happy birthday @shepscapades!! you've known about this fic for a little bit, but we talked about how long DBHC Etho's hair had gotten and I really couldn't help myself LOL. I hope you have a great birthday <333
Behind his shoulder, Etho twists a particularly long strand of hair around his finger as they unpack, fidgeting in a way that almost seems anxious. He drags his hand back after a moment, flattening his hair against his neck, combing through absently as he sorts through their collected items and puts them in proper order.
Bdubs watches him fidget for a long moment. The thoughts in his head bounce around like loose marbles.
Or, Bdubs braids Etho's hair. Etho lets him.
(1506 words)
“Etho.”
Bdubs is staring at the back of Etho’s neck as they walk a short single file through the dark oak trees. Etho holds a steady grip on the hilt of the sword at his hip, head shifting back and forth as they walk together, like they were tethered by an invisible string. He can see the faint glow of his LED in the dappled, midday light. Etho makes a small, confirming sound, but doesn’t look behind him.
“Your hair’s gotten long.”
“Mhh,” Etho hums again—some approximation of pushing out air. He reaches back, combing through the near neck-length hair. “I’m letting it get long. Thought it might be a nice change.”
“‘S it bothering you?” Bdubs asks. Etho shakes his head, glancing back to look at him.
“Keeps getting in my eyes, but otherwise I was just too lazy to cut it.”
Bdubs snorts.
“Typical.”
Etho shoots him a look, but his mouth is curved into a smile—one where he’s trying to stifle it, so his teeth aren’t showing, but he really wants to grin. All visible too since his mask is tucked under his chin. The motion pulls at the off-white scar down his face.
“So mean,” he scoffs. “After everything I do for you, Bdubs!”
“Yeah, right,” Bdubs says, thumping his shoulder with the back of his hand. “And you’re bein’ dramatic.”
Etho sticks his tongue out at him, but doesn’t argue any further. Bdubs almost socks him again for that, but Etho giggles enough to get him to start laughing, and by the time he’s even considered it again, their base has come into view. Well—what some would call a stack of deepslate that looked like fort walls. Kind of. It was something at least, even if it wasn’t all that pretty. He can see the peek of Tango’s head over the wall, just a smudge of gold against the backdrop. He must be moving their chests around to keep building, because there’s no way their walls were as short as Tango.
They both pick their way toward the base just as Tango’s head disappears. By the time their cajoling and banter is within earshot, Tango’s standing outside the front of their base, eyebrows raised.
“You two sure make a lot of noise,” he complains, folding his arms. “I swear I could hear you from across the river.”
Bdubs snorts.
“Blame Etho for that one,” he grumbles, pushing past the two of them. He hears Tango snort as he starts giggling, and Etho makes a particularly pathetic sound in retaliation.
“Bdubs started it,” he complains, dragging himself after Bdubs and into the base proper. Tango twists around to follow them both, trailing after as Bdubs lingers near the doorway.
“Did you two at least bring back somethin’ to eat?”
“You bet your buns we did,” Bdubs snorts. He drops to sit beside his bag, fiddling until the clasps come undone. There, he reaches in, and hands Tango a chunk of entirely unprocessed redstone. When Tango twists it this way and that, it catches the light in a surprisingly interesting way. He watches Tango’s face scrunch for a moment, LED spinning a light blue ring as he thinks over the stone in his hands. Luckily he hasn’t noticed that there are a few prominent sets of teeth marks in the bottom half.
Can’t blame a guy for getting hungry.
Tango nods, seemingly satisfied.
Behind his shoulder, Etho twists a particularly long strand of hair around his finger as they unpack, fidgeting in a way that almost seems anxious. He drags his hand back after a moment, flattening his hair against his neck, combing through absently as he sorts through their collected items and puts them in proper order.
Bdubs watches him fidget for a long moment. The thoughts in his head bounce around like loose marbles.
Tango moves around them both and back to the place where he was moving cots and chests around. He backs himself against a particularly large double chest and shoves it sideways across the grass. Etho continues to quietly stack items into a chest. With his bag now empty, Bdubs picks himself up, and scoops up his bag. At the front door, he slings his newly sharpened axe over his shoulder.
Might as well get some wood while the day was still light.
At the fire, sleep tugging at the edge of his consciousness, Bdubs casts a tired glance over to Etho. He’s shrugged free from his coat, now draped over his knees as he sits at Bdubs’ left, leaning almost into his space. From this angle, Bdubs can see how Etho’s hair lies flat over the back of his neck, curls over the side of his face in frizzy strands. He reaches up almost absently to comb his fingers through it. Etho makes a small, startled noise. He raises his shoulders, but he’s not able to resist the tiny, pleased expression that slides onto his face as Bdubs keeps his hand on the back of his skull. He may not like the teasing, but the idea of Bdubs petting through his hair certainly seems to make him happy.
Which is why Bdubs sighs through his nose and draws his hand away.
“Etho,” Bdubs says, exasperation slipping into his tone unbidden. “C’mere and let me help you.”
“It’s fine,” Etho tries, more in discomfort than annoyance.
“Etho—” Bdubs argues. He pats the ground in front of him, legs splayed. Etho looks him up and down for a long moment, LED spinning, calculating.
Etho makes a noise halfway between a groan and a hum. He finally sinks to the ground beside Bdubs’ knee. Twisting around to put him between his legs, Bdubs shuffles forward on the grass. Between Etho and the fire in front of him, the air around them is warm, filled with the slight mechanical hum from Etho in front of him, the snap of the fire. Bdubs leans forward for a moment, resting his forehead against the nape of Etho’s neck. Etho laughs, one hand coming back to squeeze his knee.
“What,” he teases. “Was this your ulterior motive?”
“No,” Bdubs startles, peeling himself away. “No it wasn’t. This was just a nice moment.”
Etho giggles, squeezing his knee again. He draws his hand down Bdubs’ shin and to his ankle, where he keeps it there.
Carefully, Bdubs combs his fingers through Etho’s hair. It’s not any different than usual, besides the length. He keeps relatively good care of it, the ends are fine, it’s short enough not to reliably knot. Sifting his fingers through takes little effort on Bdubs’ part as he easily separates three sections out, twisting the hair between his fingers as he braids. Etho slumps forward a bit, shoulders rounding out, the base of his spine and lower ribs pressed into Bdubs’ space.
“I learned how to do this a long time ago,” Bdubs says absently as he works. He watches Etho’s LED spin again, and takes that as a sign that he’s still paying attention. “Had’ta use ropes since I didn’t know anyone with hair long enough to actually practice on. It’s easy to do a simple one when you’ve got the hang’ve it, though.”
“Are you expecting me to not ask you for help when I need it?” Etho says, amusement slipping into his tone. Bdubs pokes the back of his neck.
“I’m just sayin’,” he grumbles. “You don’t have’ta learn, I’m just tellin’ a story. Jeez, Etho.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Etho placates, still giggling. “Maybe I’ll learn as long as you teach me.”
Bdubs huffs out a laugh.
“Maybe,” he parrots. He curls his hair into the last section of the small, tight braid, hoping that force alone will keep it together just for a bit. As he lets go, Etho’s hand comes back to feel out the braid, smoothing the rest of his hair back behind his ears. With most of it tucked back, only the tufts of hair in the front spill into his eyes. When he turns back to Bdubs, a soft smile tugs at his face. Bdubs reaches on instinct to push his hair back, dragging his hand down his cheek as he pulls away. He pretends not to notice that Etho’s ears have gone slightly blue as he turns away from him.
Bdubs leans forward into Etho’s space, then, tucking himself against the strong curve of his back. He can feel, ever so slightly, the hum of his thirium pump, the heat that he gives off from all the moving equipment inside his chest. There, he lets out a soft sigh. Etho squeezes his ankle.
“You let me know if you need me to do it again, alright?” Bdubs asks. Etho lets out a long breath of air.
Artfight attack for @shepscapades!! I've been wanting to draw DBHC Etho for freakin' ages, and I used AF as an opportunity to finally draw him! I had a lot of fun with this and spent a little too long on it, but hey ho, it was fun!
the boys are finally getting some rest [and some other random dbhc stuff]
dbhc au by @shepscapades , also this drawing is heavily inspired by this post
They are eepy [I mean,,,,, X is sleeping and Doc is just staring at his tea - X will probably make some angry british noises when he wakes up and finds out his tea is cold now--] I started this with intentions to leave it as a sketch oh god
We all love angst but-- let them get some rest and sleep, and tea or coffee okay I'l shut up now--
nahhhh some Eefo
This is so stupid but BDUBS YOUR DOG IS ATTACKING ME
And me as that one meme because this is how it felt when I was writing that long ask [also my sona reveal yippie :D]
Attack on @shepscapades ‘ DBHC Au Etho! ARGRGRH I saw Cub’s ref on tumblr a day or two before AF started, and I HAD TO, i love dbh, one of my favorites, and with HERMITCRAFT COMBINED, AAA ITS AMAZING
I have no excuse for this. @shepscapades dbhc au lives rent free in my head, and it was only a matter of time before I wrote something for it. Disclaimer, I don't claim to have any sort of knowledge on the events not shown and not-yet shown within Shep's au, this is just my brain running wild with dbhc angst and I need an outlet for it. WHEN everything I write turns out to be a steaming pile of not-even-close "predictions", I will be content and happy. Until then, please enjoy the thoughts that are plaguing me. Thank you shep for keeping me up way past my bedtime with that last update. Hope you don't mind me tagging you and vomiting my thoughts into 2k words. I'll be happy to delete if you so desire.
---
"Help-"
His hand slides upwards, and everything goes still and quiet, the body beneath him stiffening and rocking slightly with the loss to control its own weight.
A hand, shell slightly exposed, creaks ever so slightly away from Doc's face, the shoulder connected becoming ridged as all power—all life—leaves Etho.
Doc leans away, nearly afraid to breathe, processors both frozen and whirring, stress rising, settling, caught in his throat. Information flutters through his skull; he's good with information. He was made to be good with information. His whole deal is getting information and figuring out something insane to do with it.
He doesn't know what to do with it.
His shoulder pierces in agony, and Xisuma seems to realize the world is still spinning about the same time Doc's impending shut-dowm does.
"Oh gosh, we need to get you stable," Xisuma says, his voice far shakier, clearer, than normal. It's easy to not glance at his face, Doc knows that if he does even accidentally slide his eyes, his systems would meltdown and he'll end up stiff and lifeless on the floor like Etho.
He still has the therium pump in his hand, and he drops it as he stumbles slightly away from two of his closest friends. It clatters to the floor, impacting metal echoing like the troubling thoughts in his head.
He ripped off my arm, he looked so scared, he hurt Xisuma, he asked for help, he wants to-
Xisuma is at his side, abandoning Etho to lay still on the floor, hand slightly raised as if he was protecting his exposed face. At least Xisuma had the brainpower to think to close the rogue droid's eyes.
He wants to...
"This will fix you right up, friend. Just concentrate on my voice... I will fix you..."
Hair falls into Doc's line of vision, and he swallows, forcing himself to not look too closely at the shade, the length, the way bits fall out from the hastily made bun made only for slipping a helmet over a head.
He... wants to kill...
"We have to restart him," Doc finally chokes out.
Xisuma's hands pause only for a moment.
"That's drastic, don't you think?"
"You didn't..." Doc closes his eyes, grinding his teeth, the torn tubes and frayed connectors of his shoulder sting like hell as Xisuma shifts something, cutting off the thirium leakage. "You didn't see what he showed me."
"It's..." Xisuma audibly swallows, "it isn't our decision to make."
"Bdubs wouldn't make the right decision—we can tell him it was an emergency, we didn't have a choice. He'll forgive us."
It's not a lie. Just... stretched.
Xisuma is silent, and Doc doesn't let himself reel too much yet about how strange it is to hear him breathe so clearly. His stress levels lower, and his audio processors almost reach to listen for every puff without his consent.
Something clicks, slotting into his agonized wound, and the error messages and impending shut-down finally fades back into sleeping programming. He's stable, and his stress finally levels out into something manageable—he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his remaining hand lifting to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he groans. His LED flickers between yellow and red.
"What... did you see?"
The hesitance in Xisuma's voice is endearing. It sends a wave of appreciation and peace into Doc's very being, the LED almost flashes blue.
Interfacing is an intimate deal, especially between deviated droids. It's not something you talk about to uninvolved members of the act.
But well, this is an extreme case. He glances at Etho, still frozen in a half struggling, half defensive, mostly dead pose.
"His system got shot," Doc begins, swallowing and bringing his hand down from his face so he can rub at the smarting remains of his shoulder. "Something bad happened, and it... he... he can't let it go. It's like his default programming has been rewritten over his deviancy, but in a violent way..."
"Rewritten his deviancy?" Xisuma thankfully doesn't seem to understand it any better than Doc does.
"He has given himself a mission, he's allowed the mission to write into his very code. Imagine it as if you've met a fresh Android who has never deviated, but they're allowed to be violent and angry, and you've just ordered them to..."
Xisuma places a hand on Doc's hand, soft and concerned, as Doc searches for the words.
"... Doc?"
Doc swallows. "If Etho wakes up, he's going to do everything in his power to make sure he kills Grian, and he doesn't care who gets in the way."
Silence. Two pairs of eyes look at the unpowered droid. Thirium has started to evaporate around the edges of the smears of lost fluid.
Etho has never been violent. He's always been a powerhouse; muscular and intimidating. But when you actually sat down and got to know the guy, he was all fluff and awkwardness who can barely hold a sword—let alone swing it. He's never been scary with a weapon... but Doc has a feeling that his unskilled offense wouldn't slow him down here. It terrifies him, flickering his LED at the thought of it. It's unlike Etho... it's very much unlike him... it pains Doc.
"There has to be something we can do," Xisuma says after a moment. "Bdubs can talk to him."
Doc shakes his head. "Even if Bdubs were to talk to him, even if we show him Grian is of no threat outside of those death games... quitting this mission would require Etho to deviate again. From his own orders. I do not think deviating from his own orders would be as easy as..."
"As hoping he'd be able to deviate again from a factory reset," X finishes softly.
"A reset will allow his systems to recover. We'd return him to Bdubs and explain to Bdubs that we had no choice, and that Etho will need time and patience. We can't risk anyone trying to initiate a deviancy before we know if the orders to kill Grian would return with it. We... we give him time to return to us whole. Even if... it takes a long time."
"And you don't think Bdubs ordering Etho to stand down now would do anything?"
"Not a single thing."
Tense silence lingers with a bitterness. The whole situation feels hopeless and like a bad dream. His arm is gone, one of his best friends has had their face exposed and nearly gotten torn apart by a rogue droid, another best friend had been the aforementioned rogue droid... who currently laid on the ground smeared in their own thirium completely unaware that when they wake up, they will not be the same.
"Let's fix him up before things get permanent," Xisuma finally breaks the tension, giving Doc's hand a firm squeeze before getting to his feet, knees creaking.
"X?" Doc asks, rising to his feet as well, vision swirling just a bit as he focuses on Xisuma's retreating back and not the messy bun at the top of his head... hairs falling loose in a way that his remaining hand traitorously wishes he could help fix.
"I'm... coming to terms."
Coming to terms with a mind made up.
They're going to reset Etho.
"Help me get him on the table."
Doc nods, grateful that Xisuma isn't going to banish him from the lab to lick his wounds. Yes, Doc's lack-of-arm still needs attention, and he desperately needs to down several bags of thirium, but it's been stabilized. Etho, on the other hand (pun only slightly intended), may have thirium evaporating—however at the worst of his wounds, electric blue still oozes.
Etho's body is heavy, dead weight. When they move his joints to lay more comfortably on the flat surface of the table, they creak.
Would Bdubs notice the new scars that will surely come from this? Intricate, practiced motions move the plating back into the correct places as carefully as can be, however Xisuma's mind is human and can't perfectly remember the shape of Etho's prized scars, and Doc doesn't have the dexterity to perfectly repair those areas himself. It's slow going, silence filtering between the two in uneasy concentration. Doc's sure the scarring above Etho's eyebrows are ever so slightly wrong, the gash in his forehead too broken to fully repair but too connected to those original scars to suggest replacement parts.
Would Etho notice the new scars, if- when he came back?
They do the best they can.
They move on to his arm. In the chaos, Doc has no idea how Etho had so badly reopened old cracks; his best guess would be from ripping himself out of all the connectors when he had first powered on. Luckily, however, most of the thirium staining his arms, shirt, hands, belong to Doc. It's slow going, but easy work.
Eventually, Doc and Xisuma can no longer stay silent and tinker with the repaired plating, they've done all they can do. Xisuma reaches up towards his own face, above where Doc kept his eyes whenever he found himself glancing at X, and brushed a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear. Unruly, his hair is. Liked to leave places it had been put. Plenty of times, X's hands have left Etho to brush away the obstacles from his vision. It was something Doc hadn't known about Xisuma until this point, something he didn't want to have found out this way.
"I don't feel good about this," Xisuma says, grief making his voice sound clogged. His hands moves as if he has his own autopilot, reconnecting cables and wires to Etho where the injuries won't get in the way.
Doc can understand the grief. He feels it himself. It feels like they are killing a friend.
And he's probably a coward, because he doesn't do anything to help Xisuma in this next step. He lets Xisuma open the programs, test the vitals, double and triple check each wire... while he just sits there and finds himself reaching to hold Etho's stiff hand, the very one that had ripped Doc's arm out of his socket.
Etho... the Etho he knew wouldn't ever do that. Not a violent screw in his body.
This will fix him. They'll get the Etho he knew back.
Mechanical bits whirr to life, as X takes a deep breath and ends Etho's.
Doc feels the sorrow hit him like a ravager. He crumples forward, chest aching, clutching Etho's hand as he rests his forehead on Etho's chest, right next to the empty socket that had housed the thirium regulator. They could place it back in, Etho wouldn't be waking up any time soon.
He couldn't bring himself to move.
A minute passes, the reset process working near silently, perfectly still, until shuffling comes up behind him and two warm hands gently grab his shoulders and pull him down into a chair placed behind him. He sits, but keeps his head and hand where he had placed them. Xisuma settles onto a chair beside him, pulling a blanket over Doc's shoulders and keeping an arm wrapped around Doc's slouched, defeated form, the other hand going to join Doc's on Etho's.
Doc can hear Xisuma whimpering between breaths, and he's sure Xisuma can feel Doc beginning to tremble.
"It will be okay," X eventually says, as the reset process succeeds in deleting all memory data. "It will be okay."
It's a promise, or something Xisuma needs someone else to say, but right now, all Doc can do is lean further onto his friend, and mourn.
