Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a few seconds after Etho opens their eyes, they don’t know what woke them. In that brief, beautifully empty moment, they could almost convince themself it was nothing at all. 

Then the pain of the headache really sets in, and Etho is wide-awake when he really doesn’t want to be.

They try to ignore it, roll over, and pull their blanket over their head. But it only gets worse, and they vacillate between sweating and shivering before finally sitting up to go hunt for a potion to dull it enough that they can at least pass back out . This can be a problem for later Etho. 

Frustratingly, the pressure actually lessens when Etho sits up: the exact position they would rather not be in right now. Their bed is calling to them and it doesn’t do that too often.

They don’t bother to pull on pants and wander to their storage in their boxers, rubbing their face. It takes several minutes of searching to find a potion, and they down it like a shot. Why the hell his body woke him up for this at four AM, Etho doesn’t know. He flops onto the couch in his and Iskall’s living room, curling up on his side to wait for the potion to kick in. But laying down or even closing his eyes makes their whole body and mind focus in on that pain in their head, and fuck, all Etho wants is to be asleep. 

He eventually just stays sitting up, head tilted back against the couch cushion, a knitted blanket only halfway over his lap. When the headache starts to wane, he’ll get up and go back to his bed, he decides. The clock keeps turning, time keeps passing, and his head still hurts. Etho shifts around, trying to find a comfortable way to sit, wanting to just be horizontal but only feeling like he’s getting stabbed in the head for his efforts. It just … it has to end eventually …

Etho cracks open his eyes and blinks.

His head fucking hurts.

Not as bad as it did before, but it still hurts. He’s still on the couch, the blanket drawn across his lap, and he can hear the sounds of Iskall in the kitchen.

Etho wishes they could just pass right back out. Instead, they shuffle into the kitchen with the blanket around their shoulders and collapse into a dining chair like the morning person they are.

“Hey.” Iskall greets. “How’d you end up on the couch?”

“4AM headache.” Etho answers, surprised at his rough his voice sounds. “Was waiting for a pot to kick in to go back to bed. Guess I fell back asleep.”

“Ah. Feeling better?”

Etho shrugs and makes a nondescript sound, putting their head down on the table. 

Plates clink and Iskall lays a hand on Etho’s shoulder. “I’ll grab your meds and find another pot.” They tell Etho. 

Etho mumbles a thank you and stays put until Iskall’s return. He can tell Iskall has pulled down the blinds and flicked off nearly all the lights too, to avoid making the headache worse. 

Iskall taps the tabletop twice. “C’mon, let’s get this down.” Etho blearily raises their head, seeing Iskall has a plate of eggs and rice sitting by a glass of water, a healing pot, and Etho’s morning meds. 

It’s way too much for Etho to want to deal with, but Iskall reads that off their face right away.

“Potion first.” They state, uncorking it. Etho doesn’t hesitate there. Next Iskall slides the water and pills over, but Etho neglects the water and just downs them dry.

“You should eat just a bit.” Iskall points out. “Just a little. Ten bites.”

“Five.”

“Eight.”

“Four.”

“Five, then.”

“Three.”

“ Five, Etho. Actual forkfulls.”

“…fine.” 

While Etho eats, Iskall goes to make sure their curtains are drawn and their room migraine-fortified with proper supplies and such, and that their comm is on the charger. Etho doesn’t think this is necessarily a migraine, but they don’t argue about the fussing. Iskall isn’t really fussing, anyways, Iskall is just practical, which Etho respects (and appreciates, considering he hardly has the energy to do these things right now). 

Etho has seven bites from his plate before wandering back to his bed looking like a rumpled, ghostly Victorian orphan. Iskall kindly tucks them in before softly closing the door behind themself. 

They sleep restlessly until lunchtime, when Iskall returns to check on them. They feel Iskall’s hand settle between their shoulderblades, tracing down their spine.

“I’m guessing you don’t feel great if you’re still in bed.”

Etho kicked off the blankets at some point while half-asleep, and is curled into a tight ball, tail tucked in. “Not really.” He mumbles. “It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Who said I’m worrying?” Iskall keeps soothing up and down Etho’s back. “If you want to be alone, I’ll leave. But if I can make you a tick less miserable, then I will.”

Etho finds any possible response stuck in their throat. They can be resistant to comfort, but they’ve been getting better at accepting it, especially from those closest to them. Right now, Etho just wants to bury themself under their blankets and not come out.

Iskall doesn’t ask again, but they don’t leave, either. Etho’s not sure how long it is that they drift before realizing Iskall actually has stepped out.

He takes a deep breath and makes himself get up. He has to make something out of this day, he’s decided, so he hunts for clothes and his boots and he pulls on his coat and mask. He’s definitely not ready to face the world without being behind at least a couple of layers. Etho downs another potion to keep the headache at bay and slips out without looking for Iskall.

It’s not the most productive day possible. Etho indulges in a bit of retail therapy with what diamonds are left in his wallet, though they avoid running into anyone. The few Hermits he sees give a wave but thankfully don’t stop to talk. When his wallet is empty, he squints at his scrawled-out to-do list and determines where he feels like starting. It’s not a day for building, because that takes brainpower and precision and those are not Etho’s qualities today.

They break two shovels gathering sand and work on smelting glass, then start to create a sand duper before they abandon that task altogether. They go fishing while the glass smelts and mostly gather a bucket of garbage from the river. They remember to throw one of the fish into the smelter to feed themself and it only gets a little bit of sand on it.

The sun is going down and Etho decides there’s probably more they can get done before going to sleep. They study the to-do list again.

Etho wanders back home past midnight and wrung out. If not for the lingering headache, he would’ve gone mining, but otherwise there’s not much else gathering he can do right now. The lights in the house are all off, and Etho takes off his boots and falls directly into bed.

It’s probably the fastest he’s ever fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

Sleep has such a hold on him that he gets out of bed in a haze and is standing in the kitchen making coffee before he’s fully conscious.

“I don’t think I've ever seen you sleep so long,” a voice from behind him comments, and Etho jumps, promptly slamming his hip into the corner of the cabinet in his haste to turn around.

Etho yelps. Stress gasps sympathetically. Thankfully, Etho’s coffee mug stays upright and beneath the spigot.

“Sorry love, I thought we made eye contact!” Stress immediately apologizes, leaning forward out of her seat.

Etho mumbles a swear, waving off Stress’ concern, and dumps half the container of creamer into his mug before he sits.

He doesn’t pull down his mask to drink it, just looks at Stress across from him and taking in the warmth of the mug.

“Iskall sent me to check on you.” She explains. “Said you got in real late and you were still out for the count when they left. Figured we could work on the enchantments we were talkin’ about recently.”

Etho nods along, gaze slowly drifting off Stress and to the window. It’s pretty bright outside. Like, unusually bright, for the morning.

Etho squints, then taps his wrist in the sign for time?

Stress checks her comm. “Quarter after one in the afternoon.”

Etho stares. 

TWELVE HOURS? he signs as emphatically as possible. Stress understands what he means without him saying more. 

“When you weren’t awake after a solid eight, that’s why Iskall sent me over.” Stress tells them. She does not, thankfully, immediately press Etho about his recent sleep schedule, just sits back and avoids staring at Etho by pulling out a notebook and explaining a few of her plans for the enchanting project they were collaborating on. 

Stress talks enough to keep things from being awkward, but doesn’t sit expectantly for Etho to answer her at any point. Etho takes the opportunity to drink his coffee and find something to eat without feeling like Stress is hyperfocused on him. They eventually migrate to a workspace and a bigger table with the supplies when they’re ready to work.

Etho has been working on handmade, ornate studded leather armor. Leather is better for quick movement, and the beautiful details matter too. Stress said she had tips for embroidery, and her hands are steady and her work truly incredible as she shows Etho the stitches. It’s ironic — Etho has done embroidery in fabric before, but never in leather, while Stress’ experiences go the other way around. She wore her own embroidered leather jacket today, showing off the dozens and dozens of hand-embroidered butterflies on it. It’s gorgeous and impressive. Etho follows Stress’ lead as they practice the patterns for their armor, and lends her some of his thin lapis pencils meant for enchanting. Her handwriting is as perfect as her embroidery, and she takes to the careful enchanting easily as he embroiders. 

As they work, Etho takes stock of themself:

The world spins with just a bit of vertigo if they don’t stand up slowly? Normal.

Tremors in their hands? Absent, they only get bad if Etho has a migraine.

Hunger? They feel fine. Last ate? That check-in is independent of whether or not Etho feels hungry, because they often don’t or put off eating. But they ate an hour ago, so, fine.

Sleep is the problem. Because they did sleep, and yet, Etho feels so fucking tired.

They reason that maybe they’re just still waking up. The sluggish and heavy-lead feeling in their limbs might still go away. They take a break after another hour and a half of work, though, and the only change is that Etho’s hands are a bit sore and cramping from all the precise work. He’s still tired.

Stress looks at Etho’s armor so far and compliments their work; Etho sits down to play piano and stretch his fingers in a familiar, habitual way.

Iskall comes home before dinnertime, and Stress stays to eat. They share a meal of rabbit smothered in a sweet berry sauce and catch up on the day’s news. 

After Stress bids them goodbye, Iskall asks how Etho’s day was while Etho washes the dishes.

“It was good.” Etho replies. “Stress and I got a lot of work done.”

“Did your headache go away?”

“Mhm.” Etho hands the last dish off to Iskall to dry. “Can’t believe I slept that long.”

“Me neither.” Iskall chuckles. “You must’ve needed it.”

The evening is quiet, and when Iskall goes to bed, they pleasantly tell Etho not to stay up too long.

At midnight, Etho’s comm beeps.

<GeminiTay> Are you still awake?

<GeminiTay> well actually thats a silly question probably

<GeminiTay> Are you free and interested in a practice session?

<ethoslab> yes

<ethoslab> that’d be great actually

<GeminiTay> :D

Etho is a good fighter -- but Gem is better, most times, and she keeps him on his toes. It’s a welcome distraction. They’re using practice swords, tonight, with wooden blades, though sometimes they do practice with live steel. That requires donning armor and all kinds of other precautions, and considering that it’s midnight, it doesn’t feel like the right moment. Midnight might be a common time for Etho to be doing things, but less so for Gem. Etho doesn’t ask her why she’s awake at midnight and wanting to spar, just teases her with some of their regular banter and squares up when they’re both ready.

The wooden swords hit each other over and over, in a hyperfocused rhythm as the two weave and dart around each other. They don’t count taps, as their bouts regularly go until someone is down on the ground. Strategic thoughts rush through Etho’s mind, instinct guiding them, taking in every shift of Gem’s feet and every breath that expands her lungs, leaning in to follow every twitch into the extension of her muscles and sword to find where she goes next, to meet her there. 

Etho wins the first round, Gem grinning up at them when they have the tip of their sword to her throat.

“You’re sharp tonight.” She tells them as Etho offers their hand and picks her up. They both slide right back into fighting stances. “Night owl advantage.”

“I don’t know about that.” Etho answers as Gem darts in and Etho redirects her blade with their own. “It’s not as if I don’t get tired.”

Gem snorts and ducks as Etho returns a blow, jabbing him in the gut with the pommel of her sword. Etho spins into a kick and Gem stumbles back. 

“You pretend you don’t.” Gem points out as she recovers her footing and circles Etho for only a beat before lunging in again. Etho has no chance to respond to her words, busy as he is keeping Gem from knocking him down. Gem locks the crossguard of her sword against Etho’s and nearly yanks Etho’s sword free from his grip. He gekkers at Gem and manages to pull free, and they lock swords three more times in fewer minutes before Gem knocks Etho down and puts her foot on his chest.

They go again, and again, and again. Gem wins more than Etho does, though she doesn’t entirely wipe the floor with them. After the last time she knocks Etho down, she flicks her sword away into her inventory and helps pick them up.

“I’m sure we could be here until sunrise.” She says with a smile. “Do you want to come back to my base?”

Etho agrees, and they end up sitting at Gem’s small table as she bustles about in the kitchen, waiting for the teapot to whistle. It’s late, or early, depending on which standards they’re judging by, the wee hours of the morning where most Hermits are surely asleep. Hopefully. Etho isn’t the only person around here with a fucked-up sleep schedule, as evidenced by the fact that Gem texted him at midnight to fight.

Etho accepts the offer of tea, though he ends up doing the same thing he did with Stress after he woke -- enjoying the warmth in his palms and listening to Gem talk without really going to drink much of it. It’s peaceful, honestly, and Etho likes hanging out with Gem. 

Eventually Gem yawns, scooting her chair back from the table. “I’m gonna try and catch a few hours before the sun comes up.” She tells Etho. “You can stay over, if you want, until it’s light out.”

It’s a kind offer, and reasonable, so Etho accepts, though with no particular plans on sleeping himself. Etho figures he can waste a few hours easily enough, though before Gem fully wanders off to bed, she brightens.

“Oh! I just remembered I have something to show you!” She drags Etho to the couch by a jukebox, setting the needle to play. “I just got a new disc! Fwhip sent it to me.”

As the music starts to play, Gem curls up at Etho’s side. He sets his chin on the top of her head as they listen.

By the time the disc is over, Gem is fast asleep on Etho’s shoulder. He eyes her for several moments, trying to decide if he has any hope of getting free and getting her into bed without waking her. Etho tries multiple times to stealthily shift, but Gem briefly stirs each time and he’s forced to go still again until she settles.

Oh, well. It’s not the worst position to be. Etho was only going to waste the time anyways, and the jukebox is replaying the disc. It’s a good track, and Etho can always appreciate new music.

(By the time the sun is coming up, Etho is passed out as well.)