Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sitting on the bridge connecting his and Grian’s bases together, watching the sunset is something that Mumbo always finds awe in, watching the colours of the day fade away to burning oranges as the sun bids its farewell for the day - and it always comes back around at a similar time in the morning every day. He would know, he doesn’t sleep, and those moments between him, the sun, and the moon he watches grow closer with each passing day both feel as comforting as it used to and yet it makes his fake heart - his power bank - thrum quicker whenever he watches it.

He believes he’s imagining it though, and tries to pretend it doesn’t make his mind race with more and more plans trying to stop it again . It’s not the first time he’d tried stopping the moon, not with the command swirling in the back of his mind - it’s like a car crash in the way that you don’t want to see it, but you can’t do anything but look - that made him eager to complete it: fixing the moon's orbit. The command is simple, really, it was originally made as a feature able to issue, well, commands, in case of safety emergencies, repairs, or tests; tasks that weren't open ended were the easiest to follow, because they were simple. Tasks that required you to fix the moon slowly travelling closer towards you weren’t as easy.

Mumbo knows it from experience, from defeat. He knows it from exhausted laughter as his first missile failed, soaking in defeat as the rest of the group kept being bested by mobs because of the lack of lighting through the area close to Impulse’s base. 

Speaking of the rest of them, Mumbo tunes back into the conversation of the other members, his friends - family. 

“This moon is going to kill us, we’re going to die.” Scar mumbles mournfully from Mumbo’s left as the sun sets and the moon already begins to rise; there’s a worried frown on his face and exhaustion etched into his features - a crease to his eyebrows, the bags under his eyes. He never actually ended up skipping sleep like Grian and Impulse attempted to, and yet he looks as if he’d been a part of the Mooners’ for the same reason they all had been, bar Pearl of course.

Grian shrugs from Mumbo’s right, his wings - olive-green with scarlet underwings and faded gradients with starred speckles - spread wide as if to seemingly hold the group as close as they can be, a safety blanket. There’s a wicked grin on his face as he says, “maybe it's just coming to say hello, maybe it's the next season coming to us. ” Mumbo watches on, capturing this moment in his memory as Grian, despite the deep bags under his eyes and the obvious tension in his wings as he tries to hold them as close as possible, laughs at Scar who groans and hides his face in his hands whilst Impulse laughs fondly and shakes his head, sympathetically patting Scar’s shoulder from beside him. 

“I really thought killing Bdubs would do the trick!” Scar cries, hands moving with their usual gestures as they normally did when he got onto a topic, "He stole the baby moon!” It’s moments like this that Mumbo cherishes, being able to have these simple, soft moments in between the harsh reality of it all. 

Pearl, from her place to the right of Grian, chuckles at the scene she's witnessing, “I would definitely be the best at the next season if we’re really on the moon.” She’s confident in herself, nudging Grian’s side and hardly shocked as Grian nudges her back before the two begin bickering - her moth wings, similar to that of an lotaphora admirabilis with the light blue with stripes of yellow, flutter slightly from behind her. She’s probably the one that’s had the most self care in the last few weeks, there are no bags under her eyes or an obvious layer of exhaustion, but it’s obvious that they’re all feeling the weight of the moon getting closer.

“That’s just because ‘ moon ’ is in your name!” Impulse calls out as if it’s the least obvious thing in the world; his own features seem calmer, despite the fact that being apart of a group , so to speak, that made his sleep schedule non-existent - it’s obvious that he’d only started properly sleeping again too, the purple under his eyes slowly but surely beginning to fade. “Even then, how do you be the best? ” 

“Get good.” Mumbo says simply, shrugging his shoulders, and Grian bursts into a fit of laughter. Mumbo feels fine, because he doesn’t need sleep - being apart of the Mooners’ was fun since he was able to spend those few more hours with his friends, but watching phantoms continue coming after them as weeks passed was something incredibly upsetting for him; he didn’t like that they were all being injured and chased for it - even though hearing about Impulse’s phantom zoo of sorts- or whatever his friend had called it - was definitely amusing.

Grian’s laughter dies down eventually, “you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mr Jumbolio.” 

“You’d know all about doors , then.” Mumbo answers casually, his laughter hard to contain as Scar points over towards Grian and all but shouts “I knew it was you!”  Which makes the group of five laugh harder. “Hang on, hang on,” Mumbo suddenly says again, choking on his own laughter and wiping tears from his eyes, “Pearl, how would you be the best hermit if you don’t know how to build a proper door into your starter base?”

All hell breaks loose.

“You- you know how to use the door!” Pearl argues, “It’s not even that hard - a zombie could open it better than all of you combined!”

The moon continues rising, their conversations eventually have a lull of silence - there is an unspoken agreement that settles over the five of them as they watch; the moon is probably bigger than it had been last night, but you can never really tell, not with how small the difference would be. Words are unsaid, the seriousness of the situation they find themselves in - it weighs down heavily, soaks itself to the air that their lungs need.

The quietness isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s drowned by that looming dread as the moon continues its foreboding rise into the sky above them. Pearl rises first, standing up from where she sits from besides Grian and stretching. “Well, I don’t know about that moon,” she says as she stretches her arms and yawns, “but this moon is going to bed - please at least try to do the same.” Pearl is answered with multiple farewells at the same time, and a smile graces her features as she takes her leave with a leap of faith and her wings to keep her flying towards her starter base.

Four members of Boatem sit along Mumbo’s bridge that connects to Grian’s base and Scar’s mountains, and the moon does not stop rising higher. The thoughts swirling in Mumbo’s wired mind are overwhelming, and yet they are something he’s grown used to; in the beginning the command wasn’t anything bad - it was an agreement of sorts, but not entirely, an open-ended conversation where Mumbo has the chance to stop the moon from doing.. Whatever it is that's happening. Scar’s words of earlier dread ring in his head, and Mumbo knows he doesn’t have the chance to miss a second time.

He can’t miss it, he needs this one to hit, because he does not want to lose these people that he cares so much about; it doesn’t take any second thought for him to decide on this, and he realises - with his power whirring in his core - that he has exactly what he needs. It’s just in him. 

Scar’s hand lands on Mumbo’s shoulder as the vex-hybrid stands, his cane in his left hand to keep himself steady; Mumbo’s used to it, any member of Boatem is, and there’s no complaint as the man helps himself up. Mumbo blinks a few times to keep himself out of his head, looking towards Scar as the man has a small, thankful smile on his face and he offers one of his own - he must've missed Scar mention leaving; Impulse, too, as the man also stands. Both of them leave together, moving along the bridge and down the pathways that would take them off the mountain - Mumbo can hear the conversation about Scar’s rocket fading.

Grian sighs softly from beside him, and he watches as the other leans back against the bridge, seeming to be lost in thought before he says, simply, “moons big.” It's a thing that's normal for them now - making light of the topic in the only way they knew how.

“Nah,” Mumbo says, a hint of sarcasm to his tone, “I think it’s smaller, mate. Lag and all that.” Grian’s laughter is a relief from the decision hanging heavy on his shoulders. “I think I know how to fix the missile, actually,” Grian looks to him, seemingly perking up with interest, “I’d explain it, but you’re too much of a spoon to understand it.” Mumbo finishes with a grin on his face as Grian squawks with a moment of anger before complaining.

“Redstone is hard, Mumbo!” Grian shouts, his wings a dead giveaway for his small embarrassment at the truth. “Just you wait until I get my hands on your machines, Mr Jumbolio - you won’t be so cool then, you spoon.” 

Mumbo laughs again, and it’s nice to have these he knows he will cherish. “How can I be the spoon if you’re the one messing everything up? Thats- thats just wrong, Grian. Would you really do that to me?”

There is not a second of hesitation when Grian stares him in the eyes, face blank, as he says, “Yes.” Though his expression doesn’t last long before they’re both laughing again.

Once again there is a comfortable silence, it’s comfortable in the way that there aren’t words that need to be said, but the company of another person says enough. It’s these moments in between the stress of it all that Mumbo knows he will cherish for as long as his power core keeps thrumming - just like a heart would keep beating… Though, thinking about it, it is a server with respawns, so maybe he might not have to worry about that. What Mumbo does know is that he is willing to give so much of himself up to make this work, to keep these people he cherishes safe.

It might be the command, it might be just his own thoughts - it’s hard to tell these days.

The moon is big, getting closer - that's true. Another truth is that Mumbo will not let these people he loves dearly be in harm's way.

Eventually, Grian leaves too, his wings flaring - the moon shines bright upon the feathers, and Mumbo watches in awe as his friend takes off with a wave and a promise to bother him more the next day; to make up for the time lost with his sleep schedule.

Mumbo waits for the moment he believes Grian makes his way into his starter base, and his own mechanical elytra - made by Iskall, mostly painted black by Impulse with speckles of gold painted by Pearl and small amounts of oxidised and non-oxidised copper somehow added by Scar both look like stars; the bottom of the elytra is either stained with redstone or painted red by Grian - whirrs to life as he sets off towards where he’s building the new missile. 

It’s in the same area as the last one that had failed comedically, yet this time lit up better so he has less mobs coming for him; his lands are never as graceful as Grian’s or Pearl’s, but he lands on his feet steadily and stands in front of the object he’s still building. The missile sits innocently, as if it won't be something he uses to try and, quite literally, blow the moon away and out of its current journey towards their world.

He doesn’t forget what he thought of earlier, and Mumbo decides that this missile - to make sure it will succeed - will need the part more than him. Silently, slowly, Mumbo’s left hand reaches towards the right side of his neck, and-

There.

The area inside it isn’t large - it is his neck after all - but the thing he’s reaching for isn’t that big either: it’s on the smaller side, smaller than a communicator, but has a similar shape. The part helps with his own navigations, a gps of sorts; with a force that seems gentle in a way, Mumbo removes the part from himself.

Systems roar to live, ringing in his head as a warning sign.

Navigational System removed, do you wish to call for help?

Mumbo, of course, decides not to. This missile needs it, because that means he won’t miss his target.

What his friends know can’t hurt them.

He can complete this task.

—

It takes Mumbo longer than it should’ve to realise that removing his navigation system would actually have consequences. It’s the same as getting used to living without something and not realising you needed it once you did - which is exactly what's going on.

Not having any way of navigating is something he comes to realise - slowly but surely - is a problem that he can’t entirely hide.

Mumbo doesn’t realise he’s lost at first, but it’s those moments in between it all where he follows the paths beneath his feet and ends up at the Midnight Alley and not his own storage room. These moments take him by surprise. It’s like those moments when you check the same place for food and come back a few minutes later to nothing being different, except it is entirely different because it’s not actually your house at all and you don’t remember walking in; as if trusting your muscle memory, or, ‘the parts that make up his limbs’ memory’ in his perspective, wasn’t entirely trustworthy anymore.

The point is, Mumbo is lost in Boatem. 

Boatem, the very place he’s watched grow since the first day, is a place he’s roaming like he’s exploring another hermit’s base for the first time - as if he needs a tour of the home he founded with his friends.

He named the Boatem Pole, for goodness sake! How can he get lost in Boatem , of all places?

A huff of laughter leaves his lips - it’s less of a laugh and more an exhausted sigh, because it’s not easy feeling lost in your home; there’s a sense of eeriness to it, a strange dread that starts at confusion and ends up at fear. A home that you’re meant to know, to remember, being something that you don’t is horrifying in a way. Mumbo’s home, and yet it feels wrong. Fake. The laugh leaves his lips because it’s not lost on him, he understands. He’s lost in his home, how embarrassing is that?

“Better not stand too close to the edge there, Mumbo,” a voice calls from behind him, a hint of teasing in the tone, “you know what happens when we stand too close. It’s hard not to push you off right now.” The hint of chaos is so similar to Grian’s own voice at times, but Pearl’s voice is different - both with the accent and tone; hidden beneath the layers of her words, there’s a concern that seeps in. “Are you doing alright, though? You look a little lost, mate. Grian hasn’t called another meeting, has he?”

It’s not lost on him, the worry. Mumbo turns to face her, a faint, happy whirring buzzes from his core whilst a small smile forms on his face. What’s lost on him is himself - which is funny if you think about it; Pearl is something that’s familiar, that makes him feel that sense of calm in his moment of panic.

Mumbo doesn’t answer the first part of the question. “I don’t think he is, I haven’t heard any cryptic message from him.” The yet is left unsaid, and there’s a soft laughter shared between them as they both know it. 

He takes a step away from the Boatem Hole, closer to Pearl, and he notices that her thin wings shiver with a sense of relief. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Ah, there it is. Mumbo forgot she would’ve taken note that he didn’t answer the first time. The difference between herself and Grian is that Pearl can be straightforward in subjects Grian might dance around- though both of them show concern and care for the other members in small details.

“I’m alright,” It’s not entirely true, but not entirely a lie, “I just think everything after the Mooners thing was a bit draining for all of us, and I don’t even need sleep!” That’s truthful - but not the whole truth; because there is something weighing him down, and there has been for a long, long time. 

(He sits as the moon rises and his friends all leave for the night, and he watches the moon like it will say something. He worshipped it like that would stop it, and is not surprised when that failed - though his friends sure were.

He has been trying to fix this for so long, it’s becoming less of a want and more of an urge, a craving, something for his mind to focus on. He needs to do this like his redstone contraptions need power.) 

There’s little difficulty to see the way Pearl's small smile curves into a worried frown, a hint of realisation lighting up her eyes. “I forgot that you didn’t need to sleep. That’s.. The Mooners’ makes sense now. No wonder why you were so eager about it.” She almost sounds guilty, but they both know that there’s not really anything that can be done for it - he doesn’t need sleep and they need to, it’s just another small difference between them that makes him different.

“There’s nothing that could be done, really. It actually gives me more chances to work on my projects while I wait for you all to wake up,” It’s true, really, it gives him those moments of relief where he knows Grian won’t touch buttons or levers he’s not meant to. “I’ll talk with Impulse about it, maybe he could have a solution to it all.”

The thing is, Mumbo knows he wouldn’t. There is a thought that clouds his mind, that he cannot tell them what’s going on; he can’t mention the exhaustion, the way he feels lost in his own home and is terrified that he can’t remember the way from one place to another - as if everything’s been moved to the left yet hasn’t moved at all.

But Pearl believes the lie, and she looks content with their conversation before she takes off to work on something in her base. 

After she leaves, it’s then that the ‘ oh’ settles on top of him like a weighted blanket.

Mumbo only starts really realising why he’s getting lost when he can remember the way to the missile he’s building from the Boatem Hole; the only real reason he remembers where the Boatem Hole is, is because the rocket that Scar’s building sits right above it - and the rocket isn’t small in the slightest. It makes him feel like the biggest spoon - though he’d never say it to Grian, as that would cause questions - but as he remembers the way to the contraption, Mumbo does realise he is, in fact, a bumbling idiot  - just for a moment.

He put his navigation system in the missile, of course he’s going to get lost in the server; it gives him all the more reason to not leave Boatem, to finish the weapon even faster. 

 A thought comes to him, and it would probably be dizzying if he were human. Mumbo numbly realises that he doesn’t want to take risks: the last missile attempt was horrible at best and funny at its worst, and he knows he wants this one to work - to be as smooth sailing as possible and to take precautions. He doesn’t want something happening when the missile launches, doesn’t want anything to go wrong.

With the movements of someone that had done it time and time again, Mumbo removes his suit jacket and rolls up both sleeves of his white buttoned shirt, allowing the small panels on each of his forearms to be shown to the world around him. With slow movements, his right hand reaches for the compartment on his left, gently opening it up. That’s where the gentleness lasts, because he removes the filters that help his arms movement with less grace, and places it inside the missile amongst the multiple parts and growing pieces of himself. 

Filter System removed, do you wish to call for help?

His systems ring to life again, and as he did the first time, he denies it.

It’s easy to ignore it as it flares to life again, albeit harder to remove the part in his right arm after the same one is removed from his left arm; the harsh movements slowly settle in. Mumbo is less soft with his movements this time, using greater force to simply remove the part without hesitation from his other arm.

It’s for the greater good of all of them, he tells himself as he closes the missile up; he can find replacement parts eventually. His friends’ safety and survival is something he cannot make a mistake with. 

He forgets to put the suit jacket back on, he doesn’t realise it’s even missing when he goes back the next day.

—

The moon is closer than it had been on that day on the bridge, it’s probably been about a week since that day, and yet it’s clear that they’re closer to running out of time then they had been on that day. Mumbo stands by the missile, working on the smaller parts to make sure everything would work perfectly, and as he does so, he knows he’s not the only one feeling the pressure; not with the way a rocket sits above the Boatem Hole, looking mostly completed. It’s both awe-inspiring and allows more dread to sit heavily, choking him even though he doesn’t really need to breathe.  

Even though he knows Scar probably got a hand from Impulse to actually design it and work out the mechanics of the build - considering he remembers them talking about it as they left from their bridge hang-out - It strikes him as off in a way; it’s finished, if Scar’s messages to them late last night were truthful.

Except, and maybe Mumbo’s thinking about the mechanics of it too much, but how did Scar build a working rocket that quickly if Mumbo can’t even build a missile smaller than it in that time?

“Well hello there, Mumbo!” a cheerful voice calls from behind him, and speaking of the builder, there he is. Mumbo presses the opening of the missile’s panel shut with rigid movement from his arms and turns to see his friend moving towards him with a soft smile. Scar’s smile looks strained, he doesn’t mention it. “Fancy seeing you here,” it’s not, but Mumbo plays along. Scar moves closer on his wheelchair, Jellie sitting comfortably in his lap and nudging her owner’s chest gently as he locks his wheelchair in place once he deems himself a close enough distance to his friend. 

Mumbo’s known Scar long enough to know that this wasn’t a coincidence, knows the look in his eyes when he pushes himself too hard and suffers the consequences, knows that all Scar wants is a distraction. 

He agrees that the company is nice, and so he says, “fancy seeing you here too, mate.” Scar’s smile brightens as the builder scratches Jellie’s chin and chuckles as she continues nudging him to get more affection before gently biting his fingers and Mumbo feels himself copying the expression.

(Scar says “fancy seeing you here.” and he means “I have found my way to you when I cannot find anything else to do - I am looking for your company when I have no other means of distraction. You have known me for long enough to know that your company is comforting to me, even when I don’t have the energy to speak or go out of my way to find anyone else that isn’t a close travelling distance.”

Mumbo says “fancy seeing you here too, mate.” and it means “I know why you are here, we have done this dance before, but I am happy to have you in my company if it brings you an ounce of comfort. I have known you long enough that this moment is just another day for us, that this is okay, and that I enjoy these moments with you as much as you do, even if you are too tired to say that. I will grant you this respite, because it lets me have your company, too.”)

With an ease that’s not at all an ease with how his arms move with stricter movements, Mumbo reopens the compartment of the missile that houses all the parts that make it work. He’s thankful for Scar’s lack of understanding with the parts that help him move, because the other simply moves a bit closer and watches with a sense of comfort painting his features and awe shining in his eyes; it’s obvious that Scar has little idea about how any of it works.

It’s even more obvious when Scar continues watching in silence for a few moments - the quiet broken by the faint whirring of Mumbo’s power core and Jellie’s cries for attention - before he asks, “what are you trying to do? I mean- I know all about this, because I definitely built a very working rocket,” that’s a little worrying, only in a way Scar can make it be, “but uh-”

“You want me to explain what I’m doing?” Mumbo comes to the conclusion quickly, the underlying ‘ would you like me to drown out the silence?’ Is answered with Scar’s nod. “Sure, it’s actually quite simple.” Scar’s blank stare says everything his friend doesn’t and Mumbo huffs a laugh at the others reaction. “I’m just doing a check up on it, to see if all the parts are staying in place.” He adds as he goes back to working on the project with ease, passing his gaze over the pieces of himself he’s given up and other parts that weren’t. Jellie jumps off of Scar’s lap, rubbing up against his wheelchair for a few moments before Mumbo became the target of her attention, tripping him up a few times as she wondered between his legs and jumped onto the work bench, eager to throw a spanner in the work as she attempted to push most of Mumbo’s tools off of it.

She succeeded a few times.

Time passes easily like that, With Mumbo bumbling on about the missile and other future redstone projects and Scar adding comments and questions about how they would work, and the world doesn’t seem so bad in that moment; just them, talks of the future, and Jellie mrrp ’s without a care in the world after she’d decided to lay on the workbench and atop some of the other items that were placed there earlier in the day. 

Mumbo forgets, sometimes, how perceptive Scar is; he’s reminded of that fact when, throughout his time working, Scar keeps mentioning that he should give himself a break to give his arms a rest. Scar’s observant, he just doesn’t know what’s happening, and Mumbo isn’t going to be the one to tell him. But Scar must know more than he lets on, because it’s asked  in the smaller comments - taking a break, going to talk to other members, going to get something to eat. Mumbo feels sluggish in a way that is, quite literally, not humanly possible for him - he is not human , he should not feel these things. 

Mumbo knows the moment Scar gets tired of dancing around the topic. 

There’s no easy way of knowing how much time has passed, especially when he’s so focused on working on the small details of the missile's mechanics, but he knows enough time has passed that even Scar decides to point him out on it. “Look,” Scar sighs, “I know that you want to get this done, and I know   that we don't have time to pronast- prona-'' a moment of silence, Mumbo knows his friend is trying to get his words to work with him as best as he can - especially with the way his brows furrow and it’s obvious there’s a small hint of either embarrassment or frustration. “I’m not gonna say it right, but you know what word I mean. The pronasticrate one.” 

Mumbo lets Scar continue, it doesn’t feel right to call him out for the way his mind scrambles his words at the moment.

“ Please take a break Mumbo.” Honestly, he should’ve expected this. “I know I can’t stop you, but it's-” a meow, “Jellie, hang on-  I can’t sit here-'' Scar pauses again. “Well, I am, but you know what I mean!” 

“I can’t just watch this knowing you're forcing yourself to keep going - and yes, maybe it's hypocritical,” It is and they both know it: the moon is coming closer and they both know they don’t have time to work slowly on projects they have, especially considering that Scar seemed to have decided on dealing with the consequences of working until the rocket was finished. Jellie meows again, jumping off the workbench and slinking through Mumbo’s legs before jumping back onto Scar’s lap; he gently pets her without glancing at her. “I would prefer for you to keep your full Mumbo Jumbo movement.” Scar is asking him please don't work yourself into exhaustion, please look after yourself. Mumbo doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to speak yet, especially when the other continues with, “don’t make me tell Grian you're being a spoon- or spoon,” it’s a terrible attempt at their accent, “okay? Grian would not be a very happy pesky bird.”  

Scar speaks in a way that he sounds sure of himself by the end of it - despite the seriousness to his tone just moments before - the way he ends it with a small chuckle to himself as he looks at Jellie, which obviously must mean that she is getting attention and proceeds to yowl. Scar’s smile is soft. “Now, remember that, would you? An upset Grian is much more pesky than normal. I’m gonna go feed Jellie, and you better be away from this missile if I come back later.” A threat and a promise.

“Of course, Scar,” Mumbo answers, “I don’t think we need that pesky bird being any peskier, especially if he goes bird brain.” And Scar seems happy with the answer before he unlocks his wheels and bids his friend farewell before he leaves for his own base. Mumbo is thankful, because he never actually agreed to it.

What he does decide, however, is that he cannot let himself feel guilty if he remembers this moment. He cannot allow his friends' concern to stop him. They still don’t know and they don’t need to. Grian won’t need to know, either, if Mumbo doesn’t fully remember the conversation happening; the meaning behind it.

Mumbo decides that he can't let Scar’s words stick around; taking a break means losing more time, and he can’t let this human part of him get in the way of the command.

That’s all it takes for him to wait until he knows Scar is gone, before his face falls and lets out a breath. His power core hums, and it brings another comfort: he can get these parts back later, he can make them himself. 

With stiff movement from his right arm as he reaches up towards the right side of his head, Mumbo pushes his hair away from his forehead with his left hand, and fumbles at an attempt to find the opening to the compartment he's reaching for; eventually, with enough struggling with both being unable to see it and his arms' strict movements, he opens it. It’s harder to remove the part than it used to be, but eventually Mumbo gets it in his grip and pulls it from its place.

Processing System removed, do you wish to call for help?

For someone that isn’t meant to realistically feel tired, Mumbo sure is getting tired of seeing that message pop up in his vision.

Once again, Mumbo denies the help, rigid arms moving the part away from his face as he stares at the missile.

What’s one more part? 

That’s all it takes, really, before he picks up where he left off. Mumbo adds the part, feeling duller than he did earlier, but ignoring it as he secures the missile's processor in place - it’s no longer his; after he does, Mumbo finally allows himself a moment of respite as he places the tools onto the workbench beside him. 

He thinks about Scar’s words, and Mumbo closes the missile up before beginning to make his way back to his starter base; he has plans to work on, after all.

If he gets lost along the way, he tells his friends he’s just roaming.

—

Mumbo doesn’t remember why he and Impulse chose to sit at the base of Treeza, but he feels like bringing up that question would cause concern, and so he doesn’t. He’ll probably forget to ask about it, anyway. 

Above them, the moon always lingers, he shouldn’t be surprised that they’d all gotten used to the sense of doom that followed the days since they first realised it was getting closer - and he’s not. The only difference between the day and the night is the colours of the sky, because the moon is always there now. They knew that they’d get used to it eventually, it was just the idea of when that stayed unspoken.

When will they leave? When will they be safe? When will they feel safe? Will they ever survive?

It’s a lovely afternoon, in his honest opinion, as lovely as it can be with the state of the world they live in. In the distance, Scar and Grian are messing with Pearl’s doors of her starter base. He can hear Pearl’s frustration from inside, and then Grian shoots away with a flap of his wings as Scar steps back for a moment before deciding to run as Pearl sprints out of her home with a shout, the tycoon lets out a shriek of terror as he fumbles with a firework before he joins Grian in the sky and Pearl copies Grian’s action to bring herself off the ground.

It’s like they used slow-falling potions, because they really just float there. They’ve gotten used to the new gravity. 

He doesn’t understand why they can be living so carelessly when the moon could crash at any moment.

Something in Mumbo is missing, he realises- he knows exactly why that is; there is no laughter from his lips or a smile on his face as he watches them chase each other around in the sky. He wouldn't change what he’s done, because he knows the missile will work. 

From beside him Impulse lets out a chuckle, and Mumbo’s core flutters and whirrs in surprise. Right. Impulse has been beside him this whole time.

“I think I’ll miss this in a way,” Impulse says, content and smiling, “not the whole moon thing, but what we got from it. I’ll miss Boatem.” I’ll miss this group and our shenanigans - the little moments that I know we will all cherish. Mumbo hums and nods in agreement, because although his memory is a little fuzzy lately and he’s getting lost in the meaning of things, he still does understand.

He does not know how long it will last, though.

“I will, too.” Mumbo answers with instead, because he can never find the words to say I will give myself up for you all, I will tear myself apart and make sure we all survive - it is a command I am following and the remaining humanity I have left to be able to love you all in the way I know I can. “I like Boatem. I’ll miss it” He says simply - his voice sounds, well, robotic in a way - not much emotion to the words, and he feels like it’s season seven and he is the robot he built with Grian; simple, small sentences being the only thing that can be put out. Grumbot, he remembers. He doesn’t remember who named it that.

Impulse, just as Mumbo had before, hums in affirmation - either he ignores it out of kindness or simply doesn’t realise as he watches the others. What Impulse does do is that he moves a little closer, and suddenly an arm is slung over Mumbo’s shoulders; it’s a comfortable familiar weight, and Mumbo knows he’s been lying to his friends recently, but he was not lying when he said he would miss it.

“Remember when Scar talked to us about his waxing business after you showed him Wonderwall? Or, around that time?” His friend asks with a softer tone, one saved for cherished memories and soft smiles. Mumbo wants to agree to it all, but lately his memories are giving up on him and the words Impulse speaks seem like a world away and a fuzzy dream at most.

“Of course I remember showing him my wall of wonder.” Mumbo says simply, robotically, barely answering the question at all, with a dismissive wave of his hand, though it looks less like waving the worry off with how the movement looks less like a wave and more like an animation that's missing a few frames of the gesture. Impulse seems to zero in on the movement, and faintly Mumbo thinks he feels dread.

“And you would remember to come to me if something was wrong with any parts?” He asks easily, a smile on his face that seems a little strained. “I know you can do it yourself, but you actually haven’t had me do a check up recently-”

“Oh, that! I’ve been able to do those myself - unlike Scar and Grian, I know what to do.” Mumbo answers quickly, and the way Impulse frowns makes him a bit confused; he’s simply stating facts, telling the others what he’s been able to analyse. Out of all the Boatem members, he and Impulse are the ones that have the most understanding with it - it’s similar to redstone in a way; working with technology.

The moment of silence speaks volumes before Impulse nods with a somewhat awkward sounding and drawn-out, “right.. yeah, that makes sense.” There’s more to it. In the distance in the sky above them, Pearl crash tackles Grian and their laughter echoes. 

“I did actually take a look at it the other..” oh god how long ago was it, “day. The other day.” Mumbo adds, and it’s not entirely a lie. I checked to see what other pieces I could remove from myself to stop the moon - it feels like this isn’t even something I can control anymore, it is all I know. “Made sure everything was up to… code and all that.” Impulse couldn’t look more suspicious at Mumbo’s wording.

“Now that I think about it,” he shifts his position slightly, sitting up more than he had been against the base of Treeza, and Impulse moves with him. His friend's arm stays wrapped around his shoulders. Mumbo definitely hadn’t just started thinking about it, but Impulse didn’t need to know that. “What else would be good to add to the new missile?” It’s an innocent question, and Impulse is none the wiser to the truth.

Impulse’s head tilts back against the wood they sit against, humming in thought with a furrow to his brow that tells Mumbo he’s thinking about it - laying out his thoughts in his mind before they settle on the tip of his tongue and he can say them with ease. Impulse is good like that - though they all are - he’s a lot like Mumbo in a way, able to construct ideas of redstone in his head in a small thought before detailing them more on paper. “Well, it is a missile, right? Would you be able to fit an end crystal in it? Since it is like- a giant missile aiming at the moon?” Impulse asks, a laughter shaking his shoulders. “We used those end crystals for pranks in Boatem, surely you’d have some more. Maybe it could work.”

“Huh.” Mumbo hums both nonchalantly and as if he’s just heard the best thing in the world. “That’s- That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Impulse grins beside him so hard it looks like it hurts, but then there’s a look of loss and realisation on his face.

“Aw man,” he mumbles, “I could’ve recorded that like I have the one of Etho saying I’m a redstone genius.” He mourns, and it brings a small laughter from Mumbo, and there’s a faint happy whirring beeping from his chest. 

As quickly as the moment between them starts, it ends. 

After silence lasts between them for a moment, Mumbo rises to his feet, dusting dirt off his clothes and pointing in the direction he hopes leads to the missile. “Before I forget about it, I’m going to do just that.” He states simply, as if it's not as bad as it actually is. Because Mumbo will forget, if not in a few minutes than in a few hours. 

Impulse’s expression shifts for a moment, and Mumbo doesn’t get a chance to read what the look in his friend's eyes says before the look is gone and he's smiling again. “Don’t cause too much lag, Mr Jumbo.” His friend teases lightly, and Mumbo feels like he’s short circuiting when the moment falls to silence and the comment flies right over his head.

“I can’t identify any lag that wasn’t already here because of what we’ve built around Boatem.” He states, and something feels like it’s missing.

It worsens when Impulse’s smile is wiped clean off his face, that look from earlier immediately back when he says, “Mumbo, you started that joke- are you sure everything’s okay? I can do a checkup, just to make sure.” 

That sparks something overwhelming, Mumbo thinks his core whirs faster. 

He needs to leave now.

“I'm positive it’s fine.” He affirms, robotically and firmly. “Bye now, Impulse. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mumbo adds on, turning away quickly. He doesn’t wait for Impulse’s response before he’s leaving - going to the small building beside Treeza and finding a few leftover end crystals from his time selling them and even some sticks of tnt before he makes his real escape to the missile. 

The look on Impulse’s face does not haunt him.

(It does.)

Between one moment of his vision turning into a static-like blur and the next, he stands by the missile again. Considering its size being exactly like the original, it won’t be that hard to possibly fit the end crystal inside it - and a few sticks of tnt, if he were lucky. 

Opening up the panels of the missile is a muscle memory, no matter how much his arms lock up and are rigid in their movements. Picking up the tools to place the parts in is the same, and he vaguely remembers how Scar’s cat… Jellie, that was her name - still remembers how Jellie was happy to laze on the workbench. 

It’s a bit of effort to place two crystals in, setting them above a piece of obsidian so it would be activated; there’s no point using a missile for something if it won’t be fully ready at all times. Thankfully, it just fits inside, and he can only add about five or so before he decides to leave it at that.

After he finishes, he closes up the panel and lets his tools fall back onto the table.

It’s relieving that his mind wouldn't be screaming at him this time, the silence is welcome. 

—

It feels like he’s breaking rules he set for himself, sitting with Grian in the avian’s observatory on the mountain. It feels like breaking rules not only because Grian isn’t sleeping as the night goes on, for one, but also because the longer he sits here with one of his best friends, the more that the truth wants to make itself known. 

Pearl would probably kill them in the morning if the looming moon didn’t crash before that; though Mumbo muses that they would both be classed as death by moon. At least he knew one of them would allow a respawn. He isn’t so sure they will at the end of the world.

Unsurprisingly, there had been a small nest built here from Grian’s time not sleeping when he was a part of the mooners, and it was through whispered words that his friend admitted that he never got rid of it - that sometimes he just needed to be there, to check. That’s where they sit now, on top of soft blankets and belongings that weren’t worn from other Boatem members. They won’t miss it if they don’t wear it , Grian had told him with a wicked grin; Mumbo thought he was losing it more than he already was when he couldn’t find his suit jacket anymore. 

It feels like breaking rules, because as Grian sits in front of him - conducting a check-up of sorts on his outer…shell? Body? Whatever you could call it, that would exclude his inner-parts. Just because Mumbo is the one that’s the robot, doesn’t mean he knows the name of everything that keeps him going. 

That’s Impulse’s job - though, Mumbo really hasn’t actually gone to Impulse for a while. He found it good that Grian didn’t know how the inner parts worked and what they did, because it gave him a reason for Grian to not look at what still remained that kept him working.

(Grian had said once, when this season was very early on and the group had taken a moment to discuss it - before he went and took on the dragon himself - that he had absolutely no idea how to do check-ups on Mumbo. It was their thing ever since Grian joined. He never quite understood it, because it was basically like redstone - they normally just asked Iskall. 

“Just like the back of my builds,” Grian said to all of them - sitting around the Boatem hole before the void was there, “I have no idea how to conduct ‘inspections’ and ‘repairs’ and whatever. But I would like to be able to help in some way. I always do. Though it's less knowing what I’m doing and more just guessing.”

Scar had laughed, because he’d been there to see it happen in season seven. Impulse had taken immediate responsibility because he ‘didn’t trust Grian around things that can be pressed’, and Pearl - fresh to the world and most of the people in it - had been incredibly interested in learning more.)

“Scar told me about your arms the other day,” Grian mentions not at all subtly as he frowns, his wings shifting and somewhat tensing behind him in an obvious expression of worry, fear, concern as he reached for his friends arms and moved them; they moved rigidly as they always had recently. “You did tell Impulse, right? You told Scar you were going to.”

Something akin to guilt fills Mumbo’s mind, but he smiles and nods anyway. “Of course I did, Grian.” Mumbo lies anyway; if he believes it enough then everything should be fine. “We just don’t have the parts to fix it up yet. Neither of us want to go far from Boatem either, not with the way the world is going right now.” It’s a lie, all his words have been lies lately, but seeing Grian’s wings spread out slightly and untense that tiny bit made it all the better.

“Good. Okay. That…” Grian pauses for a moment, he takes a relieved breath. “That makes sense, I’m sorry that this is happening - that we can’t fix it for you.” There is a look in his eyes, a sense of sincerity with a small smile on his face as he shifts to sit on Mumbo’s right and wrap his left wing around his friends shoulders; it’s an arm and it’s a blanket. It’s nice. 

This feels like breaking his own set of rules, because Mumbo told himself he wouldn’t say anything about it - wouldn’t let anyone check on him - and yet he finds himself going to Grian more and more with the same excuse on the tip of his tongue.  He can do all these check-ups himself, and yet there is a comfort of having Grian do it, of having his friend there with him. He misses Grian, misses all his friends, and yet he would rather suffer silently as the urge to complete the command stops every other thought he has instead of working on the missile. 

He would rather be with the people he considers to be his home, and that missile is his way of saving them.

“It’s not your fault, Grian.” And it isn’t. Mumbo did this all to himself, he knew what he was doing. “We can fix it soon, I’m not too worried about it.” He’s not, because he knows exactly where those missing pieces are. He’s not worried because he is used to the way it is now; there is no problem.

The avian huffs quietly, his wing wrapping itself tighter around Mumbo. “I know,” he sighs with a sense of frustration, “it just sucks that we can’t do much to help you, lately.” The words stick to him like glue, and Mumbo wants to remember these words, wants to remember the way it makes him feel at home - as if the world won’t end.

Mumbo shakes the thought away with an ease he shouldn’t have, distracting himself by staring at the wing that encompasses him with a small frown. “You haven’t preened in a while, have you?” He asks it with the same tone Grian had spoken in earlier when he’d mentioned his arms. It’s the tone of not exactly disappointed but not exactly anger, either. It’s the huff as he notices Grian shift and tense when realises he’s being called out. 

He doesn’t even need an answer, because he knows. It’s obvious in the way his friends' olive-green, star speckled wings - with the scarlet underwings that Mumbo once made a comment about how they looked like he’d smothered them in redstone -  tense up. Grian doesn’t give a response. Mumbo sighs. “You’re a spoon,” he doesn’t remember why they started it, but it sounds like the right thing to say - he guesses. He thinks they’ve done this song and dance before.

Grian sits in front of him, wings flaring out, and Mumbo forgets about his rigid arms; his hands haven’t even touched the feathers yet. Grian warbles frustratedly. “If you don’t stop thinking and start already, I’ll tell Scar you lied to him.” He threatens with a chirp afterwards. 

“I’m sorry?” It sets him off immediately, because he didn’t tell anyone that he didn’t see Impulse. He can’t remember doing that.

“ Relax, dude,” Grian complains, his wings shuddering at an attempt for Mumbo to start preening his wings, already. “You forget I know you too, you spoon. I’ve known you for long enough to know when you’re lying.” Mumbo’s tense hands meet his feathers, and Grian melts a bit at the touch as he works slowly through removing the dirt and dust from his wings while straightening feathers and removing broken ones. Grian chirps again. “I’m not gonna call you out on it, especially since you’ve been like… off lately. But I just want you to know that.. We really do worry about you, Mumbo… It’s why I waited to ask you to help me with preening in the first place. I wanted you to feel safe enough to come to me first.”

It is, all in all, a can of worms Mumbo did not think would ever be discovered or opened; but of course it would be Grian that called him out. 

Silence stretches like Grian’s wings do as Mumbo continues his latest attempt at preening them with the janky movement of his arms. “Sorry.. Just.. I’ve wanted to say it for a bit.” Grian says into the quiet space of the observatory, staring at the glass ceiling above them. “The moon’s still getting closer..” he mumbles and Mumbo feels the panic of listening to the command all over again before the avian sighs and shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. But anyway,” another warble as Mumbo continues, “I just wanted you to know that I know you- we all do. It’s just difficult to see you so.. distant, I guess..”

There is another pause in talking, and there is a rule that is broken.

“I don’t think I’m doing enough to stop the moon.” Mumbo admits weakly, hands stopping in the feathers. It feels like the truest thing he’s said in days; his tone sounds awfully human.

Grian chitters worriedly, “what do you mean?” It’s a simple question asked gently, an attempt to get more of an explanation. It works, for the most part.

“I just- I don’t think I’m doing enough for it to work this time. I’m meant to be fixing the problem and yet the last missile failed, too.” It’s already too much information, and he knows it. He knows Grian is trying to get more out of him, but his dawning realisation and panic makes him grip and pull on Grian’s feathers. The avian lets out a distinctly stressed call at it. “Sorry- oh no, sorry-” Mumbo’s already said too much, already letting this human side of him remain weak.

He releases his hold on Grian’s feathers quicker than he did trying to bring his hands to the wing - which never had been fully done on the first one - and stands quickly; he trips over the mountains of blankets and clothing as he heads for the door and Grian stands with a another warble that’s drowned in panic.

Mumbo says nothing more as he rushes out the door and runs , regret powering through the veins that don’t exist and thrumming through a heart that’s never been a heart. At his core, realistically in this sense, Mumbo is a liar. There is something in him that is too human - that allows his emotions to exist and almost talk him out of what he’s tried to hide and complete for so, so long.

At his core, Mumbo is not human, and it is time that he stopped pretending. 

He doesn’t think Grian is chasing him - not after the stunt Mumbo pulled. He’s probably trying to preen now; that thought makes him feel distinctly worse , and the decision is made final.

Doing this is always normal now. For him, anyway. Mumbo unbuttons his shirt, feeling too much for one night - feeling too human; if he didn’t care about gaining attention he honestly would’ve just feverishly torn the shirt off and ripped his chest’s panel open.

But, agonisingly, he does care. Just because he let it slip with Grian, doesn’t mean he can’t just pretend like that conversation happened at all; he is fine, he is working.

He never forgot the way to the missile, nor does he remember how long it took to get there, but Mumbo stands - the large missile glowing with the light of the moon. And with a forced gentleness, Mumbo opens the panel of his chest, because he knows exactly what he’s looking for. It’s not that hard to find, honestly. There. It’s not the biggest piece he’s pulled out, but it’s still done its job. Mumbo hesitates for a moment as his hand grasps onto the part tightly. He wouldn’t ever feel hesitation for long after this.

He pulls. The alarm in his head blares loudly again. Mumbo is used to it now, he continues. He wished stopping the command was this easy. He doesn’t need it, anyway. 

Humanoid System removed, do you wish to call for help?

There is no need for help, not this time.

Mumbo stares at the part in his hand, and for the first time, he is not scared about the command. 

He feels nothing. 

As if the part wasn’t important, Mumbo lets it fall from his hand; it meets the ground with a lame thump against the dirt. Because the part wasn’t important, Mumbo sees no need for it to be added to the missile and so he lifts his foot and crushes the part beneath it. Again and again and again and again. It is not important, therefore it is not needed.

He doesn’t need to replace it, because he is fine without it.

—

The light from the moon isn’t blinding like the sun, it’s like a cool white stage light that never turns off; beneath that light, on that stage, is Mumbo and a missile. The final scene is set, now for action. Are you willing to watch this finale? 

The moon looks otherworldly, and even though it is, it doesn’t look real - despite the fact that they’ve all gotten used to the way it lingers like Grian would describe Watchers’ and Scar would say it looked like a villain from the movies he liked. It is the end of the world, it honestly looks like it’s just resting against their world's atmosphere. If Mumbo looks at it enough, it looks like it’s still coming closer.

The missile is large, as it always has been, and the moon’s light shines on it with an unsettling beauty; the hinges of the panels that allow for parts to be added have surprisingly survived the amount of times Mumbo’s swung them open in a near feverish obsession. The workbench is cluttered with items and tools - some even finding their place on the floor by his feet after he would drop them and be unable to pick them up with how harsh the movement in his arms is, now. For something that is not realistically living, he looks like he’s dying. The light shining down makes his paleness look sickly, makes his unkempt appearance appear a lot worse than it is - despite him already looking terrible. His hands are covered in an ichor-like stain, there are more parts of him missing. It’s to make the missile work. His shirt barely hides the way he’d torn off the panel to his chest and attempted to fix it with slimeballs to keep it shut.

The command tugs, he listens.

The missile is no pretty-looking thing like Scar’s rocket; he couldn’t care less about the aesthetics. The inside is most important; packed with parts and crystals and tnt. Functionality is better than looks, and he knows this will work. From where Mumbo stands and looks over his creation, he can see his own parts and where they’ve been placed. Mumbo needs this to work, needs it to save the people he calls his home and needs it so that the dreaded command that’s controlled him from the beginning can finally stop. He didn’t know he could feel tired; didn’t know that looking at redstone would be something he could grow uncaring of. 

As he takes a note of all the parts that keeps this weapon intact, Mumbo realises with a dull, “ oh, ” that the missile would not be powered enough to possibly keep everything inside it working properly. It would not have nearly enough energy to have it make contact with the moon with the amount of parts that weighs it down. Packing it with more redstone wouldn’t be close to enough, and a modified respawn anchor would blow up the server before it even took off, considering the crystals inside. He wants to blow up the moon, not the server. 

Mumbo’s silence is extinguished when his power core thrums rhythmically, and he realises.

His power core is incredibly effective as a source for energy- just look at him! It’s surely the most efficient thing on the server. It would work. It has to. He has his own temporary backup anyway, so it should be fine.

(There is no clear way to know if it’s true, but in a determined obsession, Mumbo believes it will.)

Considering the panel door to his core is already broken, it’s only a little hard for his arms to move with a faint sound of parts grinding against parts as he unbuttons the shirt with a clenched jaw before he grabs at the opening of the panel and opens it rigidly. The panel comes off from its broken hinges easier than it was trying to open it. It falls to the floor with a thunk.

His power source is easy to locate as it hums gently, sitting in the place of where a heart would be; It would probably burn anyone not made of metal. The shape of it is heart-like, with an encasing of metal that looks like a ribcage with a bright blue that shines through what parts of it remain uncovered. Mumbo reaches for it with slow, janky movements, patiently waiting for the moment he knows he’s got a good hold on it before he pulls . There is a tugging on the other parts connected to it which is incredibly unpleasant, but he doesn’t believe it could be classed as pain. This is nothing, really. He’s fine, he’s still working after all. It’s only after Mumbo pulls on his core again before it’s torn from its place with a sound that probably wasn’t meant to happen and a spark.

Power System removed, calling for help and switching to backup power. 

Mumbo doesn’t get the chance to even think about cancelling the alarm that would call the other Boatem members before his world goes silent and cuts to black; like he’s been thrown to the void at the bottom of the hole. The part in his hands would’ve dropped to the ground if not for the fact that he’d removed the processors that made his limbs move harshly - too stuck for his hand to open. Too unlike a human's body that would go limp when unconscious.

Backup power will last for 15 minutes.

The world around him, when his backup power switches on, is dimmer. Duller. It doesn’t bother him much, not when his focus is on the power core in his hand; it’s in wonderful condition - perfect for use. He can worry about getting a new one later, he’s not all that concerned about any of this. It’s almost a shame that he needs to connect it to the missile for it to be blown up in the end. 

His vision shutters like a black and white movie - the sound of rockets fills the air. That might not be good.

“ Mumbo?! Where are you? ” 

Oh, that’s Scar. Well that’s definitely not good.

The sound of people landing behind him snaps him from the thought. He doesn’t turn around. 

“Wh- what happened? Why did the alarm go off? What-” Impulse, now.

He knows the moment they spot the panel from his chest on the floor. 

“It’s fine.” Mumbo attempts to dismiss their growing panic, his voice dull and sounding both like him and nothing like him. He is fine. His backup is working well despite it all, and his movement may be a little more rigid, but he’s still working quite well. “The core has not been damaged.” That’s surely the best part. He is not hurt, he can’t feel pain like they can.

“Mumbo, that’s not-” It’s Pearl speaking this time, and he doesn’t understand why they’re all so scared. He still hasn’t looked at them, more focused on the core in his hand.  

“Mumbo, what do you mean?” Grian asks this time, it’s interesting to see how they all show their emotions in different ways.”How can we help you? We don’t just get a terrifying message saying you’re in danger for no reason. ” 

It feels like they’re trying to give him another command, but the only one he can follow is the one that’s been in his head for weeks. 

“Of course something is wrong .” Mumbo says, his voice sounding somewhat glitchy as he speaks. He starts working on wiring the power core into the missile. “The moon is big- The moon is- is impossibly big. I’m fixing it, just like you wanted me to. I am fixing it. I am fine.”

It’s obvious that only Impulse really knows what he’s adding in- what he has added in. “Mumbo, that's- Mumbo.” It sounds like Impulse is trying to scold him. “Why are you adding your parts to this thing! That’s- Mumbo! ” He sounds awfully upset about it.

Once Impulse points it out, the others start panicking too. 

“It’s not too important,” Mumbo dismisses them again, uncaring of the panic in their voices as they shout at his words. “It will make the missile work wonderfully, and then we can do what we please.” He doesn’t stop to face them until he’s finished adding in the final part, the missile’s power core. It lights up wonderfully; he’d be feeling chuffed if his emotions weren’t removed. “You all helped me to figure out how to make it work, so I should thank you for that.” He says as his hands move harshly as he steps away from the missile and turns to face them. The world seems darker. 

10 minutes of backup power remains before shut-down.

Finally, Mumbo turns around.

“No, no- Mumbo, no. ” Grian says, his wings pressed tight against himself as he stares. Once again, Mumbo finds it intriguing that they all show these similar emotions in such a range: Grian seems to shut himself in his wings as the realisation of Mumbo’s words sink in, eyes watery, Impulse looks angry with clenched fists and yet there is a look in his eyes that screams pain. Scar is quiet, holding onto his cane with a tight grip as his eyes go wide and his face seems paler - though Mumbo muses it could be the moon’s light. Pearl looks.. Well, she looks scared; it’s her first season after all. He tries to feel bad for her, but he can’t feel anything. What a horrible first season.

His gaze turns back to Impulse, to the object in his hand, and his world shatters. Impulse has the remote that’ll shut his system down with a simple click of a button; Mumbo is not human, but he is sure that the expression they must see on his face shows fear. They aren’t there to save him from a missile - from the moon. They’re here because they’re going to shut him down. 

Mumbo is not living, and yet he’s more scared of them right now than he is of the moon meeting the earth and killing them where they stand. It looks closer than it did before. He’s known these people that stand in front of him for long enough to build incredible relationships with them, and yet he feels none of that trust.

His vision shutters like static. 

5 minutes of backup power remains before shut-down.

“You’re replacing me?” He asks quietly, voice weak and glitching as he stands frozen in place; they all stand frozen. 

Scar speaks up first, surprisingly, “Mumbo, we would never. ” He sounds.. He doesn’t sound like Scar , his tone weird and off and choked. It’s hard to believe it when the fear is in the front of his mind like the command is. 

He gave so much of himself for this, and is still giving up parts of himself for this missile to work. Is it not enough? Did they need more from him? Maybe he can find another way to add more parts. Maybe they need him to shut down so they can use his remaining pieces like a collage and add what they want to the missile. Mumbo is following the command they set for him, is that not enough?

They’re all talking, it’s so hard to keep focused when the world gets darker. 

The moon’s still getting closer.

1 minute of backup power remaining before shut-down.

He wonders what would take him down first: his friends or the backup battery. Maybe they would use his remaining bits better than he did. It’s not a nice thought, but he’d be hypocritical to judge them for it. At least they would fix it.

(The parts were all there for a reason. He forgot it somewhere along the line.)

10

“Mumbo,” Grian, “we’re not gonna hurt you, we’re here to help you. Let us help, please. You know us, you know we just want to help you. Please let me help you, Mumbo. I can’t watch you take yourself apart like this- I can’t let you do this when I know I could’ve helped you earlier.”

9

“You’re not- you- you made me do this, and now you want to take me down with it-”

8

“We didn’t mean to,” Impulse , “we’re going to fix this mess; whatever’s going on. I should’ve known something was up when you kept acting off . I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry we didn’t realise something was wrong. I'm sorry I didn't notice something was wrong.”

7

“I can’t trust that. Not- not when I know what you’re going to do. You can’t lie to me about this.” They’re going to shut him down, take him apart piece by piece until they do what he could not.

6

“ Please , Mumbo,” Scar, “You don’t need to keep doing this alone. Please trust us. Remember what I said?” Mumbo doesn’t. “Don’t- don’t do this to yourself. I’m sorry you felt that you couldn't tell us what was going wrong. Let us make it up to you, let us help.” 

5

“We can do this together,” Pearl, “I know I’ve got a lot to learn still, but we care about you, Mumbo. Let us care about you.”

4

Mumbo says nothing, because his world is muffled and so far away.

3

The sound of footsteps towards him, worried voices. 

2

Mumbo takes a step back. 

1

The world ends. 

It doesn’t end for him with the moon crashing into the earth, but it ends with a fade to black. 

It ends for a long, long time.

The world ends before the leap into the void, before Grian holds onto him and doesn’t let go. It ends before Scar tells them that the rocket didn’t matter - that it would be harder to jump into the void with one of them being.. well.. asleep, in a way. It ended before four people would try to hold onto each other and someone that hadn’t moved since they’d shut down as they drifted in the void in helmets and suits that would try to keep them safe from the void.

But, the world begins again. 

It begins on a comfortable bed and the sounds of voices getting louder as he blinks his eyes open slowly. It begins with hearing a familiar whirr and feeling that familiar thrum in his chest. It begins with footsteps coming closer and hushed talking. 

“You are a complete bloody spoon. ” Grian hisses, though the relieved, shaky warble that leaves his chest ruins the act. “Iskall is going to make a flying machine that sends you into the sun if I don't figure out how to do it first.” 

“I’ll join the competition.” Pearl adds lightheartedly.

He blinks again, his vision comes in clear - without the shuddering and the static. 

Mumbo’s on a bed, a given. On his left is Scar in his wheelchair - grinning so widely it looks like it hurts - though he seems like he hates the fact that he can’t get up to sit up close and personal like Grian currently is. Pearl and Impulse both sit on the end of the bed - apparently Impulse has grown a beard, too; it’s so similar to the order they sat in on the bridge connecting their bases as they watched-

Hang on. 

“What happened to the moon?…” His voice is soft when he asks it, and he can feel the tension in the air; he doesn’t know if it's the topic or if it's his friends holding themselves back from tackling him in a hug.

“We uh… we made it to season nine.” Scar says, and Mumbo realises that he should’ve guessed that from the way his hair is clearly longer than it had been in Boatem. That and his clothing is completely different, switched to a green dress-like material, and he’d also ditched the hat that so many hermits were eager to take for themself. “No more big moon for you, mister.” Scar adds with a soft laugh; no one points out how he seems choked up.

A quiet rests comfortably over the room, he knows Scar’s not the only one holding back tears.

“Did I do it?” Mumbo asks instead.

No one answers for a moment.

“Yeah.. you sure did..” Impulse says softly, and Mumbo is too tired to care about the way they look guilty. He doesn’t question the bags under their eyes.

Mumbo doesn’t care, because for once in a long, long time, his mind is silent.

The buzzing of the command stops.

He did it, he saved them.