#yes i get it it's grian angst 850 but listen i was filled with inspo and I wanted to let this poor man let off some steam

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Grian's Awful Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

Read it on AO3

Grian has not had a very good day, let alone week, and he is at the end of his rope. He hasn't slept well, he has little inconvenient injuries that won't heal from respawn for some reason, and he can't keep his thoughts in order. He is about to break but he refuses to let that happen. 

Grian was tired. He was tired. He was sore. And he was covered in undoubtedly numerous new scars that he hadn’t taken the time to care for. He was just done, really. He wanted to lay down and sleep for the next week, except even that would be unrestful cause both of his main sleeping areas were either surrounded by loud villagers or a loud pesky bird that demands more and more food from him every day.

He let his eyes rest for a split second too long while flying, gravity taking hold of him in the narrow corridor of the temporary Nether “hub.” He yelped, rolling and getting tangled up in his artificial wings as he ungracefully scraped against the rough netherrack. He let himself lay there in an uncomfortable ball and he glared at the red rock around him with a hatred he had never quite had for it before and was sure wouldn’t last. When he finally stood back up he gave the wall a swift kick, gritting his teeth at how the vibration reverberated up his leg. With a grumble he entered the portal to the shopping district.

On any other day, the nauseous swirling effect of the portal would not have bothered him, but today it felt like another thing that just added onto his ever growing migraine. Add on the bright sun of the Overworld and he was tempted to jump off the platform so he could respawn in his bed and sleep the rest of the day away, his items be damned. But, fortunately or unfortunately you decide, Grian was too stubborn to do that and when he stepped off the platform he glided gracefully to the ground, for once not tripping over his own feet.

Rubbing at his drooping eyes Grian lazily looked around the shopping district, trying to remember what on Earth he came here for. His eyes landed on his barge and he couldn’t suppress the groan that rose as he was reminded once again how much he had to do for it. Sure, he was making tons of diamonds from it, but now that gravel was a hundred times easier to get that means he would have to find something new to stock. Not to mention how much he already has to restock since he’s been neglecting it in favor of his other projects. That’s the part he misses about Sahara the most, not all the work fell on him. If he needed help, at least he could ask Iskall or Mumbo.

Sighing he dragged his feet onto the uneven, rocking floor that was his shop and began checking the chests, slowly making a list on his communicator of things he needed to restock as well as things that weren’t selling. He was pulling the last of the diamonds from the TNT barrel when it hit him. He wasn’t in the shopping district to deal with his barge, he needed Impulse to break the nether roof for him.

Slightly reinvigorated at this realization, and the idea of getting out of one overwhelming project and into a more manageable one, he flew out of the top and up into the sky. He surveyed the island beneath him, looking for some sort of obvious landmark that would dictate a bedrock shop. Squinting against the sun, he didn’t see anything stand out so he glided downward, circling and trying to see if there was anything he didn’t know what it was.

After about ten minutes of circling the shopping district he aimed to land on one of the billboards that had popped up on the island, but when one foot landed the other caught his heel and he went tumbling off the back. He held his arms out, trying to cushion his fall the best he could, but all he managed to do was end up in a scraped up heap with a throbbing wrist held to his chest. He bit his lip as the pain of his wrist (despite not being nearly the worst pain he’s felt all day), his frustration of trying to find this stupid shop, and just the overall stress of the past week started to finally spill over and tears pooled in his eyes. 

He tried everything to push them back, to blink them away, to close his eyes and wait for them to leave. He took deep breaths, embracing the sight of nothing for a few blissful moments as he pushed the weight of everything away. Like this he could almost enjoy the slight breeze of the ocean, or the pungent smell that he had learned to be a hybrid of mycelium and grass, or how nice it felt to just lay on his back and close his eyes, even if he wasn’t necessarily comfortable.

“Grian?” His eyes snapped open and he stared right into brown ones of his mustached friend. Mumbo was bent at an almost exact 90 degree angle, looming over Grian with an eyebrow raised in a mix of confusion and concern. “You alright mate? You seem to have a little something here.” 

Grian felt the spot on his cheek that Mumbo had indicated on his own and hissed at the slight twinge of pain that came with the poke. Withdrawing his hand he saw his dirt covered hand with a hint of red and winced at the sight. Another scar to add to his collection this week, it seemed. And of course it was on his face. He sighed, unfocusing his eyes to a point of the sky past Mumbo’s head.

Mumbo stood up straight, his eyes still fixed on Grian. Grian didn’t have nearly enough energy to try and figure out what the taller man’s thoughts were, and he was still quite enjoying laying in the grass. His mind had fully zoned out, and he didn’t register the fact that Mumbo must have been speaking, his voice mingling with the breeze. He only started paying attention again when Mumbo tried to pull him up by tugging on his sprained wrist.

“Ow! What the hell?” Grian’s voice was high, pulling his wrist away from Mumbo far too quickly to roughly land on his back and causing him to cough a few times to catch his breath.

“Oh! Sorry, Grian. I didn’t- are you okay? I just thought you were tired or, or I don’t know. You weren’t answering me and so I thought I’d just-”

He really hoped Mumbo would just leave him alone after this, but he didn’t seem so lucky as his friend kneeled down beside him. “Grian, is everything alright? What happened to your wrist? Heck, what happened to all of you?” He waved his hand up and down to gesture to Grian’s body.

“I get it. It’s fine. Sorry I didn’t answer you.” He didn’t mean to snap at Mumbo, but he couldn’t get much else past his gritted teeth as he sat up, cradling his wrist to his chest once again. He took a few deep breaths to calm his returning and ever-rising stress. It wasn’t Mumbo’s fault. The last thing you need to do is yell at him.

He didn’t look up to meet Mumbo’s gaze, instead staring down at his chest and his probably swollen wrist that was bent in a very uncomfortably looking way. The longer he stared, he started to notice what Mumbo must be referring to. His jumper looked more brown than red at this point, tears in the fabric revealing the once white undershirt underneath. If that’s what his clothes looked like, he could only imagine what his face and hair must look like.

He really was a mess, huh?

With a sigh he glanced through the unwashed strands of his even dirtier blonde hair to look at Mumbo’s face. “I’m just… having a rough day, is all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Grian felt his head shrink into the neck of his sweater at the question. He didn’t do talking. Not like this. He was happy-go-lucky Grian that was always playing pranks on people or setting up fun events for everyone. He was never angry or upset unless it was in response to a prank he no doubt deserved, and even then that was all in good fun. He remembers Ren trying to get him to open up to him as hippies, saying it was great to get things off your chest every now and then. But Grian just… couldn’t. He dealt with his negative emotions on his own for years, thank you very much, and he could continue to do it for as long as he needed to.

So he shook his head, using his good wrist to push himself up. He took one more steadying breath and moved to take one step past Mumbo. “No, no. I’m fine, Mumbo, don’t worry about-” His words were cut off by a high-pitched yelp as he stepped on his elytra, the straps around his chest pulling him painfully backwards. He would have fallen over again if Mumbo hadn’t caught him and kept him somewhat upright.

“You were saying?”

“You’re okay.” Grian blinked a few times. “Swears let out stress. At least, I’m pretty sure they do. Doc mentioned something about that a few years back to me when he was helping me with a redstone project. I was getting really, really frustrated and he told me to just… let it out! And I did, and it felt great.” Mumbo’s smile was blindingly bright as he walked over and placed his hands on Grian’s shoulders. “If you need to get something out, just do it. No one else is around.”

Grian dropped his facade, face drooping into a small scowl at his recent fortune. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine. But I don’t need to talk about it, okay? Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go find Impulse’s fucking bedrock shop.” He pushed himself off of Mumbo’s shoulder, taking a few steps away from his friend before he realized exactly what he said. He glanced back to see Mumbo’s wide eyes and internally scolded himself. He hasn’t cursed that openly in years. He hasn’t been this upset in years, either. And it’s all over such stupid stuff. God, he’s an idiot. “Ah, I’m sorry, Mumbo I didn’t mean to-”

Grian looked around, noticing the setting sun in the distance. Other than a few stray villagers from Stress’ campaign, Mumbo was right. They were the only hermits in the shopping district. He glanced once more at Mumbo’s face, contemplating it, but ultimately shook his head.

“No, I, I’m fine. Well, I’m not, I won’t lie to you, but I don’t need to ‘get anything out’ or anything.” A tight smile appeared as he avoided eye contact. “I-I haven’t cursed like that in ages, and I don’t exactly want to fall back into that old habit.”

“You used to curse?”

“Like a sailor.”

Mumbo’s laugh was bright before he cut himself off with a hand over his mouth, his eyes betrayed his amusement, though. “Sorry, that’s just really hard to imagine. I don't think I’ve ever seen you genuinely upset, let alone angry enough to swear.”

Grian found himself smiling despite himself. “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten a better hold of my emotions before I came here. I would get pissed off-” he covered his mouth quickly as he realized his wording, groaning slightly before he continued with muffled words. “-I would get angry at very little annoyances.”

Mumbo snickered at him, leading him with a friendly arm over his shoulder to a hill nearby they could sit on and watch the setting sun. “Quite the gentleman you are now then, huh?”

“I try to be.” He shrugged, letting himself fall roughly onto the dirt beneath him with a grunt. 

Mumbo gave him a softer, concerned glance, resting his head on his hand. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”

Grian let the question stir inside his mind as he picked at some grass that was trying to poke through the hillside. After a few moments he answered with a reserved grumble: “I’ve already told you what’s wrong.”

“You’re not seriously this worked up over Impulse’s shop, are you? And what about all your cuts and bruises? Your wrist? Not to mention you are never this clumsy; I almost mistook you for me a moment ago with you bumbling over yourself.”

Once again Grian sunk into his jumper. He looked up at the darkening sky and how the soft lights of the shopping district began illuminating the area. Something about the peacefulness of it all and Mumbo’s comforting presence made the overwhelming feelings come back. He tried to bury his face in his hands, but doing so only made his wrist sting and get dirt in his eyes and the more he tried to rub it out the more irritated they became and then the more irritated he became too. 

And so what if he was worked up about not being able to find Impulse’s shop? Impulse should make it more obvious where it is if he wants any customers! And if the land in the shopping district was taken better care of maybe he would have landed softer. And maybe if everyone had put more time and thought and effort into making a better nether hub then running off to explore everything than he wouldn’t have fallen and scratched himself up on the netherrack. And maybe… And maybe…

“Grian, Grian, it’s okay. Breathe. I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.”

Mumbo’s voice was a knife through the spiralling mess that was Grian’s thoughts. He took a gulping breath of air and pulled his hands from his face, only to realize his face was freezing, but why- oh, he was crying. Fantastic. Exactly what he needed. He was holding himself together so well until Mumbo came along and just had to be a good friend and check up on him.

A sob shook his body as he curled in on himself, hugging his knees. Mumbo seemed to stutter for a moment, unsure of what to do, but eventually settled on gently wrapping Grian up in his arms. He reminded Grian to breathe as his thoughts kept forcing him to forget such an important thing out of his mind. Something far more important than all these stupid suffocating thoughts-

“Grian, you’re okay. It’s okay. Whatever’s got you worked up, I’m sure we can fix it.”

Mumbo’s gentle, comforting words seemed to have the opposite effect on Grian. Because it wasn’t. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. This was Grian’s problem, not Mumbo’s. It was Grian’s problem that he couldn’t handle all of his projects, it was Grian’s problem that he couldn’t watch where he was going, it was Grian’s problem that everywhere he tried to sleep was either too loud or too dangerous.

“No!” He tries to yell, but it only comes out as a croak in his closed throat as he rips away from Mumbo’s hug to stumble out into the small grassy-mycelium clearing. His hands were balled into fists as he rubbed his eyes with his good arm, trying to get the frustrating tears to stop fucking flowing.

“No?” 

“No! You can’t fix it. These are my problems! And they aren’t even problems! They’re just me being stupid, or not paying attention, or complaining and all I’m doing is blaming everyone else for my own dumb assery, which isn’t fair, but god dammit if it doesn’t get on my nerves! Like this fucking shop! I just need help to get rid of one, one, shitty bedrock block so I can stop hitting every single fucking overhang that could exist in the god damn nether. But I can’t. Fucking. Find it! And that’s not Impulse’s fault, not really, but it’s so tempting to blame him for it because I haven’t slept in five days because my fucking villagers are too noisy and Professor Beak acts like I don’t feed him and I can’t fly straight anymore and I’m pretty sure it’s fucking up my respawn because I’ve died at least fifteen times within the last 24 hours I’m sure--I haven’t exactly been keeping count, but I know it’s a lot--and I’m so sore and tired and I won’t regen naturally anymore and I’m pretty sure I have, like, twelve new scars that I have no clue if they’re gonna heal. I-I mean, I should probably go see Stress or even maybe Scar about it but they don’t need to worry about this because it’s my own fucking fault for being so god damn stupid and I just… I just…” He slumped down again, his legs giving out beneath him and letting him fall on his butt. He had given up trying to stop the tears at this point. “I’m just so tired but I can’t stop or I’ll get behind. But I feel like I’m barely moving forward.”

He let himself fall backwards on the grass, feeling his elytra crumple beneath him. He sniffled. “Motherfucker!” He slammed his fists into the ground and whimpered, holding his injured wrist once again to his chest. “Fuck…”

The air next to him shifted as Mumbo took a seat. When Grian dared to glance at his friend, Mumbo’s eyes and smile were soft. “How do you feel now?”

Letting out a shaky breath he closed his eyes and considered the question. Physically he still felt awful, like he could fall asleep right here and now, but mentally, well, he was still tired, but there was a lot less fog. “Better. A little bit.”

“Told ya it works.”

Mumbo’s smug tone was enough to cause Grian to burst into wet laughter, new tears streaming down his face as he weakly swung a punch at Mumbo’s knee. “Shut up. And don’t you dare tell anyone about this. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Sure you do. Y’know, Xisuma used to swear all the time. Keralis did too. Actually, almost everyone did. I don’t know when we all started caring about that.”

“Sorry, but I can’t physically imagine X, let alone Keralis, saying ‘fuck.’” He giggled at the thought, wiping away the last of the tears that remained in his eyes.

“It is quite funny to think about nowadays. Although, I’d argue Keralis is easier to believe.”

They carried on like that for a couple minutes before Grian’s exhaustion finally caught him with his guard down. Mumbo didn’t know how long his friend would be asleep for, but he’d be there when he woke up. Then maybe, just maybe, he could convince him to let him help.