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justletmeplayminecraft · 3 years

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Shsjsj Halloween prompt 38 with architechs? They’d probably get into some scooby doo shenanigans except ghosts are real

38. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

okay so i might’ve... gone off a little bit. this is more mystery incorporated shenanigans than normal scooby. mumbo-centric, the architechs go to a haunted house that may, in fact, be haunted. mumbo pays the price.

featuring: could a visit to a haunted house go any worse, mumbo is very interesting to local ghost population, unfortunately for him, real life au, mumbo's surprisingly resourceful considering, sometimes you just need two ghost girls to tell u to get moving, angst/comfort, horror vibes, happy ending

warnings: violence, knife violence, possession, referenced murder of children and adults, graphic injuries, blood, mumbo gets a lil messed up, but nobody dies who isn’t already dead

"Why did I let you two drag me into this?" Grian is checking the time on his phone whilst Iskall holds Mumbo's hand like he's about to run off. Which, Mumbo would, actually. Given half a chance he'd be catching the first bus out of here. Iskall raises his free hand in a shrug, smirking at Mumbo's question.

"We hardly dragged you, if I remember, you agreed willingly." Iskall leans closer as he teases him, poking Mumbo's cheek with the cool finger of his prosthetic.

Mumbo sighs, batting the finger away, "I agreed so you'd both stop asking! I didn't think we'd actually do it." Grian slips his phone into his pocket, rocking onto his heels. The look on his face is smug.

"Mumbo, you should know us better than that by now."

Iskall hums high in agreement, "Don't tell us you're scared."

"Lil scaredy Mumbo~." Mumbo brushes them away with a shake of his head. He can't believe he's friends with the two of them, he really can't.

"It's a haunted house, I'm supposed to be afraid!" He points out. "Additionally, I think it's kinda bad taste to have a haunted house set in an actual haunted manor. Surely that's disrespectful." Grian pulls Mumbo's other hand free, him and Iskall holding one each. Stepping backwards as they move up the line, Mumbo frowns when his foot gets caught in the roots overwhelming mossy, cracked stone planters. He glances down the line, unsure how he didn't notice them bordering this section of the queue before.

"Mumbo, you do know there's no such thing as ghosts, right? You are aware of this fact?" Iskall's voice, despite its taunting nature, has a hint of seriousness to it. Mumbo's attempt at a word disintegrates into several noises instead. Of course, that only encourages Iskall to laugh, throwing his head back at the force of it. Grian slides up to Mumbo's shoulder, bumping into it.

"It's okay, Mumbo, we'll protect you from the spooky ghosts!" Grian sing-songs 'spooky' for extra effect. That effect is making Mumbo want to hit him. Unfortunately, he can't, because they're both still holding his hands. Mumbo stares into the cold fluorescent lights instead, ignoring them. Grian laughs, Iskall quick to join him.

Mumbo will give it to the organisers, they know how to set a scene. Outside of the bustling noise and lights of the queue, the grounds are as black as the night sky overhead. The overgrown lawn brushes the stone foundation they're waiting on; blades of grass occasionally tickling his ankle as he shuffles from foot to foot. His shoes are still muddy from when they were queuing on the lawn further back. He's glad they got off that section. If he had to listen to Grian and Iskall guess what shape the topiaries used to be for much longer he would've gone insane. Another scream from within the house makes him jump, gripping Iskall's hand tighter out of instinct. Iskall throws him a smirk, and blessedly doesn't comment. Small miracles.

"We're nearly at the entrance!" Grian whispers, voice high with excitement. His fingers trace the stone wall of the house as they move. They lift when he reaches the wooden trim of a boarded up window, paint flaking under Grian's touch. He cringes, flicking the dried paint off his skin. Mumbo smiles to himself and pretends not to look.

"After what, an hour and a half?" Iskall asks, his voice as tired as Mumbo's feet feel. Grian checks his phone with a hum.

"More like an hour and a quarter." The bright screen lights his face with an eerie glow until he shuts it off. Iskall sighs, the dramatic nature overtaken by a piercing scream that sounds like it's on the other side of the wall next to them. The three of them freeze up, before they shake their heads with gentle laughter, normal conversation resuming.

"Have we got any signal yet?" Iskall asks.

"Nope!" Grian pops the word. At Iskall's groan, he laughs. "It's not my fault you're so addicted to social media."

"Not everybody can be so dedicated to our jobs," Iskall replies. Mumbo finds himself distracted by something out in the darkness of the lawn. It looks like two children, running in circles after each other. Their dresses look wholly impractical for the chill in the air. And too fancy for the muddy grass. Who would bring their children to a haunted house anyway? Staff members, maybe? Irresponsible parents?

His foot catches on a crack in the concrete, stumbling forward instead of a step. Iskall steadies him with the grip on his hand and Grian is quick to grab his shoulders. The two of them haul him upright again. Grian's smile is more amused than Iskall's concerned frown.

"You alright, dude?" He asks, checking Mumbo over carefully. Mumbo shakes his head, trying to dispel Iskall's worry.

"No, I'm fine. Foot got caught. I was watching the kids out on the-" Where he's pointing is empty. There are no white flashes of fabric where the children were, only the dark murkiness of night. "Oh. Well, they were there." Grian stares out into the lawn, skeptical.

"You sure you weren't seeing things, Mumbo?" Grian's voice is disbelieving, an edge of teasing slipping in.

"No, I- I swear they were right there. Two girls." He blinks, unsure where the two must have gone. He wasn't looking away for that long, but children are pretty fast.

"Maybe you saw some ghosts," Iskall joins the teasing. Mumbo huffs at them both, crossing his arms now Iskall has finally released his hand.

"You two are the worst," he decides.

"Spooky!" Grian sings, pulling himself onto Mumbo's shoulder as they step forward again. He feels a heavy relief as they finally round the corner and the dark porch comes into view. It looks like it's been restored, the paint on the wood shiny compared to the rest of the house. Although looking towards the roof of the porch, those metal spikes should've been left out. Someone could hurt themselves on those. Thankfully, the window above is boarded up.

"Finally," Iskall sighs, his shoulders slumping as the ticket checker comes into view. "Grian, you got them ready?" Grian hums, unzipping his coat pocket and pulling out the printed tickets.

"Right here!" He holds them up proudly. Mumbo twists around to see the ticket man. The clothes look pretty authentic. A neat waistcoat, a chain coming from the pocket, well-fitting slacks. A couple passes their tickets over, smiling as he takes them. Then the man takes out a straight-up pocket watch. They're… Really going for this, aren't they? Mumbo sticks his own hands in his jean pockets. He prefers modern comforts.

There are only a few more people ahead of them now. Mumbo shifts from foot to foot, his toe catching on the red carpet leading inside. He sighs. He's doomed to trip over everything tonight, isn't he? He looks up to find Grian looking at him, excitement in his expression. He tries to smile back, moving up to a drawn line on the carpet. There's nobody else in front of them now. Oh, they're actually doing this.

Upon a wave from the staff member, the trio heads up to the rope barrier. Past the entrance, the hallway splits into two, wooden signs marking each way. Yet, Mumbo can't help but be drawn to the bored-looking staff member as he holds his hand out. His eyes are a pale blue, almost white. Mumbo shudders when those eyes stare directly at him. He's quick to look away. This place is getting to him. Grian enthusiastically passes over their tickets, oblivious to the exchange beside him.

"Three adults," he says. The man nods, looking over each ticket and checking the time on his pocket watch. He punches a hole through the corner of each one before handing them back.

"Keep your tickets on you in case they need to be checked." Grian nods, giving Mumbo and Iskall their own ticket. Mumbo slips it into his pocket without checking. He printed them out earlier today at Grian's pestering. "And you'll need to leave your bag in the cloakroom, sir." The staff member gestures at the brown rucksack on Iskall's back. Iskall puts a hand on the strap, the bag containing their personal belongings. "It's a secure locker system, you only have to give them to the staff member there and you'll receive a wristband." They gesture down the second corridor, away from the queue and the noise.

"I can take it," Mumbo suggests. He could use a breather before they head into the attraction. Usually, he'd find his friends' excitement contagious, but right now it's only leaving him more unsettled. Iskall loosens the strap, sliding it off his back.

"You sure you won't get lost the moment we aren't holding your hands?" Iskall teases as he hands the bag to him. Mumbo rolls his eyes, slinging it over one of his shoulders.

"Surprisingly, I don't think I'll get lost simply going up a corridor." Grian steps forward, unbuttoning his red coat to reveal the just as red jumper underneath.

"Can you take my coat too?" Mumbo lays it over one of his arms, watching Grian grin. "Thanks, Mumbo, love you." Mumbo shakes his head, already taking a step towards the separate corridor and past the now-open rope barrier.

"I'll meet up with you guys in a minute," he tells them, precious cargo in hand. Grian and Iskall smile, Iskall offering a wave as they go ahead to join up with the queue.

"We won't go in without you!" Grian calls. Mumbo huffs a laugh.

"I'd prefer it if you did!" He calls in return. He watches until the two vanish behind the wall, their giggles merging into the crowd. The couple behind them are already joining the queue. Mumbo sighs, turning and checking the neat wooden sign before heading up the corridor. He's definitely going the right way.

Metal sconces light the wall, a dim light against dark, ornate wallpaper. He doesn't realise how quiet it's grown until he can hear the wooden floor creak beneath the carpet. He cringes at the sound, pleased when he reaches another rope, blocking off the corridor and directing him into a smaller room. He looks around at the wooden bookshelves, a cushioned seat in the corner. Another staff member (he hopes) leans on a doorway inside, reading a hardcover book. Mumbo hesitates before he approaches.

"Hey, uh, are you taking the bags? For the cloakroom?" Dark eyes look up to him. It's a woman this time, hair tied back into a neat ponytail. She's also wearing a waistcoat, Mumbo assumes it must be their uniform.

"That would be me," the woman tells him, placing her book on the side table. Mumbo passes over the bag and coat, shrugging off his own to add to them. She disappears into the back room. Mumbo tries to peer in, but it's so dark he can't see anything. How can she tell where she's going? She comes back, presenting him with a wristband, an intricate pattern on both sides of the plastic. Mumbo takes it, frowning as he twirls it in his hand.

"Doesn't it have a number on it?" He asks, a little curious about what kind of system they're using here. The woman shrugs her shoulder.

"Doesn't need one," she tells him. She reaches over to pick up her book again, flicking it open. "Have a nice stay." Mumbo's mouth remains open for a few seconds too long before he realises he's been dismissed. At least this will make an interesting story to tell the other two. He steps back into the corridor, focusing on slipping the wristband on. Then he looks up and stops. The rope barrier is gone. For a moment he's unsure if he imagined it, but he's certain that there was a barrier here. And a sign. Glancing into the room, the staff member is gone too. Okay, right. He can figure this out.

He looks down both sides of the hallway, trying to guess what direction he came from. They're identical, carpeted floor and metal sconces leading off into darkness. Even the panelling on the wall below the patterned wallpaper offers no clues. With a sigh, he sticks his hands into his pockets, resting over his phone. Listening, the manor is quiet. He can't hear the occasional screaming, although there's some creaking overhead. Helpful. Well, it was just a straight walk to the entrance, wasn't it? He can follow the corridor and come back if he notices something unfamiliar.

His steps are more cautious as he starts down the hall. He's never going to hear the end of it if he actually gets lost. Certainly not down a straight corridor. He'd like to keep his dignity tonight, please. Whatever is left of it. Except, he's fairly certain the hall wasn't this long. Nor did he notice this musty smell until now. He touches a finger to his nose, scrunching it up. It smells like wet paper. Or… something like that, at least.

Giving up on this direction, he turns and goes the other way. From the outside, the manor didn't even look this big. This time, he takes more note of the closed doors lining the hall. The wooden frames match the doors, with a carved arch above each one. He pauses to look at the sculpted wood. A shield sits on top of twisted ribbon, although whatever was on the shield has been scratched off to reveal pale wood beneath. He walks to the next door only to find the same thing. Somebody didn't like the family coat of arms, then. It's the same down the entire corridor - the wood broken and splintered away.

He nearly jumps when he finds himself back in the entrance hall. The front door is shut. Mumbo didn't think this shut until later? Maybe they hit capacity. He tilts his head in the direction of the queue, surprised when he hears silence. Surely Grian and Iskall would be waiting for him somewhere, right? That same ticket person with the spooky eyes is at the door. Mumbo steels himself before approaching him.

"Um, sir?" He gets no response from the man. He stares at the door as if Mumbo hadn't spoken. Mumbo closes the distance, coming up behind him. "Excuse me?" He reaches out to tap his shoulder, wondering if he's wearing headphones Mumbo hasn't spotted.

Mumbo's fingers go straight through his shoulder.

There's a brief, still second where nothing moves. Mumbo stares at his hand in shock, hanging inside the now transparent arm. His mouth opens, brain desperately trying to catch up with this new situation. The rest of his body kicks in, pulling him away, clutching his hand like he's been burnt. His fingers are freezing, colder than they were after being stood in that queue. In a panic, he glances upwards, searching for a projector of some kind.

"It has to be," he murmurs. His gentle voice feels so loud in the entrance. Like laughter in a graveyard. He didn't see the floor up above the first time he entered, or the huge black chandelier that seems to be waving in an absent breeze. There's no tell-tale flicker of a projector. Oh jeez. He turns back to the door.

Those eyes are right in front of him.

A shout gets caught in his throat, body tumbling over and into the wall behind him in his attempt to fling himself away. His fingers press into the carpet beneath him, legs shuffling backwards until his back is straight against the wall. The man is still walking towards him and Mumbo genuinely thinks his heart couldn't beat harder if it tried.

"Sir, I am so sorry, I'm a little lost right now and- oh goodness I put my hand through your shoulder, what is happening-?" Whether the man hears him or not is impossible to tell, but Mumbo has a sinking feeling nothing good is going to happen if he touches him. He's only getting closer and Mumbo is running out of options here.

A few things happen in quick succession.

First, the man reaches his hand out towards Mumbo, lips pulling into an unnaturally wide smile on a face that has only seemed disinterested until now. Second, Mumbo throws himself to the side, landing on his hands on the carpet beside him and trying to scramble to his feet. Third, the room plunges into darkness.

Mumbo falls straight into the wall, nails scratching the wood to pull himself up. He can't make out anything. He feels around him blindly, finding an empty space and taking quick, clumsy steps into it. He blinks hard. Once, twice. The world is still dark. Except, as he raises his arm to feel in front of him again, except for that wristband.

He presses against the wall, checking from side to side as if he could see any threat coming for him. Convincing himself he's at least somewhat safe, he examines the wristband. The strange pattern in the plastic is glowing. It's literally glowing. He traces along the indent first, but can't spot any hidden LEDs. Then he tries to take the band off. The band does not come off.

"Oh, this is ridiculous." He can't even fit his nails underneath the plastic. This has to be a joke, right? Some kind of big misunderstanding? He fumbles in his pocket until he's pulling out his phone, even more relieved now that he didn't leave it in his coat. The screen lights up, making his hands silver in its glow. It's nearly midnight. He groans in frustration when he remembers that, of course, there's no signal. Not even for emergency calls. He's an idiot. Unlocking the screen, he goes to the one thing his phone can be useful for.

He hovers over the button before switching on the flashlight, chest tight until he confirms there's no man (ghost, was that a ghost? It can't be-) waiting for him. He swings the light around him nervously, trying to figure out where he is. He doesn't even remember entering a door, but it seems like he's in a living room of some kind. There's a stone fireplace in the wall, comfortable chairs and a large love seat. Lingering on the fireplace, he's distracted from the stonework by the charred wood and ash gathered at the bottom. There's still a hint of amber in the embers, letting off so little light it's barely noticeable. Was it on recently? He doesn't feel it in the air, his arms having broken into goosebumps under his dress shirt.

The other people waiting for the attraction can't have moved too far, and Grian and Iskall should be with them. He takes a deep breath, calming his thoughts and steadying himself. Yeah. He just needs to find everyone else. They should have lights, and people, and hopefully staff members he doesn't put his hand through. Perfect.

He creeps to the doorway, careful to shine his phone through it first. The hallway looks identical. Though, when he looks closer, it's in better condition to the other side. Towards the ceiling, where wallpaper was ripped to show the broken plasterboard beneath, it's immaculate. He catches the shine of wood over the door. The coat of arms is intact. He takes in the dragon on the shield. It's pretty cool, he wonders why it was broken in the other hall.

Only when he's sure the hallway is safe does he continue down it. He guesses how far away the queue must be. Worst case, they've taken them somewhere safe and out of the way. Hopefully Grian and Iskall have raised the alarm for him. He's keeping an eye out for any staff members or… anyone, actually. He'd just like to see another person in the darkness.

He cringes as a creak pierces the air, lifting his foot quickly. He hates old houses. He hates them so much. As he hovers his phone over it, though, the carpet even looks fluffy. That's absurd. He shakes it off and attempts to tread lighter, the little it helps. His creaking steps and soft breaths are the only things he can hear. He'd think as he got closer to the others, he might hear them but there's nothing so far. It's unnerving. As if he isn't unnerved enough.

He stops so quickly he nearly loses his footing at a flash of white down the hallway. He holds the light over the open doorway. It wasn't the right height to be that man. Perhaps another person? He steps forward, attempting to peek into the room.

He calls a nervous, "Hello?" Then realises he sounds like every white person in a horror movie. He stills when a face peers around the door. It's one of the children from earlier. This close, the girl is unnaturally pale, with almost a glow to her. Mumbo relaxes a little anyway, relieved to see a kind of familiar face. He crouches down to her height. "Hey, do you know where anyone is? Your parents maybe? I'm a little lost." She edges out from behind the door, neat white dress following her. It's lacy around the top, a line towards the bottom marking out wavy fabric around her feet. Which, he notices, don't have any shoes on.

When she speaks, it's with a gentle echo, like a song, "You can see me?" Mumbo frowns, watching her small hand push away some of the tight waves that have fallen from her braid.

"Yes? Why wouldn't I-" He's cut off when the girl's mouth drops open. She steps away from him, taking a deep breath. Mumbo's not sure what he's done wrong when she screams. He has to raise his hands to his ears, flinching at the high sound. Despite his phone's light pointing away, he can still see her clearly. Especially as she turns and runs. Straight… straight through a wall. Mumbo would very much like off this ride now. He pushes himself upright on his knees and freezes. He can feel something staring at him. She wasn't reacting to him, was she? Brandishing his phone in front of him, he spins, dragging his feet down the corridor.

The man is walking slowly towards him. One foot after the other. Purposeful. Mumbo shivers, can't look into those eyes.

"What do you want?" He demands. "I'm honestly very confused right now, and I'd really like some answers." He walks backwards, keeping distance between them both.

"It's been a long time since we've had a guest like you." Mumbo swears that voice wasn't so deep before. It's almost static around the edges, hurting Mumbo's ears. "You'll make a wonderful addition to the house." Mumbo pulls himself up taller, straightening his back.

"That's- that's a really nice offer but I'm really, very happy with my current job! I'm sorry but I'm not on the market right now!" There's no break in pace. Only the return of that smile, looking too big, too tight. Like the face it's on isn't made for it.

"I think your spirit would be perfect to mould." The words make Mumbo's chest seize in terror. He doesn't need to understand the full implication behind them to realise that's not good.

"Okay. Don't really want that. If you could just- I don't know, let me leave? Find my friends?" That is not the face of someone who's going to let him leave. His back knocks into a wall. He glances around him, panic consuming any rational thought. He's breathing too fast but it feels like he isn't breathing at all. There, next to him. Wooden stairs, twisting up into darkness. He looks at the approaching man and the hall he's backed into. There's nowhere else to go.

He leaps the first two stairs, one of his hands catching himself on the wood to push himself up. The light around him swings wildly as he struggles to keep his phone steady. Using his hand and feet, he scarpers to the landing, falling back onto carpet edged with small metal grippers, shaped like studded semi-circles. He drags himself up using the wall, swaying on his feet and taking deep breaths.

The man doesn't suddenly appear behind him, but Mumbo isn't taking any chances. He searches the immediate area and finds only one direction available. He hopes the others are nearby and runs down the hallway, hoping to put as much distance between him and that man as possible. There are no lights on up here either, but as he gets around, he realises that the windows aren't boarded up. Instead, a full moon shines bright silver light into the manor. Mumbo checks the time on his phone as turns off the torch. He needs to save battery.

It's nearly midnight. His lip twists. Did he read it wrong before? He must have. He was panicking. It makes sense. He's still got plenty of charge too, which is a relief. However, his hope that the change in height would give him service is quickly dashed. Obviously, he can't have too many good things.

He comes to a stop upon reaching a branch in the hallway. There are two directions he could go. Neither has an obvious sign stating, 'This way!' It would've been nice. So he picks the left for no other reason than maze logic. Always follow the left wall. It also seems more lit up, which is vastly preferable to the darkness in other parts of the manor. It smells less of dust up here, too. He can smell something distantly flowery. Maybe the garden is in better condition than the front lawn?

Since he's on the top floor, he takes the opportunity to look into some of the rooms. Mostly bedrooms, he notices. A lot of the beds are pristinely made, sheets looking like they've been washed recently. In one room there's a half-full glass on a nightstand. In another, a cup of tea sends twisted patterns of steam into the freezing air. Mumbo enters that room, curious if anybody's nearby. There are more signs of life on this floor. He's taking in the four-poster bed with fabric tied to the posts when he hears distant singing.

He turns towards the sound automatically, hands falling heavy by his sides. Singing, that must mean a person. He leaves the room, following the sound. The haunting notes fill his head in the silence through the manor. Each step brings him closer to the source, losing sight of the space around him. He vaguely notices his fingers slipping from his phone, and pushes the device into his pocket instead. His fingers fall limp once he does.

The room he enters is another bedroom. The bed is the largest he's seen so far, but besides the singing, all he takes in is the scent of lavender. Taking over his senses, soothing his thoughts into a quiet hum. Both the song and the lavender are coming from a woman, sitting in front of her vanity as she brushes long, dark hair. Mumbo takes small steps towards her before stopping, waiting in place. He remains there, watching, letting her song fill his head until there are no thoughts of his own left.

The click of her hairbrush on the vanity marks the end of the song. The woman stands, every movement poised, as she walks towards the silent Mumbo. His eyes are partially closed, head falling forward with his shoulders. She reaches under his chin, ice-cold fingers tilting his face towards her. Their eyes meet, dark brown into light, glassy blue.

"Oh, you poor thing." Her words have a similar song-like quality, dripping with sadness. "You must be so lost." Mumbo's eyes grow heavier as her other hand cups the back of his head, holding him still in front of her. "Rest, now. Rest and I'll make it all better." His eyes slip shut, mind falling completely silent.

When they open again, he's in front of a circular window. He steps towards it automatically. He wants to see his garden before he goes to bed. It looks so pretty in the nighttime. The moon shines cold light onto his face, the glow of the glass enchanting.

Nothing prepares him for the shove. His spine shouts in pain as the world shifts beneath him. Gravity changes and he raises thin arms to protect himself, his feet unable to find the ground. Glass shatters against his weight in a cacophony of noise and he's falling- the porch rushing to meet him, no longer decorative black spikes he can't bear to look at growing closer as he shuts his eyes-

Mumbo gasps as his eyes shoot open. He's leaning out of the shattered window, gusts of wind streaking through his hair, pinning his shirt to his body. The moon in front of him is bright, catching on the splintered glass in the window frame. Every breath feels heavy in his lungs, his entire body shivering in the chill of the air. Outside, the lawn is… Different. The grass is immaculate, flowerbeds blossoming in a way that still tugs at some part of his mind he's not convinced is his own. The once-broken planters along the pathway are shining in the glow of the moon, not a crack to be found. He can only glance at the spikes on the porch, pain stabbing through his chest and arms at the sight. And the queue, where's the queue?

He attempts to stumble away, hissing as he lifts his hands and finds thick lines of blood. How did he not feel that before? He looks at the glass shards where his hands were just resting. In fact, how didn't he feel the tugging pressure on either side of his shirt, or see the pale faces watching him-?

He screams. The girls let go of his shirt as he backs into the wall, pressing his bleeding palms flat against the panelling. They watch, making no move towards him. Simply watching. Mumbo's strength finally gives up and he sinks down the wall until he hits the ground. Burying his face into his knees, he takes a few seconds to just breathe. The girls are still watching him when he looks back up, twin faces expressionless.

"What do you want from me?" He asks, voice cracking in spite of his best efforts. The girls look at each other, expressions becoming almost… Remorseful?

"We want to help you," one says. She's taller, hair tied into a ponytail by a simple ribbon.

"You shouldn't be here," the other tells him. The one from before, with the untidy braid. "He's trapped you here." Mumbo presses his clenched fists against his face, making a soft whine that sounds pathetic to his own ears.

"Who is he? What is going on? I'm just-" He runs out of words to say. The shorter girl looks down the hallway. They exchange another look and the taller holds a hand out, encouraging him up.

"We should go to our room."

"You get affected by her." Mumbo looks at the empty window in front of him. The glass shards taunt him, memories that aren't quite his own mingled with stinging palms. He pushes himself onto his feet. What other option does he have? He's lost, he's freezing, he's scared. When this day started, he didn't think he'd be taking comfort in two ghost girls. But here he is.

"Okay. Okay, I'll follow you." The taller girl takes Mumbo's hand. Her touch is like cold velvet against his already freezing skin. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he lets the pair lead him. Away from the broken window and the lingering scent of lavender. Further into the house with more direction than he's had since he arrived. The shorter girl skips ahead, peeking around doors and corners before gesturing them on.

They come to a stop in a bedroom. It's pretty. That's the best way he can think to describe this room. The curtains are drawn, frills down to the floor. A dollhouse sits in the corner of the room beside the bed, dolls still, as if caught in time. And two twin beds. They're unmade yet a pristinely bright white. Besides dark spots on the edges of the pillows where the covers are drawn back, marking each bed. A glistening red, matching the deep cuts on his hands-

"Is that blood?" He hisses, freezing in place. The taller girl turns to look at him, tilting her head.

"This is our bedroom," she says it as if that should answer all of his questions. It does not. Not at all.

"But- Why is there blood?" He gestures at the stained sheets. His hand is released as both girls enter the room. The shorter girl picks up a discarded teddy from the floor.

"This is where we died," the taller tells him, jumping up and sitting on the bed. Her dress falls delicately around her, blending in with the covers. The shorter girl pushes herself up, sitting so they both face him. Mumbo stares. He hates to admit it, but he just stares. He understood, logically, they had to be dead. He saw one of them run through a wall. But hearing them say it, so simply? How is he supposed to react to that?

"Died- right-" He hides his face, trying to keep himself calm. "You're ghosts. Of course. That-" Something else clicks, "Blood. There's blood. You two-"

"Murdered," the shorter one says.

"By him. Our father," the taller adds. Mumbo looks at them both closely. They look so small.

"You- that's so much blood." The taller girl looks at the patch, she reaches out, scraping her finger against the stain. "You don't look like it."

"We choose not to." Mumbo blinks and suddenly the girls have blood streaming from their necks and staining their dresses, the skin torn almost all the way through-

He blinks again and it's gone, along with his breath. There are just two girls with skin nearly as pale and flawless as their white dresses. He raises a hand to his mouth, unsure if he wants to be sick or cry. They're just- they're so young.

"It's okay," the shorter girl tells him. She's crossed her legs, her teddy sat in the middle. "We were sleeping. We didn't feel it." Mumbo can barely look at them without seeing the red.

"Oh- oh, I feel sick." There's nowhere in the room for him to sit, so he settles for the floor. His legs shake as he lowers himself, finally dropping with a thud. The girls look down at him, always watching. It's as if he's something fascinating to them. Those bright eyes examine his every movement.

"Our father is the one who trapped you here," the taller girl tells him. "We're all trapped here. Our family, and the people he's got since."

"The people he's got since?" Mumbo questions, the implication of that hitting him like a truck. "Like me?" They both nod.

"It used to be explorers," she speaks like she's telling a story, her words weaving pictures in Mumbo's mind, "most of them came and went. We'd watch them as they flashed their big boxes or tubes."

"But some of them could see us," the shorter one calls, face brightening in genuine excitement.

"Those were the ones he trapped. We'd listen to them scream and then they were trapped, like us." Mumbo's fingers unconsciously reach for his phone, holding it tight for comfort. Maybe he should write a message. Texts that won't send. Some sorries and 'I love you's.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asks. "You're trapped here too." They turn to each other, smiling with slight nods.

"We decided to help," the taller one says.

"You were nice," the smaller continues. Mumbo holds his arm up, looking at the wristband. It continues glowing. He gives it a cursory push. Still no give. He’s so lost.

"How do you plan on doing that?" He asks. They turn to each other as their faces scrunch up.

"We're not sure."

"We've never done this before." Mumbo groans, sinking back until he's lying on the carpeted floor. His hand presses into his face until he grimaces at the sticky, congealing blood.

"I'm going to die here," he murmurs. "I'm going to die here because apparently, I can see ghosts and my friends dragged me to a haunted house! I'm going to die!" He flashes his phone screen on, wishing for something. A message, a hint of signal and not the time, still showing it's right before midnight. Not that. The only one out of the three he gets. His hands sting more at the stretch of movement.

"Are you finished?" He yelps when he lowers the phone and finds both girls standing over him. His arms are above his face as protection before he processes what's happening. He reveals a sliver of vision between his pale forearms. They're frowning.

"You're not going to escape by having a tantrum on the floor," the shorter tells him, her voice sharp as a teacher's. He's going to die and his last memories are going to be of dead children scolding him like he's one of them. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

"Come on. Let's go." Small hands tug at him as they attempt to pull him upright. It feels as effective as he is when he's stayed up too late, about to pass out standing up. "Do you want to be stuck here forever? Don't you have a family to go back to?" And Mumbo does. He has his family and-

"My friends. I came here with two friends." Grian and Iskall, what would they think? Would they even find a body, or would Mumbo have walked down that hallway and simply vanished? His mind rushes with questions that he doesn't want answers to. He doesn't want to see his friends search for him. He doesn't want to see them mourn.

"Well, get up then. Let's go." The shorter girl claps for emphasis. This time, Mumbo does, using his arm as a pillar despite how it hurts.

"I think," the taller declares, "we should try to get you outside. That's got to work, right?" Her questioning tone leaves Mumbo less than optimistic, but it's not as if he has any other options.

"But that means going downstairs," the shorter girl whispers it like the words have weight.

"Downstairs?" Mumbo echoes.

"That's where he is." The taller girl is already walking ahead, taking Mumbo's hand as she does. "But how else are we going to get outside?"

"A window?" The shorter suggests. She takes Mumbo's other hand, the pair of them taking the lead with no option but to follow. They continue their discussion around him.

"No. The only open one is mother's and he can't go near it again. She's stronger than us, we nearly lost him before." Mumbo isn't sure how he feels about being discussed like this. They're leaning forwards as they walk, looking at each other. Yet they're leading him down the halls still. Walking blindly through the maze that had Mumbo so lost like it’s effortless.

"The front door is shut too." The shorter has her face scrunched up, dark hair falling into it again. "We're not strong enough to open it."

"The garden, then."

"That door was shut too." Their gentle bickering reminds him of Grian and Iskall. Silently, he accepts his fate. He's putting his life in the hands of two girls that have no idea what they're doing. Children. He is completely and utterly screwed. He's never going to hear Iskall and Grian bicker again. His hand twitches with the urge to wipe away what might be tears stinging his eyes. Little fingers hold on tighter.

The halls all blend together the longer they walk. They fall into a single file line, the taller girl leading. Only his footsteps make a sound - muted thuds through the house, less creaks now he has two people guiding him. Mumbo's in awe at the size of the manor. He allows that to occupy his mind for a little while. How would you even fill half of these rooms? They must have had servants for cleaning. In its day, this must've been an incredible place to grow up. Now, it's a prison. It's likely going to be his prison. The manor loses some grandeur at that thought.

The taller releases his hand and leans forward, sticking her upper body straight through a wall. Mumbo blinks. He's never going to get used to that. She steps away, nodding at them both.

"It's empty." The shorter girl nods in return, the pair sneaking around the partially closed door. Mumbo follows, ducking into a small, twisting, wooden staircase. The girls are skipping down the stairs, leaning on the central column to peer around. They glance at him occasionally, as if checking he's still there. Mumbo makes sure he's in their sight, feet struggling to fit on the stairs. This staircase wasn't made for somebody as tall as him.

Towards the bottom, he can pick up on a distinct noise slicing through the silence. The two girls have paused at the exit to the stairs, listening. It’s a harsh scrape, splintering underneath. Terror catches Mumbo's heart, the beat jumping in his ears. Is somebody destroying the house? What is that?

"He's doing it again," the shorter comments, her face and voice grumpy. Mumbo is about to ask what he's doing, but the pair are already determinedly walking ahead. He'll defer to the experts.

"That's the only way to the entrance," the taller says, her gentle features pinched in thought. It's not directed at him. The words sink in anyway.

"We have to go past him?" He asks, continuing to follow despite his poor instincts trying to protect him. Their faces are set in grim determination.

"Yes."

Mumbo has to fight to find words, "That's- that's a terrible idea! He wants to kill me." He presses his fist against his chest at the thought. One near death experience would be enough for one night. He's had several!

"He's already killed us," the shorter helpfully reminds him. Mumbo squeezes his eyes shut to calm down.

"We can figure it out," the taller replies. Honestly, Mumbo would just like to curl up in a corner and fade out of existence. That would be far preferable to this. But, he's already come this far, and they're both looking at him expectantly.

"Planning," he suggests, "we could come up with a plan." They exchange looks.

"Planning's for adults," the taller decides. The shorter girl is already running ahead, scouting their path out. Mumbo makes a particularly undignified noise.

"I'm an adult!" He calls. His statement is ignored. The girls are storming ahead with a determination Mumbo wishes he had. Maybe there are some advantages to being dead. It's not like anyone can kill you again. Can they?

The girls come to a stop in front of a corner. The taller puts her fingers on her lips. The harsh scraping is louder, vibrating through the walls. Mumbo can hear thuds, softened by the carpet. He clutches one of his hands tight to his chest. The gashes have nearly stopped bleeding. His entire palm is stained red - he's surprised he's not left marks on the house or the girls. Just another weird thing to keep track of.

The shorter girl pulls him closer, encouraging him to look around the corner. It's the same man as before, that's for certain. His appearance has changed, once tidy hair unkempt, waistcoat undone and torn. Mumbo flinches as a knife glints in the darkness. The man lunges forward, stabbing the blade into the wood above the door and prying at the carving, splintering wood around him. His focus is immovable as he drives the knife in further. Mumbo winces.

A tug on his shirt brings him to attention. The taller girl is pointing to something in the darkness. It hits Mumbo that he can barely see. He's been so reliant on the natural glow from the two girls, he forgot it's pitch black down here. He has no idea what she's pointing at or any idea how to articulate that. With one hand, he covers his eyes, shaking his head. When he looks again, the two girls are frowning, looking at each other. Finally, they nod. The shorter darts to the other side of the hall, vanishing into the wall.

Mumbo watches in confusion until in the darkness of the hall, a doorway is lit up by her silhouette. Her cheeks are scrunching up her eyes as she grins. The taller girl turns to him, a question in her eyes. Mumbo nods, offering a thumbs up. She nods back, checking the position of her father. Then she points, mouthing a clear, 'Go.'

Mumbo takes the chance, transferring his weight to his toes. He waits for the sound of the knife hitting wood before running, feet light across the carpet until he reaches the doorway, falling into the room. Both girls are waiting for him. The shorter girl pokes her head out, returning with a big grin. Mumbo releases his breath, sinking onto the wall beside the doorframe. One stage closer. He allows himself a hint of relief, hope within reach. If they're patient, they should make it. He checks his phone. Still nearly midnight. They've got time.

The taller girl vanishes through one of the walls. Mumbo stays put, waiting for his next instruction. Sure, they'll have to figure out what to do next. But if he gets through this, Mumbo thinks he could do anything.

He makes it to the next room, using the sound of the knife against wood and the glow of the girls to guide him. The man is close now. Mumbo breathes lightly, body tensed. The scraping stops. The three wait for it to start up again so they can decide their next move.

Instead, the knife stabs through the wall with a loud yell, inches away from Mumbo's head.

Mumbo realises the shout was his own, throwing himself away from the wall and falling against a velvet chair. He manages to keep himself upright on shaky hands, twisting to face the door. The girls have twin looks of terror. Mumbo presses against the wall away from the door, a glowing silhouette blocking out the creeping darkness.

"There you are." The man walks in. The knife is armed in his hand. "I knew I could smell something alive around here." To Mumbo's surprise, the taller girl gets in front of him, digging her hands into his hips. The man stops.

"Let him go!" She orders, stomping her foot. The shorter girl stands beside her, crossing her arms. They form a protective wall in front of Mumbo. His heart aches. The man, their supposed father, only scowls.

"Begone, brats." Mumbo feels the air shift. The girls look at each other in horror before they vanish, leaving the room empty. Nothing in-between Mumbo and the man and the knife.

"What did you do to them?!" He demands, his arms raised protectively. He tries to look around for the girls but he can't take his eyes off the man in front of him.

"I sent them away." The man steps forward. He taps the knife in his hand. The metal glints in his glow. Maybe, just maybe, the knife won't be able to hurt him. Please. "It'll take a while until they can manifest again."

"How can you-" Mumbo reaches for his hair but flinches as the strands irritate his hand. "You're sick. How can you do this to them? They're children!" The man continues forward. That knife is too close, way too close. He'd prefer it if it was on the other side of the house, in fact.

"They were going to leave me." Mumbo stumbles backwards as if the words sent off a shockwave. "Just like you're trying to."

"They had every reason to!" Mumbo argues. He- he murdered them. He wants to do the same to Mumbo! "And I'm quite attached to my life as well!"

"You signed your life away already." Mumbo jumps to the side away from the swing of the knife. "You've been carrying the contract in your pocket the entire time." Mumbo knows his confusion is showing on his face. All he has in his pockets is his phone. His phone and-

"This?" Mumbo drags the ticket free of his pocket, brandishing the crumpled paper in front of the man like a weapon. It looks ordinary. One adult, entrance to the manor, on today's date. The hole is still punched in the corner.

"It never said anything about leaving." Mumbo's heart drops at the words. Of course it didn't. That's- that's never written into websites or tickets. He wouldn't look for it because it's not like he ever expects this to happen.

"Well-" he grabs both ends of the ticket, tearing it in two with a satisfying rip, "-I void that contract. I don't agree." Nothing happens. The man's face shifts to one of amusement before he barks out a grating laugh. Mumbo frowns, missing the joke.

"You think that will save you?" The man asks, slinking towards him again. "You think I can't take your soul by force? Where have you got to run?" Mumbo jumps back from a swing that nearly catches his side. He eyes up the doorway. The man is standing in his way but- A plan comes to his head. A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

He kicks, watching the amusement on the man's face as his foot goes straight through him. Mumbo uses the momentum to dive forwards, straight through the man's body. It feels like plunging into a frozen ocean, leaving him gasping for air. But he's out. He's in the hallway. His hand presses against the wall until he gets his feet under him, sprinting into the empty darkness.

He holds his arm out, wishing the glow of the wristband was brighter to guide him. There's a roar behind him, sending Mumbo's body into violent shivers. He feels like he might cry. He forces one foot after another, hoping that the entrance is somewhere ahead of him. He doesn't know what it'll solve. Maybe it's a moral victory.

His hopes are dashed when his hand hits a wall. The pain is overshadowed by crushing defeat, the panic threatening to choke him. He presses around but can't find where to go. This was supposed to be a straight hallway! High-pitched, scraping drags closer to him, the sound growing louder. Mumbo turns, frozen before the man. It can't end here. Please, he doesn't want to die.

"It'll be over soon," the man tells him, words like ice in Mumbo's lungs. The knife gleams as it raises above Mumbo's head. His scream comes out as a sob, raising his arms in a last, futile attempt at defence.

The knife hits the wristband.

Mumbo barely registers the fact he's not been hit as the plastic glows, growing brighter as it peels away from sweaty skin. Something silent in the air bursts. He hears a scream as he loses his footing to the force. Falling backwards, the man is gradually vanishing, expression twisted in pain. Mumbo's head cracks against the wall behind him. He slumps onto the carpet, thoughts swimming. He blinks once. Twice. The darkness of the hallway takes over his thoughts, sliding into silence.

"I think he's waking up!" Mumbo's head feels like concrete. Everything throbs in time to his heartbeat, the voices around him are so loud he can't focus on the words. There's something soft touching his cheek, reminiscent of an earlier touch, freezing cold-

He flinches away from it, head swirling in pain. Another touch steadies him. He realises there's something cool and damp against the back of his head. He raises his hand, trying to touch it but brushing against something else solid, warm. Cautiously, he forces his eyes open, wincing at the brightness that awaits him. There's shadows moving in his vision, one of them speaking.

"-bo? Hey, can you hear us?" Mumbo nods, whining at the pain that movement sends through his head. He rests his forehead on a closed fist, giving the fog in his brain time to dissipate. Everything is blissfully quiet around him, the only noise being distant footsteps and creaking floorboards.

The night hits him at once. He startles up, swaying before he can even get his feet under him. Hands on his shoulders keep him from standing.

"Woah, hey. You had a nasty fall. Careful." The voice sinks into Mumbo's mind. He finds himself looking into dark brown eyes, bright red at the edge of his vision. He leaps forward, throwing his arms around his friend.

"Grian." His voice breaks on the name. Those arms reach around him, patting his back robotically.

"Mumbo?" Grian's voice is confused as he hugs back. "It's only been a few minutes, dude. You weren't out for that long." Mumbo's breath comes out as a wheeze.

"What time is it?" He asks, almost desperate. There's a pause, Grian's head lifting up.

"Like, ten minutes past midnight." There's Iskall. They're both here. Safe. He's safe. "Mumbo are you okay? Besides the head injury and- your hands. Like, dude?" Mumbo's breath comes out shaky with the tears he forces back.

"I'm- I'm okay. I think." He looks around the familiar hallway. The carpet is worn and dirty, the wallpaper peeling in places. Above the nearest doorway, the wooden coat of arms is broken.

"What even happened, Mumbo?" Grian asks. He gets shuffled to the side as a young man kneels down, a medical kit in his hands. Mumbo shuts his eyes, trying to think. A lot. A lot happened. Oh goodness, a lot has happened. He doesn't even know where to start.

So instead, he lies, "I- I tripped."

"You tripped?" Grian sounds in disbelief.

"When I joked about letting go of your hand, I didn't mean for it to be serious." The joking in Iskall's voice is shadowed by worry. That conversation feels like it happened hours ago. Mumbo holds his hands out for the first aider, allowing him to wipe the nearly closed up wounds. He winces at the sting of alcohol, sitting patiently and trying not to move.

"Do we need a babysitter for you?" Grian joins in with the teasing. It sounds just as concerned. Mumbo tries to smile. He feels exhausted down to his very bones. He wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep.

"I'm okay," he attempts to reassure them. "Honestly, I need to look where I'm going." It's so much easier than explaining what really happened.

"Maybe you were tripped by a ghost," Iskall jokes. It falls a bit flat, considering, but Mumbo finds himself laughing anyway. This is absurd. Did he just imagine all of that?

"There you go, all bandaged up." The first aider releases Mumbo's hand. Mumbo flexes them, feeling bandages shift around his palms. It's going to be a nightmare working with this. "No idea how you did it, mind. They look almost healed. Old wounds?" Mumbo hums, allowing the guy to take whatever answer he wants from it. "You should be fine to go home, anyway." Mumbo sags in relief before remembering the original reason for their visit.

"But what about you two?" He asks, "Don't you want to do the attraction?"

"Dude, we can do the attraction another time. We're taking you home." Grian nods in agreement at Iskall's words. Mumbo sits back, gently poking the ice pack on his head. It's beginning to melt into his hair. He takes it off, offering it back to the first aider.

"Hey." Mumbo looks up at a familiar voice, jumping away from the woman who approaches. She's no longer wearing a waistcoat, instead, there's a dark hoodie. Her hair is still in a ponytail. "Got your bags." Her eyes meet Mumbo's. They glint with a knowing smile, lightening to an almost-white. He stares at her as Iskall takes their stuff. Then, she turns away, waving over her shoulder. Grian offers his hands out to Mumbo, helping him onto his feet.

"Come on, let's get Mr Accident Prone here home," Grian calls to Iskall, wrapping his arm around Mumbo's waist. Iskall laughs, turning and thanking the staff members for their help whilst Grian walks with Mumbo to the entrance. Mumbo tries not to tense as the hallway opens up, but he does. He only relaxes once he sees the open door and no sign of that man. Grian looks at him in concern, asking a soft, "You alright?"

"I'm fine, sorry." Grian obviously isn't convinced, but they wait by the door for Iskall to catch up. He appears shortly after, rucksack on his back and their coats slung over his arm. He holds them out for Grian and Mumbo to take. Mumbo wraps himself up tightly, trying to stave off some of the lingering chill in his bones.

A weight leaves Mumbo's shoulders when they step outside. The queue is still chatting away and, for once, Mumbo doesn't care about the stares they get. He's far, far too tired. Grian leads him along with a warm hand in his, past the queue and under the bright lights. The grounds are in the same decay that Mumbo remembers from when they arrived.

"Right," Grian turns to Mumbo, squeezing his hand, "what actually happened, then?" Mumbo pauses, looking at Grian and trying to tell if he's serious.

"You're a terrible liar, Mumbo," Iskall informs him, backing Grian up.

"And why were you freezing up at things? Like that girl and the entrance? Clearly something's up."

"And you're clumsy but not that clumsy. Plus your hands! There was nothing sharp in the hall!" They're both so concerned, eyes watching Mumbo carefully. They probably think somebody picked a fight with him. They wouldn't be too far off.

"You guys wouldn't believe me if I told you," Mumbo replies, at last. Grian groans at him, Iskall rolling his eyes. Mumbo takes a second to glance back at the manor, standing tall in the night.

For a split second, he sees the manor as it once was. Windows closed and uncovered, the one above the porch shattered as blood drips onto the porch railing below. The flowers are blooming, the paint shining. And on the lawn, he sees two young girls, running across the tidy grass. He thinks he can hear their laughter in the distance. Then it's gone, returned to the abandoned manor someone decided to set a haunted house up in.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," he says, turning to Iskall as he parrots those earlier words. The two of them make loud noises, falling over each other in argument.

"What does that mean?!" Grian cries, waving his hands. "Come on, Mumbo!" Mumbo laughs tiredly, resolving to ignore their protests. Maybe he'll tell them another time. Tonight, he just wants to put this entire experience behind him. Curl up in a warm bed and sleep until he doesn't feel ready to fall over.

He's not going anywhere haunted for a long time.

#hermitcraft #mumbo jumbo #mumbojumbo #grian #iskall85 #my writing #ask #haworthiaace #this was supposed to be just the beginning convo #and then i just... kept going #anyway i return from holiday with a fic how are yall doing

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hermit-whump · 4 years

Text

Watchers - Pt 2

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231755/chapters/64038469 TW - Suicide, blood, torture, murder, violence, missing people

“Wil, we’re going to get them back.” Dream says, sitting down next to Wilbur on the wall that borders l’manburg and the dreamsmp. “I promise, they will come back.”

“A Watcher came.” Wilbur mumbles, tears in his eyes. “He had rabbit ears. He left Tommy and Tubbo’s shirts. There was so much blood on them.”

Dream blinks a few times behind his mask, shocked. A watcher. A watcher came to his server, stole two children and returned to give back their shirts? He doesn’t want to believe it. Dream can’t believe it, not until he realises what the rabbit ears mean.

Sam.

Sam shouldn’t have been able to get here, he shouldn’t have been able to leave the watchers, he’s just an owl. Dream can’t wrap his head around it, trying to process what would have made the watchers decide that Tommy and Tubbo decide to kidnap them. They’re just kids, though they are talented.

“The next intake.” Dream realises out loud. “Oh shit.”

“Intake?” Wilbur asks, rubbing his face as Dream stands up. “Dream what are you saying?”

“I need to talk to someone.” Dream says, helping Wilbur up. “You should come with me, it’s about Tommy and Tubbo.”

---

Grian screams as Sam slowly plucks a patch of feathers from his wings, the skin under them raw and bleeding. Sam laughs as he yanks out a handful of feathers, grabbing Grian’s face and forcing him to look him in the eyes. Sam laughs as tears run down Grian’s cheeks, waving a few feathers in front of his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have spoken back.” Sam pretends to sigh, wicked glee in his eyes and he drops Grian’s face, the hermit hitting the ground with a thump. “This wouldn’t have happened if you did.”

“I just wanted to know what happened to them.” Grian pleads, flinching as Sam turns around, glaring at him.

“You should know. You’re a falcon, you should know what happens to prey that fight back.” Sam’s glare turns to a smile. “You should remember, if you hadn't betrayed us, you would have been the one to kill them.”

Grian feels sick to the stomach, going pale as he realises that Sam isn’t lying. He would have killed Tubbo and Tommy if he hadn't left. If he hadn’t escaped. Pain blooms in his side as Sam kicks him, a cry escaping his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold it in.

---

Wilbur follows Dream as he walks through a forest, cold air whipping him in the face. Dream doesn’t say anything, his sword drawn, though occasionally he looks back to make sure Wilbur’s still there.

Dream told Wilbur that it wasn’t dangerous.

A small house appears, made of cobble and sprucewood, with some smoke coming out of the top of the house. The windows have shutters over them, and potatoes grow in the yard behind the house.

“Wil, I need you to promise that no matter what happens, you do not get involved. Not even if it looks like I will die. Don’t get involved.” Dream says, putting his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders.

“Dude chill.” Wilbur smiles, recognising the house. He moves in front of Dream, walking towards the door. “This is Techno’s place, why would he hurt us?”

Wilbur knocks on the door, tapping his foot impatiently as questions race through his mind. Why would Dream come to Techno after finding out that watchers broke into l’manburg and dreamsmp? Why isn’t Dream more worried about the watcher coming back, since he’s shown that he can do that?

Techno’s face appears behind the door, covered by a pig’s mask. His hair is bright pink and wet, clearly a fresh dye, and he’s in a red hoodie and black pants. Wilbur smiles, suddenly realising that he doesn’t know what to say to Techno.

“Hey Wil, why are you here?” Techno asks quietly, confusion in his voice.

“Can we come in, Techno?” Dream asks. “I need to ask for a favour.”

“If this is a favour for you, why is Wil here?” Techno replies cleanly, evenly.

“I need to ask for a favour.” Dream repeats calmly, his voice as cold as the wind.

“What have you dragged Wilbur into?” Techno growls, a hand grabbing Wilbur’s arm. “I know you two were warring, our history doesn’t change that I’m his friend, so I swear if you’ve done something to him-”

“A watcher kidnapped Tommy and Tubbo.” Wilbur blurts out, trying to stop the argument. “It’s been like, eight weeks. They’re just gone and we didn’t even know that it was a watcher until a few days ago and Dream says he needs someone’s help and I don’t know what to do.”

“Shit.”

---

“What are you doing to me?” Tubbo asks, his voice hoarse from screaming. Something is in the back of his mind, poking and prodding its way around. “Get out of my head!”

The watcher laughs, the mask on their face a bright white that gives Tubbo a headache. Purple magic swirls around them, and Tubbo shuts his eyes, trying to fight back. He doesn’t know what he’s fighting against, though. He doesn’t know how to fight back.

“Don’t you feel tired?” The watcher asks, a fake sympathy in their voice. “Why don’t you close your eyes and sleep?”

Tubbo fights back. He doesn’t know why he bothers anymore, if not to spite the watchers. It hurts so much, tears filling his eyes as he tries to will the magic away. He doesn’t want to become one of them. Not anymore. He just wants to go home. Wilbur and Dream and Fundy and George and Sapnap and Eret can’t be dead. They just can’t be. He has to have a home to go to, a place to escape to that won’t turn him away.

“Won’t it be easier to forget?” The watcher asks, and a scream tears itself from Tubbo’s throat. It hurts so much. Too much. He just wants to go home. He just wants to go home, why can’t he go home?

⍑ᒷ ╎ᓭ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ╎ᓭリℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ?

The watcher’s mask has a splatter of blood on it. It’s his blood.

---

Grian stares at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused as he listens to Sam move around him. At least, he thinks it’s Sam. No one else visits him, no one else bothers to visit a traitor. A terrorist. So he just stares at the ceiling, ignoring Sam as he walks around.

“You know, the one thing I miss about when you ripped off your wings was being able to whip you.” Sam says nonchalantly. As though it’s normal.

Maybe it is.

“Of course, I suppose I could whip you now. There’s nothing stopping me.” Sam moves Grian into a sitting up position. “But your wings do look so lovely.”

Sam yanks a group of feathers out, and Grian doesn’t scream. It still hurts, it still burns as though his wing was set on fire. But he doesn’t scream. He’s too tired, he’s too used to the pain, he’s too defiant, whatever excuse he can use is good.

Sam gives a pleased hum, and pride fills Grian’s chest, though it shouldn’t. He hates this, he hates how he’s made Sam even slightly happy by not screaming.

It doesn’t matter, anyways. Sam wants him to be quiet, so he should be. If he fights back it’ll hurt more, if he screams it’ll get worse. He wants to be good. He wants Sam to leave, he wants Sam to stay.

It doesn’t matter, he just doesn’t want to be hurt.

Right?

“リ𝙹∴, ̇/ᒷꖎᑑ⚍ᔑ, ||𝙹⚍ ꖌリ𝙹∴ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍ リᒷᒷ↸ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᔑ!¡ 𝙹 ꖎ 𝙹 ⊣╎ᓭᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲᒷ ᔑリ↸ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ 𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ ∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ⍑ᒷ∷ᓭ, ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ?” Sam asks, the galactic falling off of his tongue as though it was his native language. “ᔑリᓭ∴ᒷ∷ ╎リ ⊣ᔑꖎᔑᓵℸ ̣ ╎ᓵ 𝙹∷ ╎ ' ꖎ ꖎ ᓵ ꖎ ╎!¡ ||𝙹⚍∷ ∴╎リ⊣ᓭ”

“!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ↸𝙹リℸ ̣ ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣ ᒲᒷ” Grian begs, tears in his eyes. Sam laughs as one escapes his eyes, brushing it off of Grian’s cheek before the hermit can move. “!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ᓭᔑᒲ ╎ ↸𝙹リℸ ̣ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣”

“ᓭᔑ|| ||𝙹⚍∷ᒷ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||” Sam smiles, the knife in his hand resting against Grian’s throat.

“╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||.” Grian breaks, curling up as he cries. “╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷|| ╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹 ᓭ𝙹∷∷|| ᓭᔑᒲ ╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||”

---

“Where’s Grian!” The man yells as he walks into the town hall, the hermits watching him with their swords drawn. He wears a bright green jacket and blue pants, a white mask over his face. Another man follows him, dressed like a king though he sports a pig mask. False, Cub and Ren all look at eachother, anger and confusion on their faces. “I know you guys are in here, where is Grian?”

“Dream you sound like a serial killer.” The man in the pig mask notes, and Xisuma frowns at the name. He recognises it from somewhere. “Look, we just need to chat with him, Dream here’s dragged-”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“It was your server those two went missing from!”

“Hey guys,” Wilbur walks into the town hall from the outside, ignoring the protests from Dream and Techno. “Tommy and Tubbo have been kidnapped by watchers, and Dream and Techno think that Grian could help us. Sorry for them acting like murderers, I couldn’t convince them to be civil.”

“Grian’s gone.” Scar says, looking down from where he sits on the diamond throne, Xisuma hitting his arm as he says it, though the mayor ignore him. “He’s been gone for four weeks. A watcher took him. One with rabbit ears.”

---

Tommy wraps his wings around himself, waiting for the order to practice flying. He has to behave, or he’ll never be allowed a moment alone again. How was he supposed to know he was going to survive that? He didn’t know that being a watcher meant that his poison tolerance went up.

The watcher nods at him, and Tommy stretches his wings, flapping them experimentally before he steps off the roof, falling before he pulls up, banking to the left. Two watchers follow behind him, swords resting by their sides. If he could just get one, he could get out.

Tubbo and Grian are dead, after all.

He doesn’t feel guilty about leaving their bodies behind, he doesn’t even know where the watchers keep bodies. Maybe they throw them into the void, Tommy thinks to himself, or maybe they eat them.

Tommy flies over the void, and for a brief second he wonders if the watchers would catch him if he let himself drop into the void. Maybe they would, and he wouldn’t be allowed to fly again. Maybe they wouldn’t and he’d die.

Or he’d escape when they leave to report him dead.

Tommy folds his wings in, and lets himself fall into the void.

---

He can’t see, blind folded and led through halls. He doesn’t mind, though he can feel his back bleeding. Sam reopened a wound before he blind folded him, and Grian doesn’t care to ask for a bandage. He doesn’t deserve one, if a wound is getting reopened. He must have misbehaved somehow. He lets Sam lead him around, stumbling and bumping into things.

He doesn’t say anything when he feels his feet get cut open by something sharp, or when he feels the reopened scar tear further open. He won’t make anything worse for himself. Maybe he can save any survivors if he stays quiet.

It doesn’t matter that he knows he’s the only survivor. It doesn’t matter that he’s the only one left.

Is it so bad to save himself?

When does it start being working for the watchers, and stop being protecting himself? When will he lose himself to the watchers? Grian doesn’t want to answer the questions, he doesn’t want to think about them. He’d rather be mindless, a puppet on strings. His brain just won’t stop, he’s going to be hurt because of it.

He’d rather lose himself than be hurt.

So he stays silent, he doesn’t fight back. Not anymore. The pain isn’t worth it.

---

Tubbo walks behind the watcher, his hands behind his back. They say they’re going to give him a test. A test of loyalty, one he failed in the past. Tubbo won’t fail this one, he can’t. He is no traitor.

A voice screams in the back of his head, struggling for control against the magic. Two words, two words and that voice is gone, and he will be completely mindless. A good soldier for the watchers. One deserving of his rank.

Tubbo walks into a cell where a man kneels, blonde hair bloody and red jumper in tatters on his body. He sports a pair of wings missing feathers, falcon wings. The same rank as he is. He wears a white blindfold, though his head looks to the ground. Blood pools on the floor beneath him, his breathing sharp, though he tries to muffle it. A wooden block is in front of him, and a sword rests in the hands of an owl with rabbit ears. The owl hands him the sword, pushing the traitor’s head onto the block, and Tubbo suddenly feels sick.

This will kill the man.

He’s been asked to kill someone. Someone that the voice in the back of his head knows, someone he knows. Tubbo doesn’t want to, he has to, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to know the man’s name, the traitor’s crimes, but he feels as though he already knows. That he knew the man before he was made a watcher.

Grian, thats what the voice calls him. Grian.

“Tubbo, you know your orders.” The watcher besides him says, and Tubbo grasps the sword tighter. He doesn’t know what to do.

---

Tommy stares towards the door, knowing that the second he sits up a watcher will be in his room to make sure he doesn’t try to kill himself again. He can’t believe they caught him. He can’t believe they didn’t let him die, why keep a pet that doesn’t want to move? That doesn’t want to live. He’s a waste of resources for them, why don’t they just let him sleep?

He doesn’t want to die, not completely. He wants to leave, but he won’t get out without dying. Grian might have been able to get out, be he won’t be able to. He doesn’t even know how Grian escaped. Maybe Grian winged it, maybe he had help.

Maybe Tommy should just try.

Tommy slowly sits up, a watcher immediately in the room with him. They watch him intently as he stretches his wings slowly, like he only just woke up. Tommy slowly stretches, not watching the watcher in his room.

He’s going to get out.

He doesn’t care what it’ll take.

---

Tubbo runs through the halls, holding onto Grian’s hand. The sword in his hand drips with blood, a deep purple that shouldn’t be the colour someone bleeds. He knows that if he doesn’t escape he will be killed. But he can’t kill Grian, not after everything Grian did to protect him and Tommy.

He races towards the portal room, practically dragging Grian behind him, when someone standing in the doorway throws him backwards.

Tommy helps him up, purple blood on his hands, and they race into the room, no time to talk. They don't ask questions about the blood, they don’t care about who the other had to kill to escape.

They run through the first portal they see, praying that the watchers wont find them as Grian destroys it behind them.

---

“It’s all gone.” Tommy says, slowly walking through the dreamsmp. “Where is everyone?”

Grian doesn’t say anything. It’s been weeks since they escaped, hiding in the forests and waiting. Grian hasn’t said a word, not even humming. Tubbo walks towards L’manburg, the large walls feeling safe. As though the watcher’s wont be able to get them there.

“Why isn’t anyone here anymore?” Tommy’s eyes fill with tears as he tries to stop himself from having a breakdown. “Did they think that we died? Did they die? They died, didn’t they, we’re never going to see them again and it’s all my fault I shouldn’t have-”

“Tommy, for the love of-” Tubbo takes a deep breath in, standing on the threshold between L’manburg and the dreamsmp. “It’s not your fault. Anything could have happened, but this isn’t your fault.”

Some bees fly towards the group, bouncing off Tubbo’s side. Tubbo smiles sadly, following the bees into L’manburg.

It looks exactly how they left it, the flag flying in the distance, the new drug van half built and ugly as it gets. Dirt placed haphazardly around. Some flowers sway in the breeze, dandelions and daisies.

It smells like dirt. It smells bad, it smells as though no one’s cleaned it in years.

It smells safe.

#whump #teen whump #captive whumpee #escape attempt #hermitcraft #creepy whumper

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