Archive of Our Own ^beta

Papers rustled under the dim yellow lighting of the office. The only sounds were the scratch of pens, the occasional sigh, and the distant hum of redstone machines still running somewhere in the building.

Bdubs' fingers tightened around his pen, the motion stiff, almost mechanical. The cold plastic pressed into his skin, an oddly soothing contrast to the heat building inside him. He could feel it again—the tension coiling in his chest, like an animal caged and thrashing beneath his ribs. His instincts boiled under his skin, too wild to be contained, too insistent to ignore.

Nesting season. A time to hide from the winter with other hybrids, joining in community. 

His mind drifted, unwillingly, to the others—the hybrids who’d already disappeared into their dens and nests, to the quiet comfort of their families, their homes. They belonged. They had somewhere to go. Someone to be with.

Bdubs’ gaze flicked toward Etho.

The white fox kitsune was completely absorbed, lost in the complex patterns of redstone schematics that sprawled across his desk. Etho’s brow furrowed in concentration, his fingers dancing across the page with that familiar precision. Bdubs watched, his breath caught in his throat, as Etho crafted something out of nothing—effortless, brilliant.

His instincts stirred, a low hum that thrummed through his veins, more insistent this time. It wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper, something gnawing at him from the inside. He longed to be near Etho, to feel the warmth, the presence of others. To participate in hybrid tradition. But he knew he couldn't. He wasn't like the others. His chest tightened as the hunger spread like wildfire, curling its fingers around his heart.

He barely stopped himself from twitching his bound wings.

One allay. One bee.

They were tucked tightly against his back, hidden beneath the suffocating moss shroud. The weight of the bindings pulled at him, as though they were pulling him apart. His entire body screamed in rebellion, wanting to stretch, to move, to be free of the constraints that bound him to this form. But he didn’t dare loosen them.

Not here. Not now.

It wasn’t just his instincts that longed for freedom.

It was every stolen piece of him. Every mismatched part of him that had never fit anywhere, never belonged anywhere. 

—--

Bdubs' fingers curled around the forged passport, the cool plastic pressing into his palm, its smoothness a strange contrast to the roughness of his own hand. His disfigured skin—a patchwork of scales, fur, and hardened carapace—rubbed uncomfortably against the edges of the document. He hated it. Hated how foreign it felt. How every touch reminded him that he didn’t belong. Not here. Not anywhere.

He was next in line.

His breath caught in his throat. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on him. His left shoulder ached with the desire for sunlight, for freedom. For open space, the warmth of the sun against his skin. But his right shoulder recoiled in fear, an instinctual response that warned him to retreat, to stay hidden. One part of him yearned for the world beyond the border, the other warned him that to step out was to expose himself, to become a target.

His gut twisted. The line moved.

The slime hybrid behind the glass barely glanced up, the sound of fingers clacking lazily against the keyboard echoing in the tense silence.

“Passport,” the officer muttered, not even looking at him.

Bdubs slid the passport forward, his fingers curled to hide the unnaturalness of his hand. He kept his eyes averted, desperate to stay unnoticed. But the officer’s gaze flickered, a subtle shift of awareness.

A movement. A signal.

The guards stepped forward.

No. Not now.

“Excuse me, young man,” one of them said, his voice smooth, too practiced. “You’ve been selected for random questioning. Would you come with us?”

Bdubs swallowed hard. His throat was tight, constricted, like it was closing up around his panic. They knew. They could tell he was hiding something.

His hands trembled as he took back the passport, but the damage had already been done. The moment he reached for it, they’d caught a glimpse. Just a glimpse. And that was all it took.

—--

Bdubs shivered, a cold shudder crawling down his spine as the memory resurfaced. That moment. The sharp sting of recognition. The bitter taste of fear that had lodged itself in his throat.

He’d gotten in—barely. But at what cost?

He’d learned his lesson well.

Hide everything.

Hide the way his ears ached from being pinned beneath the hood. Hide the unnatural patchwork of his skin, the mismatched pieces that made him a walking anomaly. Hide the way his feet throbbed in their too-tight boots, desperately crammed into shoes made for something human, something whole. Something normal.

Hide the fact that he wanted—no, needed—to be close to Etho. To feel the warmth of his presence, to have someone who could look at him and see more than just the broken, incomplete pieces of his body.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest. It was too much. It was always too much. He felt trapped, suffocating beneath the weight of everything he had to hide.

He needed out.

He needed—

“Bdubs?”

The voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and sudden.

Bdubs turned sharply, blinking rapidly to clear the haze in his mind. His heart stuttered when his gaze met Etho’s.

The fox hybrid’s dual-colored eyes studied him—too perceptive, too knowing, like he could see straight through to the parts of Bdubs that were hidden. Bdubs’ breath hitched in his throat as Etho’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—a spark of recognition, maybe even concern.

“I asked if you wanted to go to the common room to take a break,” Etho repeated, his voice gentle, a slight tilt of his head. “But you seemed kinda… lost in thought.”

Bdubs forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to smile, even though it felt too tight, too forced. He swallowed the lump in his throat, the words catching on the way his pulse raced.

Common room. A distraction. A way out.

“Sure,” he managed to say, his voice thick, laced with the tension he was trying desperately to keep under control. He forced a grin, careful not to reveal too much, careful not to let Etho see the monster lurking just beneath the surface.

He needed space. He needed to get away from Etho, before the pull between them became something he couldn’t hide anymore.

—--

Etho was worried about his human.

Bdubs had always been a little odd, a little jittery, but lately, something had shifted. There was a tightness in his movements, a tremor in his frame that Etho couldn’t ignore. The subtle signs were hard to place, but Etho had spent enough time around hybrids to recognize them. This wasn’t just the stress of overtime or the pressure of working through nesting season.

It was something deeper.

Sometimes, Bdubs would stare off into the distance, his body frozen in place, his hands shaking slightly as if caught in a moment between action and retreat. His whole body trembled beneath his mossy shroud, like he was fighting off a ghost no one else could see. Etho had seen that look before—hybrids sometimes had episodes like that, where their instincts clashed with the present reality, but Bdubs wasn’t a hybrid. He was human. Humans didn’t have instincts.

Or at least, they weren’t supposed to.

Sometimes, Bdubs would pass something to Etho—a tool, a sheet of paper, a snack—and then yank his hand back violently, as though he had touched something hot or dangerous. His eyes would widen, his breath catching in his throat. It happened too often now for Etho to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Something was wrong. Something was eating away at Bdubs from the inside, and Etho couldn’t help but feel helpless in the face of it.

And sometimes, like tonight, Bdubs would glance at Etho with an expression so raw, so full of longing, that it made Etho’s breath hitch. There was a desperation there—an ache, something that made Etho feel like he was standing on the edge of something he didn’t understand. But then, just as quickly, Bdubs would snap away, his eyes darting like he’d been burned. It hurt Etho in a way he couldn’t explain. His chest tightened with the sense that Bdubs was fighting something—fighting him.

Etho figured it was probably the stress of having to do so much overtime while everyone was out for nesting season. Nesting season was always hard on hybrids, instincts driving them to hide in their nests until spring came. Most had already left for the apartments across the street, retreating into their dens, curling up with family or in clusters, seeking safety in their instincts. It wasn’t about romance—it was about belonging, about the comfort of knowing you were needed, wanted, understood.

But Bdubs wasn’t a hybrid. He didn’t have those instincts.

Humans didn’t need dens. Humans didn’t need the closeness and the safety that came with it. Or at least, Etho assumed they didn’t. But there was something in the way Bdubs held himself—something that told Etho otherwise. Maybe it was his humanity that made him more vulnerable. Maybe the fact that Bdubs couldn’t just disappear into a crowd, couldn’t find his own pack the way a hybrid could, was what made him so… fragile.

Etho glanced at his friend again, his heart sinking a little. Bdubs’ whole frame was tight, rigid, as though he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. Even when they stood together in the elevator, Bdubs looked like he was about to explode if Etho so much as brushed against him. It wasn’t the usual nervousness—this was something else. Something deeper. Something that left Etho’s instincts on edge.

Yeah. A break was the right call.

~~~~

Etho had arrived twenty minutes early to his first lecture, settling into the front row of the lecture hall. He wanted to make a good impression—prove he was more than just a kitsune, than just a hybrid—but more than that, he wanted to observe. To learn. To understand. The massive blackboards in front of him were covered in complex formulas and theorems that made his head spin. Engineering, Redstone Physics, Complex Code Manipulation. He knew this was going to be a challenge, even for him.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a green blur moving toward him.

His ears flicked and his head turned instinctively. He half-expected to see a glare hybrid coming his way—a fellow student with that familiar, closed-off expression. Instead, he found himself staring at a fully visible human face framed by a heavy mossy hood.

It was odd. 

His presence was both out of place and strangely comforting. He stood there awkwardly in front of Etho’s seat, shifting his weight as though uncertain. A red headband was tied tightly over his hood, holding the fabric in place, as if afraid the wind might rip it away.

It was the way his eyes were glued to Etho's own headband. Specifically, to the kitsune ninja tribe’s symbol stitched onto the fabric.

Etho’s stomach twisted. The sight of someone, especially a human, noticing the symbol made something stir deep inside him—something he couldn’t quite control. He was used to people staring, used to the ignorant curiosity or veiled insults. He’d been looked at like this his whole life—first as a kitsune, and now, even as a hybrid. The kitsune were a mysterious people—dangerous, known for their stealth and cunning. They had betrayed this country long before Etho had even been born, stripped of their titles, their lands, and their rights. Etho’s own heritage was tangled with that betrayal.

But he wasn’t looking at him like that. He wasn’t staring with the usual contempt. No. He was staring at something else. Something almost… reverent.

“I- uh. I like your—I like your headband. It’s from the White Lotus Clan, right?”

Etho blinked, his heart stumbling in his chest. His ears twitched in surprise.

He hadn’t expected that. Most humans couldn’t differentiate his species, let alone his clan. They wouldn’t even care enough to know what a White Lotus Clan symbol even was.

The guy shifted on his feet, clearly nervous. His gaze dropped briefly, then flicked back up, meeting Etho’s eyes with an odd intensity.

“Can I sit beside you?”

Etho exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. The guy was adorable and small, like a kit. His instincts stirred. It was like a purr that started low in his chest.

Mine.

Etho forced the thought down, pushing it aside as quickly as it came. He’d just met this guy. He wasn’t… no. This wasn’t the time.

“Sure,” Etho replied, nodding. “I’m Etho, by the way.”

The chair screeched against the floor as he settled into the seat. Etho winced slightly, the sound too sharp for his sensitive ears. The human winced too, his discomfort almost palpable. He was trying so hard, and Etho couldn’t help but admire the effort. The boy wasn’t just nervous—he was struggling, fighting something inside himself.

“I’m Bdubs. Nice to meet you.”

—--

The elevator dinged, signaling the arrival of their floor. Before the doors had even fully opened, Bdubs shot out like an arrow.

Etho’s gut twisted at the sight of it. His instincts screamed at him, something deep inside him pulling tight with concern. It hurt to see Bdubs avoid him like that. It was the kind of instinct that never left, the kind that told Etho something was wrong.

Bdubs marched straight for the fridge, ripping it open a little too forcefully, his movements sharp, frantic as he grabbed ice packs. It was like he was trying to outrun something, but Etho couldn’t figure out what.

Etho forced himself to stay calm. He moved to the couch, grabbed a redstone book from the coffee table, and tried to focus on it. But he couldn’t. Not with the weight of Bdubs’ presence in the room.

The common room was quiet, almost too quiet. It was the kind of space that was supposed to offer comfort, but right now, it felt too big, too empty. 

Etho turned a page, pretending to read, but his mind was elsewhere.

Then, he felt it.

Eyes on him.

His tails twitched, ears flicking toward the source. His presence shifted, his gaze burned into Etho’s skin—it was impossible to ignore.

Etho turns to look. 

Bdubs was staring. The expression on his face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. Something desperate. Something raw.

Etho’s instincts purred in satisfaction. Bdubs didn’t hate him. 

But then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone. Bdubs snapped his head away like he’d been burned.

Without a word, Bdubs bolted.

“I’m going to shower!” he shouted over his shoulder, practically sprinting toward the hallway.

Etho stared after him, his heart sinking with a sense of unease that had settled deep in his chest.

Something was wrong, and Bdubs was hiding it.

—--

Bdubs took a deep breath as he turned on the shower faucet. The water hissed before it settled into a steady stream, the sound muffled by the steady beat of his own heartbeat. He checked the water temperature with a quick swipe of his hand before stepping fully into the shower, the heat soothing his stiff, aching muscles. 

He stepped under the spray, feeling the cool water hit his skin and immediately began to warm as it met his body. Steam began to rise, filling the air, and with it, a temporary sense of quiet. It wasn’t perfect. It never was.

The warmth was soothing, but only in certain places.

His webbed strider foot twitched slightly, the grey color slowly turning a soft pinkish-orange as warmth flowed through it. That was fine, tolerable even. But his other parts—his snowy thigh and icy wrist—called out to him, burning with a chill that felt like ice shards piercing his bones. Even the smallest amount of heat was unbearable, like it was setting them on fire, burning them from the inside out.

Bdubs didn’t hesitate. He reached out for the ice packs he’d snatched in the communal fridge. They’d been frozen solid when he first grabbed them, but now they were a welcome relief. He wrapped them tightly around his icy thigh and wrist, the cold seeping into the painful spots, numbing them enough to ease the sting of heat.

The sensation of ice was comforting—relieving. It was the only thing that made the unbearable heat of his body tolerable. His entire body could feel the burning heat of the shower, but it didn’t matter. As long as the ice packs stayed in place, the discomfort was manageable.

His three tails swayed under the water. The long imp tail flicked with joy at the warmth, the short wolf tail wagged happily, and his white fox tail moved gently, the swish of it calming. The tails were as mismatched as the rest of him, but for a moment, Bdubs allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of water on his fur, even though his body screamed in protest.

Distantly, he wondered if he could ever feel whole again. If he would ever truly belong anywhere. The multiple tails, the mismatched parts of him—he couldn’t help but think of his Etho. Of how he might be more like him if he didn’t feel so fractured.

Bdubs shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He had more pressing issues to deal with. His gills expanded as he breathed in the warm, moist air of the shower. It was a small relief, a momentary escape from the dull ache in his lung that never fully left him.

He cupped water in his hands, careful not to soak the creeper fur that lay just beneath his chest. The fur was hydrophobic, and Bdubs had learned the hard way that soaking it could set off a cascade of uncontrollable instincts. Creeper fur was to be cleaned with dirt, not water, and he had spent hours perfecting the ritual of caring for it over the years, though it always felt like another burden he never asked for.

The demands of his body were endless. Oil his fish scales, brush his fur, make sure everything was in perfect order. His instincts clung to these rituals, never quiet, always reminding him of the things he couldn’t control, the parts of him that had been forced upon him.

They were never quiet.

Never still.

Bdubs closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for peace. But the relief never came.

~~~~

“B00100.”

The voice echoed in his mind, cold and harsh, a memory of something far worse.

Bdubs stood at attention, shivering slightly, in the cold, sterile room. The ragged clothes he wore did nothing to protect him from the harshness of the cell. His body was battered and broken, and the cold was nothing compared to the horror of what they had done to him.

“It’s time for the final piece.”

Bdubs shook. He didn’t want to go. He knew what would come next—the pain. The agony. The sensation of becoming something even more monstrous. They had done this to him for years. Each time, it was worse. More pieces, more parts, until he didn’t know where he ended and the experiments began.

As they guided him to the table, he thought of the past—the blaze rods and breeze rods replacing bones, the rotting flesh, the limbs added and reshaped. His body was a patchwork of things that didn’t belong. 

They always brought out a cart with the head of whatever mob they planned to implant. Today, they brought the rarest of them all.

An Ender Dragon.

Bdubs froze, pale. The lab coat-wearing illager smiled, cruel and indifferent.

“We’re going to give you the venom of the dragon. Make you able to spit dragon’s breath, to bite with poison. And—”

He pulled out a dark, obsidian egg. Bdubs’ heart sank.

“This dragon egg will be your new heart. You’ll be unkillable.”

Bdubs froze. The dragon was a myth to him, something so ancient and powerful that it could destroy anything it touched. And they were going to give him its venom. They were going to implant its breath into his lungs.

Bdubs had no words. This was the final piece, and he could already feel the fear beginning to bubble up.

The pain came soon after.

—--

Bdubs turned off the shower, the water no longer warm enough to soothe him. He patted his body dry, the towel soft but too gentle against his raw skin. The mirror was fogged with steam, and he wiped it away, wanting to see what remained of himself. What was real.

Breeze rods, blaze rods, and wither skeleton bones fused together into a grotesque mosaic that was his ribs, all visible through his translucent slime hybrid skin, like a warped window into the twisted form he had become.

If he wanted, he could touch them. He could run his fingers over the rods, the twisted shapes, feel the jagged edges and smoothness of the different textures. He could see what they did to him, the lung they stole from him to better display the heart. 

The heart was caged in the center of it all, hidden away where even his fingertips could never reach.

He could never touch the one part that truly made him a monster. The egg inside, pumping venom through his body. That was the piece that made him untouchable, inescapable, unkillable. That was the true source of everything that was wrong with him.

Bdubs slipped on his shorts, grabbing his shroud. But before he put it on, his purple and yellow eyes caught sight of his growing whiskers, the cat-like fur beginning to sprout once again. He hated the sight. The sensation felt wrong, but he needed to keep his hybrid status secret. As his spider-like pointer finger and crustacean thumb met, he pulled. 

A demand shot through his body as the pain did. It was instinct. A need. His body wanted to find its place. It wanted to find its protector. To nest.

To be safe.

Bdubs’ body moved before his mind could catch up, walking out of the bathroom, his steps heavy with purpose. His instincts pushed him forward, but something about the pull felt different. More urgent.

As he stepped into the hallway, his eyes landed on white fur. The instincts inside him froze, unsure of what to call this figure standing in front of him. Protector? Herd leader? Elder dragon? Provider? The names crowded his mind, and his body paused, still, unmoving. 

His white ears turned toward Bdubs, and the recognition in Etho’s eyes was immediate. His gaze shifted, widening as the reality of Bdubs’ form set in.

And there, in that moment, Bdubs’ instincts purred, settling into something comforting, something he hadn’t realized he needed until now.

—--

Etho was shocked, to say the least.

When he had turned around to see why Bdubs was staring at him once more, he wasn’t expecting any of it.

The first thing that hit him was the unnatural glow in Bdubs’ eyes. Normally dark brown, they now glowed with vibrant purple and yellow, the pupils blown wide with intensity. The mix of colors was stark against his normally calm demeanor, and Etho knew right away that something inside Bdubs had shifted—something more than just a physical change.

Bdubs had been wearing contacts to cover his true hybrid eyes. But in this moment, they were no longer concealed, and they were every bit as wild and unpredictable as the rest of him.

The next thing Etho noticed was how Bdubs’ mossy self wasn’t mossy at all. Instead, Bdubs was soaking wet, standing there in nothing but his shorts. The moss shroud, usually worn tightly to conceal the strange layers of his body, hung loosely in Bdubs’ hand, dragging across the floor. There was a rawness to his appearance, something vulnerable.

But Bdubs was more than just a collage of mismatched parts. He was a living, breathing work of art, made from hundreds of different hybrids. Etho could see the vibrant mix of plant life—flowers, vines, mushrooms—intertwined with elements of skulk. His right arm was an ever-shifting garden, as if the earth itself was a part of him. And he had the strange, alien textures of tufts of fur, scales, spiked patches, and even shell-like plating spattered across the rest of him.

One of Bdubs' legs was distinctly pigman—curved and angular in a way that would cause him pain when wearing human shoes. Etho himself had fox feet, which required specially designed shoes to fit his hybrid form, so he understood the pain.

Bdubs had three tails—one a pure white fox tail that twitched behind him, another short and playful, a wolf’s, and the last, a long imp tail that flicked with a mind of its own. Etho’s instincts yipped gleefully at the sight of the tails. 

His wings were delicate: one a soft, transparent bee wing, and the other a larger allay wing, more solid and defined. There was something wrong with Bdubs’ horns—small goat horns that looked like they’d been repeatedly shaved down. Etho’s eyes narrowed in concern. That wasn’t healthy. Hybrids shouldn’t be forced into conformity like that. Bdubs had one piglin ear and one cow ear, both twitching in response to his heightened instincts. A small streak of blood ran down Bdubs' face, an injury maybe.

The most obvious proof of his forced survival was the heart Etho could see through Bdubs’ translucent slime hybrid skin and fractured ribs. A shimmering obsidian egg, pulsing faintly with dark, unnatural life.

Etho’s breath caught in his chest at the sight. Bdubs wasn’t just a collection of hybrid features—he was living proof of what the world had done to hybrids like him. Etho had never seen anything like it. The beauty and terror of Bdubs’ form was overwhelming. But what struck Etho the hardest was that Bdubs had revealed himself—had let all his monstrosity show in front of him.

Bdubs' pupils flickered back to their normal size before they widened in shock. He began to shrink, his body quickly becoming smaller and smaller. His size shrank until he was no larger than a mouse, his body harnessing the hybrid abilities of an endermite—the ability to shrink and move with terrifying speed. Etho watched, stunned, as Bdubs’ form shifted and wriggled, instinctively using everything he had to cope with the overwhelming pressure of his hybrid identity.

Etho didn’t know what to do. His mind raced with thoughts—protect him, give him space, let him know he’s not alone—but everything inside him screamed to help. He knew Bdubs needed a safe space—needed a place to ground himself, to calm the chaos within him.

Slowly, Etho began to pull out the couch cushions, his movements precise and careful. Nesting wasn’t allowed in public areas—it was a rule enforced by the government—but Bdubs needed to be safe. He needed a space where his instincts could settle, where his fractured self could rest, even if only for a moment. Etho didn’t hesitate. He gathered the blankets, arranging them over the cushions to make a makeshift nest. He pulled the communal hybrid amenities chest out from under the coffee table, reaching for the familiar supplies inside.

Etho’s instincts screamed at him to protect Bdubs—to hold him, to shield him from everything that could harm him. But there was a deeper hesitation. 

He didn’t know if Bdubs was ready to accept the protection he could offer. Etho was well aware of how painful it could be for someone to let themselves be vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, Etho stood slowly, forcing himself to move with care. He reached down, gently scooping Bdubs up, his tiny form trembling in Etho’s hands. The moss shroud lay loosely underneath Bdubs’, the threads slipping through Etho’s fingers as he gathered him up.

Bdubs was small, fragile in Etho’s hands. He fit so easily in the palm of Etho’s hand that it took everything inside him not to break. The moment Bdubs was secured, Etho felt a wave of protectiveness flood through him. But this wasn’t just about shielding Bdubs from physical danger. This was about offering a space to heal.

Sitting down in the nest, Etho cradled Bdubs gently, holding him close. The small endermite-sized figure in his hands barely shook anymore. Slowly, Etho reached up with his other hand and pulled off his mask.

It was forbidden for kitsune to show their full faces, especially to anyone outside their tribe. Taking off his headband was an even greater transgression. It was a mark of betrayal—a sign of disrespect to the government, and a punishment could follow if anyone saw. 

Etho had worked hard to earn his freedom, to escape the clutches of his past and avoid being sent back to the compound. Taking off his mask meant abandoning the very freedom he had fought for. It meant giving up his connection to his clan. It meant losing everything.

But Bdubs had shown himself—his full, broken, beautiful self—without hiding. Bdubs had already given up so much, unknowingly offering Etho a chance to do the same.

As Etho sat in the nest, Bdubs securely in his hand, he let go of the mask. And for the first time, he allowed himself to feel the relief of no longer hiding. The warmth of acceptance—of seeing Bdubs’ true form and offering his own in return—settled over Etho like a protective shield.

Bdubs’ shaking stopped, and Etho carefully set him down in the nest, where the small figure gradually returned to his normal size. Bdubs shuffled to the edge of the den, the boundaries of his safe space clearly defined, but he didn’t leave. His instincts craved this connection, this community. It was the same need Etho had always felt, buried deep inside him.

Etho smiled softly as he picked up his book and began to read, his eyes occasionally glancing over at the hybrid curled in the nest beside him. He would give Bdubs time. He would give him the space he needed to heal. In the meantime, Etho was here, not just as a protector, but as a friend.

Bdubs wasn’t alone.

—--

Bdubs stared at the bare face of his fox friend.

He had watched as Etho had taken off his headband and mask—symbols of his ability to live in society, symbols of his promises to never disobey an order. And yet, here they were, sitting in a nest in the common room.

A public area.

It was illegal to nest here. But Bdubs couldn't bring himself to care. He was entirely illegal as well.

~~~~

The darkness of the room was suffocating, its silence pressing down on Bdubs' chest. His heart was beating so fast he could feel the pulse in his throat. Everything he’d been through—everything he feared—was crashing back down on him.

He was trapped. Again.

His breath came in shallow bursts, the cold, metallic taste of the cuffs biting at his skin as he shifted, attempting to free himself. The chains clinked as his wrists moved. His body ached, the bruises still tender from his escape attempt. The weight of the shackle felt heavier now, the burden of his hybrid status a constant reminder that his life was nothing more than a series of constraints.

He shouldn't exist. 

The door opened again. Bdubs’ heart stopped. He couldn’t help the reflexive surge of terror, the instinct to shrink away. They had come for him. They would break him again.

The man in the black suit entered, his figure stark against the dim light of the room. White fox ears, sharp and alert. His eyes crinkled, hinting at a smile hidden beneath a black mask, and his headband was etched with a strange, unsettling symbol. He was tall, imposing, and Bdubs immediately knew—the man was government. Powerful. Dangerous.

A chill ran down Bdubs’ spine. He had been through enough of their questions to know what they would do next.

“Did you know that changing your code was illegal?” the man asked, his voice cold, calculating. It was the kind of voice that didn’t need to ask for answers—it demanded them.

Bdubs shuddered, pulling his arms back, feeling the metal bite deeper into his flesh. Panic surged through him, but he fought to keep his voice steady.

“I didn’t change my code!” he cried out, voice cracking, desperation clawing at the edges of his words. “What, do you think I’m crazy? It hurts! It hurts so bad when a part of you changes permanently like it was always meant to be that way!” His chest was tight, his throat burning with suppressed emotion. The pain. He could feel it in every inch of his body—the war between his instincts, between what he had been forced to become and what he used to be. “Do you even understand the pain? The instincts that come with it?! Why would I do that to myself?”

The man’s expression didn’t shift. He seemed unmoved, studying Bdubs with a cold, calculating gaze. Then, without a word, the man sighed, rubbing his nose in frustration.

“Do you know who did it? How did you escape?” The man’s voice had turned softer, but it still held that calm, detached quality, as if he wasn’t really asking, but already knew.

Bdubs’ stomach twisted. He could feel the weight of the question settling on him, pressing into him like a vice. Escape? How had he escaped? How had he survived the torment that had been forced upon him by the Illagers?

All he could say, the only thing that had kept him from being caught before, was the truth—a half-truth.

“It was Illagers and humans,” Bdubs muttered, looking down, unable to meet the man's eyes. “That’s all I know. I used the powers they gave me to escape. Got a passport from someone and went to the border. I heard Minecraft was kinder to hybrids... Better than most places, at least. They didn’t kill them on sight or sell them. I thought, maybe I could actually live if I went there.”

The man stared at him for a long moment, weighing his words.

The man sighed once more, but this time, it wasn’t frustration. It was a signal of something more complex, something that Bdubs couldn’t read. The man turned and left the room, his boots clicking on the cold floor as he exited. Bdubs stayed silent, fear settling into his bones. 

Time stretched.

When the man returned, it was with something completely unexpected. It wasn’t guards, it wasn’t more questions. 

He carried a shroud made of soft moss and a key that gleamed in the dim light.

Bdubs’ eyes widened. He didn’t move, couldn’t move, not sure if this was a trick or something else entirely. What did the man want from him?

Wordlessly, the man approached, unlocking Bdubs' cuffs with a swift motion. His hands were steady as he placed the key into the cuffs, and the cold metal fell away. Bdubs could breathe again. The absence of the cuffs was like a shock to his system. The weight was gone—but the fear, the uncertainty, still pressed down on his shoulders.

The man draped the moss shroud over his shoulders. Soft. Warm. Something that felt so out of place in a world that had shown Bdubs nothing but cruelty. It was a kindness. A real kindness, one that Bdubs hadn’t known he was capable of receiving anymore.

“Listen, kid,” the man said quietly, his voice softer now, filled with something unfamiliar, something that gave Bdubs pause. “If they catch you, they’ll send you to a compound. They don’t tolerate hybrids who are more than three parts mob, or hybrids who betray them. So you need to wear this—never take it off. Convince everyone you're human.”

The words hit Bdubs like a sledgehammer. He was used to being chased, to being hunted. He didn’t want to end up in a compound, he didn’t want to go back to that. But this… this man, this stranger, had given him a chance.

Bdubs blinked, feeling confused, still reeling from everything. “Why help me?” he managed to croak, his voice hoarse from the weight of his questions, his fear, his guilt.

The man hesitated. His ears twitched slightly, but there was a depth in his eyes, something that Bdubs couldn’t place. Then, in one swift motion, the man reached up and pulled off his mask.

Bdubs’ breath caught.

A fox grin stretched across the man’s face, revealing sharp canines, his face dusted with white tufts of fur.

“I’m kitsune,” the man said quietly, his voice now firm and solid with a strength that Bdubs hadn’t expected. “From the White Lotus Clan.” The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Bdubs' stomach twisted at the revelation, his pulse racing as he processed it. He had heard the rumours of them. The kitsune—they had been imprisoned, hunted, tortured, for the mistakes of their ancestors. Forced to work for the very same government they rebelled against. The weight of it all pressed down on Bdubs. This man was one of them. He had risked everything to help him.

The man continued, slipping his mask back on, his expression growing more serious. "I’ve seen the life they give to people like us. People who are different. I don’t want that for you."

Bdubs had stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, filling him with hope he thought he’d lost forever. There was someone else out there who cared. Someone who understood what it was like to be hunted, to live in fear, to feel like a monster.

Bdubs had smiled—just barely, his lips trembling—but the first real smile in years.

And then—after the kindness, the warning—Bdubs had left. 

The man’s face would be burned into his memory forever.

And as he fled, in his mossy shroud, a deep pain crept into his chest. He should have asked the man to come with him. The words of the man echoed in his mind, over and over, as he ran toward his uncertain future.

“Never take the shroud off.”

And so, Bdubs never did.

—--

It wasn’t until college that Bdubs learned the truth.

Etho had shown him a picture once, completely casual, just another moment in their years of friendship.

"This was my dad. Before he died," Etho had said, handing over the photo with a small, quiet smile.

Bdubs had looked at it and felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

It was him.

The man who had saved him. The man who had given him his moss shroud, who had let him escape.

The man who had died once he was found guilty.

Bdubs had stared at the picture, heart pounding, nausea creeping up his throat as realization sank in.

Etho’s father had died because of him.

And he had never told Etho.

Now, as Bdubs sat in the nest beside him, watching Etho repeat history, that weight settled heavy in his chest. Etho had committed the same crime. He had taken off his mask and headband. He had seen Bdubs for what he truly was and had not turned him in. He had made a nest in a public space, breaking the law for Bdubs—just like his father had.

And now Etho sat there, completely at ease, reading a book as if nothing had happened at all.

Bdubs shifted slightly, feeling like a ghost watching his past repeat itself. His instincts screamed at him to move closer, to close the distance between himself and Etho, to seek warmth and safety in the nest.

It took him a while. Inch by inch, he let himself drift closer.

Finally, he was close enough to lean on Etho, his shoulder pressing gently against the fox hybrid’s side.

Etho didn't react, didn’t even glance up from his book. He simply let Bdubs settle.

The warmth that followed made Bdubs' instincts purr in satisfaction.

Finally, after so long, he was participating in hybrid tradition. Finally, he could tell Etho the truth. 

—--

Etho had watched Bdubs scoot closer, pretending not to notice. He could feel his presence, the slight shifts in movement, the way Bdubs hesitated with each inch gained. Etho’s instincts could sense something was off.

There were so many questions Etho wanted to ask.

Can Bdubs use all the hybrid abilities of the animals he represents? Does he have multiple instincts fighting for control?

But instead, he simply observed, waiting.

Bdubs’ moobloom flowers wilted slightly, petals curling inward. His tails tucked underneath him. His cow ear twitched sadly. Etho's body—his instincts—recognized something was wrong before his mind did.

“Etho?” Bdubs whispered, barely audible.

Etho didn’t answer, sensing that it wasn’t time to speak, not yet.

Bdubs hesitated—then, slowly, carefully, he leaned into Etho’s warmth. It was a small motion, tentative and uncertain, but Etho felt the shift as Bdubs finally settled closer.

Etho glanced down at the hybrid, his body stiff but slowly relaxing, instincts settling bit by bit. Bdubs’ face, however, was still scrunched in despair. He could feel the weight in the air. Something heavy hung between them.

“What’s wrong?” Etho asked softly, his voice a low murmur.

Bdubs slowly looked up at him, his eyes shining with guilt—a mix of purple and yellow flickering in the dim light. His lips trembled as if he was fighting back something, and his words came out in a strangled whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Because of me, you took off your mask. Because of me, you’re repeating the mistakes your dad made. I— I don’t want you to die too.”

The words hit Etho hard, like a jolt of electricity. He froze, the confusion evident on his face. How does he know how his dad died? Etho thought, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar unease. Etho had never told Bdubs how his father died—just that he was gone, but nothing more.

Bdubs’ body trembled against his, as if the confession had broken something within him. Etho’s instincts screamed to reassure him, to soothe him, but the words stuck in his throat. What did Bdubs mean?

Before Etho could process, Bdubs continued, his voice cracking. “I— I have something to confess.”

Etho stroked Bdubs' cow ear gently, trying to calm him. “You aren’t required to tell me anything. Your past is yours to keep. It’s okay.”

Bdubs’ eyes flickered with a different kind of determination, the sharp edge of something he couldn’t contain anymore. “I need to tell you.” His voice was quiet, raw. It felt like he was clinging to something with the last few threads of his strength. “I can’t keep this in anymore.”

Etho’s heart began to race, his instincts shifting from confusion to concern, but still, he waited.

Bdubs swallowed, then took a shaky breath. “Your father is a hero.” His words hit like a tidal wave, and Etho’s heart thudded in his chest.

Etho’s eyes widened, confusion deepening, but before he could process it, Bdubs continued, his voice cracking further. “He saved my life. Snuck me through the border. And he—he died because of it. I—” Bdubs’ voice broke, raw with grief. “I’m the reason your father died.” His whole body trembled. “If you hate me, that’s—”

Etho’s heart twisted in that instant, his body tensing. The air between them grew thick with an intensity that almost suffocated him. He could see the way Bdubs shrank in on himself, as if expecting rejection. The guilt was suffocating him.

But Etho didn’t let him finish.

Without a word, Etho pulled Bdubs into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He held him close, tucking him into the warmth of his body like a kit in need of protection. Bdubs’ breath hitched in his arms, his body shaking harder as the weight of the confession sank into his bones.

“I could never hate you,” Etho whispered softly, his voice steady but filled with an overwhelming tenderness that seemed to contradict the chaos in his own chest. “You didn’t choose any of this. You didn’t choose any of the pain.”

Bdubs clung to Etho, tears spilling from his eyes. He felt like he couldn’t breathe under the weight of everything he had hidden, everything he had kept locked inside. But Etho held him, and for the first time, Bdubs felt like he didn’t have to carry it alone.

~~~~

Etho had spent his whole life training for this moment.

The final battle.

The only way to truly escape.

Most kitsune never left the compound. They were born inside its high, unbreakable walls, raised under government surveillance, and trained to be useful. Their ancestors had rebelled against the government generations ago, and they had lost. Now, their descendants paid the price, bound by laws that reduced them to tools.

For those who never earned freedom, the compound was all they would ever know—training, discipline, servitude. Not prisoners. Not citizens. Just something in between. They were kept. Watched. Allowed to exist, but never truly live.

Then there were those who won partial freedom.

Half-free.

A lie dressed as a reward. It meant leaving the compound—but only to serve. They worked as government agents, spies, and enforcers. They executed orders without question, following the will of the same system that had destroyed their ancestors. They wore their headbands and masks, marked for life, a reminder that they were property, not people.

But one kitsune per generation was granted a different fate.

One.

Fully free.

That was what Etho wanted. That was why he trained until his muscles burned, why he studied until his mind went numb. Full freedom meant choosing his own path. It meant college, redstone engineering, a real job—one that wasn’t handed down by his captors. It meant he could study, learn, build.

But even then it didn’t mean being truly free.

Those who earned full freedom still had to wear their masks and headbands the moment they stepped outside the compound. They would never be seen as ordinary citizens. They would always be marked.

Still—it was better than nothing.

And only one of them could have it.

That was why Etho fought. Why he clawed his way to the top four. Why he didn’t just want to win. He needed to.

Because the alternative was being half-free—a government dog. Or worse. Staying in the compound forever.

The final battle was about to begin.

The top four stood in the ring, their tails swishing in quiet anticipation. The compound’s training grounds loomed around them, a vast courtyard surrounded by towering stone walls. Above, a gray sky stretched endlessly, the outside world beyond the compound nothing more than a myth. A blur of movement, each competitor marking their place with their clan’s symbol—a silent reminder of who they were and where they came from. The tension in the air was thick, the crowd watching silently from the stands, eyes burning with expectation.

One would win their life tonight.

The first opponent was easy—a scrawny, pink-haired two-tailed fox from the Cherry Clan. Etho’s nine tails flared out behind him like a deadly wave, each one an extension of his will. The fight didn’t last long. With a single, well-placed tackle, the boy was sent tumbling out of the ring, crashing against the concrete. The audience cheered as the victor was announced, but Etho barely heard them.

Etho sat on the edge of the ring, catching his breath as the others fought. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, a force of habit more than necessity. His mind, though, was elsewhere. He needed to focus—on his goal, his father’s promise.

His father had said he would be there.

He wasn’t.

Still, Etho believed. His father always said he would be the one to see him win his freedom. He would see Etho standing tall—free from the compound, from the government’s hold.

Then came the final match.

White Lotus vs. Azalea.

Nine tails vs. eight.

The boy across from him—his last obstacle—stood tall, orange hair messy, his metal headband gleaming with the insignia of his clan. His eight tails flicked behind him, muscles coiled, eyes burning with determination.

The bell rang.

Etho pounced.

They crashed together, a blur of claws and fur, each strike vicious, desperate. Etho ducked, his opponent’s claws slicing through air. A counterstrike. A sharp kick. The Azalea boy stumbled back—but recovered instantly, launching forward again.

Then—teeth.

A sharp bite to the neck, fangs sinking deep. Etho’s body seized, instincts screaming at him to submit, to yield, to lower his tails and surrender to the stronger fighter.

No.

He was so close. He wouldn’t lose. His freedom was right there. He snarled, twisting, digging his claws into his opponent’s arm, forcing him to let go. The boy wrenched back, blood dripping from his mouth, from Etho’s neck.

Etho breath shook, pulse pounding in his ears.

They clashed again, locked in a struggle of will and strength. Their breath came in harsh gasps, bodies trembling from the exertion. Neither of them relented.

They were both fighting for their lives. 

Then—Etho saw it.

A hesitation. Barely a second. But enough.

Etho struck.

His claws raked across the boy’s face—deep, brutal, cutting. A pained scream rang through the training grounds. The Azalea boy staggered back, blood running down his cheek, dripping onto the stone beneath them.

Etho didn’t think.

He lunged. They hit the ground hard.

Etho’s weight pinned him, his claws digging into the boy’s chest, his own breath ragged. The fight was over.

“Do you concede?” Etho demanded.

The boy’s pupils were blown wide, his breath unsteady. He knew it was over.

But still—he shook his head.

“F-freedom is mine.”

Etho hesitated. His own blood dripped down his chest, pain and exhaustion weighing him down.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn't want what happened if the boy didn't surrender. 

“Why won’t you surrender?”

He tightened his grip. The Azalea boy thrashed—Etho held him down. His opponent's breath was ragged. Still, he fought. Would Etho do the same?

Yes. The answer came like a blow. Yes. If the roles were reversed, he would never give up either.

His opponent's body jerked beneath him, a last attempt to break free. Instinct took over.

Etho struck. 

The boy went limp.

A guard rushed forward, grabbed Etho, pulled him back.

A pulse check.

Silence.

Then—a grin.

The guard raised Etho’s hand. "We have a winner!" The compound erupted into cheers.

Etho barely heard them. His eyes were locked on the body in front of him. Etho's chest rose and fell. Adrenaline thrumming in his veins. He was still alive. 

His hands were red. 

The boy was dead.

The thought struck him, cold and sharp. He had won. But he had killed to do it.

That night, the feast raged around him.

Foxes laughed, tails flicking in celebration, voices bright with false joy.

A hand clapped his back, a congratulatory shove nearly making him stumble.

“Victory suits you, young champion!”

He forced a smile. One he knew would no longer be seen once he left the compound. A mask permanently in its place. 

A plate of steaming meat and rice sat untouched before him.

His stomach churned.

The scent of cooked pork made him want to be sick.

His hands, still stained with the fight, still trembling, curled into fists.

He had won.

So why did it feel like he had lost?

Then—a crash.

The doors burst open.

Guards stormed inside.

“We have caught a traitor!”

Etho’s stomach dropped.

A ripple of fake excitement spread through the crowd, forced smiles twisting onto every face. The kitsune weren’t allowed to be worried. The guards demanded obedience. They demanded celebration.

A uniformed man stepped forward, his black boots clicking against the stone floor. His face was shadowed beneath his hat, but his grin was too wide, too pleased.

His gaze landed on Etho, and he smirked.

"Young victor!" the guard announced.

Etho flinched. The man’s amusement only grew. He was enjoying this.

The guard swept his arm toward the entrance as more soldiers dragged in a figure—bruised, bloodied, his once-pristine white hair now matted with red.

Etho’s throat closed. 

Dad. The guards threw him forward onto the stone floor, where he collapsed in a heap.

His mother was smiling. Not the warm, gentle smile she used to have when she told him bedtime stories.

Not the quiet, private smile she gave his father when she thought no one was looking.

This smile was hollow. A mask.

A lie. And yet, it never wavered.

Neither did the smiles of the others. Every single face in the crowd, twisted into a silent, forced performance.

Smiling.

Clapping.

Celebrating.

Because if they didn’t, they would be next.

Because that was what the government wanted. 

But Etho refused to smile. The cheers rang hollow, a forced performance of loyalty.

Etho felt like he couldn’t breathe. His tails fluffed up in terror.

The guard turned back to him, stepping closer until Etho could smell the smoke on his breath. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.

“It seems you have more to celebrate,” the guard said, voice slick with mockery. Etho’s pulse pounded in his ears.

The man leaned down, voice a whisper meant only for him. "You get to help your traitorous father die before you leave. A reminder of sorts of who you truly belong to."

Etho’s body went cold.

He barely registered his mother’s whimper beside him.

The guards grabbed him, dragging him forward.

The laughter followed, rippling through the feast hall like a suffocating fog.

They were making a show of this. The kitsune were forced to celebrate their own executions—to cheer for the death of their own kind.

Etho’s feet barely moved as they dragged him toward the gallows, where more guards were waiting.

The sky above had darkened, heavy clouds rolling in as though the world itself was watching. His father was already being hauled up onto the platform, limping, yet standing with the dignity of a man who refused to break. Etho’s breath came in shallow gasps as he was shoved onto the stage beside him.

His father turned his head, catching his gaze. His expression was… calm.

Etho’s hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

A whisper of fabric. A guard moved beside him. Something cold was pressed into his hands.

A rope.

A noose.

Etho’s stomach lurched.

The guard beside him grinned. “Go on, young champion.”

Etho’s hands shook.

They weren’t just making him watch. They were making him do it.

His father—his own father—was bowing his head.

The noose was heavy in his hands. Too heavy. Like a shackle, like a final chain binding them both.

Etho’s claws dug into the rope, his breath coming in quick, sharp gasps.

He could refuse.

He could run.

He could fight.

But the guard’s grip was on his wrist.

The crowd was watching.

His father’s eyes were waiting.

Slowly—painfully—Etho lifted the loop.

His hands shook as he began to place it over his father’s head. 

He paused. 

Then his father smiled at him. “I heard you won.” His voice was hoarse, but warm. Proud.

Etho’s throat burned.

His father bowed his head further, baring his neck for him. “I’m proud of you.”

Etho’s vision blurred. His hands were numb as he placed the loop around his father’s neck—as gently as he could, like a child fastening a sash. Like a son honoring his father.

His father whispered, so only he could hear: “I don’t regret saving that boy. So don’t go and regret doing this.”

His father smiled. “It’s not your choices that led me here.”

The words cut deeper than a blade.

Etho could barely stand. His legs felt like they would give out beneath him.

The guard grabbed his wrist. Led him to the lever.

His father stood tall, shoulders squared, his tails still.

The guards boomed their final decree: "For abandoning your post, aiding an illegal hybrid in escaping, and taking off your mask, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

A moment of silence.

The crowd did not mourn.

They smiled.

They watched.

Because if they didn’t, they would be next.

The guard tightened his grip on Etho’s hand.

Guided him forward.

Forced him to curl his fingers around the lever.

Etho’s whole body shook.

His father was still smiling at him.

Then—

The guard shoved his hand forward.

The lever dropped.

The trapdoor yawned open beneath him.

For a moment—just a moment—the world held still.

His father wavered, feet slipping, body jerking—Then the rope snapped taut. A strangled gasp. A sharp crack.

And then, nothing.

His mother cried.

The crowd cheered, despite the anger he knew they held inside. And something inside Etho broke.

That night, Etho won his freedom.

But he lost everything else:

His father.

His tribe.

His mother’s love.

His innocence.

—--

But Etho couldn't blame Bdubs.

Holding him now, feeling him shake in his arms, he realized something.

He could choose to let the past repeat itself.

Or he could break the cycle.

“I promise,” Etho whispered, stroking Bdubs’ hair gently, “I could never hate you.”

Bdubs sobbed harder, but this time, there was relief in it.

As Etho held him, he noticed the way Bdubs’ body had been neglected. Dry scales, dying moobloom flowers, brittle gills, tangled fur. His bee wing was rumpled, and his allay wing bore bright scars from where bindings had fought against instinct.

His pigman foot was zombified. His strider foot was frozen.

Etho didn’t know how to take care of over a hundred hybrid parts.

But as he grabbed a comb from the chest and began brushing Bdubs' panda-textured hair, he knew one thing for certain.

It was his duty as den protector to help his kit.

Bdubs made a happy panda-like sound—a low, rumbling chuff that vibrated against Etho’s chest.

Etho’s hands, so used to blood, so used to force, worked through Bdubs’ fur with careful precision.

A low, satisfied hum escaped the hybrid—instinct taking over, letting himself be cared for.

For the first time in years, Etho felt… safe. Not free.

But safe.

—--

Etho was gentle.

As he combed through Bdubs’ tangled fur, smoothing out the knots, fixing the matted parts that had made him feel like a monster, Bdubs remained limp in his hands. There was no tension, no resistance—only quiet acceptance.

He let Etho work, let him care, every loving stroke and worried touch sinking into his bones, filling something hollow inside him.

Sometimes, when a particularly stubborn tangle resisted the comb, or when a loose feather came free that wasn’t supposed to, Etho would chuff softly, the small fox-like sound filled with reassurance. Other times, he would snort lightly, a comforting little noise meant to let Bdubs know he wasn’t hurting him on purpose.

Bdubs didn’t even realize how much he had needed this—the slow, methodical way Etho cared for him, fixing him with patience instead of disgust.

Then, Etho shifted, pulling out a jar of magma cream.

The thick, heated balm was gently smoothed over Bdubs’ strider foot, trailing up to the spring-like ankle of his magma cube limb. The warmth was soothing, a balm not just for his aching flesh, but for something deeper inside him.

Then came another bottle, a different type of lotion—one meant for zombified flesh.

Etho’s hands worked carefully, gently rubbing the salve into the patches of rotten skin spattered across Bdubs’ body. Rot that should never have been there. Bdubs braced himself for disgust—for hesitation, for fear.

But none of it came.

Etho’s hands never faltered.

The act felt kind. Loving.

There was no hatred in the arms that held him. No fear in the way Etho touched him.

And for the first time in his life, Bdubs felt normal.

Like he was just another hybrid who was cared for by the others.

Not something grotesque. Not an experiment gone wrong. 

Hybrids were a communal species, touchy and affectionate in a way humans never fully understood. They needed closeness, needed moments like this—where hands soothed over fur, where instincts thrummed with connection, where care was given and received.

Bdubs had never experienced it before.

And all his instincts loved it.

Each time Etho cared for a different part of him, its respective sound came trilling out of Bdubs.

A pleased oink from his piglin half.

A deep purr from his feline features.

A soft moo from the cow in him.

They all felt free to join him.

For the first time, Bdubs didn’t feel ashamed of himself.

He felt seen.

He felt safe.

As Etho carefully, carefully straightened out his crumpled bee wing, Bdubs felt his body grow heavier, warmth pulling him under. The gentle hands, the soft care, the presence of his protector—it was all too much for his exhausted instincts to resist.

Bdubs’ eyes fluttered closed.

And, at long last, he drifted off to sleep.

Completely safe.

Completely satisfied.

Finally home.

—--

Etho had fallen asleep only a few minutes after Bdubs.

His instincts had settled—satisfied, content to help his small kit—but his body had been pushed to its limits.

Caring for Bdubs had been overwhelming in ways he hadn’t expected. There were so many parts of him, each with different needs.

He had rubbed dirt into the creeper fur, ensuring it stayed healthy and clean.

He had applied oil to the patches of scales, making sure they didn’t dry out.

He had carefully peeled away layers of dry scute along Bdubs’ spine, letting new growth breathe.

He had massaged cooling cream onto Bdubs’ ice wrist, making sure the warmth of the room didn’t make it crack.

When he reached Bdubs’ stomach, Etho had worked even more gently, applying a soothing lotion to the phantom membrane stretched thin across his abdomen, careful not to tear the delicate material.

And then there was the slime.

The translucent layer of clear, green-tinted skin that covered the hollow space where Bdubs’ ribs curled around his heart—his true heart, the obsidian dragon egg. Etho had rubbed a nutrient-rich gel over it, letting it seep into the hybrid’s skin, making sure the sensitive area didn’t dry or crack.

Finally, Etho had taken the caps off Bdubs’ two dragon fangs, letting the venom drip freely for the first time in who knows how long. It was healthy for Bdubs—necessary, even. The venom carried nutrients Bdubs had unknowingly cut himself off from, starving a part of himself that needed to be whole.

Each tiny detail had exhausted Etho’s brain, every ounce of knowledge he had about hybrid care being put to use.

He wasn’t sure he had done everything right, but he had done his best.

And now? Now, his body had reached its limit.

They had been up for two days straight doing overtime. His instincts had been wired, running on high alert, making sure Bdubs was safe, warm, cared for.

But instincts could only push a body so far.

Now, with Bdubs curled against him, his own body finally gave in.

Etho barely registered the moment his muscles relaxed, his breath slowing, his mind slipping into the heavy pull of sleep.

The nest was warm. Bdubs was safe.

And so, with the exhaustion of care still lingering in his bones, Etho collapsed into a deep sleep.

For the first time in two days, he rested.

For the first time in a long time, they both felt safe.

—--

Whispers traveled over Etho’s head, blurring into the haze of sleep.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, instincts buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind. Something wasn’t right.

Someone was too close.

His body tensed. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, but whoever was approaching didn’t stop.

A gentle hand shook him, followed by another nudging the warm figure curled beside him. Bdubs.

Etho’s eyes cracked open, his vision blurring with sleep. As his instincts sharpened, he became aware—of the many eyes watching them. Of the hushed voices. Of the figures looming over the nest.

The one who had touched him—Cleo—knelt nearby, worry in her eyes.

Bdubs was still beside him, blinking drowsily—before his instincts snapped back into place. In an instant, he shrank down, his body compressing into a small, panicked shape.

Etho’s heart pounded. His kit was unsafe. His kit was cornered.

Bdubs reacted first, baring his fangs, his body coiling tight. With a shriek—somewhere between an endermite and something far more feral—he lunged at Cleo.

Cleo jumped back from the small figure before she could get hurt. 

Etho barely registered the gasps. The voices. The movement.

His nine tails puffed up, fur standing on end. He grabbed Bdubs, pulling his tiny kit close, pressing him protectively against his chest.

Without thinking, he moved. Crawling backward, retreating into the nest, seeking the safety of a den that no longer existed. His hands clutched Bdubs tightly as he ducked under a pillow, shielding them both from the outside world.

The pillow wasn’t large enough. His tails and back remained exposed, vulnerable. But it was the best he could do.

The darkness underneath the couch cushion calmed his instincts, just enough to let him think.

Then, clarity struck like lightning.

Today was the firm-wide meeting.

The meeting room was directly behind the common area.

Dozens of employees were here.

Bdubs—an illegal hybrid, more than three parts mob—was exposed. His shroud was off.

And Etho?

Etho had removed his headband and mask. He had disobeyed the one law that kept him free.

Not only that—he had nested in a public space.

They had been caught. Red-handed.

If the firm knew what was good for them, they would turn both of them in.

But…

No hands reached into the nest to drag them out.

No alarms blared.

No voices shouted for the authorities.

Instead, there were only gentle voices. Soft reassurances.

Etho’s ears flicked at the sound of coaxing words, but he still did not move. He could not move.

It was Bdubs who emerged first.

Still small, still tense, but suddenly brave.

He climbed out of the nest and stood in front of Etho, his small form trembling but defiant.

Bdubs growled.

It wasn’t just one sound—it was a chorus of sounds. A layered, eerie, unnatural warning made of all his instincts.

Etho’s heart ached.

His kit was trying to protect him. Etho emerged to see his kit, who had un-shrunk to better protect Etho. 

The voices outside the nest remained gentle.

“Woah. Easy now, Bubbles, Mr. Slab.” A voice from outside the nest called Keralis, the hermit floor assistant manager.

A familiar green figure stepped into the nest—tall, broad-shouldered.

Doc.

The firm’s medical doctor. A creeper-goat hybrid.

Etho grabbed Bdubs, pulling him back as another low growl rumbled from his throat, tails puffed up threateningly. He pressed himself further into the cushions, back hitting the couch. His entire body screamed protect, defend, keep your kit safe.

Doc stepped forward.

In his hand, Etho saw something small—something he couldn’t identify.

Etho flinched.

“Easy now,” Doc said, his voice steady, bending down to the two’s level. “We’re not going to turn you in.”

Etho growled louder. His instincts were too far gone to say the word out loud, but he thought it.

Liar. 

The man got too close. He felt his claws strike against flesh and Doc grunted. “You’re too stuck in your instincts,” Doc murmured, gaze flicking between the two of them. “Both of you are.”

Doc scooted forward, uncaring of the danger he was putting himself in.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen here. It’s dangerous. Not just for you, but for everyone. I get that you don’t choose when your instincts break. But we have to move you before customers start showing up.”

Bdubs lashed out this time. His multi-clawed hand swiped at Doc’s arm.

Doc took the hit without flinching.

“You need help,” he said simply. “And I’m not asking.”

Etho barely noticed Doc’s hand shifting closer, distracted by keeping Bdubs in his grasp.

By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.

Something sharp pierced his skin.

A cool liquid seeped into his veins.

Etho let out a quiet, startled whimper.

His grip on Bdubs tightened for a brief second before his muscles gave out.

He felt Bdubs flinch—felt the small, terrified shudder that rippled through his kit’s body as another sharp prick followed.

Then, Bdubs collapsed with him.

His instincts screamed—protect your kit, protect your den, don't fall asleep, don't let go—

But the drug was too strong.

His body went heavy.

The world faded.

Darkness took him.

—--

When Etho stirs again, the world is different.

No longer sharp. No longer drowning in instinct.

A soft mattress is beneath him. A sheet is tucked gently over him.

His body aches, exhaustion weighing him down like iron, but the panic—the immediate need to protect, to hide, to run—is gone.

His head pounds as he groans, turning over, trying to open his eyes.

White sheets. A cot.

The medical bay.

His mask and headband sit neatly on the bedside table. Beyond them, in the cot beside his, is Bdubs—his kit—still asleep, his mossy shroud folded carefully at his side, his red headband placed atop it with equal care.

Across the room, Doc sits at his desk, typing at his computer. His cybernetic arm shifts with each keystroke, the quiet clacking filling the space.

At the sound of Etho’s groan, Doc turns, a small, relieved smile forming when he sees him awake.

“Glad you’re up.”

Etho shivers.

His face feels naked.

Without hesitation, he reaches for his mask, pulling it on with shaking hands. He secures his headband next, movements stiff and mechanical. Only once it’s back in place—once the world feels less exposed—does he look up at Doc.

He knows what happened.

He knows what should have happened.

Everyone had seen. His face, Bdubs' form, their illegal existence.

Yet he is here. Alive. In a medbay, not bound in chains.

He should be swinging from a rope.

Doc waits patiently, letting him reassemble himself before speaking. “Keralis was the one who found you two,” he says gently. “He was really worried about what could have caused such a strong instinct meltdown. Everyone else came in a few minutes later.”

Doc sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I had to tranq you both, but you were completely on edge. If we didn’t get you somewhere safe before customers arrived, the risk would have been too high.”

Etho really looks at Doc for the first time.

His non-cybernetic side of his face bears four deep claw marks, scabbed over but still raw. Etho’s gaze flickers downward—to the man’s arm. More claw marks, three jagged slashes of different lengths, the largest gap between the furthest two.

Etho’s stomach twists.

“We hurt you.”

It’s not a question.

Doc huffs a small, tired laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “You barely left a mark.” He gestures toward his cybernetic eye, then his robotic arm. “Trust me, I’ve had way worse.”

Etho doesn’t respond. The silence stretches between them, thick with something unspoken.

Finally, he forces out the words clawing at his throat.

“Why are we here?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you turn us in?”

His hands curl into fists against the sheets.

“Bdubs should be in a cage right now—trapped in a lab, forced to suffer under a scientist’s scalpel. I should be dragged back to the compound, a rope tightening around my neck as I suffocate in front of my own tribe.” His breath stutters. “We shouldn’t—”

A firm hand lands on his shoulder.

Doc is looking at him—really looking at him—his expression dark with anger, but not at Etho.

“Neither of you deserve that.”

Doc’s voice is steady, but there’s fire behind it.

“I know how badly the government treats hybrids. I live it.” His grip tightens for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. “I don’t approve of how they treat hybrids who don’t conform to their laws. None of us do.”

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. “We would never let you die for being yourself.”

The words slam into Etho’s chest like a hammer.

For a moment, he can’t breathe.

Then—his breath hitches, his shoulders shaking, and before he can stop it, tears spill down his face, soaking into the fabric of his mask.

He grips the sheets, his whole body trembling.

Doc doesn’t say anything.

He just waits.

Etho swallows hard, his voice breaking as he whispers—

“Thank you.”

—--

When Bdubs awakens to a group of eyes staring at him, he flinches.

His body tenses, instincts flaring.

The last thing he remembers is fear. The warmth of a nest, the pull of his instincts, the terror of being seen.

But then—there’s a hand holding his.

Gentle. Steady. Familiar.

Bdubs blinks, eyes darting to the one pair of eyes he trusts the most.

Etho.

His friend gives his hand a light squeeze. “It’s okay,” Etho murmurs. “They’re here to help.”

The words ground him, but the memories still crash over him like a tidal wave.

The nest. The instincts. The moment he let himself be seen. The firm-wide meeting. The dozens of people who had witnessed him—his shroud off, his identity laid bare.

Yet… he’s here. In the medbay. Not in a cage.

Not in chains.

His breath shudders as he takes in the others in the room.

He recognizes them.

Doc sits nearby, cybernetic fingers tapping idly on his knee—the same Doc who had tranquilized him and Etho when their instincts had taken over. Beside him sit two hybrids from the DSMP floor.

One is tall, split evenly down the middle—half ghast, half Enderman. Ranboo.

The other is shorter, with messy brown hair, bee wings, and goat ears peeking from his curls. His horns curve slightly, his wings fluttering excitedly. Tubbo.

Bdubs barely has time to process before Tubbo blurts out, “We want to take care of you!” His wings buzz, shifting with barely-contained excitement. “I— I’ve never gotten to take care of someone with the same hybrid parts as me!”

Ranboo nods. “Yeah, uh—we wanted to welcome you to the Multi-Club.”

Bdubs’ brow furrows. “The Multi-Club?”

Doc chuckles, his expression soft. “It’s a firm-wide club for hybrids with multiple mob traits. More of a support group, really.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Fighting multiple instincts alone sucks. I’m honestly surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

Bdubs’ heart flutters.

“So…” His voice wavers. “We’re not in trouble?”

Doc’s smile is gentle. “Of course not. We’re not about to let the government take our precious coworkers.” His tone is light, but there’s steel beneath it. “You’re safe here. It was a promise made in your contract—and a promise we all made when we joined.”

He meets Bdubs’ eyes. “We’ll always keep you safe.”

Bdubs swallows thickly, emotion tightening in his chest.

Etho pats his head, ruffling his hair like he’s nothing more than a stubborn kit. “Glad to see my small kit smile.”

Bdubs huffs, nudging Etho’s side. “I’m not small!”

The room fills with laughter, warm and real.

Eventually, they all drift closer, settling into something natural—Ranboo fussing over Bdubs’ Enderman traits, Tubbo smoothing out his wings with precise, practiced hands, Doc occasionally offering advice between the low chatter.

Just like hybrids should.

At one point, Tubbo hums, voice soft but sure. “You know, neither of you have to hide when you’re with us.” He glances between Bdubs and Etho, his expression open. “With customers, yeah, you’ll still have to keep up appearances. But everyone at MYCT would love to see the real you.”

“Both of you.”

Bdubs and Etho exchange glances—something unspoken passing between them.

Then, they laugh.

They cuddle in closer.

And for the first time in a long time, Bdubs doesn’t feel like a monster.

He feels safe.

He feels whole.

He feels home.