Archive of Our Own

It was well-known that within the superhero, vigilante, and villain communities that living a double life was a hazardous business.

There were some obvious difficulties, that any civilian could really guess. Keeping your identity secret and lying to your friends and family about it certainly came to mind for most people.

There was a part of it, however, that most civilians never really thought of—the identity crisis part of it all. Many people assumed that your actual identity was just the real you, and your second one was just a fake front. In actuality, it was rarely that simple.

In their second identity, many people chose to emulate what they wished to be. More confident, more beautiful, more witty, more honest.

Some people saw them and their second identities as the same person. Some chose to compartmentalize them in their minds. 

Some people actively chose to think one way or another. Most people just naturally fell into one of those thinking patterns, depending on which was easier.

Grian knew more about that than most.

Grian was exhausted, and he intended to make that known to his closest friends.

As he walked into the lounge of the Hermitcraft Superhero Agency, the local superhero division, he dropped his bag unceremoniously on the ground and groaned.

The other 2 people in the room, who had been chatting casually, did not look up from their comfortable positions on the couch.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

Quickly, before they could prepare themselves for any of his antics, he quickly ran up to the couch and threw himself on it, his legs casually draped horizontally over Mumbo’s.

“Grian!” Mumbo laughed, startled at Grian’s sudden entrance to the conversation. Scar also laughed on Mumbo’s other side. A… sparkly sound. Yes. That was a good way to describe it.

Despite the fatigue weighing on his bones, he was not ready to stop bothering his friends. “I am just exhausted, Mumbo!” Grian cried dramatically, but he was unable to hide the smile that always seemed to spring to his face when in Mumbo or Scar’s presence. He had other friends, which he also loved, but there was something special about these 2—and them 3 when they were all together. “I swear, if we get an alert today, I’m going to fake an aneurysm.”

“Do you even know what an anny—anner—anna—annyeerism is?” Scar struggled to ask, as usual.

A bit of affection stirred in Grian’s gut at the familiarity of it, which he promptly ignored.

“Nope!” Grian replied cheerfully. He sighed, and took his legs off Mumbo’s to sit like a normal person. 

Most of the time at the superhero division was spent doing paperwork, or just chatting with other coworkers in lounges such as these, given the heroes were only needed in very specific circumstances. For example, when there was an escape of mobs, or more dangerous, a villain attack. 

Vigilantes always tried to keep their distance from heroes, so they often let the official heroes deal with the mobs, but were forced to make tentative, temporary allyship with the heroes during bad villain attacks. All for the good of the people.

Not that Grian would know anything about that.

“You do look tired,” Mumbo said carefully. “You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

The look Mumbo gave Grian was very pointed, and very directed away from Scar due to the secrets being communicated within it. Grian rolled his eyes and sighed. Could he be more obvious? It didn’t matter that Scar was oblivious to what he was trying to say—comments like those were dangerous.

It definitely wasn’t just that he didn’t want Mumbo to tell him to get some rest.

Scar leaned to the right to see over Mumbo and study Grian. Grian got the sudden urge to cover his face as Scar’s emerald jade earthy foresty lush green eyes scrutinized him—

Okay, shut up, he thought, forcing himself to look away for Scar. Don’t need to go there now. His life was complicated enough already.

Not that he—not that it mattered. Because he was being ridiculous, and Scar’s eyes were obviously not something he saw every time he closed his eyes.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Scar asked.

No, of course I didn’t! Grian would say if he could. Would you have a chance if you had my life, Hotguy?

Grian waved a dismissive hand. “Now, you see, if I didn’t, I would try to hide that I was tired, so you guys wouldn’t get on my back. But I came in and immediately announced it, ergo, I did get sleep last night.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. 30 minutes of fitful sleep in his car before he came in counted, right? He’d only been awake before that for… for…

Actually, maybe it was better if he didn’t do the math.

Mumbo and Scar scoffed incredulously, but after Mumbo gave Grian another pointed look, they mostly dropped the topic, continuing on with whatever conversion they’d been having before Grian had entered the chat.

Grian’s luck didn’t spread far, however. Simultaneously, all 3 of their watches pinged at once, in a very specific ringtone that meant something very specific that Grian did not want to be the case.

Grian cursed unabashedly, earning a chuckle from his companions.

He closed his eyes, sending a few prayers to the universe, then checked the message.

Moderate creeper and enderman cluster at North Avenue near the record shop. HG and CG needed at the scene; other heroes stay on alert in case backup is needed.

When Grian looked up from the message, Mumbo and Scar were studying him nervously, waiting for his reaction.

Defeated, he simply sighed and stalked over to the doorway.

“Coming, Scar?”

Scar smiled nervously, that classic lopsided one of his that always seemed to make Grian’s heart uselessly stutter over itself. He also tried to ignore the way his friend’s brown hair curled around his pointed ears. Mumbo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“I thought you’d never ask, G.”

Pink pistols strapped to his belt. His black CuteGuy costume, with the pink and red heart on the front that mirrored Scar’s. Pink and red glasses on.

Just one more thing left to do.

He felt for the heavy, feathered weight on his back.

He bit back acid as he reached into his well of power—and not the normal, superpowered well that all superpowered individuals had.

He didn’t reach for the power, or try to summon it to fingertips. He simply did the equivalent of brushing his fingers across it.

He shivered as he felt the power brush over his very being. His wings tingled for a moment, but he quickly felt normal again.

He briefly brought his left wing in front of him so he could glance at it. Yep, it was now purple, instead of their usual pattern of red, yellow, and blue like a scarlet macaw.

Scar strapped his elytra to his back, and once it made a loud click to confirm it was truly attached, he turned to Grian. “You ready, CG?”

Scar’s suit was mostly the mirror of Grian’s, but with a cyan and orange color scheme, and his signature bow and quiver of arrows strapped to his back.

Grian settled for a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

He and Scar jumped off the rooftop of Headquarters, in the direction of North Avenue. Grian couldn’t hide his smile as he let out their wings to their full, extended length as he was able to soar through the air, catching the current. It wasn’t often he got to fly like this, in a free way he loved, but a weight was lifted off his shoulders, even as he flew into danger and exhaustion tried to pull him down.

He thought he caught Scar looking at him, but he tried to catch his teammate’s eye, he was entirely focused on propelling himself through the air with his rockets.

“You enjoying flying, birdie?” Scar asked suddenly. He still wasn’t looking at Grian, but he glanced in his direction once.

Grian scoffed at the nickname. He was about to respond, but then something green caught his eye, and—

“There,” he said, pointing to a nearby rooftop. Furry green creatures were crawling out of a trapdoor in one of the buildings downtown, some falling to the street below. He also caught sight of a few purple gazes—which thankfully didn’t notice him, thanks to the CuteGuy glasses.

Scar wasted no time, pulling his bow out and immediately evaporating a few creepers into puffs of smoke.

While he was distracted, Grian took his opportunity to reach into his well of power—his actual well of superpowers, not the… other well that changed the color of his wings to purple.

Once he reached inside, felt the power linger in his veins, he felt a cool, almost… bouncy-feeling pull to his left, where Scar was.

He let himself tug on the strings of his well, in Scar’s direction. He felt Scar’s well stutter in response, but it bounced back almost immediately, showing Scar’s strength in his powers. In someone weaker, it may have almost felt like he was stealing from their well, but with Scar, it simply felt like he was borrowing it for a short time.

Grian felt the power cover him, settling comfortably on his shoulders. 

Scar frowned. “I just felt, like… a ripple, on my well.”

Crap. People could only usually tell if they’d been reaching for their well at the same time. “Did it take any of your power?” He knew the answer.

“...No, I don’t think so.”

“You get the creepers, I’ll get the endermen,” Grian said, glad his fake aura of confidence felt real on his tongue.

Somehow, Scar didn’t know Grian’s powers, after all this time. When he first approached Hermitcraft, he’d simply told them he was powerful, he had abilities they could use, but he wasn’t about to give them a seminar on them. 

That had… not been an easy thing to get them to agree with. In fact, about the opposite. It went directly against their policies of knowing every single detail about the hero’s lives. But he had his methods of persuasion, and… that was a story for another day. Now, he was invaluable as CuteGuy, anyways—they definitely couldn’t get rid of him even if they did actually want to.

Scar had used to think Grian had the same ability as him, along with a few other random assorted ones.

That didn’t mean he’d never noticed anything seemed a bit strange.

“Grian,” Scar said, frowning. He watched as Grian joyfully sped up and down the hallway, giggling at the speed of it. “I didn’t know you had superspeed.”

Grian stopped his gleeful sprinting and stopped in front of Scar, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “Do I?” He’d just passed by Tango and briefly borrowed one of his abilities. He always liked playing with superspeed.

Scar frowned. “Grian… how many powers do you have?”

Grian also frowned. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now.

“Drop it, Scar,” said a new voice.

Grian and Scar both turned to see Mumbo in the doorway. He’d just been out on a mission, so he was fully decked out in his gear for being the hero Redstone, minus the red gas mask to obscure his face.

Mumbo briefly glanced between Grian and Scar. His brown eyes said something as he looked at Grian—I’ve got your back.

Grian swallowed. Scar looked between them 2 multiple times, and seemed to reach a conclusion.

“Oh.” Scar swallowed and glanced away uncomfortably. “Well… never mind, then.”

Scar glanced at him in concern, but was mostly focused on the little air-dance with rockets people using elytras had to do to stay midair. “You sure, G—CuteGuy?”

Grian pulled himself back to reality. In response, Grian soared down closer to the road, but still maintained a steady distance. He kept flapping and pulled out his pistol, aiming for an enderman’s head.

As he pulled the trigger, he activated Scar’s powers. The bullet soared exactly where he wanted it to, and the enderman evaporated into nothingness after just one more shot.

Most of the endermen were gone in less than 10 minutes. They were all 2-shots, and as long as he flapped his wings so he was in midair so he was away from any ledges the endermen could teleport to and attack him, he was pretty much untouchable.

However, he shot one of the last endermen while hovering a little too close to a rooftop. Before he knew it, the enderman was teleporting onto the roof behind him and chomping into his right wing.

Look, Grian was no stranger to pain. He had to be familiar with it, in all his lines of work.

But getting his wing, with all its sensitive nerve endings, injured by an enderman, one of the hardest-hitting monsters yet, couldn’t help but pull a guttural scream out of him, unlike the little shrieks that usually came out whenever he got hurt. He instinctively felt himself drop Scar’s power—and if he had less control over his second well, he probably would’ve felt his wings shimmer and revert back to red, yellow, and blue, too.

He found himself falling out of the air before he could register, but he managed to flail a couple of weak flaps of his wings so his fall was only rough and didn’t shatter all his bones.

“CuteGuy!” Scar shouted in his earpiece, or at least Grian thought he did. It was a little hard to tell, considering the white that wanted to overtake his vision and the sharp ringing that had made a home in his ears.

Waves of blinding agony laced through him. His wing hung awkwardly behind him, not bent but bleeding from the bite mark. He hadn’t felt pain that bad in a long time. If it had anywhere other than his wing, he would’ve been fine.

He only realized he was half-whimpering, half-gasping when he heard Scar repeat his hero alias with considerably more panic.

“I’m fine,” he choked out, forcing himself to stay upright. His eyes rapidly scanned the street, and caught on an alleyway with a short ceiling. Too short for an enderman. He staggered over to it. The civilians were probably hiding inside the buildings, away from the monsters, but by no means did any of them step out to try and help the most second-most famous hero in the city as he unsteadily hobbled over to the alley with a bloody wing. Not that he blamed them.

“It was my fault. One just caught my wing. I’m fine. Just think you’ll have to finish off the rest of them, HG.” He continued once he was safely under the alley. There was simply a dumpster at the back of it. He stepped back enough where he was out of range of creeper explosions, but could still see what was going on outside. What am I going to do? Is this something Skizz can quickly heal or am I going to have to take a break? He shuddered. Breaks were dangerous for him… suspicious.

“Do you need medical care?” Scar asked in his ear, a professional mask on his tone, but Grian could hear the real anxiety lying underneath it. Or at least he thought he could. It was a little hard to tell, considering the hot thrums of agony still overtaking his left wing.

“No, just can’t… fight right now,” he gritted out, struggling with the words.

3 eternities stretched before Scar finished off the rest of the mobs and landed in the alleyway in front of him, or technically really about 5 minutes.

“CuteGuy,” Scar said worriedly, rushing over to him. Grian struggled to focus on him through his swimming vision. “It must be really bad if you let me fight the rest by myself.”

“I’m fine,” Grian replied, though his voice sounded distant to his own ears. The pain was still coming in steady pulses, but it almost felt far away now, as if separate from himself. That probably wasn’t good. He blinked hard, but the white spots did not leave his vision. He didn’t realize he was swaying on his feet until Scar caught his arm to stop him from toppling over.

“G,” Scar said. He was lucky no one could hear him. It wasn’t his name, and perhaps someone could think it was an abbreviation of the nickname CG Scar sometimes called him while they were on the job, but calling him that was still a dangerous game. “You absolutely do need medical care! How did you just let me leave you like this?!” He goggled at Grian’s wing, still hanging awkwardly behind him. Grian was choosing not to look at it. Just because he was used to injury didn’t mean he was fine with blood, and he was trying not to pass out.

More like fighting not to.

“I’m conscious and responsive,” Grian managed, but the words were hard enough he wondered how long they would be true. Why were they even here, anyway? The mobs weren’t big enough a deal that the 2 biggest heroes had to be on the scene, surely.

“I’m carrying you back to HC,” Scar announced, with a tone that left no room for argument. Grian couldn’t even manage a weak protest, like he usually would. That only seemed to worry Scar more.

Scar gently tugged Grian out of the alleyway. Now that the mobs were gone, civilians had poured into the street. No reporters yet, but they’d come soon. God, he didn’t even know why. This had been the most routine mob clearout ever, and a hero getting somewhat injured was not major news. Was it really that shocking every time the heroes that were constantly in the media existed?

“CuteGuy! Are you okay?” the crowd cried upon seeing him, more or less. He grinned a toothy smile at them through the white dots, and Scar wrapped his arms around him. With a strong, one-armed grasp on him, he opened his elytra and took off with the firework rocket in his other hand.

In his pain-addled state, he couldn’t stop the small squeak that left him when he felt himself being tightly clutched against Scar’s warm body, or the blush that automatically sprung to his cheeks. God, he hoped no civilians had been recording that.

They probably had.

Over the roar of the wind, the only thing that allowed Grian and Scar to converse was their earpieces.

“I’m bringing you to Skizz. You still with me?”

Grian realized distantly his eyes had drifted shut. He forced them open, wincing at the bright light. “Mhm.” His wing hurt so badly. The injury itself wasn’t that dangerous, definitely not life-threatening or anything, but wing injuries were always a special kind of horrible. “It was… my fault. Wasn’t… careful enough.” 

He realized distantly he should probably be anxious, with Scar soaring him through the air like this. They were exposed, and if he fell, he didn’t know how much desperately flapping would break his fall. But his one-armed grip on Grian was strong, and firm, and warm, and Grian felt his eyes fluttering shut before he could stop himself, lulled to sleep by Scar’s warm and melodic voice.

His ears were ringing when he woke up. He instinctively lifted his arm to cover his eyes, brows furrowing at the light trying to seep into the peaceful darkness behind his lids.

“G-Sharp!” The nickname was familiar, and unfortunately lifted him into a higher state of awareness. He felt his feathers ruffle instinctively.

“Skizz?” he groaned, eyes cracking open.

“That’s me!” Skizz replied cheerily. When Grian tried to sit up, Skizz helped him along until he was upright and able to process his surroundings.

He was in a cot with white walls surrounding him, along with mysterious medical equipment he didn’t understand. The infirmary. 

His memories rushed back. Right. He must’ve passed out in Scar’s arms…

“Wha’ happened?” he slurred, raising his hands to rub at his eyes and making his blurry vision pulse. Although most people wouldn’t guess, his CuteGuy goggles were prescriptive, and like he would be without his glasses, he was practically blind now. Stupid having-to-pay-to-see.

“Well, according to HotGuy himself, an enderman bit you in the wing, and when Scar brought you back here you were passed out in his arms.”

Heat rose to his face. Did Skizz have to say it like that? He felt for his wings, and brought his left one to his front to look at it. He was probably on some sort of painkillers, but now a dull ache only throbbed weakly from the point of injury, and it was wrapped in white bandages.

Good. Grian didn’t need the head rush he would’ve gotten if he’d seen the blood on it.

It then registered that it was back to its scarlet macaw colors, which made sense, considering he’d been unconscious.

Usually, his wings stayed the same if he fainted on the job. (Not that he had experience with it or anything.) Only during long stretches of unconsciousness would they naturally revert back to their normal state.

“How bad was it? When did my wing turn back?”

“Not too bad, I used my powers to heal you up and used my degree to fix you up otherwise. Your wing only turned back when you were in Headquarters away from the public eye—don’t worry.” Skizz winked, white feathered wings twitching. He was a hero —Angel, usually seen with his hero companion Demon, or best friend Impulse. However, he also had a medical degree and usually patched up non-major injuries within the heroes. “The injury wasn’t life-threatening or anything, just probably really painful considering it was, y’know, an enderman bite on your wing.”

He grimaced. “Yeah.” God, at least the worst part was over. That had been anguish like no other, even if he had felt that kind of pain before.

“However…” Skizz began dramatically, and Grian raised an eyebrow. “I couldn’t help but notice you slept for like, 36 hours. More than I’d think someone who got the same, non-life-threatening injury would if they were actually getting sleep at night.”

“36 hours?!” Grian cried, feathers rustling up. Oh. Oh, that wasn’t good. He had… Well, 1 day wasn’t enough to be suspicious, but still.

“Yes, and it looks like you needed it!” Skizz scolded. “You still had bags under your eyes until, like, 12 hours ago. I don’t think that’s normal, G!”

Of course it’s not normal! Have you seen me, Skizz?! was what he would say in a different universe.

“Sleep is for the weak,” he scoffed instead. That sounded like something that… Grian would say. Oh God, he was slipping into identity-crisis mode.

“Grian!”

Skizz gave him orders not to fly for a week—well, he said preferably 2, but the bare, absolute, lowest minimum was 1, so that’s what he would be doing.

The less time all his identities took off, the less suspicious it was.

Grian was sitting in his apartment, mindlessly sketching something on his tablet when his phone pinged. Given the alert sound, it was the third one.

He stalked over to his bag, hanging by the door and dug it out.

He’d considered many security measures for his 4 (not 5, not 5, not 5) phones. He didn’t want to give the thing the most easy identification ever, with the thumbprint thingy, nor did he want the phones to know his face (and, if there was truly someone watching his activity, as people often said, his identity would be found out like that. Plus, he needed to be able to get in while in costume.). Eventually, he’d resigned himself to simply having a very long numerical password for each phone, no matter how much he hated memorizing things. Each was unique, and had been absolute hell to learn, but at least he knew them now.

137013810031…

The phone unlocked, and he instantly went to his messages, kept under a special-made (certainly not by him) untraceable app.

Docm77 to PoultryMan

<Docm77> slayer, chromia, and necromancer causing chaos with civilians on the west side, could use backup they’re using their powers all willy-nilly

Grian straightened, glancing out the window. Well, this hadn’t been his plans for the night, but who was he to deny his secret ally of assistance? It’d been a bit since he’d gotten to dress as a chicken.

<PoultryMan> Gearing up now.

Barely 5 minutes later, he left his bedroom in a full chicken costume. He’d reached further into his second well of power to turn his wings white, fitting the rest of the outfit.

He was about to reach for the invisibility power he could feel through the wall—his neighbor’s. (Not that they knew he knew that secret of theirs.) Just as he leaned close to the wall in their direction—

“Grian.”

Grian squawked in surprise, feathers ruffling and the sound quite birdlike. He whipped his head around.

He scowled at the sight of his roommate. “Mumbo.”

Mumbo sighed and plopped down on the couch. “Why is Poultry Man needed today?”

Grian closed his eyes and quickly tugged on the neighbor's well of power. Once that was done, he started towards the sliding door that led to the balcony. “Slayer, Chromia, and Necromancer causing trouble.”

“You could just not.”

“Cheers, Mumbo! Thanks for not telling anyone about my triple life!” Grian said with a grin that his best friend and roommate couldn’t see under the mask. He let the power wash over him, and invisible, he snuck out of the balcony and pumped his wings to get him to his destination.

After 20 minutes of cat-and-mouse, Grian finally had Slayer cornered.

The famous, deadly villain was always all over the city, as were the others in her little group of villains. Today, the trio had been caught starting small fires just a little too close to a nearby neighborhood.

Grian panted from exertion, but the voice modulator didn’t catch it, so he sounded silent on the outside. Slayer’s hair was falling out of its fiery braid from the chase, making the tips of her pointed ears more visible. A long slash from Doc’s dagger made an angry red line on her right arm. She held her sword up like her last lifeline. When he took a step closer, she raised her sword like she was about to throw it, even though he knew she knew better than to get rid of a weapon like that.

“Hey!” He tsked disappointedly, though he couldn’t say he wasn’t alarmed. “What’s with all the violence? Can’t a guy stop some villains from committing arson around here?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, hero,” Slayer hissed, her voice modulated by the purple mask that matched the lavender of the robes of her villain costume that almost made her look like some twisted wizard.

To any other vigilante, it would’ve been a grave insult. To say a vigilante was one of the heroes, one of them, just a cog in the system’s machine, would've greatly offended them. Some vigilantes thought of themselves as above everyone—heroes, villains, and civilians alike. (And perhaps there was a kernel of truth to that.)

Grian, however, dressed up in a full-body chicken costume while cornering one of if not the most deadly villains in Hermitopia in between an alleyway and a dumpster, just tilted his head and smiled at her with a smile she couldn’t see.

“Don’t see how arson helps your cause,” he drawled evenly.

“You vigilantes always think you’re better than everyone,” she spat.

He, again, smiled at her bit-out words. It was familiar. He couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. No wonder she’d never let Grian get caught, whenever she and Mimic worked together.

Aren’t we? He wanted to say, just to tick her off, even though he didn’t really believe it. But that wasn’t really Poultry Man’s style. Poultry Man was irony, with the stark difference between his ridiculous costume and his noble, heroic actions.

“Look,” he said, holding his gloved hands out. “You’re too tired to run anymore, and you’re almost out of power for the foreseeable future. You have 2 options. You can give me your blades, and the lighters, and I’ll let you go free. Or… I’ve got Hermitcraft on speed dial.” She didn’t need to know how true that really was.

Slayer’s hands curled protectively around her blade. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He dramatically put a hand on his chest. It made a soft sound. “Now, Poultry Man would never do that.” When she regarded him skeptically, he sighed. “Look, I’m a vigilante. I don’t want to turn you in, or associate with the heroes. Obviously. But I’m not just going to let you go with weapons and the ability to cause more fires—which I still don’t understand why you set. It’s unlike you and your little band of merrymen, Slayer.”

“Says the most unpredictable vigilante of all.”

“Why thank you!” he replied, genuinely flattered. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

He pulled a black pistol out of one of his large, fluffy white pockets. Slayer gawked at it in shock.

“Give up all your weapons now or I’m calling the cops. Or shooting you in the foot. Whichever you prefer.”

Slayer made a high, undignified squeaking sound, which he grinned at. In front of the media, he’d never do this as Poultry Man. But it was funny to scare the living daylights out of Slayer, even if he had no intention of pulling the trigger.

“Since when did Poultry Man carry a gun? Are those—rubber, or—real bullets?”

“Both would hurt if they hit you in the foot,” he replied evasively, pretending he wasn’t used to the feeling of a pistol in his hands. One more lethal than this one.

“Yeah, but one blows toes off, and one doesn’t.” After a long pause, she sighed, and dropped her blade on the concrete ground with a clatter.

“And your lighters.”

Grumbling, she fished out of her pocket and surrendered her fire-making supplies. He smiled a bit. Her stubbornness sort of reminded himself of his civilian friend Gem.

God, it would be nice to see Gem. To be home, drinking tea at his apartment, and also not be waiting to be called off to one of his 3 lives. Or 4, in case somebody really needed him to commission an art piece or something. He’d thought he’d actually get to relax tonight.

Grian shook himself off. 

“I said all your weapons.”

FInally, with another deadly glare, Slayer removed the bow from her holster and dug 3 other daggers out of her robe, which would be mildly concerning if he didn’t know how many weapons she actually had.

“Thank you!” he replied cheerfully. “Please cause less arson!” He swept his currently-white wing to the side, allowing her to escape.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then bolted down the alleyway and out of sight.

Doc and Grian briefly met on a nearby rooftop after Slayer, Chromia, and Necromancer had all made their escape and were no longer actively causing arson. The smell of smoke still lingered somewhat.

“Thanks, Poultry Man.” Doc reluctantly told Grian, staring out at the city skyline.

“No problem, Doc.” His heart was still going from exertion, but it was the good kind. He’d missed this for the past week, while his wing was healing. More than he’d missed being CuteGuy, if he was being honest with himself. The last week had been very boring, mostly just him watching TV shows with Mumbo while falling asleep on the couch and drawing.

He dug the gun back out of his pocket and handed it to Doc, the muzzle of the gun carefully pointed away from both of them, the safety firmly on. “Your toy was very fun. I’ve always wanted to hold someone at gunpoint.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. He’d never held someone at gunpoint as CuteGuy, nor did he particularly want to. But somehow it was okay as Poultry Man?

He didn’t want to think about that too hard.

Doc rolled his singular non-bionic eye. “It’s not a toy.”

“Rubber bullets,” Grian dismissed casually, waving a hand. “Basically a nerf gun.”

Doc didn’t rise to the easy bait, just sighed and tucked the gun into his lab coat.

Poultry Man and Doc were tentative allies, hence the communication line between them. They both worked alone, unlike… other vigilantes. Grian certainly acted the most… natural as Poultry Man when around Doc. The tiniest bit less fake. Not too much, though, of course—he still had to be Poultry Man.

The alliance-truce-thingy also felt sort of right in other ways. Doc was the vigilante that didn’t bother to hide his identity and just did illegal things in broad daylight, so he couldn’t be spotted or go outside or even really have a life. (Grian would’ve thought he was stupid, but time had taught him that Doc was anything but.) Grian was the weird, ridiculous vigilante who wore a full-on chicken costume everywhere. It made sense that they at least wouldn’t try to kill each other.

“Y’know, I haven’t seen you all week, and there’s been a few disturbances you would usually attend to.”

Grian shrugged. His wings twitched, not really wanting to hang around to exchange pleasantries. Doc wasn’t the type of guy to want to, either. Their dynamic was simple: If one of them needed help in their vigilante duties, they’d message each other. Sometimes the other could come to help. Sometimes not.

“I haven’t seen CuteGuy all week, either. Today’s his first day back at the job, too.”

Those words bounced around loosely in his head multiple times before he realized what Doc said, and what it meant.

He gasped softly, and the voice modulator underneath his costume again didn’t pick up the minor sound, thank God.

Oh—Oh God.

After several long seconds of silence, heart in his throat, but voice somehow still perfectly calm, he asked, “Are you insinuating something there, Doc?”

The half-bionic creeper-goat-butterfly hybrid turned to him and smiled. It didn’t seem fake, which just made Grian’s alarm system blare louder. He’d seen Doc genuinely smile, like, twice. It couldn’t be good if he was.

And oh God, he’d just handed Doc a gun. A gun beat the knives he had. He didn’t know what Doc would do if he knew, and he didn’t want to find out. He didn’t actually think a gun with rubber bullets was as harmless as a nerf gun!

Okay, calm down, he ordered himself. He’s just making a connection. That doesn’t mean he knows, and he didn’t say anything about Mimic.

Doc’s smile softened, but didn’t drop, which did not comfort Grian, at all. He looked back at the skyline.

“Just observing a pattern. That’s happened twice so far in our business. The other time was about a year ago. Just saying, if anyone was gonna lead a double life, it’d be you, Poultry Man. You both have a strange collection of powers no one is sure about. But you know what they say—once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. 3 is a pattern. You’re still at 2. Who can say?”

Oh dear God, he was an idiot. He never should’ve let this happen. It didn’t matter that it was only twice. That wasn’t enough for most people, but of course it would be enough for Doc.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He only thinks it might be the case. He’s gauging your reaction right now.

If anyone was gonna lead a double life, it’d be you. A sharp laugh bubbled to his throat, and he almost let it out. Only by the skin of his teeth did he manage to stay quiet. You have no idea, Doc.

“Whatever you say.”

“Likewise.” A long, loaded pause. “You seemed pretty natural with that gun, too, almost like you were used to it.

“I look forward to working with you more in the future, Poultry Man.” With no more fanfare, the butterfly wings on Doc’s back, one of them bionic, fluttered, and he flew off in the direction of his lab, the Perimeter.

Slayer to Mimic

<Slayer> We need to talk.

<Slayer> Doc and Poultry Man messed up my team’s plans. We have ideas for how you could help.

<Mimic> I thought I’d made it clear I had no desire to join any villain group, Slayer.

<Slayer> Did I offer? I’m not asking you to join. 

<Slayer> But you have things I want, and I have things I think you may want. That’s what you call an alliance.

<Mimic> Eloquent.

<Mimic> When and where?

<Slayer> 34.0128° N, 112.8273° W 

<Slayer> 2300 hours

Grian sighed as he knocked on the random warehouse Slayer had sent him the coordinates of. He had no doubt they’d never return to it again. Villains couldn’t get caught, after all. 

When he got silence a couple seconds too long, he didn’t bother knocking again. He reached out with his power and felt for the one that felt slippery, almost like it could phase right through his fingertips.

Stealing—borrowing—Slayer’s power, he phased right through the wall.

3 villains inside reacted with screams.

“Mimic!” Necromancer shouted. Their green eyes glared at him from across the room. “Can you knock like a normal person?!” The room was full of farm equipment. Probably because the warehouse was next to a farm. The villain trio was all gathered in an empty space, gathered in an ominous circle.

“I did. No one answered,” he shrugged.

“That doesn’t mean you just steal my power to get in,” Slayer replied, offended.

“I prefer to say borrow.”

“Steal.”

“You still have your power! That’s not stealing!”

“Stop acting like children,” Chromia groaned. His pastel outfit and cyan hair made him look like a twisted carnival worker, if you ignored the blue gas mask that obscured his entire face. “Whatever, you’re in here now. We have a proposal, and we’d like to come to a conclusion quickly. No games.”

“Me? Mimic? Playing games? I would never!” Grian told him innocently, putting his hand on his heart over the red and purple robes he wore as part of his villain costume.

“We’d like to get rid of Doc, and we want to distract him,” Necromancer said. “We’d like to burn the Perimeter to the ground. You cause some chaos and get him out. Maybe Poultry Man will even join him, so he won’t be able to help in time. And Lord knows the heroes are useless.” 

Grian froze.

“Why do you want to get rid of Doc? And if that’s your plan, why not let him burn with it?”

“Because he’ll save the building, idiot,” Slayer replied. “And we never said we wanted him dead. We want his power gone. He’s a nuisance to us villains.”

And Poultry Man isn’t? He didn’t bother to be offended by that. Obviously Doc was the priority over him.

He narrowed his eyes at her from underneath the red gas mask that obscured his face, and Slayer shifted uncomfortably in response.

“No thanks,” Grian replied unceremoniously. “Is that all you wanted to ask me? Because I’m afraid I may have put all my villain gear on for nothing.”

The trio stared at him, dumbfounded. Necromancer held up a hand. “Wait. You can’t—you really have no interest in getting rid of Doc?”

Doc is under my protection. He almost said it. God, he almost said it. That was never supposed to happen. Not with any of the 3. He’d accepted it happened with the superheroes, but he couldn’t believe it’d happened with Doc too. They weren’t even friends. Doc was on his tail for being CuteGuy, for God’s sake! He didn’t want to be left with only Mimic.

He wasn’t supposed to prefer identities, either. Maybe he was getting worse at this.

“I have my own reasons for wanting Doc around,” he said evasively. The truth, but it sounded a lot more mysterious than it actually was. “Not going to stop you, but not going to help. Don’t you ever involve me in your plans against Doc again. Goodbye, you 3. Thanks for wasting my time.”

He phased back through the wall, leaving the villain trio staring at the spot he’d been standing on in abject shock.

This was stupid.

This was actually so stupid.

Doc already had suspicions, and now he was going to do this?

He didn’t even care about Doc. Doc was just the vigilante his vigilante alter ego knew. Grian didn’t know him. He didn’t even care about him. Whether Doc’s lab was burnt to the ground was none of his concern—

PoultryMan to Docm77

<PoultryMan> I have reasons to believe Slayer, necromancer, & Chromia are planning to sabotage the Perimeter. Not saying I don’t think you can handle it, but

<Docm77> Reasons?

<PoultryMan> it wasn’t me, it was the man in the chicken costume

<Docm77> You are the man in the chicken costume.

<PoultryMan> really?!

<Docm77> how do I know you’re telling the truth

<PoultryMan> Your a helpful ally, i have no reason to lie to you. I hope you’d do the same for me

<Docm77> this almost makes me think you’re not cg

<PoultryMan> just supplying information. What you do with it is none of my concern

<Docm77> hm

<Docm77> Thank you

Grian was exhausted, and not like the last time.

There were different types of exhaustion, you see. The last time, shortly before he’d been called in to take care of those creeper and endermen, he’d recently woken up, even if it was only from half an hour of fitful sleep. That still did… something to his brain, making it so that even though he was physically exhausted, his brain knew it had already woken up recently and decided it was time to power through the day.

Now, he was microsleep-level tired, head dipping and then jerking back up once a minute as he almost nodded off a million times.

Which probably was bad when he was driving home.

No call-ins had happened at Hermitcraft that day. It had just been a long, stretching day, and he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep due to his meeting with Slayer, Chromia, and Necromancer as Mimic last night. 

His plans for the night included stumbling over to his room, silencing all of his phones, and sleeping like the dead. 

He certainly did not expect Gem to be sitting on his couch, casually chatting with Mumbo.

He stared at them stupidly for multiple seconds, the front door hanging open.

“Hi, Grian!” Mumbo said with a grin. “Just having Gem over to chat!”

“Mhm!” Gem replied enthusiastically. “You didn’t think Mumbo was only your friend, did you?”

Grian sighed and reached for the door, locking it behind him.

“I don’t have the energy to deduce what you 2 are up to right now.” He began to stalk his way to his room.

“That sounds about right,” Mumbo said, at the same time Gem said, “Yeah, you look terrible.”
“Thanks, guys. I can always count on you.”

Somehow, he managed to make it to his room and silence all his phones before there was a soft knock on the door. Not Mumbo’s signature knock.

He refrained from a loud sigh. It really was too much to ask for him to be able to go to sleep, wasn’t it?

“Yes, Gem?” He asked tiredly.

She came in, and for her credit, she did look guilty when she saw the exhausted look on his face. “Sorry. Just… you okay? Mumbo invited me because he thought you might need a pick-me-up, but you’re clearly… tired.”
Oh. “Oh.”

She shifted towards him worriedly. “Grian?”

He blinked, and forced a somewhat real smile. “Yeah… sorry. I’m just tired.” He’d had a week of rest, but it was all still… exhausting. As always.

At that moment, however, something caught his eye. Gem was wearing a long-sleeved green shirt with light blue overalls, but her sleeve had shifted upwards, revealing a flash of red.

He frowned. “What happened to your arm?”

She glanced down. “What? Oh, just Winnie scratched me.” She pulled her sleeve down over the cut.

Grian stared at her arm for multiple seconds. His haze of bone-deep exhaustion lifted for a moment, just to look at her arm and reimagine the cut he’d seen.

It felt… familiar. Like he’d seen it before. Curved in a way that didn’t really make sense for a dog scratch.

It looked like…

It looked like… 

His head lifted in a flash to meet Gem’s eyes, which were staring at him, wide and terrified.

His eyes flicked from the orange hair to her arm. 

Oh.

Oh.

“Gem,” he gasped, grabbing onto her arm. “You—I—you—”

“What, what, what is it?” She asked panickedly, composure gone, staring at him in horror.

No. Surely not. All this time.

“You’re Slayer,” he choked out.

Please tell me I’m wrong. Please tell me I’m wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. He couldn’t believe he’d seen it now.

But the universe was not on his side right then.

Gem nodded forlornly.

He felt his knees want to give. Oh my God. Oh my God. The entire time. She—we—I—

“Grian!” she said panickedly, waving her hands in front of his face to try and break up the way he’d begun to hyperventilate. Gem is Slayer. Gem is Slayer. Slayer is Gem—oh my God, no she’s not—“Look, don’t have a panic attack, um, I’m so sorry—I didn’t—it’s really not that big of a—I’m so sorry, I wanted to tell you, I’m still the same person—”

“No,” he rasped, still clinging to her. “You don’t understand. I’m—I’m—”

His throat closed over the words. Was he really about to reveal his identity to Gem, after so many years of making sure she never found out, no matter how much he wished he could tell her?

Was he really about to reveal his civilian identity to Slayer, known to be the most deadly and dangerous villain in the entire city?

He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t—he couldn’t—he took in a ragged space.

“I’m—in that space.”

Gem stared at him for multiple long seconds before dread overtook her every feature.

“No.”

Now she drastically leaned on him, until they were just a panicked, weak amalgamation of limbs.

They both staggered over to the bed and unsteadily sat down.

“You—you’re a—who are you?!” Gem demanded, gripping onto his shoulders with panic.

“There’s a very complicated answer to that!” He could barely even hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. He detached from where he’d been clinging to her to put his head in his knees and rock back and forth. Was this actually—did he actually—Oh God, this could ruin everything and he could go to jail—or Mumbo could for not telling anyone—or he could go back to them—and now that he thought about it he thought he was actually going to be sick—

“Grian,” Gem urged, grabbing his clammy hands and squeezing them hard. “Stop—stop. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be fine. Look at me.”

Grian forced his gaze to drag upwards onto green eyes. She didn’t look much better, but—at least she was someone, and she was trying to drag him out of the numbing, gripping, cloying haze of his panic.

Gem shakily ordered him through multiple panic-calming techniques. The 1-2-3-4-5 method, breathing exercises, repeating them over and over until he could finally think again. She’d put her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ground him. Once he visibly calmed down a bit, she removed it, and he immediately felt untethered from reality. He resisted the urge to cling to his friend.

“Okay,” he said, trembling. I can’t tell her I can’t I have to tell her I I I—“I don’t want to tell you… but you’re my friend and—and—there’s only other one person in the world that knows, and—if this won’t change anything—” It will, it will—“I want you to know, and if you could be the second person, and it’s only fair because you told me, and—”

“Grian.” Gem caught him off from his tearful rambling. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you tried to kill me a hundred times over or something. I… don’t even care if you’re a hero.” She spit the word out like it tasted bad.

“It’s worse.”

She looked genuinely baffled, like anything being worse than a hero was incomprehensible to her. “Are you trying to say you’re a villain?”

He took a ragged breath.

He couldn’t believe he was going to say anything. He couldn’t believe he was considering not saying anything.

He couldn’t believe Gem was Slayer.

It made sense, in retrospect. God, hadn’t he once even compared the 2, in his head? He’d thought about missing Gem while the woman was standing right in front of him.

Gem and Slayer were both snarky and stubborn. God, when he thought about it… the way he and Slayer exchanged banter while he was Mimic was also reflective of their actual dynamic.

And Gem was apparently also extremely skilled with a blade and the most deadly villain in the city.

“Okay, there’s 3 things,” Grian blurted out before he could do the logical thing and burrow into a hole and never come out.

But he wanted Gem to know. She was probably his second closest friend outside of Mumbo.

“The first one is going to be—really shocking, and you’re going to think, gee, it can’t possibly get any more surprising than this, and then you’ll hear the second thing, and it’ll be even more shocking, and you’ll think again, how could I possibly be more shocked, and then you’re going to hear the third thing, and then you might pass out from shock.”

“Oh dear.” Gem said fearfully. “I’m still struggling to process you’re—in this field, how am I—Can you tell me the most shocking thing first?”

“Um. It’s not really about the 3rd thing specifically.” He had a specific order in mind. “I’m just going to tell you more and more about my situation, and hearing all of them together will be… very surprising.” Surprising and shocking were starting to sound like fake words.

“Please just tell me, I think I’m going to throw up.”

“First… I’m—Mimic,” he quickly choked out.

Several long seconds of silence passed. Long, suffocating, stretching silence.

Gem jolted suddenly as realization dawned.

“Grian,” she choked out. 

He blinked away the tears that had gathered in his lower lashes.

“Grian!” she cried.

He hadn’t expected for him to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a tight hug.

“I—I—” she pulled back and studied him like he was about to disappear. “Oh my God, that actually makes sense. If anyone was going to be Mimic, it would be you—oh my God.” She covered her mouth, and her face distorted into anguish. “The whole time?! Do you… hide your wings under your costume’s robes?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. And, “I didn’t know either.” He felt that was important to say. 

Well, this was going… better than expected so far.

He knew it wouldn’t last long, especially after Thing #3.

“I know… Oh my God,” she repeated. “Oh… that’s why you didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Evil never sleeps,” he said, well aware of the irony in that statement.

“Oh—I—I can’t believe you’re on our side—” Oh, there’s the guilt. “You’ve really been a villain? Mimic? This whole time? How long?!”

He winced. “Well… however long Mimic’s been around.” Years. Not too many, but still, years. Probably the duration of him and Gem’s entire friendship.

“You have powers?”

“It would appear so, yes. I could ask you the same question.”

“There’s a difference between me being able to phase through walls and Mimic’s powers!” she cried. “God, Grian, you’re—you’re powerful.”

He winced. He was still reeling, but this was not how he thought this was going to go. “Not really.”

“Grian, you’re like… the most powerful villain in the city. Well, Mimic keeps to himself, but everybody always agreed that with his powers, he could take over the city any time he wanted if he wanted to.”

“But—you’re the most powerful villain in the city!”

“I’m good at waving sharp pieces of metal around. I’m barely even better than S—Chromia. There’s a difference between that and somehow being able to expertly control every power you borrow.”

“So you say it yourself! Borrowing, not stealing.”

Gem managed a hollow laugh, burying her head in her hands. “God, that’s even the way we bicker as—civilans.”

“I know,” he said mutedly.

“Wait,” she shifted. “How did you know… from seeing my sword slash? I didn’t think you could see that from under my costume when we—met.”

Grian knew they were both thinking of the irritable way he’d left the meeting.

He cleared his throat. “That’s, uh… in—part 2,” he managed weakly.

“Oh,” Gem said, paling. “Grian, you’re Mimic. How could you even…”

There’s also a secret part 4 I don’t even acknowledge in my own mind, he thought before pushing the admittance far, far away from him and—this.

The Gem is Slayer?! Gem’s a villain?! Gem’s killed?! part was also starting to re-echo in his head, which was—unhelpful, and had to be ruminated on later.

It was Gem’s turn to be utterly flabbergasted.

“Before we go to part 2,” he said urgently, grabbing her hands. Gem shifted, surprise. “I—I’m sorry. And um, don’t tell anyone. Oh gee, I think I forgot about that. Um, definitely don’t do that, or I’ll be forced to—kill you, and all that.”

Gem scoffed. “Oh, you couldn’t kill me.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting a bit of derision seep into his expression. “Oh, I couldn’t?”

Gem studied his face carefully, then detached her hands from his. She raised an eyebrow of her own.

“Mimic could kill Slayer, sure. But you could never kill me.”

Well. That wasn’t exactly something he could argue against.

“My hands and my powers could!”

She crossed her arms and smirked playfully at him. Grian was still struggling to keep up with the Gem-wasn’t-just-a-nurse-and-was-a-villain-by-night-that-could-probably-easily-murder-him part. Also the dichotomy of being a nurse that healed people and a villain when the sun went down. “I dare you to act like you could. I want to see if you’re really Mimic.”

He sighed a long-suffering sigh, then reached inside for the Mimic demeanor.

Despite the fact that no one could see Grian’s face while in his Mimic costume, his gaze sharpened, and a scowl naturally made its way to his face. While Mimic, he usually turned his wings purple, just in case something ever went horribly wrong with his costume and someone saw his wings. He didn’t bother with that right then, but…

He cautiously reached out with his powers, and—yep, that was Slayer’s well. Slippery as usual. He sucked in a breath at the familiarity of it.

What if he’d ever been using his powers in Gem’s vicinity before this? It was honestly a miracle Gem’s identity has stayed secret to him this long, and some incredibly unlikely twist of chance that he’d recognized an injury of hers instead of just using his powers in her vicinity.

He reached into her well and borrowed it for himself—and okay, yeah he did do it a little less tactfully than he usually would, when he was trying to keep it under the radar.

This time, he wanted Gem to notice. Even if her power was literally useless right then, even if he and Gem did start duking it out for whatever reason.

He saw Gem stiffen a bit, as she probably felt the flicker across her well.

He tilted his head to the side and lifted his wings slightly, in quite an avian display of dominance.

“You don’t think I could kill you?” He asked evenly, a careful sparkle in his dark brown eyes. He let an amused smile lift his lips, only slightly.

Gem stared at him uneasily, then shook her head. “I don’t know how you had a full-blown panic attack like 5 minutes ago and then can so easily switch to your alter ego.”

He dropped Mimic and almost wished he didn’t after. He’d kind of needed that fake confidence at the moment.

Practice, Gem. Practice.

“Okay,” he started, voice cracking, but the words fast, so he couldn’t take them back after thinking about them too much. “I’m—going to tell you the other thing now. Yeah.”

“I mean…” Gem started, clearly uncomfortable. “Maybe… I mean, you did get no sleep last night, you could—”

“Have you—ever seen Mimic and Poultry Man in the same room together?”

Gem stared at him blankly for multiple seconds.

Her grip tightened on his blanket until her knuckles turned white. Her face was of similar color.

“Grian, what are you talking about?”

“Have you,” he choked out. “Ever seen Poultry Man and Mimic in the same room at the same time.”

He saw the exact moment it registered.

“Grian,” she demanded, face contorting into something both terrified and awestruck. “What on God’s green earth are you implying?”

“I can show you the costume if you don’t believe me,” he said weakly.

All color was leeched from her face. “Grian!” She spluttered out the start of multiple broken words, before settling on “Are you serious right now? I—I—I get what you meant when you said it got more shocking!”

“Lower your voice,” he told her weakly. “I don’t want to have to murder my neighbors if they can hear you.” Because that was definitely something he would ever be able to do.

“Show me the damn costume,” she demanded, staring at him in horror.

So he did. He pulled it out of its secret hiding place in the closet and kicked the chicken costume on the floor.

“Where the hell did you even get that?”

“Uh… the department store?”

“What about the white wings?”

Oh crap. He’d forgotten about that part. “Um… I can change them.”

“Do it.”

He swallowed. “Right… now?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Are you… going to murder me or something?”

“Not if you change your wings and prove to me this isn’t some awful fever dream.”

He frowned, but complied, reaching into the watcher well second well, and making sure he turned his wings white instead of purple.

“Oh my God,” she rasped, then buried her head in her knees. “Not even gonna ask how you can do that right now. You’re a double agent. Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be? And—that’s how you saw my cut—and that’s why you didn’t want us to burn the Perimeter."

“I wasn’t supposed to form attachments to Doc,” he admitted, voice cracking.

“But you did.” It wasn’t a question.

“Jesus Christ, Grian,” Gem said weakly. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Are you… mad?”

She scoffed incredulously and buried her head in her hands. “...No? I just don’t understand. Do you have loyalty to either identity? Which side are you on?”

He could feel the color leave his face. “There’s… a very complicated answer to that.”

“But why do you work with us and then stop us from doing it? Why did you make me drop my weapons?” Oh crap. He could see the anger rising to her face, creeping in along the edges. “What the hell is wrong with you? It sure seems like you’re on the vigilante’s side.”

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Gem. I thought being a villain was the answer, once. I was wrong. I don’t know why the hell you caused arson randomly with no apparent purpose, but I had to stop Slayer to keep up my alias as Poultry Man. I could’ve taken you in. I clearly didn’t.”

“So you are on the vigilante’s side.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side. This is how I—” He searched desperately for the words. There were things he just couldn’t say. “I work alone.”

“But—”

“Are you going to tell anyone?” he demanded, panic coming back, but the words were sharp. He let himself drop the white on his wings, and they shimmered until they turned back to red, yellow, and blue. 

“No,” she said, and Grian winced at the honesty bleeding into that one word. “God, I guess… there are worse things. Just… I can’t believe this.”

“Gem, if you were at all mad at me for being Poultry Man, you’re really not going to like number 3.”

“What, are you someone else?”

He said nothing. He briefly considered locking the door behind him so Gem couldn’t get out in case she freaked out or tried to tell the cops or something, but of course, her power made that useless.

God, he could just leave it there. Leave her to imagine what other hero, vigilante, or villain he was.

It seemed a bit late for that now.

“Gem, if you try and tell anyone this last piece of information, I will stop you. You are sworn to secrecy. It would ruin—everything.”

Gem took in a breath, voice wobbly, fingers twisting anxiously together. “Look, I was already surprised you were—in that field of work. But—I’m not going to tell you anyone. You’re my friend.”

“Gem,” he said quietly, voice shaking. “I can change my wings to purple, too, so... have you—ever seen—” God, he was going to throw up. He was, like, the second most famous hero in the city, after HotGuy. And really, they got lumped together.

“Me and—CuteGuy in a room together,” he said in a rush.

Gem leapt to her feet, eyes wild and slightly trembling.

“Grian.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Grian!”

He swallowed. This was the moment.

She waved her hands in the air desperately. “I—I thought you were gonna say, like, some stupid random hero! Not—not—Oh my God, I totally see it—You’re a triple agent?! As CuteGuy?! Why—Why—” She tried to take a breath, but it just came out as a teary snort. “Why didn’t you start there?”

“I had to… assert myself as being on your side first.”

She swayed dangerously on her feet, and Grian caught her arm worriedly. “Calm down,” he said anxiously. “It’s—fine.”

She trembled slightly, waving her hands in the air as she spoke, and ignored him as he tried to urge her to sit down.“You’re him? That flirty, snarky, stupid cop?” He flinched. “He’s—oh my God, he’s everywhere. HotGuy and him have stopped me and my team a hundred times over!”

“I can… get out the costume if you don’t believe me.”

“So—you do have loyalty to the Agency!”

“No,” he spat vehemently.

He straightened, a little surprised at his own anger.

He did not take it back.

“But HotGuy and CuteGuy obviously have something going on!”

He just about felt his soul leave his body. 

Heat rushed to his cheeks. Eyes widening into saucers, red creeping up his neck and ears, face contorting with denial.

He opened his mouth several times in speechlessness, looking like a stupid fish. Under Gem’s shock, he saw a layer of amusement in her eyes.

“No—No we don’t!”

She snorted, still looking dizzy with disbelief. “Grian, if there was even a shadow of a doubt, you just got rid of it.”

“We don’t!” Scar’s green eyes, so green, soft with fondness— “We, actually, legitimately don’t have anything going on! Why would you even—think that?” A dull headache began to creep up his skull, and he blinked. 

She stared at him like she’d just discovered the most idiotic person in the world. “That’s kind of, like, HotGuy and CuteGuy’s entire dynamic, Grian.”

He felt like he was going to pass out. He prayed to every god that may be up there that Scar was completely unaware.

Because he didn’t feel the same didn’t like Grian which was perfectly fine because Grian didn’t like him either and they were just friends and the way he sometimes felt like he’d been electrocuted whenever their hands brushed meant nothing and neither did the way Scar looked at him sometimes when he thought Grian couldn’t see and a relationship would complicate and ruin everything, in his—everything. Not that it mattered, because Grian did not like Scar and their dynamic as HotGuy and CuteGuy was completely for show. 

“That’s—just while in costume!”

“...Right.”

“Yeah! Uh-huh! Right!” He affirmed desperately, nodding enthusiastically. The room seemed to spin a bit, and he was reminded of his earlier crushing exhaustion. “Why would anyone think otherwise?”

Gem sighed and sat back down on the bed, then pulled out her hand as if about to count on her fingers.

“No, you really don’t have to—”

“The way they look at each other, the way they finish each other’s sentences in interviews, the way they know what the other is about to do before they do it during battles, the way HotGuy makes eyes at CuteGuy whenever CuteGuy is flying and can’t see him—”

“S—HotGuy does not do that!” He interrupted panickedly. Did he? No. He absolutely did not.

“Aha! So HotGuy’s name starts with an S?!” She cried triumphantly, pointing at him.

“So Chromia’s name starts with an S?” he asked pointedly, recalling her earlier slip-up.

She opened her mouth, probably to deny it, but he cut her off. “Look. We’re done talking about HotGuy. We’re not together, and he’s irrelevant to this conversation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right, because you’re both uselessly pining for each other. You’re really CuteGuy?!” She sighed and took a shaky breath, again looking like she might faint. “You’re crazy! You’re out of your mind! And HotGuy—Actually, Grian, I think he’s incredibly relevant! I think he’s making it very hard to believe you have no loyalty to Hermitcraft!”

“I have no loyalty to Hermitcraft! I have loyalty to—certain people within Hermitcraft!”

”So, HotGuy and his abs?”

“You don’t know him,” he hissed and he and Gem were both clearly surprised by the venom dripping from his voice. He didn’t try to remove it. “You don’t know any of them. Are some of the heroes corrupt? Absolutely. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that none of this, the city politics, are as black-and-white as you think, Slayer. It’s not that the heroes are all just simply evil and that’s all. Some of them I trust with my life. Some of them are just brainwashed. Some of them are evil to their core. Same with vigilantes, and villains.”

“Okay, sure, you’re better than everyone, whatever.” Before he could protest how that was absolutely not what he’d said, she cut him off. “But why are you doing this? God, I can’t believe CuteGuy is a—triple agent. How did this even even happen—Oh my God, Grian, oh my God, this is insane. I thought if anyone was an evil little brainwashed sheep, it was him. Grian, he’s everywhere. You can’t go 3 steps without seeing his merch or a poster of him and HotGuy on the wall!”

He forced himself to ignore the offended feeling that rose to the surface, and instead responded to her earlier statement. “Because—I can help.” He winced as his voice cracked. It was getting increasingly hard to focus as he repeatedly had to push away fog that wanted to cloud his mind. 

“I know things, Gem. I probably know more than anyone. I can save people as both a hero and a vigilante, and aid the villains whenever they’re doing something that’s actually helpful to changing this city. I know things about every side. And if my position ever becomes useful for fixing this godforsaken city… it would be invaluable.”

Silence.

“...You said one other person knows?”

He blinked. “...Yeah?”

“Don’t the heroes know your civilian identity?”

“Well, yeah, they know I have one double life. But only one person knows about me being CuteGuy, Poultry Man, and Mimic.”

“...Is it Mumbo?”

He must’ve blanched, because Gem raised her hands in surrender, worry creasing her brow. “Woah, don’t pass out on the spot or anything. It was just an educated guess. Mumbo’s your best friend and roommate.”

And definitely not also secretly the hero Redstone. 

Gem shifted. “So… he’s the only person?”

He nodded. He only recalled Doc after he affirmed her words, but he pushed the creeper hybrid out of his mind. God, one thing at a time. He also thanked whatever god or gods were up there that she hadn’t brought up Jimmy or questioned why he didn’t know. The him-being-Grian’s-brother-but-he-still-didn’t-know-plus-also-he’s-the-hero-Canary thing was not something he wanted to explain, on top of everything.

“HotGuy doesn’t know?”

“...No.”

He could tell that was the right answer. Something seemed to shift in Gem. The tiniest bit of trust, the tiniest bit of understanding.

“So…?” He began cautiously.

“So,” Gem repeated weakly. She straightened up. “Okay, look, let me recall everything that just happened.” She brought up her fingers to count. “1, Mumbo tells me to come over because you need cheering up. 2, you come in looking like you haven’t slept in weeks. 3, my identity gets revealed. 4, you say you’re Mimic. 5, you say you’re Poultry Man. 6, you say you’re CuteGuy.”

“Mhm,” he agreed exhaustedly. He could feel the world tilt a little, as if he was swaying on his feet, and he sat down on his bed.

Bed was a generous word for it. The blankets were curled in a circular pattern. Avians usually slept in nests due to their instincts, keeping different fabrics of their flock to make them feel safe and comfortable.

Grian hoped Gem didn’t notice the sweater of hers she’d left at his apartment once. Or the way he’d instinctively let her into the nest, even having just realized she was Slayer.

“This feels a bit redundant, but you’re not going to tell anyone I’m Slayer, right?”

“No, Gem.” He resisted the urge to let the fog overtake his mind and pass out right then and there. God, he was so tired, and the nest was so tempting. “And I know you said you’re not going to tell anyone about my identity, but if you tell anyone Mumbo knows, I’ll actually kill you. Like, actually.”

“How long has he known?”

“Forever. He knew me before… everything, and I always told him everything about it.”

She shifted. “So… I’m the first person you told after the fact.”

“Yes.” When she seemed to brighten a bit at that, because he was deciding to be a killjoy for some reason when things were going surprisingly… okay, he reminded her, “Only because I realized you were Slayer. God, how did you even—I never would’ve expected that in a million years.” He laughed weakly. It hurt a little. 

Gem looked concerned, but replied, “You just told me you’re living a triple life. You’re not allowed to be surprised I’m Slayer.”

“I absolutely am!” he retorted irately. The words were a bit of a struggle to get out, but he still managed to focus on her face through the white dots. “You’re Slayer, for God’s sake! I interacted with you as Mimic last night.”  

“Grian, this is absolutely crazy. You must have more power than anyone in the city. Is it easy for you to switch between identities?”

“Well. Um, I think so? With so many identities, I don’t really feel like I’m any of the 4 and am just pretending for all of them.”

When Gem’s face shifted, he realized what he’d just admitted.

“Grian,” she said softly. He couldn’t decipher the emotion on her face—something akin to either concern or pity, both of which he wanted none.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly.

Gem gave him a look that said We’re not done here but instead asked, “Do you just steal HotGuy’s power every time?”

“Borrow. But yes.” He paused and winced, glancing at his hands to make sure they weren’t trembling the way it felt like they were. “Look, I don’t want to say this a million more times. But you’re not going to tell Chromia and Necromancer?”

She breathed out a long breath through her nose. “...No. I think I’ll…”

She then proceeded to launch into some long explanation about exactly how she would avoid telling her teammates about his identities, which he tried very hard to listen to but eventually ended up zoning out, staring at her nose and telling himself not to just lower himself into the bed and lay down and sleep.

“...So, yeah,” she finished, then scowled at his blank expression. “Did you even hear any of that?”

He blinked, wincing. “Something about you won’t sabotage the Perimeter and won’t bring me up?”

She visibly softened a bit, studying him, eyes flicking from the dark circles that probably resided under his eyes to his exhausted posture. Then her face sharpened again.

“Grian, do you sleep?”

He winced. “...Yes? If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be alive.”

“Grian, either Poultry Man or Mimic are out at night like… every couple days.”

“Yep.”

“When’s the last time you slept?” she cried.

“Uh…” It had to be less than 48 hours, right? Probably closer to the 36 mark. Which was fine. He’d gone much longer.

“How do you manage to be a hero, vigilante, or villain and do any of those duties?”

“Um… Not sure,” he admitted reluctantly. Mostly, adrenaline. A powerful drug. He forgot about how long he’d been awake when actually on the job.

“Grian, go to bed.”

He blinked. “...What?”

“I’ll tell everyone about your identities if you don’t go to bed right now,” she threatened, something dangerous in her eyes. He could still see the confliction and anxiety underneath it, though.

“No!” he cried, fisting his sheets with a white-knucled grip. “I’m still freaking out that I told you and that you’re Slayer!” 

“Grian, I’m freaking out.” It certainly didn’t seem like a lie. “But I won’t tell anyone, and you need to sleep. We'll talk about this more later, okay?”

His grip on the blanket lessened. Every time Gem spoke, it took him an extra couple of seconds to piece together what she meant.

“Grian,” she said softly, “Sleep. I’ll tell Mumbo you told me.”

His eyebrows raised in alarm, but it was dull, softened by the urge to sleep. “Mm,” he replied, as if about to say Mm-mm or Mhm, but he forgot he was supposed to actually be saying something intelligible halfway through.

She shoved him down with his surprising strength, so his head fell on the pillow. He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not that easy to make me sleep,” he threatened. Not with much power, considering the yawn he visibly stifled.

“Sure,” she replied, rolling her eyes and getting off the bed. She threw his comforter over him and started towards the door.

“Hey!” he called, but too soon, she’d left the room and shut the door behind him.

Oh my God. So that just happened.

She’s Slayer?! What the hell possessed her to be a villain? Who hurt her?

I can’t sleep. This is insanity. I need to make a plan of how I should proceed while Slayer… knows my identity. I…

The cozy familiarity of his nest lulled him to sleep. His eyes fluttered shut and didn’t reopen.

As Grian slept, unaware, his 5th phone pinged from its secret location shoved between multiple boxes in his closet.

P̷̨͈̀ì̵͕̩̋x̶̢̝́͂l̷̟͎͛̉r̴̤̃͘ï̸͕f̷̹̅f̴̢̆s̵̹̄̕ to X̸̡̦̏ȩ̴̰͠͝l̸̩͖͒q̸̨̀ͅù̶̡̗a̵̘̗͐

<P̷̨͈̀ì̵͕̩̋x̶̢̝́͂l̷̟͎͛̉r̴̤̃͘ï̸͕f̷̹̅f̴̢̆s̵̹̄̕> Apologies, X̸̡̦̏ȩ̴̰͠͝l̸̩͖͒q̸̨̀ͅù̶̡̗a̵̘̗͐. I know you said you didn’t want to hear from me again. But I’m warning you: the watchers may know more than you think.

<P̷̨͈̀ì̵͕̩̋x̶̢̝́͂l̷̟͎͛̉r̴̤̃͘ï̸͕f̷̹̅f̴̢̆s̵̹̄̕> Tell me if you want more information about this. It may save you from their grasp again