Work Text:
Etho swore to Grian. Swore to be his ally. To fight for him, to help him, to work with him, all because of a diamond sword.
He built a mob farm to the east, and just a bit to the south from the mansion, beyond the dark oak forest in the copse of spruce. It was ugly, but it promised beautiful things. Allies, trades... leverage.
And Grian brought him things, let him stay holed up in the cave he dug out and transformed into his home.
Grian brought him news first. The teams, and their names. How he joined ‘The Bad Boys’ and all their schemes.
Then he brought Etho redstone, piles of it he’d been collecting
He brought Etho sheep, with wool dyed bright colors. They were to provide food for him, and wool for his redstone farms if he wanted.
Then he brought Etho bread. Bread and stories, of what they had been up to, of Joel’s boogey kill and the pillaging of their bridge.
And Etho listened to the stories, with a longing in his chest.
He was getting lonely.
But this is what Grian wanted, and Etho was a good teammate. (“You’re the best soulmate I could have asked for Etho.” )
So he stayed in the corner of the world, with only rare visits to break the dull monotony he had grown used to.
Bdubs showed up a few times, trying to steal his gunpowder and other drops from the farm.
Etho was fine being alone, really.
But then she showed up.
A small, round chicken with feathers on her legs and feet. Her tail was short and rounded, and she had a small single comb standing up through the feathers on her head.
She was shivering where she roosted on his doorstep, stealing the carpet he used as a doormat to make a poor imitation of a nest.
And all he could think about was their plans to have chickens after they won. How the Relation was going to be surrounded by the feathery menaces, and they could make different kinds of eggs for every meal.
She wasn’t very happy to be helped, spiteful and mean and pecking at Etho’s hands every other time he tried to touch her.
But sometimes she would go soft under his fingers, letting him stroke her back or chest.
Sometimes she would come with him to the field of wheat, and scratch the dirt while he harvested and replanted.
Sometimes she would sit on his shoulder while he managed the mob farm, and Etho made a little leather shoulder pad for when she did.
Sometimes she would sleep next to him, pressed against his chest where he could feel her breathing, a small steady warmth to comfort him through the night.
He loved her.
And she hadn’t left.
Something changed.
And Etho didn’t know if Grian had just forgotten to tell him, or if Etho forgot, or if it wasn’t planned but-
Joel was there.
Joel was at his base, in his cave, his home.
He was alone him, and Etho didn’t what to say, what to do-
And Joel wasn’t looking at him he was looking at his hands, at-
“Can’t believe you replaced me with a chicken.” Joel’s voice was too nonchalant, too airy and put on. He didn’t want Etho to know something.
“I didn’t, it was just too quiet in here.” Etho turned around to put Love back in her scrap pile nest that sat beside the fireplace. “Besides, we always talked about getting a pet.”
Etho couldn’t see Joel’s face but he could hear the strain in Joel’s voice when he said, “You didn’t name it-”
“”Love”, yeah. Cause it’s a bird.” Etho idly stroked Love’s back.
Etho didn’t turn back around, just kept stroking Love’s back and feeling stupid for even telling him. He should have made up a different name, should have kept quiet, shouldn’t have been so damn vulnerable, not when everything is different.
Not when Joel is so different.
Joel, with his studded leather vest and dark sunglasses, two long braids falling down his back that stood out against the shorter hair everywhere else. Joel with platform combat boots that made him just that much taller, and the fingerless gloves that he always is messing with.
And it was so different from the Joel he once knew, who wore Etho’s oversized shirt that fell down to Joel’s knees because it was already long on Etho, nevermind Joel. The flickering light of the lanterns in Etho’s hide away couldn’t compare to the way Joel looked in the light of the setting sun, in the moonlight, in the soft glow of dawn.
Joel, who decided that Etho wasn’t allowed to be a part of the Bad Boys. (despite the stupid name, it hurt, it hurt to be excluded like that.)
But Joel surprises him.
“I’m glad. It’s nice, y’know? That something from- from then still exists. Is still around.” Joel’s voice was odd, and Etho realized that he looked just like he used to when he would beg Etho for a distraction, not with words but his actions.
Joel looked like he was mourning. Like he was weighed down.
Etho hopes it’s not their shared past that’s doing it.
He reaches out anyways, offering his hand like he used to back then. Offering Joel the option to hold it, to feel and mess with gently while Etho organized their chests or played with redstone or as they sat together on their bed, watching the flames flicker and cast shadows onto the spruce walls of The Relation.
And of course Joel takes it, takes his offer, and he looks so hopeful and Etho may very well be stupid.
They don’t talk as Etho gets up from the floor, leading Joel into his bedroom nearby.
Etho lets go, feeling Joel’s hand grip his tight for a moment before he let go slowly. Etho took off his warm jacket, and pulled off his boots as well before climbing into the bed.
Joel follows his lead, stripping himself of the spiky vest and his combat boots and those silly sunglasses, and then he’s climbing in next to him, warm and solid and familiar.
It’s a tight squeeze, but they manage to squish onto Etho’s single bed, wrapped around each other.
Etho offers his hand to Joel once more, and Joel’s smile as he takes it is just like back then.
He wasn’t different after all. Just changed clothes.
They hold each other’s hands, basking in the warmth of the other, relieved and so very peaceful.
Etho’s last thought before he falls into a blissful sleep is that green work boots look pretty good next to black combat boots.