Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Bdubs didn’t get the hair off his shoulders, he was going to scream.

He could only take so much of this feeling. Every turn of his head, every bob of his chin, every small motion was punctuated with knotted strands of his pale blonde hair brushing his skin. It had gotten so bad that it now hung down to his chin, a gnarled mess that he couldn’t escape. Even his treasured bandana couldn’t keep it out of his face.

With the limited resources that came with the Life Games, hair ties and rubber bands were out of the question. Grian was very picky about what was allowed in, and apparently, those were classified as a ‘weapon’ or whatever. Like Bdubs was going to win a season by using them to tie a massive slingshot and picking off the others one by one. Actually, come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. But sadly, Grian was adamant on them not being allowed. Bdubs had been attempting to haggle them in, but the avian never budged. The closest thing Bdubs could get to those were thin pieces of string that came from wool, and right now, the thought of having that dry, coarse texture against his fingertips, much less on his hair , made him want to vomit and cry at the same time.

There was a time and place for his sensory issues, and a death game wasn’t it.

So Bdubs had toughed it out.

For five agonizing seasons, he had pushed through the discomfort of feeling it tickle his neck, ignored the tacky dryness of when blood dried in it, and done his best to not pay attention to the horrible itching sensation. He was lucky that no one ever thought his constant fidgeting with it was anything more than stimming. It wasn’t like the Games were full of neurotypical people. Bdubs had picked up more than a few vocal stims from his allies, and it seemed like whenever he was having a bad sensory day, everyone within range had some kind of noise-cancelling device and fidget toys. For Scott, it had been a plush pair of headphones that he had somehow smuggled past Grian. Impulse carried around a tiny pouch of nether mushrooms in all kinds of textures and sizes. Skizz, well, he just had the tendency to pluck out some feathers from his wings and hand them over, but even if no one but him found them particularly helpful, it was the thought that counted.

Huffing lightly, Bdubs played with a knot that was tangled right below his left ear, wincing as it tugged on his scalp. He ran his fingernails through the wispy pieces of hair before ruefully yanking it away from his head again, setting off a sharp pain on the roots. He stuffed the feeling down and kept pulling on the strand before running a hand through his hair, holding it off his skin and reveling in the tiny amount of relief that brought before allowing the hair to fall back to his neck once his arm grew sore. His eyes slipped shut and he took a shaky breath in before opening them again.

The amiable conversation that had been providing white noise had ended, replaced by awkward silence as two pairs of eyes stared at him, glowing red, pale crimson, and ebony black. Oh. Tango and Etho were both looking at him. Maybe he should say something.

“So?” Etho prompted. 

“Oh, I completely agree!” Bdubs’ head bobbed up and down rapidly in a nod, though he shuddered to a halt when his hair tickled his collarbone.  

Tango raised a single eyebrow, his face pinched with dry amusement. “With me or Etho?”

Rats. A feeling of dread crept into his gut, but before he revealed that he hadn’t been paying attention at all, he puffed out his chest and confidently replied. “Etho, obviously! Come on, is that even a question?”

His mask quirking upwards as he smirked beneath it, Etho rested a hand on one hip. “Zucchini kugel for dinner. Got it.”

Bdubs tried to keep his displeasure off his face, which was easier said than done with a face as expressive as his. But really, could you blame him? Zucchini kugel was the worst thing to ever be put on a plate. Slimy and chunky at the same time! And the smell! How would he be expected to choke it down while already struggling with his hair? It was impossible! A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck just thinking about it.

But then again, he had already said he wanted it for dinner, and to backtrack now would be pathetic and raise questions. The only option he had left was to double down. “Yum,” he managed.

Tango’s head tilted to one side, his eyes large and confused. “I thought you didn’t like that.”

Shut up, Tango. Waving him off, Bdubs just plastered an easy smile on his lips. “Pfft! What am I, a kindergartener? I don’t mind it for one night.”

Tango lunged at the slip. “So you’d mind it for multiple nights!” A look of determination settled on his features.

“I didn’t say that!”

“You said it with your heart.”

“What-” Bdubs sputtered, gesturing wildly at Tango in his typical cartoonish manner. He had a role to play, after all. He was the goofy, overdramatic friend. Sometimes that made it difficult for people to take him seriously, especially if it was someone he didn’t know very well, but in situations like this, it helped mask his true displeasure under mock rage. “Do you hear this man?! Preposterous, I say!”

“Admit it!” Tango slammed both hands down on the table, which would have been more impressive if he didn’t instantly flinch and cradle one to his chest. “You hate kugel!”

Etho, who had been watching the whole exchange without saying a word, finally spoke up. “Bdubs, if you don’t want kugel, you can just say so.”

Something about the sympathetic, patient tone in Etho’s voice made Bdubs’ anger flare up, burning his chest. He didn’t need to be pitied or get special treatment because he couldn’t stomach a simple meal. He was an adult, damn it! If he couldn’t deal with food or hair, how was he supposed to function during the Games? “It’s fine! Just drop it!” he spat. “We’ll have the stupid kugel!”

Tango shot a worried glance at Etho. His previous lighthearted manner was fading fast as he realized this wasn’t just another petty argument. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Bdubs snapped before standing suddenly, his chair scraping as it was pushed. The noise was like a knife to his overstimulated mind, and he winced, though he tried to hide the falter by turning and stomping away. Where he was going , he didn’t exactly know, as they all shared the base and there weren’t any lonely corners for a proper sulk, but he’d figure something out. Human interaction was too much for him to deal with right now, even if it was with his favorite people.

“Bdubs, wait!” Etho called.

Pure instinct grinded Bdubs’ feet to a halt, and before he could ask what, Etho was moving, sweeping towards him in that silent way he had of walking, like his toes barely touched the ground. Reaching out with one gloved hand, Etho’s fingers brushed against Bdubs’ hair, causing tremors to race all the way to Bdubs’ roots. Normally, the unexpected contact would make Bdubs feel sick, but this was Etho. Bdubs and Etho, Tall and Short, the Kakashi cosplay and the moss gnome. They had gone through so much together, and if there was one person who Bdubs trusted unconditionally, it was Etho.

So, unlike what he would have done with anyone else, Bdubs didn’t shout and slap the hand away. He stopped  instead, feet glued to the floorboards and eyes locked on Etho.

“Your hair is knotted,” Etho said, though his voice was muffled and soft through the roaring in Bdubs’ ears. “It’s pretty long, too. When was the last time you cut it?”

Bdubs was still frozen in place. All of Etho’s words seemed to be going in one ear and out the other. He was able to register the light tug of Etho’s fingers on his hair, the near-silent crackle of Tango’s fiery hair, and that was about it. 

He must have just stood there staring for minutes. “Dude, I think you broke him,” Tango snickered, though he sobered up as Etho shot him a death glare.

“Not funny.”

Tango sank down into his seat, cheeks flushed. Satisfied, Etho turned his attention back to Bdubs, gaze piercing and intense. “Well? When did you last cut it?” he demanded.

Jolting out of whatever trance he had been in, Bdubs shrugged, his eyes darting to the floor. “Four months.”

“Four months!?” Etho squawked, and Bdubs might have laughed at how ridiculous he sounded if he wasn’t petrified. By now, his hand had trailed down from Bdubs’ hair to grasp his shoulder in a gentle but firm grip. “Bdubs, you know you hate having it in your face!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Bdubs spat before jerking his arm out of Etho’s grasp, squaring his shoulders and jutting out his chin as he glared at the man.

“What about using your bandana?” Tango suggested. His face was pinched with anxiety, sharp fingernails scratching little lines in the wooden table.

“It’s too long for that.” Bdubs hissed. “Just drop it, okay? The games will be over soon, and I’ll get it cut properly.”

“But why hasn’t it been cut already?”

A hot blush of embarrassment spread over Bdubs’ cheeks, and he averted Etho’s gaze. This was awful. Humiliating, really. And all over some stupid zucchini kugel and his hair. It felt like he was back in school, getting scolded by his teacher who was all too fond of the phrase ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’. Bdubs attempted to shuffle to the side, only for Etho to match his movements. “I wasn’t allowed to bring in hair scissors. Grian said.”

“ Grian can fuck off,” Etho spat. Bdubs knew he wasn’t really holding any ill will towards the avian. It was practically a well-known secret that Grian wasn’t the controller of the Games, as much as he liked to say, but no one wanted to actually speak up for fear of the next Game being more intense, brutal, and bloody than the last. Still, it was a bit of a shock to hear Etho, the mild-mannered and gentle redstoner, swear, and Bdubs did a double take. He didn’t have much time to register it, though, because Etho was talking. “What about shears or something?”

He shrugged. “...I guess that would work. But guys, really, it’s not that big of a deal. You don’t have to worry.”

“Why would we not worry?” Etho asked, and damn it all, the hurt in his eyes made Bdubs want to claw his own skin off. 

“Because it doesn’t matter?” Bdubs said sarcastically. He was never very good with sarcasm, always taking things too seriously, but he seemed to use it right in the moment. “We don’t need to waste time cutting my hair when there’s things to do.”

Etho’s organic eye sparked with something deep and furious. “Oh, okay. So when I get overstimulated because of people tapping their hands or feet, I should just shut up and deal with it?”

He balked. “No, that–that’s not what I-”

“So why is it different for you?” Etho demanded.

Bdubs didn’t have an answer.

“Exactly.” Etho’s voice was gentler now, still firm and harsh, but with less bite to his words. “You’re so busy judging yourself for your sensory issues that you can’t see there’s no problem with it. Bdubs, you deserve to be happy. And this isn’t making you happy. Finding ways to help yourself isn’t weak. It’s fighting to be able to exist as well as you can on this miserable hunk of rock. It’s accepting that, sure, maybe you experience the world differently, but that doesn’t mean you need to suffer. It’s being able to do things that help you.” His voice broke, and he paused for a second, shoulders shaking as he inhaled before wiping angrily at his eyes. “And that’s not weak. That’s the strongest thing someone can do.”

Bdubs felt a tear slip down his face.

“So you have to be strong.”

Chapter Text

After his little outpour of emotions, which was far too much for Bdubs to handle, thank you very much, Etho had all but dragged him into the bathroom to get his haircut. 

Bdubs crouched by the bathtub, his hand cranking the handle. A groaning noise gurgled from the pump, then water spat out of the mouth, quickly followed by a steady stream of water. Plumbing wasn’t a problem for them. Between Etho’s redstone abilities and Tango’s water heating, it hadn’t taken long for them to set up a fully functional bathtub and shower with a full range of temperatures. During the more stressful days, relaxing in a hot bath was the best way to rewind, in Bdubs’s humble opinion.

Once the water had settled a few inches from the lip of the tub, Etho twisted the handle in the opposite direction, bringing the trickle to a grinding halt before stepping away to let Tango pass. 

Tango’s claws plunged into the vat of water, fingertips glowing to life with warm orange-gold light as the water started to steam. When he deemed it an acceptable temperature, he withdrew his hands, wiping them on his clothing as his nose wrinkled with annoyance. “Ick,” he declared. “So gross. I don’t get why you guys like water.”

Mask twitching, Etho raised an eyebrow at the blazeborn, his features crinkling with fondness as he crossed his arms. “Probably because we enjoy not stinking like dirty laundry.”

“Oi!” Tango’s hair sparked, licking the air, and he narrowed his eyes. “I smell amazing ! Right, Bdubs?”

Bdubs made a big show of plugging his nose and waving the air in front of his face with a hand, scowling with mock disgust. “Couldn’t say. I think your stench burned my nostrils.”

“What?!” Tango screeched, and Bdubs giggled at his gobsmacked expression. “I’m a beautiful flower, I’ll have you know!”

“More like a cabbage,” Bdubs taunted. “I could smell you coming from a mile away!”

“I can’t believe this. You two are bullies! This is bullying!” Tango cried, pouting.

Before Bdubs had the chance to shoot back a reply, Etho was clearing his throat gently, leaning on the doorframe. The joking, lighthearted glow in his eyes had died down to gentle seriousness. “How do you want to do this?” he asked.

Bdubs studied Etho, looking for any sign on what the man wanted him to say. He didn’t like being the one to make decisions. It was stressful, with all the attention and pressure constantly on your shoulders, others looking to you in times of need, and having to make difficult calls. Bdubs was content to be a supporting character, steady but leaving the choices to others.  When he found nothing but genuine, innocent curiosity, Bdubs lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “We can sit on the floor?” he hazarded.

“Sounds good.” Etho hummed before turning to rummage through the cupboard above the sink for assorted combs and brushes. “Alright, beautiful flower, do you mind running to get my communicator?”

“And if you don’t mind bringing my moss cloak,” Bdubs added hastily. He wanted to keep the little hairs from falling on his shoulders and neck, which he knew would just be a whole new flavor of sensory issues. While his gut twisted at having to ask for something, he managed to stamp down the bitter feeling. It’ll help you feel better. It’s not annoying or a burden. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.

If Tango was irritated at the request, there weren’t any traces of it as he snapped into a salute. “Right away, good sirs!” he said before trotting out of the room to get the communicator.

“What’s the communicator for?” Bdubs asked. 

Etho’s voice was somewhat muffled due to his head being shoved in a cabinet, but Bdubs could still make out what he said. “I figured we could play some music, if that’s cool. Plus, I want to let the others know that we’ll be out of commission for a little while.”

Bdubs felt his insides writhe with guilt. He didn’t want the entire Game to be put on hold just because of a stupid haircut. He was already causing enough problems for his teammates without getting everyone else involved. “You don’t have to do that,” he rushed to say, but Etho was already shaking his head.

“Listen, I don’t want the Bamboozlers barging in here while we’re doing your hair, and I doubt you do,” he replied, drawing away from the cabinet with his arms full of vials, brushes, and a gleaming pair of shears. “Besides, it’s not like there’s a war going on. We’re just letting everyone know that we want to be left alone for an hour or so.”

“I guess so.” Bdubs shrugged, though he still burned with shame.

Tango padded back into the bathroom, communicator clutched in his hand and a mossy cloak slung over his arm. “There ya go,” he hummed, slipping the cloak off his arm and handing it over.

Bdubs sank his fingers into the cloak, running his hands over it as all the little bumps and creases sent rushes of joy into his mind. For several heartbeats, he was too caught up in the lovely texture to register that Tango was speaking.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, gesturing to the communicator. “Cause if you want to keep this private, that’s totally cool, but I don’t think you’d want to lie and make up a problem, either.”

Bdubs froze, feeling like a deer in the headlights. Luckily, Etho came to his aid. “You can just say Bdubs is getting a bit overstimulated, but we’re handling it,” he said smoothly.

That was good. Not lying, but not revealing the whole truth. Even if sensory issues weren’t something that the others batted an eye at, Bdubs still didn’t want his broadcast to the world. 

He realized the two had been looking at him, waiting for his approval. He nodded his head once, grimacing at how his hair brushed his shoulders, and Tango began punching the words into his communicator.

“Okey dokey.” Setting the items down on the floor next to the tub, Etho sat down, patting the fluffy bath rug in front of him. “You ready?”

“To get this hair off me? Always,” Bdubs huffed back, handing his moss cloak over to Etho. 

Etho’s hands shot to the clasp around his green cloak, fumbling with the tiny gold gemstone before it clicked open with a snap. He clutched the fabric in his fingers, and with an expert flick of his wrist, Etho was twirling it around so the bulk of the cloak was settling around Bdubs’s shoulders and wrapping around his neck. Bdubs stiffened for a heartbeat before realizing there was plenty of room for him to gulp down shaky breaths, and he froze, allowing Etho to fasten the cloak into place. “This good?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Do you want me to go slow, or just get it all over with?” Etho asked, peeling off his gloves and mask and setting them to the side so they wouldn’t get wet from stray water.

“You can take your time,” he decided. Even if he didn’t love getting his hair cut, he wanted Etho to be as thorough as possible. And he wanted to relish the excess hair being chopped off and dying. Take that, hair! He thought to himself, smiling at the mental image of the pesky strands getting stabbed by the shears and screaming in agony.

“Do you mind if I chat, or do you want quiet? And how do you feel about music?”

“Something slow, and please talk.” Bdubs pleaded. Etho’s voice was both grounding and soothing, a familiar sound to distract Bdubs from the awkward position he was in, and right now, he was desperate for a distraction.

Tango nodded, pulling up some random song and placing the communicator on the counter. Soft music drifted around the bathroom, something calm and deep without the pitchy twang of strings or the babble of words.

A quiet splashing sounded out, letting Bdubs know that Etho must have cupped a palmful of water in his hands. A second later, warm water spilled over Bdubs’s scalp, instantly flattening the wispy strands of hair that had been tickling his neck. A whine of relief squeezed out of his throat, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel embarrassed, not when the soak chased away claws digging into his head. The tension in his shoulders didn’t leave, but it did relax ever so slightly. Water dripped onto his shoulders, but his mossy cloak kept it from soaking his skin, which he greatly appreciated.

Etho combed out all the tangles and knots with frightening efficiency, the brush’s bristles tugging lightly at Bdubs’s head. When all the knots were out, Etho set down the brush, picking up the pair of shears. Fingers caressed a thick curl of hair near Bdubs’s nape, gently pulling on it at the coil as iron scraped the air next to it. “Ready?”

Bdubs repressed a shudder as he nodded. 

S hink . In one clean motion, Etho had sliced the strand, severing it from his head. Etho let the coil flutter to the ground before moving on to a different piece. “So,” he hummed, “What’s your favorite animal?”

Bdubs was confident that Etho already knew the answer, but he appreciated the opportunity to talk about his interests. “Horses, obviously.”

Shink. Another strand of hair. “Why’s that?”

“Because come on! They’re majestic, beautiful, powerful, smart…” Bdubs trailed off before shooting a look at Tango. “You know, all the things that Tango isn’t.”

“Oh, come on!” Tango yelped, throwing his hands in the air.

Etho bit back a snicker. “I see. And what’s your favorite food?” Shink.

“Chicken.” Bdubs declared. The meat was easily one of the best things out there. Bdubs could ramble on and on about why it was superior to everything else, but before he could, Tango was talking.

“Well, my favorite food is strider meat,” Tango claimed, puffing out his chest proudly.

Bdubs wrinkled his nose. He had only had strider once, but it was awful, all greasy and slimy and fishy. “Strider? Really? Those glorified lava blobfish?”

Tango was opening his mouth to snap back a reply, but Etho shut him down with a glare. “I’ve always been a fan of cereal, myself,” he hummed. Shink. “What about…favorite mineral?”

That one made Bdubs think. “Calcite,” he said after several moments of consideration.

“Why’s that?” Shink.

“I like the colors,” Bdubs said with a small shrug, though he was mindful not to move around too much, as a very sharp blade was only a few inches from his neck and Etho was no professional.

And on they went, trading remarks and playful jabs until the sun had long sunk into the horizon. Eventually, after the initial discomfort had passed, Bdubs was actually able to enjoy himself. The hot water had become soothing, and he appreciated the opportunity to relax in the life games. It wasn’t often he had the opportunity to relax during the Life Games. Not having to worry about allies or resources or enemies, just being able to sit back and savor the moment…it was nice.

At last, Etho let out a small huff of triumph, scooting back and setting the shears on the floor. “What do you think?”

Bdubs reached up, dragging his fingers through his hair and marveling at the difference. Where it had previously hung down in a matted gnarl to his chin, it was now cropped close to his head in a fuzzy fringe that tickled his hand. His bangs were still long, but Etho had trimmed them so they no longer brushed against his eyes whenever he moved too quickly, instead falling a fraction above his eyebrows. Relief washed over him as he tilted his head this way and that, relishing in the ability to move without constantly being prodded by stray tangles. He had forgotten what it felt like to do so. “I love it,” he choked out.

“I’m glad,” Etho hummed, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure I did so well. I mean, I’m not an expert, and-”

Etho was abruptly cut off by Bdubs’s arms wrapping around his narrow shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. His stammered words trickled off into silence, and after several seconds of sitting dumbfounded, his arms trailed up to encircle Bdubs’s back. His abdomen was pinned right against Etho’s, each dull thud of his heartbeat sending small, shuddering shockwaves down Bdubs’s body.

“Oh, Bdubs.” With a little noise of sympathy, Tango was kneeling down, tucking his arms around the other two. Bdubs snuggled closer to Tango’s naturally high body heat, melting into the touch as he allowed tears to spill down his face.

“Th-thank you,” he hiccuped, barely managing to push the words past the swell of emotion that was building up in his throat. “Thank you so much.”

Bdubs might have been kneeling on the bathroom floor, melting in an embrace as hiccuping sobs wrung out of throat, but despite that, he didn’t feel weak.

He felt stronger than ever.