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Joe Hills first sees the child when he’s in the shopping district.
Despite having sworn off diamonds for the season, he’s taken to dropping by the shopping district every once in a while, mostly to care for the wolves Scar and his HEP friends had set off over the district. He’d respected the mayor’s wishes for him not to tame the dogs, but he still came out every few days to set out little bits of mutton where he knows the wild animals can find it.
It’s on one of these trips, as he’s walking down the main road, that he sees the child.
It’s sitting on one of the fence posts right outside of Grian’s barge. He’s a boy, maybe seven or eight, with curly brown hair maybe a shade darker than Grian’s. He’s wearing a large yellow sweater, big enough that it bunches around his knees and pools around his arms. He’s also wearing a beanie that’s too big for his head, almost dropping over his eyes.
The child is also transparent.
It’s been years since Joe has seen a ghost, the last being long before he’d joined Hermitcraft, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen one so young before. Seeing the child catches him by surprise, and he halts on the path, watching the boy as he picks at the sleeves of his sweater. He looks past the child and sees movement inside the barge. Grian’s bright red sweater and yellow-red elytra are easy to spot on a roof that’s being swiftly disassembled.
“Hello there, young one,” he says to the ghost, gaze still on Grian as he works. He can hear the squeak of surprise that comes from the child, and chuckles as he looks down to see the boy looking at him in shock, brown eyes big and wide.
The boy doesn’t answer for a moment, still shocked, before a grin splits his face. “You can see me?!” he exclaims, hopping down from the wooden fence post. “No one’s been able to see me yet.”
“What’s your name?” Joe asks instead of answering that just yet. He glances at Grian, who is engrossed in his work and likely won’t notice him for the next fifteen minutes or so at least, and kneels down so he’s at the child’s height. “I’m Joe Hills. I’m one of Grian’s friends.”
“I’m Wilbur!” The boy chirps brightly, pushing the beanie up his head as it slips over his eyes. “You’re one of Grian’s friends?”
“Yes I am,” Joe laughs at the awe in the kid’s voice.
“Woah,” Wilbur says, drawing out the word. “Grian sure has lots of friends.”
“He tends to attract the right sort of people,” Joe responds with a smile. “What brings you here?”
Wilbur shrugs, sitting down on the ground. A nearby bush branch phases through his arm and Joe follows suit.
“Followin’ Grian,” Wilbur answers after a bit, glancing over at the man who has yet to notice Joe sitting next to his shop and talking to no one.
“How do you know Grian?”
“He’s my big brother!” Wilbur says with a smile, throwing his hands up in the air. “He’s the best , did you know that?! He lives in a castle !”
“Yes, he built it himself.”
“He did ?!” Wilbur’s mouth drops open.
“All by himself.”
“I knew he was cool.”
“He is very cool,” Joe agrees with a solemn nod. “I like him quite a bit.”
“Well, duh ,” Wilbur sticks out his tongue at him, and then laughs. It has been far too long since Joe has heard a child’s laughter, and it sounds like music.
“Hey Joe!” Grian’s voice has Joe’s head snapping up to the barge’s roof, where the younger man has situated himself precariously on the side as he looks down at him. “What brings you round here, man?”
“Feeding the dogs!” Joe calls back with a smile.
“I made a new friend, Grian!” Wilbur adds in. Grian, of course, only hears the first reply.
“Looking to buy anything?” Grian asks. Joe makes a faux-disgusted sound, standing up and cracking his back.
“Just resting these sore bones. You know diamonds are man’s worst enemy.”
Grian laughs, and it sounds like Wilbur’s. Joe wonders if he even knows that his younger brother is dead.
The next time Joe sees Wilbur, it’s on purpose.
It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon, when Joe swoops down over the jungle canopy. It’s been a while since he’s used elytra, especially this season, but he’s kept an extra pair for situations like this, when it isn’t expedient for him to spend a day and a half travelling to and from Grian’s base for a short visit, situated halfway across the world.
The builds of the jungle hermits come into view and pass by as a fresh breeze brings new air into his lungs. He flies slowly, gliding more than soaring and letting the winds carry them as he admires the hard work of his friends.
Scar’s magical village rushes underneath him, glittering crystal lights just beginning to dim in the rays of dawn, as Grian’s mansion comes into sight. It’s majestic even by Hermitcraft standards, and Joe hasn’t seen it since it was some bare backbones a few months ago. He smiles, proud of the talent their newest member has brought to the group, as he swoops down and once again finds his feet on solid ground.
He takes off his elytra and stores them in his inventory, taking quiet steps towards the giant entryway between the two staircases. He knows to be careful; he’s trying to avoid Grian right now, and hopefully he’s arrived early enough to do that, but Grian also isn’t a late sleeper, so the window between the monster-infested night and his awakening is short.
He passes by two maps of the jungle and surrounding biomes, smiling again at the beauty of it (must have cost a fortune to have the villagers make something so detailed) as he moved on.
The grand entryway expands into an even bigger grand hall, with overarching pillars and a storage system and villager trading center. In the corner, there’s a smaller, sectioned off part of the room, and that’s where Joe assumes Grian is sleeping. Count on him to not make an actual bedroom for himself. He should really talk to the young man about it someday.
But he isn’t here for his friend, sad as it is. Joe turns about, casting his eyes about the room before catching a flash of bright yellow in the villager trading station. He walks towards the dip in the ground and looks down, and sure enough, there’s little Wilbur. He’s currently perched on top of a stonecutter, watching as the mason in front of him went about their morning duties, utterly oblivious of their observer.
Joe raps on the wood, and Wilbur’s eyes shoot up towards him, hands immediately flying up to catch his beanie as it nearly slips off his head entirely.
“Mister Joe!” He exclaims, a wide, toothy grin (a missing baby tooth gives the grin a noticeable gap) splitting his face. “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Wilbur!” Joe greets back with a softer smile. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doin’ great! Mr. Mason here can make really cool quartz sculptures!”
“It is his craft,” Joe agrees. “Do you want to go outside? I don’t want to wake up your brother.”
“Sure!” Wilbur hops off of the stonecutter and skips up the stairs to the main basement. Joe walks up to him, meeting him in the hallway, and together they walk outside. The dawn’s colorful rays are fading away, as the morning progresses, leaving a baby blue sky in their wake.
Joe is leading them towards Grian’s starter base when Wilbur suddenly makes a disappointed sound similar to an “ oh .” He looks down, and Wilbur has his hand outreached towards him, as if trying to grasp at something.
“Sorry,” the child says, expression similar to that of a kicked puppy. “I thought I could touch you.”
Joe’s heart twists, knowing that if he could pick up the child and perch him on his hip, he would.
“My apologies, young one,” he replies as they enter the courtyard of Grian’s hobbit hole. “I can only see and hear you, I’m afraid.”
“More than anyone else can,” Wilbur mutters, holding himself, and Joe hurries to change the subject.
“But I wanted to talk to you! It must have been a while since you’ve been able to talk with someone.”
Wilbur nods, still looking dejected but beginning to perk back up again. “I talk to Gri all the time, but he doesn’t hear me much. Mr. Mumbo and Mr. Impulse are really nice but they don’t hear me either.” He gasps as he remembers something, clapping his hands in delight. “Did you know that Gri is leading a rebellion?! He’s just like me!”
“Really?” Joe asks, raising an eyebrow. He sits down on a discarded log just outside of Grian’s hobbit hole, and Wilbur scrambles up to sit next to him, so close that the slightest movement has his left arm phasing through Joe’s right. “Did you lead a revolution too?”
“Yeah!” Wilbur says, fidgeting with the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “I don’t remember much about it, but we won!”
Joe hummed, watching the bright blue sky. “Congratulations! That’s a grand achievement.”
“Thank you!”
“How old are you?” Joe turns back towards the child. Wilbur pauses at the question, thinking.
“Well, ‘m seven now,” he answers. “But I was 24 when I died. I think.”
24. Three years younger than Grian, who just turned 27 a few months ago. Joe had known Wilbur had died young, considering he’d introduced himself as Grian’s younger brother, but part of him, a more irrational part of him, had hoped.
“What brings you to Grian?” Joe continues, pushing the emotions aside for later. Wilbur shrugs.
“Dunno. Died and ended up here. It’s very nice, though!” He says with a smile. “I haven’t seen Grian in forever . He’s still short! I always said I’d be taller.”
Joe quirks an eyebrow teasingly. “I don’t know. You sure look a bit shorter than him.”
“When I was big , silly!” Whatever disappointment Wilbur had been dealing with evaporates at the banter, that gap-toothed smile returning. Joe thanks the sky gods above that in this state, the ghost is easily distracted. “When I was big I was one of the tallest people I knew!”
“Really, now?”
“Yeah! I got to tease Tommy ‘bout how short he was. He’s real tall for his age, you know, but he’s still shorter than me.” Wilbur looked around, as if searching for eavesdroppers. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. He’s a child so I have to bully him.”
Joe laughs at the sight of those words coming out of a seven-year-old’s mouth. “I won’t tell,” he promises. “Who’s Tommy?”
“He’s my younger brother,” Wilbur replies chipperly. “My adopted brother, I mean. He is, uh… how old…” The boy pauses for a minute, counting on his fingers. “Oh! He’s sixteen!”
Eight years Wilbur’s junior. Too young to have lost a brother, if one could ever be too old to experience the same.
“Do you have any other family? Where are your parents?”
“Uh…” Wilbur pauses to think again. “Uh, my actual parents… uh… ‘m not sure. I was with them and Gri and then there’s this big blank space in my head and then Phil’s there! Phil’s my adopted dad, did you know? He’s got these huge —” at that, Wilbur stretches out his arms as far as they would go, one going right through Joe’s chest. “Wings! They’re black but sometimes they look dark purple and shimmer! And then there’s Tech. Tech’s younger than me but he was with Phil longer so we always argue over who’s the oldest brother. I totally am, though. Phil got Tommy later. Tech and I bully him because he’s a child.”
Memory loss. Not only is the ghost a child, he is also experiencing memory loss. Silently, Joe wonders how traumatic Wilbur’s death had been to have his spirit in this limited state, latched onto a biological brother he hasn’t seen in years, if this story was correct.
That is a question for another time, though. Joe needs to leave soon if he wants to get back home in time to feed the dogs and meet up with Cub for a collaboration.
“They sound like very nice people,” Joe says solemnly.
“They are!” Wilbur replies enthusiastically. “Wonder how they’re doing…”
“I’m sure that they’re fine,” Joe reassures him. “Grian was fine, and you hadn’t seen him in a long time.” The idea seems to work, and Wilbur nods, his curls bouncing. “But it’s getting late, and I have to go home and take care of my pets. I’m sure you don’t want to miss Grian waking up.”
Wilbur deflates a bit at that, huffing. “No…” he mutters. “But I like talking to you!”
“I’ll come by again in a few days. Does that sound good?”
“Mm, if you promise.”
“I swear .”
“We have a new member on the server.”
Cleo’s eyes widen subtly, silently asking him to continue. Joe pauses, though, taking a long sip from his cup. He knows exactly what he’s going to say, but it’s been almost a decade since he’s been in a situation like this, and he finds himself starting to second-guess his decisions.
But he knows that it’s time to bring this up. He and Cleo meet up every Sunday afternoon for drinks, spending a few lazy hours catching up and swapping banter. Usually, this was much more lighthearted, but Cleo knew Joe almost as well as he knew himself (which was an admirable feat, he had to admit), and had sensed the weight on his mind.
“X hasn’t mentioned anything about a new member joining the server,” his old friend says slowly, curious but not suspicious.
“They weren’t exactly… invited. No, we have a little tagalong.”
Cleo pauses, setting down her own glass of cream soda.
“A spectre? It’s been a long time since we’ve had to deal with one of those.” She turns away, cracking her knuckles. “Is it benign or malicious? You know I’m always up for a good exorcism.”
“His name is Wilbur,” Joe replies. “He’s 24, but as a ghost he’s taken the form of a child, maybe seven or eight.”
Cleo blinks, turning back to him in surprise. “That young?”
Joe nods.
“The poor thing.”
“Apparently, he’s Grian’s long-lost brother. Wilbur’s death was traumatic enough that his soul attached itself to his older brother.”
There is a long pause as Cleo takes in the information, pursing her lips as a deep sadness crossed her features. Even without his child’s form, Wilbur is only Mumbo’s age, younger than most of the people Joe interacted with now. He can hardly even comprehend giving up all his lives at that age, what he must have gone through to die so young.
“Have you told Grian yet?”
“No,” Joe admits, ducking his head. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how to bring it up with him. According to Wilbur, they haven’t heard from each other in almost fifteen years.”
“Well, I suppose I can give my input on the situation,” Cleo replies with a self-assuring nod. “I’ll admit, I’ve always had a soft spot for kids.”
Joe shoots her a genuine smile. “Thank you, Cleo.”
The zombie snorts. “What kind of person would I be to not offer?”
The next day sees them going to the Shopping District. Cleo and Joe spend a few hours shopping (window shopping, in Joe’s case—no diamonds!) until Grian comes by around three in the afternoon. He arrives at the same time every week to restock the barge, which makes it easier to find the man, who often moved as unpredictably as an enderman.
“Joe! Cleo!” The younger Hermit calls out, smiling as the two friends approach him. Joe glances down, and sure enough, catches sight of Wilbur dancing around his brother’s legs, close enough that if he were material, Grian probably would have gotten tripped by now. They lock eyes for a moment, Wilbur perking up in delight. Joe winks at him, then returns his attention to the elder brother.
“Restocking the barge?” Cleo asks. “You’re all out of gravel, and I need some concrete.”
“Already?” Grian laughs. “Yeah, sure, I’ll hook you up with some. Do you want something, Joe? I’ll put it on the house.”
“I’m quite alright, but thank you,” he replies, waving them off. “I’m going for a stroll, you can catch up with me later, Cleo.”
“Alrighty, then!” Joe watches the two go as they continue down the main street to Grian’s barge. Wilbur, though initially hesitant, detaches himself from Grian’s legs and hurries over to him.
“Joe!” the boy exclaims, and Joe laughs, walking down one of the side roads with him. “It’s so nice to see you! It’s been forever !”
“Only a few days, little one,” he responds, sitting down on a bench. It’s carefully chosen, out of the way and under a tree, where they won’t easily be seen. “How have you been?”
“Grian’s working with the revolution a lot! He’s gotta secret base but I can’t tell you where it is ‘cause it’s secret .”
“Really, now? Well, you better not be telling me any of these special secrets!”
“I wasn’t!”
A few minutes pass as they talk, Wilbur recounting his past few days to Joe (which was, in all reality, Grian’s activities and him observing them) as Joe listened and put in a few comments here and there. It’s nice, and Joe has to admit that Wilbur, whose feet don’t touch the ground when he sat on the bench, was adorable.
Soon enough, though, he can hear footsteps coming down the path. Joe sees Cleo emerge a few moments later, and from his shift in attention, Wilbur turns around and sees her as well.
“Who’s that?” He asks, eyes wide.
“This is an old friend of mine, Cleo,” Joe replies, motioning her over. “You can take the other end, Cleo. Wilbur here has taken up most of the middle.”
“But she can’t see me either,” Wilbur says as Cleo sits down, lips curving into a smile.
“No, but she can do something else that I think you might like.” Joe waves his hand so that it passes through the fringe of Wilbur’s hair. “He’s right here, Cleo.”
“ Yes !” Cleo cheers, unsubtle about this whole affair at all. She reaches forwards, replacing Joe’s hand with her own. This time, however, her hand does not go through the fringe of his hair, like Joe’s had. Instead, she runs her fingers through the curly brown locks, scrunching them playfully as she feels around, getting a gauge as to his general shape.
The look on Wilbur’s face is priceless, his mouth in a silent “O” as he was touched for what must have been the first time in a long time. He reaches up, and his fingers wrap solidly around Cleo’s wrist, squeezing slightly as if to test them.
“I can touch the dead, silly,” Cleo says, in that voice of hers that she reserves for small children.
Then, suddenly, Wilbur throws himself at Cleo’s chest, latching himself to her with his arms and legs. Cleo lets out a little “oomf” in surprise, but recovers quickly enough, wrapping her arms around him with a laugh.
“Is he laughing or crying?” She asks, hand on Wilbur’s back as it jerks up in sharp, unnecessary breaths. Joe takes a closer look.
“I think it’s a little bit of both,” he decided. “I think you should hold him for a bit.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Cleo exclaims, holding the boy tighter. “You’re going to have to fight to make me let go, Mr. Hills.”
“How do I tell someone that their estranged younger brother is dead?” Joe asks.
“I… what ?”
Joe turns from where he’s been petting one of his various dogs to see Xisuma staring at him. He’d also wager a guess that the admin is open-mouthed, even though his yellow and black helmet is obscuring that particular part of his face.
“I’m serious,” he continues, looking back at the dog. He checked the nametag. Her name is Krista. Her fur is soft and it stopped his hands from shaking, because it has been so long since he’d seriously thought about permadeath.
“Joe, are you alright?” X asks. Joe can hear him move as he feeds Krista a treat, scratching her behind the ears. He moves into the corner of his eye, now sitting next to him.
“I’m fine,” he says, letting the dog lick his hand. “It’s Grian. Apparently he has a younger brother named Wilbur. He’s 24, but they haven’t talked since they were children. They were raised by different families.”
A long silence stretches between them before Xisuma takes a deep breath.
“And how do you know that?”
“Wilbur died. His ghost is haunting Grian, but I’m the only person who can see or hear him.”
“Oh my…” Xisuma breathes, shifting to find a more comfortable position on the ground.
“It’s alright,” Joe says again, letting Krista onto his lap. “I’m just out of practice with these things. I’ll be honest, I’ve been avoiding telling Grian because I don’t know how.”
Another silence stretches between them. Distantly, Joe can hear the waves lapping at the shore a few dozen meters away. As he idly takes hold of a chew toy, waving it around so that Krista can chase it, he can’t help the grief that flows through him, taking his breath away. It’s been so long since he’s experienced death, true death, and now he’s unsure of how to approach Grian about it. As cute as he is, Wilbur is still dead, his child self only a shadow of the person he’d used to be.
“Well…” Xisuma says after a long pause, shaking his head. “I guess the best thing to do would be to be honest about it. If… if I didn’t know about what had happened with E.X., I’d want to be told about it, honestly.”
Joe nods to himself, but struggles to hide the wince that comes with his friends’ words.
“And I wouldn’t leave him alone, strictly, but I also wouldn’t force him to act in any certain way,” Xisuma continues, more gently. “Grian’s… been through a lot, more than most people here know. With news like this… I wouldn’t want him to go off on his own. I don’t think he would, but…” he shrugs.
Joe has no clue what the admin is talking about, but doesn’t pry. As a general rule, Xisuma knows, at least vaguely, the backgrounds of everyone on the server. Besides that stipulation, though, everyone else is free to share their pasts as they wish. If Grian hasn’t told Joe about whatever would worry X in this way, he isn’t about to ask.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Xisuma asks. Joe shakes his head.
“No, this is my burden to bear, I think. Besides Cleo, I’m the only one who can interact with Wilbur; I should be the one to break the news to him.”
Xisuma nods sagely. “Good luck, my friend. You’re going to need it.”
Usually, Joe considers himself an emotionally stable man, probably one of the most stable on the server (which is saying something when you have people like TFC and Cub to compete against). He likes to talk about his feelings, and enjoys sorting out why he feels a certain way in certain situations. It’s calming for him.
All that background seems to fly out the window when he stands in front of Grian’s mansion.
They’ve already set everything up. Cleo has taken Wilbur out for a walk, the former teaching him the ins and outs of sign language as they go. The last Joe had seen them, Cleo had her hands cupped around Wilbur’s as she taught him the sign for yes by touch. Xisuma is at his own base, but Scar and Mumbo have been contacted about “something important happening” and are thus staying in the area. They haven’t been told about Wilbur, not before Grian, but it comforted Joe, on some level, to know that some of Grian’s closer friends were waiting on standby.
Just in case.
A deep breath. In for six, hold for four, out for eight.
It will be okay. Wilbur is here, in some capacity, and Grian has so many people to support him. It’ll be okay.
He walks inside.
Once again, the half-finished interior greets him, chests lining the walls and the two maps on the left side entranceway. Joe moves past them, going into the main foyer. Grian is currently inset in the middle of the floor, trading with a villager for an enchanted book.
“Grian,” he calls out, and he means to continue, but when he opens his mouth, nothing else comes out. So he just stands there as the sandy-haired man turns around in mild surprise, a smile ( Wilbur’s smile) on his face.
“Hey Joe!” He replies with a wave of his hand, as if Joe isn’t here to deliver potentially life-crushing news. “What brings you here? Have you seen the whole mansion yet? I’ve made a lot of progress since you came last.”
Joe puts his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking.
“We need to talk,” is what comes out, in the end.
Grian’s smile falls. “Joe? Is everything alright?”
“I don’t—” he stops himself, remembering Xisuma’s words. “No, Grian. It’s not.” Worry is now on Grian’s face. And a bit of fear. “Is there a place we can talk in private?”
“I, uh…” Grian glances around a bit, pocketing the few emeralds he traded, and nods. “Yeah, yeah.”
He hurries up the stairs and leads Joe around to the back, where the small, curtained-off portion he’d seen on his last visit sits. He pulls aside a part to reveal an unmade bed and a dresser with some clothes hanging out of it. Grian tsk’s to himself when he sees the state, hurrying to pull up the covers on the bed.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, pulling the comforter taught. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“It’s okay,” Joe says, the words feeling lame even as they came out. He sits down at the foot of the bed, and pats the empty spot next to him. Grian pauses from where he’s shoving a blue sweater into his drawer, then sighs quietly and sits down next to him.
“What are you going to hit me with?” He asks. “Something to do with EVO?”
Joe doesn’t know what in the world EVO is. But that isn’t exactly his business, so he lets it slide.
“Grian, do you know who Wilbur is?”
Grian freezes .
Joe doesn’t press him for an immediate answer. He can tell that Grian has been preparing for terrible news, but whatever it was, Wilbur evidently has not registered on that list. So he sits, and watches as Grian’s expression shifts from surprise, to confusion, to realization, and then a sort of guarded curiosity.
“He… he was my brother,” he finally answers. “We were separated when our parents divorced. I haven’t seen him since I was… ten, maybe? I’ve been looking for him for a while, but.” He shrugs. “Never got anywhere; interserver travel wasn’t well enough documented, then. How do you know about him?”
“I…” And suddenly Joe’s mouth feels so very dry. “I can see ghosts. He was following you around at the Shopping District eight days ago. So… I asked him for his name.”
And Grian’s face crumples.
Grian cries for a long while.
This, at least, is a situation in which Joe feels like he has an idea of what to do. He offers an arm, and he’s happy to see that Grian accepts the silent offer, leaning into his embrace. Nothing else is said. Nothing needs to be said. Joe sits there as a silent pillar to lean on, and hopes that Grian can feel the comfort and love he is sending his way.
Even after the tears stop, Grian doesn’t make much of an attempt to move, and Joe doesn’t push. His breaths are quiet, unsteady and hiccuping, and he’s happy enough to simply sit there and gather the courage to speak once the moment is right.
“I can see ghosts,” he says again. “And Cleo can touch them. If—if you want, we can translate for you.”
“Why?”
Grian’s voice is small, shaking, but Joe has no trouble hearing him in the grand silence of the mansion’s interior. His heart stutters in his chest at the question.
“You can refuse, it’s alright,” he replies, ignoring the urge to bite his lip. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“No,” Grian shakes his head, finally drawing away to wipe at puffy red eyes. He seems smaller now, somehow. Joe’s heart aches in his chest, and despite it all he can’t help but feel that this is, somehow, his fault. “Why is he here?”
“I…” Joe finds himself once again without words. He fumbles, wondering how to exactly go about this before Xisuma’s words echo in his mind once again. Be honest.
So he draws himself up, and looks Grian straight in the eye as he answers.
“Ghosts occur when someone dies with extreme trauma. When someone dies in an awful way, still with business left in the living world, they can sometimes… attach themselves to living relatives. But they are not whole. Wilbur is… well, he’s a child, now, and there are significant gaps in his current memory. His soul is broken, and while he is mostly happy here, he is not whole.”
It’s then that Grian breaks eye contact, breath hitching to stare at the wall.
“Is he here?” He asks, eyes flickering across the room.
“No,” Joe shakes his head. “No, Cleo took him out while I talked to you. I thought you’d want some privacy. And Wilbur still has the mentality of a child. He deserves to be as happy as possible.”
Grian hums wordlessly, nodding. He looks like he might cry again.
“I think it might be a good idea to talk to him,” Joe says, reaching out to take Grian’s hand. That, at least, gets his gaze off the wall. “Wilbur loves you, Grian. I think you can give him something we can’t.”
A pause. Then Grian nods, sniffling a little. Joe stands up, pulling his friend along with him, and guides him out of the mansion.
The sight that greets him is bittersweet more than cute, now. Wilbur’s sat on one of the chests that are scattered at the base of the mansion stairs, legs swinging in the air as he hosts a look of utmost concentration on his face, signing something he can’t see to Cleo, who’s kneeling in front of them.
Wilbur notices them first, perking up with a grin as his eyes land on Grian and Joe. Cleo follows his gaze when he pulls his hands out of hers, standing up as they approach.
“Hello Mr. Joe!” Wilbur calls out, waving as he hops off of the table. He seems to forget that he can’t pass through Cleo, accidentally knocking into her legs and making her stumble. He jerks back at the collision, head tilting up and over to the zombie hybrid. “I’m sorry Miss Cleo! I didn’t mean to!”
“Was that him?” Grian whispers, watching as Cleo laughs and regains her balance. Joe nods, and he seems to draw even further into himself. Joe squeezes his hand, a reminder that he is there.
“Hello Wilbur,” Joe replies, stopping a few feet away from Wilbur. The boy tilts his head as he notices Grian, so clearly upset, and he frowns, striding towards him and reaching out in an embrace that cannot be accepted.
“Gri?” He asks, and Joe cannot help how his heart twists at how Grian’s eyes cannot land on him, instead scanning the area near Cleo’s legs fruitlessly. “Gri what happened? You’re sad.”
“He is,” Joe replies, doing his best to ignore how Grian’s attention snaps over to him. “He knows you’re here now, Wilbur, and he really wants to see you.”
Wilbur’s arms retract, and he looks over at Joe with wide, dark brown eyes. “But he can’t see me.”
“Cleo and I are going to translate for you.”
“We’re your and Grian’s friends,” Cleo cuts in, ruffling Wilbur’s hair and making him giggle. “And friends help each other out! You’re brothers; you should be able to talk to each other.”
“Where is he?” Grian asks quietly, and Joe returns his attention to the main subject of this conversation.
“Right in front of you,” he responds, just as softly. “Here, let’s sit down and talk. Wilbur, how about you sit on Cleo’s lap? So we all know where you are.”
“Okay!”
Joe lets Cleo deal with their resident child after that, tugging on Grian’s wrist to prompt them to sit crossed-legged on the ground. The gravel is rough through his jeans, but it’s more than worth it to see that faint spark of hope in Grian’s eyes, the bounce of Wilbur’s curls as he practically vibrates from excitement.
“Hi, Wilbur,” Grian says quietly, eyes trained on where, from his point of view, Cleo’s arms wrap around thin air. “It’s been a while.”
“Hi, Grian!” Wilbur pipes back. “I promise I didn’t tell Joe or Cleo about your secret base! Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone!”
“Wilbur says that…” Joe can’t help the quirk of his lips at Wilbur’s priorities. Children. “He’s not going to tell anyone where your secret base is. I’m assuming the Mycelium Resistance one?”
Grian bursts into tears again.
For a moment, Joe reaches forward, doubt surging through his veins once more. Has he made some sort of mistake? But then he realizes that Grian is smiling as he cries, and he lets his heart rate drop, lowering his hand more slowly to let it rest on his shoulder. Wilbur makes a concerned sound, tugging on Cleo’s arm.
“Grian’s just feeling a lot of emotions right now, little one,” Joe finds himself saying, doing his best to appear as calming as possible when Wilbur turns his gaze on him.
“Just give me a minute,” Grian gasps out, and looks torn between wanting to smile and wanting to cry even harder.
“Okay,” Wilbur says. “I’m not going anywhere!”
Joe repeated the words, then added on: “He is bound to you. Take all the time you need. We can wait.”
And they do. Grian eventually collects himself enough to hold a conversation, and the ensuing few hours is some of the most enlightening of Joe’s life. And perhaps he feels a bit like an intruder, but Wilbur is so happy to be heard, weaving grand stories of a nation called L’Manburg, that the sensation doesn’t stay for long.
And, gradually, Grian’s shoulders loosen, tension ebbing away as he slowly starts to participate more and more. He starts speaking too, of Hermitcraft and a place called EVO, people Joe knows and people he doesn’t. Joe just watches, and finds himself startlingly content as he witnesses two long-lost brothers reunite. Even through death and decades of separation, they slotted back into a dynamic Joe could sense the edges of surprisingly easily.
Cleo catches his gaze at one point, and grins at him, tilting her head as she lets Wilbur use her hands to make signs that Grian can see. Joe smiles back.
He’s going to have to talk to Xisuma sometime about going into Wilbur’s code and seeing if he can make the boy’s life a little easier. Perhaps there is a way to let Grian see him. It’s never something he’s had to consider before, with ghosts, so he isn’t sure if it’s possible, but he resolves to try.
Wilbur and Grian laugh at the same time, and they sound the same, noses scrunching in identical fashions.
Yes. For them, Joe thinks he will do a whole lot more than try.
