Chapter Text
Grian had never considered himself the most nurturing person.
Far from it.
He considered himself to be the embodiment of destruction, of mischief and mayhem, of devilry and diablerie. He was jiggery-pokiety skulduggery in the flesh.
He was the type of person to shrink his responsibilities, to shun any obligation, to procrastinate on promises in the same way he procrastinated on the back of his buildings… Which meant to avoid them entirely until they either solved themselves or snowballed into an issue out of his control and thus out of his hands.
It was safe to say he was not the type of person who should be responsible for the health and safety of another living being under any circumstances.
And, yet… here he was.
A single father.
Apparently.
You might be wondering how he got himself in this situation. Well…
Welcome to Double Life.
A brand new 1.19 Minecraft series where the number of lives you have is indicated by your colour name. Green for three, two for yellow… ya-da-ya-ya-ya-da, you get it, you’ve heard the spiel before.
The twist this series is that you are soulbound to another player. If one of you takes damage, both of you take damage. You share a health bar. And if one of you dies, you both die.
But that’s not the only twist. The real twist is that the soulbound match-ups are far from random. No, each person has been sorted into pairs based on their compatibility to fit into two classifications: Caregiver and Little.
A Caregiver is exactly what it sounds like. A guardian, a protector, a person who protects those who are unable to protect themselves.
A Little... well, a Little is a little more complicated.
A Little is somebody whose mental state has a tendency to revert back to that of a child's, typically as the mind's unconscious defence mechanism. They're who the caregiver cares for; their charge, their depended, their... well, their child.
As much as the Watchers would have loved giving their nominees the physique of a child as well as the psychology, fortunately, they have limited ability when it comes to effecting the players pyschalities. That's why, for the most part, they stick to psychological effects... The Boogeyman, the Red Mist, that sorta stuff. Their field of expertise is more mental than manual, so, they had to settle for behaviour over bodily. At least for now.
Why bother at all, though, you may ask? What's the point of forcing the players into these classifications?
Well. The Watchers feed on emotions, specifically those born through strong bonds and relationships…
…And what stronger bond was there then between parent and child? The filial formed between a parent and their child is psychologically and biologically proven to alter a person’s neurology, to form a storge so strong mothers’ could lift cars to save their babies, that they could go feral if they felt their infant was endangered. It was bionically engineered in humans to grow attached to the young of their species, they can't help it, its a genetic predisposition of their design.
And that's what the Watchers are counting on.
Everybody had lost people in this game. Friends, family... even lovers.
But nobody had ever lost a child before.
Nobody had ever experienced the grief, the bereavement, that came with losing a child... Their child. People had been widows, people had been orphans, but nobody had ever been... well, there wasn't even a term for it, was there? It was such a horrible fate that it couldn't even be described. It wasn't even in the dictionary. It couldn't possibly be put into words, and so, it wasn't. A fate not only worse than death, but a fate indescribably so. A fate unfathomable.
Basically... To the Watchers? They were setting up an all you can eat buffet with only the most exquisite meals on display.
And Grian was determined not to be in the main course.
And maybe, maybe, if he played his cards right, he could even get himself off the menu entirely.
But first... he had to find his soulmate.
Grian was often reprimanded for being immature, kiddish and chaotic, for acting like a child.
So, obviously, he had made the effortless assumption that he was a child.
Or, at least, that was what made the most sense. He didn't particularly feel like a child, or have any desire to be one, but all things considered, he had to be. It was just a simple case of deduction. Caregivers were responsible, levelheaded, mature... Caregivers were everything that he wasn't. And so, by that logic, he had to be a Little. It was an easy inference.
He wasn't the type to really enjoy being doted on, being nagged and badgered, but he supposed he was going to have to resign himself to it. Sure, having somebody to reel in his chaos to keep him from going overboard every now and then was nice, but only on occasion. He didn't like the idea of somebody harping on his every action and micromanaging his every decision for the entire season.
Because of this, some people called him a control freak. He disagreed. Or, at least, he disagreed with the term. He didn't think it was freakish to try to regain control in a game where you had none. That was just called being smart. When you're a pawn on a gameboard, the best thing you can do is try to control as much of the board as you can with what little power you do have. Just because you're not a gamemaster doesn't mean you can't pull a few strings, and to survive, you're going to need as many strings to pull as possible.
Speaking of strings, God, did he want to yank his.
For somebody who's job was supposed to be to take care of him, they were doing a rubbish job. They'd barely been eating, and they kept taking big chunks of damage in rapid succession, bringing him incredibly close to losing their shared first life via heart attack several times within just the past few hours.
Scott had thought that it might be Jimmy or Scar, but Grian had quickly dismissed the notion... something told him that neither Jimmy or Scar could have possibly been classified as caregivers. They could barely take care of themselves, let alone another person. If either of them had been classifed as caregivers, well, you could pluck his nosehairs and send him to Alaska. But he was fairly confident piglins would fly before either of them were deemed responsible enough by the universe to take care of a child.
You know who did definitely fit the bill of a caregiver? BigB. Ironically enough, he'd initially thought BigB was a LittleB, but after BigB confessed he was probably a caregiver, everything clicked. BigB was responsible and rational, but not authoritative or strict. He was reliable, but chill, the sort of guy who wouldn't just let their kids stay up all night watching cartoons, but who would stay up all night watching cartoons with them. A dude who didn't care what his kids did as long as they weren't missing for more then thirty-two hours or left lethally injured somewhere in a ditch. That was a parenting style Grian could work with. Their personalities fit together perfectly; BigB wouldn't have to deal with a kid who needed constant attention and supervision, and Grian wouldn't have to deal with a helicopter parent micromanaging his affairs. It was practically meant to be.
He was so sure BigB was going to be his caregiver. He was certain... and he was crushed with disappointment when he wasn't.
At least that disappointment was lifted by relief when Scott wasn't.
Scott was a fun guy, they'd been goat bros, but Scott was the exact opposite of what he was looking for in a caregiver. He was a perfectionist, punctilious, the type to excessively fuss and fret... as fun as he was as a friend, Grian doubted he'd be as fun to have as a parent. Hopefully that guy's Little wasn't somebody who valued their alone time, he doubted they'd get much of it, Scott had been hover-y enough with him and he wasn't even his Little. Something told him that Jimmy would make a good fit - Tim would probably need a helicopter around with his famed tendency to fall, anyway.
They were still up in the air about what Tango was. While BigB suspected he was a caregiver, and the group was almost a hundred-percent sure that Scott was a Caregiver and that Grian was a Little, Tango's classification was still fifty-fifty. Still, even if he wasn't sure, Grian had a gut-feeling Tango was a caregiver. He had no proof, though, no real idea... Truthfully, none of them had any idea, nobody had any idea, all they knew was that they weren't each others soulbounds. Oh, and, that good goat horns had a ridiculously low drop rate.
For Grian, that left six possible caregivers: Bdubs, Etho, Scar, Martyn, Pearl, or Tim.
Once he met Bdubs and Impulse, that became five: Etho, Scar, Martyn, Pearl, or Tim.
And then, well, he met Etho and Joel.
And it became one.
For the one who was supposed to be the provided to and not the provider, Grian felt like he was doing a lot of labour on his caregiver's behalf. Knee-deep in a river catching fish with his bare hands, he couldn't help but think this was not how a traditional fishing trip with one's father was supposed to go. Mostly because there was no father in sight... or, maybe mother, his soulbound might be Pearl, but, statistically, it was probably father, so there was a good chance his joke still tracked.
But luckily for Grian — and probably the rest of the server, too — he wasn't left without supervision for long.
"Grian? Oh, fish! Excellent idea, Grian," Etho's voice commended, and the comment was about all Grian needed to guess that Etho was a caregiver.
Etho wasn't the type to hand out praise frivolously, and nothing in his tone suggested he was being patronizing, so it was probably a safe bet to assume that his caregiving instinct had kicked in. At least enough to make him cooingly congratulate Grian for killing fish like he was congratulating a kindergartener for remembering to look both ways before crossing the street. Grian would have teased Etho for it if his own classification wasn't much more embarrasing.
"Have you found your partner yet, Grian?" Joel's voice cut in, a curious, pushy insistence in his voice. Grian heard Etho gently elbow Joel, the same way a scolding parent might elbow their child for asking innocent, yet overly-invasive questions at the Christmas party.
"Not yet. Whoever I'm with is desperately trying to get me killed..." Grian mumbled as he pulled his cooked salmon out of the furnace, wincing a bit when he burnt his fingertip and sucking on it to relieve the momentary pain. It felt rather infantile, and embarrassing, but supposed he was going to have to get used to that feeling.
"Oh, that might be — are you sure it's not Scar?" Joel giggled.
Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.
As if on cue, Scar dove into the ravine's water in a canonball before he resurfaced with a laugh. And... well, it didn't take a genius to guess his classification.
Scar barely paid much attention to the trio, much too focused on splashing around in the water, giggling like an giddy infant and chasing around an allay. Grian almost wanted to teasingly scold him for being in the water without arm floaties.
He knew that he and Scar weren't soulmates, but he felt he should test, anyway, just out of cursory obligation. If only because, at this rate, he'd get bragging rights for punching about everybody on the server.
It was obvious Scar wasn't in an adult headspace, so he didn't want to hit him hard. Just a simple, halfhearted knock on the noggin. Just a little tip—
—Tap.
"Wait, is — are we—"
It was just a coincidence. Once is just a coincidence.
He tried again. Tip—
...Tap.
Two times is a pattern.
"No. Nono... I didn't just take damage, did I? Scar, I think... Scar?"
"I think it dropped it! C'mere little buddy! C'mere..!!" Of course Scar wasn't listening. Because children never listened to their... Oh, God.
"Scar, I think we're soulmates, and you're too busy chasing fairies..!" Why did he have to be so... so...
...Well. Childish.
"Grian, I'll test it for you!" Joel was a little bit too eager to help with Grian's experimentation, diving headfirst into the river, swimming over to Scar and punching him in the shoulder restlessly and repetitively like they were having a one-sided boxing patch he was determined to win despite being the only competitor.
The two Littles got into a little squirmish-enducing skirmish in the water, but Scar mostly ignored Joel's antics as Joel giggled, "Is this hurting you, Grian?!" while he play-fought the elf with a grin back in Grian's direction, flicking Scar's forehead before jumping onto his back like he was pretending to be a chicken jockey, eventually ending with Scar splashing Joel in the face to deter his wrestling as Scar scolded, "Hold on—! my true soulmate is flying away from me—! Come back here! Get back here, 'lil fella...!!"
Little fella... Oh. Oh. Wasn't this ironic? Scar thought he was a caregiver.
And Grian had thought he was a Little.
Both of them couldn't have been more wrong.
And Grian couldn't have felt more wronged.
No — not a — NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
Grian was a lot of things.
A mischief-maker, a gremlin, a scamp, a builder, an architect, a chronic button-presser, a buffoon...
But he was not a parent.
Or, at least, he was not supposed to be a parent. He wasn't meant to be a parent. He didn't have what it took to be a parent: the skills, the instinct, the drive, the... anything.
He didn't want to be a parent. He had never wanted to be a parent. But since when did the universe give him something he had wanted?
The last thing he had wanted was Scar. The last thing he needed was Scar. Of all the people... Maybe, maybe he could have winged this whole parent thing if his kid had been manageable. BigB, Impulse, even Martyn... anyone, anyone but Scar.
"Are you actually linked?!" Joel had dissolved into a fit of giggles, finding the situation to be the funniest thing ever. Grian was on the cusp of blowing his top, but reeled himself in before his last string of restraint snapped, having to remind himself that even though he didn't look it, Joel was only... Well, he actually didn't know how old he was, but he definitely wasn't as old as he usually was.
"Scar — okay, Joel," Grian sighed, and kneeled himself down to Joel's height... which, he didn't know why he did that, Joel was almost taller than him, it was quite an awkward position, but it felt appropriate, somehow. It felt right.
"Scar hasn't figured it out yet, so... let's just keep it a secret for a while. 'Kay?" Grian asked... or, rather, pleaded, placing his fingertip on his lip in a gentle, sincere request for the kid to keep this confidential.
Joel was still giggling like a maniac, but from the way he beamed and mimicked the motion by placing his own finger on his lips with a silent, agreeing, "shhh!", Grian felt he could trust him with the secret. Not like he had much choice but to, anyway.
The secret wasn't as hard to keep as Grian thought it would be. Though, admittedly, that could be less attributed to anybody's ability to keep the secret and more attributed to Scar's obliviousness on picking up on secrets. It was scarcely a secret, at this point, really, it was just a fact that Scar was rather skillfully unable to discern. And, as much as Grian wanted to blame Scar's dropped headspace for the cluelessness... he was pretty sure adult Scar would have been just as unaware.
The rest of the session passed without much progress on the soulmate front. Grian tried to convince Etho to adopt Scar, to no avail, and bemourned the fact there wasn't a soulmate-swap mechanic. Tango ended up blowing both himself and Jimmy up to a creeper (that was going to be an awkward chat at spawn!), which at least left Grian grateful for the fact Scar hadn't killed them yet, though he had a sneaking suspicion they'd be next to go. You can imagine his suprise when the next pair to drop was SmallEtho and not them. Afterwards, they ran into Scott and he figured out quite quickly that they were soulbound when Scar provoked Scott's dog into attacking him, but luckily, he didn't say anything, so the secret was still safe. Scar ended up having a horrific idea about basing on top of the pillager outpost, which despite them all stoutly arguing against, he decided to pursue anyway and got himself stuck atop what Grian had dubbed the death plateau, which they had to rescue him from like a cat stuck in a tree. Joel suggested investing in a child leash, and the idea was growing more and more tempting with each hour that passed.
By the time the last hour had struck, Grian had about run out of patience, and they had about run out of time.
"Scar, I've got something veeeery important to show you," Grian's voice was both a patronize and a genuine parentese as he tried to capture the distracted Little's attention with coos and elongated vowels, "I found a new trick! It's reaaaally important, I just need you to— SCAR!"
Grian couldn't help the frustration bubbilng in his voice as Scar giggled, sitting in a circle with the pandas (of which he was insisting were called Jellies and were actually giant cats despite being caniforms and not even feline), feeding them bamboo sticks in the same way a mother might feed a newborn baby a bottle, stout in his belief the pandas were his Littles. Grian groaned, grabbing Scar's wrist to hoist him to his feet, "Come over here! Stop messing with the pandas..!"
"Aw... okayyy..." Scar longingly glanced at his furry friends before sulking like a scolded child... Scar had no idea how true that trope really was.
Grian took a deep breath. "Right. I've got something really important. I need you to stand right under this, okay?" Grian took Scar's shoulders, straightening them square as he had him stand underneath the tree, tilting his head up and making sure his posture was straight so he was aligned proper with the dripstone.
"But... could you explain why they couldn't breed?" Scar pleaded, a stick of bamboo still dejectedly in his hands as he twiddled it between his thumbs with a forlon, fussy sigh.
"I — no?" He was not having the birds and bees talk with Scar. "Just... Stand under the thing!"
"Oh!!" Scar blinked, his skills of observation truly to be admired as he craned his head and finally saw the dripstone hanging above his skull like a gulitione. It seemed his survival skills were just as much to be as admired as his observational ones, because instead of moving out of the way, he just innocently inquired with a headtilt, "Why'm I doing this?"
Grian ignored him, just snapping his fingers to try to keep Scar's focus on himself with ooo fun sounds and motion. "Alright, now, look at me. Look directly at me." Only once Scar promised, "'kay, 'm looking directly't you!" did Grian allow the stalactite to fall.
The dripstone dropped. And, so did Grian's heart, when he realised,
"Scar! You didn't notic—?"
"Look at 'emm..." Scar was giggling as he cupped one of the pandas' furry faces in his hands with a coo, jolting at Grian's voice as he straightened himself out and cleared his throat with a belated, "Sorry! 'm looking at you!"
"Scar, okay," it took all of Grian's self-restraint to keep his voice even, "I can only do this one more. Ready? Look at me." He demanded, this time holding Scar's face in his palms to force him to pay attention to him because the kid had the attention-span of a goldfish before he released the dripstone.
The dripstone dropped.
"...Oh my gosh."
Grian's heart soared.
Finally.
"This whole time?! We've been parading 'round the server 'n you knew this whole time... you just made me gandle... gandleban — I don't know if that's a word — but I was gandlebaning around the se—"
"—Do you mean gallivanting?"
"Yeah, gallivanting! 'N this whole time..."