Chapter Text
The cheers were still ringing in Joel’s ears long after the scoreboard faded from view.
Smallishbeans: First Place.
Fireworks shot into the pixel sky, and confetti glitched through the air. Scar was shouting something about honorary capes. Grian smacked Joel on the back and shouted, “You actually pulled that off, Beans! Didn’t think you had it in you!”
Lizzie was laughing too, light and fond. “Joel, you’ve been a disaster this whole minigame. What happened—did the server glitch in your favor?”
It was teasing. It was supposed to be funny.
It was.
Joel laughed louder than anyone else—too loud, too sharp—but even as his voice echoed through the valley, something inside him curled up and turned away.
The others were already running off to do postgame chaos—Scar yelling about snacks, Grian grabbing rockets, Pearl and Martyn wandering toward the lounge portal.
Gem turned to him, smiling. “Regression garden later? Nap fort’s got your name on it. Grian brought, like, fifty pillows again.”
Joel forced a grin. “Pfft. You babies have fun. I’ve got big kid stuff to do.”
“Joel,” Lizzie said slowly, “you sure? You look kinda—”
“I’m great,” he said too fast. “I won. Remember? Winner things. Important base work. Cliffs. Blocks. Bye.”
Before anyone could stop him, Joel fired off a rocket and soared away from the crowd, fingers clenched hard around his elytra trigger.
His base was quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed in too close when you were already fraying.
Joel landed hard. The gravel under his boots crunched loud, louder than it should’ve.
He didn’t take off his elytra.
Instead, he stormed into his storage room and grabbed whatever blocks were closest—mossy cobble, slabs, deepslate, a couple random trapdoors—and launched himself toward the back cliff.
There’d been a plan once. A lookout tower, maybe. Something grand.
Right now, Joel just needed to build. Or destroy. Or move fast enough that the pressure in his chest couldn’t catch up.
He placed a block.
And another.
And another.
Then broke it.
Then replaced it.
Then stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.
“They were joking,” he muttered aloud. His voice sounded too loud in the open air.
“You won. You’re fine.”
But his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Up and up he built, stacking half-walls and slabs in increasingly unstable patterns. His boots skidded against the cliff’s edge. He barely noticed.
He was supposed to feel proud. He’d won.
So why did he feel like crying?
Another block placed. Another pulled away. His breath came short. He crouched low, trying to steady himself.
“I’m not horrible. I’m not…”
His foot slipped.
A yelp—cut short.
The world vanished beneath him.
The cliffs blurred into motion.
Then—
[Smallishbeans was slain by fall damage.]
Lizzie had been flying nearby, collecting leftover fireworks from the game site, when the death message popped in her chat.
She froze mid-air.
Joel didn’t die from fall damage. Not anymore. Not unless something was seriously wrong.
She turned sharp in the sky and raced toward his base.
The respawn point wasn’t at the group hotel. That told her everything. He’d gone back to his first bed. The one in his mossy starter house. The one he kept resetting to every few weeks like a secret anchor.
When she landed outside the tiny stone cottage, her heart was already in her throat.
“Joel?” she called, knocking lightly. “Hey, it’s me.”
No answer.
She let herself in.
He was curled up on the bed—hoodie sleeves over his fists, knees tucked up, eyes wide and wet and not seeing her.
“Oh, Beans,” Lizzie said gently, crossing the room.
He didn’t flinch when she sat down next to him. Just hiccuped quietly and tried to pull the blanket over his head.
She didn’t try to pull it down. Just rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades.
“I’m calling Etho,” she said softly.
Joel didn’t argue.
Etho arrived five minutes later, mask off, hoodie on, calm already in his voice.
Lizzie met him at the door. “He’s not speaking. He’s not quite there.”
Etho nodded. “Got it.”
They stepped into the bedroom together. Joel hadn’t moved.
Etho crouched by the bed, careful not to crowd.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, quiet and warm. “We saw the death message. Scared us a bit.”
Joel sniffled.
“I wasn’t gonna go little,” he whispered. “Not today.”
“I know,” Etho said gently. “You were trying really hard not to.”
Lizzie knelt beside the bed too. “It’s okay if you need to. You’re allowed to feel small. Even on big days.”
“They laughed,” Joel whispered. “Grian and you Lizzie. I know it was a joke, but it felt like—like they didn’t think I could really win. Like I was just a joke too.”
He buried his face again, voice tightening.
“And I thought if I built something—if I made it feel big—then I wouldn’t feel so…”
His words crumbled.
Etho put a hand on his back. “It’s okay, Joel. You don’t have to explain it all right now.”
“I was trying to be big.”
“You are. And you’re allowed to rest, too.”
Lizzie laid her head on the bed beside his. “We’ve got you, okay? However small you need to be.”
Joel didn’t answer. But after a long moment, his hand snuck out from under the blanket and clutched Lizzie’s hoodie sleeve.
Etho smiled softly. “Do you wanna snuggle up somewhere quieter?”
Joel nodded. Barely.
Lizzie stood and opened her arms.
Joel didn’t hesitate this time. He reached up like a child, and she scooped him into her arms—small and trembling, but safe.
Etho opened a portal back to his base. The nap corner was already set up.
And Joel, for the first time all day, let himself be held.
——————