Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a normal day. Well, as normal as you could call a day dedicated to setting up a void trap under someone’s kitchen, for a game of tag in a different world, connected to your own via a rift...

Which was pretty normal for Grian.

So, he didn’t panic when, after unfortunately crashing on the way to the base, he ended up getting stuck in a bedrock hole with nothing but a pickaxe. Truth be told, he found his predicament rather amusing. Coincidentally falling into a hole too tall for him to jump out of (especially with his reduced size), and having nothing on himself, but a tool that stood as much of a chance as his bare fists. The space he had did not allow him to spread his wings whatsoever. Let it be clear, the hole he was trapped in wasn’t that deep. It was 3 meters at its tallest, so Grian could jump and wrap his palms around the sharp edge of the slithery rock. But holding onto it was as much as he could do, before his hands would slip off of said ledge. The extremely vertical, and simultaneously smooth walls didn’t serve as very climbing-friendly either. He was truly left with no options.

Breaking bedrock has been quite a timely and physically taxing mission and that little break in his pace served as a nice breather. That's why he laughed at himself. He laughed at himself for how silly it was. He laughed at himself for how suspicious anyone will find it, when they go to help him. He laughed at himself because soon he'll get out of here and it wasn't a big deal.

He didn’t panic at first. Not until he opened up his communicator, to see that no one besides him was online. His hand shook slightly at the sight.
It wasn't a big deal. Someone will respond once he sends a message.

He stared at the display, waiting to see something, anything change. Nevertheless, after looking at the same two messages for god-knows-how-long he came to a conclusion that sent a shiver through his entire body. He was stuck there and it didn't seem like he'd be rescued for a while.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, he rested his back on the cold bedrock wall. The chill could be felt through even his woollen sweater. He sighed. What else was he supposed to do? He could scream, but there’s no way for anyone to hear him from the bottom of the world.

A chuckle left his mouth, he wasn’t sure why. There was nothing funny about this situation. Yet he was unsure of what’d happen to him if he stopped to think about it. It was better to keep a positive attitude. It was also about the only thing he could do. Surely, someone had to come online at some point, he just had to wait, it wasn’t a big deal.

If he could just wait...

...

Time passed slowly, Grian thought it did. In reality, he had no clue. He wasn’t counting how much time he had spent there. Minutes... hours... it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to do anything with that information either way. It was around eleven o’clock in the evening and that’s all he needed to know.

Throughout all this, he’s been trying to keep his mind busy. Humming tunes, drawing with his finger on the bedrock wall. Thinking about what he’s going to do once he gets out of there; about all the work he’ll have to do (that he’ll postpone anyway). Imagining how each hermit might react the moment they arrive here. How they’ll cling to him and care for him the moment he expresses how hard of a time it was... He scoffed at the last thought.

As he looked at the time displayed in the corner of his communicator, a realization finally sank in. It was late, late into the night. Some hermits, and most empire members, would be asleep by now. And those who were still left, grinding and doing their own things, would probably not think of checking their devices at any point.

He might need to spend the night here.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. The nonchalant attitude he adopted - to not think about the small space he was confined to - began to falter. This was the final straw.

He stared down at the translucent screen - pleadings for help that he has read a thousand times by now. Still. Nothing. Changed. That’s when a small droplet phased through the display, landing right on his arm. Before he could try to figure out where it came from, more and more started to fall and his vision started to blur. Grian hastily rubbed his eyes with his sweater’s sleeve, leaving it soaked in places. He was crying. Why was he crying? It was no use, it wouldn’t help him. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t stop no matter what he told himself. No matter how much he tried, his breath only kept on getting more ragged.

With every second he felt like the walls were inching towards him; closing in on him. He didn’t want to be there. He tried to control his breathing. He felt like he had less and less room, god, were the walls really moving? He couldn’t focus on counting. Grian was going to die there. Nobody could hear him and he was going to die.
At that point it wasn’t clear whether the blur in his eyes was from crying or from his consciousness slowly slipping away. He couldn’t see a thing, but the cold he felt from the rock behind him kept him grounded in reality. He was still there. He was still in that damn place. His breathing picked up.

He didn’t even notice when the nausea kicked in. Mind getting hazy, everything in his head swimming. Trying to think was like trudging through mud. Every single thought was thick and slow. The image in front of his eyes darkened once in a while, despite him being sure that he wasn’t closing his eyes. Grian was going to black out. And he wasn’t going to wake up from it.

Finally, he fell to the ground, unable to hold up his own weight with his trembling legs. The one square metre of space left him in an uncomfortable position, which only fed into his panic. His whole body was shaking. However Grian was too focused on trying to keep himself awake. He had to keep himself awake. He had to. The desperation he felt the moment his body made contact with the ground was followed by a blood-curdling scream. Hands wrapped around his head, as it shot back smashing right into the bedrock. He couldn’t feel the pain. The scream was loud -as loud as a human could possibly manage. The noise bounced back against the cave’s walls making it even louder. Except, Grian couldn’t hear any of that through the ringing in his ears. The sole indication that he was screaming in the first place was the feeling of his throat slowly tearing itself apart as he kept on going.

The screaming continued for a long time until Grian let out a hacking cough from his dry and sore throat. Why was he trying? He couldn’t hear the communicator anyway, and he probably wouldn’t be able to look at it in his current state anyway. Still, he couldn’t give up. Grian. Had. To. Stay. Conscious.

So he scratched. His arms. His head. His face. The pain would keep him awake. The pain wouldn’t let him fall asleep. Though, at the beginning, he couldn’t feel anything. So he scratched. Wheezing with every breath he took. And he scratched. His body uncontrollably quivering. And he scratched. Was he even able to register pain? And he scratched. He couldn’t see if the wet feeling on his hands was from tears or blood. And he scratched. Unable to get a single thought across. And he scratched. One mantra in his mind.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here i don’t want to be here i dont want to be here i dont want to be here idontwanttobehereidontwanttobehereidontwantobe-

And everything went black.

...

Grian forced his eyes open. He wasn't sure what, but something certainly snapped him back into reality. That's when it hit him. A sound. Was it a cave noise? Did he forget to light up one corner and a monster finally spawned to get him out of his misery? He looked up, quickly realizing his mistake, as the wave of nausea came back to him. Grian fought the urge to vomit. He wasn't very keen on sitting in the contents of his own stomach. He was awake again, barely. He tried not to focus on the current state of his body, instead he focused on listening in on his surroundings. Nothing.

Grian sighed, wanting to give in to the tiredness. Then, a small hope surged through him. He lifted his arm, it was heavy, like it had been made out of lead instead of organic matter. Both of his sleeves were rolled up - something he must have done during his mania. He did his best to ignore the red fluid that trickled down his arm, and the injuries that were in the corner of his view. The pain didn’t set in yet and he had to make those moments count.

As the chatbox slowly opened, Grian prayed that he was right. Please, let him be right.

Once more that night, he cried. This time it was a good thing. Every muscle in his body, that he didn’t realise he was tensing, suddenly relaxed. The messages themselves didn’t display times at which they were sent, but the current time was 23:43. He wasn’t out for long. Holding his breath, he opened the “Online” tab on the side. Pixlriffs was still online.

There was no time to waste. Despite his eyes failing him every step of the way he proceeded to type out a message. No matter how dizzy he felt or how many times he almost spaced out. Now he had hope. He would be saved.

After not receiving a response for a while he turned his communicator off. Knowing that Pix was on his way allowed Grian to relax at least a little. Though he was starting to experience the aftermath of his questionable decisions. He decided that, maybe, he should take a quick nap. He had to wait for Pix’s arrival anyway. And, who knows, maybe he’d wake up and find out that he has already been pulled out of there.

...

Nope. Still here.

There must have been another noise this time. Yet, before he could think of what it may have been, a soft thud could be heard from somewhere above him. He froze. His foggy mind tried to wrap around the source of the sound. A few way quieter thuds followed, made louder by the cave’s echo. Were those... footsteps? Could it be...

“Grian?”

It finally hit him. He shifted his position, stretching out his head as high as he could, despite not having the energy to get up from his sitting position.

“P.. Pix”

Saying anything came to him harder than he’d have imagined. He struggled to let out any noise, let alone make it audible. Besides absolutely straining his voice from pointlessly screaming half-an-hour ago, the dehydration definitely contributed to it as well. This whole time, he hasn’t been able to drink a single droplet of water. In normal circumstances it wouldn’t be such an issue. Most organisms are able to survive days without water after all, and a few hours would give a normal person a slight headache at worst. Alas, that time is significantly shortened when the person in question cries their eyes out and scratches their skin off to the point of bleeding. It’s a good thing Grian didn’t vomit at any point; the situation would have been significantly more dire. The only good thing that came out of it was that his lightheadedness tuned out any aches in his body, that he certainly would feel otherwise.

“Oh, I see what happened” Pix chuckled, stepping closer to where Grian was.

A shadow covered Grian’s face as Pix looked down into the crevice he had found himself in. His face paled ever so slightly, after seeing what state the other was in. Then, he disappeared from Grian’s sight, though he could hear him furiously typing something on his communicator. He heard his own communicator buzz at the message notification. He didn’t have enough energy to check. Seconds later, Pix was leaning over the hole again.

“Don’t worry, mate. We’ll get you out of there”

In spite of the informal wording, he said it in a quiet, comforting tone. It made Grian crack a weak smile.

He listened to the way Pix moved away from him, to the sound of shulkers being opened. He heard the sound of something being crafted. Was it something wooden? What was it that Pix came up with? Grian decided to put his doubts aside and trust the other man. Whatever gets him out of there, he thought.

The next time he blinked his eyes opened to the sight of an oak ladder. He looked up at Pix, who stared at him encouragingly while holding his only way of escape in place. And even though a dread washed over him at the thought of having to put in any more effort, right with it was the feeling of pure adrenaline. It felt like he’s been stuck there for days, weeks, and oh, was he nothing less than desperate. So he brushed off any physical sensation he was experiencing, he brushed off the tears that welled up in his eyes when his hand grabbed onto the second rung. Whatever energy he had left, he had to get the best out of it.

Grian’s hand was shaking. His whole body was. Whether it was from his weakened and panic state or from the cold he wasn’t even bothered to think about before. Regardless of the reason, his entire being was shuddering. The ladder would have probably done so as well, had it not been for Pix.

His other hand had made it onto the third rung, the dried blood under his fingernails was especially visible. The metallic smell of his bloodied arm that was too close to his face was nothing but unpleasant to his nose. Which made him aware of the weird taste he’d been tasting on his tongue for a while now. He’s bitten his lips to the point of bleeding and he wasn’t even sure when. Did he do it just now? Maybe.

Fourth rung. His upper body slightly lifted off the ground and a wave of pain washed over him. Every single ache in his limbs came to him all at once. He gasped and tears flowed down his face, stinging as they washed over the wounds. The man above him flinched, but there was nothing he could do to help. His face visibly shifted, probably taking on an appearance of deep worry, but Grian couldn't see it through his own tears. Lifting himself up alone took him an insurmountable amount of effort. His own limp body weighing down on his arms, burning his nerves, squeezing out more blood out of his injuries.

Fifth rung. His head spun the moment he lifted his body off the ground and placed his feet on the 1st rung. Despite the fact that his body wanted nothing more than for him to succumb to its feebleness, he was confident that the moment he let go, he wouldn't get back up again. So he pushed through. Damn his weak self, his deteriorating mental state, and whether the adrenaline rushing through his veins actually numbed his pain whatsoever. Grian will get out of there, even if it's the last thing he will do.

Sixth rung. His right leg made its way onto the second rung, significantly wobbling while doing so. And the ladder would have followed suit if it wasn't firmly held down. At least he didn't have to worry about that part.

Seventh rung. He gasped and wheezed, his sounds of struggle being the only thing he could hear through the ringing in his ears. The raspy voice was at full display and itching at his throat. What was the last time he’s been that tired? It felt like he was climbing up to the surface from the bedrock level, not a pathetically short ladder. His own ridicule kept him going for just a bit longer.

Eighth rung. The tear-stained image in front of his eyes began to clear up, letting him see the outstretched hand right in front of him. How long has it been there? It didn’t matter. He took it without a second thought.

The hand pulled him upwards so forcefully, it felt like his arm was about to be ripped off clean. Nonetheless, it allowed him to skip the last few rungs of the ladder with ease that he wouldn't be able to achieve otherwise. He let himself fall to the ground, and as he made contact with it, he let out a sigh of relief. Though calling it a sigh may have been an understatement. The noise he let out was more comparable to a final cry, one of defeat.

“Hey, hey! Don’t pass out on me yet, Grian.”

He felt his body being lifted off the ground, which he wasn’t the biggest fan of, having to swallow another wave of vomit down his throat. It didn't take long before he was lowered into a soft surface, probably the one of his makeshift bed. Soon enough, he was forced to sit up. His muscles aching, like they were punctured with needles, at the smallest attempts at movement. His brain, like a loose object, swayed from side to side hitting the inside of his skull, making it throb with pain.

He sensed something being pressed into his lips and when he instinctively opened them, a cool liquid poured down into his mouth. Although the liquid did nothing but irritate his throat, he swallowed it anyway.

The sound of shulkers opening and something being ripped echoed, yet to Grian it was all a gentle hum in the sea of his dizziness.

He heard someone mining, yet all he saw was pitch black.

...

Next time he regained consciousness he was already mentally prepared for the sorrow: the sorrow of knowing he still hasn't left.

So, it came off as a shock when he found himself in one of Lizzie's castle's bedrooms. This one thing alone almost made him burst out in tears right there and then. A small, plastic tube went from his hand to an IV bag hanging right beside the bed, his forearms wrapped in white bandages. He wasn't wearing his Christmas sweater anymore, instead it was swapped with a plain t-shirt. A faint light seeped through the curtains, which made seeing anything in the dark room actually possible. It was probably early in the morning. As his eyes began to adjust, he noticed his communicator laying atop the nightstand next to him. His missing piece of clothing was hung on a wardrobe. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, the design was unintelligible because of the dark.

It took him a while to realize that he didn't feel any pain. His head was heavy, probably from having just woken up after god-knows-how-long, but that was about it. He laid back down, stuck staring at the ceiling. Normally, he would have got up, unplugged the IV himself and left without a care in the world. Alas, in his current state he didn’t have enough strength in his body to do so. He was trapped. Waiting. Again.

No, no, no. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to wait. Not again. God, please, not again. He had to escape somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter where. He needed to do something.

I don’t want to be alone again.

He felt his leg pull on something. It got tangled up in the blanket when he tried to leave. In the end, he promptly fell to the ground with a thud. He grunted as he attempted to lift himself up from the wooden floor.

I have to leave.

Leave.

Leave.

Lea-

The door in front of him slowly opened, letting out a quiet creak. Grian froze in place. His resolve from earlier disappeared into thin air. The figure that stood in the doorway was barely distinguishable with light behind them. That is, if it wasn’t for their helmet, that created a distinctive head shape. So, he and Xisuma stared at each other in shock. Unmoving.

“G? What are you doing?” Xisuma’s hand dropped from the door handle he’s been holding onto that entire time.

He carefully made his way towards Grian, like he was some sort of wild animal who’d get startled at any sign of danger. The moment he got close enough, he hesitated, before kneeling down and putting Grian’s arm around his shoulder. He pulled him up, then led him back to the bed. Not that the man got far in the first place.

“Sorry, I panicked.”

“Don’t worry, I’m here now. You’re okay.”

With Xisuma’s presence, Grian felt much more at peace. Which is why he didn’t show any resistance to being forced to lay down again.

He saw as the other silently sighed at the long-abandoned tube on the floor. Taking a glance at the back of Grian’s hand Xisuma saw how it bled ever so slightly. The injection port would definitely need to be replaced now.

“Need something to eat, ey?”

There was a minute of silence. The sudden question took him out a bit.

“Oh, yeah. That would be... nice.”

“Got it.” Xisuma nodded, turning around and making his way towards the exit.

“WAIT-” Grian shouted from the top of his lungs, his voice cracking in the middle.

Xisuma immediately stopped in his tracks, surprised by the sudden outburst as much as Grian was.

“I don’t want to be alone. Not right now.” Was about as much as he could add.

In response, Xisuma turned back to the bedridden man, not saying a word. The other avoided his gaze, fiddling with the fingers that laid in his lap.

Damn it, he had to go and make a scene. He didn’t know why he said that in the first place. After all, he was perfectly capable of being on his own. He was perfectly capable of staying put, staring at the doors in anticipation, wondering whether he would ever come back while the silence of his own mind slowly ate him away from the inside. It didn’t do anything to him. So, why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

The scrutiny he was under was overwhelming. The state he was currently in must have been nothing less than pathetic. His own request resounded to him with childishness. And it was utterly humiliating.

“Ah, right.” His tone was lighthearted, like he had forgotten something obvious. “I shouldn’t leave a patient right after he wakes up.”

That was not what he had expected him to say and neither was it how he expected him to say it. Grian lifted his head up to see the way his eyes smiled from under the purple lenses of his helmet and, without hesitation, decreased the distance between them. Xisuma went around the bed and sat on the chair adjacent to it, which Grian hadn't noticed before.

“I will send Scar and Mumbo this way, tell them to bring something as well.” Xisuma said, typing away at his communicator. “They probably really want to see you now that you’ve woken up.”

“I couldn't have been asleep for that long.” Grian chuckled, picturing how they might have reacted when they heard of his situation.

“Well, it’s been two days. Mumbo had already started plunging into paranoia that you might never wake up” His laugh, muffled by his helmet, was still loud and clear. It was a pity Grian couldn’t have seen it himself.

How many people had he made worried?

“Then, they will be here in a heartbeat. When will I be able to leave? There’s not much to do here.”

“Hmm... you should be able to leave the moment the IV bag runs out. Or maybe a little bit after that.”

“Phew, that’s good to know.” He let out a sigh of relief, at least now he had something to look forward to. He mulled over his next words. Eyes darting to the bag, almost fully filled with fluid, and then back at the other person in the room. “Thanks, X.” That part sounded much quieter in comparison to the other. Yet, in the lack of ambience, it sounded clear as day.

“No worries, mate.”

After that, they chatted for a while, occasionally falling into a comfortable silence. Grian’s anxiety slowly faded away in the comfort of Xisuma’s presence. It was one of those moments when he truly appreciated having him as a friend. Their nice moment soon got interrupted when the doors swung open.

They didn’t even knock.

Mumbo frantically stomped towards him, a plastic bag in his hand. Scar strolled right behind. After being bombarded with questions, Grian finally got to eat the soup they had brought, and Scar proceeded to recount what happened from the moment Grian lost consciousness. How Xisuma was the first one to get Pix’s message and helped get Grian to the surface. How soon the entire server knew what had transpired, more or less. He really hoped that Lizzie didn’t get a wind of it, he didn’t want all of his hassle to go to waste.

By the time evening rolled around, Grian had made a full recovery. He was, at last, able to return to his usual shenanigans, and he couldn’t have been happier with that fact.

Over the next few days he would be approached by several hermits and Empires members. With some of them apologizing for having their communicators turned off, some expressing their concern and wanting to know the details. One of those people was Lizzie, which meant Grian's plan was still on. He responded with something vague, that he was mining and accidentally fell into a bedrock hole he couldn’t get out of. The moment he was out of sight, he practically ran or more like flew) for his life to her base. The hole he had made in the castle’s kitchen was covered, but it was still there. Nevertheless, the moment he went down, he was met with an unexpected sight.

The floor of the cave was now leveled with stone, not a hole in sight. Except for the big one in the middle, that now led straight into the void, someone had finished it up for him. He wasn’t sure who, maybe it wasn’t even one person. Still, he felt moved, really. So moved, he could have cried. Not that he did, of course he didn’t. His eyes were as dry as the desert.

Either way, LDShadowLady was about to have a rough week.