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deityoftherain · 2 months ago

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come back to me - ahasbands + southlanders

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63647401

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M, Gen

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 4,002

Summary:

The Southlanders are stuck in this world with no respawns, warring against excessively hostile Mobs infected by the parasite they've come to known as The Mob Mother. Martyn and Mumbo set out to destroy The Mob Mother's core for good, rigging it to blow and thinking they were in the clear, but then... then Mumbo's detonator didn't go off when it was supposed to. Fuck.

Full oneshot is posted under the cut if AO3 is down o7

This is an ahasbands gift for @v1neyy for they are who got me hooked on this ship to start with lol (yes, I blame you bahahaha)

“Please work, please work, please work–” Mumbo murmured prayers to whatever higher powers were out there as he fiddled with the redstone device in his hands, clicking buttons that Martyn couldn’t even start to understand.

Mumbo cast a glance over his shoulder and around the rock pile they were hiding behind, sweat glistening on his brow, tie undone, and button-up shirt ripped halfway off his shoulder. Martyn would say it was hot under any other circumstance, but–

Well–

…

Okay, fine! It was hot; Mumbo was very attractive.

At least, Martyn thought so, as much as he was biased as Mumbo’s husband. Regardless, despite the extent to which Martyn very much wanted to acknowledge the fact of his attraction to his husband with actions, they weren’t exactly in a position to do so at the moment! They had more important issues at hand!

Besides, Martyn didn’t look too good himself! He looked worse even, between the dried blood and the smeared mud on his skin and clothes. His long hair was messy and tangled regardless of the fact that Mumbo brushed it nightly for him, the blonde locks held back with his signature headband. He bit off a piece of beef jerky he had taken with him, hoping protein from the jerky would help encourage his body’s natural regeneration now that they had maybe twenty seconds of downtime at best.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins and paranoia heightened his senses, preparing Martyn to strike down anyone who came too close to either him or Mumbo for comfort. His leg throbbed and ached from where it was snagged by a spider’s fangs, making him wish he had worn something longer than shorts despite the humid heat.

Even with its angry terror on his body, Martyn ignored the bite, allowing the situation’s adrenaline to aid his efforts. He’d deal with it later when he could actually afford to, when they weren’t in active danger. “Mumbo, where’s that explosion?”

“I’m working on it!” Mumbo snapped in return, though any anger that may have once been behind it lost its power when his voice cracked to show his true emotions. His lower lip was chapped and bitten raw as a symptom of his anxiety. Martyn admired how brave he had been acting despite it. “Just– I don’t know why it’s not going off! I must have messed up the circuit somehow, or maybe one of the Mobs knocked something out of place after we left, which is rather pantsed of them to do–”

“It’s fine; it’s too late now,” Martyn grunted as he deflected a skeleton’s arrow before lunging forward to slice the archer of bones that had followed after them down. “We gotta fall back.”

He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but their hazardous mission to take down The Mob Mother had failed. What they risked had been for null, but they could always try again another time. There was always another attempt, as long as they didn’t give up.

Assuming they made it back to the Southlands alive, anyway.

Mumbo wasn’t listening to him, too fixated on his redstone, so Martyn took his husband’s hand, urging him to follow him back to the Southlands’ base. “C’mon, mate, we should– fuck, ow– we should regroup with the others.”

We should go see who made it back alive, were words that went unsaid. Words that they didn’t want to acknowledge. Words they didn��t want to consider, let alone think about.

But… who knew if Impulse and Grian weren’t withering in agony somewhere in these woods? Who knew if Jimmy actually made it back to the infirmary to receive the care he needed in the first place? Who knew if The Southlands was still a safe and secure base?

Problem was, they didn’t, as much as Martyn tried not to think about it.

What they were facing was more than just a game; it was life or death– permanent death. Death could come for any of them at any moment, and there was no known way to come back from that. Not when The Mob Mother’s corruption had somehow turned off respawns, something they could each sense intrinsically all the way down to their codes.

None of them knew what would happen if one died while respawns weren’t working, and Martyn wasn’t exactly keen to find out. There were many risks Martyn was willing to take, but tempting a perma death wasn’t one of them.

Ever since The Mob Mother took root into the soil, corrupting all the surrounding Mobs and making them much more hostile than before like the parasite She was, they’ve been fighting for their lives. She disrupted the balance, forcefully altering the world they inhabited with forbidden tactics. They were stuck here; they couldn't leave.

Mobs and Players have always lived alongside each other in the closest thing their harsh world knew as “peace” before She took over. They had disputes, sure, but there was an unspoken agreement when it came to territory and rights over the world they spawned into.

Players got where the light touched while Mobs existed in the shadows, where they thrived best. Both Players and Mobs were happier that way! It wasn’t like their agreements meant they couldn’t target and fight each other just like any other rivaling groups could, slaughtering each other for their own benefits.

What they had was normal; it was expected.

The Mob Mother disrupted all of that, and She needed to go down. Life could never go back to how it was without Her death, without destroying Her at Her Core. They had been so close…

Mumbo swallowed back hard, tears welling in his eyes as he lifted his gaze to meet Martyn’s. “You should go. I need to go back. I need to fix what I failed. We were too close to finish this for me to not try.” “Wha– no!” Martyn protested furiously, shaking his head. “We failed, yes, but we’ll try again later. You can’t– Jimmy took a hit for you! And, and you know he’s in the infirmary waiting to hear that his efforts hadn’t led to your death. If you won’t go back for me, go back for him.” “I’m doing this for him, for you– for all of us! The Mob Mother needs to go down, and I swear I was so close… if I go alone, I won’t draw as much attention, and your leg needs to be checked out.” Mumbo detached the spyglass that hung by his hip, replacing his hand in Martyn’s grasp with the copper and amethyst tool. “I’ll be back for this… Jimmy would have my head otherwise.”

“You have lost quite a few of them,” Martyn chuckled weakly, resting his forehead against his husband’s. Mumbo joined in, almost melting into his hold, but not quite.

They stood for only a second, but Martyn longed for it to never end. He allowed the contact to distract him from Mumbo’s play, which was admittedly foolish of him. Despite the extent of Martyn’s pleas, he didn’t get his wish. He knew better than to hope for such a thing. They didn’t have that kind of time, not out in the open like this. They haven’t had that kind of time in a while.

Mumbo pressed a chaste kiss against the corner of Martyn’s lips, his mustache tickling Martyn’s face. Martyn chased his lips as he pulled back, but Mumbo didn’t grant the silent ask. Instead, he breathed out, “I’ll give you a real one if I get back– when I return.”

“Wait, Mumbo, please–” Martyn begged, reaching out for his husband’s touch as Mumbo stepped backward in the direction they just came from. Unfortunately, Martyn’s leg hindered him, and Mumbo’s strides have always been longer than his, even as he reached out to his husband. “Don’t do this! Don’t go back there, not without backup! If you won’t let me accompany you, then let’s go back, and maybe one of the others will go out with you!”

“The others wouldn’t let me take this risk again if I went with you all the way to the Southlands again, you know that. I– I’m sorry, Martyn,” Mumbo apologized, tugging on his long and nimble fingers. He averted his gaze, unable to look Martyn in the eye as he turned to disappear into the shadows of the forest.

Martyn cursed loudly under his breath, and then cursed again when he tried to take a step after Mumbo. The gash caused from the spider bite shot pain up and down his leg in a web-like structure, each movement agony now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off from their run in with The Mother Mob.

As much as he wanted to assist Mumbo on the suicide mission, it didn’t look like he had much of a choice. He could either run after Mumbo and die, potentially being the reason they both met their doom, or he could make his way back towards the Southlands and potentially live. Martyn didn’t like his options, but letting Mumbo go alone was their best chance at this point, and Martyn was nothing if not a survivor at his core.

Martyn’s grip tightened around Mumbo’s spyglass, knuckles turning white from how tight he held it. He bit down so hard on his tongue that he could taste the red that trickled out of the punctured spot. Martyn could practically hear blood rushing in his ears as he picked up his pace, hobbling back toward the Southerlanders’ base as quickly as he could. He wanted to make it back before nightfall, knowing more monsters would emerge from the darkness.

As he approached the Southlands base, the discreet shrill of Grian’s alarm caw reached his pointed ears, alerting the other Southlanders of his approaching. When Martyn turned his attention upwards, he spotted the outline of Grian’s short figure with his macaw-banded wings folded into a heart behind him and a Southlanders matching spyglass held up to his eye. “It’s Martyn, don’t shoot! And he’s injured– Impulse, let him in, and then get some first aid!”

“On it!” Impulse called back, preparing the barricaded entrance for Martyn’s arrival as Grian surveyed the area outside the gate for any Mobs that could be nearby or tracking after Martyn. “Do you see Mumbo too?”

“No,” Grian reported grimly, not bothering to say much else. They all knew where his mind went– it was where all their minds went! The worse case scenario had played on repeat in his mind like an unnecessarily tragic song. Though, Grian probably hoped Martyn had better news to share than that. Martyn wished he had better news to share as well.

Dread dragged his heart lower, burrowing deep in his gut. The stench of creeper gunpowder remains, sliced zombie flesh, and squashed spider juices did not help the nausea that threatened to bubble up from his throat with each agonizing step. The taste of vomit and acid did not mix well with the blood from his tongue.

Martyn staggered, barely able to keep himself upright. Luckily, Impulse was there to catch him before he unwillingly ate dirt and rubble, adding the textures to the already nasty meal on his taste buds. Impulse reoriented Martyn in his grasp to help him maneuver Martyn’s limp body properly. He set Martyn down on a nearby barrel filled with extra supplies and leaned him against the stony structure it sat beside.

“I’ll be right back,” Impulse promised, turning on his heel to visit the infirmary tower. “I need to grab some things that should help–”

“I got it,” Jimmy cut in, rushing out of the infirmary tower prepared to aid Martyn with his predicament. He must have heard Grian and Impulse communicate Martyn’s arrival. His torn shirt had been removed since Martyn had last seen him, bandages speckled with dried blood wrapped tightly around his torso as proof of his previous injury.

“Tim, you should be resting.” Grian frowned at his brother as he spread out his wings to glide down to the ground level. “Impulse, get him back–” “I’m fine, Gri!” Jimmy snapped in return, canary yellow feathers bristling for a moment. He ignored his brother’s worries to continue further, shouldering past Impulse in favor of opening the dufflebag of first aid and spare healing potions. “I got hurt, but I’m not useless. ‘Sides, I’m better at this stuff than you two are. I have enough experience, anyway.”

“That’s not what Grian is saying,” Impulse tried to help mediate, but the situation was too tense for that. Neither avian paid Impulse’s attempts any mind, continuing their stressed concern and annoyance ping-ponging back and forth.

Martyn did his best to tune out the brothers’ protests, which wasn’t too difficult within the pounding against his skull. He didn’t voice it, but he disagreed with Grian’s sentiments that Jimmy should recover instead of tending to his leg. Jimmy might be accident prone, but they all were at times, and it just made Jimmy kind of good at what he did– but don’t let Jimmy hear him say that. Last thing they needed was to stroke each other's ego until it was so inflated idiotic choices were made.

He leaned his head backwards to rest it against the wall after Jimmy had him down a healing potion, letting his eyes flutter close. The angry bite on Martyn’s leg had already started to ease as Jimmy worked his magic. Martyn idly brushed his fingertips against the spyglass, a movement Jimmy must have caught sight of.

“Is that Mumbo’s spyglass?” Jimmy inquired, tone sickly flat and mixed with far too many emotions for Martyn to even know where to begin to decipher.

Martyn huffed out a displeased chuckle, letting his chin hit his chest in order to gaze down at the tool made of copper and amethyst. “Yeah, it is. I’m surprised you can tell them apart, they all look the same to me, but I s’pose you’ve made enough of them.” “Damn right, I have,” Jimmy mumbled under his breath as he refocused on the task at hand. If Martyn was a better friend, or, y’know, not in agonizing pain, maybe he would have prodded more. For better or for worse, Martyn couldn’t bring himself to check in on Jimmy’s mental state.

Safe to say, none of them were exactly the most sane. Mental health could be examined more closely when they weren't in peril.

Right as Martyn feared he may pass out, a huge explosion shook the ground around them. Debris was tossed into the winds, the air quality plummeting within seconds. And, well–

He certainly wasn’t going to pass out now, the explosion more than efficient as a wake up call.

Martyn ducked where he was sitting on instinct, arms flying up to protect his head and neck. The other Southlanders mirrored his actions, likely also on instinct, hearts beating out of their chests as they waited for the explosion to settle. None of them risked breaking the bubble that seemed to encapsulate them, scared to speak and find out something was deathly wrong.

“That’s too large to be a creeper,” Impulse offered hesitantly, popping that bubble, and it took everything in Martyn to not grumble back a yeah, no shit, dude.

“Did–?” Jimmy started instead, hesitating on if he actually wanted to continue through on the sentence. “Did Mumbo’s plan work? Do you think he made it out in time–?”

“Tim!” Grian hissed, smacking his brother’s arm with his wing in retribution. “Mumbo’s husband is right there! Don’t say stuff like that with no real proof.”

“Sorry!” Jimmy squeaked back, head wings flicking to cover his face, but Martyn had long stopped paying attention to their banter.

Martyn staggered to his feet, ears ringing furiously as a byproduct of the explosion. It was like he could feel every internal function of his body as he stared in the direction the noise came from. He could barely see, tears flooding his vision.

Still, he continued to the walls’ ladder, ignoring the pain of his wrapped leg as he climbed up. Martyn could vaguely recall the shouts of the other Southlanders, but their voices were drowned out by the ringing as they morphed and contorted together.

Once at the top, he brought Mumbo’s spyglass to his tear-filled eye to peer through it the best he could. He didn’t care if it took all night, or how long he had to look… he needed proof that Mumbo was still alive. He needed proof that Mumbo didn’t get caught in that explosion.

You better come back to me, Mumbo, Martyn pleaded, projecting the thoughts into the universe to hopefully make their way to his husband. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t. I’ll hate you forever.

Martyn could never hate Mumbo. He couldn’t hate the man he was more than prepared to trade his life for. He couldn’t hate the man he held in his arms at night as they shared a bed. He couldn’t hate the man who never rejected Martyn when he sought out the physical affection he craved so intensely, whether it be hand holding or slinging his arm over his shoulder or sitting so close their legs overlapped with one another.

Oh, Mumbo, he wailed. Please come back to me.

Hours seemed to pass, leaving the Southlanders holding their breaths. None of them knew the state of their world now; none of them knew if the rules had changed. In fact, they didn’t see a single Mob try to breach their base, but still, Martyn was outvoted on leaving the walls until they had sufficient time to recuperate.

Martyn obviously disagreed, but whenever he tried to leave to search for Mumbo, one of them always managed to hold him back, no matter how much he fought and protested. They claimed that it was for his own safety but Martyn called bullshit and… and a lot of other much more foul terms and phrases.

He said things he shouldn’t ever say, not to his team, not to his friends, but he couldn’t help it! At least, that’s what he told himself in order to quiet the guilt. They didn’t deserve his hatred; they were just trying to protect him. He was in no state to look for him, mentally or physically. Plus, the spider’s bite was deep and, while Jimmy had helped it a lot, it still needed to be watched to ensure it wouldn’t get any worse.

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, and Mumbo still hadn’t returned. The sky was painted with stunning hues of pinks and oranges, a sight Mumbo would have appreciated. Martyn wished he was by his side then, cuddled close to each other as they watched the changing colors high above them.

But Mumbo had to play hero when he should be anything but! Martyn should be his hero, not the other way around! Martyn should be the one going out in a blaze of glory, especially if it meant Mumbo got to live.

Mumbo was far too smart and far too good for this world, which meant he was needed and he deserved to live to see a head full of grey. Martyn wasn’t; Martyn was simply a soldier. He was disposable at the end of the day, he knew that. He had made peace with his role, even if his sense of self-preservation fought him every step of the way. That internal war within himself was his cross to bear.

Martyn idly combed his fingers through his blonde locks, not daring to touch the brush that was usually equipped to tame the nest on his head. The use of the hairbrush was reserved for his husband, not for him, and Martyn would sooner cut it all off because of how matted it became than fulfill a role that belonged to Mumbo. Martyn relished in the attention and care, and Mumbo enjoyed the repetitive peace that came with the affection. He couldn’t brush his hair without him, he just… he just couldn’t.

The ladder creaked with the weight of another person joining him, but Martyn didn’t bother to glance behind him. He stayed quiet, and so did his guest as he sat down beside Martyn. He noticed dark sandy blonde and red in his peripheral vision, tipping him off that his guest was Grian long before he even spoke– not that Martyn understood why Grian would use the ladder when he could have flown. “You should come join us for dinner.”

Martyn didn’t bother responding, not sure he was physically capable even if he wanted to. His mouth was dry, and his throat was scratchy from sobbing and sweating out most of his hydration. He scrunched the fabric of his shirt over his stomach tightly, ignoring the protests of hunger pains from his body. How could I eat if I don’t even know if Mumbo is alive?

“Martyn, I–” Grian tried, struggling to come up with the right words to say. He flicked his head wings forward and clicked his tongue a few times as he averted his gaze, unprepared for the conversation he was trying to start.

Before Grian had the chance to get anything more out, Martyn straightened up, spotting something dark and tall in the shadows. Sure, it could be an enderman teleporting around, but Martyn couldn’t help but hope–

“Mumbo!” Martyn called, voice straining as he scrambled to his feet and tugged Mumbo’s spyglass from its designated belt loop. He closed one eye to better look through the spyglass, trying to pinpoint his husband and definitely not an enderman in the zoomed in perspective.

His heart thumped faster as his vision settled on the pale lanky man he loved so much. Mumbo was covered head to toe with smoke, redstone, and gunpowder residue, but Martyn couldn’t care less. He practically leapt off the tower walls, stumbling out of the gate to greet his husband with open arms as he grew closer.

Martyn didn’t give Mumbo a chance to say anything as he wrapped his arms around Mumbo’s practically nonexistent hips to hoist him up with a spin. A surprised and shuttering laugh left Mumbo’s lips as Martyn spun his husband around in a series of circles, fingers clenching the fabric of Martyn’s shirt collar to help stabilize himself.

When Martyn let Mumbo’s shoes touch the ground again, he couldn’t help but beam up at his husband as he reoriented himself. “Mumbo, you’re alright! You– you’re here! Did you do it?”

“I did it,” Mumbo confirmed with quiet yet clear pride on his features. “I– The Mother Mob is gone, and, I, I–”

“And you’re chuffed to bits?” Martyn guessed, raising a playful eyebrow as he refused to let Mumbo go now that he had him again. He felt alive again, here with Mumbo in his arms. He didn’t know how he even managed without him for so long now that he was reminded of what he had feared he lost.

“Yes, exactly! I’m chuffed to bits, indeed!” Mumbo chuckled, airy and a little dizzy from their spin still. He raised his hands from Martyn’s collar up to Martyn’s cheeks, sheepish but not shying away. “And I, and I believe I owe you something.”

Martyn’s breathing hitched in his chest, eagerly leaning in closer as an invitation, as a way to let Mumbo know he wanted to collect his reward. “Please.”

Mumbo, the gracious man he was, didn’t leave Martyn hanging nor let Martyn beg for long. He closed the gap between them, pressing his anxiety-bitten lips against Martyn’s dehydrated chapped ones. It wasn’t necessarily pretty, and Mumbo had a lot of explaining to do later, but none of that mattered to Martyn at the moment. All of his worries faded into the background, their kiss picture perfect in Martyn’s mind as they loved each other under the setting sky. Martyn was confident that, as long as they were together, they would be okay.

If you got this far, please reblog, kudos/like, and comment <33

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