Chapter Text
“I don’t know why you decided you needed to babysit me. I’m fine on my own.”
Eret looked up from the shirt they were sewing and raised an eyebrow.
“What makes you think I’m here for you?” she said, her voice teasing.
Fundy rolled her eyes. She was laying on her bed, long hair braided back early in the morning before Wilbur had set out for the day with Tommy and Tubbo. They had plans to sabotage and piss off Sapnap, if they could find him. Eret had stayed behind with Fundy—partly to keep Wilbur’s anxiety from becoming too great—but mostly because he had things to do around the van. Like sewing another shirt for Fundy.
“I know Wilbur put you up to this, I’m not stupid,” she said. “You probably wanted to go with them this morning. I know I did.”
“Rather presumptuous of you,” they replied. “Maybe I wanted to stay behind because I wanted to. Did you think of that?”
Fundy snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Honest, Fundy. I’m not one for blood and glory. I’m happy where I am, happier still with you here.”
She rolled over onto her stomach, nose wrinkling. “Even though we’re stuck in the van?”
“We’re not ‘stuck’ in the van. We can go outside, you just didn’t want to.”
“Because I’m bored.” She folded her arms under her chin, scowling. “I know every nook and cranny in this place. I know every rock and I’ve climbed the two trees here, including that big oak one. I’ve walked along the walls, I’ve watched George wander by with a bunch of wheat under his arms and I’ve seen the sky change every single color imaginable.”
Eret didn’t speak, choosing instead to focus on her sewing. The white shirt in his lap was almost done. If it went well, and their measurements were still correct, Fundy would have another uniform shirt, just like the boys.
“The point is, is that I’m bored, Eret. I just want to go outside the walls for once, see your stupid castle.”
“It’s not safe outside the walls,” Eret replied automatically. “You know that.”
“I know. You and dad won’t let me forget it.”
“It’s an important thing to remember.” She softened her face, looking up from her sewing again. “I don’t say it to be cruel, I say it to be honest.”
Fundy sat up and curled her legs close to her chest. “I just don’t like feeling trapped like this. It’s boring.”
“Neither do I. It won’t be forever though. I promise.”
He finished the last bit of sewing on the sleeve of the white shirt and picked up scissors, snipping the thread after he knotted it. They turned it over a few times, running their fingers over the soft white fabric, before holding it up for Fundy to see. She flicked her ears towards it.
“What do you think?” she asked the fox hybrid.
“It looks good,” Fundy replied. “Like the others.”
“I didn’t want to single you out. Well, single you out any more than you already are.”
Fundy snorted. “Yeah.” She tucked her chin between her knees and looked over at him, expression unreadable. “Why didn’t you dye my uniform? Why did Wilbur?”
“I knew your measurements better than he did. And I think he thought it’d be fitting to be the one to be the one to dye it, being your father and all.” Eret sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t expect him to make it pastel.”
“He used my crayons,” she mumbled. “I can’t even color anymore. I don’t have red or blue anymore.”
Eret really wasn’t sure what to say about that. It seemed needlessly cruel to deprive a child of something as simple as a couple of colors from their crayon box. Even if she grew faster than other children, she deserved to outgrow things like coloring on her own terms, not be forced into it. Her uniform marked her as unique, made her stand out. Eret was certain Wilbur hadn’t meant that to be a bad thing, but it seemed more like a careless mistake a particularly estranged family member might make. Not a father who slept mere feet from his child at all times.
He didn’t even know how to broach the topic to Wilbur.
Wilbur disappeared most days with Tommy, plotting out routes to use and future battlefields that had eventually been used as time went on. Eret had gotten accustomed to the sight of them disappearing for the day after breakfast. Tubbo occasionally tagged along but more often than not, he was sent off to do his own missions. He always returned, looking a bit more worse for wear, but he refused to let Eret take over. He claimed he was good at not getting caught. Better him than Eret, who while graceful with their sword, lacked the quick feet Tubbo possessed when he wasn’t wearing shoes. Hell, even with shoes, Tubbo could beat them all in a foot race.
It felt strange, not seeing the boys run around with games of tag or plans to scam someone. It felt even stranger to see Wilbur occasionally ask her to come outside and chat for a bit. The chats could be long or short, of seemingly inconsequential things like what was the furthest thing back Eret could remember or serious discussions about what happened after death. What they would do when they won the war. A special sort of kinship had been borne beneath the stars because of those talks.
Eret treasured the chats, as seemingly random as they often felt.
“Hey, Eret?” Fundy said.
“Hm?” He glanced at Fundy, noting that somewhere in between him zoning out, she’d grown fur and become more fox-like again.
“I have…I have something kind of important to tell you.”
Eret folded the shirt in their lap with quick, practiced motions, and set it aside. She clasped her hands together and looked at Fundy expectantly. Fundy, who shrunk smaller under her gaze.
“I-um.” Fundy cleared her throat after her voice came out strangled, keeping her eyes lowered. “So, you know how you go by all those pronouns? And you don’t really care about that stuff?”
“Mhm?”
“So…um…I have a question to ask you if that’s alright…”
“You can ask me any question you want anytime, Fundy,” Eret said, his voice soft. “Even if it’s in the dead of the night. Just wake me up.”
Fundy blinked and then nodded, still not looking at them. “Do you ever have moments where you feel really uncomfortable or something like that when people call you certain pronouns? Like you…you can’t explain why, but it feels fundamentally wrong?”
“Sometimes.” Eret tapped her fingers against her knee. “Depends on the day though.”
“Do you ever feel er…kind of gross in your own body too?”
Eret tilted his head to the side. “Sometimes.”
“Is that normal? Is that just part of growing up?” she whispered, almost like she was afraid to know.
Eret shook their head slowly. “No, it’s not normal. You should feel comfortable in your own skin, Fundy. Not like you want to peel it off.”
Fundy’s ears flattened against her head. “Oh. Okay.”
“That doesn’t make your feelings any less important though, just because they aren’t normal,” Eret added.
“Do you know why they’re happening?”
“I have a hunch.”
“Please tell me.”
Eret straightened up. “Do you remember when we were discussing what gender was and I explained to you how gender is something inside your head instead of what your body looks like?”
Fundy nodded.
“And how because I don’t really feel like I have a set gender myself, I don’t care what people call me?”
She nodded again.
“I think what you’re having is called a gender crisis, where you begin to question what your gender is, things like that. It’s completely normal to have one, even if you’re a bit young.”
“Is there a way to fix it?” she whispered. Her voice sounded hoarse.
“Of course. It might take a bit though. You have to figure out what your gender is.”
“I think I have kind of…a vague idea.” She picked at a stray thread on her quilt, head bowed. “You know how the uniforms all look the same other than the colors? Even though I’m a girl, my uniform’s designed the same way?”
Eret nodded.
“I like that it’s like that. That I look like everyone else, at least in that way.”
“You like looking more like a boy?”
For a moment, Fundy didn’t say anything. Her finger—still worrying the thread—stilled, and her entire body stiffened, as if she expected a negative response by even suggesting the idea. Eret’s heart ached at the sight. They wanted nothing more than to hug her close and make sure she didn’t have to go through what she’d been experiencing over the past few weeks. Then she spoke, her voice tiny.
“Yes.”
“…Would you prefer I address you by he/him pronouns instead of she/her, Fundy?”
“…Yes. I think so.”
“Okay, I can do that.” Eret smiled.
Fundy let out his breath. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do to help you feel more comfortable?”
“Two things, I think. Questions.”
“Of course. As I said before, ask away.”
Fundy pulled his tail close to him, fiddling with the long fur covering it. “Is there a word for whatever this is? Wanting to be a boy instead of a girl, I mean.”
“Yes. It’s called being transgender. When the gender you have doesn’t correlate with the sex you were born with.”
“And there are other people like me who are…like that?”
“Other transgender people? Of course. They’re everywhere outside of the server, if you know where to look. You’re certainly not alone in this.”
Fundy let out a breath again. “Okay good. Next question: could you cut my hair?”
Eret blinked. “What?”
The fox hybrid’s shoulder’s came up around his ears, shrinking again underneath Eret’s gaze. “I just…my hair. It’s too long and I’ve been uncomfortable with it for ages. I want it cut. But not as short as Tommy’s hair, you know? Just…shorter. Less long.”
Something about her contemplative expression must have scared Fundy, because she immediately started backpedaling after the first few beats of silence.
“It’s fine if you can’t, I’ll just put up with it—”
“—No, no, that’s not what my silence means,” Eret said, holding his hands up to soothe her. “I’m just thinking. Wilbur usually gives everyone else haircuts. I don’t know how good I’d be.”
“Don’t you cut his hair?”
Eret shook their head. “No. Sometimes, I trim the back but otherwise, he takes care of it. Handy with scissors, your father.”
Fundy slumped. “So you can’t do it?”
“It might be wiser to ask Wilbur when he gets home—”
“—No! No. I want you to do it. Please.”
Eret blinked. The outburst hadn’t been expected, but still…if Fundy really wanted his hair cut off, she’d do it. He was just a bit worried about how Wilbur would react. They didn’t expect anything too extreme—especially after Eret explained everything to Wilbur, if Fundy wanted him to—but the lingering worry that something might go wrong always remained. Eret wasn’t sure if it was like that with people who didn’t go through the experiences they had.
“Alright,” she said, getting up from her mattress on the floor.
He leaned onto Wilbur’s bed, going through the various things he has stacked up on top of the other containers—rocks and folded pieces of paper—until he finds the metal scissors Wilbur uses for cutting. They sank back down onto the mattress, digging for some scrap fabric to collect the hair in while they were cutting. After she’d gathered the materials, she patted her mattress for Fundy to sit in front of her. The fox hybrid sprang from his bed at the speed of sound and quickly sat down with his legs criss-crossed.
Eret ran his fingers through Fundy’s red hair a few times. It had the beginnings of white streaks in it—something Wilbur had decided must’ve been some sort of genetic mutation that wasn’t malicious. He patiently for Eret to unbraid his hair, tail curling over Eret’s legs. The fur felt soft against her skin.
“You’re sure?” he said.
“Absolutely.”
“Alright. Here we go.”
With a few snips of the scissors, the cut strands fell in a pile on the scrap fabric. They had no idea what they were doing at all, but they tried to make it as even as possible and cut in layers. She cut it perhaps a bit too short, but after messing around with Fundy’s bangs and finally getting it just right, she decided it didn’t look half bad.
“Better?” he said.
Fundy shook his head back and forth quickly, like a dog getting rid of water on its coat after playing in the rain. He reached up and ran his fingers through it a few time, then turned and smiled.
“Much. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe we can convince Wilbur to clean it up a bit when he gets back.”
“Would he want to?” Fundy frowned. “He always says how much I look like my mom.”
“Even if you remind him of her, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want you to be happy.” Eret nudged Fundy, smiling. “He loves you more than life itself. He’s just not very good at communicating it.”
Fundy shrugged. He paused for a moment, then looked back at Eret. “Would you mind telling him? I would but…he doesn’t listen to me. Not like you do.”
“I’ll tell him,” Eret said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Fundy grinned. He launched himself into Eret’s arms, burying his face in the elders chest. Eret wrapped their arms around him and rested their chin on top of Fundy’s head, smiling.
“If you ever need anything to help you feel better with your dysphoria, let me know, okay?” Eret said. “I don’t care if it’s awkward, just let me know what’s going on. I want to make sure I can help it.”
“Okay.”
They stayed that way for awhile longer. Eret watched as Fundy’s fur became skin again and he took on his more human appearance. When Fundy eventually pulled away, he helped Eret pick up the scrap of fabric and tie it into a little bundle. They walked outside and looked for a place to bury it, so it wouldn’t take up space in the house. Fundy stared at the pond for awhile, tapping his foot against the ground.
Similar to Tubbo, Fundy had digitigrade legs, with feet that resembled a mix between a foxes paws and a humans feet. Unlike Tubbo though, Fundy plainly refused to wear shoes unless it was the boots Eret had made specifically for him.
“Can we bury it by the river?” Fundy said, tilting his head to the side. “I know it’s outside of the walls and I know its not where Wilbur met my mother but…I think it’d be nice.”
Eret frowned. It really wasn’t safe…but maybe, if they were quick enough, they could tuck it away in a shallow hole. They’d need a shovel to get the job done though. And
Eret wasn’t about to let Fundy walk outside of those walls without a weapon to protect himself. A proper one.
“Let me put my scabbard on and grab a few tools, then we’ll go out, okay?”
Fundy nodded.
Eret pressed the bundle of hair into his hands and ducked back inside. They kept their sword in one of the barrels Wilbur used to prop his bed up, along with most of their other tools. Once they propped the lit open and could see inside, they carefully sifted around in the pile. Diamond was a hard material to craft with, even if you had the resources to do so. And she certainly had the wealth. But as a result, it wasn’t very common to see other kinds of diamond weaponry in a server as young as this one. He dug around for a bit until he found what he was looking for. A diamond dagger, simple in design, ultimately just for practice as Eret attempted to figure out the best way to make on.
The blade was a bit long and wobbly, not the normal straight lines often associated with swords and knives. The hilt was simple, wrapped in leather, with an iron ball for the pommel. It was plain, except for the swirls Eret had painstakingly chipped onto the sides of the blade after it was clear they weren’t going to be using it much. She liked for things to be beautiful, even if they didn’t have a use in the end. The swirls had no proper function—they weren’t enchantment runes or runes to name it—but it turned a rather shitty looking diamond dagger into something that looked a bit more ornate.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
He took the shovels and put them into his inventory, slid the scabbard with his sword still in it onto his belt and carried the knife out to where Fundy was waiting, sitting on top of the picnic table like Tommy often liked to do.
“Here,” they said, handing him the dagger.
The fox hybrid set the bundle of hair onto the picnic table and took the blade with curious eyes, turning it over carefully in his hands as he examined it.
“I was trying to figure out a good way of designing other weapons. But I’m no bladesmith. It’ll serve you well, regardless. It’ll have to do before you get a proper sword or axe.”
“It’s beautiful,” Fundy said, awe evident in his voice.
Upon looking at it more closely, it really was. Out in the sunlight, the pale blue diamond blade glittered and the swirled designs—so painstakingly carved on—were paler than the rest of the blade, giving it contrast. The rougher edges made it look like something found on some sort of great quest instead of a practice-dagger made by a person who spent more time making buildings than weapons. It might’ve been fairly simple, but that simplicity made it charming in a way.
“It is,” Eret said after awhile.
Fundy tucked the dagger into the back of his pants carefully and picked up the bundle again. They walked to the entrance of the walls and paused to allow Eret to open a small hole in the smooth basalt. Once that was done, they quickly walked to the river, keeping their eyes and ears open for anything that moved.
The river itself was peaceful, thought the banks were steep and they had to climb down carefully to make it there. Fundy shivered a bit, looking at the frothing water. He probably remembered Tommy shoving him in. Eret touched his shoulder, to reassure him he wouldn’t be pushed in again. They quickly dug a small hole to bury the bundle, diamond shovels making quick work of the soft sand and soil. Eret kept an eye on the upper parts of the bank.
After so much fighting already taking place, she’d learned to worry about arrows from a crossbow raining down from on high. He had a few scars on his arms to prove it, places where arrows had lodged themselves and had to be dug out later by Wilbur. Being on lower ground was no longer as simple as it once was. Now, it was like signing a death warrant.
Fortunately, no one showed up as they replaced the dirt and sand from before. Eret patted the dirt down with the back of his shovel, wiped the sweat off of his brow and nudged Fundy.
“Are you all set?”
Fundy watched the water churn near them, spraying them with its spit. Though they were a bit away from the sea, Eret could still smell hints of the salt on the breeze. Fundy flicked his ear and turned towards them, nodding.
“Yup. All good.”
Eret stored her shovel away in her inventory. “Come on. I’ll race you back to the van. We’ll collect some flowers to make dyes for a new project I have in mind.”
Fundy grinned. “Only if I get to make paint out of the leftovers like last time.”
“Of course.” Eret smiled.
They set off towards the blackstone walls topped with black and yellow concrete again, breaking into a sprint—not because there was any real need to—but because Fundy wanted to race him. It was a nice break from the fighting, one Eret did not look forward to relinquishing. Still, the problem of Fundy’s boredom bothered them in the back of their mind. There really wasn’t much in the way of entertainment in L’manberg right now. And Fundy was used to setting traps, running around the forest to cause all sorts of mischief and mayhem.
Perhaps Eret could figure out a way for the young boy to let out some of that restless energy, get him using his brain again. Maybe a few harmless pranks would help get the energy out. It would certainly allow him to use his brain again, to puzzle out what exactly would be a good prank.
And maybe…just maybe, Eret could sneak him outside of the walls again. If they were careful. And if Fundy continued to receive the secret training. Every day, he inched closer and closer to knowing how to properly defend himself. As he grew bigger, it became harder and harder to justify keeping him inside the walls, to support Wilbur’s decisions to keep him there in the first place. Eret understood the desire to protect, but the boys were allowed to fight themselves. And at this point, with Fundy growing so quickly, he looked closer to Tommy’s age than his actual age.
One thing at a time, Eret reminded themselves.
She still had to explain to Wilbur that his son was transgender. Even though he was confident the other man would be fine with it, a bit of anxiety still lingered in his stomach. They hoped they weren’t wrong.