Chapter Text
Grian loved Gaile with all his heart.
He did. She brightened up everyone’s day, even the Hermits that didn’t want her on the server at first; she helped him through low moments when he couldn’t get through them himself; and most importantly, she was simply downright cute.
So it was really fortunate she had all those things going for her as she sat proudly atop Grian’s now destroyed wing preening machine. It had scratch marks and burn scorches and even missing pieces of redstone. Yep. Remember the adorableness. Remember the adorableness.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” Grian huffed to the room, hoping his frustration would somehow be understood by his beloved pet dragon. When she only warbled happily in response, Grian groaned and began rubbing the back of his neck.
He would need to find Mumbo rather quickly. Grian couldn’t go much longer without a proper preen session and also not have any consequences. He wasn’t sure if his wings could get infected with the whole, erm, God thing going on, but considering how easy it was for a wing infection to turn into wing removal, he figured he probably shouldn’t try his luck on that one.
Grian had a bad habit of, not not taking care of his wings per se, but definitely waiting until the last minute possible to clean everything up. One of the first things he asked Mumbo for in Season 6 was a machine that could clean his wings after his friend nearly walked in on him painstakingly trying to meticulously bend over backward to do it himself. Thankfully, Grian was able to shut the door quickly enough before Mumbo saw the purple feathers, but there was no avoiding Mumbo being made aware of the whole “twisting like a pretzel to clean the limbs on his back” problem.
Mumbo shyly offered to help preen from the other side of the door if Grian would be okay with that, and Grian promptly came up with some random excuse about how touching a hybrid’s wings was very special and a big sign of devotion and whatnot. While Grian trusted Mumbo very deeply, he couldn’t bring himself to let anyone, not even a trusted friend, touch his wings. Mumbo was very understanding, but still wanted to help, and when Grian suggested the idea of a machine that could do the job, Mumbo was practically instantaneous with results.
Alas, that machine apparently didn’t mix well with hyperactive baby dragons.
Welp, no time like the present to get things done. As he began walking outside, Gaile chirped and attempted to follow. “Nope, nuh-uh, you don’t get to join me. I don’t like you right now,” he said while grabbing her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, setting her down in her bed on the table. Once the message got across to her and she curled up with a yawn, Grian felt safe enough to leave his house without a plus one joining him.
He began his strut over to Mumbo’s mountain with perfect timing, because as he stepped out of his alley, Scar was flying overhead and misjudged how close he was to his hourglass, managing to careen right into its upper half. Grian winced as his brain registered what he witnessed, and he quickly ran over to check in on his best friend, “Oie, gonna be one of those days, huh?”
Scar peeled his face off the dirt, slightly wavering as the dizziness washed out of him, “I would love to say ‘no,’ but I always jinx myself when I do.”
Grian giggled and held a hand out for Scar, to which Scar happily reached up and grabbed, using it for extra help to stand up. Grian began to speak once Scar had seemed to wipe most of the dirt off of his clothing, “Welp, I’m off to Mumbo’s place to have a chat with him. Let me know if you need anything-”
“Wait, you think Mumbo is still here? Did he not tell you?” Scar asked genuinely. Pausing for a second, Grian nodded his head uncertainly, and for good reason. Scar’s next words threw a giant piece of TNT into his plans, “Impulse and Pearl asked him to join them on a little excursion of sorts. I can’t remember if it was off-server or not, but still, they won’t be back until tomorrow at least, even if you needed his help with an emergency situation.”
Whyyyyyyyy must life love to kick him in the groin more often than not? Groaning somewhat immaturely, Grian placed his head in his hands and shook it, “Now what am I going to do?”
Scar stared concerned, “Um, is it an emergency?”
Splitting his fingers open so Grian could look at Scar with one eye, he sighed, taking them down and lolling his head to emphasize his frustration, “I mean, yes and no. It’s kind of imperative that this machine of mine is fixed really soon, but it’s not ‘get it fixed by tonight or bad things will happen’ soon.”
Scar let out a noise that signified he understood, “That’s not terrible. Mind me asking what the machine is for? I might not be a Redstoner, but maybe I could help a little.”
“Weeeeell, it has to do with these bad boys,” Grian flexed his wings and pointed to them while they were stretched. “Mumbo offered to make me a wing preening machine after he caught me struggling with cleaning them myself, and because I have a terrible habit of not doing anything relating to the backs of things,” Scar snickered, “I tend to clean them last minute, meaning they’re kind of grody right now. It’s not great for wings to be dirty for extended periods of time, but I’m not in the danger zone yet.”
Scar didn’t take the reassurance, though, “But it’s still bad if they aren’t clean, right? What will happen if you don’t fix them up?”
Grian giggled nervously, both because the reason was horrifying and because he still wasn’t sure if that reason actually applied to him, “Wings can get infected, and once a wing reaches that stage, there’s almost no salvaging it, so you just gotta-” Grian made a crunching noise with his mouth and moved like he was swinging an axe.
“Grian, that’s terrible!” Scar spoke with worry and also a hint of reprimand. To be fair, Grian was the one procrastinating such a vital activity relating to his physical health, “Are you sure you can wait much longer? Maybe we can find someone else to fix the machine, or maybe someone else can just clean them for you-”
Grian jumped back, almost defensively so, “Woah woah woah, take it easy there.”
Scar took a metaphorical step back apologetically, “Geez, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable asking that.”
Grian made a high-pitched noise, “I mean, I would totally let you or anyone else here clean them, but unfortunately, a big thing for us hybrids is to let others help out, as it’s a super special bonding thing to give such permission.”
A few beats of silence passed between them.
“Buddy, you can just say you don’t want anyone else touching your wings,” Scar explained sympathetically. “No one here is going to be upset with a boundary like that, you know.”
Grian sputtered, crossing his arms indignantly, “What? What gives you that impression? Are you trying to tell me you know more about my hybrid activities than I do?”
Scar chuckled lightheartedly, “No, I would never, it’s just that I had a few mates before coming to Hermitcraft who were also hybrids, and they asked me to help preen their wings multiple times. They tended to just flop into my lap and dramatically demand that I help them out. Kinda hard to think that it’s a universal rule for hybrids with such experience underneath my hat.”
Darn it.
Grian could feel his cheeks start to heat up awkwardly. Oh Gods, he was being caught out for lying, this always led to bad things-
Scar quickly soothed the obvious tension growing within his friend, “Grian, you’ve had a rough go at life. I understand if this is a defense mechanism you formed to get hi- people off your back,” Grian noticed the stutter there, “I just want to remind you that it really is different here because brains are gross and need that occasional pat on the back every once in a while.”
Grian could feel his fingers begin to rhythmically tap his upper arms while simultaneously squeezing the blood flow out of them. He eventually sighed and shook his head, “It wasn’t him that made me freaked out about this, though the lying habit probably came from that. It was… it was a couple of other factors, really.”
Scar blinked, “Oh?”
Well crap, there went Grian opening his big fat mouth again. Scar was obviously prompting him to continue that line of thought. From his viewpoint, it probably looked like Grian was getting comfortable opening up, and while he didn’t want to force Grian into anything he didn’t want to do, he also wanted to gesture to Grian in some way that said it was okay to keep going. While Grian would love to do that, he was also suddenly aware that the real reason he wanted to preen his wings was the fact that they were eldritch horrors no player really understood.
C’mon, think bird brain, what’s a completely different bullshit lie you could tell people? You came up with the first excuse easily enough. Seriously, there had to be something that would pass as reasonable.
Ah! What was that thing Pearl thought he was? Uhhhh- “I’m not actually a hybrid. Well, I am one, but not a parrot one.”
Scar slowly grew more confused, “Okay?”
“Here, want to follow me to my starter base?” Grian asked right away. Instead of fumbling through the totally real reason toward his reluctance about others helping him preen, he might as well show it off.
Thankfully, if he asked Scar to burn down the world with him, Scar would easily comply.
Which is exactly why the man complied even easier with Grian’s request. Once they got inside, it took them not too long to head toward a more inner part of the base, Grian tightly shutting the door as to ward off any outsiders that might barge their way in. He loved Pearl, but he would appreciate avoiding a repeat of last time with someone who might not be as understanding as her.
Scar kept studying the room, unaware of what Grian was doing to his wings, “You know, I adore your building skills as much as the next Hermit, but I am failing to see what this has to do with our conversation? Forgive me if I’m missing the obvious- woah.”
He finally turned around to be able to look Grian in the eyes and instead ended up looking behind Grian to examine the now purple wings. He couldn’t help the way his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. He was in awe, especially because he never got to see a hybrid like Grian, and also because who knew how much trust Grian felt toward Scar to be willing to do this.
Grian shrugged and threw his arms out to hover parallel with his wings, “So, yeah, you’re right that it's a personal thing. People tend to treat hybrids fairly decently, but a hybrid that was basically magic? I didn’t want to risk it. I thought I would get treated like some circus show.”
What was he doing? He was just lying again, and this time more severely. If any word got out about what Grian really was, who knew what the ramifications could be. The best option was getting kicked off the server, and the worst? Lord-
Scar abruptly stepped closer to Grian, leaving only a foot between them, holding his hand out toward the wings and looking starstruck, “Is it okay for me to touch them now?”
Grian could only stare dumbfounded, “... Sure?”
Scar nodded, showing his thanks, before taking one last step toward Grian’s right and reached behind him to run a few fingers down an average-sized “feather." Grian’s response was immediate and involuntary; he couldn’t stop his head from twitching and his body from shivering satisfactorily even if he knew it was coming.
“Sorry!” Scar apologized, bringing his hand back. “Was that too much?”
Once Grian’s mind calmed down from the stimulation, he shook his head, “No, no, that was… amazing. I didn’t realize it would feel so nice.”
Scar was rubbing his fingers together until he understood what Grian was saying, “Oh, oh… Well, my offer to clean your wings is still up in the air if you want to.”
The next day, Grian would smack himself upside the head just about a dozen times for saying, “Yeah, let’s do that.”
The two men got situated on one of Grian’s comfier rugs, and once Scar was firmly behind Grian with his legs crossed, he decided to go all-in instead of just two gentle fingers. His hands grasped what Grian considered to be the primaries and straightened them out, making Grian let out a noise that was a mix between a chirp and a squeak. Grian quickly placed a hand over his mouth to shut himself up, but the damage was done.
Scar wasn’t upset, though, far from it if his lopsided grin was anything to go by, “You don’t need to keep quiet. This is probably a lot for you, so it’s understandable you need to make noises. Heck, noises will tell me if I’m doing good or bad, so please, feel free to squawk away.”
Grian could only nod, then he let out a happy hum as Scar continued back up. The further toward the middle of Grian’s back Scar got, the more Grian leaned forward, melting into a pile of goo right there on his base’s floor. He briefly worried that Scar would no longer be able to reach certain areas with how much he was bending, but considering the fingers never let up, he figured he was in the clear.
Scar’s fingers told an interesting story. Because of his various costumes and traveling businessman way of life, he undoubtedly ran into those who were less than pleased with the idea of having to pay for services. Thick, jagged scars laid on certain parts of Scar’s hands, a finger even felt like a chunk was missing, showcasing the actions Scar had to have taken to defend himself and his stuff during his traversing through multiple worlds.
But here he was, gently working through Grian’s wings like they were made of the finest silk in the land. He’s probably seen horrors beyond even Grian’s nightmares, but he still managed to be soft and caring, saying hello to each Hermit with a bright and genuine smile. Grian would always be happy to have met Scar, to have the chance to call the man one of his closest friends.
Then came the dirty part: the grime and muck that built up in the crevices. Grian was folded like a lawn chair, so there was no way he had enough time to sit back up and tell Scar that he did more than enough before Scar was picking his way into the ridges of the feathers. Grian’s eyes sort of bulged as the first fingernail picked at a rather large piece of dirt.
Oh Gods, was that why that part of his wing was bothering him? Right as Scar yoinked the bit of soot out, Grian could feel incredible amounts of tension drain away. It was like someone scratching an itch on your back that you could barely not reach. Scar needed to be careful, Grian was going to pass out if he got any more meticulous about it.
Honestly, Grian was definitely at least blacked out once Scar got the last little area finished and began to stand up, “Alrighty, that should be everything. Your wings feel good? Any spot that feels like I missed it?”
Grian let out a murky hum from deep within his throat. It was all he could manage before his vocal cords registered that he was a human person and not a pile of liquid, “Y-Yeah, they feel perfect, Scar. Thank you so much.”
Scar bent over to help Grian stand much like Grian helped Scar out earlier that day. Scar began to tug the edges of his jacket outward when Grian was safely standing upright without help, “It was no problem, buddy! I’ll always be right next door if you need this kind of assistance again.”
Grian nodded, walking Scar outside, “Of course, of course. Have a good rest of your day. Thanks again!”
He had to yell the last part, as Scar got his elytra out and was rocketing away to probably start whatever it was he wanted to do before he crashed spectacularly. Grian would feel bad about derailing the man’s plans if he wasn’t so blissed out. Once Scar was out of eyesight, Grian quietly shut the door and stood there disbelieving just about his whole life.
That… worked. Scar believed the lie about Grian being a “shapeshifter hybrid,” cleaned his wings no problem, and then left like he was building a simple shed, not like he just helped Grian out with one of his biggest struggles ever to date. The weirdest part? Grian loved it. Loved the attention his wings got, loved how nice and shiny they felt since a sentient player could go in and hit every nook and cranny unlike a machine could, loved the tangible feeling of being loved.
It was… nice. Too bad it probably wouldn't happen again.
Gaile chirped from the corner of the room.
“You’re not off the hook just because this ended up better than expected.”
Another chirp, more chastised, sounded out again.