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quaranmine · 2 years

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How to Be a Human Being (Chapter One)

In which Mumbo gets a little more than he bargained for when he steals Grian's soul, and accidentally reopens a chapter of Grian's life he's been trying very hard to forget. With Mumbo now in possession of some shiny new Watcher powers, Grian takes the responsibility to teach him how to use them. But it's harder than he thinks when his own past trauma and a too-big moon are looming in front of them.

Masterpost | Chapter Two

Words: 4355

Gen; Grian and Mumbo centric; mainly hurt/comfort; Watcher lore and headcanons; S8 moon big; content warnings may be added if needed.

Here we are, finally! This whole thing has been in the works for a long time for me, as most of my followers know. It's also my first ever multichaptered fic, and I'm frankly a little nervous to post it. But I'm very proud of it, and I hope you all like it too. I plan on releasing chapters both on tumblr and AO3. Look out for an AO3 link in a reblog.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

So, let’s get a few things straight.

Mumbo stole Grian’s soul in order to be human again.

Grian signed a contract giving him permission to do this, which was very silly of him for not reading the fine print–always read the fine print–and fair play on Mumbo’s part.

Grian no longer has a soul.

Or does he share one with Mumbo?

He doesn’t actually know, and, like, he should probably get on that.

Grian is not human, which means this was a very bad idea from the start.

Grian now has a problem. Mumbo has a bigger one.

In summary: Grian had made a mistake. Well, actually Mumbo had, but Grian knew that this would all have been avoidable if he’d just paid enough attention and flipped to the back of the book. He wasn’t really angry at getting his soul stolen–weirder things were already happening every day. Have you seen the moon lately? But he was angry at himself for not paying attention. Mumbo had been acting really strange. Grian shouldn’t have just written it off as normal Mumbo strangeness and looked closer.

After all, it’s his responsibility to know things like this. He’s supposed to be better than this, more observant. He’s supposed to see these things coming.

Grian hadn’t said anything yet. It was possibly the second mistake that he had made today, but he was hoping that Mumbo’s contraption hadn’t worked, or had worked differently than he expected. This was, surprisingly, new territory even for him. Did it actually steal his soul? Would Grian even know if it did? Did he even have a soul to steal? But he knew something had happened, because Mumbo looked normal again, and that sparked a heavy dread that had lodged itself deep in his chest and made it hard to breathe all day.

These were the questions that were keeping Grian up tonight. And it made him uneasy to think about what they’d just done, and what Mumbo might have just done to himself. There was a lot at play here, more than Mumbo even knew.

Grian snorted as some brief amusement temporarily alleviated his anxiety. It may be more than Mumbo knew, but his friend really should have known something. Grian hadn’t exactly done a good job of hiding the fact that he wasn’t human.

Of course, he didn’t just walk around flaunting his Watcher powers constantly but–he had wings for heaven’s sake. Did Mumbo just gloss over that? Did he think there were winged humans? Well, there might have been now that Grian thought about it–the universe is vast and weird and he’d long since given up any expectations of what he’d find in there–but Grian had the ability to shape and change his wings to suit the task he needed, and last he checked even winged humans don’t have minor shape-shifting powers. It was a mild taste of his powers compared to the ones he did hide, sure, but certainly enough to distinctly flavor him as non-human to anyone actually observant.

This was a spoon moment if he’d ever seen one.

“Maybe it didn’t work,” Grian said out loud. “Maybe what I think just happened didn’t actually happen and he’s actually just human now.” Nevermind how it worked. Grian used to be human, so maybe his soul was human-like too. It was a possibility.

But speak of the devil and he will arrive, in this case with a frantic but quiet knock on Grian’s door. It was like the person knocking desperately wanted help, but was just as happy to have an excuse to go back home if Grian had been asleep and unable to hear the knock. It was obviously Mumbo.

Grian knew he was right to have been worried the moment he opened the door. Mumbo looked frazzled, with pieces of normally-slicked-back hair falling in his face. He had redstone smudged on his suit, but in all fairness that was normal. He wrung his hands, and was doing that pacing thing he always did. The nervous energy was pouring off of him in waves.

“Are you going to come in?” Grian said after a moment of staring at him.

“Oh! Right,” Mumbo exclaimed, and stepped in quickly. Grian shut the door behind him, and took a moment to rub his eyes before turning back around.

“So . . .” he started, as if he didn’t already know, “what brings you here to my house at-” he checked his clock “-half-past one at night?”

“I need your help,” said Mumbo simply.

“Ah.” Grian grimaced, feeling that heavy dread settle over him once more. “Well, uh, come sit down I guess.” I have a feeling we’ll need it. He led him over to a table in the corner, and lit another lantern so they wouldn’t be so in the dark.

When he looked up again, Mumbo seemed about two seconds from bursting into tears. “Mumbo, calm down,” Grian said gently. “Whatever it is, we can . . .” What, fix it? How were they going to do that? “. . .figure it out.”

“Grian, please forgive me!” Mumbo cried. “I was so dumb, I definitely didn’t think it through, an–I should’ve asked you before trying to uh . . . take your soul. I don’t know why I was so secretive about it, but it was a bad idea, and now something is wrong and I really really don’t know what to do, or why, because clearly there’s a problem here and I should’ve just asked. I’m just so dumb and-”

“I know. And I forgive you.”

“What?” It seemed to bring Mumbo out of his spiral.

“Well, I know you’re dumb, but it’s nice to see you’ve already acknowledged that. And I forgive you. I also know what problem you’re having. I was hoping it wasn’t the case, but based on how you’ve come knocking on my door in the middle of night nearly in tears, I think I can guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

Me too.

“Mumbo, didn’t you know I’m not human?” Grian ran his hand through his hair, and adjusted his glasses. Well, it was time to explain this. Somehow.

He didn’t want to. He’d done his best to forget it the past few years. It was a buried piece of his past, and nobody on Hermitcraft ever asked about your past unless you told them first, so he’d been able to easily put it behind him. He used his wings every day, but those were simply a part of him now–they were associated with more than just being a Watcher for him, and frankly he couldn’t live without their convenience. He didn’t want to go back there, though. Not that anyone was making him, not physically, but . . . he knew Mumbo would have questions he would have to explain. And in order to do that, he’d need to grab a shovel and start digging up everything he’d so meticulously buried.

Mumbo deserved to go into this eyes-open, though. Grian hadn’t had that chance.

“I guess I should’ve known, huh?” Mumbo chuckled, but the humor wasn’t really there. “But I was desperate, which led to me doing a very stupid thing.”

“Yeah, I assumed I was making it a bit obvious but I guess not,” Grian replied. “I guess we should’ve had this conversation a lot earlier. You were desperate and did something dumb, but I should have seen something coming and stopped it. So you stole my soul, in order to . . . what, eat it? That’s a bit weird, so I’m just going to move on from that point, but you’ve been turning into different things all season. A potato, a carrot, a pig, so on. And you wanted to be human again. If you ever were, by the way, because most humans don’t turn into potatoes when they eat them, but that’s moot at this point. But you chose me of all people, for some reason, in order to become human again. And now I’m guessing you’re like me too. Do I have this all correct?”

“ . . .Yes.” Mumbo sounded miserable. “Grian, can I take my shirt off? I need to show you something.”

“At least take me to dinner first before you start stripping in my house.”

Mumbo rolled his eyes and began to unbutton his shirt after slinging his jacket over the back of the chair. He turned around, showing Grian his back. Two small wings were folded there, and Mumbo’s skin looked red and painful. They were still far too small to fly with and still easy to hide, but they’d grow. The feathers were smoky in color, soft grey and black with a slight blue tinge. They were beautiful, and would likely be more beautiful when they weren’t such a mismatched mix of downy baby feathers and newly grown flight feathers. Grian’s wings had grown in tawny gold-brown to match his hair, but he’d taken to changing their appearance to parrot’s wings lately; he liked their colors. Mumbo’s seemed to be dark to match his hair too, which suited him.

“Welcome to the Yes Wings Club,” Grian said. “Properly this time.”

“It hurts,” Mumbo whined, pulling his shirt back on hastily and fumbling with the buttons. “I had to take a regen potion earlier for the pain. What am I going to do with them?”

Grian bit his lip and sighed. “Yeah, it hurts,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. You can keep taking the potions though if they help.” I didn’t have anything to take. “They’re going to get bigger though--I mean, you’ll be able to fly with them eventually and they’re much too small right now. We’ll have to alter your clothes soon because keeping them folded like that will hurt you, not to mention that they’ll get too big to hide that way. I hope you aren’t too attached to your suits, because we will have to cut them.”

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” Mumbo said, raking a hand through his hair. It just mussed it up more than it already was, and Grian could picture him having done it many times already this evening. “What do I tell everyone else? When they notice I suddenly have wings?”

Grian shook his head. “Just don’t make a fuss about it. If you don’t act like it’s a big deal neither will anyone else. They may be curious, but nobody on the server will question you if you don’t want to–after all, you never questioned me, did you? That’s one of the best things about this group,” he said fondly, “nobody cares what you are.”

Mumbo was silent for a few moments, and Grian could almost hear him processing the information. “What are you, though?” he finally asked.

Ah. There it was. The penny dropped.

“I mean, do forgive me for asking,” Mumbo continued, “since I’m the one who put both of us in this situation, but I feel like I need to know. If things like suddenly growing wings are going to continue to happen to me.”

Grian took a deep breath, and began quietly. “Okay. I’ll explain everything to you. But I think you should know, starting off–I used to be human. Like you.” It seemed important that Mumbo knew that, for some reason. We’re kind of the same now.

“Oh,” Mumbo said, but waited for him to continue.

“Have you heard of the Watchers?” Grian asked carefully. Might as well gauge what he already knew. He’d confided in Mumbo before when he needed help, he just normally left out these parts or kept certain details vague. Grian never pretended to have good coping skills, but “bury it and never talk about it” had worked pretty well for him so far. Aside from the times it didn’t, like when he woke alone in his base from a nightmare (fewer these days!) or had to excuse himself from a situation that was making him anxious.

“Yes, I’ve heard of Watchers but . . . I thought they were a myth to scare people with,” Mumbo said. “Something tells me you’re about to correct me on that.”

“They’re not a myth, although they certainly like using that perception to their advantage. Makes it easier to stay in the shadows when nobody’s really looking back at them. No, they’re real. And I’m a Watcher. Or, well . . . a former one.”

“And now I’m–I’m a Watcher too?” Mumbo said.

“It appears so,” Grian said. “‘Cause you stole my soul, and I’m a Watcher, so the logic that follows dictates you’ve now got Watcher traits. Like those wings you just showed me.”

“Oh,” he said, eloquently. “You said you used to be human, though. And I don’t think you stole a soul like I did, so how did you become a Watcher?”

Grian pushed down any panic at the back of his throat and willed his hands not to shake. That was a big question, although he anticipated it. Anticipating it meant he could answer it. Mumbo didn’t really know what he was asking, but he deserved to be told the truth after all these times Grian danced around it.

“It was before I came to Hermitcraft. You know, I was the admin of a world called Evo. I told you that. But . . . it was a Watcher-controlled world. They were basically omnipresent in the world, always watching us. The name’s not hyperbole, you know–they really do watch. They liked to exercise judgement when we made them angry. They enjoyed toying with us and sending us on wild goose chases and different challenges. Maybe it was fun for them. They helped us move between updates in their portals, and they kept our world in balance. We were rightfully wary of them, but we didn’t really know what to think–it was simply a fact of the world that they existed, and sometimes they rewarded us too. Sometimes they were nice, which made it all the more confusing when they were cruel.” The words tumbled out of him quicker than he intended. “I always made them mad, though. Stole from them, defied them.”

“That sounds like you,” Mumbo said.

“I guess–I’ve never been able to quite rationalize it, I think, but I guess they found me interesting or something. Or maybe vulnerable, because I lived alone and far from spawn. They wanted us to reach the End, and kill the dragon. But when we did, we were all separated.” He stopped for a moment to breathe. “After I killed the dragon, they took me, and . . . made me into one of them. I didn’t have a choice, honestly, I just had to go with them.”

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo whispered.

“It’s-it’s okay. It’s in the past.”

“You refer to the Watchers as ‘them,’” Mumbo noted. “Never ‘we.’”

“I ran away,” Grian answered. “I took the first opportunity I had and I ran away and I ended up here and that’s where I’ve been ever since. I’m a Watcher but not a Watcher.”

He hated being a Watcher. He was never very good at it, either. He never quite fit in with them, was never quite able to see the world the way they did, even after being trained and taught the ways he was supposed to act. They had rules to follow, and Grian had never been good at following rules–he defied the Watchers back on Evo, and had an unfortunate tendency to do the same when he was with them. One would maybe assume that with all his propensity for chaos and pranks that he’d have fun with it, but he didn’t. Those traits had made him interesting to them, and maybe he would've been a good Watcher if he’d gotten better at listening to directions and worse at being kind.

Even when he wasn’t human anymore he was still all-too human for their tastes, and all he could ever do was put himself in the shoes of the players he was assigned to. He’d been there once, like them. It was honestly something he was a little glad of–maybe he would have been less miserable if he’d managed to assimilate, but he would have lost himself somewhere along the way.

It was better to have run away, even though it had been dangerous. He’d looked for the Evolutionists first, but when he hadn’t found them, he tried to find an empty world and somehow ended up in Hermitcraft instead when Xisuma had created the new world. Grian didn’t even know if the Watchers were looking for him either, but when he’d met the hermits and they’d shown him so much kindness, he swore to never take any chances. As long as Hermitcraft ran smoothly, the Watchers wouldn’t have a reason to look at them. He knew they had other matters to deal with. Of course, there was the issue of the moon, but that didn’t seem too bad yet.

Grian blinked out of his thoughts, realizing Mumbo had gotten up out of his chair and walked over to him. “Wh-”

Mumbo hugged him, and Grian let himself melt into it, suddenly realizing he’d started to cry a little at some point during the whole explanation. “I’m glad you told me,” Mumbo said as he pulled away.

“You deserved to know,” Grian said. “Because well, now I’ve dragged you along with me.”

“I don’t think you can say that,” Mumbo replied, “considering I’m the one who stole your soul. You didn’t do anything, that was definitely all on me. I’m the one who lied and tricked you into signing it, and I’m the one who killed you, so please don’t somehow put this on yourself.”

Grian couldn’t find a way to argue that so he didn’t. He was, admittedly, still a little bitter about being murdered. He lost 97 levels! “Pearl knows too,” he said after a moment. “She was there. In Evo.”

“I’m glad you got to see her again,” said Mumbo. It was no secret that they’d known each other prior to Hermitcraft. Grian had been able to see his old friends from Evo a few times before at MCC, but had never really been able to spend a lot of time with anyone until Pearl joined the server. Her presence in Boatem was comforting, and Grian was decidedly not clingy about it. Definitely.

“Me too,” Grian said with a smile. “She’s not a Watcher though. She’s not . . . like us.”

Mumbo frowned. “I don’t think I’m used to that ‘us’ quite yet, buddy.”

“I don’t expect you to be.”

They sat in silence for what seemed like a few minutes. The lantern on the table flickered, sending faint dancing shadows around the room. He probably didn’t even need the lantern, to be honest; the moon was big enough now that true darkness was hard to come by since it was always full. Its blue silver light was bright enough to read a book outside.

Grian studied Mumbo’s face. He looked deeply tired in a way that betrayed long term stress. Not being human must have really been bothering him, and Grian felt a little guilty he hadn’t noticed up until the point where Mumbo resorted to building a death machine to harvest his soul. Mumbo normally acted weird, yes, but perhaps he had been acting more weird. Unfortunately, Grian had a feeling this was only the beginning of what was now their mutual stress.

“Why don’t you go to bed,” Grian suggested, “and we can look at this in the morning. Don’t worry about going back to Treeza, just stay here. I have a spare bed around here somewhere.” Grian didn’t know if he would be able to sleep, but if he could get Mumbo to that’d be a win in his book. Mumbo looked like he could sleep for a million years, but instead he’s here, sitting at Grian’s table in the middle of the night listening to him spill his past like some dark backstory in a novel.

“I guess that sounds okay,” Mumbo said. “Like a sleepover.”

“You’re stifling a yawn. It better sound okay. Go to bed or I’ll make you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It can be!” Grian replied cheerfully. “Now shoo. I need to go set up the bed.”

“Can you find it in your storage system?” Mumbo asked after him, and the amusement in his voice made Grian want to commit some small crime against him. Instead, he was just unfortunately very aware of every extra chest he opened trying to find what he needed.

“Yes,” he snapped. “Don’t make me regret letting you stay here.”

“You offered,” Mumbo pointed out.

“I know,” Grian said, trying to convey annoyance but landing just south of fondness.

Maybe this will all look better in the morning.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Grian hadn’t expected to sleep, but he woke with a start to the sun streaming into his windows. After Mumbo went to bed, he’d stayed up longer, just thinking. But he must’ve drifted off at some point, and had blessedly slept soundly for a few hours.

Unfortunately, he must have slept soundly in a crooked position, because his back was killing him when he woke up. And he didn’t even sleep on the couch or anything since Mumbo got a spare bed, so what was up with that?

Mumbo was still asleep, and had somehow managed to sprawl across the bed and knock one of the pillows on the floor. It was a little impressive, honestly. Grian decided to let him sleep a little longer before kicking him out of the bed. But he would, if necessary, very literally be kicking him out of bed.

I guess I should make some coffee, Grian thought, hazy and still half asleep himself. He hummed to himself as he put it together, not being particularly mindful of how much noise he made, since he planned to wake Mumbo up soon anyway. On a moment’s reflection, he dug a regen potion out of one of his chests and dumped it into Mumbo’s cup. His wings would probably be sore. Regen worked as a handy pain reliever when nothing else was available, lasting about two hours and healing you a little each time you needed it. None for himself, though; he could stand the pain. Don’t say I never did anything for you, Mumbo.

Lucky for Mumbo, Mumbo had already woken up by the time that Grian finished the coffee. “Grian . . .” he called out nervously. “Can you come here?”

Grian walked out of the kitchen, and set a mug of coffee in front of Mumbo. “Yes?”

Mumbo clutched the mug tightly, face pale. “Grian, the wings are bigger.”

Grian sipped his coffee, wincing at how hot it still was. He drank it anyway. “Yes, I expected that. They’re growing. At some point they’ll be the size of mine.”

Mumbo’s eyes were wide. “So quickly?”

“Um, yes. It’s magic.”

“It’s magic???”

“Mumbo, what do you think is happening right now?” Grian sighed. “It’s not going to be instant, but yeah, it won’t take too long. It didn’t for me, but it was also different for me. You won’t be able to fly for a while still–they’re still way too weak and your body hasn’t adapted to them yet. I can’t give you, like, a timeline or anything though, because believe it or not I don’t actually have experience with what happens when someone steals a Watcher soul.”

It felt . . . a little weird to refer to himself as a Watcher openly, but almost relieving.

Mumbo frowned petulantly. “You were nicer to me last night.”

“What happens in the middle of the night stays in the middle of the night,” Grian retorted. “You’re reaping what you sowed for deciding to steal my soul. Now can I see the wings again?”

“I guess,” Mumbo said and complied. The wings were definitely bigger overnight, and some of the down feathers had fallen out, which would be a fun surprise when he tried to wash the sheets later. Grian stroked one of the feathers, but Mumbo stiffened immediately at the touch so Grian quickly withdrew.

“Sorry buddy,” he said, “but I think we’re going to have to cut your suit now. It’ll probably feel better though, because they’ll hurt more if you try to keep them folded under your shirt and jacket.”

“Well, do what you need to do,” said Mumbo as he sipped his coffee. Grian thought he looked like he hadn’t fully processed it yet. Or he wasn’t awake yet–one of the two.

Grian found some scissors in one of his chests, and picked up Mumbo’s shirt and jacket. He eyeballed the measurements–he’d had to alter quite a few pieces of clothing for himself before, so he was fairly confident. “It’s not going to look pretty, sorry. You’ll have to do a better version of this yourself with hemming later.”

“What, Grian’s Tailor Service doesn’t include sewing?” Mumbo asked, watching him work.

“Well, maybe I’d throw it in, but you did steal my soul,” Grian replied, “so I think you can live with one ruined jacket. I’ve seen your closet, you have plenty of these things.”

“How many times are you going to bring up the soul-stealing thing in one morning?” Mumbo complained.

“Oh, I think I can get a lifetime’s worth of mileage out of this,” Grian said with a smile. “Alright, I’m done. Try it on?”

Mumbo put his shirt and jacket on, trying to guide the small wings through the new holes. He was struggling a little, since he didn’t have good control over them yet, but Grian didn’t say anything. He remembered the feeling.

“Oh, look at them!” Mumbo exclaimed. “Wow, I’ll have to get used to this.”

“Move them,” Grian said, and Mumbo did an experimental flap.

“Whoa!”

“There you go, you’ll be flying in no time,” said Grian with a grin.

While Mumbo marveled at his new wings, Grian sipped his coffee, wondering how on earth he was supposed to start tackling this problem. This problem of . . . teaching Mumbo to be a Watcher, or at least how to be safe about it. Mumbo deserved better than Grian had gotten, yes, but how was he supposed to do that? And where would he even start?

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

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