Chapter Text
<d3rLord3> What’s in your inventory?
<TheMostMayo> ?wdaswadd
<TheMostMayo> WAIT
Game over
The message pops up on Avery’s screen. He reads and rereads the words, as if doing so enough times could force them to make sense. He’d been tricked. Again. Derek had pushed him off. He was dead.
D3rLo—Derek—was all alone at the top of that platform.
Avery sits staring at the death screen, motionless, for what feels like hours. The screen shuts off, snapping him out of his daze.
When he turns it back on, he’s back on the Minecraft home screen.
The world isn’t there.
That can’t be right. He reloads the game, checks again. Still gone. His breath quickens as he restarts the entire laptop.
No, no, no, no— this can’t be happening. Why isn’t it there? Derek is alone in his room, dying, and Avery is helpless. The world is gone, and Avery has no way to contact him. Why didn’t he ask for his number, or anything? God, he’s an idiot.
It can’t end like this. He’d spent fifteen hours on New Year’s Day playing Minecraft, searching for Derek, only to be tricked into abandoning him at the last moment.
For twelve hours, he’d stayed around the church, tending to graves and planting flowers instead of doing what he’d set out to do—because he was too weak to see the trick for what it was. And then he fell for another trick, this time by someone he trusted.
Such a stupid, simple trick—both times—and he’d fallen for it like a fool.
A fool. That’s what he is. A fool for believing he could convince Derek to let him stay. A fool for not seeing the trick right in front of him. Twice. A fool for wasting twelve hours planting flowers when the exit was right there.
He’d trusted him. He could have been outside, enjoying the turn of the new year, but he’d chosen to find the mysterious person who’d cared enough to warn him of the danger.
He clearly didn’t care that much, considering he lied to you, a voice whispers mockingly in his head.
No, that’s not true, Avery thinks.
You could have saved him. But he pushed you off.
His shock is turning into anger. The rational part of his brain—the much, much smaller part—screams that his anger is misplaced, but he ignores it. He’d trusted him. Derek was his friend.
<d3rLord3> Goodbye, friend.
Fireworks explode outside, blending with the sound of fracturing glass. Avery’s fist punches through the laptop screen—Derek’s old laptop. A sob tears from his throat as he sinks to the ground, cradling his injured hand. He’s just broken the only thing he owned that once belonged to his friend.
Tears drip down his cheeks, mixing with the blood from his palms. He tries to wipe them away, but the pain in his hand makes him cry harder.
What a sad sight he must be, sobbing on his own while fireworks and cheers ring out all over the world.
Avery can’t celebrate though, somewhere in the world, Derek is breathing his last breaths, probably alone and in agony. Avery cries harder, curling up to shield himself from the noises outside.
No, this isn’t right. Avery doesn’t deserve to cry over Derek’s death. After all, it’s his fault. The King wanted him. If it weren’t for Avery, Derek wouldn’t have been involved. He wouldn’t have died. Avery doesn’t deserve to grieve.
But try as he might, he can’t stop.
Minutes, maybe hours later, he pulls himself up, squinting through blurry vision. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens Derek’s Google drive, hoping to rewatch the footage, to pretend Derek is still there, playing a stupid horror game he could just log off from.
Maybe he’s a masochist, he knows it’ll hurt to watch but he wants to remember.
He pulls up the library footage, feeling another wave of tears drip down his cheeks as he rewatches their exchange. He pauses. That random string of letters and numbers, could they mean something?
He hadn’t thought of it much at the time, but now he remembers the original video that was posted showing how seemingly random strings of code could be part of a google drive folder. Is that what this is?
He copies the letters into his search bar, and after a few tries, something actually comes up.
There’s another document. A letter.
You know it's weird writing a final letter…
Avery sobs.
I just don’t want to be forgotten…
If no one else could, then Avery would remember, for him.
…My head hurts like hell. I can feel myself slipping as we become one…
“I’m so sorry”, he cried.
Please don’t think you failed Avery. When you read this, don’t think you let me down…
But I did, he thought. You died, and I couldn’t do anything
about it. Just like how I was useless the entire time.
You’ll do great things…
Whatever you do at the crossroads, keep going forward.
Avery rereads the letter, over and over, each time bringing more pain, until every word is burned into his mind. He feels like he’s drowning, just like at the church, but this time there’s no sign to pull him out, no voice to tell him he’s loved, that he’s someone.
So that’s it. Fifteen hours on New Year’s Eve, experiencing complete insanity with a man he’d never met in person, just for him to die. And now, as fireworks light up the sky and people celebrate, Avery sits curled on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, blood, and regrets.
Before, he’d felt only anger at Derek. The anger is still there, but this time it’s directed at himself. Derek had saved him so many times, and the one time Avery had the change to do the same, he failed. He wonders if he’s always been a failure and just never noticed. He knows the answer.
This isn’t right. Derek wouldn’t want Avery to be like this.
Derek is dead. Why would he care?
He should at least try to lay down somewhere better. And maybe pick up the glass.
Pulling himself onto the bed is a monumental task. Who knew that’s what happened when you didn’t sleep or eat for twelve hours straight? Avery wonders how Derek did it. The man couldn’t even look away from his screen. He must have been in so much pain, and yet he never showed it. That’s how strong he was.
Great. The tears are back. When are they going to stop?
After a while, he sits up slightly, assessing the state of his room. It’s a graveyard of abandoned things. Textbooks, half-open and gathering dust. A half-eaten sandwich, the bread curled at the edges, sitting on a plate by his keyboard. The smell of stale food mixes with the metallic tang of blood, with the acrid scent of sweat.
He should clean up. He should throw away the food, pick up the clothes, sweep up the glass. But the idea of bending down, of seeing the shattered remains of Derek’s laptop, makes his throat tighten. So he lies still, listening to the occasional car passing outside and the muffled laughter of neighbors still celebrating.
They don’t know, nobody does.
And how could they? How could he ever explain that he’s grieving someone he never met, someone who existed only in pixels and text, in cryptic puzzles and frantic warnings?
How could he make them understand the way Derek’s voice had sounded in his head— even though he’d never heard it—the way his presence had been as real as anyone else’s, more real, sometimes?
He doesn’t want anyone to walk in and see this, but he can’t bring himself to get up and start picking up the mess that covers his room. At least his hand stopped bleeding. That’s enough.
He lies back. Maybe sleep will make him feel better. Like the world isn’t crumbling, like he isn’t being buried in a pit of sadness. He really, really hopes so. He closes his eyes, willing nothingness to take him.
But sleep doesn’t come.
He doesn’t know what time it is or how long he’s been awake, but it’s been hours. He’s replayed every mistake—and there were so many—imagining what could have happened if he’d been better, smarter, braver. Like Derek.
The hole in his chest is almost sickening. It’s a pain so deep and empty, and Avery is sure he’s never felt anything like it before. People have died in his life, but he’d always had someone to talk to. How is he supposed to explain this? Could anyone understand the pain of losing someone you’ve never met in person?
He ran out of tears a while ago. Now he’s just numb. He can’t even feel the pain in his hand anymore. Maybe numbness is a little unnerving—not being able to feel anything—but at least his chest doesn’t feel like it’s being crushed. Maybe numbness is better.
The logical part of his brain screams that numbness is wrong, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s done with all of it. He misses the camaraderie, even if it only lasted a few hours. But even before they’d met, they’d cared for each other.
Maybe Derek had warned him because he knew Avery would be involved, just like he knew everything in the universe. But Avery believes it was more than that. Derek is, was a good person. He left those signs for Avery to find.
Avery had set out to rescue him, and ended up rescued by the one he was trying to save. How funny.
Eventually, he does sleep, but it’s not restful. His dreams are filled with eyes in the darkness, strange structures, and bodies crumpled in chairs. He wakes with a scream dying in his throat, over and over.
When he closes his eyes, he sees the platform. He sees Derek, standing alone at the edge, his silhouette sharp against the dark background. But instead of being pushed off, Avery watches as Derek falls to the ground, writhing in pain. He knows it’s not true, that that's not how it happened, especially since a minecraft character can’t writhe but it just feels so real.
He jerks awake, his heart hammering. The room is darker now. The digital clock on his desk reads 3:17 AM. He’s been lying here for hours.
His hand hurts. His chest hurts. Everything hurts.
He reaches for his phone again, pulling up the video Derek left. He reads the letter again, even though he knows every single word by heart.
Whatever you do at the crossroads, keep going forward.
Avery doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know if he can keep going.
He tries to go back to sleep, hoping that the nightmares will be gone, at least for a little bit.
After the fourth time of waking up screaming, he gives up on sleep, staring instead at the cracks in the ceiling.
When he comes back to awareness, light seeps under the curtains; the sun is rising. He’s lost more time than he thought. He can’t bring himself to care that much though.
A little later, he’s counting the roof stains for the fourth time when the front door slams.
Footsteps echo down the hall, getting louder. Then they stop.
“What the fuck?”
Oh shit.