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It started small. It started so small that Joel didn’t pay any attention to the strangeness at all—because it wasn’t strange. He still stood by that. It hadn’t been strange. It hadn’t raised alarm bells. It hadn’t scared him. The only thing wrong was that Joel had been tired.
But that wasn’t new. Joel was used to being tired. In fact, during Season 10, he had been nothing but tired. He worked day and night on his cyberpunk city until phantoms spun overhead and his neighbours were swooping in to demand he take a break. Even people Joel didn’t exactly get along with, like Bdubs, would sometimes come coax him out of his artistically fueled daze.
(Actually, out of all of them, Bdubs had been the most effective. Joel had never met someone who cared that much about enforcing the day-night cycle. It had always bemused him enough that somehow the man had Joel by the shoulders and climbed into bed before Joel even realized what had happened.
There was always some excuse on Bdubs’ scowling lips—usually some platitude that he was there on the behalf of Etho, or Impulse, or even Xisuma—as to why he didn’t care about Joel in particular. Somewhere along the line, Joel started to doubt him.
He was trying to be nicer to Bdubs this season.)
He had sworn to be better in Season 11, but evidently Joel was failing to keep his promise. It seemed that his effort to build smaller, build slower, build healthier was for naught, as exhaustion perpetually crept in.
“Joel,” said Gem conversationally, one sunny day. Joel looked up quickly, pushing up his oversized hat to wipe away sweat from his brow. He was in the middle of sculpting some artificially colorful plants around the yard of his starter house—one second Gem’s shadow passed overhead and the next she had landed beside him, leathery elytra folding up neatly at her back.
“...yes?” Joel asked, peering up at her. He blinked blearily against the sun. Gem struck an intimidating figure, like this. She towered over Joel, who knelt in the dirt. Her crossed arms, stern expression, and sharp outfit of black leather armour made Joel already feel scolded, before she had even said a word.
“You need to be sleeping.” She didn’t skip a beat, made no effort to mince words.
“I have been sleeping,” Joel protested. He pushed himself up to his feet, brushing away dirt in an attempt to recover some dignity.
“Uh huh.” Evidently, Gem was not convinced. She tilted her head, eyes narrowed, and her twin braids of fiery orange hair tumbled off her shoulders.
“I have!” Insisted Joel—and it was honest. Yes, he was exhausted, but he had been sleeping. Every night. Religiously! You knew a scolding was bad when the hermits got people off-world involved; at the end of Season 10 they had called in the calvary, had gotten Lizzie and even Jimmy to impress upon him the importance of healthy work habits and reassure him that his ability to belong on Hermitcraft wasn’t dependent on how fast and large he could build.
(He still didn’t quite believe them, but the message was clear. Take care of yourself, or we’ll make you. Feeling small with shame, Joel had agreed.)
His tone must have had enough whinging in it to be believable, because Gem’s hard exterior softened.
“You look awful, Joel,” she said, no less blunt but far more kind. “Have you been waking up a lot in the night or something?”
“I don’t know.” Joel sighed, scrubbing at his eyes in frustration. It only made them wet—with sleep, not from being upset—and he quickly dropped his arms back to his side. “I don’t think so? I-I just go to sleep, Gem. And I wake up in the morning. But somehow, I’m still tired.”
Gem hummed, her expression hovering somewhere between contemplative and doubtful. “And you are actually sleeping, Joel, yes?”
“Yes I’m sleeping!” Joel snapped. His harsh words rang out across the recently-deforested landscape and Joel immediately felt bad. Quieter, he mumbled, “I-I mean I am. Sleeping. I swear.”
“I believe you,” said Gem. She sounded sure now, but there was a pity in her tone that made Joel’s skin crawl. “I’m sorry that’s happening.”
“It’ll be fine,” Joel sighed, glancing away in frustration. “I’m sure it’s just a temporary thing. Maybe I’m sick or something.”
It did not turn out to be a temporary thing. Days became another week all too quickly, and Joel was becoming used to the sensation of being tired. Back in Season 10, he had adjusted; it became the new norm. The same happened again now, until Joel could say with complete honesty that he felt utterly normal.
He was normal. It wasn’t his fault the baseline seemed to have irrevocably shifted.
“Insomnia?” asked Doc sympathetically, as he carefully wrapped a block of ice in cloth. Joel hovered nearby, bouncing back and forth on his feet with a restless energy as he tried not to shiver from the frigid cold of Doc’s artificial ice biome. “...I will get that with projects. Can only think when I’m supposed to be resting.”
“What?” Joel tipped his head up and blinked. “Oh, no. No insomnia here, Doc.”
“Is that so?” There was a healthy degree of skepticism evident as Doc held out the ice, a half-laugh caught somewhere beneath his breath. “Sure, Joel. Whatever you say. I’m sure you are sleeping like a baby.”
“I am sleeping like a baby, thank you very much.” Joel snatched his ice, ignoring how the cold stung his hands even through the cloth barrier. He had finally built a refrigerator. “Thanks so much Doc, great to see you, nice chat.”
“I think you’re forgetting something.” Doc’s warm, albeit threatening tone halted Joel mid-spin towards the exit. Damn. There went the plan to try and get the ice for free.
“Right! Of course!” Joel’s words were only a little bit manic as he spun back around and offered Doc a dazzling smile—one he hoped was bright enough to cover his little attempt at dining and dashing.
Doc’s snort told him he was unsuccessful.
Fumbling the ice into the crook of his arm, Joel shuffled around until he freed the bag he had brought with him. “Here you are, some moss and dyes, just as you wanted. Although what you’re using them for in this frozen wasteland is beyond me.”
“Yes, thank you, Joel,” said Doc wryly. “A pleasure as always to do business with you. Maybe take a nap sometime, yes?”
“Why would I do that?” Joel scoffed. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I sleep every night.”
“I’m sure you do. And there are no late-night building sessions? No staying up a bit past bed-time, huh?” Doc’s voice was carefully neutral, casual in a way that immediately pissed off Joel’s tired brain.
“No,” he said sharply, “There aren’t. Thank you, Doc.”
Joel fumed the entire short trip back across the river to his own base.
He had convinced himself this new baseline was sustainable. Like if he slept for one more night, if he just kept doing what he was doing—magically his sleep problems would be solved, his energy restored. Or at the very least, things would stay as they were and wouldn’t get worse.
He was wrong. Joel started falling asleep during the day too. He would wake up in the morning, groggy and sore from the previous day’s work—and by midday he would be blinking open eyes that slipped shut without permission. Once. Twice. And then it transitioned into jolting awake, into realizing he had fallen asleep, slumped over his crafting table or pooled in the grass outside or worst of all—on the roof of his house, mid repair.
He fell that time, slamming into the floor of his second story. It hurt.
Joel finally hit his breaking point.
He wasn’t normally the type that spent time reading books or doing experiments. That was the sort of thing that nerds like Etho and Grian did—read books—or Doc and Cub did—the experiments. But clearly Joel was mistaken about him sleeping through the night. He must be sleep walking, he decided. It was the only explanation. He was waking up and doing things without fully waking up, ridding himself of rest while maintaining the illusion of a full night's sleep.
There might have been some nuances that Joel overlooked about that explanation, but he was far too tired to care. The solution, he decided, was a sleeping draught. A potion. A drug. Something that would knock him out for the night, into sleep deep enough that he wouldn’t wander and then he would finally get his rest. All building ground to a complete halt as Joel threw himself into his research.
Well. Not all building. He needed a suitable place to do his experiments and potion brewing, didn’t he? In a spot of inspiration, Joel latched onto the idea of the perfect place and he wouldn’t be swayed. Thus the Laboratory was born—clumsily hidden with some redstone squeezed into his book case and functionally about the size of a basement. Joel threw in some bright colors and a suitable enough amount of pipes and wires to scream ‘laboratory!!!!’ with satisfactory gusto and finally, finally threw himself fully into his research.
It took another two nights before Joel’s sleeping draught finally worked. He only knew it did when he woke up on his laboratory floor, pooled in a nest of open books and half-scribbled pages. The brewing stands nearby still bubbled happily, the underground space comfortably cool. Joel yawned, dragging a hand down his face as he slowly sat up.
He felt better.
“Holy shit.” Joel swallowed around a raspy throat and jumped to his feet, examining himself. He wasn’t perfect, that was for sure, but he felt better than he had in weeks. Like he had energy, strength—like he actually wanted to go out and do something, eat something, talk to someone. “Oh my god, I did it! I DID IT!” He cheered victoriously, dancing around his messy lab like a madman. “Take that, sleepwalking! Take that! You have nothing on Joel!”
He whooped again, breathlessly coming to a halt in front of his brewing stands. Crouching, Joel peered at the two other unused bottles of sleeping draught, glistening a soft silver that seemed as reflective as the moon. His own face shone back at him, bouncing off the glass bottles. It was warped, twisted by the curvature—but the black bruises under his eyes had faded to a mottled grey, and no longer did they appear so bloodshot as to almost look crimson.
“I’m a fucking genius,” Joel continued to ramble, carefully unhooking one of the two remaining bottles and cradling it in his hands like it was precious. “There is no one greater than me. You know what I am? A self sustainable man who can solve his own problems!” He took the ladder back up to his house, checking on his pocket every few rungs. “Should have blummin’ done this a week ago.”
Joel stumbled up to the second floor, yanking the cork free and downing a second dose of the draught before he collapsed into his bed. Surely this time after he woke, he would be completely back to normal. A good twenty-four hours of sleep was all he needed and then he would be right as rain.
Joel let out a long, slow, relieved breath. And curled up on top of the blankets—shoes still on and hat long forgotten under the base—he slept.
He had cracked the code. Whatever the issue had been (sleepwalking, Joel was still convinced), the draught cured it. He bounced back with an intensity unseen since the previous season, full of ideas and the willpower to make them a reality.
“Joel—oh wow.” Grian stopped short, startled out of whatever he had been trying to say. “You look chipper.”
“I feel great!” Joel enthused, throwing Grian a brilliant smile. He bowed, low and dramatic, sweeping his hat off his head. “What can I do for you, Grian?”
“Just wanted some wool…did you solve the sleep problem?”
“Hell yeah I did.” Joel leaned forward, hands tucked behind his back, grinning wider. “Some wool? I can do that for you no problem. Have you seen my new barn, Grian?”
“Only from afar—” Grian yelped as Joel reached out, catching Grian’s sleeve to tow him in the direction of Joel’s animal sanctuary. “You don’t have to yank me around, Joel!”
“They all have names!” Joel told him, dragging him towards the enclosure of sheep that spanned the entire rainbow. “You’ve got to let me tell you all the names—”
(“I think I liked it better when he was sleep deprived,” Grian grimaced, rubbing at the purple bruise under his sleeve.
Mumbo went still, arm still plunged into the depths of one of his mechanical geese.
“You don’t mean that,” he said carefully; it came out more as a question and Grian sighed.
“No, I guess I don’t. Didn’t think there was a level of chaos that I couldn’t keep up with, though.”
“A truly terrifying thought.” Mumbo shuddered—Grian punched him in the shoulder, scowling.
“Oi!”)
One week became two and Joel flourished. So did his land—his lighthouse towered over the shoreline and his animals basked under the warm sun.
He continued to smooth out the landscape, clearing out shovel-fulls of leaf litter and packing soft moss into the rough ground. It never seemed to run out; Joel must have had a lot more moss stockpiled than he realized; even though his peninsula was rapidly expanding, his chests always seemed to be overflowing—his house was overflowing, the storage not nearly enough for his ambitious ideas.
Joel even went out on several long voyages; the first was to find sniffer eggs, and the second was to find some allays. Both journeys were tedious days of flying and searching. For the former, they were spent diving below the waves of warm oceans, competing with drowned for the meger treasures hidden in ruins. For the latter, Joel scoured the countryside for Pillager towers, braving crossbows and axes to free some captive allays from their dark oak cage.
It was worth it, however, to revive some prehistoric flora. The bright, saturated blossoms blended in well with Joel’s home, nestled amongst the farm and bushes. The sniffers were content in their new home, the allays buzzed happily around the noteblock Joel disguised within some bushes, and to his surprise, Joel realized he was happy.
Actually happy.
It started small.
A moment here or there, where Joel was doing one thing, only to blink and find himself doing another the next.
Joel caught on faster this time, but it still took awhile. It wasn’t unusual for him to zone out when doing something boring or tedious. Joel frequently fell back into his own mind when building—most often when terraforming or laying down the base structure of a new build.
Zoning out had never left him quite so disoriented, however. Two days. Three. Joel frowned down at the path beneath him, connecting his barn to his lumbermill. He didn’t remember how he got there. Last Joel remembered, he had been sorting a shulker box in his house.
Something in the back of his mind, uncannily close to alarm bells, began to ping.
Joel didn’t pay any attention to it, because he didn’t want to. He felt good. He felt better than he had in a long time.
It started small, but it didn’t stay small.
He closed a chest in his house and found himself standing knee deep in his newly created river. He went through the nether portal and found himself just outside of the once-village that separated him and Gem’s lands.
He went to the shopping district and found a giant rainbow outside of his house, beginning to erupt from the ground like the sprout of a massive beanstalk.
Joel hadn’t built that. Joel had no memory of building that. The rainbow had not been there that morning.
Alarm bells rang in the back of Joel’s mind and it scared him.
Another day. More lost time. Joel’s arms and legs ached from work he didn’t do; his hands were marred with small scratches and cuts he didn’t remember getting.
He was standing at the edge of the forest.
“We’ll have to have a rematch sometime,” Gem laughed. She did a somersault in midair, surprisingly playful compared to her somber aesthetic, and tossed her spear back and forth between her hands. Joel glanced down and saw his own spear clenched in his palm. His elytra hung free down his back, iridescent green and red insect wings that matched his clothes.
“Yeah,” said Joel thoughtlessly.
“Good fight, Joel.” She smiled, twirling her spear once before jabbing the point at him. “See you around!”
Joel raised his free hand in a half-wave, but Gem didn’t stay to appreciate his inadequate response. With a sharp flap of her wings, she was gone, sailing out across the forest back towards her towering black castle.
Joel watched her go until she vanished, a dot on the horizon, blotted out by the sun. Then, his shaking legs gave out and he collapsed down to the mossy ground. He looked at his spear.
There was a gaping void in his memory of any of the recent events. Whatever Gem was referencing—Joel didn’t remember it.
The spear fell silently in the grass as Joel buried his face in his hands. His hat slipped to the side, askew atop his messy hair.
He was shaking.
Somehow, he stumbled back to the house, slamming the door behind him. Joel’s head ached, a constant pounding behind his temples.
“This is wrong,” Joel mumbled. “This is—something is wrong.” He blinked blearily, finding himself on his knees once more, hands fisted in the carpet. He had no idea if he had lost time again, or merely fainted for a half-second.
“Shit. Fuck.” Joel sat up a little straighter, combing his fingers through his hair like that might somehow scrape away the fog in his mind. He felt dizzy, cold. Very cold, he realized, like a sharp breeze was cutting straight through his skin, sinking into his bones.
He was struck with the sudden desperate impulse that he couldn't be alone. Joel needed someone—anyone—
But time stretched endlessly; he didn’t pick himself up off the floor, gaze stuck unfocused on some distant place too far away to see.
He blinked and he was in bed, staring up at the rafters.
He blinked and he was once more in the forest, glittering axe in hand, mid-swing.
The sharp ‘CRACK’ of wood and then he was underground, standing at the precipice of a hallway coming off of his laboratory. A hallway he never made. Joel drifted forward, each foot landing heavily on the catwalk. The air felt thick and sweltering around him, a physical presence that was tough to push through.
One step, then another. The walls unfolded outwards into a cavernous room, cradling a towering cylinder of metal and lights. It hummed, sparking with energy. Rainbow light blossomed up towards the ceiling, up to the surface beyond. The generator—he knew as innately as breathing—filled the air with a crackle of electricity, a buzz that made Joel’s hair stand on end.
He stared, all words frozen in the back of his throat; a throat that ached like he had been talking all day long.
Beautiful, isn’t it? A thought in the back of his mind—his own voice, boastful. Smug.
It was beautiful. Joel would be seriously impressed if he didn’t feel vaguely like he was going to throw up. He lifted up his hands, planning to rub his eyes only to freeze instead. Slowly, Joel opened his fists, staring at his palms.
They were covered in blood.
Joel gasped, a fearful, strangled noise that echoed up and down the massive generator shaft. He stumbled back, arms held at length. The blood was red, wet, and fresh. It soaked the cuffs of his sleeves, marring the egg-white fabric.
Frantically, he looked down. There was blood on his vest too—streaks and splatters of sharp arterial spray.
Joel hyperventilated as a ringing flooded his ears, making the world around him swim. This wasn’t possible. This wasn’t happening. He was having a nightmare.
His knees rocked with pain as they slammed down against the grated floor. Tears burned in the corners of Joel’s eyes as he heaved for air that wouldn’t come. His bloodied fingers gripped his shirt in a white-knuckled grip, smearing across the fabric.
He killed something. What, a—an animal? A person? Why couldn’t he remember? What had he done?
There was a laugh in the back of Joel's mind, harmonizing with his ringing ears.
He couldn’t breathe. Joel gripped his vest tighter and wheezed out a ragged sob and he couldn’t. Breathe—
His heart pounded in his chest.
He—
It was quiet.
Joel stood just outside of his house, under the vast night sky. He felt fuzzy and warm; the world blurred in and out of reality like a dream. He wasn’t completely grounded, wasn’t completely present—but that was fine. Normal even. That was how it always felt to dream.
His body moved forward; somewhere far away, the dirt and gravel of the path crunched beneath his pointed shoes. The night breeze was cool, brushing Joel’s skin as if a thin bed sheet separated him from the wind.
Joel hummed to himself as he walked—or rather, Joel heard himself hum. It was nice, a soothing sound.
Time floated, Joel floated, as he walked towards the river. Beside it was a greenhouse, rainbow and shining in the darkness, topped with a massive blooming pink allium. It was pretty; Joel liked it. He didn’t remember ever building it, but he liked it.
Behind him came the woosh of an elytra, the sound of feet impacting the path. Joel turned, a smile already spreading across his lips.
“Heya, Joel.” Tango straightened, straightening out the crisp lines of his fanciful attire. His elytra folded up neatly, falling down his back like a cape of black and red. He was pale with his newly acquired vampirism, almost glowing under the moonlight.
As Joel absorbed the sight, he found that his mouth was already moving, words already forming. “Tango! How wonderful to see you.” Without any effort on Joel’s part, his voice filled the air. It sounded odd, as though Joel was hearing it from down a long tunnel.
“I was working on the mountain and I saw your new build!” Tango gestured up and down towards the greenhouse. “I wanted to compliment it.”
“You’re too kind.” Chuckling, Joel bowed, a hand coming up to rest over his heart. His hands were clean, freshly washed. His sleeves were an unblemished white. Why would Joel ever expect otherwise? “I should be complimenting you—your mountain dwarfs us all, Tango!”
“Shucks.” A tiny bit of color returned to Tango’s cheeks as he waved a dismissive hand. “Well. I…should get back on the grind as soon as possible. It never stops, huh? But I saw you and couldn’t miss the chance!”
“Have a good night!” Joel’s smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, so large it strained. “It’s a perfect night too, isn’t it Tango? A perfect, ordinary, wonderful night!”
“Uh huh.” Tango’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Whatever you say, Joel.” His cape twitched in the wind, unfolding once more into a mimicry of bat-like wings.
“Goodnight!” Joel’s parting shout was carried away into the night as Tango took to the air, swooping back towards his ever-expanding mountain range. Joel watched him go, hands tucked behind his back, rocking slightly to and fro on the balls of his feet.
“What a kind man,” Joel said to himself happily, as he finally turned back to his walk. His voice darkened into a small, rough laugh. It rumbled deep in his chest, turning the floaty warm feeling that enveloped Joel into something thinner and colder.
He walked on through the night, towards the forest. Joel walked and walked and…couldn’t stop. He realized, slowly, through the haze, that his head turned of its own accord. His legs moved automatically, on orders Joel didn’t give them.
Joel tried to speak and was greeted only by silence. He tried to stop and he only floated, disconnected and choked in static.
The world was right there in front of him, but far away. Like a dream. Like—a screen.
His body was humming again; a light, cheerful carnival tune. The sort of song that accompanied painted horses on their journey around and around a carousel of rainbow lights and joyful colors.
“Hush,” murmured his voice, amused. Spoken to the air, spoken to nobody at all but the trees. Joel strained, fighting for limbs to move. It was cloudy. There was nothing; he was nothing. A barrier separated him in the world, like the glass of a fishbowl. “Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
Stop this. Joel was motionless, but freefalling. Calm, but terrified. Untethered, but restrained. Stop this. What—what is happening?
“Hush,” said his voice again. It was firmer this time, harsher. A command, not a suggestion. “I am here now. It is too late for you.”
Joel watched, helpless, as his body swept out an arm and laughed. It started low and built up and up until it filled the air. A cackle, so loud it hurt to hear. It was drawn from Joel’s throat and he was helpless to stop it. It filled him, consumed him.
Static crackled in Joel’s ears, the air sparking red and white. Half memories returned to him; snippets of conversations and builds. He was observing, always observing.
(“Where have you been, Joel? I swear I hardly see you around anymore.”
“Oh, you know.” Joel waved dismissively. “Gathering materials, designing builds…all very normal things.”)
Whelsknight and Gem, Tango and Bdubs, Scar and Etho—
(Joel swooped through the air, elytra buzzing. He tilted forward, spear braced across both arms as suddenly, he dove. The air rushed past, battering him, making his eyes sting with tears. His smile only grew, only grew…
The beautiful chestnut mare let out an agonized scream as Joel's spear plunged into its side. The blade tore through flesh and muscle. Its blood splattered the prairie grass, drenched Joel's hands and shirt.
As the horse collapsed, contorted with death throes, Joel laughed. He hit the ground hard enough to make his knees burn and only laughed harder.
He approached the mare, spear discarded in favor of the sharp knife he drew from his belt.
The blade sliced through the meat of the horse’s throat like it was butter.
The blood on his hands was warm.)
Visions layered on top of one another, melding and fusing. Building, talking, blood. Electricity, screaming, rainbows. Laughter, and Joel couldn't move. A knife, and Joel couldn't speak. His friends, and Joel couldn't reach them.
There was pain.
Stop, please
It was smiling. It couldn't stop smiling. Joel couldn't stop smiling.
He was trapped. He was weightless, he was nothing; a spirit, a figment, atoms scattered, soul displaced.
Stop stop STOP—
His voice laughed and laughed and laughed.
Somewhere and nowhere, Joel screamed. Voiceless and alone.
He walked on through the night, a victorious smile permanently gracing his face.
Joel watched through eyes that were no longer his own; his body was piloted, his voice was stolen, his friends were tricked.
He floated.
He—
…
.
Joel was fine.
Everything was fine.
Why wouldn't it be?