Work Text:
Mumbo's tone isn't boisterous, it's not wheezing--it's calm. Certain. Warm.
“You know what, old buddy? I think I hid my diamonds. Right.”
The pick swings.
“Here.”
Grian stares at the diamonds–already mined, lying on the floor–and can’t stop the smile that comes across his face. He can hear the shuffling, feel the broad grin beaming at his back.
A weak chuckle. “It’s not the same.”
Mumbo’s voice through Tango’s vocal chords sounds strained with shock.
“No! What? I thought this’s gonna be a really wholesome moment–you can take them, they’re not mine, I don’t care!” He gestures emphatically towards the broken wall, just past the chest. Where he would have been sure to get it right.
It’s an attempt. It’s sweet.
It’s not the same, though. It was never about getting the diamonds or having them; it was about the journey. Poking holes, joking, wheezing, swearing that THIS time they were RIGHT HERE.
Grian picks up the diamonds anyways, though. Be a waste.
“Yeah, and then I thought you were gonna–thought we were gonna lock eyes…”
Grian looks up. Tango looks back. The smile is still clearly Mumbo, somehow–holding space for a mustache that wasn’t there.
“And then maybe cuddle a bit.” The arms open wide. “Get a little hug?”
A beat, and Grian pulls his eyes away from Tango’s face, storming back down into the mine he’s digging. Gripping his pickaxe a little too tight.
“It’s not you. It’s not you!”
They could try. He knows they could try. He wants to try–to close his eyes and hear Mumbo’s voice, to wrap his arms around a chest and listen for the ghost of a heartbeat behind the real one. To fall asleep in embrace, like they used to.
But it would be wrong. The hands holding him, wrong. The back under his fingers, wrong.
It would be Tango. Not Mumbo.
And Tango is a good guy! And Grian likes him fine enough, but Tango’s already being too nice letting Mumbo borrow his body for the day. It would be crossing a line with Tango’s comfort for sure. If they fell asleep like that, even if Grian could convince himself it was Mumbo now, it wouldn’t be when they woke up.
Grian tells himself it’s for Tango’s sake that he pulls away.
He takes it out on the stone–now Grian has to find diamonds. It has to be real. Something has to be real, and that’s the only thing that could be. Even with Mumbo chattering and mining alongside him, right behind him, Grian doesn’t turn to look. He can’t face Tango’s face right now.
Grian pokes at the wall, grumbling. “When will it be my turn?”
And Tango’s face is in front of him as the pickaxe comes down.
“GRIAN!”
The pickaxe sinks into his neck. Grian pulls back, and Tango’s blood comes with it. Tango’s eyes flicker and roll. Tango’s body crumples.
The voice of pain in his ears is Mumbo’s, screaming his name in echo. The same as it’s always been.
[Tango was slain by Grian]