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magical-soup · 23 days ago

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Crushed and Aching, I Keep Going - Chapter 1 : Quiet Afternoon, not so quiet

Summary:

In a world unfair, people get hurt. Unable to wipe all pain, healing is required. As difficult as that is, one must try; with the help of supportive companions, they can heal.

It was just meant to be a quiet afternoon, how did he get here? Panic courses through his stinging skin and everything hurts, too bad his brain will never let him rest…

Or; Grian has a flashback but Impulse and Scar arrive to support him, turning a terrifying afternoon into a calm, cozy one.

This series is posted both on tumblr and AO3; here is the AO3 link for those who want that:

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/152699971?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#main

Notes:

Me? Projecting? NOPE! Idk what ur talking about pffff not me must be someone else hahaha… I gave them all trauma so now they have to deal with it :b L

This fic has age regression, that is when someone mentally regresses to an earlier developmental stage, it is SFW and healthy. If it makes you uncomfortable, leave.

Also, any time bird, fledgling, nestling, avian, or chick is used it is referring to Grian.

TW: Flashbacks, panic attacks, swearing, self harm(hitting, biting), germaphobia/contagous OCD, guilt for being scared, grief, guilt, suicidal ideation.

The scary sections with be marked with ‘#’ and end with ‘#^’

~ ~ ~

It was just meant to be a quiet afternoon. The waves crash along the shore and clouds slowly pass by. A bell rang in the distance, disturbed by the sea breeze; the tune was… familiar. Why did it-

Grian was terrified. “Terrified” was the biggest understatement the world could give. Shaking, the small bird shuddered as the panic pierced his skin, lighting him aflame. It hurt… so bad, and yet, he kept quiet.

“It’s irrational, just be rational.” They told him. They didn’t understand… they couldn’t. He wished it could stop, he wished he could make all the pain and suffering and panic disappear in an instant and it would all be over. He wished so much more than they could possibly imagine or even be willing to believe. They wanted his behavior to stop–his visible attempts to seek the smallest form of relief–it annoyed them. He couldn’t stop, it was all he had, all he could do. He was so much more helpless than they could comprehend. They were annoyed, he was so much more than annoyed; he wanted it to end so badly.

The endless fear, all controlling, consumed his every moment. It pulled at him like a puppet, tugging at his very soul to force him to action. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he repeated their words in his head, it was useless. He wanted to cry, he needed to cry, but his eyes never let him. His cruel dry eyes.

The avian shuddered, air struggling to get to his heaving lungs. His throat tightening with each panicked breath. Gasping for air, his chest ached from his overinflated lungs. Attempting to silence the agonizing pictures that intruded his thoughts, Grian slammed his fists against the splintered wood of his fishing dock, wincing yet savoring the pain.

Painfully unnerving touch crawled up his skin, sending waves of panic and flashes of memories. No, no-no-no not again!- “SHUT UP!” a scream burst through the air, but Grian was far too panicked to care. Thrashing about wildly, he found himself tumbling to the ground in his fishing dock, his flailing legs thrusting him as deep into the corner of barrels as physically possible.

Frustration peaks, and in the wave of desperation his teeth find themselves sinking into the flesh of his left forearm. His jaw clenched painfully, letting out heaves of tension in one deep bite. It hurt, hell it hurt, but Grian was desperate for more relief. Even after his lips unsuctioned from his skin and the bruise was sure to sting, the lingering fear urged to be released.

White-knuckle fists slam themselves into his skull mercilessly, desperate and angry. Each pang only added to the frustration, refusing to satisfy like the bite; yet, the frantic swings kept crashing until his head ached and regret replaced adrenalin.

Ramming himself somehow further into the corner, the avian curled into a ball, a shaking, hyperventilating ball. He looked like a mess, a stupid ugly mess, covered in scratch marks and saliva. His dirt dusted wings sloppily hug his pathetic form, hiding his mess of an image with dull primary colors.

… Stupid bell… why’d it have to be there… just to ruin his day… fuck…

… dumb…dumb dumb dumb… Just!-... ugh…

A sudden touch placed on his left shoulder sent a wicken flinch through Grian. In an instant, a yelping growl escaped his lurching lungs before his blurry eyes could even process the figure crouched before him. His legs, bent to his chest almost like a shield, jutted out in an attempt to jump away, yet the wall of barrels behind him kept him stationary, resulting in his sharp talons merely scraping against the wooden shack floor.

There, crouched in front of him, was a familiar face. Impulse… Wait, FUCK! “No-no-no-no-” Grian mumbled out loud as he desperately tried to hide himself, covering his body with his wings and arms in some strange hope that it would make him disappear from this reality. “I’m sorry- sorry- I’m sorry- I-I- s-sorr-”

“No need to apologize.” a soft whisper tore him from his winding thoughts. Peeking through his tangled limbs and colorful feathers, Grian sent a barely trusting glance towards the imp. “You aren’t doing anything wrong, Grian.”

Grian slowly lowered his puffed-up wings; though, keeping them tightly wrapped around his shaking body like a warm blanket.

Impulse settled calmly in front of him, sitting criss-cross on the worn wood planks. “Let’s just breathe, okay? Can you breathe with me?” Impulse asked gently. Grian cautiously nodded in response, keeping a watchful eye on the imp. Impulse then slowly lifted his hands as if he were lifting a box, deeply breathing in while he did so.

“Hold” Impulse instructed, holding his breath and pausing his hands. Grian attempted to mimic the pattern, but struggled as his lungs involuntarily heaved with fear. Predictably, Impulse’s chest deflated as he exhaled, lowering his hands along with it.

Grian, still choking on air, fluffed up his feathers in frustration, but pushed on, following instructions as the exercise repeated. Impulse didn’t show any judgment or disgust, sweetly praising the bird with each successful heave of breath.

Once steady breath met his thankful lungs, Grian took a careful shuffle closer to his friend. Small but purposeful. Impulse stayed put at his settled placement, not daring to rush the avian. Though adrenaline still rushed through his veins, Grian relaxed, stepping closer to the warm demon and waving his wings stimming.

A warm floatiness buzzed in his body, anxious but drawn to the soft comfort that always accompanied Impulse. Soon, Grian found himself climbing into Impulse’s arms, wrapping two shivering arms around the other’s torso and tucking his chin under the other’s. “Thanks…” Grian whispered, thankful.

Impulse returned the hug, engulfing the little avian in soft, cozy comfort. “No problem, G.” A clawed hand gently traced simple shapes on Grian’s back through his jumper, careful to not disturb any of the preciously aligned feathers that lined his spine.

It was warm here, comforting and safe. A bubbly fuzz began to soak into Grian’s whelmed brain, sleepy and calm. Grian melted into Impulse’s tender touch, sinking into the warm feeling. Impulse started rocking them both back and forth, slow and easy like the clear waves that splashed upon the fishing dock only feet away. Grian hummed to the movement, babbling mindlessly.

After a while of settling into the cozy small fluffiness that filled his body, Impulse spoke up, “Hey, birdy? How old are you?” Grian’s head, filled with cotton fluff, finally lifted itself from the soft pillow that was Impulse’s shoulder.

Grian sleepily blinked at the imp, soon bringing up his left hand and seemingly fidgeting with his fingers. “Hmm…” he mumbled as he thought, eventually bringing up three fingers and showing them to Impulse.

Impulse gazed at Grian with the greatest fondness the world could give, nothing but love in his eyes. “Small huh? That’s okay, lil’ birdy.” The imp tucked Grian closer then calmly brushed a few wild strands of blonde hair out of Grian’s face, combing through his unbrushed locks. The fledgling made a small sound of surprise from the sudden affection, scrunching up his face in response.

Impulse giggled at the adorable sound, cooing at the little. “Aww, so cute.” Brain fogged by fluff and smallness, Grian could only stick his tongue out in defense, lightly flapping his wings to further emphasize his disagreement with the statement.

This only encouraged Impulse further. “Oh, just a little baby, aren’t you?” A small boop to his nose and Grian was defeated. The cozy cotton fluff and increasing smallness made the fledgling clueless on how to counter this. He resorted to hiding his blushing face in Impulse's chest, which unfortunately only resulted in more cooing. “Oh, it’s okay, sweety. No need to hide.” Grian let out a small whine, bapping Impulse on the face to signal him to stop, all while muffling his incoherent babbles and tiny stims.

Impulse finally stopped, returning to simply rocking them gently and taking in the calm tunes of the waves. A salty breeze flew by, ruffling Grian’s soft feathers, forcing a small whine of the discomforted little. “Hmm, how about we go somewhere else, huh?” Impulse suggested, to which Grian subtly nodded in response. “Let’s go to my base, okay? It’s nice and warm there.”

“I’m gonna lift you up, is that okay?” Impulse checked. The little gave a small thumbs up before clinging onto the imp’s shirt. “Alright. Three… two… one-” Grian was swiftly scooped up and lifted while Impulse stood, bottom supported by the imp’s strong arms, his dark bird-like legs wrapped around Impulse’s waist.

After adjusting the positions slightly, Impulse asked gently, “Are you comfy?” A small “m-hm” and then the two were off, moving down the dirt road at a calm walking pace. Grian observed over Impulse’s shoulder, the waves of the bay began to get farther and farther away as the two hybrids walked off of Grian’s dock and onto the dirt path connecting all of the hermits’ bases together.

Grian rested his chin on Impulse's shoulder, relaxing in the fluff that consumed his head as they continued down the dirt road towards Impulse’s glowy livingquarters hidden within the cyberpunk city. Gem’s parrot’s squawked at each other from the wires strewn above them, Grian squawked back. A subtle tune slipped its way out Impulse’s lips as he hummed a sweet melody. Eyelids growing heavier with each step, Grian sunk deeper into the cozy warmth that radiated from his imp friend and finally slipped into the sweet sleep that had clung to him.

~ ~ ~

Cozy, soft warmth enveloped the sleepy hermit, the scent of fresh cooking driving him to wake. Grian’s eyes, barely open and heavy with sleep, gazed over the room. He was on a large full bed, covered in a pile of thick blankets, and settled into a mountain of pillows and plushies. A strange bud sat in his mouth; it didn’t bother Grian though as he mindlessly chewed on the soft silicone. Lifting his head up, Grian sniffed the air like a cartoon character, the savory smell of vegetables and starches filling his nose.

Urged out of this cozy heaven, the little bird wiggled his way out of the maze of blankets and began to wander towards the smell of fresh cooking. Grian slid off the bed and waddled out the open door into the bright hallway. Finding himself on slippery tile, Grian jumped back to the safe, grippy carpet of the bedroom with a whimper.

His dark eyes stared down the cruel flooring. The little found a solution by crawling, lowering himself to the ground and slowly exploring the environment on four limbs. Now in the lit hallway, Grian realized that he was dressed in an unfamiliar onesie. The fabric was a bright blue, patterned with many small parrots. The texture of the loose pajamas was soft, pleasant to rub his fingers with.

The baby bird, head swarmed with fluff and cotton, giggled and bounced with joy from this newfound discovery. ‘They look like me! They look like me! The little birdies!’ he thought in his fuzz filled head. Flapping his wings and hands about, his noisy behavior attracted a lovely friend.

The curious yet kind cat, Jellie, gracefully strutted down the hall, soon followed by Scar rolling after her. The warm kitty rubbed her head against Grian’s knee, producing a subtle purr at the small hermit. “Hello there!” Scar greeted his little. “You are very brave for exploring out here all on your own, silly bird.” Grian gaped up at his best friend with wonder, the words not processing through his fog filled brain.

Sucking on his pacifier, the tiny parrot made grabby hands at Scar, which unfortunately resulted in a sad yet fond expression to possess the vex. “Sorry, darling, but I don’t have the strength to hold you.” Scar began to mess with something in the bag that laid in his lap. “How about this? We can play a fun game instead!” Scar’s face changed to one of joy and surprise as he pulled out a soft toy. A floppy purple plush resembling a monkey dangled with Scar’s hand as he held it out in front of the fledgling.

Grian’s eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned forward, immediately attempting to grab the plush, just out of reach. Scar began to roll backwards, guiding Grian with the fun toy towards the main room and out of the dusty, barren hallway.

Finally managing to latch onto the monkey, Grian pulled it into his chest, hugging the cuddly plush as tightly as he could. Grian giggled at the beloved toy, flapping and stimming his limbs in joy. Then, a rude cooing sounded from his surroundings, “Aww, what a cute baby.” Scar commented. Blushing at this interruption, Grian looked up to face the rude audience.

Scar gazed at him sweetly, babying the little bird greatly. “Are you just so cute, with your little monkey!” The vex proceeded to make high-pitched incoherent sounds of cuteness aggression, lightly waving his leathery wings and stimming with his hands. Grian blew raspberries at Scar in defense before huffing and turning away, keeping his prized possession secured in his arms.

A ray of sunshine caught Grian’s attention, the little suddenly distracted. Finally noticing that he was in a new environment, Grian glanced around with wonder. Gaping at the sunlit furniture, the curious avian crawled around the room, dragging around his purple friend Floppy of course. The baby hermit, filled with child-like curiosity, felt every interesting texture and surface that his little hands could touch: the rough rug, the yellow leather couch, the thin gray curtains, everything! It was all so interesting!

In his fixated exploration, he didn’t notice the fluffy feline that followed him closely. A loud meow called from behind him and a gray tabby soon appeared in his vision. “Kitty!” Grian babbled into his pacifier. The fledgling waved Floppy in greeting, letting the loose plush flail playfully. Jellie made a sound of interest, soon batting at the drooping object. Giggling with delight, Grian swung the cute plush, tempting the gray cat all around the gray rug.

Sweet muddled whispers of a distant conversation came from behind a deepslate island in the kitchen. Now entranced with the interesting noises, Grian found himself wandering towards the source of the sound, which also happened to lead to the source of the lovely smell that filled his senses. Crawling off the soft rug onto cold tile, the avian turned the corner around the island, catching sight of a tall imp adorning a yellow apron and an exhausted looking vex sitting in his wheelchair beside him.

“Well the food is almost done. Uh, how is G doing?” Impulse asked as he stirred the pot on the stove.

Scar fidgeted with a small toy in his hands, a purple and cyan square pop-it. “He’s doing okay. Haven’t noticed anything concerning at all, just very small and curious as always.” He said calmly, not looking up from the fidget toy.

The two much mentally older were busy with their discussion, too busy to see the regressed Grian, who decided to make this into a spy mission. He hid behind the island, obscuring himself from view, and hugging Floppy to his chest, secretly listening in on the garble of words that seemed to pass through his head, holding no true meaning.

Impulse shifted his weight on his feet. “Is Jellie getting along with him?”.

“Yeah!” Scar glanced up at the cooking imp with a bright smile. “She is being very nice to him, sweet as always.”

Scar’s face turned red and he dropped his head. With slight hesitation and a stutter, Scar asked just above a whisper, “Do you think she knows? Like- with what’s happening?” he mumbled something about animals having sixth senses while looking to the side in embarrassment.

Impulse cocked his head in fondness and slight confusion. “Yeah, probably. Animals are usually nicer to regressors when they’re small.”

Scar stiffened, realizing the misunderstanding. “No-no-no! Yeah-yeah- with the regressors and stuff, but I mean with how… my body’s been… y’know.” Scar waved his hands about as if to explain what he meant.

“Oh, OH! Yeah, yes, definitely!” Impulse blurted out. “You know how, like, service dogs work. They have cat ones too!–Service cats. So she can probably tell with her super strong cat senses.”

Scar tilted his head fondly, a sad yet pleased smile marking his expression. “Yeah… I think so too.” The vex then peered over the counter into the living room, spotting said cat busy grooming herself. He also noticed the lack of a certain feathered baby, suddenly tensing up and wheeling around the end of the island opposite from Grian.

A nervous laugh made its way out of Scar’s lips “Uh-huh-uh- Grian!” he called out. A giggle was heard around the counter. Impulse glanced at the bird’s super good hiding spot–a smile pierced his face as he joined in on the game, copying Grian when he looked up at him and put his finger to his lips. Scar, oblivious to the amazing hide-&-seek player, searched the living room with worry building in his gut.

The tiny bird peeked his head out from behind the counter–the hider and the seeker met glances. The feathered fledgling quickly crawled back behind the island, unable to control his fit of giggles from the anticipation. His wings waved sloppily behind him with the excitement of his “mission”, a mess of feathers painted a mix of primary colors flapping uncontrollably. The little fledgling attempted to grab at the wiggly limbs, not wanting to give away his location, but it was an unfortunate struggle. He twisted into contortions that you would assume to be painful if it wasn’t Grian.

As the sound of rubber wheels rolled up next to him, Grian flopped, defeated, on the tile. “Grian? What are you doing hiding here, baby? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Scar said as he rolled up next to him and set a grounding hand on Grian’s shoulder.

“Was playing super spy.” Grian mumbled into the red pacifier, chewing on the bud to loosen the frustrated tension that had built with his failure. “You found me.” he muttered, disappointed. The little playfully danced his purple plushy in front of himself, letting its limbs flop around lazily.

Scar noticed the sad expression that rested on the avian’s teary face. “Well that’s okay, darling. You sure gave me a fright so I’d call that a success.” he attempted to cheer up the little, slowly rubbing the avian’s back in affection.

Suddenly, The electric stove whined loudly when the water boiled over the edge of the pot. Impulse let out a shocked shriek as he frantically pressed buttons on the stove in a panic, desperate to stop the blaring alarm.

Grian yelped in surprise, quickly covering his ears to muffle the noise. Everything was moving so fast and so loud, Grian wasn’t prepared. His head was running with panic and thoughts and everything was far too overwhelming to do anything about it-...

… He was back there again, back in that classroom. Shaking so hard, it’s shockingly sad to hear that it went unnoticed. The teacher spoke to the class, Grian wasn’t part of them. His eyes were glassy and filled with a level of fear his peers couldn’t comprehend. He had held his breath so long that it hurt, but he was too scared to let go, to breathe in the contaminated air. His skin felt wrong, every part of him felt wrong.

‘It’s fine, you’re ok’ he tried to tell himself. It failed against the all encompassing panic. His chest ached and heaved, ribs crying out in pain. He couldn’t give them relief, he would rather sacrifice his lungs than give in and breathe in the worst substance.

He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t, not in front of his worst enemy. He would rather die, but he couldn’t die while contaminated. His mind tempted him anyway, filling his thoughts with various methods. ‘Out the window, the height might be enough to finally escape this hell.’ Muscles tensed so hard that they were constantly sore. ‘The highway is only about two miles from your house, you could walk there easily. The cars going 55 miles per hour won’t stop for you, it would definitely kill you.’ Sweat dripped from his forehead, he couldn’t wipe it. He couldn’t touch anything, he was infected, hands and arms covered in an imaginary disease. ‘That large bottle of pain pills at home is probably enough to kill you.’ He was covered, head to toe in the terrifying substance. He was paralyzed, he couldn’t dare move, couldn’t risk touching anything else, infecting it, getting covered and contaminated further.

Grian was curled into a tight stiff ball, almost motionless except for the shivering and desperate gasps that escaped from his choking throat. Discarded on the ground, the red pacifier was dirtied alongside the purple monkey. The beeping had finally stopped but the boy sitting in the kitchen still resembled a terrified mannequin. Subtly shaking and sweating bullets, his black eyes were covered in a glassy filter and a thousand-yard stare.

“Grian? Grian, can look at me?” Impulse pleaded, crouched before the frozen little. Beside him, Scar was searching through his bag for any little gear or stim toys that could help. “Lil’ birdy? It’s okay, you’re safe here.” Impulse tried to calm the avian, with no success.

Suddenly, Scar pulled out a blue pacifier, decorated with waves and shiny white gems. Along with the paci came a bright green and yellow rattler, already making noise with the movement of being dragged out.

Carefully, Scar slowly brought the rattler in front of the boy’s face, shaking it lightly. The noise seemed to help, Grian blinking rapidly and twitching his head. After a few more shakes of the instrument, the fledgling finally raised his head, facing the brightly colored item with cautious curiosity.

Grian’s dark eyes were still distant, seemingly peering off somewhere else, but the fog was slowly clearing.

“Hey,” Impulse whispered as if talking any higher would break him. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Impulse tried to bring the other to a feeling of safety, but this only seemed to drive him to anger.

Eyebrows scrunched up and knit together, Grian glared at Impulse with an unknown fury. “No… no I’m not.” his voice was scratched and torn, almost like he was sick.

He was sick–sick of people telling him to ‘just stop’ and to ‘just get over it, already’. He was sick–terribly sick–and not just tired: crushingly exhausted. He was trying, he was trying so hard…

He wasn’t safe, they couldn’t understand. They couldn’t ever…

He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to let out his years of frustration and fear in one ear bleeding screech. But he couldn’t, not to his friends, not to anyone. It wasn’t their fault that they weren’t educated on it, that they didn’t know. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not even his own, yet he still struggled to believe that. How was it not his fault, he didn’t tell them!... couldn’t…he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t. Not with the alexithymia, lack of understanding, helplessness, and petrifying fear. He couldn’t–even when he wanted to, even when he needed to.

He had worked so hard, so, SO hard to get better, to tell people. But the ache in his chest continued to stab at him after all these years. Made of fear and guilt, it ate at him, chewing at his hope and determination, crushing him down to ash. Down to ash like Evo…

…Evo, destroyed, turned into nothing by those… creatures…

If only he had shut up!–maybe it wouldn’t have happened… fuck… stupid Grian- stupid Xelqu-... How dare they name him that–after those terrible gods. Just for some “motivation”–bullshit! He knew what it really was. Those bastards.

If only they had felt how cold the void was, knew the pain he felt after the massacre they did on his body, maybe they wouldn’t have done it. Maybe they would have stopped. But of course they didn’t–what did he expect? That terrible cold ink, all for nothing… just for pain…

He wished he had died then, or when he had thought about it at the worst of his teenage years. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have had to suffer as much; he wouldn’t have to suffer now. Maybe his family would have been better off without him. If he’d committed to chugging those pills they wouldn’t have had to be so bothered by his disgusting existence. They would have been saved without him.

…and maybe Evo would still be around… without him…

“What do you mean by that, Grian?” Scar had asked, followed by an awkward silence of concerned glances and patience.

The question finally processed through the blurry confusing mess that filled Grian’s head. “I-... I-” he couldn't answer.

His lip quivered, yet he swallowed the sobs that rose in his throat. Grian buried his red face in his knees, hiding from the terrifying world. Stupid fire alarm… dumb cold void… A sudden anger boiled up as an image of those… creatures… flashed through his mind. Grian shook his head as if to push away the intrusive thought.

A wave of grief shoved him under, drowning him in anger and ache. His fist tightened, lightly punching his leg with angst. “Ugh!...” Grian groaned from the bubbling emotions, whimpering with each pang that wracked his soul.

“Hey, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you.” Impulse reassured gently, resting a grounding hand on his shoulder.

Grian took a moment to breath before slowly shuffling closer to the imp and taking in the warm hug that Impulse always promised to provide. Those large, strong arms didn’t lie, creating a secure, comfortable embrace around the avian.

“I’m sorry.” Grian clung closer, hiding his shame by burying his terrified expression in Impulse’s chest. His wings tucked tightly to his back, fingers grasping the fabric of the demon’s shirt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.” Impulse whispered as if it was as easy as breathing. Calmly petting Grian’s beige locks as if he didn’t just say the most painfully kind words that Grian has heard in a long… long time.

Dry sobs wracked through his aching body. The words were so kind… it opened a deep wound carved into by years of agony. “Why’d it have to happen!” Grian yelled into Impulse’s chest as he lightly punched into the imp’s back. “Why…” he whispered, softer.

Scar rubbed his back, soft and gentle, “There is no good reason, darling. You didn’t deserve it, either way.” Scar answered, as if it was so simple. And it hurt… it hurt so bad.

Angry fists tensed with each rhetorical question and long-aching grief that passed through his body. Waves crashed against his amygdala, foaming and breaking with each splash. It hurt. Impulse just simply shushed him quietly and rubbed his back gently, holding him closely–no judgment. The blurry fog began to creep back into his head, drinking in the taste of emotions and shrinking smaller at the warm, soft touches that promised safety and support.

Soft fur brushed up against Grian’s hip, purring, concerned. Grian peek out from the sanctuary he built in Impulse’s chest to look at the cat who yearned to comfort. A small hand cautiously reached out towards Jellie, gently brushing the gray fur lining her back. The feline rubbed into his hand, basking in the pets. The edge’s of his lips curled upwards slightly, smiling at the gesture.

A soft rattle shook from nearby–a brightly colored rattle was held up in front of Grian’s face. Impulse gently shook the toy, making the beads inside the rattle shuffle about, clinking together and creating an interesting noise.

The small boy carefully reached his shaky hands out towards the rattler, taking hold of the handle and inspecting the colorful instrument. He waved it about wildly to make it rattle but his loose grip on the toy caused it to get launched across the floor.

Impulse was quick to the rescue, fetching the toy for his sweet bird swiftly and returning it without hesitation. The tiny chick let out a high pitched chirp, clenching his fists tightly around the handle of the wooden rattle. He shook it aggressively, inspecting the toy intently, trying to explore the mystery of the toy.

“Do you like the toy?” Impulse asked with a welcoming smile. Grian nodded rapidly, excited to share his joy. “That’s great! Now can you tell Impy how old you are?”

Grian was feeling smaller by the second with how his brain was trying to cope–a bubbly playfulness to replace the consuming panic. He wasn’t very good at pin-pointing his mental age–it just felt like a heavy fog and simple smallness. Unable to give a number, Grian just shrugged in response. “I dunno.” he answered, slurring his words sloppily.

“That’s okay.” Impulse responded calmly, a gentleness easily present in his voice. Grian made a hushed “Sorry…” as he pressed his face into Impulse’s chest, quietly shaking the rattle close to his ears as an auditory stim. “Hey…” Impulse remarked, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong, little one.” He sweetly brushed through Grian’s hair, knowing just how much the avian liked it.

The little stayed hiding in the imp’s arms; though, he soon found interest in placing the wooden rattle into his mouth. “Ah-ah, no, we don’t chew on our toys.” Impulse gently moved the toy out of Grian’s mouth. “Here.” He replaced it with a blue, ocean-themed pacifier, sliding the teet into Grian’s mouth and clipping it to the collar of his blue onesie. Impulse was beaming afterwards at the adorable sight. “Oh, aren't you so adorable, with your little onesie and paci. How cute, so tiny.” he cooed. Grian blabbled nonsensically around the silicone teet, waving the rattle with delight.

“Now, my little birdy, I heard that there’s a delicious bowl of food waiting for you in the living room. It’s much more comfy in there, too.” Impulse explained with a sweet excitement in his voice. Grian glanced over to the living room at the mention of it, leaning out of Impulse’s arms somewhat to get a better look. Sitting on the coffee table, a steaming bowl of veggies cooled with a spoon poked into the food. Scar was relaxing in his wheelchair beside it, yawning widely and sleepily adjusting his vex wings.

Impulse interrupted Grian’s observing, “Do you wanna walk there yourself or do you want me to pick you up?” The words barely made a crumb of sense to his distracted, fluff filled brain, but the words “pick you up” stood out like a shiny gem in the sea of gibberish. The little immediately clung closer to the imp, bouncing with joy and babbling incoherently as he waited impatiently to be lifted up by his beloved caregiver.

“Okay-Okay-!” Impulse understood the excitement, quickly securing the avian in his arms and standing up. Grian giggled wildly as the imp playfully bounced the little in his arms and walked over into the living room, the little waving at Jellie as she followed close behind.

Impulse sat down carefully on the leather couch, settling the fledgling into his lap. The little bird failed to stay still, wiggling about in anticipation. Grian shook his hands with pure joy when Impulse returned Floppy to his arms, fondly nuzzling the plush while shaking his rattle wildly. Giggling with delight, he was completely distracted from his past angst.

Scar had busied himself with choosing a kid appropriate show to watch–scanning through the Disney program–while calmly petting the gray feline that laid comfortably in his lap. A song began to play from the television when Scar finally decided on a show. Brightly colored dogs danced around for the intro of the show; the title of the show in big bold text at the end of the tune, “Bluey”. Grian was apparently hypnotized by these vibrant colors and catchy tunes, staring at the screen fixated.

“Are you ready to eat now?” Impulse asked, peering down at the little in his arms. The small hermit stared back, taking a moment to process the words in his baby brain. Finally understanding the question, the fledgling jumped around in his caregiver’s arms, so excited to finally eat the food that he had been sniffing since he awakened. Impulse watched his precious little with affection, smiling widely at the cuteness.

“This meal is a bit messy, so do you think you’ll need your bib?” Impulse asked, grabbing a red bib from the cushion beside them and holding it up in front of Grian. The little squeezed his eyes shut as he contemplated, using all the big thinking he could find in his foggy head. After a minute of tough thinking, Grian opened his eyes and nodded his head confidently, grabbing at the bib.

“Okay-okay- no need to rush.” Impulse assured, giggling at the excitement as he carefully attached the bib around Grian’s neck, securing it with a small ‘click’ of the plastic mechanism on the back.

Impulse leaned forward and grabbed the bowl sitting atop the coffee table, carefully stabilizing it in his hand before readjusting his position to better accommodate for the new task. He sweetly removed the blue paci from Grian’s mouth and letting it hang from the clip.

Scooping up a bite of hot carrots with the spoon, he started waving the utensil in front of Grian’s face. “Here comes the airplane!” The imp created a “Brr” sound while moving the spoon closer to Grian’s mouth. “Say ah!” Impulse instructed as the “airplane” approached his lips.

Opening his jaw, Grian’s taste buds were soon consumed with a warm delicious flavor. He closed his eyes and hummed as he chewed on the soft food. When he swallowed the bite of carrots, Impulse gently combed through his messy hair. Grian sloppily flapped his wings to let out his happiness.

Another fresh spoonful of sweet potatoes and veggies was soon “flying” towards his lips, quickly being eaten up and enjoyed by the hungry fledgling. He licked up the bits that had missed his mouth before the next “airplane” took off, soaring directly into his munchy maw. This delicious game continued until the bowl was scraped clean of warm veggies and Grian’s stomach was warm and satisfied.

A napkin batted at the fledgling’s face, cleaning off the mess of stray crumbs and veggie juice. The nestling whined at the unwelcome fabric, scrunching up his face in defense; luckily, the napkin was quick to leave, done with its job.

“Good job, G!” Impulse praised. A ‘click’ was heard behind Grian’s head as the bib was removed from his neck. The avian went to bring his pacifier up to his mouth when Impulse nudged him lightly. “Are you thirsty, bud?” he asked. Grian blinked sleepily at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

The imp reached over to Scar, who passed his Grian’s baby bottle from his bag, and quietly handed the bottle to the little. Watching the water swish around inside, the fledgling realized how dehydrated he was. Lifting the teet to his lips, the baby quickly latched onto the nipple, suckling in sips of cold, refreshing water.

The bird relaxed into the imp’s arms–comfy and safe in this delicate care–slowly drinking his water while returning his attention to the cartoon playing on the TV. Body feeling properly hydrated and soothed, the little gently settled the bottle in his lap and placed his pacifier in his mouth, gnawing on the teet calmly.

On the illuminated screen, the cartoon characters went about their episodic shenanigans. Grian didn’t really bother paying any attention to the colorful canines–he could barely even keep his eyes open with how sleepy he was–merely subconsciously chewing on his pacifier and lazily flopping Floppy around in his hand. A large yawn made its way through his throat, making the sleepy boy drop his paci. He sleepily gaped at it before sleepily returning it to his lips.

The mentally older hermits, noticing his exhaustion, shared a glance at each other. Scar started “Hey, baby bird?” He reached his arm out and nudged Grian’s shoulder to get his attention. The baby bird barely had the energy to move his head to face him. “You tired?” Scar asked, already knowing the answer. If Grian wasn’t so deep in babyspace, he would have protested at assumption. Instead, he sleepily blinked at the vex, nodding while lazily rubbing his eyes.

A voice behind him spoke softly, “Well, it looks like it’s bedtime for this little one.” Impulse teased, getting ready to bring the little to bed.

Grian whined loudly, using the last of his energy to clumsily climb Impulse’s body to complain into his chest and cling to him sleepily. “Not bedtime.” he mumbled, sleep dripping from his words and melting his tired body.

“Well, at least take your anxiety meds, first.” Scar urged, passing over a small baggy that he’d packed to the also exhausted imp that held the avian. Impulse carefully took out one of the small white pills from the baggy and grabbed Grian’s water bottle in his other hand before gently nudging the whiny little in his arms. Grian wasn’t too pouty about taking his med, quickly swallowing the pill with a fresh gulp of water provided by the help of Impulse.

The little chick was so terribly sleepy, he was truly helpless when Impulse lifted him up- up- and away. Grian quietly protested as he was carried past the dozens of pictures hung in the hallway and into the dimly lit bedroom. But once he was settled sweetly into the bundle of soft blankets and squishy pillows, Grian grew quiet, growing too sleepy in the warm, low-light environment.

The nestling used all the strength that he could manage to limply grab at Impulse’s hand, begging him to stay. The imp fell for the puppy dog eyes, slipping into the bed with Grian and cuddling up close with the little. Grian, cozy in his cocoon, melted into the warmth that was Impulse, his kind caregiver. He snuggled into his arms and made small chirps as his eyes shut close.

As the tender kiss pressed to his forehead, Grian drifted off to sleepy town, content and cozy in his caregiver’s arms.

~ ~ ~

Notes:

This series has been months in the works. All chapters are around 5k words just like this chapter; I hope to upload them 1 chapter every 2 weeks.

This took so long to write, but I was so fixated on it I couldn’t stop writing. I made this almost entirely at school D: homework is for noobs anyway, fanfiction is for life B).

Hope you enjoyed :D! Feedback is appreciated, please leave any mistakes I may have made in the comments.

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babysizedfics · 7 months ago

Text

1k words of my little!grian & cg!scar wip

...

“Scarrr,” the all-too-common whine resounded around the room.

“Daddy’s busy,” Scar replied absentmindedly, distracted for that very reason.

He had invited Grian to keep him company while he waited in the upper levels of his Jellie farm, letting it do its magic. After a good hour of regular conversation and kidding around, it was time to enter the lower chamber to collect the fluffy grey treasures that awarded their patience. Scar was currently chasing around these treasures in his wheelchair, shoving raw fish in their faces until they loved him.

“Yeah, well Grian’s bored!” Grian groaned, dropping his forehead to a block of glass to drive his point home. The ginger cat that resided in the chamber behind the glass startled and darted around its confined space. (They had agreed to let the spare cats roam the server, just as soon as Scar had had the chance to tame his Jellies.) “And stop calling yourself that, s’weird…” Grian grumbled, his face smushed against the glass.

Tempting a Jellie towards him with a raw, slippery salmon, Scar hummed a faux noise of agreement and/or interest. Whatever it was that Grian had said, surely that covered what he wanted in response, Scar theorised.

“Scarrr!” An even louder whine, followed by a muted thump that Scar could only assume was a pathetic attempt at a foot stomp.

Theory disproved. Scar relented, dropping the fish on the floor and letting the wild Jellie snatch it and scurry back to the corner of the room. He had already acquired fourteen Jellies after all. Some people would say that was enough.

“Alright, alright, I know a cry for attention when I see one,” Scar teased, spinning his chair around with a big smile at his fluffy haired companion. “What’s got you all wound up, little man?”

“Gee, I dunno, maybe watching you chase fifteen versions of the same cat around a room for, like, half an hour?” Grian’s voice was all sarcasm, but not too much frustration. In a blur of red, Grian swung his arm up and a bunched up rag came flying at Scar.

He shrieked, arms flying up to shield his face. The rag (which was soaked in what Scar assumed, and hoped, was water) landed by complete chance in his hands with a wet slap.

“For your gross fish hands,” Grian explained, clocking Scar’s confused disgust. He dragged his feet on the floor over to where Scar was parked. Before Scar could argue that his hands weren’t that fishy, Grian had grabbed one of his wrists and lightly tugged it up to exclaim, “Oh my god, dude, your fingers are literally wrinkled!”

Scar’s own hand was shoved in his face to confirm that, yes, his fingertips were wrinkled from the amount of raw fish he had been handling. He sent a guilty (yet charming, he was sure) smile over at his best friend.

“Y’know what, Grian? I just had the best idea.”

The other’s eyebrows raised and his lips quirked into a light smile. “Oh yeah, Scar?” Grian played along, placing (not dropping) Scar’s hand back to his armrest. His fingers stayed resting on Scar’s wrist. “And what’s that?”

“Well, I’ve decided that we have been here long enough and should leave,” Scar explained casually, then grabbed Grian’s hand tight and whispered desperately, “Now.”

Grian broke into a burst of giggles. “That’s what I’ve been saying! And get your gross hands off me!” he cried, shaking Scar’s greasy grip off and leading the way to the door.

Scar hummed to himself in thought as he wiped his hand off on the rag, his chair also humming beneath him mechanically as he drove behind Grian. “No, I don’t think you’ve said that at all today.”

They broke out into the daylight, and Scar admittedly was glad to see the bright blue sky and fields of green stretching into the horizon.

“All I’ve heard you say were ‘Scar’, and ‘Scarrr’, and ‘Scarrr’—” Scar counted on his fingers, doing his very best Grian Whine, before the originator of said whine batted his hand back down.

“Okay, okay,” Grian groaned, though still with a smile.

“Can we please do something fun now?”

“Sure, fire away,” Scar indicated to Grian with the rag before chucking it to his other hand to finish cleaning off. After fussing for a good moment with a rascally scale that wanted to stay put under his fingernail, Scar looked up, only just realising Grian hadn’t said anything in reply. “Bud?”

Grian was looking a little lost, bashfully shrugging his shoulders. “Uh, I kind of hoped you could think of something?” he asked hopefully, voice raising to a pitch that meant he was trying to smooth things over.

“You didn’t even have anything in mind when you were begging to leave the Jellie farm?” Scar asked, playing shocked and affronted but really just mildly put out and amused.

“I— I just always think your ideas are, uh, more fun,” Grian lied, voice raising in a half-question by the end of the sentence. The smile on his face was a combination of smug, playful, and timid. “C’mon you always think of new games when I’m, y’know—” Grian’s shy code for regressed “—surely you can think of something on the spot.” The challenge was clear in Grian’s tone. Then it was made clearer by Grian’s finger poking repetitively into Scar’s cheek. “No pressure or anything. No pressure, Scar. No pressure.”

Argument on his tongue, Scar was ready to insist Grian think of something for them to do, he was the one who begged for it after all… But then he had an idea. Oh, and this was a fine idea indeed. One he had been waiting for. One that was so very welcome.

You see, after being thoroughly swindled out of a hefty amount of diamonds by Bdubs, Scar had broken the cycle of pranking that was so common in their would and had instead gone quiet. Suspiciously quiet, he knew it seemed from the outside. But inside, he had been sitting back and waiting patiently for just the right scheme to come upon him. One that would annoy the heck out of Bdubs, be enough to get him grinding those perfect pearly whites to mere stubs, but one that didn’t cost too much in damages—to either his base or his ego.

That is, Scar’s base or ego of course; Bdubs’ pride and property, on the other hand, were about to take a major hit. Nothing too permanent, nothing out of bounds, nothing Bdubs wouldn’t recover from, eventually. Something teetering right on the edge. The perfect place for a prank to be.

Scar felt his face twist into a huge grin (and imagined himself as the Grinch) as he caught Grian’s persistent finger in a gentle pinch. (Was he even rhyming like the Grinch now?)

“Someone’s getting kinda testy, huh?” he asked with a very specific, practised voice—softer, bouncier, more teasing than his usual tone.

It was rewarded with an instant dusting of pink across Grian’s cheeks. Step one of the plan was officially in action.

...

muuuuch more to come soon :3 pls feel free to reblog/comment/yell at me (kindly) as u see fit - and follow to catch more updates and hear some cute headcanons!

#i dont think i want this to b a chaptered fic but if it was this would be the whole of chapter 1 #we may or may not get to see uncle bdubs - uncle dubby - soon hehe #(we may)#small words and grammar are subject to change as i cant stop myself editing my fics to death for the life of me #if u did not get the memo and are confused why ur seein this - hi i used to be babyveeandlittleprince and write the labd series #but that was 3 years ago and now im obsessed with hermitcraft so here we are my friends #i will most likely never go back to ts agere and the labd series so feel free to unfollow as appropriate! we are a little grian blog now #little grian #caregiver scar #cg scar #hermitcraft agere #hermitcraft agere fic

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