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Death had visited them once again — but the damage couldn't be forgotten this time.
Lightning had struck their tower, drawing the eyes of all those on the server, and sending a message. One that said their teammate (their friend-) had died, and was now out of the server, out of the game.
Now it was just two.
Grian and Skizz, without their glue. Without Mumbo.
And Skizz feared, not for his own life, but for the life of their team — because why would Grian stay if his Mumbo wasn't around anymore?
Why would Grian choose Skizz?
All he'd done was botch plans, get himself killed, and mess things up.
He was loyal, more-so than anyone else on the damn server, but what was that to a man like Grian, who would always save his own skin first, who would never choose Skizz instead.
He was always fighting to survive, that G.
But even though Skizz knew this, he couldn't help but open his arms for Grian to fall into. As soon as he saw the tears streaking down his face, the tremble in his hands– well, there wasn't anything else Skizz could bring himself to do.
"Oh, G… Let it out, man. I'm here for you." Because it's what Skizz did. He was there for them, whoever it was, however he could be. (When was it his turn to be comforted? To be mourned?)
"Mumbo– he said– he was doing so well but now he's gone! Skizz, he's gone, he's dead and I killed him."
Skizz pulled away slightly, but Grian didn't relinquish the raptor-like grip on his vest, so he didn't manage to look Grian in the eyes when he asked, "How is it your fault?"
Grian sniffled. "It was my trap. It was all my idea, if we hadn't done TNT mine carts then he'd still be here."
"It could have happened to anyone. It was a mistake, but it wasn't intended, and it definitely wasn't your fault, dude." Skizz tried to use a soothing tone, but it wasn't enough, Grian still choked on a sob and buried his face further into Skizz's shoulder.
He spotted Tango, Bdubs, and Etho running up to them, and immediately adopted his best "don't you dare" face. Tango recognized it (because how many times had Skizz used it in defense of him or Impulse? Too many times for Skizz to count) and stopped them, dragging his teammates back and away.
Good. Grian didn't need anyone to see him like this.
He never liked looking weak.
"I'd just gotten him back, he's been gone from the games for so long– I just wanted to play with him again."
There it was. Admittance.
Skizz expected to feel something akin to acceptance at the favoritism, but instead there was a dark curl of something possessive deep in his chest.
He shoved it away, instead stroking up and down Grian's back in comfort.
"It will be okay G, it will be okay. You'll see him again, and he'll be so happy to see you. We had so much fun together, but we're still here. We're gonna win this, for him."
Skizz felt the smile pressed to his shoulder, even as cold seeped into his bones.
He had lied.
Skizz wasn't going to see the end of this.
But that was okay, because right now Grian needed a steady shoulder to lean on. Skizz could do that– will do that for him.
And maybe it wouldn't hurt to suggest they patch things up with their neighbors. (Because oh, despite Grian's willingness to sacrifice those around him, he got lonely so fast, and needs someone to cling to when it all goes to hell.)
Grian slowly pulled away from him, mopping the tears from his face with his sleeves, and Skizz didn't resist the urge to reach out and wipe them away. His hand was big enough to cradle Grian's cheek easily if he wanted to, and Skizz's heart ached as Grian leaned into it.
They talked to their neighbors, collecting condolences and sympathies as though it was any consolation for losing their friend to the game.
They walked up their stairs, across each bridge, holding hands.
And the two of them sat on their wooden platform.
Grian stared at the empty chair, and Skizz stared at Grian, watching for any sign that he needed more comfort.
The funeral was short, ending with Etho's insulting words, and Skizz dragging Grian away to their bunker from the first session, and they fell into the single bed together, Grian laying flat on top of Skizz.
He held Grian as he cried, again.
"I miss him," Grian had said, over and over, like he was praying to a god that wasn't there. Like he wanted Mumbo to hear his words.
"I know," Skizz replied, over and over, because he did. He missed Mumbo too, so much, but he couldn't break now, not when Grian needed him.
The days were a blur until the next session, filled with tears, and naps, and the occasional visit with more pitying eyes and jokes that fell flat because they were at Mumbo's expense.
But the morning of the next session, Skizz could feel it. There was an unspoken distance between himself and Grian. It didn't matter, the days of comfort. They had a game to play, and their glue was gone.
It was only a matter of time before they fell apart.
Skizz tried to make the most of it, using the traps Grian set up, scrambling for even a day longer.
But he fell.
Skizz tried to angle towards the water, but he knew.
Skizz closed his eyes.
He fell, he knew, he closed his eyes and he wondered if Grian will mourn him too.