Work Text:
Mumbo's halfway to falling asleep at the fireside, listening to Martyn ramble about some show he likes. Every other Southlander has resigned to their towers for the night, but he and Martyn are still sitting here as the campfire slowly dies.
“There is like, over a thousand episodes, so it takes a while to get through but it's REALLY good, I promise. You should totally watch it—”
Mumbo's barely paying attention to what he's saying. He'd like to, to be supportive of Martyn's interests and all, but his eyes are getting heavy. It'd be nice to just fall asleep like this with his head resting on his hand. Plus, it's hard to listen fully when he's busy staring at Martyn's handsome face.
“Where'd you get that scar on your face?” He cuts Martyn off mid-sentence. “Been meaning to ask.”
Martyn looks confused for a moment, putting his hand up to his cheek and feeling the divot of the scar tissue there. “Oh! Not sure, really?”
“...You're not sure where you got a scar from?” Mumbo raises a brow.
“Well, not for certain. I guess it was from my final death last season? Didn't have it then, but I had it when I was here,” Martyn shrugs. “Why?”
Mumbo sits up, taking a deep breath. “Just a bit of a weird place for a scar, I was curious.”
“Wanna see my other ones?” Martyn offers, and Mumbo reluctantly nods. Of course, Martyn immediately takes his shirt off.
“Martyn!” Mumbo scolds, but gets Martyn's shirt thrown in his face in response.
“You've seen it all before, don't act so surprised,” Martyn grins. “Most of them are from arrows, bows were pretty big last season because Impulse just supplied like, everyone, with power five,” Martyn explains as he searches around his chest.
“There, those ones are from when we declared war on Grian and Scar,” Martyn points to a few indents around his ribcage. Mumbo shifts closer to see them better. As Martyn pointed out, he has seen all of his scars before, but never knowing what they were. “I was trying to get Skizz's banner back, and they started shooting at me. Pretty stupid, considering I had two reds, and Etho to defend me,” Martyn explains.
“Then there's a couple burns on my legs and arms from when the sandcastle blew up, but I got far enough away that it didn't hurt too badly,” Martyn lifts his leg up to show off just one of those burns, before dropping it back to the floor. He turns around, pointing vaguely to his right shoulder. “That was my first death, skeleton,” Martyn sounds pissed off just saying it. “Just for the record, it got me while I was weak after escaping Scar and Scott, I didn't get bested by a random skeleton!”
Mumbo nods, if only out of fear Martyn will be upset if he disputes that fact. “Probably have some more arrow scars from after that, because Scar, Scott and Grian ambushed me and Impulse,” Martyn says these things so nonchalantly it surprises Mumbo. He wasn't in third life, so he doesn't have the experience of being hurt as much as Martyn does (besides the burn scars on his legs and puncture scar through his back.)
Those were scary, but Martyn has faced scarier, lived with red names who no doubt had to hold back from killing him constantly, and has even allied with the people who feature prominently in every tale Martyn's told to him of last season as a terrifying villains (Mumbo can't even recognize the Grian in his stories as the Grian who is his friend.)
“Some more arrows and a couple stabs from a battle with Joel, Impulse and Scott, I think? Then there's this one on my chest from Impulse killing me, and I guess the one on my face from Scar,” Martyn searches his torso for each one. “Oh, and you were there for this one,” Martyn points to the scar that runs from his shoulder to his chest, a remnant of Joel's attempt on his life.
“You done ogling my hot bod, then?” Martyn questions, and Mumbo rolls his eyes.
“No, not really, but you can put your shirt back on if you must,” he hands it over, and Martyn pulls it over his head. “Whenever you tell me stuff about last season it just sounds... very scary?”
Martyn shrugs. “I guess? Skizz and Ren always defended me, since I couldn't really defend myself. Honestly, I felt a lot safer then than I do now. It was nice, having a red life or two on your side,” Martyn fiddles with the drawstring on his hoodie. “I guess you wouldn't get it, since you've only known red lives having to be against you.”
It's true. Mumbo only knows red lives as something to be feared, not as someone to remain friends with, or find comfort in. Would it be different if someone on his team turned red? If Martyn turned red?
“I kind of try not to think about it,” Martyn starts. “Like, I guess it didn't get scary until the end, but being at war still does things to your head. Bit hard to sleep, when you're used to waking up for the slightest noise in case it kills you.”
Again, though there is weight to Martyn's words, he still says it like it's nothing, and not the most frightening thing he's ever heard. How much has he taken advantage of sleeping soundly when Martyn hasn't rested well in months?
“I think I miss it, though,” Martyn says, and Mumbo's sure he's gone crazy. “It felt like home, the bone-chilling cold on the mountain, and the- the blood,” Martyn's hands run though his hair nervously. “Doesn't sound very homely, now that I think about it.”
It doesn't. Mumbo would be more inclined to view this like home. Surrounded by safe walls and next to a warm campfire with his friends. Or, in bed in his bunker with his husband's arms wrapped around him. Not blood. Not cold. Not red lives as his only friends.
If Mumbo had to live the life Martyn has, he'd be dead.
“I know everything that happened last season isn't supposed to matter this time, but...” Martyn stares into the dying embers the campfire has become. “Being on a team with three people who've killed me, and everyone I've cared about, frightens me a little bit,” he confesses.
“Genuinely, I think you're the only person I trust on this team, Mumbo,” Martyn's expression is sour. “Especially not Impulse, because last time I let myself trust him he shot me.”
There's silence for a bit, because Mumbo just does not know what to say. He's starting to think he doesn't trust anyone except Martyn, either.
Martyn stands up and dumps a water bucket on the fire to put it out completely. “Look, don't tell any of them I said that, okay? I don't think they're actually going to hurt me, I just... panic! Sometimes, when I see them,” his grip on the bucket's handle is tight.
“Why don't we go to bed?” Martyn says, grinning wearily and reaching his hand out to Mumbo. Mumbo takes it, to help himself stand up, but also to use it to pull Martyn into a hug.
“Thank you for telling me,” he mumbles into Martyn's ear, and Mumbo can feel Martyn's arm shake a little against his back.
“Yeah, well... yeah,” Martyn lets go of Mumbo, and he takes that as the cue that the hug is over. “You just owe me some hermitcraft stories now.”
“Do I?” Mumbo smiles.