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False entered the medbay, carefully pushing open the door, trying to be as quiet as possible so she wouldn’t awaken the inhabitants. There weren't any lights on, given it was night and the hermits who had returned from the most recent game were meant to be sleeping. She made her way to where she knew Grian’s bed was, and as she expected, a dark outline of the small avian sat there, predictably, not sleeping.
“Hey,” she greeted softly, “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,” She added after he flinched.
“It’s okay,” He murmured, his voice far away. He sat with his knees against his chest, wrapping his arms and wings around himself as if trying to literally hold himself put together.
“Can I sit?” She asked, gesturing to the end of his bed.
He gave her a faint nod. For a bit they just sat in silence, simply two alert entities in an otherwise sleepy space. She kept her obvious attention towards the rest of the cots, only occasionally glancing at him. She waited for him to move, or say something but he never did. Grian just stared, his eyes facing the sheets yet it seemed he was looking at something entirely different. Something even he couldn’t fully understand. His demeanor was unnerving, almost a painful contrast to his normal bubbly personality. She couldn’t tell if his mask had fallen or just been replaced.
“Have you been able to sleep at all?” She inquired eventually. For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, so lost in whatever place he was stuck in and couldn’t find his way back to the present. But eventually he answered with a small shake of his head.
A weakness potion sat on the table next to his cot, a plea disguised as an offering from the others who had tried to get his eyes to shut. She didn’t offer it to him like she might have for anyone else who was having trouble sleeping. She knew he was far too similar to her to ever accept that. Even if they hadn’t fought the same things or suffered through the same battle, they had the same understanding. A soldier cannot afford a lack of awareness lest they want to face the choice of death or surrender, if they are even graced with the option. The war may be long over, still, your instincts won’t forget the time your wings could not catch you, no matter if you're falling from just three feet or three hundred. A weakness potion opened up too much vulnerability. How could you hide your armour’s cracks without enough strength to wield a sword.
She turned, no longer bothering to hide the fact she was looking at him. “Know what’s keeping you up?”
Not necessarily an answer, he just shrugged. His eyes drooped in tune with the sag of his shoulders, still his knuckles were white, affected by a stress that disallowed any relaxation.
Broaching the subject carefully, she started, “I’m sure it’s hard to rest with the state of your wings,” She watched as his feathers tensed, which she expected, still she pushed on, like guiding a scared animal. “I know from experience how itchy debris is, I can’t ever sleep even if it’s just some dirt stuck in my feathers.”
She let the offer hang there, not quite clearly stated, leaving him the option to not accept it without having to acknowledge its existence if it was too much. She hoped that he would, afterall she’d been the one to heal him and Pearl when they’d gotten home. It gave her a very good look as the mess their wings were in the aftermath. She tried to ignore that It had become a painfully familiar sight.
However, she didn’t preen his like she did his sisters. She’d known the two siblings- well three, but she didn’t have to worry about Jimmy knowing he was being taken care of on Empires- for long enough now to know how they each felt when it came to their wings being handled by hands that weren't their own. Being a part of their flock, she’d preened Pearl’s and Jimmy’s several times during her time on Empires and continued to help Pearl when she moved to Hermitcraft whenever her older brother was busy.
With Pearl she was able to get a quick confirmation that she was allowed to get her wings cleaned up after healing her. However, Grian was different. He now refers to everyone on the server as his flock, and trusts them with most things, despite how long that process took back in season six. But still, there were only a select few people that he felt comfortable touching his wings, and that tended to shift depending on how he was feeling. On some days, her, Mumbo, Xisuma, Joel, and Impulse were among that pool. On others, it was just his siblings or more often than not, just Lizzie, his older cousin. On the worst, no one could.
She could understand that though, to an extent. It took her a very long time, after X saved her and brought her to Hermitcraft to trust anyone with something as precious as her wings. Even now, on her roughest days, only Cleo or X are able to.
So she waited, comfortable in the silence, leaving Grian in control of what happened next.
She didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he spoke again, his voice soft, almost timid. “They are, um, itchy, really quite uh, uncomfy- my wings I mean.”
An opening, not much, a simple admission. But something big due to the layer of trust within it.
“Would you like me to help you preen them?”
He nodded, muttering, “Yes please.”
She smiled, having them adjust positions to make the process easier. She lit the lantern next to his bed, giving herself enough light to work but little enough to not bother the sleeping. It took him a second to give her access, but she didn’t mind having to wait. He stretched his right wing out, keeping his left wrapped around his front, almost like a safety net.
She sat up on her knees, his back to her, though before doing anything she said, “Tell me to stop if it gets to be too much okay? I promise I won’t be upset.”
After he gave her confirmation he heard with another small nod, she began to lightly pick through his feathers. The games left him with a lot of dirt and debris, caused by a variety of different things, ranging from gravel and sand he didn’t have time to clean, to rubble and gunpowder from explosions. Cleaning them would take a while but still she went slowly, giving her room to be meticulous and look out for any signs of Grian getting uncomfortable.
They were like that for a while, only pausing when False got up to grab a trash can from the other side of the room to put all the waste into so she wasn’t dirtying Grian’s cot. She moved each feather aside, brushing away the grime and discarding any that were loose or had fallen out. She watched the tenseness in his frame lessen the more she worked. She was still moving cautiously though. She might not know what happened to cause him to be so anxious about his wings but she didn’t need to bear witness to the injury taking place in order to be careful of the wound it left behind.
By the time she was ready to move onto his left wing, there wasn’t any hesitation in him sprawling it out for her to clean. He sank lower into the bed as she worked, exhaustion turning his bones to mush, while he occasionally let out soft coos (or as Mumbo says “happy bird noises”). When she finished setting his last feather that needed it in place, she adjusted them again, this time so he could lean up against her. His eyelids drooped as he sunk into her side.
“Time for sleep, little bird?” She suggested, hoping by now that was something that would appeal to him.
He let out a soft trill in agreement but there was still hesitation on his face, like he wanted to but felt like he couldn’t.
“I’ll stay here,” She promised. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”
He accepted that, letting himself relax with her wing around him like a blanket, eventually his breathing slowed and he drifted off. True to her word, she stayed with him. Of course she knew nothing bad would happen to him while he slept, not on the safety that was Hermitcraft; but she also knew that he’s used to places being unsafe and that it would take him a lot of healing and time to fully believe that. Until then she’s content to sit with him through the night.