Chapter Text
Doc doesn't mean to snoop.
Well... he didn't mean to snoop as much as he is right now, and it's tantalizingly easy when he knows that no one will catch him.
It's a quiet, chilly evening when Doc lands at the edge of Scar's base. The sun is still barely peaking over the horizon as it sets, and Doc flicks an annoyed ear at the thought of mobs beginning to spawn soon. He flicks his ear again when he thinks about how Bdubs isn't here to sleep immediately upon the sun dipping below the horizon. Perhaps someone equally responsible will save him from the night. He tucks his rockets back into a lab coat pocket and takes a quick moment to glance down at his communicator, flicking through a couple of menus to look at who is online. The list grants him no relief- only a few (and, Doc may add, chronically awake) hermits are online- Etho, Tango, and an afk Xisuma... Not that it matters anyway, it seems that Tango has turned off the ability to skip the night regardless. Doc sighs.
That's quite alright, Doc thinks, I won't be here long. He looks up from his communicator, shuffling so his elytra falls neatly across his back before dragging his gaze across Scar's base. Rusty lies a few yards from him, sitting down and lazily chewing some grass, glancing over his shoulder at Doc with an unimpressed stare. Or maybe that is more of a glare? The subtle emotional details of the beast's expression are unreadable to Doc as he weaves through the bamboo and oddly placed doors to get closer.
"What a mess," Doc tuts, a small smile creeping across his face as he thinks about how he is partially to blame. The fake, unburning fire still perpetually smouldering across Rusty's back makes his smile grow larger. The warm feeling of pride bubbles up in his chest when he steps up to the creature's large haunch. Patting the leg with his non-metal hand, he pushes a clump of fake fire to stand more upright so it doesn't fall to the ground. Rusty huffs at the touch, his hot breath suddenly warming Doc's face for a moment before he even realizes the creature had leaned around with its long neck to face him. An unpleasantly wet tongue is suddenly dragged over part of his lab coat and metal arm, as well as the furred side of Doc's face.
Doc immediately freezes, having no choice but to accept that this is happening- it's already happened- even if he moves now the damage is already done. The feeling of slobber soaking into his fur makes him grimace and frown as the tongue pulls away and Rusty turns to munch on more grass nonchalantly- innocently, even. It takes Doc a moment to push away the ungodly feeling long enough to jump-start his brain and wipe at his face with his metal arm, which he immediately regrets. He can already feel the slime seeping into the joints of his metallic claws. The fur on his face has absorbed enough to mat in place or stick up strangely and his horn drips spit onto his shoulder.
That is the moment Doc decides that Scar owes him something for this offensive feeling. Something preferably shiny. The decision to wander around Scar's base in search of payment no longer goes against his anti-snooping policy. Scar at least owes him a water bucket or a borrowed shirt. He can't be seen like this. He has an image to maintain.
So he snoops.
Doc awkwardly walks around the base, trying to ignore the spit drying along his side. It doesn't make him nauseous at all. Doc doesn't get nauseous. Nope. Scar's base is wildly unorganized; each chest that he peers into is piled high with all manner of items messily thrown together. Scar is also exceedingly poor, not that Doc is in desperate need of diamonds or anything, but it just acts as another blow to his already damaged psyche. It shouldn't come as a surprise when the man doesn't even have a bucket of water that Doc could wash his face in. He is briefly tempted to dunk his head in the stagnant puddle he finds hidden beside some chests but thinks better of it when he can't see his reflection clearly along the surface. Doc has never hated a base more... and he really hated the Buttercup's base a few seasons ago...
So he sighs, takes nothing and heads above ground again to leave this awful place. He steps away from Rusty and takes the rockets back out of his pocket, fully intending to take off. Instead, the unique feeling of one side of his elytra deploying and the other flexing but not quite managing to whip into position makes him cringe. A few expletives leave Doc's mouth as he drags a hand over the not disgusting side of his face. Rusty's spit has glued his elytra to his back. Doc hates it here. Doc really, really hates it here. Doc doesn't even want vengeance- he just wants freedom. This place has changed him.
He stamps a hoof on the ground. If one more thing happens, that's it. He's gonna scream. Or cry. A really manly cry. He opts instead to suck in a breath and slowly peel his lab coat and elytra off of him just for some relief from the abhorrent and vile slobber. He shunts the offending piece of clothing into his inventory. He's frowning, standing shirtless in the middle of Scar's base as the last rays of sunlight begin to dip over the horizon.
At least no one else is here... He can feel his cheeks grow warm from being exposed. It really shouldn't bother him, considering he is mostly shirtless in every other moment of his life. And covered in fur. Ugh. He huffs and turns to go up Rusty's ladder that leads to where Doc knows Scar keeps his personal items.
The large beast doesnt stir as he climbs and Doc quickly scrambles onto the saddle, taking a quick glance around. Its easy enough to find where Scar keeps his clothes. A small chest is pushed to the back of the saddle and some articles of clothing hold the lid open from where they have been haphazardly dumped. His fellow hermit has a lot of clothes, most of which consist of tight shirts and disney-related products. Another scowl leaves Doc when he realizes none of the shirts will be able to go both over and around his curved horns while also surviving his metal arm without the chance of ripping. Doc may torment the man, but he still has morals enough to not want to rip up his shirts. He continues to look for something among Scars clothes to borrow, eventually holding a zip up hoodie that is disgustingly pink and purple. It has some sort of cartoon animal sewn on the back that makes Doc's eye twitch. However... it fits all of his criteria, zip up for avoiding the horns and oversized sleeves for his metal arm. Doc is back to being nauseous again. But at least he isn't as exposed as he was before.
Alright. Now all he has to do is clean his elytra enough to get it working and then he can glide home. A warm shower is on the horizon. Doc could cry from the thought of being free of this sensory hell. A very manly cry of course, only the best for the Goat.
Rustling draws him back to reality, making Doc's frown return to where it was only a few moments ago. The familiar sound of Creakings spawning hits him like a slap. He tries not to curse Scar. He really really tries. How has the other man not gotten rid of all the creaking hearts yet? How? It has been weeks since he planted those! Actual weeks!
Doc brings a hand down across his face, only to pet over the crunchy fur where Rusty licked him and immediately wanting to dissolve into nothingness. He can't even pet the stupid fluff on his face down to look normal- it insists on sticking up in a way that defies gravity. Doc just crumples on the spot to sit on the floor and bury his head in between his knees. His breathing is coming fast now, his hands pull at his ears and tangle in his hair. Scar's stupid jacket carries his faint scent and he can't stop the tears well up in his eye. Stupid Nice Life. Stupid Rusty! Stupid Scar! He should be here right now! Everyone should be- Bdubs should have slept through the night and Ren should have come and brought Doc another clean elytra and Scar should be the one that is slobbered on by Rusty! Not him! He shouldn't have come here. This is stupid. Doc is supposed to be the one haunting Scar and yet here he is- crouched pathetically in the man's base and wearing his ugly pink... thing!
Doc refuses to let a tear slip from his eye. He grapples with his breathing. Everything is fine. Ugh, he sounds like Joel. Watchers above, now he misses Joel too of all people. Joel. All things good and kind, Doc is gonna lose it. He has to go home.
His internal monologue is cut short when Doc feels something land on his hoof. He freezes, blood running cold as whatever touched him shifts to lean more weight in him. It takes all his strength to peel his eye open and tilt his head up enough to identify what exactly has silently stepped close enough to touch him.
"Mreow!"
The round face of a black feline blinks at him from only a few inches away. Doc feels his heart stop as his jaw drops open. They stare at each other for a long moment until the cat leans curiously closer and Doc lets out a shriek.
The creeper instinct within him jumps to the forefront of his mind, bypassing his desire to give up completely and forcing him to fling himself upright and stumble backwards away from the offending creature.
"Mrow?"
Doc practically leaps out of his skin at the noise. His mind is screaming at him to Run! Get away! Quick! He doesn't even notice that he has run out of space on Rusty's saddle until he's waving his arms ridiculously to try and catch his balance, only to flail wildly as he tumbles over the small guard rail and awkwardly falls down Rusty's side.
He lands flat on his back, horns creaking under him as they are shoved into the dirt. A quiet ough forces its way out as the wind is knocked out of him. His head rings- or his ears ring- everything rings and it quickly settles into a splitting headache. Everything blurs and swims in his vision. Doc hates... someone... or something. Oh no, his usual malice is slipping his mind; this is a terrible sign. Something has to be wrong, maybe a panic response? Or no... a concussion? Great.
He squeezed his eye shut and forces the mechanical eye to shut off as the input of the dreading thing slices like a knife into his burning mind. A small amount of relief washes over him, and it allows him to realize where he is.
The Creakings...
Doc's eye shoots open as he forces himself to scan around him for those dreadful trees. By some miracle, none have seemed to notice him yet, but it won't take long for them to find him. He needs to get up and go... somewhere...
His vision is a still bit soft around the edges as he sits up. His head lists unpleasantly as he turns around to try to find somewhere to hide. All he sees is darkness. Maybe... if he follows Rusty's side, he can go back to Scar's storage room and hide out in there for a while. Right, good plan. Plan. Doc loves plans.
He shifts over to his side, bringing an arm up to support his weight as he tries to haul himself up. The place where his prosthetic arm meets his skin twinges in pain. He must have knocked something loose during his fall. This is the worst day of his life, actually. He isn't even being dramatic. German practicality.
Ugh, why is he thinking so... strangely? "C'mon. This is the goat's world. Get up." He takes a deep breath and pushes up to his feet, holding his metal arm close to his side before glancing around. It takes a moment for him to understand what he is looking at when his eye meets the strange glowing pupil of a Creaking. Doc doesn't have the fortitude to jump at the sudden appearance, so instead, he laughs. A few tears slip down his face. He barely notices them as he starts to stumble backwards away from the Creaking.
He is laughing now, a deep guttural type of thing that shakes his chest and makes his head ache. He can't stop laughing as he backs away. Sobs occasionally join the giggles that tumble from his lips.
"Doc?"
He whips around at the sound of his name, immediately regretting moving so fast when his head throbs in disapproval. He barely manages to keep himself standing as he looks toward the source of the noise. A stark flash of white hair greets him. Etho is standing a few yards away, his arms are occupied with a haybale as two donkeys slyly steal bites from it. Etho's face is pinched with confusion as he takes in the state of Doc; the faint outline of a conflicted smile is barely visible beneath the mask. Doc giggles at the sight of the other man. He can't possibly be real. He is totally concussed. When Etho begins to let out a few confused laughs, Doc takes a few steps forward out of sheer awe.
"Uhh... what's goin' on... Doc?" As he steps closer, Doc can see Etho's smile drop as he takes in more of Doc's expression. More tears slip from his eyes; he can't make them stop. "Oh snap- Doc? Hey, talk to me."
Now it's Etho's turn to drop the haybale on the ground and step forward, swiftly going up to Doc and bringing his hands up to hover over Doc's swaying form. Doc stops in front of the other man as Etho leans over to the side and his eyes go wide. The sounds of a Creaking go silent, and Doc belatedly realizes that he was moments away from death.
"Alright, just... stand here for a second, ok?" Etho steps back away from Doc and sheer, animalistic panic grips his heart. Etho is just going to leave him? Of course... it's because he's crying isn't it? Wow, he must look so pathetic right now. Doc's cheeks burn in shame for the second time tonight, and he screws his eye shut as he turns around away from Etho.
He doesn't need Etho. He doesn't need anyone's help! He can deal with these stupid trees! Or maybe he should just respawn... Yea, respawn. A quick death would be fine. He forces his eye open.
The cat is using the still frozen Creaking as a scratching post. The disgusting scrape of its claws against the smooth wood rings in his ears.
It's enough to short-circuit Doc's brain. He whirls back around to where Etho was last, seeing that the other man has returned to almost exactly where he was before, but this time he holds a donkey's reins in one hand. Before he can stop himself, Doc is scrambling into Etho's arms and trying to crawl up onto his shoulders. Etho is slightly taller than him, but Doc is stalkier, and he barely has the capacity to avoid whacking Etho's face with his metal arm.
"What the- Doc? Wha-"
Doc whips his head around to look at the Creaking after it briefly gets a chance to lunge at the pair. Etho is leaning over to accommodate Doc clambering up onto his shoulders, awkwardly holding onto a hoofed leg with one hand and flailing to grab onto Doc's pink sleeve with the other.
"Couldn't you have climbed onto the donk instead, Doc?"
Doc climbs higher onto Etho's shoulder, wrapping his furred arm around the man's forehead. "No. The beast was coming for me."
"The- Creaking?" Etho is awkwardly shuffling them both over to the donkey now, even as Doc desperately continues to perch on him.
"No. The cat." Etho leans forward and practically pushes Doc onto the saddle of the donkey, breathing a sigh of relief when he stands up and straightens his back.
"I- um. Alright."
Doc just looks past him to keep the Creaking frozen in place. More tears slip down his face. "Please take me anywhere but here. This is where my hell is." Doc's frown deepens and his lips tremble at the thought of Etho being the recipient of these pathetic omissions. "My head hurts."
He can feel Etho's gaze sweep back over him one more time as a blazing look of concern twists his fine features. Etho sighs and pats Doc's leg. "Alright, just please don't fall off the donk."
Etho nimbly slips in front of Doc on the saddle, waiting a moment for Doc to readjust himself and slip his furred hand around Etho's waist. His prosthetic burns in its socket; the strength to move it to hold on to Etho is beyond him at the moment. Etho hums as they start their journey, the sound of the Creaking starting up again before slowly fading away barely makes it to the muddled mess of Doc's brain. All he wants is sleep. He can't even think well enough to know if that's a smart thing to want to do right now. Maybe fake concussion Etho will tell him what to do. Maybe he is already respawning.
Doc leans forward to press his cheek to the back of Etho's neck, his eyes slipping shut as he takes in the warmth of the other man. He can feel the vibration of Etho's voice better than the actual words as he speaks, "Can I ask what happened to you?"
Doc hums, hoping that will suffice as an answer. He is so very tired, and Etho is so warm in the brisk night.
"Doc? Hey, wake up man."
Doc makes a disgruntled growl deep in his throat and grabs onto Etho more tightly, "Rusty's gross... 'nd I... I fell off him."
He can feel Etho tense under his arm, "Off? Off of Rusty?"
Doc hums again. Maybe Etho will stop talking to him now. Maybe he can slip into sleep.
"Hey, Doc. Keep talkin' to me, alright? Just until we get there and I can see you're ok." Etho lightly elbows Doc, making him growl again. "Please?"
Doc frowns but picks up his head when he hears how small Etho's voice is. He leans more fully on Etho, now that his eye is open; everything else aches. "We goin' home?"
"Mmhm, my home. It's closer than yours."
Doc frowns at that and tries to picture Etho's home. He can't. That makes him frown more. "Joel's house is... ugly." Why is he even thinking of Joel's house? Was he thinking about Joel's house earlier? Oh dear, he can't quite remember.
"I- oh. Umm, I kinda like it. I think." Doc can barely feel Etho trying to suppress a bout of laughter.
"I'm bein' scary, and he has rainbows." Doc feels like he has to manually put his words together. "It upsets me."
"I know."
"I miss Ren."
"I know."
"I have a concussion, Etho."
"I know." That does manage to get a giggle out of Etho. Doc smiles a bit too. The world is whipping by very quickly, and Doc has trouble keeping track of anything besides the other man's voice.
They settle into very minimal and meaningless conversation on the ride to Etho's house. Doc has to be nudged awake a few times as his eyelid grows heavier and heavier. He manages to peel his eye open enough to glance up at Part Mart, immediately squinting at the bright lights and cringing at the thought of having to climb up that high. Doing anything sounds like more trouble than it's worth. Doc will just sleep on the ground. Grass is so soft.
Apparently, he is not going to sleep on the ground if Etho has anything to do with it. The donkey trots up to a small building, and Etho shuffles around a bit, "We're here, Doc." Etho has to pry Doc's arm off his midsection and awkwardly support the half-asleep man as he slides off the donkey, "C'mon, down you go."
Doc grumbles again but accepts Etho's help and manages to land softly on the ground. His headache flares anew as he glances into Etho's mismatched gaze.
"Did you turn off your eye?" Doc hums. Etho frowns from behind his mask. The golden light of Part Mart allows Etho to fully take in Doc's state. Doc hates it- hates being watched. Etho's frown never leaves and Doc hates it. "Let's get you inside, huh?"
The room he is led into is small but warm, if a little barren. A messy bed is pushed to one side of the wall, and a couple of chests and a table are placed haphazardly around the room. Doc is made to sit on the bed as Etho hurries around. Finally, an opportunity to sleep. Doc doesn't really care what Etho is rummaging around for. It probably has nothing to do with him. His head hurts.
Doc's eye is slipping closed just as nimble fingers wrap around the back of his head. He can feel Etho press closer and it jolts him awake. He wants to ask what's happening- why are you touching the back of my head, it hurts there, dude. I fell off a dinosaur leave me alone... but all he can get to come out of his mouth is a dignified "hnnh?" as Etho leans over him.
"Sorry, sorry. Just making sure you didn't break the skin. Let me know if this hurts." Etho's fingers are pressing into the back of his skull, tracing along the curves of the bone and petting through the fur in sure motions. Doc's ear flicks, but he clamps his mouth shut. The motions are soothing, and he wants to lean back into them, but he won't. He can't- not after he just berated Etho in his head. He has already embarrassed himself enough for the next hundred years. He sighs when Etho pulls away and sits next to him on the bed, mismatched gaze burning into him once again. Doc barely has the capacity to pin his ears back in embarrassment.
"Well, you aren't bleeding..." Etho shifts a little closer now. "I'll give you a potion of healing if you tell me what happened." Cheeky man.
"Can't I just go sleep?"
"No way. I saw you holding your arm weird. You don't normally get this frazzled. C'mon, man."
Doc hesitates. A potion of healing sounds beyond lovely right now. "If you tell anyone about this, and I mean anyone-"
"I know, I know, Doc. Hellfire and torture, I get it."
"I got licked by that Rusty."
Etho bites his lip beneath the mask to contain a laugh. Doc bristles.
"My elytra wouldn't work and I needed a new..." Doc scowls as he thinks of the jacket he's still wearing. At least it's soft.
"Go on."
"I got... startled and fell off of that stupid dinosaur. I think I landed on my arm."
"And your head."
Doc shoots a glare at him but aborts the menacing look quickly in favor of squeezing his eye shut when the world struggles to keep up with his vision. He barely notices the comforting hand on his back.
"I know the answer will be no, but I think you should take the arm off. I can even take a look at it for you."
"What? No!" Another flare of pain. Ugh, he's nauseous.
"Ok, well. It doesn't look quite... right. And you need to sleep. Work with me here. Remember the delicious potion waiting for you at the end of this."
Mmm, healing potion. Too bad it couldn't heal his mechanical arm; if it could, he would be unstoppable. An unstoppable killing machine. Ooh, a genius unstoppable killing machine. Genius Onstoppable Akilling Tachine. G.O.A.T. Perfect. Everything is working normally and perfectly in his mind. Maybe he isn't concussed. Maybe Etho has another elytra he can use to fly home.
"Umm, Doc? Are you alright?" Etho's panicky voice is what brings Doc out of his stupor. Somehow, he has shuffled over to lean heavily on Etho despite his mechanical arm shooting pain into his joints.
His words are like toffee in his mouth and his brain feels like dead weight. "Am I going to be stupid forever?" Etho tenses underneath Doc as he looks down at the pathetic-looking man. Etho is unreadable below the mask. Doc can feel new warm tears slipping down his face, and suddenly it's all too much again. He needs everything off.
Etho barely stammers a reply before Doc has shuffled out of Scar's jacket and is clawing at the connections of his mechanical arm. Etho was right, his arm is wrong. Doc can't squint enough to determine why, but it's wrong and it needs to be off of his body right. now.
"Woah there, alright ok. Oh snappers." Etho joins Doc's hands to fumble with the bright pistons and glowing tubes of the mechanical arm. They both struggle for a few frantic minutes as the arm is properly detached and set aside on some chests. The relief is instant and Doc sighs while putting his head in his only remaining hand and rubbing his eye. Silence falls between them as Doc blearily listens to Etho move around. After a few moments, something warm and soft is being drawn along his face. It takes him a few long seconds to realize what is happening and lean into the damp cloth. A light touch to his horn draws him closer to sleep as his fur is slowly freed of slobber and petted down to a more normal direction. A gentle nudge against his forehead and a hand below his chin guide a potion of healing up to his lips. What a spectacular invention. Doc can feel the frayed nerve endings and bruises littering his body start to stitch together and heal over.
Etho cards a hand through the longer fur on top of Doc's head and leans closer to mumble, "Better?"
"Mmm."
"Good. Bedtime, eh?"
"Mn."
Etho just chuckles and rearranges blankets so Doc can fall back, careful to lean partially on his side to avoid the irritated connection where his prosthetic usually sits. A few more moments pass before Etho stands up, the weight shifting on the bed causes Doc to grumble with displeasure.
"Etho?"
"...yea, Doc?"
Doc turns to look over his shoulder at the other hermit, putting on the most intimidating glare he can manage, "You have to stay here. I don't want to die in my sleep."
Etho's eyes go wide at that and he searches Doc's face for a moment. "You aren't going to die, Doc. You just need to rest. It's just a concussion, okay?"
"My brain will explode, and then I won't be able to torture Scar anymore. This is a problem."
"Wow... that is... a problem," Etho's eyebrows are frozen in a concerned look, but it melts into a more playful glance as he sits down on the bed again, "Here, I'll stay right by you tonight. I'll make sure that evil brain of yours stays right where it's supposed to be, yea?"
"My plans always come together."
"Mmhmm. Close your eyes, genius." Etho sighs and shuffles onto the bed as soon as Doc turns back around. His shoes and jacket are flung onto the floor, and he pushes up to lean on the headboard and flip idly through the book he keeps on his nightstand. He has to stifle some giggles when he thinks about the look of distress on Doc's face when the cat came over, or the silly not-quite-realistic things the man said due to his bruised brain.
It doesn't take long before Etho has to vow to himself not to tell Doc how he shuffles and murmurs in his sleep, or how he eventually leans across Etho's lap and purrs when long fingers pet through his hair. He has to promise himself to wake up before Doc, which shouldn't be too hard, so that he can escape the strong grip the other man has around Etho's waist after he finally manages to pull Etho away from his book and into the bed. He has to promise himself not to get too happy when Doc nestles his face underneath Etho's chin and lies there for most of the night.
Etho does a terrible job of watching over Doc in the night, considering he falls asleep quickly under the weighted blanket of his fellow Hermit.