Chapter Text
The Rift was a no go.
Grian could tell that much from a quick swoop down and a cursory glance at the ground from where he was perched in a tree, the rustling leaves concealing him from the strangers and Hermits alike that had gathered to gawk. At first he was just going to swoop down onto the shoulders of the first person he recognized, but now that he could see the ring of people that had formed and huddled together, barreling in like a bat out of The Nether probably would have given many of them heart attacks.
In his defense, he hadn’t been expecting so many people, though that was a silly expectation to begin with.
The only reason the people of the DreamSMP hadn't flocked to the server portal when its closure was announced was for that reason- it was announced . Eret had made sure every citizen no matter their age knew that they were cut off from the outside world, because even though the truth was scary, it was their server, and they deserved to know. He had admired her for that, because if it were up to him, a sheet would have been draped over it with a shoddy sign that said ‘closed for maintenance!’
It was a good thing, then, that he wasn’t the one in charge.
If there was one thing that made him shudder, it was being completely in charge of something as important as a portal that connected their world to civilization. Even Hermits needed that connection for things that couldn’t be crafted, news of their friends and family not lucky enough to be able to constantly visit the server, and just for the sake of not being completely isolated. The Hermits had always tried to have a good relationship with as many access points to resources as possible- at least that’s what Xisuma would say during the weekly meetings Grian was prone to dozing off in. Whether that be cozying up to whoever the mayor of Skyblock was at the time or building a better relationship with the emperors thanks to the inclusion of Gem and Pearl, Hermitcraft was never short of helping hands.
Something that these people seemed to be desperately lacking.
Grian hadn’t seen this many patched clothes since he had been on the DreamSMP for more than a couple of hours. Working jeans darned at the knees and sweaters with the elbows patched in mis-matched fabric was a sharp contrast to the clean clothes he had become re-accustomed to. Everyone he spotted was dressed oddly- a mix of warm and cold weathered clothes coming together to form a quaint little hodge podge. Pastel dresses with petticoats underneath, warm aprons tied over work clothes, overalls and galoshes covered in muck. Tommy would have a field day if she was here!
Maybe if they were all here long enough, he could talk to Xisuma about making a few extra diamonds by having him and Tommy set up a quick popup. A diamond per patch job would keep them all fed for- well he hoped they wouldn’t be there long enough to plan that far ahead.
He stopped himself short and cursed under his breath.
“Tommy.” He grumbled. “Beans on toast that girl is going to be the death of me.”
He had been so busy people watching that his reason for risking a flight through the rain had completely slipped his mind. If he weren’t perched so precariously then he would have smacked himself in the forehead.
Tommy and Tubbo were out there somewhere.
Somewhere in this big wide world, with a sky crammed with stars and a taste in the air that itched the back of his mind, were Tommy and Tubbo running rampant, and he wasn’t going to let himself properly relax until he knew the two of them weren't dead or causing property damage. He could only imagine what they were getting up to on their own! And yes, he knew they weren’t children anymore, but you couldn’t pay him to stop worrying about them.
However, for them, worrying did not mean when he knew where they were he wasn’t going to give them the scolding of a lifetime, especially Tubbo! Not only were they driving Ranboo mad with worry, but Grian had no idea where it was that they were. It was beginning to drive him just as mad as Ranboo!
Which, thanks to knowing the poor enderman for years, he knew was no easy feat.
Speaking of people who were going to worry themselves into an early grave, if he craned his neck just so, he could spot Xisuma at the front of the crowd with a hand over his mouth, sticking out like a towering sore thumb amongst the citizens of this strange server. The bulk of his armor did nothing to mask his overall strangeness, and him mumbling to himself with a hand under his chin was enough to make Grian’s face warm just by counting all the eyes on him.
Too many people were staring like he was a spectacle. They were watching him just as much as they were the now closed portal.
Murmurs floated from person to person, all of them speaking softly, as if a singular noise was enough to rattle it back to life. If their glance wasn’t fixed on the admin who began to pace while lost in his own head, then they stared into the heart of The Rift waiting for…something.
“Was this what caused that ruckus the other day?”
Grian’s ears perked up hearing a country twang break through the hushed whispers. They seemed to cease completely as the older gentleman shuffled to the front, with his hat in his hand and head cocked to the side.
“Pardon me, fella-” He looked up at Xisuma. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Oh!” Xisuma nearly jumped in surprise. “Goodness!”
“Sorry to startle you, son.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright.” He gave the man a smile through his helmet. “I’m sorry, am I blocking anyone’s way?”
“Not that I know of, no.”
“Thank gosh for that.” He put a hand over his heart. “I’m Xisuma. I’m terribly sorry for the scene.”
“No trouble at all ‘suma. People ‘round here need to learn to mind their manners.” He looked over his shoulder, giving pointed looks to many of his fellow citizens. His eyes narrowed as he said, “Some of them are grown ‘nough to know better.”
At that, a few people shuffled nervously. Some turned their gaze away from the pair of them. Others began to scurry off, not wanting to be called out for being nosey, even if there was plenty to be nosey about.
“Name’s James, pleasure to meetcha, Xisuma.” The man said, tipping his head even though his hat dangled at his side.
“A pleasure to meet you as well. Are you, um, in charge around here? These people seem to respect you a lot.”
“Oh, me?” He shook his head. “My son’s the one in charge of our lil’ town. I just offered to come ‘round an’ see what all the hubbub was about while he was busy pig wranglin’. Couldn’t spend more than a tick at the ol’ store without hearin’ about this darn thing for months, and now it’s just-”
He paused, and scanned Xisuma as best he could. His brow furrowed together for a moment, before he placed a hand on his arm.
“Are y’all from…wherever this place goes?”
“Uh, yes, I’m afraid so.”
“I’m awful sorry.” He said with a shake of his head. “She’ll be awful upset to hear ‘bout this.”
“‘She’?”
“We got some youngin’s stayin’ over at our place.” He nudged his head to the left. “Do the names Tommy ‘n Tubbo mean anythin’ to ya?”
Grian nearly fell out of his place in the tree. He gripped the branches, and just as he was about to shout, it was done for him.
“Tommy and Tubbo?!” He didn’t care how many more people stared at him as he blurted out, “They’re alright?!”
James chuckled. “Right as rain, son. Those two were made for farm work.”
“Oh, thank goodness-” He put a hand over his heart.
“Whoever raised ‘em did a mighty fine job.”
Grian found his feathers fluffing.
“If I see Scar and Doc then I’ll let them know.”
That just made him scoff.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as well, because what did Doc and Scar do that he hadn’t done ten times over? Really, he should be given an award for how much he had to teach those two, turning the poster children for ragamuffins into-
Okay. They were still ragamuffins; let’s all be honest with ourselves.
But at least they were ragamuffins with a good work ethic and an appreciation for texturing thanks to him!
“They’re bound to be worried sick!” Grian tuned back in to Xisuma’s mother hen-ning. “Thank you so much for watching them, really.”
“No need to thank us- we’re happy to play host. And it helps to have extra hands ‘round.”
“Honestly I’m just glad they haven’t caused any major property damage.”
That got a chuckle out of James.
The poor sod had no idea just how true that was.
“If you do see ‘em, tell ‘em to head to Tumble Town.” James put his hat back on his head, adjusting his rabbit ears that poked out of the woven straw. “I’m actually headin’ back there myself. Would ya like a ride?”
“I-I appreciate it, thank you, but I think I’ll stay here. In case more of my friends show up. Thank you though, thank you so much. Would you let those two know where we are?”
“Can do. They’ve been loads of help ‘round the farm. I think my wife’ll actually be thrilled if they stay longer.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Please, let me know if there’s any way I can be of help- if you need it, of course!”
“...Any idea how to fix a tractor?”
A smile graced Xisuma’s face. “I’m sure one of us knows how. If I see Cub, Tango, Impulse, or Doc, I’ll send them right to- Tumble Town, was it?”
“Best darn empire on this here server.”
“Makes that easy to remember!”
The man walked off, and in an instance, Xisuma sighed to himself. The smile on his face remained, but it didn’t meet his eyes as he turned back to face The Rift, his own reflection staring back at him.
‘At least those two are safe’, Grian thought to himself as his eyes dotted across the crowd, trying to make out any more familiar faces besides Xisuma.
Although parts of the crowd began to dwindle, more people took the places of those who had grown bored and shuffled away, the novelty having worn off. He didn’t allow his eyes to flit away as he counted just how many people were left between him and The Rift.
One, two, ten, twenty-
Too many to swoop in without making a scene.
He hung his head and let out a sigh that wracked his whole body.
Gods with familiar faces, storms that lasted far longer than they should and could disappear in mere ticks, mobs with twisted and grotesque features- those were only a few of the things that unnerved him about this world that he was supposed to know like the back of his hand. It was the entire reason he had been so insistent upon going through The Rift in the first place. It was just Hermitcraft Season 7!
It would be a walk down memory lane for most of them, and for him, well, he would need to have a chat with himself about making deals with strange mushroom deities.
In his head he had already built up a fantasy where they all arrived, each of them finding something to do outside of their regular routine. He had imagined and laughed at the thought of what Xisuma’s face would look like, but now that he was seeing it for himself, he wanted to gag and turn away.
If he had known where he would be spat out like a wad of gum, then he wouldn’t have taken the risk. No memories of better, simpler times were worth such a strife. He would have stepped in all by himself in the dead of night, everyone else asleep in their beds and none the wiser. He wouldn’t have made a whole spectacle of it, and he certainly wouldn’t have let Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, and the kids follow him like lambs to slaughter.
If it weren’t for his idiocy then they would all be safe at home enjoying the snowfall the nymphs had worked so very hard on, making hot chocolate and adding squares to their Hearth’s Warming quilt. The dolls Tommy had painstakingly made years ago with worn out fabric would be placed on top of the equally tedious to make mantle. He could see Impulse popping over for a surprise visit, Gem and Pearl not far behind.
Cleo would take the kids to help pick out the tree that would sit in the middle of the server, and she’d lug it back all the way by themself, wanting to show off. Joe would teach everyone the carols of old, ones that still used ‘thou’, ‘thee’, and ‘gay’ to mean happy. He could practically hear the laughter and feel the warmth.
Then he remembered where he was.
His wings fluttered in annoyance, and his feathers stood on end when Xisuma took a step forward, and pressed his hand to the solid glass that coated The Rift. A gasp rippled through the sea of people, and it happened again when he tried to shove himself against it.
“Don’t strain yourself, sweet face!” Grian heard Keralis, but couldn’t see him.
He must have been amongst the sea of people that remained, though instead of looking at Xisuma like he was a zoo animal, they had broken off into small clusters of gossip. Mothers talked in hushed whispers while children clung to their pant legs. A group of teenagers began to try and climb the rocky cliffside, only to be scolded by an older gentleman in a blue work dress. Less and less were becoming interested in The Rift.
Meanwhile, Xisuma just responded to Keralis with a grunt as he tried again.
“I mean it, Shishwammy! You’re just being silly now!”
“I-I have to try something!” He exclaimed, pushing as hard as he could.
“‘Something’ doesn’t have to be hurting yourself!”
Even Grian couldn’t help but wince. His feet were digging into the dirt, his palms grappling with the slippery, glass surface. There was no way he was going to be able to properly hold on- that was just how physics worked.
“Uh, sir?” A woman with a fluffy fox tail tucked underneath her work apron piped up. She approached despite her ears being pressed against her head, and a firm frown across her muzzle hidden beneath a mask. “I don’t think that’s um…working…”
“Listen to- what’s your name sweet face?”
“Uh…Melody?”
“Listen to Melody, Shishwammy!” Keralis cupped his hands over his mouth. “You won’t help anyone if you hurt yourself!”
Xisuma paused, and then let out a long groan, leaning forward with his forehead pressed against the solid wall.
His arms dangled at his side, and honestly, it made him look a little pathetic. He conceded with just a huff, and closed his eyes when he felt Keralis’s warm, feather light touch brush against his spine.
“That’s my good boy-” Keralis rubbed a hand up and down his back.
“I-I can’t-”
“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
He didn’t say anything. He just tucked his head into Keralis’s shoulder with a heavy sigh, his own slumping.
Grian pretended not to hear it as more murmurs arose, buzzing in the air like summer cicadas. He did this by looking anywhere else - anywhere that wasn’t the two love birds talking in hushed voices that made anyone under the age of twenty want to barf.
Which was how he wound up watching as paper balls were tossed at The Rift. Just above Xisuma’s head sailed wads of parchment, cheers erupting whenever one hit it dead in the center. It had dawned on him only then that the reason he had been plucking rubbish from his base for months now was because these people had been chucking any old thing through the ripples.
He scowled to himself, and turned away so he couldn’t see any more faces.
He knew Xisuma and Keralis were there, why should he stay any longer?
Just as he was about to spread his wings and soar off, he spotted something from the corner of his eyes. He tilted his head ever so slightly over his shoulder and he watched as a little girl toddled up right beside Xisuma’s leg, and tried to throw a paper boat into The Rift.
Her face fell when it just fluttered down and landed in the dirt.
Xisuma quickly paused his pity party. For once, he noticed before Keralis did.
He looked down at her and smiled softly despite his panic.
“Hello there-” He said, his voice gentle as possible. “That’s quite the nice boat you’ve made there.”
“Oh…thank you.” She shuffled her feet nervously and stared down at her embroidered sandals. “I made it with my mama.”
“It’s very nice. Whose it for, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My abuela.” She said. “My brother told me the portal goes to the heavens.”
“Oh…he…he did?”
Grian’s face fell as well as Xisuma’s.
This little girl thought The Rift led to the heavens.
This poor girl had been sending paper boats through this entire time, and he had just assumed they were more rubbish and tossed them in the bin. He remembered thinking they were from Pearl, or Tommy, or Scar, and tossing them after a week of them collecting dust on the floor of his base. He had even brought it up at a H.H.H, pleading for whoever was using his basement as a trach receptacle to please stop. There was a perfectly good bin at spawn, thanks to Pearl!
Xisuma gulped and kneeled down to the little girl. He slowly reached a hand out, and when she didn’t flinch or hit him away, ruffled up her curls.
“Tell you what. How about I hold onto this for your grandmother?” He picked up the paper boat in his palms ever so gently, as if it were a precious diamond. “I’ll give it to her when I can.”
Her eyes widened and she thrust out her hand, her pinkie extended.
She didn’t say anything, but stared into his helmet with all the determination of a seven year old with unwavering beliefs. She stared him down, almost daring him to walk away before sealing the deal.
Xisuma chuckled, and wrapped his pinkie around hers. “
“Viviana!” A woman called. “Vamos!”
“Coming mama!” The girl called back.
Grian watched as she broke out into a sprint, only to pause, just so she could give one last glance to Xisuma over her shoulder before she skipped away, meeting back up with her mother at the edge of the crowd. She reached for her hand, both of them heading off towards a stable just over a hill. She chattered her ear off the entire time in Spanish, and it wasn’t until she was a speck in the distance that he looked back towards-
“Shishwammy?” Keralis asked as he shuffled to stand beside him.
“...What are we going to do?” Xisuma whispered, his voice wavering as he clutched the paper boat so hard the delicate folds began to wrinkle.
“...I don’t know.”
He let out a hollow chuckle. “I was afraid you’d say that, dear…”
Grian had seen enough.
It was clear that none of them were going anywhere anytime soon.
He had clucked his tongue before taking off again.
Grian soared for what felt like hours, though judging by the sun beating down on him, it was only a few clicks between him deciding to head off, and landing when his back began to ache too much to go on. He spotted a patch of desert with a small billow of fire coming from the ground, and swooped down like a seagull narrowing in on a French fry.
He landed without any fanfare in the middle of what was obviously somebody’s campsite.
The fireplace was still sending smoke up into the air- hence how Grian found it in the first place. He shuffled closer, and peaked into the pot hanging by a hook just above the flame, and at the sight of a still warmed stew, his stomach growled.
He looked to the left. An orange tent was pitched in the sand and silt, a pair of moccasin slippers sitting right beside the entrance to be worn later.
He looked to the right. A double chest had been left out in the open with a worn iron pickaxe propped up against it. The top was bulging with whatever it contained, a sliver of fabric dangling from the broken lock like the tongue of a salivating animal.
“Well, don’t mind if I do!”
Without hesitation, Grian grabbed a bowl that had been left on the side and scooped himself up a serving with the ladle that bobbed up and down in the broth.
He threw his head back in a groan. Despite the heat of the desert- or maybe it was the prairie since he could see the tall grass flowing back and forth in the gentle breeze- nothing made him feel better like a hearty, well earned stew. The beef, the potatoes, the herbs, it all melted in his mouth, making him want to find whoever made this and kiss them.
It wasn’t until he had licked the bowl clean and set it back down as if he hadn’t helped himself to a serving in the first place that he began to grow bored again. He tapped his foot against the sand, and whistled, hoping something would fall out of the sky to stave off the feeling of guilt for eating some random person’s stew.
That was when he spotted the entrance.
Just like any other cave entrance, it was covered in a layer of grime that could never be scrubbed away, and patches of soot leftover from torches being placed over and over again. A lantern hung just above the canopy of vines and leaves, which he had to pull back like a curtain so he could properly step inside.
As he descended deeper and deeper down the staircase, he kept his wings tucked carefully against his back.
The only noise was that of his own breathing as he relied on the lantern left at every corner to navigate through what was otherwise complete and utter darkness. All he had done was follow the low echo of the hum through the crumbling and twisting turns, hoping to be turned back around to the exit. He never was the greatest with directions when he wasn’t getting a bird’s eye view, and the place looked so abandoned that he assumed it was- despite the artifacts behind glass walls being well maintained upon closer inspection- so he just kept walking.
And walking.
And more walking.
Without knowing how long he’d been wandering for, he was beginning to assume he would die down here. No food, no water, no sunlight- he was starting to think this would be the end of Grian. Again!
That was until, of course, he quite literally bumped into someone.
The last thing he had been expecting was anyone not completely mummified to be walking around in such cramped corridors.
It had startled Grian out of his skin when he turned the corner and there he was.
“Oof!”
“Oh goodness-!”
He landed flat on his ass with a groan; the stranger having fallen as well.
“Oh gosh-” The voice croaked as the body it belonged to pulled itself back up onto its feet. “I am so, so sorry I-”
“‘s fine mate, don’t-”
“- should have been looking where I was-”
“-No, it’s on me, this place is a maze-”
“-I wasn't expecting anyone down here! Typically it’s just me and-”
“- how do you see anything down here? There’re barely any torches!”
The two were talking over one another, their voices shaking the very foundation of the catacombs.
The delicate roof trembled and the floor quaked as Grian rose to his feet and dusted the dirt off of his jumper. He scowled, muttering something about having just washed this damn thing, apparently so engrossed by a brand new stain that he hadn’t noticed the man had stopped speaking, silence hanging awkwardly in the air like an off kilter painting.
“Flew circles around Spawn- there isn’t a single laundromat?” He scowled under his breath. “Out, out you damned spot.”
The curses and mutterings sunk like a stone in the stomach of the other. His already gaunt face had gone ghostly white, and the grip he had on a leatherbound book was beginning to slip.
THUD.
Without snapping out of his jabbering, Grian leaned down to pick up the book. He only glanced at it, so engrossed in hearing his own voice bounce off the walls, that it was only when he looked down to read the title carved with gold that he paused to take a breath, and read it aloud.
“‘The Longest Winter: How we Survived One Hundred Years of No Sun’.” He said.
He did not hear the man suck in a sharp breath.
“Can’t say I’ve heard of it. Is it any good?” He asked. “Haven’t had much time for reading lately. I know, I know, it’s good for me or whatever, but I’m up to my ears in editing and-”
“...Grian?”
With a single croak, Grian paused.
Everything from the book in his hands to the walls around him faded away, leaving him to float aimlessly. Though the air had left his lungs in an instant, he didn’t move an inch for fear of looking up and seeing-
“That is you, isn’t it?”
He pressed his lips together in a thin line across his face.
“By the gods…it is. I can’t- how are you here?”
He wouldn’t say anything. He remained silent, even as two arms reached out to grab him by the shoulders, boney fingers clinging desperately to the fabric of his jumper.
Especially someone who looked so ragged, with bags under their eyes that could rival even his own.
The ill-fitting clothes, the shaggy hair and beard, and the way his belt clung awkwardly to the skin and bones of his hips were enough to show Grian that this man- a man who wore his friend’s face poorly like a mask- had been down here in this damp and dark crypt for so long he may have crawled from one of the coffins themselves.
“No … not you too.” Grian pleaded as he frantically shook his head.
“Grian-”
“No!” He pulled himself away, as if the man’s hands had burnt him something awful. “Stop pretending you’re him!”
“G- how did you- Joel told me you were here, but I-”
He pressed his hands against his ears, and with a heaving breath like a cornered animal, pressed himself firmly against the wall. Gravel and stone jutted into his back, and he squeezed his eyes shut so he couldn’t see how the man crouched down to his level, the audible crack coming from his knees making him heave even harder.
He didn’t want to hear the rest of his sentence. He kept his ears thoroughly covered, only for the words to pierce through anyway, striking him right in the heart.
‘I thought he was going mad again.’
How do you hear something like that about such a dear friend and not just completely keel over?
Grian flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“...Grian.” The man spoke patiently, as if to a child. “Look at me.”
Grian did not obey his request.
“...Please?”
“...How?” He pleaded in a broken voice. “How? First Joel now…”
“So I’m not the first…”
The man pulled his hand away, and cradled it to his chest. He looked down at the ground, tears already beginning to well in his sapphire eyes. He tried to blink them away, but they cascaded down his cheeks faster than he could banish them.
“...How long?”
His eyes widened.
“You don’t-”
“How. Long.” Grian snapped, and when he looked up to face him, his eyes blazed a burning, dangerous violet.
“You don’t want to know.” Pix said firmly. “It will only hurt-”
“How long has it been?!” He shouted so loud that the floor shook, and a vein throbbed out of his forehead.
He got a sigh in return. Pix hung his head. In shame? In guilt? Was he just unable to look Grian in the eye as he purposefully skirted around the painful truth?
“...Longer than you think, my friend.”
He scanned his wrinkled, furrowed face for any sign, any at all that this whole thing- not just the endless maze of tombs, and not just the way he stared at him like he had just seen a ghost, but everything- everything- was one big joke. A prank that they could all laugh at over a cuppa, and the way that not only Pixlriffs was looking at him, but Joel as well would be nothing but a foggy memory to haunt his nightmares.
With a pained wail, Grian keeled over, and grasped the hem of his mud caked khakis. He choked back a sob, and his entire body trembled, as the weight of the world began to crush his twisted visage of Atlas. All he could make out through his own muffled cries, was the rise and fall of his chest.
“...Five thousand.”
His head whipped up so fast his neck was at risk of snapping.
“Five… thousand?” He gagged on the word.
All he got was a nod in return.
“Five thousand what?!”
“...You know the answer to that, Grian.” He said solemnly.
Pix stared down at Grian, and reached out to run a hand through his hair. He stopped to brush against his cheek with a calloused palm, and wiped away a stray tear, only for more to take its place.
“It’s been five thousand years since I’ve last seen your face…and you haven’t aged a day, have you?”
Grian shook his head as a pitiful sob wracked through him.
Pix let out a wet, pithy laugh. He stared over his head and right past him, staring unfocused at the wall as if it were the one at his feet, crying for forgiveness from a forgotten sin. He closed his eyes, and took a slow, steady breath.
When he opened his eyes and looked back down-
Grian was nowhere to be seen.