbo asks, and he sounds angrier than they’ve ever heard him. “Nothing you could do? You had False with you, for End’s sake. She’s the best fighter around!” From out of the corner of their eye Cleo sees False’s face fall and then harden. A few of the other hermits look up at the sudden commotion, both X and Doc start to step forward.
Cleo takes a deep breath, trying not to yell, or cry, or both. “False isn’t in any condition to be fighting a zombie, let alone some nightmare void monster,” she hisses. “You didn’t see what we saw. Don’t tell me what we should have done.” She can’t tell if she’s mad that Mumbo is questioning them or if she’s just mad at the world in general.
“I don’t care,” Mumbo says shortly. “It still happened on your watch.” He stalks off, bristling like a cat. Cleo sighs and stares at the sky. It’s such a bright blue, one that she hasn’t seen for a while, and it’s beautiful. She looks up for two seconds, and when she looks back False has wandered out of sight as well.
“What was that about?” Doc asks, meandering over. “I’ve never seen Mumbo that angry.” Cleo laughs.
“We couldn’t save Grian and Pearl. It would have been impossible, but he doesn’t care.” Before Doc can say anything else Cleo pushes past him, trying to find Joe.
Joe is nowhere to be seen at the moment, probably getting food or tools together. While looking for him, Cleo stumbles upon False, sitting with her back to a tall pine tree, knees to her chest. “Oh-sorry-I was just looking for Joe,” they say, making False jump. “I’ll leave you alone—”
False interrupts her. “Mumbo was right, you now,” she says, sounding sad. Cleo’s blood starts to boil again. “I should have been able to do something more, but I didn’t. I was too afraid.” She sighs. “I only ever want to protect people. And I keep failing.”
“Mumbo’s an idiot,” Cleo says bluntly. “He’s an idiot, and he forgot that we’re human too.” Well, sort of human. She’s not, not anymore, but False is. Probably. False doesn’t say anything to that, and Cleo walks away. The sun is starting to go down, night watch shifts will be starting. She should take one, so that those that need sleep can actually get it.
It’s quiet (far too quiet) and dark when X comes up next to Cleo as she’s keeping watch. He sighs, sounding tired, but they don’t look over. They’re still a little bit mad, still stewing about the events of the day. “Mumbo thinks you and False shouldn’t travel with us anymore,” he says quietly. “He told me he doesn’t trust you anymore.”
Cleo can’t believe what she’s hearing. Mumbo, the kid that she and the rest of the hermits basically raised, doesn’t trust her anymore. The person that’s known her and False for decades, fought in wars against and beside them, has suddenly decided that now is when he’s going to stop trusting them. “Ok,” she says finally, letting her anger show only the slightest amount. “What do you think?”
He sighs. “You know what I think. I think he’s overreacting, but I’m going to put it to a vote anyways. It’s how it’s done.” It’s how it’s done. It’s how it’s always been done, back when they decided to kick Gen and make X main admin, back when they decided to change worlds for the first time (and then, Cleo remembers, that’s not true. Joe did that without asking anyone because they couldn’t come to a decision via vote).
“It’s how it’s done,” Cleo repeats, shaking her head. “You know, X,” they say. “If we leave there’s gonna be a few hermits that leave with us. It’s gonna ruin everything we’ve worked for.” He sighs, nods.
“I know, but I can’t let Mumbo’s complaint go unheard. That’s not how democracy works.” Cleo turns around, towards the darkness. She doesn’t see him leave, just hears his footsteps slowly recede. She’s not mad at Mumbo, not anymore. It’s a fair reaction when your best friend has been lost to what can only be described as a void monster and it seems like the only people that could have saved him refused to. And she doesn’t want to leave the hermits, either, because she does genuinely care about them, but if she has to they will. False will too, Cleo knows it. She’s halfway to self-imposed exile already.
And if they do leave, what then? Do they part ways, go back to server hopping and haunting until the heat death of the universe or permadeath, whichever comes first? Do they stick together, holding onto the vestiges of the life that they lost by being too slow, to afraid, clinging to the one friend they still have? How do they get out of this world in the first place?
The questions cloud Cleo's mind, and she loses track of time until someone taps her on the shoulder. “I’m here to take over watch,” Ren says, yawning.
“No-it’s okay, I can stay up—” Cleo tries to insist, not wanting to try and sleep, but he shakes his head.
“You’ve done enough, my dude. Let me take over.” Although they know he means it in a good way, it still stings, just a little. So she wanders over to where Joe is sleeping, sprawled out on a bedroll, and curls up next to him. Cleo doesn’t sleep. It’s hard to, when you don’t really need to and can’t relax to even get close to sleeping.
The next morning it’s quiet, and a little awkward. Mumbo refuses to even look at Cleo and False, and X is clearly trying to act like everything is fine, but it feels stilted and forced. Everything feels forced, feels fake, and Cleo doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. She wants to rip the band-aid off, let the pain set in now so it’s less painful in the long run, so it’ll sting less.
“Just ask them,” they say to X eventually. “Tell the rest of the hermits what you told me last night, and then…” They can’t predict what will happen next. No one can.
“I’m waiting until later,” he says, sounding uncertain. “I-I want for this to happen as little as you do.” Sure. The anticipation is more painful than the actual process.
But X doesn’t get a chance to bring it up later that night. He doesn’t, because when they are all sitting quietly, eating some stew that someone managed to cook up, Mumbo stands up. He still looks angry, holding a grudge. “Cleo, False,” He says. Cleo raises an eyebrow. False looks up from where she’s poking at her uneaten food. “I think you should leave the hermits,” he says. “I don’t think we can trust you with our lives anymore.” Cleo’s not mad. Not this time. When he confronted them when they first got here, when Xisuma told her, they were mad. But they aren’t anymore. And it doesn’t seem like False is, either, still tiredly poking at her food.
“Hey now,” Joe says. “Wouldn’t you say that’s a bit of an overreaction, Mumbo?” Mumbo shakes his head.
“No. They let Grian get taken by whatever’s haunting that old world. They let it happen and didn’t even try to stop it.” He crosses his arms, huffs. “I’m not overreacting, I’m worried about our safety.”
Joe stands up. “Well, if they’re going, you know I’m going too. It would only be fair.” Ren nods.
“I don’t want to leave Falsie behind,” he says. “I don’t want to leave you guys either, but… if I had to choose.” Stress nods in agreement.
“So we vote, then?” X asks, voice wavering. “Majority rules, and those that would like to leave as well can. I’m sorry it’s come to this, guys.” He glances around. “All in favor of ZombieCleo and FalseSymmetry leaving Hermitcraft, effective… tomorrow, raise your hand.” Regrettably, more than half of the hermits do. They don’t look happy about it, but they do. “Alright. All opposed?” Neither Cleo nor False raise their hands. “Uh… okay, then. Who’s going to be leaving with them, then?” Ren, Stress, and Joe all raise their hands. Gem almost looks like she will as well, but doesn’t, instead hiding behind Impulse.
The next morning, Xisuma sees them off, early in the morning before anyone else wakes up. “You’ll still be able to message anyone you want to,” he tells the group. “And, ah, if any or all of you should wish to return, there will be spots open. We’ll just have to, y’know, vote on it.” That horrid, horrid vote.
Cleo doesn’t say anything, just nods. False is already walking away, half gone, and Ren and Stress are following. Joe opens his mouth as if to say something, but instead turns as well, waiting for Cleo to start walking away.