#elemental!mumbo

Grian paced around the wooden deck of his ship. His footsteps echoed off of the walls, muffled by the water that clogged the wood. The walls felt too closed in. His skin itched to escape to the surface above the water, fly around the empty landscape that once was only a few days ago. He heard the sound of water rushing in his ears, the sound of his footsteps, the sound of dolphins distant. He felt trapped under the ocean.

Chest heavy and head aching, he plopped down on the stairs, putting his head in his hands, thinking about everything that head happened within the last few days.

The portal on the respawn island swirled sickeningly at him every time he visited. No one was around anymore, spread across the world as soon as they appeared. He watched them spread from afar, having run off as fast as the wind once his heart rate went too fast and his head started to spin. He ached to go talk to them but he couldn’t.

The weeks he spent alone in this world tugged at him. His only friends were the animals strolling the land and the whispers in the wind. He had heard it whisper of something new but he ignored it. The nervous energy the week before they arrived was pushed to the side.

He felt a fleeting bit of excitement at the thought of more people to talk to, other than the whispers in the wind. That excitement got dampened with fear.

They were too close-knit he told himself. There were too many. They were loud. They didn’t like him. They had their own things to do.

But he knew he was wrong. There was space for him, some of them head even tried to talk to him before he flew off. He was loud, he was energetic, and he saw them goofing off every single day.

Instead of face his actual fears, he hid under the water where the whispers of the wind wouldn’t urge him to make a connection with the people who had suddenly shown up on the little island he thought was his. The wind knew what he was scared of.

“They aren’t like pets or memories,” the wind whispered to him when he left his ship. “They aren’t going to leave.”

Grian refused to believe that. There was no proof they wouldn’t leave, he would tell himself. He could wake up one day and they’d go back through that portal and he’d be left with just the wind and the animals.

It was better not to make connections that could just disappear.

He was getting claustrophobic so quickly. He couldn’t stay down here forever. Reluctantly, he got into a small boat in the basement of his base and rowed into the dark ocean that surrounded him. He hated the feeling somewhat, being covered in cold water as the whispers of the wind carried him up. He felt a push and shove towards the mainland as he surfaced.

He grabbed hard on the oars of the boat as he felt the wind push him roughly through the water, ruffling and drying his feathers as he attempted to gain control over where he was going. It threw him towards land, salty sea air plastered into his hair, pushing against his back as he tried rowing the opposite direction with all the strength he could muster, which wasn’t much compared to the force of his element on his side.

His eyes were screwed shut, using all his might to push himself along. He felt his heart in his throat as the front of the boat slammed into shore. The force at which it threw him tossed him out of the boat and onto the sand. The wind lightened up quickly, but it had done its damage. Grian slid across the shoreline, sand cutting into his hands and the side of his face as he tried to stop himself from going too far. Sand caught in his hair, in his sweater, in his wings. His shoulder hurt from impact and he had no clue where he was.

He pushed himself off of the sandy shore and open his eyes. They stung slightly from the salty sea air around him, slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep. His skin itched terribly and his sweater was covered in sand, sticking to where the wind had yet to dry it. He looked over to where his boat was. It had turned completely over, upside down in the sand two feet from the water. The oars had gone flying, one next to Grian where he had dropped it and the other ten feet down the shoreline.

He stood up and assessed where he was. Probably somewhere in what the others on the island called the shopping district. He already saw a few shops popping up, built quickly for how little time these people have been here. He looked down at his sweater, covered in sand and sea water. The wind brushed up against him lightly, an apology as well as trying to dry his clothes.

“Just leave me alone,” he grumbled quietly

He took the sand covered sweater off and walked towards the water, ignoring how his t-shirt was also sandy in some parts. He knelt by the water and started to wash his sweater in it, hoping that it wouldn’t be covered in sand forever. Halfway through cleaning it, he felt a presence behind him. He didn’t want to deal with the whispers in the wind right now, his eye twitching in annoyance.

“I said leave me alone!” he exclaimed, turning at the waist and looking up towards the sky.

As he finished his sentence, he actually saw what was behind him. Instead of the ever-present wind pushing against him, it was one of the newcomers to the island. Of course, they were in the shopping district. Grian stared open-mouthed in horror as his eyes met those of a “hermit.” Someone wearing a suspenders in the middle of the summer and with something red covering the cuffs of his dress shirt.

“Are you alright?” the person said after a time.

Grian’s entire body felt cold. He hadn’t seen this person before. As much as he had been watching the hermits from afar for the past few days, this one hadn’t shown his face. That was a problem. He had a game plan for most of them come to any interaction. Doc he would end up running. Scar he would give a quick wave and hello before flying off. Stress he was forced to engage in small talk for five minutes (hence why he stayed out of the ice spikes). He didn’t know what this new person was like.

It was fight or flight.

He was choosing flight.

He quickly took off, brushing off the sand that had stuck in his wings. The sweater flying out of the water splashed the unknown man with a splash of seawater and salt, ruining his clothes somewhat. Grian disregarded upsetting the people who he didn’t care about upsetting (he kept insisting that he didn’t care like if he said it enough times it might be true) and started to fly down the shoreline.

He only got so far before the wind hit him harshly in the other direction, a change of mind of what was on his side only seconds ago. He tried to push past it, bracing himself as he went against the strong winds that made it hard for him to even see. Unable to see and working with all his might against the wind for the second time that day, he felt something clip his wing.

Grian cried out, falling back into the sand as his wing curled inwards in pain. He tumbled head over heels, everything pulling inwards as to not injure himself further. He stopped rolling a couple of feet down, covered in sand once more and his sweater somewhere in the sand out of reach. He brought his wing close, looking over the sandy feathers in disappointment.

He bent it slightly, pressing on the area where it hurt. Nothing felt out of place, nothing was broken in the hollow bone. He was lucky, but it still hurt like hell. If luck was serving him right, he sprained it. His heart dropped to his feet as he realized he couldn’t fly. The wind was blustering around him, a whirlwind that ruffled his feathers and hair. It picked up sea water and swirled around him.

He heard footsteps coming closer and tried to push them away. He heard them falter, the tornado pushing them away. Determined, the person pushed through into the eye of the storm where Grian sat. His face stung, salt water coating it as it swirled around him. He closed his eyes in pain and to protect them from the whirlwind he created.

Something thumped in front of him, making him jump, opening his eyes to the person who was so insistent on their approach. It was the man in the suspenders. He was saying something but it was hard to hear over the wind and water rushing through Grian’s ears. Panic was setting in quickly, spiking as the man touched his injured wing.

The wind concentrated in the tornado shot out towards the man, sending him sprawling backward in the sudden burst. The thump was audible, along with the pained groan.

“Don’t… don’t touch me,” Grian said quietly as he lied to himself.

It took the man a second to get back up. He was only blown about two feet away. He stood up and walked over again. He crouched down in front of Grian, closer to the injured wing than he was to the rest of him.

“Can I see it?” he asked politely, nodding to the wing.

Grian looked between him and the wing, looking like a scared puppy. Slowly, he moved his wing outwards, hesitant to get any help. The man looked at it for a bit, seeing the swelling that was already starting around the joint.

“May I touch it?” he continued.

Grian nodded, though he shifted slightly, ready to run. Gently, the man started to inspect the wing, moving it slightly to see where the sprain was without putting too much pain in the actual joint.

“Can you relax it?”

He did as told and let the joint relax to it natural state. The man held it in place, digging through his pocket for something. Out of the pocket, he pulled a red tie. Quickly, tightly, and securely, he wrapped the tie around the sprain, keeping it in place.

“There,” he said with confidence. “Just take it easy and it should heal up in no time.”

Grian looked at the wing, stretching the joints that weren’t sprained, examining his wing. His brow furrowed. How long would he have to wear this? How long would he be unable to fly?

“What’s your name?” the man said, standing up and brushing sand off of his dress pants. “I heard there was a new guy but nobody could tell me who you were.”

“Grian,” he said, standing up. He looked around for a second, trying to find where his sweater went.

“I’m Mumbo,” the man responded.

Grian spotted his sweater in the sea, about fifty feet out. With an annoyed expression, he pushed the wave closer, scooping under to lift the sweater along with it. A sizable wave formed, carrying the sweater to shore before the water waned once more into the sea. He picked the soaking piece of clothing up, grimacing at the sea smell it carried.

“Water?” Mumbo asked.

Grian raised a brow, almost dumbfounded. He pointed to his wings, and then gestured outwardly and tilting his head. Mumbo took a breath in like he was about to say something, but then stopped himself, nodding and looking somewhat embarrassed.

“Thanks, by the way,” Grian said, willing himself to talk.

“Oh, no problem!” Mumbo exclaimed. “Don’t want anyone seriously hurt around here.”

Grian’s brow furrowed. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Right. Well, thank you, again. It’s good to know someone’s looking out for me.” It was a low blow at the wind, but Mumbo wouldn’t know that. “I’ll be sure to stay away from flying for a bit.”

“Have a nice day!” Mumbo called, rushing away to do other things around the shopping district. “Don’t hurt yourself!”

Doc’s grip on his arm is sudden and tight. 

“We need to talk.”

His voice is menacingly low, and Mumbo can feel himself getting charged from Doc. ‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ he thinks as the German practically drags Mumbo out to the battle field. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, but it’s still difficult not to stumble with Doc’s quick pace. 

Ren is waiting by a seemingly stable chair once Doc and Mumbo are there. He also doesn’t look pleased, but his gaze is a bit softer than the charged man dragging the redstoner. 

Mumbo is virtually thrown down into the seat. Doc’s glare is sharp and Mumbo can’t keep eye contact for longer than a couple seconds.His eyes turn to Ren’s, a bit pleadingly. Ren doesn’t offer any consolation. 

He’s been found out.

“Uh. Well, what’s this,” Mumbo laughs nervously. He doesn’t know what to expect. 

“You know what this is,” Doc’s voice is hard as steel and as cold as it too. 

Mumbo gulps. He hears pistons move under his seat and suddenly he’s falling. He hears the shatter of a splash potion and feels the effects of poison. His yelp of surprise is a bit late and is cut off with him hitting the ground.

 ‘A trapped chair, huh? Clever,’ his thoughts run rampant but this is one that sticks out. He’s surrounded by apparent never ending grey. He sits up, brushes his shoulders and straightens his tie. Might as well look as presentable as possible for what’s about to happen. 

“Mumbo...” Doc’s voice comes from out of the grey and Mumbo can barely pinpoint where from before the man is standing in front of him in the small space. Ren follows silently. He still looks sorry, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Mumbo turns to Doc. “Did you really think you could hide from us, Mumbo?” Doc has his hand on his trident. Not a good sign. Mumbo’s hands clench into fists at his sides. It doesn’t take a psychic to tell he’s scared.

Doc gives Mumbo a smile. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small book. The so-called “Mole Orders” from G-Team he’d given to Ren. Doc holds it out to Mumbo and the suited man hesitantly reaches out. He takes the book and flips open to the page of writing, obviously scrawled by Mumbo’s hand. The smudges of redstone on the page doesn’t help much either.

He sighs as he closes the book. He clears his throat and says, “Well, you see, G-Team--” he says the title with a forced tone of distaste “--they asked me to make some traps on the battle grounds, so I told you about it- how I’ve made the traps- to warn you not to use them so I could gain your trust-” 

“I think,” Doc interrupts, “that your ‘double agent’ duties are more.. triple agent duties, no?” His smile is wide and very fake. His trident is by his side now, and there’s small arcs of electricity flickering between the points.

Mumbo gulps again, feeling sweat gather on his brow. He risks a glance away from Doc to Ren, who looks more confused than anything. He’d just gotten back from taking care of urgent repairs in the HRN to have Mumbo blabbing about some “mole duties.” It makes sense that he’d go to their leader. 

Mumbo curses himself in his head. ‘I was never cut out to be a mole in the first place,’ he frowns in real distaste for himself and the situation. He eyes Doc’s trident warily. The electricity arcing between the points is still there, now consonant with no flickering. His eyes flash up to Doc’s, and they do not look pleased at all. 

The hair on Mumbo’s neck stands up with the electricity coursing through the air, and he has no doubt that Ren’s hair is too. He takes a step back, almost tripping over the chair and his back hits a wall. The space is even smaller than he’d thought. He’s trapped.

Ren visibly tenses with panic as he watches the scene unfold. Doc takes a slow step towards Mumbo, his hand gripping the trident tighter, his dark eyes boring into Mumbo’s wide ones. There is no smile on his face now. 

-----

“Hello!?” A high-pitched British voice calls from above. Mumbo almost falls in relief.

Grian’s here. He’s safe.

Doc stands up straight and his trident stops sparking. He looks extremely dis-pleased by this timing. “Stay. Here.” He points at Mumbo with a scowl. Mumbo flinches back, not wanting to be shocked. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.” 

Doc leaves as quickly as he had first shown up, Ren lingers for a moment to give Mumbo a sorrowful look. Mumbo glares in return. Ren wasn’t expecting that response apparently, as his eyes widen in shock before he scampers off with Doc. Seems Mumbo can be scary when he wants to as well. 

There’s faint conversation from above. Doc had put on his happy façade again from what Mumbo could hear. He suspects Grian doesn’t know why he’s been called here by the opposing team’s leader yet. This will be disappointing on both ends.

He hears their steps on the ladder. He stays put. The last thing he needs besides Grian being disappointed in him is Doc snapping and frying them all. 

He listens to them chat for a moment longer before Doc’s voice rings out, “Mumbo!” That must be his cue. He schools his face, takes a breath and walks through the fake wall, trying to be prepared for whats sure to come.

He’s met with a face of such disappointment that it stops him in his tracks. His line of a mouth is replaced by a small frown. He hesitates to move any further than he has.

He doesn’t know which side to stand on. They’re equally unwelcoming. 

Grian starts to sigh but cuts himself off to help stabilize his tall mustached friend. Ren had pushed him.  

“Oh, Mumbo,” Grian let’s his sigh out and turns to Doc, knowing what the German wants. Payment. 

Mumbo stands quietly behind Grian as negotiations are made.

They’re all fighting their best. It’s just a skirmish battle, nothing special, but who would they be if they didn’t put 100% into each and every fight? Habituality is the enemy of creativity, Joe’s said, and they’re inclined to stick by what he says even if they are on different sides. He’s always been a smart man.

Speaking of Joe, the other’s hunched over someone’s body trying to heal the nasty after effects of electrocution. He’s sorry, he thinks. But in the words of Joe himself, All’s fair in love and war.

—

Doc had called Mumbo over, with a glint in his eyes, and for a second he panics: had he been found out? Had he been discovered, as the mole he was? It’s an entirely logical path to take, he thinks. After all, Doc’s a pretty scary guy when he’s mad; wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that.

He can’t hurt Mumbo directly with his element, seeing as how Mumbo would just get powered up by the charge, but he’s got plenty of other teammates that could do whatever damage they wanted without repercussions—and considering the loyalty that they’ve got to their leader (not you not you not you), it wouldn’t be a fun time.

There’s a gentle shk-shk sound, and Mumbo picks his way over to see a stack of papers spread out on the table and a small stack of fireworks. “So, what’s all this for?” He’s relieved out of his mind that those are not his personal papers that somehow Doc had discovered.

“We’ve received intel that they’re going to hit on our southern border at around 20 ticks this night. Not too bad, from what I’ve heard, but still—a loss of a pet bird stings the same as the loss of a loved one.”

Mumbo had known that already, had been warned to stay out of this fight if he could. They didn’t want him getting accidentally hurt in a struggle, and risk outing himself. He’d been very, very careful to avoid taking pain medicine in any way when around team STAR, for fear of his mouth blabbering something the rest of him resolutely did not want to say, but accidents did happen—better to stay on the safe side.

“And we’re going to…?”

“We’re going to fight back, of course. Don’t want to get into another fight, but that’s how it is,” he says with a shrug. “Ready?”

Ah. Damn. “Where’s the others?”

“Don’t need ‘em, I think. I wouldn’t want to bother them, it’s better for them to get their sleep. And just between you and me, we both know you weren’t sleeping tonight anyways.”

His blood runs ice-cold. He couldn’t have, he was so careful—

“Lighten up, man. Meant nothing by it, just wanted to say that I’ve noticed you’re a light sleeper. Now, are we ready or not?”

He nods. Better get this over with. “Yeah, let me just grab my gear. I’ll be ready in a few.”

Tucking a notebook into his suit, Mumbo rushes to grab whatever he can. Emergency supplies, healing items, the like. Hopefully they wouldn’t hit as hard, since they knew him…

—

The moon’s rising high over the swamp, and all that she hears is the sound of crackling thunder striking down again and again. It’s just him and Doc, and he’s fallen easily into his role: provide defense to match Doc’s offense.

He knows that G-Team would have most likely more members than they did, but he couldn’t quite manage to see them, is all. Joe’s here, he knows; wouldn’t want to leave their main healer behind. Iskall’s here, obviously—of course they’d bring him to a damned swamp biome. He suspects Stress is here, he can hear a quiet shattering sound echoing every now and then. And Grian’s here too, giving him a panicked glance before taking off again to try to channel some power towards Mumbo to knock him off his feet.

A powerful group, to be sure. He was almost hoping that he and Doc would be beat quickly and they could go back to the base. Luck, it seemed, had other plans.

—

The tide of battle changes rapidly when Doc realizes the swamp water conducts electricity. So far he’s been directing it at various hermits, most often Grian (he whispers in an aside to Mumbo, take out the leader and you take the whole team out) but it’s been doing minimal damage and Doc’s not willing to use their trump card quite yet.

It’s understandable, then, how his eyes light up upon the crackle that rises from the earth when he slams his trident down in frustration. Eyes darting to the side, he asks a silent question: Do you see? Can you see the potential? Mumbo nods, torn. His team or victory.

Doc’s either too absorbed to notice the conflict, or just doesn’t care. He yells silent victory to the moon, and buries the trident into the earth with a shout: “Have fun!”

It takes a while for it to sink in, but Doc is steadfast. He’s clutching the trident between his hands so tight his knuckles are whitening, supercharging it up with thousands of volts at once and dear lord it’s terrifying to watch. It’s quickly becoming a beacon in the middle of the swamp, and G-Team draws out of the shadows, attracted by the light as moths to a flame.

He almost cries out a warning then, cries out that this will hurt bad. It’s fine for him, he thinks. It’s fine for him to get thousands of volts running through his body—it just recharges him, tips him over his natural limit and grants him a rush of almost unlimited power. For his team? It’ll be bad. Doc won’t hurt them seriously enough to be out of commission forever (for all his power, he’s not a harsh or cruel man), and he sees Joe as a silent sparrow perched in a birch tree, but the experience is still quite harrowing—and he’d prefer to spare his team that pain.

He pushes it down. Pushes down the cry on his lips, and taps Doc on the shoulder—should he take to the trees? Doc responds with a nod. Hit Grian while he’s down, he says in his eyes. Remember. It’s like a house of cards—one falls and they all fall with it. He doesn’t want to, but. They should understand.

He flees.

—

He’s sitting next to Joe, who’s checking him for any injuries and quietly tsk’ing over scratches from months ago. He misses him, he thinks. They’ll be “enemies” again in a second, but it’s nice to snatch moments like this where he can.

Mumbo knows what moment he’s waiting for. Could see it in Doc’s eyes as clear as anything. He’s waiting for Grian to land, to come face Doc in the swamp. Grian’s flight is limited, free as though he might seem, and it must run out eventually.

When Grian lands, knees bent, a picture of perfect poise, several things happen in rapid succession.

Joe tenses up next to him.

The rest of G-Team floods out of the relative safety of the boggy swampland, joining Grian in the water.

A ripple runs along the riverbank, heading for Doc. (Iskall’s a smart one, he thinks. Good man.)

Doc notices the ripple, bares his teeth in some semblance of a grin, and twists the trident.

And then.

And then, electricity lights up the night sky brighter than day.

It arcs and sweeps across the water, jumping and twisting and weaving around like it was almost eager to free itself.

It runs through the water, through the millions of particles of water, and strikes G-Team like star come down from the heavens.

It hits Iskall first. It hits him as he’s attempting to manipulate this biome further into their favor, it hits him underwater and hits him hard. When he comes back up (after a long time, too long, he thinks) he’s gasping and his body is sparking all over like he’s about to explode. The pain’s clear in his eyes, and he flees from the water, dragging himself out with a pained grimace and clenched teeth. One down.

The electricity snakes towards Stress next. She’s got a little more warning, not quite the brutal direct hit Iskall took, but she’s equally ineffective in the face of the combination of devastating power and the perfect medium to deliver it. Ice forms under her feet as she tries to freeze the water fast enough to stop the electricity and fast enough for her to get away, but the speed at which the electricity arrives—it shatters under her like glass. It frames her face in a strange halo for half a second before slamming her to the ground under its force, and she manages to gather her wits enough to stumble off the swamp, thin snow-melt ice under her; hands trembling and voice shaking as she calls a warning to Stay out of the water, for the love of god, (watch yourself watch yourself and maybe you won’t get hurt the way we did).

Joe’s watching, horrified, for half a second before he snaps out of his trance and sprints to them to do what he can. They’re healing up, slowly, and would probably try to get back into battle later—but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is Grian, and Doc standing across from him with the same grin carved into his face.

He’s in shock, Mumbo thinks. At how fast his team was taken out, at how they knew of the attack. It’s the split second of hesitation before he unfurls his wings to try to take off again that seals his fate.

Grian crouches down, ready to leap up, and a single tip of his wings skim the water. Doc twists the trident again, forcefully, and then. Blue lightning leaps up, eagerly waiting to consume and twist and burn whatever it can find. And it happens to find Grian’s wings dipped ever-so-slightly into the water.

There’s a charred scent in the air, and Grian’s eyes are blown wide open. He can see the moon. There’s a little sound, and then. He tips over, falling into the water. Doc hurriedly shuts off the power (that much all over his body would hurt him more than was necessary or recoverable, he thinks) and gestures, searching the trees with his eyes.

Joe’s got his hands tied with the other two, and Grian’s just lying there. Not able to get up, not able to take off, essentially dead in the water, he thinks in some sort of morbid humor. He doesn’t want to hurt Grian. Neither does Doc, he knows, but Mumbo’s got the barrier of his mole status to fight through every single time he looks to injure with intent. He takes a deep breath (sorry sorry sorry) and steps out behind Grian, about to thrust his hand forward and bring him down even further, when.

Stress shouts, “Go! Get up!” and sends a wave of ice through her scream to lift Grian in the air. It boosts him up, launches him into the air, and Grian shakes out his waterlogged, heavily injured wings in the brief time Stress bought him enough to gain a few feet into the air.

No! If he fights, they all fight, and I can’t have the battle continuing. I can’t risk it. (They can’t get hurt further by me and Doc.)

He justifies it that way in his head, justifies leaping up behind his figure silhouetted in the moonlight to deliver a blow with redstone he has ready to Grian’s head—hopefully enough to knock him out.

It’s at that moment Doc lets out a cry of anger, and sends a bolt streaking through the air above Grian’s head to force him to flinch out of the air. It’s at that moment he slams his trident in frustration into the water again. And it’s at that moment that Mumbo accidentally takes the strike meant for Grian, and slams into the water. The still charged water. The water which is currently overflowing with raw elemental power, and looking for an outlet.

He thinks he’s fine for the brief half second he sinks into the water, thinks he’ll be able to stand it as he’s done before and maybe even receive some sort of boost. Those thoughts are dispelled in the next instant.

—

Energy’s flowing through his body and out, circling and cycling through with no regard for the mortal vessel it’s being held in, and he thinks he understands what death is.

he feels the moon

the stars

the water, the sky, the universe, he thinks he tastes blood on his lips.

he can’t taste much of anything now, he thinks. he’s raw power, unfiltered, screaming to be let free to be let out to be uncaged

He thinks he forgot his name. Did he have one?

He’s the universe. He’s the starry night blinking out a message. He’s a signal, a beacon, every single message sent out in the universe, desperately seeking a response, it hurtsithurtsithurts

He’s just a mass of carbon of raw spacedust crumbling as the sky turns and the earth turns or maybe they’re one and the same and he’s just a dot in the universe

He’s falling apart the longer it goes on, he thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t. He can’t tell anymore, the difference between him and the ground and the water he can’t remember what he was doing

He thinks he hears screaming, from far beyond. From the edge of the world, maybe.

There’s too much power arcing through him, too much for him to handle, there’s no way to direct it because how can you direct the ocean? Without direction it’s unhinged, just passing through, using him as a train station, leaving pain and pain and pain in its wake.

Hey, something shouts. Hey, no, wake up, you’re not dying on my watch, d’you hear me? Wake up! Wake up! You have to wake up!

He wants to. Maybe. It’d hurt more if he opened his eyes, right? It’d be a lot easier to just give himself over to the raw power clearly looking to burn and consume anything in its wake. He can’t tell what he wants anymore.

I don’t care if it hurts! Wake UP! Joe, work faster, please, I swear I’m not trying to rush you but do you hear it? The stuff he’s saying?

He doesn’t know what’s happening. Should he be awake? He tries to pry his eyes (eyes?) open, and is immediately greeted with overwhelming pain. Everything is too much, too bright too dark too cold too hot and he can’t stand it, he thinks that the overload that had been streaming through his body would almost be preferable. “Oh, thank God, you’re finally awake.” Who…?

Joe looks up from his work to glare at Mumbo. He gives a small, tight-lipped shake of the head, speaking a thousand words in a gesture. Had G-Team lost then?

“Hey. Hey. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up.” He’s starting to recognize faces and shapes again, which means he unfortunately has the displeasure of seeing Doc’s face looming over him. “I won’t hesitate to slap you awake again.”

He opens his mouth, hoping he hasn’t forgotten how to talk, and croaks out, “Four.”

“Good. You’re awake and coherent, that’s gotta count for something—right?” Doc’s voice lilts up in worry on the last phrase, and Mumbo wonders: what exactly…happened? “You don’t know?” Oh. He’d said it aloud.

Doc’s face tightens. “To put it in short terms, you took the bolt I aimed above Grian. I was supercharged, already had been from the power I took earlier, and when that combined with you, that hit hard. Hard enough to knock you out of the air. Normally, it would’ve been fine, I like to think.” Oh. Then what— “When you fell down into the water, you took the full force of the power I’d discharged into it. Remember, I slammed my trident into the water earlier? That had kept the water sparking, electricity looking for an outlet. And, well. You happened to be there when you did.”

“Why aren’t I dead, Doc?” He thought he had been, maybe. He didn’t know.

“I think you responded that way to my powers because of the unique way our elements interact. I don’t know. Don’t care, really,” he said. His voice was tight with some emotion—anger? It seemed they’d either lost or reached some sort of draw, seeing as how Joe was currently over at his side.

“Listen, I’m really very sorry for what happened, it was a simple mistake. I’ll work in the future to avoid clashing like that, sorry—” Mumbo gets cut off by Joe standing up.

“You should be stable. Take care of yourself, Mumbo,” he says, giving him another look. “No deaths on my watch.” Joe walks over to G-Team, where Stress and Iskall are supporting a limping Grian, and starts to take the trek back to their base.

Mumbo looks to break the awkward silence settling between them. “Anyways, yeah, like I said, sorry about all that—”

Doc leans over and grabs him in an even more awkward hug, then lets go in an instant.

“I, uh, —”

“Listen. I wasn't mad because we didn’t win the battle or whatever. I was worried, understand?”

Mumbo sits in silence.

“A good leader looks out for their team. Remember that. And, for what it’s worth? I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Doc and Mumbo had returned, looking… Much worse, then when they had gone out. X didn’t know the details, but Doc refused to talk about it when they first got back, helping Mumbo into a spare room with a bed. But here Doc was now, asking some very not-hypothetical sounding questions about X’s powers.

“I mean, maybe. Don’t think I’ve tried, honestly. Why do you ask? I mean, seems a bit unfair to the rest of the hermits. Manipulative, you know.” Doc nodded in response. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that. But what if.. What if it was for their benefit?”

Xisuma’s mask made it a bit hard for him to express emotions using his face, but pretty much anybody could tell that he was frowning now. “I don’t think it’s right to tamper with things like memory and all that. Don’t know what could happen, what if I ended up erasing something important? Plus, I’m all tired out for a bit anyways. Been using my powers a lot since the war started. On your request.” Doc took a step back. “Who said this was about the war? It’s not about the war.” Xisuma narrowed his eyes. “Well, you saying that makes me very much think this is probably about the war.”

X wasn’t the only one frowning now. “Listen X, something bad happened today. And honestly? I think it would be best for everyone if we could just.. Do a reover. A redo.” Xisuma shook his head. “No. I’m not gonna tamper with things outside of my control Doc, things have been.. Off enough today as it is. Did you know today it took me 6 fireworks to take off? Six.”

“That could be anybody. Scar, probably. Or Joe. Heh, maybe even Mumbo. I mean, that’s not in his powers, but you know how he is with fireworks…” X stood up from the desk. “This isn’t a thing to joke about Doc, it felt like my entire relationship with the server was off. Like space itself was broken, tilted off tune a little bit. I’m not using my powers so that you can go back and win the battle for your little power trip, and that’s final.”

“This isn’t about me winning the battle!” Doc growled. Xisuma, hands on the table below him, raised a eyebrow. Doc scowled. “You and I both know I could win the battle by just looking at G team the wrong way. If this was about lives, we would’ve won by now.” “But it isn’t. This war was originally for fun, do you remember that, Doc? Remember the pranks?” Doc’s grip on his trident was incredibly firm. “Now get out of my office, Doc. That’s final.”

“This is my office.” Doc responded.

“Oh. It is.” Xisuma paused, then stood up “You are right about that. I’ll make my own way to the exit then.” Docm77 glared at X, one eye black and the other a bright, blood red, as the man in the helmet walked out of the room.

~~~

Mumbo was in the spare room, jacket off and bandages around his hands scarred. He was sitting on a grey bed, and he was just feeling.. Well, horrible! That wasn’t really a surprise, though, after what went on yesterday.

Joe would be coming soon. Doc had at first rejected the idea of Joe or any member of the G team entering the base (oh, what little he knew, as Mumbo stood right next to him!), but Joe had promised he wouldn’t go ‘spilling out secrets about your team’s architecture.’ So the man in the blue shirt should be coming here any second now.

Almost on cue, there were some familiar knocks at the door. Mumbo winced a little as he stood up, and walked (well, limped might be the better term) over to let his healer friend in. “Howdy Mumbo Jumbo!” Came the familiar voice as he opened the door, and Mumbo couldn’t be happier to see a friendly face.

“Why’d you say my full name?” Mumbo asked, smiling, as Joe walked in and started putting down his bags. “Oh, what? Hm, just a habit I suppose! Do it to everyone.” Mumbo made his way back to the bed, and sat down. “Alright, let’s see how you’re holding up.”

Joe unwrapped the bandages on Mumbo’s hands and arms, and winced a little. “Uh oh, well, that doesn’t sound good, does it?” Mumbo asked. “Nope, certainly not the most ideal outcome to this situation.” Joe laughed a little, though it sounded pained. “Here, gimme your hands.”

Mumbo placed his hands in Joe’s, and felt better almost immediately. He looked down at his arms, which had been covered in scars and burns just a few minutes earlier, and sighed in relief to see his redstone freckles poking out again. But when he looked over to Joe, his relief changed to something else.

“Um, are you uh, alright there buddy?” Mumbo asked. Joe looked like he had been struck by the trident himself, and on Joe’s on wrists and forearms, there looked to be more than just bruises and burns. Last time he had seen him Joe had been all in armor for the war, but now he had swapped out his chestplate for an elytra, and his entire upper body looked… in pain. His shirt was torn, his arms were covered in stitches, scratches, and burns and he was just all around looking… not great. What was he looking like on the parts of his body still covered by the armor?

Mumbo flinched, removing his hands from Joe’s. Joe looked up, surprised. Like he had just been woken from a trance. “Hm? Is something the matter, my freckled friend?” Had Joe not heard his question earlier? “You uh, just look… bad. Like, almost as bad as I do!! Heh, and that’s saying something…”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m the healer, what are you doin’ getting worried about me? Just a lot of battles recently, and a lot of team members to be using my healin’ powers on. That’s all, I swear.” Mumbo still felt.. Uncomfy about this. “No man, you look.. Bad. I don’t think you should ‘heal’ me for anymore. Not today, at least.”

Joe frowned. “Are.. are you sure? I can take it, you know that. I’ve healed much worse stuff before! I’ll be alright.” “No man, you should.. I think you should go back to your base.” Joe had a very sad look in his eyes, but he looked… understanding. “Alright Mumbo, if you’re gonna be insistin’.” He stood up, and Mumbo couldn’t help but notice how he winced a little. Just by.. Moving. What was it like to have a power that directly wanted to hurt you? Mumbo’s redstone could get him into jams occasionally, like causing tnt to blow up directly in his face, but it never seemed to directly hurt him. And at the end of the day when he got hurt, he could always call up Joe to heal him. He hadn’t thought about how it wasn’t as much healing but.. Transferring. Joe got all that pain. All the pain of G team, and now him too. Well, he was still on G team! Just.. not helping them. He remembered the look on Grian’s face when Doc’s lightning had struck him through the water.. Had Mumbo helped cause that? He shook the thought away, uncomfortable with himself.

Joe was at the door. He had picked up his bags, not like he had opened them during the visit. Mumbo wondered what was in them. Probably like, signs. “Joe, before you leave, I have a question.” Joe looked back at Mumbo, bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s it like having a power that hurts you?”

Joe paused, thinking for a bit. “Well, I think it’s better than having a power that hurts others.” And with that he was off, humming himself a little song and using his powers to shut the door behind him. Leaving Mumbo alone again.

He fell back onto the gray bed. A buzz at his side alerted him of a notification, and he was quick to pull out the device. Joe was offline, not accepting messages now. Mumbo hoped he was doing good.. Getting rest, hopefully. What good is being able to help others, if you don’t help yourself?

Mumbo rolled over. He should get some sleep too.

~~~

MumboJumbo has gone to sleep. Sweet Dreams!

Doc looked out of one of the windows in the Team STAR base as the ‘night turned to day’, as some of his enemies would say. You know, sometimes he hated his element. It had pretty much no practical uses, besides the occasional redstone help. It just hurt him, and hurt others, and that’s even with the trident. Past seasons, past years? It was just horrible.

But he had learned to be strong despite it. No, strong because of it. Xisuma had said before he was very.. Ambitious.

Ambitious.

Something had felt off during his whole conversation with X, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Something had felt like X was… lying.

What reason would Xisuma have to lie to him?