Chapter Text
Impulse is slow.
Really slow.
Grian tries not to be annoyed about it, but he really does want to be at the portal’s entrance by the time Mumbo arrives. He doesn’t want to leave Impulse either.
“Hurry!” Grian screeches. He’s long past being dignified. His shoes dig into the ground while he headbutts Impulse’s back. He pushes into him with all of his might, but the imp has the audacity to not even budge.
“Relax, little bird,” Impulse says, drawing out the nickname in a way he knows it’ll get a reaction out of him. Grian doesn’t want to give in, but he can’t help but melt under the delicate way Impulse calls his name. His hands practically slap against the back of his shirt as he tightens his grip on him and stops pushing, just simply resting against his backside. “We’re going slow for your own good.”
“For--” Grian squawks for all that it’s worth. His wings flap as he chooses to give himself a rest since Impulse is going to be walking so slowly anyways. He clambors up to perch on top of Impulse’s shoulder. He avoids the imp’s swaying tail, no doubt trying to grab him.
“I’m fine ,” Grian whines. He’s getting more annoyed with each passing second.
“So fussy!” Impulse cries. Grian slams his hands over his eyes, and Impulse stops walking immediately. “Suppose you think I deserve that, hm?”
Fussy?!
He’s not fussy!
“Am not, am not !” Grian’s face feels hot, despite the cold night’s wind passing him by. The sun is going to rise soon, as if it’s taunting them both for taking a late night stroll a little too late for it to count.
“You are,” Impulse counters cooly. Grian digs his talons into his shoulder in retaliation. “O- Ow! Hey, I’m not mad, I’m just saying.”
“You’re being mean,” Grian whimpers, forcefully headbutting his head against the side of Impulse’s temple. It’s moreso a move Impulse would appreciate, what with his closest horde members being netherborn, an angel, and a ram. He’s seen Zedaph headbutt Impulse and Tango plenty of times.
“How am I being mean?”
Grian grunts.
He doesn’t really want to answer him.
Grian wants to sleep, wants to grab Mumbo, and go home. Despite him not wanting to admit it, his eyelids are the heaviest they have ever been. He may have streaks where he builds late into the night, but these streaks don’t carry over so much when he’s small.
And Impulse is not helping.
“C’mon, angel, come walk with me,” Impulse orders. Grian groans. “Come on. Up we go.”
Grian groans louder, longer. He doesn’t want to move, but Impulse stops in place again and gives him no choice.
Still groaning loudly and obnoxiously, Grian lands on his feet in front of Impulse. Grumpily he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs impatiently at him.
Impulse smiles at him, as if he hadn’t heard his groaning, seen him tap his foot rampantly against the pathway, or the evil side-eye he’s sending his way.
He wants to pick a fight with him more, but then Impulse raises his hand out to him.
Grian stares at him as if he’s grown a second head.
“Stay close, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Grian stomps his foot against the pavement with such a great amount of force it sends painful shocks up his leg. He recoils and winces in a way he hopes Impulse doesn’t pick up on it. He’s watching him carefully with a guarded expression with his hand still stretched out. Grian sneers at it.
“Grian.” His stomach sinks at Impulse’s souring expression. His eyebrow shifts upwards, questioning, and Grian knows he’s gone out of line.
Sue him, he’s tired, and Impulse is going soooo slow. He’s got a Mumbo to see. (And a bed to lie down in--)
“You have two choices,” it’s either an offer or demand. Grian can’t tell. “Either hold my hand as we walk to the portal or go back up on my shoulders.” Grian’s already opening his mouth to say the second option, but Impulse quickly tacks on, “But if you fall asleep, I’m taking you back home.”
“That’s not fair ,” Grian whines petulantly. Impulse is being too difficult for him to handle.
…Slow-moving Impulse is being difficult.
…Slow-moving Impulse who would be so easy to ditch.
“O-kay,” Grian drags out, trying and failing to hide a growing grin. He debates going back on his shoulders, but Impulse can be quick with his reflexes at times. That tail of his would too quickly wrap around his ankle and drag him back down.
Grian shuffles, makes a move of holding his hand out to him. Impulse breathes a sigh out of relief and goes to take it.
(Grian almost feels guilty.)
Really, it’s too easy as Grian rips his hand away from Impulse’s - not without grinning ear to ear first - and taking off.
“Grian!”
Grian could feel bad for taking off into a half-flying sprint, but he chooses not to. He’s not really trying to lose Impulse, after all. A clever look over his shoulder and there he is, as promised, Impulse finally picking up the pace.
Moments ago he had been close to drifting off on his shoulders, but now his sudden jog has his adrenaline kicking into overdrive. His running is sloppy; every so often, he risks face planting into the dirt because of lazily overlapping feet.
His wings try to help him, to little avail. They’ll manage to pick him up off the ground for a few moments before he’s hitting the ground running once more. Flying while in littlespace is just like reading. He knows how to do it, but it’s harder to reach, as if it’s locked away knowledge.
It doesn’t stop him from trying, however.
Grian gives a careful look over his shoulder. If he wasn’t panting for air, he’d breathe a sigh of relief seeing Impulse still trailing behind him. He turns back around and keeps running, deep into the woods near the shopping district, and doesn’t stop until he can see the shops in the background.
So close!
Grian’s wings flutter faster with his growing excitement. All he can think is a steady stream of Mumbo-Mumbo-Mumbo, and then he’s bursting past the trees to the portal and--
He starts screaming before he fully processes the sight in front of him.
He trips over himself in a desperate attempt to put some space between him and the skeleton. On instinct, he flinches back to hide behind Impulse.
Impulse, who isn’t there.
“Pulse?” Grian calls out.
His heart’s still in his chest.
He was right there. He was right there! Grian had been so careful to keep him behind him. Oh no.
Grian shifts awkwardly to face the skeleton struggling to draw his bow.
“Uh oh,” he whispers, just barely audible before the panic of Impulse out in the woods alone finally settles in.
Then, he starts screaming bloody murder.
He sinks to his feet quickly, throwing his arm over his eyes and diving against the ground. The grass is wet against his pajamas, and it reminds him of when he first ran out into the woods when the others caught onto his secret. He hates it now, hates being little all by himself (and he knows Bdubs loves it, loves to explore his littlespace with no one around, but Grian can’t stand the thought of not having his flock at his side).
The monster’s going to get him, and Grian can’t do anything about it.
He hears a zombie growl, and he knows it’s over.
He prays under his breath to the Coders above, please, please let Flock be okay, even if Grian’s done bad. All he wanted to do was save Mumbo! Was that so bad?
Now he’s here, shivering cold and dirty against the ground, and all he wants is Impulse or Mumbo or Xisuma or even that devilish Keralis and his melting nicknames Grian can only pretend to hate for so long.
He whimpers pitifully as bones crackle until they’re hitting the ground in front of him. Grian keeps his eyes covered as the growling grows closer and closer until cold flesh is against his back, and he’s screaming, “Pulsie!”
Instantly the hand pulls back. Grian’s hands move to cover his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can manage. He pushes his body closer into the ground so he doesn’t have to look at the zombie or hear it, even, before it devours him. He whimpers again quietly, squeezes his ears tightly.
He doesn’t clamp his hands over his ears hard enough because he somehow manages to hear the growl get closer, closer, until Grian’s surely zombie-food, and then those cold, clammy hands are reaching across him, yanking him back and away.
The bite doesn’t come at first. The hands wrap around his midsection and yank him backwards until his heels are dragging in the dirt. Grian’s still scream-crying until the hands shift to his shoulders and yank him around until he can see his attacker.
It’s a zombie, like he thought, except this one’s a bit too familiar.
“C-Cleo!” Grian bursts out, wiping furiously at his face. “Cleoooooo!”
“Keep your snot rockets to yourself,” Cleo grimaces, cringing at him as he cries. “What’re you doing, Grian? I could hear you all the way from the shopping district.”
He whimpers, about to cry more until he realizes a fatal flaw.
Cleo doesn’t know he’s a little.
“U-uh, fightin’,” he says, avoiding their eye contact as he stares down at his feet. Was that smooth? He can’t tell. His heart is still beating rampantly inside of his chest. “Uhh, and Impulse, too, so yea, might be in trouble.”
Cleo gasps dramatically and places their open palm over their chest. “Why -- well we can’t have that. Poor Impulse. What’s he doing at night where it’s dangerous ?”
Grian preens. Hehe, silly Cleo has no idea!
“Y-yeah, stupid Impulse,” Grian says, rocking on his heels. “Bad - bad at killin’ zombies.”
“Like you,” Cleo tacks on, and Grian’s smug expression drops off the face of the earth. Cleo was trying to walk them both forwards, but Grian stops in his tracks with heavy, lead-filled feet. His jaw drops to the ground as he gapes up at them, who only scoffs.
“I was gonna get ‘im!” Grian demands with what he hopes is a normal amount of whining.
“...My bad.” Cleo seems indifferent to it all nonetheless. They put their hands back on Grian’s shoulders and forcefully drag him forwards until he’s just in front of their shoulder. When he curiously lulls his head to the side to gape up at her, she grabs his chin and shifts it back front-facing. “Let’s go get Impulse before he’s in trouble.”
“Prolly eaten,” Grian huffs. He starts to angle into the wrong direction, but luckily Cleo is guiding him carefully enough to catch it in time. They twist him around until he’s facing the shopping district this time. “He’s so slow. And mean. So I don’t even care if he’s gone.”
No, no, Grian didn’t mean that. Not really.
He says the words anyways.
“Yeah, okay,” Cleo says. Grian’s heart plummets. “Should we just go back home, then?”
“What if he’s--” Cleo’s doing the Impulse thing. Tricking him up. Well, it’s not going to work this time.
Or, well, maybe Grian wants it to work.
…His head is too fuzzy to think straight.
“You said you don’t care,” Cleo says and yeah, maybe he did, but they’re not supposed to listen to him! Especially when he’s--
…Cleo doesn’t know he’s small. Cleo doesn’t know. Cleo doesn’t know, and Grian should be thankful for that fact. He doesn’t really want the others to know.
It’s not out of shame. And he doesn’t think it’s really fear, either. The hermits are all so nice to Scar, but somehow he expects it to be different when it’s him. It’s more… real. This way. Imagining how the other hermits might treat him if they find out. He doesn’t think he wants that. Not yet.
But being small, being alone, and Cleo not knowing? He should be grateful.
Instead, it fills him with dread.
“...Well, maybe we can,” Grian says with his cheek wedged in between his clenched teeth.
“Or maybe he’s zombie food!” Cleo cheers gleefully. “Just like you!”
“I--” Indignation flares up within his chest. He resists the urge to stomp his foot into the grass and whine at them for added measure. His teeth dig into his bottom lip in place, and he manages to keep his grumbles to a minimum. Miraculously. “I’m not zombie food!”
“I beg to differ.” This time, Grian does whip around on his heels and push against Cleo only for them to not only have anticipated it, but they retaliate in record time. They grab the wrist before it can even come close to their shoulder, and then Cleo’s tossing him up in the air and over their shoulder.
He settles barely. His hand remains pressed against the small of her back out of fear he’ll fall off if he doesn’t.
“Am not, Cleoooooo!” Cleo mocks him now, drowning out his whine of her name with her own strangled laughter.
“Oh, you would’ve been,” they say. Then, they stop. “And you still could be.”
…She wouldn’t.
Grian’s heart begins to pitter-patter inside of his chest. They wouldn’t drop him out here in the woods. Really, they wouldn’t. Cleo may joke, but--
Cleo’s moving him. Dropping him. Grian scrambles to get his feet underneath his weight, but his body is sluggish. This is about the time he should be yelling at himself to get big! But that block is still here. (Or, maybe, he just doesn’t want to.)
His feet hit the ground, and he starts to tumble over himself too. Cleo is there to catch him, but this time, their breath is hot against his neck as they make a scary, strangled growl.
Grian hiccups with laughter as he runs forward with Cleo hot on his tail.
He doesn’t stop running, nor does he look behind him until there’s feet between them and -- and there’s light ahead. Light!
“Whoo, we made it! No zombie food, Cleo, Cleo, did you see?” Grian makes it up to the familiar pavement of the shopping district path and dances upon it. They catch up, grinning ear to ear. “Cleo, you’re slow !”
“Oh, you--” Whatever remark Cleo is about to make is cut off by a strangled scream: one not belonging to either of them nor a zombie. They look at each other and then settle upon a heavily disheveled Impulse.
His demon wings are out.
That’s the first Grian notices. While he’s been on Hermitcraft for years, he still keeps his wings hidden out of personal preference. He’s more likely to have them out in the heat, but never in the cold of the night.
His wings are drooping behind him. Defeated. His face is a flushed red, and his hands are pushing against his knees to keep himself upright.
“...You don’t look good,” Cleo says.
“Really?!” Impulse exclaims. Grian squeals with laughter. “No, it’s fine! No, yeah, I was just running around crazy because I thought someone was hurt. ” He holds up his comm. “You didn’t get any of my texts?”
“Saw ‘em,” Cleo says. Impulse howls. “Just didn’t care. Grian and I were having fun. Right, Grian?”
“Yup!” He cheers, rocking on his heels. “Cleo save-- Cleo -- Cleo was there when I was gettin’ a zombie. Mhm, and then they tried to eat me, too.” Cleo makes another playful growl, even moving to lunge for him. Grian’s wings fluff up behind him in response until he’s ducking down to hide behind Impulse. “Watch out!”
“Watch out and hide behind me,” Impulse grumbles. “Gee. I’m feeling the love tonight.” Grian pauses as he digs his fingers into Impulse’s pantleg. Accidentally, he squeezes him so hard his talons come out. “Ow! Ow-- Grian! ”
Grian tightens his talons until Impulse is looking down at him with an exasperated, bewildered expression.
“What?” He sighs, still panting.
Grian shifts from one foot to the other. He wanted Impulse’s attention, but now that he has it, he feels awkward with it. He just--
Impulse would want him to use his words.
“You said -- you were being mean. Sarcastic,” Grian says. He pulls on his pantleg for good measure.
“Just teasin’ you, birdie, I’m sorry,” Impulse apologizes so genuinely, so deeply, that all of Grian is preening under his careful tone and soft gaze. “Jus’ teasin’.”
“Say I love you,” Grian demands gruffly.
“I… I love you?” Impulse says slowly. “Well, of course, I love you. Why’re you--” Grian reaches up to swat at him. “Hey!”
“Noooo,” Grian whines, reaching up until he’s spreading his fingers apart in Impulse’s face. “Say I love you! Me!”
Cleo begins snickering so hard they have to cover their mouth.
“...Grian loves me?” Impulse says. Still blinking at him as if he’s said something outrageous.
Grian nods smugly.
“Grian loves me,” Impulse repeats, and the warmth in Grian’s chest blossoms. “Grian loves Cleo?”
“Don’t you bring me into this!” Cleo starts with a wagging finger. “I’ll eat ya!”
Grian cups his hands around his mouth, stage-whispers to Impulse, “They’re playin’ .”
It’s a good thing, too, because if Cleo wasn’t, they would have both been goners.
Impulse catches on quickly to their antics. They’ve known Cleo for longer. He snags Grian’s hand and moves him back behind him as he raises his sword up playfully. Cleo tsks, makes a show of dropping their head to one side and making non-typical Cleo noises.
Grian giggles until the growling gets too loud and suddenly he doesn’t wanna play anymore.
“No - no more growlin’,” Grian says. To his surprise, Cleo immediately stops. He holds his hands over his ears. “Loud.”
“Cleo’s pretty scary, huh?” Impulse hums. Cleo crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a deep huff.
“At least I didn’t abandon you in the woods,” Cleo says. “I could’ve. But I didn’t!”
“Like you’d do that to a li--” Impulse cuts off abruptly. Cleo’s glaring at him, still, and Grian can only exchange glances from where he stands between them. “To Grian.”
“Y-yeah,” Grian says. “A sleepy Grian.”
“Now that you mention it,” Cleo says, “You got some ugly little eye bags.” Their gaze turns to Impulse once more. “Impulse…” He raises his hands in a mock surrender gesture.
“Had to stay up,” Grian yawns sleepily. “Had to -- cause--”
Grian has his moments of genius.
He’d like to blame his little brain and Cleo’s sudden appearance and the zombie scare from earlier. Because how could he forget?
“Mumbo!” Grian screams, and somewhere, a little ways away from him in the heart of the shopping district, an exhausted Mumbo lifts his head from where he just stumbled through the portal.