Chapter Text
Grian never thought he’d win the first game, but in hindsight, he’s glad he did.
Sure, it was painful coming back to hermitcraft and realizing no one but him was cursed with the knowledge of what had happened. It was painful lying to Xisuma and saying he didn’t know where he’d disappeared to either, it was painful living with the flashbacks and the night terrors and the newfound fear of dying. It was painful seeing the concerned look on his friends’ faces, all of them staring at him helplessly like he was some sort of miserable mystery they could never unravel.
It was painful still loving Scar, and Scar being none the wiser.
Still, it got easier to manage with time. Slowly but surely, he stopped panicking when he saw death messages pop up in the world chat. His smiles started becoming real again. The sight of redstone under his fingernails no longer made all the breath leave his lungs.
(His heart still ached every time he saw Scar, but he tried to avoid thinking about that too much.)
Besides, it’s what he deserves for making such a horrible deal in the first place. He has to bear this burden, and that’s fine, he tells himself. It makes sense, and it’s his punishment, and that’s just how things are. He alone would know what truly happened in the game, and if that lessened the suffering of the other participants, then it was worth it. He would manage. He always had.
But boy was he wrong.
Grian expects the odd, star-filled void space this time. He feels little regret about using his limited admin abilities to kill Scott — he shudders to think what They would do to someone left wandering one of Their game worlds, and the lightning strike was as quick and painless a death you could get.
What he doesn’t expect is to see Scott himself.
His mind is frantic with questions. Was it because he took him out? Are They about to appear, berating him for breaking one of Their unwritten rules? Was Scott about to be taken like he was so many years ago?
Grian doesn’t get the chance to ask. Instead, he watches as Scott’s expression goes from confusion, to realization, to horror, to, finally, crushing despair.
“Where’s Jimmy?” he demands, desperate. “Where— oh god, I can’t believe— where is he? I have to talk to him, I—“
And it hits Grian like a truck what’s happened. Why this happened.
“He won’t know.”
It’s as though his words slap Scott in the face. “What?” The other man croaks.
“He—“ Grian feels a lump in his throat and a weight in his chest. “Jimmy won’t know. None of them do. It’s— we’re, we’re the winners, Scott. The last ones standing. It’s just us, Scott.”
This time, Scott’s face twists into anger. “No, no, we can’t— he has to know. Deep down, a feeling, or— or I don’t know! How could he not? We— we were—”
“You didn’t know,” Grian points out, and maybe the irony would have been funny in another context. “But now you do. Just like me.”
The other man’s shoulders are heaving with too-short breaths, his brow furrowed and eyes searching where the ground should be, then finally, he pulls up the comm on his wrist.
“I— I have to go,” Scott says. It sounds hollow.
Grian tries to school his expression into something neutral. “Okay.”
And then he’s alone again, standing in the void with metaphorical blood on his hands. He’s less alone than he was before, but the implications hurt.
It’s the start of the third game. Grian doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see a clearly-not-asleep Scott across from him in the circle of players, but he is.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Grian comments with a decidedly detached nonchalance. Or maybe it was exhaustion — he doesn’t know any more.
“Wha—“ Scott sputters, and then he’s searching for someone with wide eyes, crossing the circle and— ah. “Jimmy!” he shouts, grabbing the blond by the shoulders and shaking him. “Jimmy, wake up, what…why—?“
“It’s a new game,” Grian tells him. “Double life, They’ve been calling it. Not that the name matters much, but They seem to like it.”
Scott takes the information in stride, though he’s now staring at the rest of the sleeping participants with open horror. They’d had a talk not too long ago about the Watchers, about the deal — all of it. Grian figured that if the information had to come from someone, it should be him (as opposed to, you know, some giant grey looming figures who don’t care if you live or die so long as it’s for Their entertainment).
Grian is still fiddling with his admin panel when he sees Scott turn back to Jimmy out of the corner of his eye. His fellow winner’s face is scrunched up in concern, and he reaches out to stroke his now-boyfriend’s cheek. Grian looks away politely.
“Petal…” he hears whispered in the wind.
Grian clears his throat, and Scott looks back at him. “Well, guess you’re really in this with me now.” His pointer finger hovers over the holographic “START” button that floats in front of his face. “Ready for round three?”
And something shifts in Scott — there’s a sort of determined resignation that comes over him, expression smoothing and shoulders setting. “Might as well get it over with,” he says.
Grian just nods, then pushes the button.
“How could you?!” Pearl roars, even as tears are streaming down her face. She pushes and shoves, and Scott deflects the battering with practiced ease. “You— you! What’d you do that for, huh? Blowing yourself up in front of me, acting like some sacrificial lamb after all of that, and for what?”
It’s a far cry from the typical eerie silence of the void, and Grian supposes it’s only slightly better than that. He rubs at his ears reminiscently, still feeling the echoes of his final death (of Scar’s final death, he thinks mournfully).
There’s another round of screaming, all of it going without a reply, and Grian finally looks up to see that Scott is staring at him, expression pleading.
I didn’t realize, it seems to say. I’m sorry.
The sigh Grian lets out is a tired one.
“Pearl,” he calls, and she halts finally — long enough to notice he’s there, long enough to notice that the ground and air and sky are all inky black and pinpricks of light, long enough for her expression to melt into one of horror.
“Griba,” she whispers. “Griba, no, no, no, what did you do?”
He can’t meet her eyes. “I made a deal. They— well, you know how insistent They can be. And now…”
“And now because I let you win, you know about all the games, too,” Scott finishes for him, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Pearl, I forgot what would happen—“
The brunet rips herself away from him, hands coming up to her head. “Shut up,” Pearl hisses. “Shut up! No, I— why do I remember it all now?” she asks, voice high with panic. “Why…wait, why couldn’t I remember that there was another game before?”
“There have been two others, actually,” Grian sighs again. “They didn’t drag you into the first one.”
“I was the winner of the last one,” Scott says, filling in for him yet again — perhaps they should’ve had a script ready for this time around. “And Grian was the winner of the first one. We…we’re all,” he looks around, seemingly struggling for the right words, “different, now. We’re the only ones that know, and everyone else…yeah.”
Pearl’s eyes are flicking back and forth between them and eventually settle on Grian, staring at him as though she’s silently begging for it to not be true. He wishes so badly he could tell her they were lying, that it was some awful joke. But she’s one of the few people who knows Them, knows what They can do — knows what They did to him. Fabricating a truth would only hold together her former fragile reality for so long.
“There was no other choice, Pearl,” he whispers in the silence. “I promise I tried to negotiate, and every alternative was worse than the last. But They found a loophole in the terms, and, and— and here we are,” he finishes lamely. “Just us three.”
Their new addition sinks down to the non-existent floor, gazing out at the void with a faraway look in her eyes. “Just us three,” she repeats numbly.
Scott glances up at Grian. They move at the same time, each sitting on one side of Pearl. They don’t say much after that.
“What if you just…didn’t?” Pearl asks. Grian raises an eyebrow, as does Scott, and she sputters, “I-I mean, it just…what if we never start the game?”
Grian blinks. “Then everyone would be stuck here forever, asleep,” he answers slowly. “And eventually you, me, and Scott would all drive each other crazy anyways.”
Pearl looks unhappy with his answer, and he can’t blame her. “So we can’t just — stop the cycle? Refuse to play?” she bargains. “Try to find a way out of here on our own, something.”
“Been there, done that.”
“But we can’t just—“
“Pearl,” Scott cuts in, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I get it, I really do, but— that’s not how it works. You know it isn’t.”
Even as she clenches her fists, her lower lip wobbles. “I-I know. I just don’t want to do it all over again.”
Grian sets his jaw. His voice is distant in his own ears as he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”
He pushes the “START” button.
“Ow! What the— oh you’ve gotta be shitting me,” is Martyn’s reaction, and Grian finds himself able to chuckle at it.
“Sorry, pal, I know you were going on your little rant there, but I had to take you out,” he tells him with a shrug.
“Still, a lightning strike? Isn’t there— oh, hey, Scott,” the blond greets, blinking.
Scott gives a sardonic wave. “Hiya.”
Blue eyes begin flickering around the void space. “And hi…Pearl? Oooh, why do I have a bad feeling about this,” Martyn mutters.
“Probably because you should,” Pearl says before she puts on a strained smile. “Welcome to the winner’s club, mate. You’ll probably start freaking out in a sec once you get your memories back.”
“Memor—?” Martyn trails off. It only takes a few moments before his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh shit. I…Ren,” he gasps out.
Funny how Grian had forgotten that — how just like he’d fallen in love with his partner in the first game, so too had Martyn. Only Grian got to go home to his, tortuous though it was. As for Martyn…
“Fuck, this has been going on this whole time?” he says disbelievingly.
Grian grimaces. “Er…yeah. We didn’t— well, I didn’t think it would be best to tell everyone.”
Beside him, Scott frowns. “It doesn’t work anyways, believe me, I’ve tried. Jimmy still thinks I must have had a bad dream or something. I swear it’s like there’s a block in his brain that They put there.”
“‘They’? Who’re— oh come on, not those bastards again,” Martyn groans, and it is a little funny the way Pearl pats him patronizingly on the shoulder.
“Like I said, welcome to the club,” she repeats.
And for a second, Grian thinks this might have been the easiest initiation so far — Martyn seems to be taking it fairly well. But then the blond is pushing Pearl away, eyes glued on his comm.
“Fuck the club,” the newest winner claims, “I don’t even have Ren’s comm info! How am I supposed to yell at him for making me kill him, now, huh? That was some drama queen bullshit!”
There’s a snort, then, all three of the others are falling to their knees from how hard they’re laughing.
Martyn gives them an annoyed look and shakes his head, arms crossing. “Christ, this honestly makes a whole lot of sense. I knew something weird was going on with you three, but this…this is next level.”
“Ugh, you can say that again,” Grian chuckles, albeit somewhat hysterically.
It takes a while to calm down from the laughter, but they eventually do, because Martyn deserves the whole spiel like everyone else. And maybe there’s some tears in their eyes, and maybe they aren’t totally from the mirth. But it feels easier, in a way — at least for Grian — to sit down and walk through the memories, to share the heartache, to just talk about it all out loud like it isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to them (even though it certainly is).
When they finally get around to talking about Ren again, Grian doesn’t miss how Martyn eyes him with deep-cut empathy; but he’s gotten good at ignoring things like that by now.
It’s Pearl’s idea, strangely enough.
Everyone knows who all disappears for the death games — it’s gotten to a point where whenever it happens, the hermits know whose pets to go take care of, and Xisuma will prepare a place at spawn for the inevitable return of the (mostly) amnesiac players.
After the last game (aka Martyn’s insistence that he deserved a chance at falling in love with Ren outside of those cruel worlds), they finally established a group comm chat for those who were taken. It wasn’t very active, though there were a fair few memes sent at the beginning. Grian found a weird comfort in watching his friends cope with their strange circumstances with a humor that only those who didn’t know could maintain.
So again, it’s odd that someone who does know is the one to recommend it.
“I know it’s weird, but—“
“No no, I didn’t say that, it’s just…” Grian trails off, hesitating. “Are you sure? That it wouldn’t, like, make it all feel worse?”
She shakes her head. “I really don’t think so. And I know it won’t mean the same to the others, but…I don’t know, I know it’s been good talking with the group about what happened. And maybe it would be helpful for the others, too.”
“Uh huh,” he says dryly, “Like weird group therapy. ‘Hey, do you get randomly kidnapped about every half a year or so and then get put back with zero memory of what happened? Me too! What a coincidence.’”
Pearl gives him a look that tells him she’s close to pulling out the puppy dog eyes. He caves instantly.
And so, Grian sets about organizing it: a giant, completely harmless, laser tag battle in a fresh world with a three-life rule set. The four winners jokingly call it “real life,” taking some pleasure in being the ones to decide upon the name of a game for once.
(Grian certainly does not take pleasure in how Scar seeks him out immediately, talking his ear off about how great the event is with no knowledge that his last game ended with Grian literally stabbing him in the back.)
Ultimately, it’s the most fun Grian’s had in years, and all he can do is smile when he’s the first one out. He sits back and enjoys the chaos, listening to the laughter that flows freely as his friends chase each other around the village.
Cleo, after a daring final stand-off with Scott, is the ultimate winner. There’s cheering and claps on the back and shouts of congratulations. Grian opens his mouth to call for everyone to come enjoy the large spread he’d prepared for after — but he sees Pearl, and all words are lost.
Pearl, who is pulling a little gold crown from her inventory. Pearl, who is smiling so sadly as she places it upon Cleo’s red curls. Pearl, who is then bringing Cleo in for a hug, one far too tight for the lighthearted game they just played.
Scott and Martyn share a somber look. And Grian’s heart aches.
They all glare up at the hooded statue in silence for about a minute before someone breaks.
“So…” Scott drawls. “Not so subtle this time around, huh?”
“I wanna blow it up,” Martyn seethes. “I wanna tear it apart with my bare hands and turn the blocks to ash.”
Pearl snorts. “I’m right there with you, mate.”
Grian, for all the anger he also feels, forces himself to turn away, to ignore the feeling of all-seeing eyes on his back. He barely looks at the “START” button before he pushes it.
He’s not sure he would’ve if he’d known what was to come.
Scar is breathless from his place on the invisible floor, looking around the void like he could find a door to escape out of. “Wha— Grian, I— and Scott, and…Martyn? Pearl? But we were just—! You—?“
“She’s dead, Scar,” Grian croaks, hollow. “You won.”
“Fair and square, might I add,” Pearl huffs, though she’s clearly not upset.
Scar blinks up at her. “I— well I mean, I’m not sure about that, but…why are we here? And where…where is…here? And why—“ A light goes off above Scar’s head, the same one that happens every time.
All Grian can feel is dread as he watches the memories come back; each truth, each lie, each day, each night, each kiss, each stab. Sand and sun and pain and promises and betrothal and betrayal and—
It’s with wide green eyes that Scar stares at Grian, and Grian wants to run.
“I think,” Scott clears his throat. “I think you two…may need some time. Martyn, Pearl.”
Martyn nods and taps his comm without hesitation, disappearing without a trace (and likely on his way to reunite with Ren — the two had only just become official before they were separated again). Scott takes a moment to look at Grian kindly, but seriously, conveying a thousand words that only they could understand before he, too, is gone.
Pearl is the last to leave. She mouths “you’ve got this” before she pops out of existence. Grian isn’t so sure.
And then there’s two.
Scar moves to stand. Grian instantly backs up, hands raised.
“Look, I know it’s a lot—“ he starts, stammering, “a-and I know I have a ton to answer for, and I know you’re probably mad, but just hear me out, please? Scar?”
His former partner’s face is horribly blank. Grian takes it as the go-ahead he desperately needs, inhaling sharply.
“Okay, so— so I can’t really answer for the creeper kill, that really was an accident, and I tried to make it up to you, I did, and then—“ his face heats up, “and then we happened, but then you killed me because Bdubs got the no-kill pass, and I didn’t know what to think—“
Scar’s expression twists into something pained. Grian presses forward.
“—so I agreed to the fight, and I regretted it so much, I swear, and then I was back in hermitcraft, and you didn’t know, and it just— it was so hard to be around you when I still cared about you and you didn’t know, and so I kept avoiding you in last life, and I’m so sorry because I know it hurt you, but I didn’t know how to explain—“
His lungs are burning, years of agony spilling out at once.
“And double life— okay, that one was on purpose, ‘cause I was just so upset that you didn’t want a soulmate, but then I found out we were bound together, and it hurt so so much, and I hadn’t hung out with Big B in so long, so I decided to avoid you again, but I swear I didn’t actually cheat on you—“
His hands clutch his sweater right over his heart, right where he used to feel their tether.
“And oh god, limited life, I— I don’t even know, I think the time limit just got to me? In the end? But you were right, I shouldn’t have tried to kill you when you had your back turned, that was so awful of me—“
Just one more to go, and then he’d be done.
“And I, this time, I just— I don’t know, it feels like every time I’m around you in these games, I only do something worse, so I tried to avoid you as much as I could until I realized I didn’t have any allies, but you turned me down, so I thought…I thought…” he swallows, shaking hands wringing over and over again.
“I thought, even though you didn’t know everything, that you were finally done with me,” he forces out, tears pricking his eyes. “And now that you do know, and I— I’m so sorry, Scar. I’m so so sorry. And I— I don’t even have the right to say it, but I still love you so much, but I—“
Come on, one last sentence. He feels like he might pass out from the nerves of it all, but he can’t shut up, either. He has to get it all out; he feels like he might die if he doesn’t.
“—I understand if,” his voice breaks, “i-if I messed up so much that you never wanna see me again. I get it, I do. And I understand if you don’t love me any more.”
And there it is: his honest regrets, his worst sins, his biggest fears, all laid out in front of the person he loves most. He isn’t sure what he expects. His heart is racing, and Scar still hasn’t said a word, and he knows that this is the moment that decides everything, and, and—
Scar’s hand raises.
Grian flinches, eyes wincing shut as he braces for the inevitable. But the touch he receives is far softer than he anticipates.
Warm, scarred hands cup his face. Dark eyes flutter open in shock. Warm olive green meet his wide gaze steadily, somehow adoring and apologetic all at once.
“I’m so sorry I forgot about you, songbird,” Scar whispers, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “And I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long.”
A sob immediately attempts to rip its way out of his throat.
“It wasn’t— it wasn’t your fault,” Grian insists, choking back tears of his own. “It— it was the Watchers, and— oh god, I still have to tell you all about Them, and why it was just us four, or five, now, but— did you even hear a word I said, Scar?“
A hand slips down to his chin, where it gently forces him to look upward. “Yes I did. Can I kiss you?” Scar asks, then smiles crookedly. “It’s been a while, it seems. Can’t have you going too long without — I remember how upset you got when you didn’t get enough attention,” he teases.
The tears spill over before Grian can stop them. “Why—“ he sobs, “Why are you being nice to me? You know now, don’t you? All the horrible things I’ve done to you, over and over and over again, so why—“
There are thumbs wiping just under his eyes, and Scar is still giving him the softest look he can manage, and it doesn’t make sense. “So we’re going to just ignore all the bad things I’ve done to you in the games?”
“But I killed you—“
“You knew it wasn’t permanent—“
“I still did it!”
“And so did everyone else,” Scar replies readily. “So did Martyn, and Ren, and Scott, and Joel, and Pearl, and Bdubs, and — I mean, sheesh, I think I took all of Etho’s lives this time around.”
Grian shakes his head. “But they aren’t you.”
And it’s funny, really, how many times Grian has seen this look on Scar’s face before — that look he gets when he’s about to make you the greatest offer in the world (or so he thinks). Only this time, it’s tinged with sadness.
“Well then,” he says, and Grian is being pulled into his warm embrace before he knows what’s happening, “I guess the only argument I have left is that it’s not your decision.” Scar’s voice is low in his ear, making Grian shudder. “Only I get to decide if I forgive you or not, and I do. Because I love you, Grian. There’s a lot that’s changed, but that hasn’t.”
Grian wishes he was a better man. A better man would run, would know he didn’t deserve such kindness. “You shouldn’t,” he protests weakly into the other’s chest. Against his will, his hands grip the worn fabric on the back of Scar’s jacket, keeping him in place.
“Again, not your choice.” Scar pulls back and gives what is clearly meant to be an encouraging smile. It only makes Grian’s heart ache more. “What is your choice, however, is if I can kiss you. So I’ll ask again: can—?”
Grian lunges forward. Their lips meet in an uncoordinated smash and neither of them care, hands reaching to tangle themselves in blond and brunet locks. When they taste salt between them, they ignore it. Over three years of agony melt away in an instant, and for the first time, the knowledge of the past feels more like a blessing than a curse.
They’re on a little circular island this time. Grian can see that the Watchers were kind enough to provide some boats for them to get off it.
Scott and Martyn are chatting amiably, with Martyn wrapped around a still-asleep Ren’s arm like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Pearl is looking around them with a mix of wonder and caution, likely noting the lack of a foreboding statue.
And at Grian’s side is Scar, squeezing his hand tightly when the holographic “START” button pops up in front of them. The original winner looks up into his partner’s eyes, and they share a small smile.
“Well,” Grian says, turning to face the other three. “Welcome to wild life, everyone. Let’s get started, shall we?”