Second Chances

Chapter 11

Steve laid in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. He wasn't sure if he was angry or embarrassed. Clara's words echoed through his head, keeping him awake. She was right, and he knew it. Of course, he didn't want to admit that to himself, since that meant that Herobrine was innocent, but he wasn't! Steve's entire family was dead and Herobrine was the only one to blame.

"Herobrine isn't the monster you remember him being."

Steve rolled over, as if a different position would block his own thoughts.

"I know, I just wish that you had thought before going through with it."

But Steve had thought about it! He knew, when he gave his information to that wandering trader, that this was the only possible outcome for Herobrine. If Steve hadn't done it, then someone else would have. That was a fact. It didn't matter what Steve might have done to prevent that. At least Herobrine's blood could be on his hands and that could be some form of vengeance for Steve's family.

For some reason, the idea of Herobrine's blood spilled made Steve's stomach roll. An image flashed through Steve's head of Herobrine laying on the ground, sword through his chest, his blood seeping through his fingers...

Steve realized that the reason why that image disgusted him so much was because that was exactly what Herobrine did to him. Steve ran his fingers along the old scar on his chest. It was only about three inches across and formed a small raised line, but if he moved in the right way, he could still feel the sharp pain of a blade in his flesh.

Steve groaned. Clara was right. Steve might hate Herobrine, but the idea of him suffering what almost became Steve's fate disgusted Steve to no end. If the Netherwalkers came, there was no doubt that they'd kill him. Steve doubted that it would be a swift death too, since the Netherwalkers were famous for making Herobrine's death a spectacle whenever they got their hands on him. They might not put on a show for the town this time, since Herobrine was a child, but that wouldn't mean they'd spare him from the torture.

Steve glanced over at the dark lump on the ground that was Herobrine. "I'm sorry," Steve whispered, even though he knew that Herobrine wasn't awake to hear him. But all the apologies in the world couldn't fix what Steve did. Herobrine would die for what he did, whether he remembered it or not, and Steve would have to carry that guilt next to his grief for his family.

...

Steve woke up an hour or two before dawn and despite his best efforts, he couldn't get back to sleep. It was hours before he needed to be at work, so he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. He could hear the occasional groan and screech of mobs outside. He thought for a second that he heard an Enderman warble, but when he didn't hear it again, he dismissed the thought.

Eventually, the sun came up, Steve listened to the sounds of the zombies and skeletons being burned out. The creepers and the spiders, despite not being affected by the sun's rays, still retreated into the darkness of caves and forests. Steve sat up with a groan. Time to get up.

Steve started making breakfast, when he heard a small squeak. He looked down to see Herobrine's creeper staring up at him. "What is it?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

The creeper squeaked at him again, and Steve felt a little dumb for asking a creeper a question when it couldn't answer. Maybe it was hungry. Steve had no idea what creepers ate, so he broke off a piece of the bread in his hand and dropped it on the floor. The creeper sniffed it and happily snapped it up, but then looked up at Steve again. "I gave you food, what else do you want?" Steve asked. The creeper tugged on Steve's pant leg and continued squeaking. Steve just ignored the tiny creature and kept making breakfast. The creeper squeaked louder, still trying to get his attention. When it realized that it wasn't getting anywhere with Steve, it stood on his foot and sank its tiny, sharp teeth into Steve's ankle. He yelped in pain and kicked the creeper off of him. "What!?" he demanded. The creeper squeaked at him loudly and walked over to the sleeping lump of blankets that was Herobrine. Oh no. Was something wrong with him? Steve crushed his worries and unwrapped the blankets covering Herobrine's head. His heart fell out of his chest and settled in the pit in his stomach.

Herobrine was paler than paper and shivered violently, even though he was scorching hot at the touch. He was hotter than he was yesterday.

"Herobrine?" Steve tried to wake him up. "Herobrine!" he poked his arm, but Herobrine didn't stir. "Hero, I need you to wake up now." No matter what Steve did, though, Herobrine didn't wake up.

Oh no.

Steve panicked. What could he do about this? Hero was clearly sicker than Steve had first thought, and now he wasn't even waking up. The home remedies that Steve and Clara had been using for the past few days didn't do anything to improve Herobrine's situation. He needed a doctor, but who could Steve take him to?! No doctor would help him if they knew who he was.

Wait.

Clara's husband, Jackson, was a doctor, and Clara knew about Herobrine. If Jackson refused to help, she could probably talk him into it. But if Steve wanted Clara's help, then he'd have to leave now, because she'd be leaving for work soon.

Steve gathered the bundle of blankets, and Herobrine in it, and walked outside. It was still too early in the morning for most people to be outside yet, but Steve still traveled quickly to avoid being seen. He walked down a path he had walked down a million times and stopped at a familiar house. He knocked on the door and glanced around to see if anyone was around.

"Hello?" a man in glasses and a white coat opened the door, and his eyes widened when he saw Steve.

"Help!" Steve exclaimed.