#brewer gk999

[savebatsartedition]

Whumptober 2024 Day 17

Summary:

Digger thinks about his wife, and he thinks about the words that echo in his head. Prompt: "We had a good run,"

Notes:

I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST THIS- Anyway, happy birthday to the person who asked me to whump this guy! :D Hope this is to your liking. >^-^< Also, I changed the lore a bit to be more meaningful for this particular story, I know about the hand thing, I wanted it here. The name used for Digger’s wife, “Brewer“ is TECHNICALLY official, as Mark Cheverton gave a certain fan (not me) permission to write an official backstory and they chose that name. :) Yay!! Content Warnings: Death of a romantic partner Words: 1,001

(Fic also under the cut.)

“Well, we had a good run,”

It was a phrase that just kept repeating in his life, laughing when he smiled, smiling when he laughed, and smirking deep and red when he frowned. When he and his beloved Brewer had first spoken, back when they were but youngins in a battle torn village, it had been quick to leave her lips.

They had been on a trip with some other children in the village, and though they hadn’t known each other well before that day, the two of them had been grouped together because of how well they worked side by side. (Even though he knew his way around with a shovel, and she knew hers with a brewing stand.) Unsurprisingly, because of her lack of focus on the digging project, the two of them had gotten themselves stuck at the bottom of the hole they had just dug. They lacked the tools to cut themselves out and the height to climb it. Somehow, they had lost the blocks needed to staircase up the side, leaving them stuck.

As soon as he had realized this, she- Digger’s partner in the exercise that had gotten him there -had laughed her bell like laugh, patted him on the shoulder, and told him those words for the first time. (Even now, a rugged worker stained with dirt and coal dust, Digger remembered how deeply he had blushed.)

It had continued on from there, becoming a bit of a running joke between the two of them. His pickaxe snapping into pieces sixtyfour blocks into a cave? That was a good run. His shovel breaking on the first block of sand he tried to dig it into? That was a good run too.

Usually when he had heard those words, back in those days, they had come with a laugh. (Bell like, just as the call of the one in the center of the village, beckoning him home with her.) And, even though he had always been a serious man, he had found back then that he couldn’t help but break into a little smirk of his own.

She had that effect on him, even so early in their friendship.

The first time he’d kissed her (his hands were still bound into his smock, as holding a pickaxe or a shovel felt dangerous), she had been surprised. And then she hadn’t and she’d kissed back with a little laugh and a smile.

She’d pulled an apple out of her inventory (for some reason it was the first thing she’d thought off) just to run her fingers through his scruffy, dirt caked hair, and she’d smiled. She’d pulled back, quickly thought better of it, and leaned in again just to whisper those fated words once more.

Oh those six words, they just drew him in again, and again and again. Drew them together, make them laugh, and them cry.

Made him cry.

But that had not been that time, there was so much more to reminisce on. So much more that had been his, and could not be anymore. He still had to think, to remember.

Once, they had snuck away during a village meeting. The fields had been clear of monsters, and they had known it would be safe. Even better, it had turned out more than safe, it had been wonderful.

By the time that Crafter and the others were finally figuring out that they should probably start looking for the two villagers, it was already quite far into the night. Digger had asked the Iron Golems for some poppies earlier in the day, and he had spent much of the night using them (and the free hands they brought) as an excuse to touch her face.

He had run the red petals down her cheek and she had giggled and blushed. When he too had felt his face redden, she had smiled all soft and reached out to pluck the flower from his grasp.

His hands had gone back into his sleeves when she had done that, but she had reached out to grab for them anyway. (No, grab was the wrong word. To hold them, sharing the flower between their fingers.)

They’d kissed more than once before the others had found them, hidden away in the empty brewing room as they were.

Her mother had gasped and pulled Brewer away, already scolding her for her lack of interest in the town meeting as she did. Digger had felt his own mother do the same to him, but as the two were yanked away and into the crowd for the meeting, he had caught her eyes once more. She had smiled all big and pretty, and he’d blushed even redder than he had while they kissed when she had mouthed those words to him.

“Well, we had a good run,”

They hadn’t been the end either, there had been so much more, so much more. When Topper and Filler had first figured out how to destroy the blocks in the house (the smart kids had figured it out on the very same day they realized holding something would release their hands) there had been that moment. When he had twirled Brewer alone at midnight, the dirt of his hands staining hers as the scents of potions drifted off of her, there had been that moment. When he had gone to fight, there had been that moment. Again and again. The same, but never really the same.

And when he had returned, the door broken down and the Users’ footprints were still in the town, there had been no smiles, but there had been that moment even then. That moment of realizing that something was over, that their chance was gone.

She could not reach for him, could not scream, but he had heard the words all the same. He felt it when the bell in his life had been broken. They’d had a good run, and they would never have another. It was over.