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Ren burst into the room to find Doc tinkering with another machine of his, covered in redstone dust. Again? Or still? He couldn’t quite be sure. He didn’t even look up when Ren came to a halt within his field of vision.
“Doc!”
“Yes?”
“What did you do?!” That, finally, prompted Doc to glance up.
“If you poke the Goat, you get what’s coming for you.” Completely indifferent. Ren didn’t know how he could possibly not feel anything. But there was nothing he could do now. What’s done is done. And Doc didn’t say anything else, already back to his machine, leaving Ren to slowly back out of the room. Don’t poke the Goat. Perhaps they really just got what was coming for them. Maybe Doc was right.
* * *
”No!” It was a ringing, panic-stricken cry, echoing across the crater that once was the Buttercup Camp. Mumbo bit his lips, hugging his knees as he stared down at Grian frantically rummaging through the ruins. Goateater shuffled up beside him, pushing its nose into the small of his back with a worried whine. Mumbo didn’t know whether it was just scared because of the explosion, or whether it could feel the grief hanging heavy in the air.
“No, no, no, no, no…”
He was glad Goateater never got to see the others, down below. He was glad it wasn’t down there with Grian, digging through the rubble trying to find them. Uselessly. There was no way that they could have survived, no matter how difficult it was to say that. They were gone.
He ran his shaking fingers through Goateater’s soft fur, wishing that he could just close his eyes and it would all be gone. Wishing he could turn back time. He screwed his eyes shut when he heard Grian’s sobs renew, a little piece of metal clutched in his fist as he collapsed to the ground. It went on for a while. Grian crying hysterically below while Mumbo held onto Goateater like he was his only lifeline. Eventually, Grian ran out of tears. Mumbo didn’t open his eyes even when the sobs turned to shallow, wheezing breaths, or when footsteps crunched up the side of the crater, coming to a stop beside him. Something clattered to the ground beside him.
A little metal name tag, engraved with the word Snot.
“Why.” Mumbo didn’t have an answer for that. He just pulled his arms away from Goateater, opening them up toward Grian. He fell to his knees beside him, burying his face in his neck. “Why did he have to– Why?”
Mumbo hummed, stroking a hand through his dusty hair, as much of a comfort as he could provide. “Unnecessary cruelty.” There was no point to Snot, or any of its offsprings’ death. He didn’t say it outright, didn’t know whether that’d just make it worse. Grian was already shaking so terribly beside him.
“This– We… We cannot leave this without answer but–” he didn’t need to finish the sentence for Mumbo to know what he meant. But if we retaliate, what will he take then?
And he didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t want to find out, either.