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"Pick up pick up pick up—”
It was midnight on his server, and Grian was having a panic attack.
“Hello?” Phil’s voice is exhausted and groggy, it almost makes him feel guilty.
He had no idea why he was having a panic attack.
“ Dad, ” he whispers.
That's a lie, he knows exactly why he’s having a panic attack, he just doesn't want to acknowledge it.
“Woah woah woah, hey Grian, hey hey hey, what’s wrong, what’s wrong?”
The concern in his voice is enough to send another fresh round of tears into Grian’s eyes. His fear clogs his lungs and all he can get out is whines and sobs. Honestly he hadn't been planning to call Phil specifically, he had just grabbed his com and pressed call on the first chat that showed up.
“Hey hey hey hey, Grian Grian Grian Grian, I’m here I’m here, are you safe? Can you tell me if you’re safe?”
“M, m, m, ’m safe—”
“Good, good, good. You’re safe that's good. Focus on my voice ok? Its ok, you’re safe and I’m here and it’s all ok.”
He wonders if the fact that he had only ever heard Phil speak when it was safe had anything to do with why this one was calming down so quickly.
“Just breathe in and out yeah? Tell me when you can talk and just keep breathing,” Phil kept babbling about anything that came to mind.
Which of course lead to the awful bird puns, most of which being crow based.
It’s only a minute before he can breathe enough to speak again, the stupid outrageously bad puns more than enough to ground him momentarily.
“Hey…”
“Hey, hey, hey! Hi Grian, hi, hey little one, hey, is anyone on your server awake right now to help you? Anyone I should contact? Or do you want me to just stay talking to you? What do you need little one?”
Grian rubbed at his eyes, wiping away tears. He did really just want to stay on the phone with his dad and no one else, hell he'd prefer to be clinging to the man right now— safe and warm in his wings.
But he also knew that wasn't really possible right now, with the two of them on different servers unable to inform their admins they were leaving with them asleep. And leaving unannounced would cause a server wide panic, keeping track of their wards was part of an admin’s job after all.
He drew his com away from his ear, pulling up the active player list and frowning at the nearly empty list, only him and one other person still awake.
“Tfc’s the only one online…”
Now that wasn't a bad thing necessarily; he had heard good things about Tfc, from everyone, including Ex mostly unprompted. He was apparently a good man who had been around longer than the main menu and served as the entire server’s grandpa and primary pseudo-caretaker.
The issue was that Grian had yet to actually properly meet him.
Sure, during meetings he would sometimes choose him as a perch, and they would exchange greetings if they passed by each other, but beyond that Tfc was a complete stranger.
Then again, a stranger was better than being alone with only his dad on call. Especially when his hands still shook and he could almost feel a second wave of fear looming over his shoulder.
“Can you ask Tfc to come help you calm down?” his father asked in that same sweet, peaceful voice.
Maybe it’s because he only had Phil back then, but his dad could never really keep him calm after panic attacks.
If anyone else, even those from evo, calmed him down he would be fine, but with Phil any lapse in silence caused his fear to come rolling back.
Which was complete bullshit if he was being honest, considering his dad could calm him down in mere seconds if the attack didn't surprise them.
“Mhm..”
As he opened his and Tfc’s blank private chat he was startled by the fact he already had a nickname, and by what exactly said nickname was.
Strawberry grandchild: hey tfc? Do you have a moment?
His wings had only just lost the purple to them, finally revealing that his natural coloration was that of a strawberry finch. He had only told his dad, Ex, and the architects about that though…
But Tfc had apparently noticed— something fuzzed in Grian’s gut at that.
Grandad tfc (he/him): depends, what do you need kiddo?
Strawberry grandchild: I had a panic attack and was wondering if you could sit with me as I calm down more?
Grandad tfc (he/him): you’re at your starter base right?
Strawberry grandchild: mhm
Grandad tfc (he/him): give me five minutes.
“He's on his way,” he murmured into his com, hearing Phil’s sigh of relief.
“Good that's good, that's great little one, that's wonderful, you’re doing so good Grian, I’m so proud of you.”
His wings fluff at that, his ears drop as he feels himself flush, sniffling a little.
“Daaad..”
“You are! Reaching out is hard and I’m so proud that you can do it with your servermates so easily! You’re healing and it’s such a nice thing to watch. I do the same thing with my other kids y'know.”
“You do?”
“Mhm, like, did you know that Wilbur can go into spectator mode for a few minutes now without breaking down? He even made his newest character a ghost! If that's not progress I don't know what is.”
Grian hummed; he only sort of knew the stories behind his father’s other kids. Tommy and Wilbur came from a birth server like him. Wilbur specifically had died when he was young though and had managed to get stuck in spectator instead of going to the main menu. The details got a bit blurry from there, but from what he had heard those stuck in spectator, or ghosts (he remembered wondering if those on his own birthserver ever got out) were stuck in time until they figured out how to access the server list.
And from what he heard Wilbur had been stuck on that server until its deletion, he had no idea how long he spent there. Up until recently spectator mode was one of Wilbur’s triggers, in MCC he had asked to just be transported to the game’s lobby if he would normally be put in spectator. If he remembers correctly, Wilbur also got uncomfortable when he was related to ghosts. So it was progress he supposed…
He really should spend more time with his siblings.
“That's great,” he hummed, answering Phil, trying to refocus on reality instead of his own wandering muse.
“It really is, isn't it? Oh and right now Tommy, Tubbo, Dream, and I think Techno, are trying to set up an arc to help deal with the two’s codependency, I’ve heard the world exile thrown around a couple times— Techno keeps muttering things about the Theseus story? It’s been odd to only hear snippets when I’m so used to hearing everything from my three boys here. Downside to actually joining the server I suppose.”
“Dad, Dream’s server is weird.”
“Oi! Theatrical play is a very valid way of processing trauma.”
“Never said it wasn't valid, just said it was weird.”
“That’s fair, it kind of is, I’m so used to playing hardcore with casual play this entire set-up feels odd… I think it’ll do me good though, and if it doesn't I'll just leave Dream and Callahan's wardship.”
“Callahan? Also I don’t think wardship is a word.”
“Yeah he's the other admin here, he's mute, bit of a lurker. And it should be, I’m a ward of the Dream SMP and thus I have a wardship under its admins, that makes sense… or it least it feels like it should.”
“I’m not calling mine and the voids relationship a wardship dad.”
“What would you call it then?”
“A friendship maybe?”
“No no no, I’m not friends with Dream or Callahan, I’m fairly sure I only got whitelisted because my boys here begged them to. Besides an admin and their ward feels different then a ward and ward’s friendship, one has more weight to it and all that.”
“You’re doing that thing where you make admins seem bigger than they are again.”
“They just have more responsibility than wards when it comes to their wards health is all! You wouldn’t get too mad at a ward for screwing up and hurting a fellow ward, but if an admin slips up and hurts their ward there's a lot more weight to it.”
Grian hummed— it was a debate him and his dad had long since had. Admins were responsible for anyone they claimed as a ward sure, it kind of reminded Grian of teachers, or maybe a therapist; Grian’s thankful he didn't know how to claim wards when he started evo he did awful in that part of an admin’s responsibilities. But his father had a weird way of placing admins as their ward’s superiors instead of just being responsible for their health— Grian blamed it on the fact that he's fairly sure Phil had been working under them longer than Grian himself had been alive. Grian’s own distaste for authority stemmed from the same source, refusing to equate Ex and X of all people on the same level he sees politicians and them .
“Or maybe I’m just an old player who’s only been on hardcore worlds alone for most of his server experience, who knows.”
“Aren’t you always telling Tommy that you're not old?”
“Oh hush, you know what I mean. Tommy’s just a little shit whose goal is for me to go gray.”
Grian laughs a little, ears flicking as he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. He turns and stands, walking on wobbly feet to his door, watching Tfc approach down the unintentional foot paths of Boatem, a lantern in his hand illuminating the area.
“Tfc’s here, I’ll call you in the morning, ok dad?”
“You better! Love you little one.”
“Love you dad.”
He ends the call and opens the door to greet Tfc, rubbing at his eyes again to rid himself of the last of his tears, trying to ignore the panic bubbling up again now that the babble of his father is gone.
“Sorry,” he says before he even thinks, forcing himself to meet Tfc’s eyes.
He has to crane his neck a little, Tfc’s built like how he thinks half-elf dwarfs would be built— tall and stocky with a bushy white beard barely contained to a braid, the badger ears almost lost in the coal and soot stained hair on his head. He's more like a tired old grizzly bear than a badger, honestly.
“Don’ be, ain't yer fault.” His voice is gruff too, like the dust of the mines has actually permanently affected him.
“Right, thanks then..” The wordless fear is pushing again, and he can feel tears threaten to spill over once more. He hates it— how volatile his emotions have become over the years. He misses the apathy and rage of highschool. He turns, leading Tfc in and settling on the floor. Tfc’s looking around the space, a low hum resonating out of him. He sets his lantern down, the light flickering off the chandelier in a pretty way that makes Grian want to coo.
“Tea ‘elp ya’ kid? Or would ya’ rather I jus’ plant m’self down and sit with ya’, talk ‘bout wha’ spooked ya’ maybe?”
His accent is funny, Grian thinks mostly to himself; the words are rounded and letters are dropped in a way he hasn't really heard before. He wonders how consistent it is, how many letters the elder can drop before he’s unintelligible. He knows he probably should talk about it— the nightmare that tore him from sleep and to his com, the underlying fear he's had ever since Pearl told him that his best friend still missed him.
The fear that he’s too different already, that what his best friend finds isn't what he wanted.
“Got any stories you're willing to share?”
Tfc huffs at that, lowering himself to the floor across from Grian with popping joints.
“Oh I got stories a’ight, anythin’ you wanna hear ‘bout spifically or do ya’ just wanna listen to an old man tell his tall tales?”
“Happy ones, with nice endings.”
Tfc hums again before he starts telling Grian a story about an old friend of his, voice low and drawling and kind. Grian— even back on his birthserver— never really had a grandpa, his adopted parents never spoke of any and neither did his brother. He doesn't think. The memories are so fuzzy by now he can't even remember how old his brother really was. And Phil didn’t have a caretaker that would act as Grian’s grandparent, but he had heard other people talk about it. How grandparents were softer than parents usually and gave the best presents and the second best hugs and told the strangest stories…
And as Grian listens to Tfc drawl about how things were before the main menu was even created, he wonders if this is what they meant. The soft words helped him ride through the short bursting waves of fear and panic and tears and stress. He’s exhausted soon enough, eyes puffy with tears and snot-stains on the sleeves of his sweater and the pants of his jeans. He’d moved around a bit during it all, now pressed into Tfc’s side. The man is like a blanket resting on a furnace— warm, soft, and comfortable. One of his arms rests across Grian’s shoulders, hiding him a bit more as Grian examines Tfc’s other hand.
It’s imperfect, he finds with glee; the fingers are stained with coal residue, seemingly permanently, and the claws on the ends of his fingers look a little funny. They’re not small and sharp like Tango’s or hooked like his own— they’re longish and straight with signs of wear scuffing them, and he wonders how Tfc holds anything with them. The pads of his hands are calloused in a way that reminds him faintly of cat paws, wrinkles and old burn scars scattered across them. The callouses on Grian’s own fingers catch on them, which makes him want to cry again. The sign of wear and tear on his body is just another sign that he's safe.
He drifts off to sleep just as Tfc starts on a story about the first time the end was discovered.
-----
When he wakes up, Tfc is still there; it’s a bit awkward on Grian’s end, but Tfc seems unbothered, stating he's always open to help as he heads back to his own base. Then he calls his dad, tells him about the nightmare. He knows Phil understands when his father coos softly in sympathy, and he's encouraged to reach out and talk to Pearl about it.
Better to know and grieve then not and regret and all that.
And he does, he raps his knuckles against the door to her base just as the sun’s starting to rise and gives her a stilted smile as the confusing door swings open.
He sits with her, in her living room, and he forces himself to spill his guts about the fact that he's scared, terrified even— that he's not what his best friend expects, needs even.
That he's not enough anymore.
“He adores you more than life itself, Grian,” Pearl had hummed, and her eyes shine with pity that crawls across Grian’s skin.
“I know,” he chokes out.
“He wants to see you again,” she states.
“I know,” he answers.
“Do you want to see him?” she asks.
“ I do, ” he breathes.
------
When he enters the world, he has to lean on Pearl for support for a few seconds.
He wonders if this was a good idea again, if meeting up with not just his best friend but the entire old evo crew in one go will be too much for him. Wonders if he's overestimating himself and the progress he’s made over the years.
“Grian!” then he hears Netty’s voice, so happy and excited, and all doubt leaves his mind.
He bites his tongue as he’s swarmed; they thought he was gone for good, he can let them fuss a little. He’s missed them anyway, and being surrounded like this doesn't stress him out anywhere near as much as it used to.
“You’re alive,” he hears someone whisper.
And the group falls back a little, excited and bouncing on their toes…
And then there's his best friend.
“Hey Taurtis.” The name drops from his lips like a stone, barely managing to crawl to the surface of his thoughts, something he had shoved so far back in his mind after he was stolen that he had nearly forgotten it.
Taurtis stands before him, eyes drifting over him in a slow manner, taking in everything before him at a speed he could register.
He doesn't feel anxious under Taurtis’ gaze, not like he normally would should it be anyone else.
“You’re back to red?” a simple question, as his eyebrows knit together in mild confusion.
And Grian can’t help but laugh, because that's what draws Taurtis’ attention, not the wings or the disappearance or the fact that the scar he had gained on his jaw from their highschool years is gone…
No, it’s the fact that he changed his sweater back from green to red.
And it’s so very Taurtis that of course he laughs.
“Yeah, yeah I did. I think it suits me better.”
And those eyes drift to meet his own— they stare into his eyes, searching his soul in an odd way.
“It does,” Taurtis confirms, steps taking him closer and closer until he stands right before Grian.
“It really does.”
He doesn't see Taurtis’ bone crushing hug coming, as he’s picked up in a way he would normally hate with every fiber of his being and try to get away from.
But instead he laughs, he wraps his legs around Taurtis’ alongside his arms and he laughs . He feels tears, because of course he's crying, as he laughs and can't stop laughing.
Because, if he's being honest, it feels like after a lifetime of searching he finally found home .
And with it, he finally feels like everything’s going to be okay.