Chapter Text
Cold.
Cold was all Spoke could register as the shivers spasmed through his body, all accompanied by the disturbing lack of life that Unstable inhabited. He tore up frosted grass and earth, muddying and freezing his hands in the snow, though dirt brought no more warmth than the desolate air around him.
The snow had started in random flurries. Spoke, Mapicc, and Zam had been less concerned about the aftermath than the confusion of how the grayed sky could even produce the frozen flakes. The undergrowth had wilted quickly, crumbling under downpour as the winds picked up.
it all happened just like the Amplified.
Somewhere along the way, when warmth had been his first interest, he found himself isolated and in the middle of nowhere. His panic came to him in worry for Mapicc mostly, Zam partly. But Mapicc was resourceful, and the former monarch could survive solitude fine enough.
He found his justification for fear at the time almost funny—his concern had been virtually primal, though was it dread for his friends or for himself being alone? He couldn’t fathom losing Mapicc again, to the degree of when Jamato kidnapped him.
‘Kidnapped’ was the only satisfying word to describe what had happened in Spokes' mind. Because Jamato took Mapicc from Spoke. Simple. Of course, Mapicc was probably unaware of the two’s history—he couldn’t have any knowledge of things between them. Of Jamato’s refusal.
And if he was aware, Spoke didn’t know what he might do.
Spoke curled into himself for warmth, back against a tree. His clothes were nowhere near built for this type of environment, it didn’t help that no sheep could spawn, to kill, so he could fashion a blanket of sorts out of the wool. He could feel his fingers and limbs deadening, his blood retreating away from the cold he wished to escape.
He would try, with no avail, to clench and unclench his clawed hands purely to see if they still worked, his skin pale and graying to the bitter frostbite. He’d tried chipping at his Netherite chestplate to spark a fire, but the frost coated metal only bit and clung to his fingers when he held onto it. He didn’t bother putting it back on.
Imagining heat was the only lifeline his sanity could cling to. If only he could bring himself, rally his strength, to grab his enderchest and place it—he might find refuge from this cold. The end has always been a temperate place(if not foreboding or unwelcoming), and he wasn’t sure if the enderchest itself could either radiate enough heat to warm his hands where they’d become usable again, or just freeze over like his armor.
It was ironic, not even god armor could beat the bleak frigidity of frost.
Sometimes, when he forced himself to focus through the gauze of his vision, he caught humanoid shadows moving through the forest, mouths open, screaming deaf words to his numb ears.
He tried to move, but the cold was so paralyzing and his muscles so tense that he just curled back up to let the snow cover him, or was he already covered? He had at least the sense to grip his last totem, his thin tread of remaining sanity still clinging onto his life.
Snow crunched near him; one of the shadows was closer now, and Spoke was sure he could see it straight through the snow. Maybe it knew with some instinct it was being watched, because the thing dropped to the ground in a crouch. He noticed its mouth still moving. It could be talking, screaming, even whispering, but none reached him.
Something must’ve happened, because the moment it turned and ran half-way into the forest, before disappearing in front of his eyes as if a stasis was pulled, he felt a burning heat stretch through his entire body and feet of snow melted around him. A strange crackling accompanied his tortured rescue.
Spoke gasped, unable to stop the rapid reheating of his frozen limbs, the likes which smothered his nerves to such a degree that he almost lost feeling a second time. He grasped the muddy ground in front of him, searching for the totem he’d lost in the pain, for even a temporary release from the agony. But, when he came up empty, he realized that this was the totem.
The heat and crackling and misery, he’d died and barely realized.
He sat with the realization as his body continued to reheat, alone and silent with the tingling pain. His totem had popped many times, but it was always loud, someone was always there, whether fighting him or fighting with him; and it was always a release from pain—not the bringer of it. Could he really have disappeared as simply as that? Had his delirious mind not thought to hold so tightly to that totem, all left of him would’ve been meaningless items on the ground. Would his friends assume he was captured or ran, in the chance they did not happen across his things before they despawned?
How many times could he die in the memory of the server before the butterfly of all his actions flapped its wings one last time?
Many questions, quite similar to such, continued to race through his mind as the snow started to pile around him again, the flecks that continuously landed on his skin melting and soaking him again with the cold he’d just escaped. Spoke was tempted to lay back down, the totem’s capabilities were nulling now, and the only thing he had for potential warmth was his flame bow with no arrows.
Shivers began to engulf him, his body trying desperately to cling onto the heat. It wouldn’t last long though. He couldn’t hope for anyone to find him, and the shadow(whatever it was)coming back was a slim chance. Spoke was fully zoned out by the time the moon rose, his eyes glowing white and illuminating the desolate terrain in front of him.
Something warm and wet touched his arm, finally snapping him out of his trance even though he’d barely registered it. He turned his head slowly, crazed eyes meeting the calm yellow ones of a wolf. It was one of the brown ones that liked to spawn in forests like the one he collapsed in…except these types of forests usually weren’t covered in a thick coating of continual snow.
Staring at the wolf with its closely kept fur, Spoke became aware of how grimy he’d become: coated in a thin layer of water with his hands and knees covered in dead grass and mud. It matched his gaze, gentle and almost curious.
Spoke reached out, his hand grazing its coarse muzzle. The creature took a step back, a low growl emitting from its throat.
Spoke pulled his arm away from it. “Hi.” His voice was blunt yet weakened from disuse to a degree that he shocked himself to hear it.
The wolf shook snow off its short coat. Spoke guessed his meek vocalization convinced it that he was nowhere near a threat, because it stepped closer to him—its muzzle close enough to him to bite out one of his eyes in a heartbeat if it really wanted to. The wolf circled him, sniffing around and sometimes nipping at his arms and pawing at his sweater.
“I don’t have any bones buddy.” he thought for a moment. “Unless you plan on eating me, I guess I’d have a lot.”
It snorted. Spoke was left mostly to his own devices as it curled up a good few feet away from him, keeping a keen eye trained on both his figure and the surrounding area.
He considered how many animals in the mob cap had to die to the frost for this single wolf to grace his existence. He mused if it had even spawned in the first place, or if a tattered collar hid under its coat from a long dead owner.
The wolf let out a contented sigh, inching slightly closer to Spoke as he zoned out again. Spoke didn’t blame the thing when it shoved against his side for warmth, pressing its tail on its body.
Spoke welcomed the gesture, seeing as he felt the real warmth of its fur, shivers wracked his body again. He refrained from leaning too close to avoid its snarls, watching the white puffs produced from his unsteady breathing, a strange exhaustion doused his mind.
Fatigue eventually got the better of reason, and he slumped into the wolf with stinging eyes from hours kept open.
A snarl erupted from its maw. The wolf acted off instinct, for no one can really blame the actions of a wild animal. Teeth bared, it took a nasty bite of Spoke’s arm before Spoke’s weary sword crashed down and sliced the poor creature clean in two.
It disappeared in a puff of smoke and a cry of pain. Its only remains immortalized as blood on his blade.
Wolf was burnt to a crisp while fighting SpokeIsHere
So it was tamed, after all.
Spoke sighed, burying his face in his hands. The thing didn’t even drop anything; he could’ve at least used a pelt for warmth. He collapsed his head into the snow, shielding his face from the brunt of the cold with his arms. He closed his eyes tightly to the nauseating blood that gushed steadily out of his new wound. It clung hungrily to his cheek, worryingly cold and sickly. It tainted the snow around him, the cold almost more greedy than the blood, leeching any fragment of warmth as it left his body at a concerningly resolute rate.
The world seemed to spin steadily around his restrained vision, but he refused to open his eyes and see the aftermath of his blood loss. He was unfortunate enough to be breathing from his mouth, his nose far too stuffy to work, and the blood pooled and slunk to the corner of his lips, soon his teeth, giving him an unforgivingly persistent metallic taste to accompany every breath.
He could feel the skin on his fingers tightening and was half certain they’d fall off when he finally fell into the sweet release of sleep. Though, if it could be considered that was up to debate; at the very least the nightmares that plagued his nights had predictable patterns.
Spoke was delirious and half convinced he’d been hallucinating the past hour when something shoved his shoulder, rocking his stiff body side to side. Cracking his eyes open, he saw that his wound was covered in red snow(though it stopped bleeding), along with anything within a few feet of him. He was quite surprised he didn’t die and didn’t really feel cold anymore—whether from acclimation or late stage hypothermia, he wasn’t certain.
He couldn’t hear anything but a dull ring, either that or a horrible screeching that sounded like a record scratch, so he was quite content without his fifth sense. He was too busy milling over things to realize how dead he must’ve looked to whoever was now vigorously shaking him, warm hands almost searing to his cold skin.
The player stopped for a moment, before grabbing Spoke’s face unwillingly in his hands; but when he tried to pull away he realized he could barely control his body, aside from the odd spasm in a limb(though that could hardly be considered as controlling).
He stared at a face he knew a little too well; skin similar to an enderman and glowing white eyes. His mouth was moving and Spoke caught faint syllables, combining it with his mediocre lip reading, he realized he was repeatedly saying his name.
“Minute?” Spoke managed to choke out the word, the muscles in his throat uncomfortably tight and his tongue basically a popsicle.
“Spoke,” Minute’s voice was dull to his ears, and the initial words were followed by a bombardment of questions that he didn’t even bother trying to decipher.
“You’re really warm,” Spoke attempted to get away from Minute again, trying to say more but his throat refused to comply.
Minute’s brow creased. “No, no I’m not, Spoke.” He frowned, letting go of his face to look at his arm. “What happened to you?” his voice was barely a whisper this time, it was a miracle Spoke’s frost-bitten ears even caught it.
“Wolf.” he practically slurred, his mind was mush and he felt like he was seeing through another player's eyes, speaking from a different man’s mouth. For everything he willed his brain to do it only complied the opposite.
Minute’s brow raised and he looked from the blood on Spoke’s face and mouth to the canine bite marks deep in his arm with concern.
Spoke could almost swear he saw the wolf again behind Minute, creeping in the midnight shadows and eyeing him with hatred. “See?” his voice upturned as if it was a question. “It’s there—it’s behind you…You see it right?” his tone quickened. Minute had to believe him. He didn’t even know why he was so frenzied, but anxiety was forcing his brain hysterical.
“Spoke…” Minute reluctantly looked behind him, but simply shook his head. He must’ve said something else, but Spoke’s mind was too loud to hear it.
“Minute please,” He could feel tears running unwillingly out of his eyes, soothing the stinging. “Minute?” Desperation crawled into his voice. He reached out and clung both hands to Minute’s jacket, like a needy toddler, as if he could disappear at any time.
Minute awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, lifting himself and Spoke in turn to a stand. Spoke’s vision swam, and he almost fell over multiple times had it not been for Minute standing there. After long attempts that felt like hours of Spoke stumbling and falling into the snow, delirious from blood loss, Minute just resorted to carrying him.
Minute was walking slowly. Spoke hugged himself close to his chest, shivering more violently now from his sobs, though he forced himself to not vocalize them. “Minute, do you believe me?” he muttered, looking up at him with a trembling jaw.
The man didn’t react for a few painful moments, then slowly shook his head. “Wolfs can’t spawn in that forest, Spoke; and there was definitely none behind me.”
Spoke’s mouth downturned into a shaking frown. He looked like a pathetic puppy, and was obviously not in the right headspace.
Minute took a deep breath before hesitantly continuing. “…Spoke. Your own blood is on your teeth.”
Huh? Spoke’s jaw fell open, and he got a sickly reminder of the iron-like taste on his lip just to hammer it in. “I-“ His breath started to quicken for some reason. “Do you- Min- I…what?” The last word was tiny and quiet, like all the fight drained out of him at once. Did he really think that?
He tried to squirm out of Minute’s hold, but Minute just held him tighter. Spoke had the overwhelming sense of being trapped.
“Maybe you were hallucinating, Spoke, I don’t know.” he let out an exasperated sigh. “The cold can do things much worse than any other punishment.”
“But- I killed it!…my sword!” he realized. “It’s- it’s blood is on my sword,” he insisted to his ever more doubtful savior. “I saw the death message Minute,” he was practically pleading for Minute to believe him. “Why don’t you trust me?” his voice cracked.
Silence.
“Minute you- you know me! I wouldn’t do that.” His wet eyes glistened. “You know me.” he repeated, quieter.
“Do I?”
The words hit Spoke immediately, and he went still. “Don’t you?” he had the same low volume, but there was more hurt insulated behind it. He tried to escape again, but his body refused to respond and he was forced to lay there uselessly.
Minute didn’t need to say the fact that if he killed the wolf he wouldn't have seen it earlier, or everything that Spoke had done since he basically betrayed Minute in the end.
The thought struck him. “Why aren’t you in the end…?”
“The law happened.” Minute kept himself formal and almost reserved, though worry had the decency to peak through his facade.
You wouldn’t expect the worst feeling of betrayal and loneliness to come from someone you had already abandoned. And Spoke had abandoned Minute a number of times at this point.
They both remained dead silent, the only noise Minute’s footsteps on the snow as he navigated the forest, the view was almost serene. He stopped at a gradual hill, stone exposed on a stunted cave.
“Are you warm enough to walk?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Minute just shrugged and placed Spoke upright on the snow beside him keeping a steadying hand on his arm.
Spoke promptly moved away from Minute, shaking his arm free, even though he could barely walk in a straight line.
“I found Mapicc and Zam earlier and brought them here. They told me that you got lost.”
Spoke stiffened. “You took Mapicc?” he could barely hide fury from leeching into his voice.
“No. I found them half dead next to a poorly lit fire and brought them to safety.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Mapicc was basically an ice cube since he gave Zam his sweater to stay warm.”
Spoke’s eyes widened. He didn’t really realize that Mapicc actually cared about Zam to some degree.
“I doubt you care about Zam.” Minute said bluntly, he must’ve seen Spoke’s confused expression.
“I broke him out of jail.” Spoke felt the need to justify the fact that he somewhat cared about Zam, but he really only broke him out to get Wemmbu.
“I heard.”
From Minute’s dry remark, Spoke could tell he knew his actual motive for breaking Zam out.
“Let's just go.” Spoke said, partly to end the conversation and so he didn’t faint from his disturbing lack of blood.
Minute chiseled six blocks into the wall with a Silk Touch pickaxe, stepping aside in a new opening to allow Spoke to walk in before blocking it back up.
The interior was more put together than Spoke had realized, Minute must’ve been hiding out here prior to the snow. They descended cobblestone stairs for a decent amount of time, Spoke gripped the smooth wall so he wouldn’t fall over. The hole was semi shallow, stopping just at deep slate and evening out into a room.
It was homier than most bases he had seen, while remaining practical from all the resources Minute seemed to have saved from the end. Mapicc and Zam sat near a small makeshift fireplace, each with their own pile of blankets.
Mapicc looked up in surprise, Zam was passed out, either from being tired or defrosting, Spoke wasn’t sure.
“Spoke?” He blinked, teeth still chattering as he placed down a steaming mug of tea. Spoke noticed that Zam still had his sweater.
He practically ran over and fell on top of Mapicc, shakily hugging him.
“Missed you too.” Mapicc paused, holding Spoke slightly away from him by the arms. “Why are you bone cold and covered in blood…?” His brows creased together and he snatched a glance at Minute, who was actively looking around for medical supplies.
“I got attacked by some dead player's dog.” He didn’t add how he’d practically accepted his death after that point.
Mapicc simply nodded.
“Why is Zam wearing your hoodie?”
“His totem popped. Turns out his frilly blouse doesn’t keep warmth that well.” he snorted. “It’s fine. I’m probably more used to snow than him.”
Spoke nodded; at least Minute didn’t lie to him. He could feel the distant warmth of the fire finally reaching him.
He noticed Mapicc staring at his face, a curious confusion in his eyes.
Spoke tightly grabbed one of the blankets, as if he might disappear. “What?”
“Dude, why are your teeth covered in blood?” He looked from Spoke’s canines to the bite mark in his arm, transfixed.
Spoke noticed Minute’s head turn casually through his peripheral, watching his response. “I passed out on my arm. I was uh, bleeding a lot.” Spoke laughed uncomfortably, making little spirals with his finger on the floor.
Mapicc nodded, looking away. Minute had the decency to interrupt the exchange. “You probably need to get cleaned up, Spoke. Come over here.”
Spoke glanced from Minute to Mapicc, not sure which was the better option at the moment. He eventually willed himself to get up because he’d need to wash all the blood off soon enough.
Minute nodded, handing him a small mug of hot chocolate and walking to a room offshoot to the side with the assumption he’d follow. There were numerous farms, and the air was quite humid and dank, like a greenhouse. Lanterns flickered from the ceiling and crops blanketed a decent area to the side.
Minute sat down on a bench, handing him a towel, damp with warm water, to start scrubbing blood off himself.
Spoke sighed, he knew there were only slim reasons that Minute didn’t just give it to him in the room prior.
“You should probably take off your wet clothes.” Minute paused as Spoke complied. “Is that what actually happened, Spoke?”
“You think I’m lying.” Spoke said bitterly, turning away from him and gently wiping his arms.
Minute seemed unfazed. “I don’t think you’re lying, I think you were delirious and not thinking straight.”
“That still means you think I’m lying.” He grit his teeth to refrain from raising his voice.
“Spoke.” Minute grabbed his arm to bandage it before he couldn’t. Spoke barely let him.
“Yes! Yes, that’s ‘what actually happened,’ Minute. I was zoned out and the wolf was friendly at first and it even curled next to me. I could feel it—it was warm and it made noises and it bit me when I was too tired to pay attention so I killed it, okay?!” Spoke burst out, his heart hammering in his chest for some reason. He took deep breaths, staring at Minute with indignant fury.
“Okay. I believe you saw that, Spoke, but do you really know that's what happened?”
Spoke gaped at him, why was Minute so pressed about this in the first place? “Yes, I do know, Minute. Is it that hard to believe me?”
“Spoke,” Minute seemed, for once, genuinely concerned, but it didn’t stop Spoke from seeing it as a baseless accusation. “You were actively hallucinating when I found you, you were, and still are, covered in your own blood, with your face in your arms. Hallucinations can feel very real, especially cold induced ones.”
“I felt it.” Spoke felt like he was being gaslit out of his own experience. “Why do I even need you to believe me?” he realized and began to laugh a little, staring wide eyed at Minute. “Why do you even want to know?” He could feel an almost hysterical cackle building in his throat.
He grimaced as he sipped the hot chocolate to ground himself, more shivers engulfing him as his body registered more warmth. He felt almost calmer now, though he wasn’t anywhere near still.
Minute sighed, he must’ve realized he wasn’t going to get anything but the same story from Spoke. Because it was the only story. “Just get cleaned up, okay? I’ll stay out of your hair.”
“Don’t go near Mapicc.” Spoke added with a scowl as Minute was leaving; mind as well take advantage of him giving in.
“Yeah, besides giving him food and necessary care, or if he asks specifically to talk to me.” Minute said dryly, walking out.
By the time Spoke was properly cleaned up and dry, he’d regained some composure along with being mildly recovered. He was lucky for the totem pop, considering the options, as its healing properties had accelerated his recovery.
Spoke nearly lost all of that new composure when he walked out and Mapicc and Minute were talking in hushed tones. Zam was awake and Mapicc had gotten his sweater back, in exchange for an extra blanket. He was hunched over sketching some sort of building on a sheet of paper, looking up and adding something to the conversation every once in a while.
Spoke walked over, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor. No one noticed him, and Minute clearly didn’t. Spoke leaned over Zam’s curled form to look at the sketch. It was some sort of street, the colors blocked in by a limited palette of kids crayons.
“Is that your empire?” He asked after squinting at it for a few moments.
Zam looked up, startled. Spoke noticed he was still shivering. “Oh, hi Spoke. Uhm,” Spoke wondered if Zam had been told he was here. “I guess, yeah. I don’t really remember the streets anymore.” His grip tightened on the paper.
Spoke feigned an interested nod, noticing Minute glance up at him in his peripheral and walk away. “Sorry about blowing it up a while ago.” He lightly patted one of Zam’s quaking shoulders in mock comfort. Walking around him, he sat on the other side of Mapicc, where a new pile of blankets was formed closest to the fire.
“It was mostly Wemmbu anyway.” Zam muttered with reserved bitterness.
“Are you good?” Mapicc arched a brow in Spoke’s direction.
Zam seemed confused at the comment, but Spoke paid him no mind. “I am now.”
Mapicc leaned over, grabbing Spoke’s jaw and prying open his mouth like one would for a dog with a stolen sock. He blinked slowly at him, and Mapicc let go; seemingly satisfied.
“What was that for?” Spoke rubbed his jaw.
“I was making sure you cleaned your teeth.” he paused, a smile playing on his lips. “It was about time, your breath was starting to get bad—“
“Okaaay.” Spoke interrupted, smirking in spite of himself.
“Realy bro, I almost went all the way to the markets just to get you colgate.”
“And risked our location? I thought you knew the law had a monopoly on toothpaste…” Spoke played along, snickering.
Mapicc wallowed dramatically. “Woe is me.”
They bickered back and forth like this until Spoke was too tired to continue talking. He sighed with contentment, leaning over into Mapicc’s side with both of them individually wrapped in as many blankets as they could get their hands on. Minute had offered them food earlier, and Spoke promptly refused the offer, even when hunger gnawed at his insides while he watched Mapicc eat.
Mapicc seemed a little surprised by the gesture, but patted his shoulder, his hand not quite the proper body temperature. Spoke could feel himself sinking into the unbothered warmth, even as unease stayed ever so consistent in the back of his mind. He knew he should never fully relax, though, after everything, it was hard not to. He lacked the willingness to force himself back awake, but why should he? If he knew Minute any more than the man knew him, then this place was almost indiscoverable.
The only thing that convinced him to the lull of exhaustion was the steady drum of Mapicc’s heartbeat. He slept calmly that way for a good few hours, blinking in and out of sleep and unbothered by the usual nightmares.
He could’ve slept for hours more like this, had it not been for the level rhythm that kept him asleep going dead silent.