Chapter Text
Avery woke up to the feeling of a sheep's tongue directly on his forehead, not the most pleasant way to wake up that's for sure.
“Snowball please–” Avery tried gently pushing the sheep away from himself to no avail, the sheep merely leaned into it, offended, and licked him again for good measure.
Avery groaned, half-melted, glow flickering in sleepy protest. “I get it, I get it, you love me, personal space is a myth, please stop exfoliating my face with your mouth.” He finally managed to wriggle free, sitting up and wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Dew clung to his skin, making him feel like a cold gummy bear left out overnight.
The sheep shuffled, satisfied, and Avery sighed fondly before pulling himself to his feet. He stretched, limbs wobbling back into proper shape, and glanced toward the base.
Something felt… off.
Not bad, exactly. Just wrong in the way silence sometimes was when it shouldn’t be.
He padded back inside, ducking through the doorway. “D3r?” he called, voice light, casual, like he hadn’t already started worrying. “Hey, big guy? I survived the sheep. Barely.”
No answer.
The base was quiet. Too quiet. The fire was cold. The bench empty. D3r’s armor rack stood untouched.
Avery frowned, his glow dimming a notch. “Okay… maybe bathroom?” he muttered, checking the back corner. Nothing. He peeked near the crafting table, under the overhang, even behind the door like D3r might have folded himself neatly into a corner.
Still nothing.
Avery’s core pulsed uneasily.
“D3r?” he called again, louder this time.
That’s when he saw the door.
It was open.
Not wide. Just enough.
Avery swallowed.
He stepped outside.
The morning air was cool and damp, mist clinging low to the ground. Birds chirped somewhere distant, cheerful and unaware. The sheep rustled behind him, unconcerned.
And there—just beyond the edge of the clearing—stood D3rlord3.
Still. Rigid. Facing the exact direction of the mines.
Avery froze.
“Oh,” he said faintly. “Oh that’s— that’s not creepy at all.”
D3r didn’t move.
His posture was wrong. Too straight. Too locked. His arms hung at his sides, fingers curled like he was gripping something invisible. His helmet was tilted just slightly upward, as if he were staring through trees, through hills, through stone itself.
Toward the ravine. Toward the mines.
Avery took a careful step closer. “D3r?”
No response.
Avery’s glow dimmed further, instinctively quiet. He remembered the last time this had happened—the window, the silence, the way D3r hadn’t answered until Avery touched him.
Avery stopped an arm’s length away.
“Hey,” he said softly, deliberately making noise as he stepped on a twig. It snapped loudly. “It’s me. You’re okay.”
Nothing.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint, damp smell of earth and stone. Avery shuddered.
He glanced past D3r, following his line of sight. The mines weren’t visible from here—not really—but Avery could feel them anyway, like a pressure behind his eyes.
“That’s… that’s a no from me,” Avery whispered.
He reached out slowly, carefully, and touched D3r’s arm.
D3r jerked like he’d been struck.
He gasped sharply, sucking in air as if he’d been underwater, body locking for a split second before he stumbled half a step back. His hand flew to his ribs instinctively.
“Avery?” he said, confused, breath unsteady. “Why are you—”
Avery didn’t give him time to orient himself.
“You were sleepwalking,” Avery said quickly, voice gentle but firm. “Again. You were out here. Staring at the mines. Very horror-movie-core. Do not recommend.”
D3r looked around slowly, as if the world had to fade back into focus piece by piece. His shoulders sagged once he realized where he was.
“I… don’t remember leaving the base.”
“I know,” Avery said softly.
D3r’s fingers curled tighter against his side. “Was I… doing anything?”
“No,” Avery lied without hesitation. “Just standing. Menacingly. Like a statue that hates geology.”
D3r didn’t laugh.
Avery stepped closer anyway, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “C’mon,” he said, coaxing. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold and you look like you lost a fight with a ghost.”
D3r hesitated, eyes lingering on the treeline one last time.
“You’re not going that way,” Avery murmured. “Not today.”
D3r let himself be guided, steps slow but obedient. When they crossed the threshold back into the base, his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, like something unseen had loosened its grip.
Avery shut the door firmly behind them.
“There,” he said, forcing a smile. “Safe. No mines. No creepy standing. Just us and breakfast.”
D3r leaned briefly against the wall, eyes closed behind the helmet. “I’m sorry.”
Avery blinked. “For what?”
“For… worrying you.”
Avery’s core warmed despite the lingering unease. “You didn’t,” he said easily. “I was already worried. That’s just my default setting.”
That earned the faintest huff of breath from D3r.
+---+---+
Avery cooked the way he did most things: moving constantly, not really narrating what he was doing, just letting noise fill the space so the silence wouldn’t get ideas.
There was chopping, a little sizzling, the soft clink of a spoon against the pot. He hummed under his breath—no tune in particular, just sound. His core glowed low and steady, not bright-happy, not dim-worried, just there. Present. He kept his back half-turned toward D3r, not because he didn’t want to look at him, but because sometimes direct eye contact made things feel heavier than he wanted them to be this early.
He tossed mushrooms into the stew, stirred, added herbs. Steam rose and fogged the window a little.
“So,” Avery said eventually, like he’d just remembered he was allowed to talk, “you said you’ve only been to the Hub a few times, right?”
D3r was sitting at the table, posture careful, hands folded. “Yes.”
Avery glanced over his shoulder. “Like… a few few, or ‘I walked through once and left immediately’ few?”
“…The second one.”
Avery snorted despite himself. “Yeah, that tracks.”
He stirred again, then started talking—not excited yet, just easy, conversational, like this was something neutral and safe.
“The Hub’s kinda weird if you don’t hang out there a lot. It’s like—okay, imagine a courtyard that sits between worlds. Like a marketplace but also a town square. There’s stalls and banners and little cafes, and people selling junk or enchanted nonsense or maps to servers you’ve never heard of.”
He paused to taste the stew, nodded approvingly, added salt.
“And it’s cute,” he continued. “Like, genuinely. Cobblestone paths, flowers everywhere, lanterns strung up. There’s this one fountain that never freezes no matter what server you’re from, which is neat because—”
He stopped himself before spiraling, then kept going.
“But also,” Avery added, “people beat the absolute shit out of each other there.”
He said it so casually it took even him a second to process it.
“I mean—like, anime-style fights. Flying. Explosions. Swords doing the glowy thing. Someone once suplexed another guy through a bakery. Just—boom. Gone.”
D3r looked up. “…A bakery.”
“Yeah! Don’t worry though,” Avery waved his spoon vaguely. “The Hub’s enchanted to hell and back. Buildings repair themselves in, like, hours. Sometimes minutes or seconds depending on the damage. You’ll blink and the wall’s just… there again. Like nothing happened.”
He smiled faintly at the memory. “It’s kinda comforting. Like the world refuses to stay broken.”
The stew bubbled softly.
“I used to chill there a lot,” Avery said, a little more offhand than he meant to. “Between Skywars matches. Just… sit on the roof near the portal arch, watch people fight or trade or argue about enchantments. It was nice. You didn’t have to worry about getting dragged into anything.”
He stopped stirring.
Oh.
His core flickered—too bright, too fast.
“…Anyway,” Avery said quickly, a little too quickly, “that’s just one part of it!”
He turned fully back to the pot, pretending very hard that he hadn’t said something loaded. “There’s also this whole quieter side. Like, gardens. Libraries. People playing music near the water. There’s a cat that lives by the notice board and everyone thinks it’s an Admin but it’s not. Probably.”
He laughed softly, forcing the mood to shift. “And food stalls! Bad food stalls, mostly. But charming bad. The kind where you don’t know what dimension the meat came from but you eat it anyway.”
He ladled stew into bowls, hands steady again now that he’d redirected himself.
“It’s… nice,” he said, more carefully. “If you’re just passing through. Or if you need somewhere that isn’t home but also isn’t… lonely.”
He set a bowl down in front of D3r with a small smile. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Avery sat across from him with his own bowl, legs tucked up, steam fogging his vision. “There’s music sometimes too. Someone always brings an instrument. Lutes, fiddles, drums. Once a guy brought a whole piano through a portal and no one questioned it.”
D3r’s head tilted. “Why?”
Avery shrugged. “Because it was the Hub.”
He took a bite of stew, then added casually, “You don’t really need permission there. You just… exist. Between places. No one asks where you’re from unless you want them to.”
D3r’s grip tightened slightly on the bowl.
Avery noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t stop.
“It’s funny,” Avery said, staring into the steam. “I used to think of it like a hallway. Somewhere you pass through on the way to something else. But the longer I stayed, the more it felt like… a place where it’s okay to pause.”
He smiled faintly. “I miss it sometimes.”
He did not say I miss it because you can’t go there.
He did not say I’d take you if I could.
He did not say it isn’t fair.
D3r was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “You spoke of it… like a home.”
Avery blinked, surprised.
“…Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess I did.”
They ate in companionable silence after that. The stew was good—Avery was right about that, at least. Outside, the sheep bleated lazily. Inside, the base felt warm and lived-in.
Avery glanced up once, meeting D3r’s gaze.
“If you ever want me to tell you more about it,” he said gently, “I can. Just stories. No portals. No leaving.”
He smiled, small and sincere. “Just… pictures in your head.”
D3r nodded once.
“That would be acceptable.”
Avery’s glow warmed, just a little.
+---+---+
Avery washed the bowls slowly, even though they didn’t really need washing yet. He liked the motion. It gave his hands something to do while his thoughts wandered in circles he pretended weren’t there.
He did want to visit the Hub again.
The thought kept bobbing up no matter how gently he pushed it down, like one of those bubbles in the hot springs that refused to stay submerged. He missed it. Missed the noise, the chaos, the way you could turn a corner and accidentally run into someone you hadn’t seen in years like it was the most normal thing in the world. Missed his siblings, especially—the way his youngest clung to him like Avery was some kind of anchor, the way the middle one pretended not to care but always lingered nearby anyway, the way his oldest younger sibling tried very hard to be responsible and failed in the exact same ways Avery did.
He could picture them easily. Too easily.
He glanced over at D3r without really meaning to. D3r sat where he’d been left, posture rigid but calmer than earlier, sword leaned carefully nearby, helmet tilted just enough that Avery could tell he was listening to the world instead of being dragged by it.
Avery’s core dimmed a notch.
He felt bad even thinking about leaving.
It wasn’t logical. D3r wasn’t helpless. He was a fully grown, heavily armed, deeply intimidating man who could absolutely take care of himself. And the sheep—well, the sheep were excellent company. Nonjudgmental. Warm. Loyal. Occasionally licky, but that was a personal flaw Avery had learned to forgive.
Still.
The idea of stepping through the Hub portal while D3r stayed behind made Avery’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. Not because he thought something terrible would happen immediately, but because of the quiet. The kind of quiet that waited for you to notice it.
He dried his hands and leaned against the counter, glow soft and thoughtful.
“I was thinking,” he said, not looking directly at D3r. He kept his tone casual, like this wasn’t a big thing. Like it wasn’t something he’d been circling for days. “About the Hub. I haven’t been in a while.”
D3r didn’t move, but Avery felt his attention settle.
“It’s… not urgent,” Avery added quickly. “Just—sometimes I like to check in. Make sure my siblings aren’t doing anything catastrophic. Or, like, only mildly catastrophic.”
He smiled faintly at the thought.
“And there’s cool stuff there sometimes,” he went on. “Little trinkets. Weird enchantments. Someone’s always selling something they absolutely should not be allowed to sell.”
He hesitated, then glanced up. “I thought maybe I could find something for you. Not, like—” he waved a hand vaguely “—a fix everything thing. Just… something nice.”
The words hung there, fragile.
D3r was quiet for a long moment. Avery braced himself for guilt to spike, for that awful feeling of having even suggested it.
Instead, D3r said, “You would return.”
Avery blinked. “Yeah. Of course. I mean—I’d miss you. And the sheep. Probably the sheep first, actually, they’re very persuasive.”
That earned the faintest exhale from D3r that might have been amusement.
“You do not need to stay because of me,” D3r said evenly. “I am… accustomed to being alone.”
Avery winced, just a little. His glow flickered in protest before he reined it in.
“I know,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to be.”
He sighed, pushing off the counter and sitting cross-legged on the floor instead, closer but not crowding. “I just—feel weird leaving you here with only sheep to talk to. Even if they are good listeners.”
One of the sheep outside bleated loudly, right on cue.
Avery snorted. “See? Excellent conversationalists.”
D3r’s shoulders eased a fraction. “They are adequate company.”
“High praise,” Avery said solemnly.
He picked at the hem of his shirt, thinking. “Maybe… I could go for a short while. In and out. Say hi, grab supplies, come back before you even get bored.”
D3r tilted his head slightly. “I do not… become bored easily.”
“I do,” Avery admitted. “But that’s kind of my problem.”
Silence settled again—not heavy this time. Contemplative. Avery let it sit, resisting the urge to fill it just because he could.
He didn’t know yet what he’d decide. Stay. Go. Wait. Try later. All of it felt complicated in ways he wasn’t used to.
Heck.
+---+---+
It wasn’t the first time the thought crossed Avery’s mind.
It snuck up on him while he was restacking firewood that didn’t really need restacking, while he was counting sheep that absolutely did not need counting (there was only four of them for Void's sake), while he was pretending very hard that he wasn’t watching D3r out of the corner of his eye.
Did D3r miss his home server?
Did he miss his sibling—the one he almost never talked about, whose shadow still lived in the way D3r went quiet when churches were mentioned, or when the mines whispered a little too loudly?
Did he have other family? Friends? People who remembered him as something other than the man who stared at stone like it might start speaking back?
Avery’s core dimmed slightly with the weight of it.
He perched on the edge of the bench, legs swinging, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread in his sleeve. “Hey,” he said, carefully casual. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer. I’m very good at unanswered questions. I have, like, a collection.”
D3r looked up from sharpening his blade, the slow, methodical motion pausing. “Ask.”
Avery swallowed. He hadn’t decided which version of the question he was going to ask, and that scared him a little.
“…Do you ever,” he began, then stopped. Tried again. “Do you miss… where you’re from?”
D3r was quiet.
Not the startled quiet. Not the defensive quiet. The kind of quiet that meant he was choosing his words instead of avoiding them.
Avery forced himself not to rush in and soften it, not to laugh it off, not to say never mind. He stayed still. Let the moment exist.
“Yes,” D3r said finally.
Avery’s glow flickered, soft and sad and understanding all at once. “Yeah. I figured.”
D3r resumed sharpening, though more slowly now. “I miss… what it was. Not what it became.”
Avery nodded, throat tight. He didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t need it.
“And your sibling?” Avery asked quietly, almost a whisper. “Do you miss them too?”
The blade stopped again.
Avery immediately regretted it. “Sorry—sorry, that was too much, I shouldn’t have—”
“I miss them,” D3r said, voice steady but thin, like it had been pulled too tight. “Every day.”
Avery’s chest ached. His core glowed dim gold, a steady warmth instead of a flare.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. It felt inadequate, but it was all he had.
D3r inclined his head, just slightly. “You are not responsible.”
Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable—just heavy with things that had no good words.
Avery hugged his knees, rocking faintly. “Sometimes I worry,” he admitted. “That I’m… keeping you here. Like—like if I weren’t around, you’d go looking for a way back. Or… somewhere else.”
D3r looked up at that. Really looked.
“Avery,” he said, firm now. “You are not keeping me anywhere.”
Avery met his gaze, searching for the lie he was afraid of finding. “Then why—”
“You did not make the door close,” D3r continued. “You did not take my communicator. You did not call me yours.”
A shiver ran through Avery at the words, but D3r’s expression didn’t change.
“And you talk,” D3r added. “Constantly.”
“Hey.”
“It helps,” D3r said simply.
Avery went quiet at that.
D3r set the blade aside and stood, joints creaking faintly. He was still hurt—Avery could see that—but he was steady. Grounded. Here.
“You want to go to the Hub,” D3r said, not accusing, not questioning. Just stating a fact.
Avery hesitated. “…Yeah. I think so. For a little while.”
“Then go.”
Avery blinked. “Just—go?”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
“I will be fine.”
Avery grimaced. “You say that like I won’t worry anyway.”
“You will worry regardless,” D3r said. “You are built that way.”
“That is deeply unfair and also true.”
D3r stepped closer, stopping just short of touching. “You should see your siblings. You should walk where you are allowed to walk.”
Avery’s core pulsed. “And you?”
D3r’s gaze didn’t waver. “I will be here when you return.”
The certainty in his voice hit Avery harder than any reassurance could have. Not if. When.
Avery swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll be quick. No getting kidnapped by duelists. No starting fights. No accidentally signing up for tournaments.”
“Try not to dissolve in public,” D3r added.
“No promises.”
Avery stood, then hesitated, then leaned forward and hugged him—quick, careful, mindful of the wound. D3r stiffened for half a heartbeat before relaxing into it, one hand hovering uncertainly at Avery’s back.
“I’ll bring you something,” Avery said into his shoulder. “Something dumb or shiny or both.”
“I look forward to it,” D3r replied.
Avery pulled back, glow warm and steady now. “Watch the sheep for me.”
“They will not escape,” D3r said solemnly.
Avery laughed, relief bubbling up at last. He headed for the door, pausing just once to look back.
D3r was already sitting again, blade set aside, facing not the mines but the open space of the base, sunlight spilling in.
Avery smiled.
“Be right back,” he promised.