Archive of Our Own ^beta

  A week isn't much, but it had felt like a lifetime.

  Alone, hurt, his shroud removed and his skin naked to the cold air.

  The Illagers had kept it, though not cared for it. No more than they had cared for him, just enough to keep him alive, to keep his shroud alive, to keep their chance at a profit.

  His fingers tremble as he clutches the edge, taking it in without seeing, his hands automatically reading the history there, checking for life, for vitality.

  Checking for himself, and the other half of himself.

  "Gem brought it here, did her best to take care of it for you."

  He knows his smile is watery before he turns. Etho stands against a nearby pillar, arms curled around his stomach in a self-hug that Bdubs is all too familiar with.

  He doesn’t get out much more than a sniffle before Etho is striding over, concern and worry and relief all crossing his face even as he maintains eye contact, and stops in front of him. 

  The hesitation of his hands gives him away. His arms shiver in an aborted move, the human instinct to reach out, to hug, to comfort with physical contact. 

  (He wonders if Etho has taught the Hermits to give such wonderful hugs, or if they had learned it elsewhere.) 

  Bdubs can only make one hand release his shroud, the other arm reaching for Etho. Who draws him in gladly, who steps forward and surrounds him, and gently moves them closer to the shroud without letting him go. 

  “I wasn’t sure,” Etho murmurs against his neck, quiet as he usually is. “If you’d still want me to touch you without your shroud.” 

  “Yes.” It’s as simple as that. “Please. Thank you. Always. Sorry.” His thoughts are running faster than his mouth, jumbling up in a wave of gratitude and comfort and guilt and maybe a little bit of shame. But he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to turn away a hug from his Cluster. It means too much to him, every time it happens. 

  “Hey, there.” Etho rocks him back and forth, the gentle swaying brushing their shoulders against the damaged moss and bits of his shroud. “Take a breath, you’re okay. We’re both okay, I promise.” 

  “Sorry I didn’t tell you.” His own voice is barely above a whisper, his confession falling with his tears. “I didn’t- I couldn’t- you were, and I haven’t.. “ Etho hugs him tighter. “I don’t know.. if I even know how to be human anymore.” 

  Etho laughs, and if that’s a little wet too, they both ignore it. “Does it really matter? You’re Bdubs, and you’re a Hermit now. You could call yourself anything you want, and those won’t change.” 

  “Yeah,” he agrees, and he thinks he’s starting to accept that. The Hermits couldn’t care either way, and he’s still welcome, welcome to their home and their intricately simple love. 

  Etho’s hand moves from his back to the back of his head, tangling in and then drawing through the hair there. More than the hug, it threatens to drown him in the comfort it brings, that part of himself so rarely touched. 

  “Do you.. could you use some help with your shroud?” 

  Bdubs draws his head back, still cradled in Etho’s palm. “You.. don’t mind if I keep it?” 

  The mask crinkles with the force of Etho’s smile. “It’s a part of you, Bdubs. No matter what you decide, or what you call yourself.” He closes the distance between them, leaning their foreheads together. “How could I not love it?”

  He has to close his eyes, and breathe tightly against the swell of warmth the words bring. And then lean away, and let go of Etho so he can wipe the joyful tears from his eyes. 

  “Thank you.” It means so much more than that, and he thinks Etho can understand. And in return.. “Yeah. Yes, I- “ blazing stars, it’s still hard to ask, to request another’s help. He has to take another breath, and push down the bubbling glee and tiny bit of terror left over. “I would love it if you’d help me with my shroud, Etho.” 

  He’s rewarded with a shy smile, the half-flutter of eyelashes that flicker just before the blush reaches Etho’s cheeks. His own face is warm, but his hand is steady as he draws the shroud between them. 

  “I know you’ve got more skill with redstone than plants, but I can show you a few things.” His supplies are already out, on the small table beside where his maltreated shroud hangs. Someone has misted it with water recently, hung it in the dappled shade of one of his larger shrubs. His eyes pick out the tears, the rents from uncaring claws and rough handling. With his free hand, he pulls Etho’s hand up, buries their fingers in moss and weave and mostly-living green. 

  Etho’s smile doesn’t dim, if anything it brightens in wonder. “Tell me about it?” 

  “While we work,” Bdubs agrees, and eases the shroud from its hanging post to nestle between them. 

  If he’s learned anything aboard the Hermit Craft, it’s that a quiet gathering will always be found, and often joined or interrupted. Not out of any malice, but curiosity and interest, and the occasional mischief. 

  Bdubs shares some of the stories of his shroud while he works. Etho listens more than helps; he’s good enough with combing and clearing some of the detritus that has gathered, but admitted he didn’t feel comfortable yet with trimming, too hesitant to cut something out that shouldn’t have been, or to prune too deeply. Bdubs doesn’t tease him for it, but definitely does laugh at Etho’s attempts at braiding. 

  His laughter draws the Hermits in, and it’s a wonderful feeling to be a source of happiness for them. In ones and twos and probably mores, the upper deck’s green space fills with chattering conversations, quiet tones and cheerful quips. Etho welcomes Mumbo with a smile when the sunless elf joins them, shortly after Bdubs has run out of words in the growing gathering. Mumbo brings with him a tray of snacks and bowls of soup, and the now-comforting smell of sulfuric redstone. Etho sets the tray between them, listening to Mumbo’s latest thrill or gripe about their engines. 

  “Oh! Bdubs!” Mumbo interrupts himself, startling Bdubs out of an almost meditative weaving trance. “I forgot to give this to you before I sat down. I- hold on a minute.. “ He has to stand to reach into the deep pockets of his pants, which gives Bdubs time enough to finish the patch he was working on. “I found this tucked into one of the outer maintenance hatches, I thought you might know what it is.” 

  It’s a thin little patch, pale and dry. Mumbo handles it more gingerly than he does with redstone. It crackles at the transfer from palm to palm, and Bdubs cradles it gently. 

  “I’m not sure if it’s still alive or not, but I didn’t want to just throw it out.” 

  Bdubs brushes a fingertip against the dormant plant. “It’s a lichen,” he says reverently, already reaching for the bowl that still has a little bit of water. “They commonly dry out and sorta hibernate, and depending on the community can grow just about anywhere, on anything.” He sprinkles just a few drops onto it, and watches for any color change. “If you found it on the hull, it’s probably been using starlight to photosynthesize, and soaking up moisture from planets we stop on.” 

  Gem’s greenery and gold-adorned antlers carefully angle away from his head before her face comes into view. “With the atmospheric field around the ship, it might get a bit extra from us, too.” She gives him a cheeky grin as Bdubs turns to offer her a better look at it. “That’s a pretty one, Bdubs. Look, it’s already perking up.” 

  She’s not wrong. With just a few drops of water, it starts to turn translucent and the grey-green center brightens before their eyes. Between the moisture and the wonderful crystals that Scar has hung around the space the little patch of lichen seems happier. 

  Bdubs smiles at the patch. “I’ll let it rest a bit, and see if it will take to splitting.” 

  Keralis flops his long body beside him, though doesn’t jostle him at all. “Oh, hey! Are we giving Bubbles our gifts now?” 

  Mumbo flushes, and Etho tilts his head down, laughing under his breath. Half of the room perks up, until Grian chirps sadly. 

  “I thought we were gonna wait a few days, I don’t have mine yet.” 

  Xisuma leans over from where he was chatting with Doc, and curls his fingers through the soft feathers and hair on Grian’s head. “That was the plan, Grian. Though I’m sure Bdubs won't mind a late gift or two.” 

  Bdubs thinks he might just cry again. “Why would you- I mean, I don’t..?” 

  A now-familiar arm wraps around his back, Keralis holding him close and safe. “It might be a thing,” he offers like a secret, though the whole room can likely hear him. “Someone has a bad day, a bad mission or trade, or just barely survives an asteroid to the redstone and takes an extra few cycles to limp home on a wheezing engine-” 

  “That was your fault, Keralis!” Ren gloats from across the room. “You were playing chicken, and told me you only cracked your docking gear.” 

  Keralis just winks at Bdubs. “In my defense, I am a better pilot than a mechanic. How was I to know it would leave me slow enough to miss the Hermit Craft’s next jump?” 

  There are a few giggles, a snort, and a weary sigh from their captain, which makes Bdubs think it wasn’t just a matter of missing a jump. Especially when Keralis tilts his head against Bdubs, to give Xisuma a soft look. 

  Xisuma takes up the thread. “It started a while ago, but I think you’ve realized how much everyone likes to exchange tokens and gifts by now. As a bit of a ‘welcome home’ celebration.” 

  Gem nuzzles both Bdubs and Keralis, before stepping back to give a few others room. “Someone noticed the flowers Stress grows already added to your shroud, and the little patches of sculk. We, uh, maybe wanted to give you a few more options. To remember us by.” 

  “No pressure, Bdubs.” Doc’s grin is the most relaxed of anyone there, all leaning in with expectant or hesitant faces, waiting for his reaction. “Gifts are just that, and you can do whatever you like with them.” 

  Every step of the way, the Hermits have told him and tried to show him that he was accepted here. That he was wanted, and appreciated, and even loved, as amazing as that was to him. And yet, this? This was.. Bdubs opens the cleverly disguised brown shulker box, and stares at the plants, the roots and vines, the light charms that could so easily be woven or added into his shroud -and he can recognize so many of the Hermits already in the things they’ve given him! How could they not know how could he not have made it so clear already? 

  He’s not ashamed at all of the tears that fall into the moss of his shroud. These gifts would be worthy of a grand courtship exchange, had any of the Hermits known of such a thing. This was them asking for his acceptance of the Hermits, and how could he say anything but-

  “Yes! Oh my goodness, thank you. I-” Keralis hugs him tighter, and even Etho comes around to push up against his other side, careful not to disturb the progress they’ve made on repairing his shroud. Bdubs rocks between them, his heart filled to overflowing. “You guys. Thank you.” 

  He has to laugh at the exaggerated sighs of relief, at the smirks and grins on every face around him, and even at Grian’s ridiculous pout. They’re so danged happy that he likes them, that he accepted their gifts, and he reaches out to dump the shulker before a gasp makes him freeze. 

  “Mumbo, you spoon!” Grian’s wings flutter against the sunless elf’s shoulder as Mumbo ducks. 

  “What? What’d I do now?” 

  But Grian is pointing a talon at Bdubs’ hand, where he’s still clutching the tiny patch of lichen, even more damp now from the tears he’d accidentally wiped onto it. 

  In the bright light of the greenery space, it glows. There are faint red blotches moving slowly through the center, brightening even more as Etho cups a pale human hand over Bdubs’. 

  Grian chirps something rapid-fire, and tucks his wings to roll back into Pearl, laughing too hard to speak further. It’s contagious, especially when Keralis translates for him. 

  “Mumbo’s found a light source powered by redstone and tears.” 

  They’re all laughing at that, the last of the weeks’ stressors falling away from a crew finding joy and happiness in each other, and the kind teasing of their friends. Bdubs splits the little patch carefully, and without thinking too hard about it, weaves the smaller piece into a thin patch of his shroud, where he knows it will catch future tears when worn. Mumbo’s dark blush is gorgeous, and doesn’t fade even when Etho teases that he’s gonna ask for some to line the engine room the next time Mumbo has to make repairs. 

  It feels so right, to add it into his shroud, like he’s added the Hermits into his life. Filling in the patchwork of hurts and empty places, and finding love and comfort everywhere he looks. Someone hands him a bowl for the rest of the glowing lichen, and then he’s pulling pieces out of the shulker, scooting back to make room, spreading his shroud across Keralis’ lap, into Etho’s, placing parts of his former life into the eager hands and arms of his new life, soaking up the stories and explanations of the moss and vines and cultures of flowering things that the Hermits have given him to repair himself. Hardy moss that firms up like scales when pressure is applied, a cutting of someone’s favorite tea, bits of down and a tuft of fur and a shed primary feather and a shimmering braid of hair. His hands meet others, guide talons and claws and gloves into the weave, the heft and layers of himself, thicker and stronger for the family that has held and embraced him. His aren’t the only tears of laughter and overwhelmed joy that fall into the green, and only make his love grow more solidly as his shroud- as he is mended in a fraction of the time he had feared it would take. A thickly furred palm holds out a tiny clock charm, and he guides it to the heart of his shroud, even before he tunes in to the explanation. 

  “The smallest beacon I could design, powered by a single mote of redstone dust. Break the center of the clock face to activate it, and know that we’ll always come for you.” 

  Doc’s gruff words sink in as they secure the charm with a braided vine, and Bdubs doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop crying from happiness. But Doc’s chest is warm and firm when he headbutts him, hiding his face for just a minute to recover some semblance of words. 

  “Thank you,” he finally manages, relieved when Doc chuckles, and an arm made of metal scoops around his back to return the unconventional hug. He turns his head sideways, resting against Doc’s strength to look out over his family. “Everyone, thank you. You’re the best Cluster a guy could ever hope to find.” 

  There’s pride and joy in his words, matched by the faces around him. And, yeah, maybe a few more tears, but that’s okay, too. Bright stars, but how did he get so lucky? 

  “Just by being yourself, Bdubs,” Xisuma tells him, smiling behind his helmet. “That’s how we always find our Home Star, no matter what we call it.”