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Grian didn’t let go of Joel even as the two of them landed on the cherry mountain in a heap. He refused to.
Joel is battered, unconscious, and barely recognizable in his shaking arms. There is an almost deafening ringing in Grian’s ears, threatening to take him under as though he’s being dragged into deep waters. His mind is reeling , trying to make sense of everything that has just happened, trying to come to terms with the fact that Joel is dying in his arms, right at this very moment.
Is this really how their story will end? Doomed to fall, doomed to be separated. Grian could almost see the Watchers’ ecastic smiles, that even if he and Joel managed to escape, in the end they’re still the ones to take the win. Was this the end for the two of them? A perfect, irreversible tragedy with the most fitting, most tragic ending.
Joel isn’t moving in his arms. He lies there limply, his arms unmoving beside him, his heart still bleeding. There’s so much red everywhere. There’s too much blood.
Through the haze in his mind, Grian just barely manages to remove his sweater and presses it to Joel’s wound with trembling fingers. Don’t die. Don’t die. You can’t die.
He repeats those words like a mantra in his head like it’s a healing spell. But it’s not working. The blood continues to gush out, spreading to the grass and staining it in dark, blooming patches of red. The red of his sweater makes it look all the more bloody, and Grian almost recoils at the sight.
There are tears in his own eyes, he realizes belatedly, falling rapidly and uncontrollably, mixing in with the blood. He doesn’t even register his own cries, doesn’t really hear his own broken whispers of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
To think that he was able to accompany Joel in the End, to have saved him but doomed him anyway. Now Grian watches as he slowly loses his best friend as he lay there half-dead on the ground. Grian has this strange, but sure feeling that if Joel dies here he will never see him again. Not in the next game, not in Hermitcraft, not anywhere ever again.
The thought alone sends him into a paralyzing, overwhelming panic.
“Grian?”
Grian turns around sharply at the voice with wild, panicked eyes.
Gem was standing there, confused and all, peering at him with questioning eyes. Grian had just barely formulated a response when her gaze fell on Joel, and in a split second everything clicks in.
“Is that Joel? What happened? Where have you guys been—?” She sounds alarmed as she jumps to her feet, deft hands helping Grian to press the already blood-stained sweater onto Joel’s wound. Her eyes meet Grian’s, worried, as she repeats her question. “Where have you guys been?”
Grian blinks at her. Huh? “What?”
Gem looks just as dumbfounded as she hastily grabs her communicator with her free hand. Typing with one hand, she sends out a message to the server, all the while still talking to Grian. “You two have been gone for days. No one knew where you two went.”
Days?!
“We tried looking everywhere but no one could get a hold of you,” Gem continues, removing an outer layer of her clothes for an additional cloth to help stop the bleeding. “And you two weren’t responding to any messages as well. Everyone’s been worried.”
“We—” Grian starts, then bites at his words. How could he possibly explain everything? That his biggest fear is turning into reality right at this very moment? That he’d watched it as it happened, right in front of his eyes? Even he couldn’t make sense of it all, so how could he possibly explain it to somebody else?
Before he could reply, someone landed in front of them, leaving a wake of leaves gently fluttering in their trail. Scar came over to them, holding bottles of what looked to be healing potions. His brows are knitted in worry.
Without any more spoken words, the three of them fall into a rhythm of deft hands and alert minds. Scar opens a bottle and Gem moves to the side, her hands still pressing onto the cloth. Grian holds onto the back of Joel’s head to tilt it slightly as Scar works to give him the healing potion.
Tense seconds, then minutes pass by. The air is charged with unspoken worry, with apprehension, with desperation. In the end, three whole bottles were used before they got a reaction from Joel. The wound is still bleeding, albeit not as heavily, and then, as Grian holds his breath, watching Joel for any indication that he was still alive, still here , Joel gasped out a breath and coughed up a mouthful of blood.
In an instant, Grian tilts Joel’s head so he doesn’t choke on it, and like clockwork, he brushes away the strands of hair that have fallen over the latter’s face, as gentle as the wind. Maybe if he pretends that everything is fine then it will be. But he knows, deep down, that nothing will ever be the same. It had already been so hard to cope with everything, and now…now Grian feels as though this is something that both of them can never truly recover from. It’s a wound that would bleed for all eternity, but would never fully heal.
“...Joel?” Grian whispers hesitantly once Joel goes still in his arms again. He watches closely as Joel’s chest rises slowly, up and down, up and down, as if he’s trying to ingrain the sight into his head. A reminder that he’s still here. That he’s still in Grian’s embrace.
Joel doesn’t respond verbally, but his eyes slowly meet Grian’s. They look utterly exhausted and hollow, so completely devoid of light. It makes Grian’s heart ache.
“We have to move him,” Gem says quietly beside his ear. Grian realizes that her and Scar are watching him and Joel with curious, concerned eyes, and he clears his throat, nodding.
Joel is still alive. But they still need to act fast.
The three of them eventually bring Joel back to his base, laying him down on the nearest bed they could find. They worked quickly again, in tense silence, and only when they were completely certain that he was stable did Grian finally let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Small steps, but they’re getting there. Joel’s not going anywhere, after all. Grian won’t let him go that easily. He’d already pulled Joel out of an abyss. Who’s to say he won’t be able to do it again, metaphorical or literal?
“Where have you guys been, exactly…?”
Grian tears his gaze away from Joel’s limp form on the bed as he hears Scar’s question. He glances down at himself, at his blood-stained shirt, at his bloodied hands, at how disheveled he probably looks right now in Scar and Gem’s eyes. He takes a breath and faces them.
“We…got trapped somewhere. Our communicators broke and we couldn’t get hold of anyone.” It shocked him a bit how easily the lie left his lips, but once he started speaking the words seemed to just flow out.
Gem looked doubtful. Scar was looking at him with unreadable eyes. Both of them stood to the side of the room, their clothes also stained with blood. The three of them really need to go clean up. Grian doesn’t think he can handle this stench of blood on him anymore. Especially considering just whose blood it was.
“But…how did he get injured so badly?” It’s Gem who asks this time.
Grian bites at his lips. He really doesn’t want to answer any more of their questions. He just wants to stay with Joel. He sighs. “It’s a long story, and—”
And even if I explain it to you, you’ll forget it anyway.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I really would rather not talk about it right now,” he says instead.
Scar and Gem exchange a glance. Grian sees the confusion, the suspicion, in their gazes. He’s seen it plenty of times before and will probably continue to, and he hates how much of a reminder it is of his and Joel’s predicament.
Finally, Scar nods. He glances at Joel’s form on the bed, all cleaned up and bandaged now, then looks back at Grian. He leaves a pat on Grian’s shoulder. “Take care of each other.”
Grian manages a small smile. “We will.”
It’s what they do best, after all.
Gem bids her goodbye as well with a warm smile and with a wave of her hand. “Tell us when he wakes up.”
Grian nodded. “Sure.”
The silence that follows after their departure is both welcome and sitfling. Grian collapses somewhere on a chair, tired. His eyes instantly trail back to Joel on the bed, almost on instinct. Almost as if afraid that if he lets his gaze linger away, Joel will disappear.
He gathers himself after a few moments of respite, quickly cleaning himself up and changing his clothes. Even then, he could still feel the blood on his hands, still feel the warmth of Joel’s limp body against him. It certainly is a different feeling to blood-stained hands from killing someone in the games. That was easier, somehow. That, he was quite used to, despite everything. But this was different. This was painful. This…was something else entirely.
Grian settles himself beside Joel on the bed. He’s careful not to jostle Joel too much, lest he worsens any of his injuries. But he does curl up beside him, his wings acting as another layer of blanket over Joel. It’s a bit uncomfortable sharing a single bed like this, but Grian knows he won’t be able to sit still if he doesn’t feel Joel’s beating heart against him, if he doesn’t feel the warmth of Joel’s skin—all indications that he was still alive.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers into the silence. He stares at Joel’s face, taking in the way he looks almost peaceful. If only that truly was the case. If only Joel really was just asleep. “We still have so much we haven’t done together…”
Grian’s voice remains quiet, scared that if he speaks louder it’ll break. His eyelids feel heavy, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to him. But he continues to speak softly, rambling on into the otherwise silent room.
“Didn’t you always say you want to go on a road trip sometime? We have to do that sometime, maybe even invite some of our friends. And we have building plans together that we still haven’t done…”
Grian stares at the ceiling, sighing softly.
“We should hang out more in our bases, cook for each other, then stargaze once everyone’s asleep—pretend like our life is simple, you know…?”
His eyes flutter close then, his body demanding sleep. Grian breathes out slowly, closing his eyes.
“Maybe if we pretend our life is better than it is…maybe we can fool ourselves into thinking that it is.”
Grian doesn’t leave Joel’s side at all. In fact, he barely even leaves the bed at all, only getting up if absolutely necessary or to eat. Even then, he stays in the room, keeping vigil, making sure everything is fine. He regularly changes Joel’s bandages, and sometimes the other Hermits come to visit. None of them ask about what happened, and for that he can only thank Scar and Gem as they probably told the others he doesn’t want to talk about it. They offer help, too, which Grian appreciates.
Days pass by, and everyday, Grian hopes Joel will soon wake. He wishes that when he does, everything will magically turn back to the way it was. But he knows that’s asking for too much. Nothing will ever be the same, and that’s something that both of them have learned throughout the years. So unfair. So cruel. Grian wants to be angry but he’s just too damn tired to be.
So he spends the days curled up on the bed, rambling to himself and watching Joel’s face for any indication that he’s in pain, or that he’s waking up, or anything. Every day, he checks Joel’s pulse to soothe his nerves.
Every day, he reminds himself that Joel is still alive.
The world slowly comes to amidst Joel's hazy, muddled brain as he wakes up.
There are feathers scattered all across the bed. In Joel’s mind, it painfully reminded him of soft, cherry blossoms. He reached out a gloved, trembling hand towards it, his fingers hovering in the air for a moment—a featherlight, gentle caress that seemed to linger in the air. Joel swears he could almost feel the soft, warm expanse of Grian’s wings all over again, wrapped around him in a protective, tight embrace. A sting of longing seared itself onto his chest.
He looked around, but there was only silence. No traces of familiar black, fond eyes. No sign of those fluttering wings. No sounds of gentle footsteps, as though wary of waking him. Joel sat up wearily, wincing. His entire body was aching and sore. On his chest, there was a dull but throbbing pain just sitting there heavily, and his shoulder was still protesting with every little movement he made. But he paid little attention to his injuries. Despite the pain and the dizziness, Joel pushed himself out of bed with shaky legs.
Where was he? Where was Grian? What if—
His breath hitched. It was irrational, he knew. There were feathers from Grian’s wings all over his room, and Joel knew for a fact that in between his bouts of consciousness he felt Grian’s embrace as he laid there on the bed, recovering. But still. Still.
What if he was gone? What if he was still in the End?
Joel pushed open the door with trembling arms, ignoring the way his head ached in protest. He could feel blood seeping through the wound in his chest, undoubtedly staining his bandages, and he knew, he knew he should not be doing this, should not be getting out of bed after sustaining such grave injuries but still—
A small noise of shock fell from his lips as he crashed into something. Joel didn’t even have the time to register what was happening before the pain flared up, and in the next moment he was on the ground, clutching at his shoulder so tightly it felt like his knuckles had turned white. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and panic gripped him when suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders, and a familiar voice echoed through Joel’s hazy ears in between it all.
“Hey, are you—what are you doing? Why are you out of bed? Are you okay? Are you—”
Joel looked up, and felt a wave of relief at the sight of Grian in front of him.
“You—” Joel coughed, trying to catch his breath. Slowly, the pain subsides into something more bearable.
“Hush, don’t talk,” Grian tightens his hold on Joel’s shoulder, still gazing at him with worry in his eyes. That familiar, ever present concern glinting amidst those black irises. “Let’s get you back to—”
“You were gone,” Joel managed, in a small, weak voice. He hated how it sounded in his own ears.
Grian froze. “What?”
“When I woke up,” Joel swallowed, resenting his own body even more as tears stubbornly built in his eyes. He looked down, away from Grian’s concerned gaze. “When I woke up, you—you weren’t there. I thought…”
I thought you were gone.
Joel watched as Grian’s expression crumbled into something akin to devastation, to sadness. And all at once, the weight of everything that had happened to them came rushing back, swirling around them like thick smoke in that moment of deafening silence.
“I’m right here,” Grian says, no more than a whisper. “I’m right here.”
Joel melts in his embrace. His buzzing mind comes to a slow stop, and in between it all he registers that this is very much real, very much happening. Grian’s here, with him. They both made it out.
And yet…why does Joel’s heart still feel so heavy?
“You should get some more rest,” Grian said softly after a while, as the two of them pulled away from each other. Immediately, Joel feels cold again. “You’re still healing.”
Joel nods, too tired for a verbal response. But neither of them move anyway. Their hands hover over each other, unsure of what to do next, hesitant to let go.
“Am I…really alive?” He whispers, almost scared. He looks into Grian’s anguished, tired eyes, and Joel almost feels the abyss around them all over again.
“You’re still here.” Grian said simply, but Joel can hear the way his voice almost breaks. “And I’m still here. We’re still alive.”
Then Grian pulls him back into an embrace, which Joel welcomes eagerly. There, on the floor amidst the feathers, they held each other tightly, too terrified to let go. This way, they can hear each other’s heartbeats against one another, and the sound of it is the only semblance of comfort they could grasp onto. The soft thump thump thump of their hearts are like a soothing lullaby. An anchor in the silence.
Joel counts Grian’s heartbeats, memorizing its rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Still alive. Still here.
He imagines Grian doing the same.