Gods, Heroes, and Mundane Times

by Num1_evil_gays_defender

Summary:

When a former god from an era long past met an adventurer running from his demons, neither was expecting the other. But in time, they got used to the company, and even ended up helping each other heal from their respective traumas.

A slow, sweet, and somewhat hopeful story about what ‘home’ means, and how to find it.

Chapter 1: It started in the hayloft… and by hayloft I mean on a horse in the wilderness

Notes:

Hello, fellow Minecraft enjoyer! I had a *huge* minecart phase back in elementary school, and I was really obsessed with the lore stuff. I watched every Minecraft animation I could find, and Herobrine was my gay (or I suppose Queer is more accurate) awakening, with Steve following closely behind.

So when I decided I wanted to try my hand on fanfiction, which I had been hemming and hawing on for about 2 years now, I decided to honour Minecraft with my first ever fic! I hope it is not too horrible, and have fun!

Title from the song Hayloft by Mother Mother

Steve opened his eyes to someone banging on his door :"Oi! Get up! The stables ain't gon' sweep 'em selves!"

He sighed, it's the villager who owned this house, he had promised to clean the stables yesterday in exchange for a night's lodgings.

He briefly half entertained the idea of threatening the villager to get away with free housing and maybe even some food— after all, they seemed to be easily scared and whimpy as a stick when compared to Steve, and he didn't have much emeralds left— but didn't seriously consider it. He was not one to take advantage of strength and bully the weak. He made a deal, and he will complete his end of the bargain.

He quickly got up and collected his belongings. It wasn't much, a few torches, a first aid kit, some food, a small hand axe, and a sword. He stuffed everything into his backpack, strapped the sword to his hip, and headed to the stables.

He also had a horse, and kept a small pouch on the saddle filled with trinkets he collected on his travels. For that was what he was, a traveler. Wandering the overworld, seeking a place to call home.

He fed Lemon (his horse) an apple before he started to clean. Lemon was a beautiful mare, with a light brown coat and dirty yellow mane. She was the fastest and smartest horse Steve has ever seen, and Steve has seen a lot.

He made quick work of the stables, and was soon on the road, leaving yet another village behind. The villagers stared as he went by, their eyes filled with curiosity, reproach, and a bit of wonder. As the last of the little houses disappeared from view, he can't help but feel a quiet melancholy.

How long has he been traveling alone now? He first left his home town right after turning 16, after John... He's 36 now, and 20 years is a long time to be on the road, but it just never felt right to settle down in one of the villages he's passed. After the first three years, this started to feel like home to him, this road, this horse, this pack, this life. It's what he knows now, change is not easy, especially something drastic like calling a place 'home', and after what happened at the last one… Steve shook his head, better not think about that now.

As he made his way through a forest, he noticed something off to his side --- it looked to be an old abandoned structure of some kind, and more importantly, the materials looked expensive. If he could take some apart and bring it with him, it could cover some rent in the next town he passes.

He got off of Lemon and walked over, careful of any possible dangers. As he got closer, he saw it was made of obsidian and shaped like a large door, all around were red blocks he didn't recognize, and small pools of lava. There were also some gold, which he happily collected.

Was this a portal? Was someone doing magic? Steve has never seen anything like this. He stepped onto the obsidian, magic or not, this stuff was worth a lot when trading. He lit up a torch to get a closer look and perhaps find a way to collect the stone.

Abandoned structures are common in the wild, more common than one might think. When he first came across one of those forest shrines, he thought it was some cult activity and feared it very much. He did some reading in the next village, and learned that from a few centuries ago, in the time of great kingdoms and greater heroes, there were a great many structures like that, glorious and well kept. After the great war, it all fell into disrepair as the remaining population gathered in smaller towns and cities, nursing their wounds, whether of body or mind. Now, those structures are but abandoned remnants of a time long passed. And practically, that means each one is a treasure trove, free for the taking.

As he leaned closer, he heard something. It was like a distorted whisper, drawing him closer to the portal. He couldn't make out any words, hell, he wasn't even sure if it was actually speaking, or if it was just random noise. Magic was another thing associated with the past kingdoms, it was said that people once wielded magic like they did tools and weapons, but, well, Steve wasn't sure how much he believed that. He's never actually seen it in action, and it all sounded like some sort of old folk lore, like the myth of the Gods. He wasn't exactly atheist, per say, but he was what you'd call a skeptic.

There was a sudden screech and Steve startled. He dropped his torch and stepped back in surprise. As the torch hit the rocks, a brilliant purple light sprang from the portal, filling the rectangular shape with swirls and peculiar patterns. There was also noise, like the murmuring of a crowd and a minecart scraping on rails.

Lemon nighed and stomped, clearly disturbed by the now active portal. Steve gave her an apple to sooth her, before taking up his torch again and going back to the portal, internally having the exact same reaction as her.

What, the actual, fuck? Is this magic? Is this real? Did he eat something bad this morning? Steve felt... Unsure. It doesn't seem to be doing any harm, but, well, it's good to be cautious, especially around something like this. He learned that the hard way. (We don't talk about the desert temple).

Should he go through? He has no idea of the dangers that might lurk behind this, and if portal magic is anything like what the books say, he could easily lose his life. But there was something about the purple swirls that enticed him, tempting him, almost daring him to find out, to give in to his curiosity.

He left his bag with Lemon — he trusts her not to wander far— and put his sword and axe on his belt, to hell with it, he was going through. He knows how to defend himself, if something feels off, he'll just come back over and destroy the portal. He tightened his grip on his torch, and stepped into the purple light.

Notes:

There's gonna be more lore later on in the story, and the weird setting(s) will make sense, for now just roll with it. I'll try not to drop in the lore in one huge dump but rather in smaller nibbles wrapped in the story, but no promises! Thanks for reading!

Also pls lemme know if u catch any mistakes (spelling, grammer, lore inconsistency, ect.) :))

Chapter 2: Hell is forever(not)

Summary:

Guess what (or rather, who) Steve finds beyond the portal 👀

Notes:

I’ve decided that although I have several pre-written chapters I will still post them separately and not in one big chunk, you’ve probably noticed I don’t like big chunks lol

Title from the song Hell is Forever from Hazbin Hotel

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The instant he stepped through the portal his nose filled with the scent of fire, burnt organic matter, dust, and the metallic ting of blood. He blinked away the purple clouding his vision, and saw a cave made of the same red rock surrounding the portal.

It was a big cave, with a ceiling so high he could barely see it, and a tunnel leading out to a lava lake. The white noise he heard from the portal was also present here, though much fainter.

The emptiness felt.... Wrong. The faint sounds made him feel as if he only needs to turn around, and he'll be greeted with the sight of a crowd, yet he is utterly alone. Where is that murmur coming from? And why is everything so red and hot? Gods, he was feeling the heat now, sweat built on his back, he did not like this very much at all. Though there did not seem to be any imminent danger, a feeling of grief and pain surrounded the stones and fires, it sent chills down his spine.

He made his way through the tunnel, wanting to explore as much of this cave as possible. As he walked, the smell of blood grew stronger and stronger. He wrinkled his nose and gripped his sword, blood was almost never a good thing.

He soon found himself standing in another cave with a lava lake in the middle, taking up most of the floor. And there was a person. There was a person floating above the lava.

He pulled out his sword, his heart was pounding, and the sweat had soaked through his shirt now. But as he looked closer, he realized that the person wasn't floating at all. They were strung through with thin chains of metal and hung from the ceiling. They were covered in mostly dried blood, and looked to be half dead.

Steve was shocked, a thousand questions were running through his head: who were they? Why were they being held here in such a manner? Who did this?

One thing was certain though--- if they weren't let down soon, they would surely die. That is, if they weren't dead already. And Steve could not let someone die like this--- alone, in pain, in a strange red cave. It mattered not to him what they did to deserve such a thing, not right now, anyway.

He quickly gathered some blocks and made a steep bridge reaching the person. He climbed up and started hacking away at the chains with his axe. The irons were thin but strong, and a faint glow told Steve that they were enchanted. How strange, though considering the day, it's not much stranger than the rest he's seen, but still, who enchants chains of all things? He didn't even know that was a possibility.

The person made no indication that they were aware of Steve, though this close, he could see they were still breathing faintly. He was relieved, at least he wouldn't be burying any corpses today.

Slowly but surely, the chains snapped one by one. When the person was finally freed, Steve carried them to the portal. Their frame was painfully small against his. Years of travel and hard work had given him quite some muscles, and this person was obviously starved and tortured, they were comically thin in Steve's arms.

They went back through the portal, purple swirls transporting them to the forest clearing. It was dark. Steve blinked in alarm, it was only morning when he went through, he couldn't possibly have stayed that long? It felt like two hours, max, but the darkened skies cannot be reasoned with, so he supposed that the chains took longer to break. But it still made no sense— he was not hungry or tired. He was only soaked in sweat from the sheer heat of that red cave, and from all the hacking at the chains.

He looked around, he can contemplate this later, and maybe rethink his beliefs on magic. But right now, he needed to find his horse. Strange (again), she usually does not wander this much.

Lemon eventually came to him when he called out to her, walking around. She looked a bit rough, as if she had spent a whole day in the wild. He frowned, it must've just been the portal, making her nervous (A poor attempt at lying to himself, but for now, it'll do). He grabbed his bag and placed the person on Lemon's back, hurrying away from the purple glow. He made camp as soon as the portal was out of sight.

After setting up a fire, tying Lemon down, eating a piece of bread, and laying out his bed rolls, Steve was exhausted. The events of the day catching up to him, together with the strange passage of time, he felt his eyelids drooping. He decided whatever injuries the person might have could wait until morning, since it has already waited for hells knows how long already and they were fine (yet another strange thing). He curled up by the fire and immediately fell asleep.

Notes:

Take a wild guess who the mysterious stranger is ;) and time flows differently in the Nether, though just how much different is being left open for a possible future plot.

Chapter 3: Wake me up inside

Summary:

The stranger wakes

Notes:

Injuries are described, but not in too much detail I don’t think.

Title from the song Bring Me to Life by Evanescene

Steve woke with the dawn. Lemon was standing with a quiet stillness, the fire was dying, and the stranger was bleeding onto the blankets.

He sighed and stretched, remembering the peculiar happenings of yesterday. He got up and coaxed the fire into starting again. He took out his medical kit and went back to the stranger.

He peeled away their clothes and finally got a good look at their injuries. There were marks and blisters all over their arms and legs where the chains were, and a big patch of burns covered most of their torso and neck. There were what looked to be whip marks on their back, oozing with blood and puss. Yuck. This might be the worst Steve’s ever seen anyone.

What stood out to Steve the most though, was the knife wounds on their collar bones--- there were letters carved into their flesh, it was a language he did not recognize. The wounds were angry and red, they looked fresher than what was possible, no more than a few hours old.

Steve frowned, it was strange, but not unexpected, given that they were imprisoned in a magical dimension reached by a portal, held in mid air by enchanted chains that punctured their flesh and strung them up like a doll. He did his best to disinfect and bandage the wounds and burns, making a mental note to get more supplies in the next village.

He placed the person on Lemon's saddle and climbed up behind them. They rode through the wild for the rest of the day, with a steady if slightly hurried pace. There was a sense of urgency, to get this person to a relative safety of a village and under the care of a healer.

They passed a wandering trader around midday, and Steve traded his newly acquired gold for some potions. The trader informed him that villages are scarce around here, and wished him luck. He spends the rest of the day letting Lemon lead the way and thinking about magic, portals, and myths. He suppose he must believe them somewhat now, seeing as he's experienced some form of magic first hand. He is still rather hesitant to be sure of how true the details are in the mythical tales. Perhaps the stranger would know something.

As the sun began to set, they had already made it out of the forest and were trotting along a grassy plain.

He set up camp again with the last lights of dusk. The fire roared as he roasted meat for dinner, while the stranger laid motionless on the bed rolls. Dinner was calm, giving him some much needed time to think of nothing but the taste of food and the warmth of the fire.

After he finished he took out a healing potion and took off the stranger's shirt, intending to speed up their healing process. He poured some of the scarlet liquid onto a cloth, and placed the cloth on the burns. But the moment the potion soaked cloth touched their skin, it started sizzling and smoking, like it was burning them, he could even smell burnt flesh after a moment, and he froze in surprise.

The stranger stirred, their eyes blinked open and they were obviously in pain, making gasped rasps croak out of their throat. He quickly took the cloth off their stomach and backed away when they sat up. There was a dangerous look in their eyes, one of pain and violence.

The stranger looked around, confused. Their gaze swiped over the bandages, the bedrolls, the fire, the potion, and finally landed on Steve. As the stranger stared at him, breathing and wheezing heavily, Steve noticed that their eyes were a white so pure it almost glowed, maybe it did glow.

They had an air about them, it made Steve feel as if they were not some simple criminal (which Steve had taken to assume, ‘cause seriously, that was some fucked up shit in that portal, they must have done something bad), that they were someone to be reckoned with. The look in their eyes was one of a feral animal with a trap stuck around its legs.

When they spoke, it was with a low scratchy voice, like one raw from screaming.

"Who are you, where am I."

Notes:

Sorry for the uneventful chapter, thx for reading

Chapter 4: Time will change you

Notes:

Shorter chapter

Title from the song Time Will Change You by the Cranewives

"Who are you, and where am I" The stranger practically growled.

Steve raised his hands up in surrender as to not provoke them, "Um, my name is Steve, I travel a lot, and I found you in a weird red cave all chained up and bleedin’. I'm pretty sure there was also portal magic involved? I did the bandages, too."

Their eyes narrowed and flicked towards the health potion, Steve gulped, "I swear I didn't mean to hurt you! I had no idea it would... Burn?"

The stranger barked out a laugh, "Didn't know? I thought it was common knowledge, seeing as humans have been using it against me for ages."

Now Steve was properly confused. "I... beg your pardon? What do you mean by that? Are you not human?"

The stranger seemed to be equally confused by Steve's questions. "Do you not recognize me?"

Steve shook his head, "Should I?"

"... I'm Herobrine."

Steve's eyes widened in shock, his first instinct was to laugh, Herobrine was nothing but a ghost story to scare children with, and yet... The white glowing eyes, the alleged imprisonment in the 'Nether', the portal magic, the carvings in a strange language, the aversion to healing magic, it all adds up. Also, after what he's seen the last day, he really shouldn't be so surprised that some old ghost from ancient myths appears in front of him.

"... You are Herobrine, the folklore monster that supposedly eats children and commits arson? That one?"

The stranger--- Herobrine, frowned. "Folklore monster? You fought a whole war against me and my people, i- EATS CHILDREN?? I do not-! How do you not... Wait, what year is it?"

"It's 731."

"...7- 731?"

Herobrine fell silent, they had an unreadable expression on their face. Steve was reluctant to break the silence, what can be said in a situation like this? The creature obviously had a long story, and Steve wasn't sure he had earned the right to it just yet. They also seemed to be really hung up on the year, which, granted, they might have been imprisoned for a while, but the wounds on them seemed fresh? He wanted to ask them so many questions, but instead he took out a piece of bread from his bag and offered it to them. They were shaking a bit, food always helps, especially since they looked malnourished.

Herobrine accepted it wordlessly, and ate like a starved animal--- urgently, slightly aggressively, yet silently.

They announced that they were going to sleep, and Steve couldn't find it in himself to argue. So they went to bed, and the rest of the night was uneventful.

Notes:

They/Them Herobrine for the win! I don't think Gods and monsters have the same concept of gender that we do, so it only makes sense.

This is the last of the pre-written content, Thx for reading :-)

Chapter 5: New world in the sticks

Notes:

Would you believe me if I said a Thomas Barrow/OMC fic made this happen? Yeah, I was reading it and had a sudden urge to write a Downton Abbey fic, but I promised myself I'd post this one as my first, so here we are. Blame that for any possible slow and irregular updates lol

Title from the song The Sticks by Mother Mother

The next morning, Herobrine asked Steve for any potions of harm or poison he might have, chugged all three bottles, and instantly healed a great deal. Steve's jaw was still dropping.

They watched silently as he packed up and got ready to leave. They followed him wordlessly through the day. Whenever he tried to ask them something about themselves, they would turn away and avoid the question pointedly. He quickly decided that if this company is to be anything other than awkward, the topic of conversation needs to change.

They passed a patch of mushrooms, and Steve said as casually as he could manage: "so, um, thoughts on mushrooms?"

Herobrine looked at him for the first time today, and frowned: "Pardon?"

"Mushrooms! Do you like to eat them? These look safe enough to eat, I might collect some for dinner."

"They're... Fine, I suppose."

"Hmm, I like them. Very flavorful, good for soup."

"Right."

"Yep."

Silence. Steve feels the weight of their gaze in him, and hastily goes to collect some mushrooms. After stuffing a bunch into his pack, they went back to walking. After a while, Herobrine spoke: "what did you mean, safe enough to eat?"

Steve hesitated: "um, they didn't look poisonous? I guess?"

They frowned, "poisonous? Mushrooms?"

He raised his eyebrows, "yes? I mean, it's quite common."

"That- cannot be true."

"... You don't get out much, do you?"

Right after he said it, he realized what just came out of his mouth. Shit. If course they don't fucking get out much, chained to rocks, what kind of question was that. The silence weighs on him heavily yet again.

But then, they laugh. And all the tension is dissolved. He smiles with them. Conversation flows after that, it's nice to have some company after so long traveling alone, Steve enjoyed talking of everything and nothing with them, even though there's this nagging voice in the back of his mind going ‘ask him about magic' the whole time.

That night, sitting by the fire, Herobrine asked in a quiet voice, “where are we going?”

Steve paused in his making of mushroom soup, “uhm, nowhere, really. I just keep going, I live on the road, you could say. For now we're headed for the next village to get you a healer-”

“There will be no need” Herobrine cut him off, nodding, “They would not know me any more than you.”

Not knowing what to say, Steve went back to the soup.

After a moment, they spoke again, “you must forgive my intensely private nature and aversion to questions. You shall know everything in time, I promise.”

Steve shrugged, “hey, we're all entitled to our secrets, you don't have to explain anything.” He paused, “unless you're some sort of psycho killer?” If he’s absolutely honest, he’s still slightly worried about Herobrine being a criminal of some sort.

Herobrine chuckled, “I see you still do not believe me to be the same monster in your folklore.”

Steve hesitated, “not fully, no.”

Herobrine tilted their head, “do they hold no weight of truth in this world anymore?”

Steve stirred his soup, “some still believe them, others think it's probably not entirely true.”

“And you're the latter, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“After all you've seen? Surely you've encountered magic of some kind, even potions are.”

“Yeah, but it's like, just because I know fish exists doesn't mean I believe in mermaids?”

Herobrine nodded thoughtfully, “... That is reasonable, I suppose.”

Steve smiled, “thanks. Wanna taste the soup?”

Notes:

Another short one, this was written in a dentists waiting room.
Next chapter is gonna have lore, brace yourselves :-)

Chapter 6: Sip the Gossip

Notes:

A bit of lore here, another short chapter since I’ve been busy.

Title from the song GOSSIP by MÅNESKIN

The next time they talked about the past, they were much more comfortable with each other.

It's been just over a week, and there's no village in sight. Steve was beginning to get anxious, of course, it's happened before, he went two weeks with seeing another soul once, but it's still rare.

They took turns riding on Lemon and walking, when Herobrine asked the question, Steve was riding.

“So, what exactly are the stories surrounding me?”

Steve shrugged, “it's not really anything concrete, just that you're like this evil spirit that goes around burning villages and killing everyone. Some people say you eat kids, some people say you can summon lightning, some people say all the leaves fall off the trees when you're near, some say you can fly. Sometimes you're a ghost and sometimes you're an immortal. It's all kinda whatever, you know?”

They nodded slowly, “I see. There are no mentions of Notch?”

Steve frowned, “the God? No, not really, y'all are not usually connected in the myths, except that Notch damns all mobs including you.”

They hummed, “Do you worship him still?”

Steve tilted his head, “you know that not everyone believes the same stuff, right? Some people do, yeah, but others don't.”

They glanced up at him, “do you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Steve sighed, “I donno, man, I just don't. I mean, there's no proof, right? And besides, I don't like the churches.”

They pressed on, “and how about magic? Where do you stand on that? How much do you have? Are there mages? Wizards? Witches?”

He shot them an incredulous smile, “Void, how long have you been stuck in there? Yeah, there's a little of it, you know, enchanting and potions. Well, actually, potions are more alchemy… anyway, but no mages or anything. I mean, there are, in stories, but not in real life.”

“The same stories in which I appear?”

Steve chuckled, “I guess, yeah, more or less. Do you got magic, then?”

The corner of their lips tugged up in an almost-smile, “isn't that a fine question.”

Steve raised his eyebrows and stared at them, what does that even mean? He waited for an elaboration, but when they spoke, it was another question.

“When you said ‘Void’ earlier…”

Steve groaned, “are you really gonna tell me not to swear? C’mon.”

Herobrine seemed taken aback, “I was simply going to ask about the stories surrounding it.”

Steve laughed a little at that, “uh, there really isn't any? It's just, you know, where you go if you died and didn't follow Notch.”

They let out a surprised hum, “and The End?”

“The end of what? Like… death?”

“Nevermind.”

The man on the horse shook his head, and smiled, “you know, one day I'm gonna get you to actually explain everything to me. All you do is ask questions and you never answer any.”

Herobrine chuckled, “perhaps one day. Perhaps even one day not so far into the future.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Perhaps.”

Notes:

Life update: I have grossly overestimated how much time I have on my hands, so now I’ve ended up being a part of two different bands and one theatre group. Band1 has a performance the day after tomorrow, band2 has performances during the next weekend, and the theatre group has performances through out the week after the next. Phew. I am so happy I put ‘slow to update’ in the tags lmao

Chapter 7: Gone will be, any hint of you or me

Notes:

Wow, it’s been a while… maybe it’s the ao3 curse taking hold, but life’s kicked my ass recently. Enjoy!

Title from the song Wildfire(Gone Gone Gone)/Death Song by Rabbitology

The darkness all around enveloped them like a blanket, Herobrine sighed at the feeling of safety. How luxurious. Jean shifted beside them, and they put their arm around her neck. The hard scaly stone under them was cold, but not uncomfortably so. All was well in the world.

Herobrine woke with the scent of dragon’s breath still lingering around him, and for a moment, the night felt reminiscent of the Void. It must be very early in the morning, the moon was on her way down.

The fire was steadily dying, and they laid still, staring into the ember.

What a strange few weeks this has been. Of course, they had known Notch severed the connection between the Overworld and the Nether, but they had no way of knowing the true extent of the damage. As evident, not only had the physical spaces been separated, the passage of time has been distorted as well.

In a way, they were still not over the pure shock of hearing Steve say the year was 731. Imagine that, 731! Just the history of the Undead Kingdom was 2 000 years, and Herobrine had considered them rather young.

The man was sleeping peacefully in his blankets now, his breath gentle and his body still. It's almost reminiscent of the far, far past; all those folk, traveling merchants and adventurers in search of greatness. Steve was not one such man, though; he's certainly got a story, that much they guessed, but they're willing to leave some mysteries for now. After all, mysteries were their armor.

It's almost disheartening, how much magic has died; though they were quite glad Notch seems to have… turned away his eye.

An owl hooted somewhere, and they almost startled. The carved flesh on their collar bone burned, the enchantment won't be wearing off for another few centuries, so they'll have to get used to that.

It'll soon be time to get up and start the day. Steve will be up around sunrise, he'll rekindle the fire and make breakfast, Herobrine will offer to feed Lemon, he will refuse because he likes to care for the horse himself. They will insist on packing while he does that, and he'll relent with a smile.

He'll ask after their physical well being when getting ready to leave, they'll say it's all fine and feel like half a liar; he'll insist they ride first, and the two will set out after putting out the fire. It's a routine by now. Strange, how fast one settles into routines.

They sighed and closed their eyes. They might have to tell him the whole story one day, but before that, they'll have to slowly introduce proper magic to him — not the rubbish enchantment he's got on his sword, seriously, sharpness I? If they showed him a vision of the end, or even gave him a dictionary of Galactic, they feared he might faint or something.

‘Just because I know fish exists, doesn't mean I believe in mermaids’, was what he said. Perhaps Herobrine will take him to see the Guardians, dip his toes in mermaid territory before revealing the kraken. What would they be in this metaphor? They amused themselves with that thought until the first light broke across the horizon.

Notes:

I’ll try to update again soon, much love!

Chapter 8: I get the job done

Notes:

Wowww hey there... It's been a hot minute lol
Life happens, you know how it is... But I'm back! And I think the next few chapters will be out relatively fast? Ish? Maybe? No promises.

Title from The Giver by Chappell Roan

Eventually, the two came across a village; it was more of a town, really, it even has two blacksmiths.

Herobrine had seemed skeptical at first when Steve called it a large village, but simply shook their head when he gave them a questioning glance.

They got a room from the priest, and settled lemon in the stables before dumping their stuff into the small attic above the chapel.

They then went back out, and Steve offered to tour the place with Herobrine.

“It'll be fun! Besides, it's not like I know this place well either, so we'll be exploring together!” He nudged them with his shoulder, “come on! Stop brooding and let's get comfortable!”

“You and I have vastly different ideas surrounding the definition of comfort.” Herobrine mumbled, but succumbed, “but I shall follow you, a little exploration could prove to be enlightening.”

Steve cheered and they started walking together down the path.

They first came across a few homes, with Herobrine commenting on how cramped they seemed. Then there were the plots of land, growing potatoes and carrots.

“Are those the only crops they have?” Herobrine was incredulous.

Steve shrugged, “yeah, I mean, there's like 30 of them here in total, they don't really need much. There's also the occasional wandering traders bringing other stuff.”

They frowned even more when they saw the animal pens, “these are entirely too small, and what's the good of four cows, two sheep, and one chicken?”

Steve chuckled, “yeah, raising animals aren't really big with village folk, I mean, again, they really don't need much. I don't think they kill these for meat, they are actually mostly vegetarian.”

“All of them? How?” They were evidently surprised.

“It's a religious thing. Something about not killing Notch’s creation or whatever, but mostly now it's just tradition. They see these animals as sort of pets.”

Herobrine hummed. “And the felines that seem to be everywhere?”

“Cats? Also pets. Like, communal pets.” Steve smiled, “they're cute, eh?”

They nodded in agreement, “yes, they are nice. But everything here is quite small, including the… cats.”

They toured the library, which Herobrine refused to call a library because “it barely has two full shelves, really, it's not even a collection!”

They passed by the two blacksmiths and Herobrine frowned at their tool selection, “very… ah, limited. No insult is intended, but, I don't see the point of selling stone swords at a blacksmiths”

Steve chuckled, “you're very judgy, you know?”

They simply shrugged, “I am unused to this, and am simply pointing out what I am seeing.”

He actually laughed at that, “right right, sure. But can you back it up, captain oh so much better than thou?”

“How do you mean?” They narrowed their eyes.

“Can you make better tools? Have you read any of the books in the library? Do you herd animals well?”

Herobrine chuckled, “the second, most likely not, since the works I've read are probably now lost to time. And the third? Well… in a sense, yes. However, I will take you up on the first, as a challenge. If you don't mind me saying… you could use a new sword.”

Steve snorted, “you know what? Let's go get us some books from the library, and we can borrow these workshops tomorrow. Let's see if I can make something better than you, eh?”

“I doubt it.” Herobrine smirked.

“Oh, you're on.” Steve grinned.

Notes:

WHOS EXCITED FOR ART FIGHT? I AMMMMMMM
Find me at: https://artfight.net/~MX-42
My user is MX-42, and holy shit I'm gonna attack everyone this year!!!! That's an exaggeration but like, I'm actually so pumped you don't get it. Anyhow, thanks for reading, see y'all soon!

Chapter 9: It was perfect then but now it's heartbreakin'

Notes:

Longer chapter

Title comes from Nostalgia by Mother Mother

Love y’all

The next day, Herobrine was up at first light. They practically dragged Steve over to the blacksmiths, paid for the renting of both workshops in emerald (Notch only knows where they got those, Steve did NOT have 20 on him), and gently shoving him into one before going into the other, and shutting the door.

Steve rubbed his eyes, ugh, it was so early; and what's with all the secrecy? They've blocked the windows, locked the door, and didn't tell him anything at all about what they're gonna do.

The man sighed, oh well, time to get to work then. What should he make? Herobrine was making a sword, that much he knew, so he won't make the same thing….. not a shovel, nor a hoe; he's made an axe before, that'll give him advantage of experience; however, as the inherent monotony of staying in a village settled in, trying something new was sounding more and more appealing by the moment. Pickaxe it is.

Steve heated up the furnaces and stirred the lava so it's flaming; the anvil was dragged to where he wanted it, the hammers and ice water prepared. Just as he was about to begin, there's a knock. The blacksmith was standing at the door. He frowned, did he touch something he wasn't supposed to?

The smith handed Steve a pouch, “from your friend, said that you can use these to make whatever it is you're makin’, said they wanted it to be a fair fight or whatever.”

Steve thanked the villager, and opened the bag after she left. Three Diamonds. Where the void did they get these from? What is with the random gems they apparently just had laying around? Hold on, they didn’t even own a bag? How??

After a good whole minute of gaping, Steve decided he can ask later. Right now, a diamond picked is waiting to be made.

By an hour after midday, Steve finished his project. The diamond pickaxe, still warm, had been brought to the library, and enhanced using the enchanting table. He had decided on unbreaking II, it seemed suitable enough. It was almost a pity Steve wouldn't use it often, it's a good pickaxe. He might have sharpened it a bit too much, it looked almost like a weapon. Eh, no use fussing now that the gem was already set.

Herobrine worked well into the evening. Steve passed the time by reading up on some books of legends from the library. Nothing new, just the tale of the old god Notch, the creation of the world by him writing down some magic words, and how because the words were bound by logic and so the world follows scientific rules. There was also the obligatory book of monsters each library has– zombies, skeletons, spiders, cave spiders… of course, there's the mythical mobs in the back, in which Herobrine made a guest appearances; it's the same old eating children and arson business, Steve sighed in disinterest.

By moonrise, Herobrine finally stepped out of the smithy. Steve rushed over to see— what is that? A sword, no doubt, but not made of any material Steve had ever laid eyes on. It was a bright diamond blue at first, but as the moon shone upon it, the blade seemed to twist and melt into a silvery texture: impossibly refracting the light and unthinkably smooth.

Steve gasped, and reached out to touch.

“Careful.” Herobrine warned, and Steve nodded. It must be sharp, must be sharper than any weapon Steve has known.

As he ran a calloused finger along the spine of the sword, he realized it wasn't smooth at all. The entire blade was covered in runes, ancient looking ones he could not read. Each glowed and dimmed in an untraceable pattern, and the light seemed to call out to Steve.

Herobrine smiled, “go on, hold it.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh, “you sure? I mean, I've never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope so, or else I've lost my touch.” They smirked.

Steve didn't answer or ask what they meant by that, but instead he took the sword by the hilt, and noted how it fit into the shape of his palm perfectly. The handle was a smooth wood infused with diamond, how they managed that Steve could never understand. It was cool to the touch, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable; in fact, the moment Steve gave it a testing swing, the thing seemed to hum to life, a heart beating in time with Steve.

He startled, almost dropping the precious item, “what was that?”

Herobrine had this impossible smug look on their face, “magic.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Right, yeah, of course. “Is it enchanted? I didn't see you go to the library for that.”

“I don't need a table to do something as simple as enchanting. And yes, unbreakable III, as well as sweeping edge III, and sharpness V.”

Steve almost choked, “max on all three? What! How? Did you have enchanting books?”

“Do not insult me. Besides, that is the least impressive part. You felt it, yes? It is as alive as a weapon can ever be.” They huffed.

“... Alive? Like, what, like a pet?”

“No, not like a pet. Like an extension of you. While you wield it, it is you.” Herobrine looked so incredibly pleased with themselves, Steve wanted to take them down a bit. But what can he do? It's literally perfect.

They continued, “it's moon runes on the blade, means it's more attuned at night. I would have added sun runes as well but… it seems my memory has failed me on that, I couldn't remember the last line of it. To make up for it, the diamond infused into the handle of the wood distilled some essense of lightning, and the blade itself was chilled with dragon’s breath. It should have some special qualities in stormy weather. But enough of that… this sword, while imperfect, is still much better than that old thing you have around.”

“Imperfect? Herobrine, are you joking? This is amazing! It's literally THE sword! And– wait, hold on, are you giving it to me?” Steve was breathless.

They nodded, “yes. It's yours.”

“Oh– thank you! I cannot say it enough, that's so– but uhm, what I made wasn't nearly as… flashy.”

“No matter. May I see it?”

Steve almost flushed with embarrassment when he gave them the pickaxe. They didn't seem to mind though, eyes lighting up (literally) when they held it. “It's beautifully crafted. Well done.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're just saying that…”

“No, it's a good tool. You do better than the blacksmith here, if that's any consolation.”

Steve chuckled, “you saying I'm a pro?”

“No, you're an ameture, which is even better. You do it with passion, and the material feels it.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. They just said the strangest things sometimes. “Uhm–, you can have it, if you want.”

They brightened up, “truly? Thank you, Steve. I shall cherish it.”

That night, as they laid in the small attic of the church, Steve suddenly remembered the carvings on Herobrine’s collar bone. It was not unlike the runes on the sword. Huh.

The next morning, Steve asked over breakfast, “say, are the weird writing carved into you also moon runes? Or whatever you called it?”

Herobrine hesitated, “... Not exactly, no. But they are runes of the same family. You have a keen eye.”

A long pause, he cleared his throat, “gonna elaborate on that?”

They hesitated, “.... I suppose I shall. The runes in my skin are fire runes, calling to the heat of the Nether and the flames of a bone deep hatred. It was carved by Notch himself, when he sealed me away in that cave. In simple terms, these runes make it so I cannot use the full extent of my magic until they are healed, and they are cursed to not heal in a thousand years. I have no way of knowing how long has passed since the initial sealing, since the calendar seemed to have altered.”

Steve was quiet, stunned to silence, even. Herobrine seemed content to let him think, so they spent the rest of the morning like that.

Eventually, when Steve spoke, his voice was soft, “I'm sorry.”

They frowned, incredulous, “whatever for?”

“For you getting cursed and sealed and all that horrible stuff. It sounds…. Bad. And it sounds like you were in there for hundreds of years. I'm sorry, and… and you know, if you need to talk, I'm here.”

“I see.” They paused, and turned to Steve with a small smile, “I shall keep that in mind.”

Notes:

Life update: being trans is when your father calls you the son of a bitch, but at least he called you son.

We’re going to ignore how I write more when my life plummets

Chapter 10: We pack demolition, we can't pack emotion

Notes:

I know I said no big lore dump, but I gave up. I can't do this, so here, enjoy👍

Title from the song Killing Strangers by Marilyn Manson

The day after, they set off again. Lemon seemed reluctant to leave the village, her mood has been foul recently, Steve made a mental note to check her for illness when they made camp.

Neither of them rode the horse that day, since lemon was off and the land was flat enough for it to be an easy hike.

As they walked, Steve quizzed Herobrine on magic, “so… magic is really real, huh?”

They snorted, “as I said, yes.”

“And all that stuff in story books? Ya know, manipulating the air and the water, or like, controlling the mobs?”

They raised an eyebrow, “these story books seem to be very focused on ‘control’.”

He shrugged, so they continued, “yes, one can become attuned to the natural world, or any specific part of it, enough to move with it, or have it move with you. As for the mobs, it's not so simple. They're no less alive than you.”

“But they're like, literally zombies?”

“Because they have been cursed. Where do you suppose they come from?”

“I donno, don't they just, like, sprout from the ground or something?”

They gave him an unimpressed sideways glance, “no, they do not sprout like plants. They reproduce, by the same way all animals do.”

“... Wow. Eugh, gross” Steve shuddered at the mental image.

Herobrine snorted, “again, only because they have been cursed to rot. They used to be just another race of people, along with you humans and villagers. In my time, they were called the night walkers.”

“What about Skeletons? Spiders? Creepers?” Steve was beyond curious now, “and how come there's like different kinds of zombies– I mean, night walkers? You know, like the water ones and the desert ones?”

They chuckle at the rapid fire questions, “skeletons, as well as the variations of zombies, were all different kinds of night walkers. Like you humans, they also had different races depending on where they lived. Spiders… were spiders, but they– it's complicated. Creepers, believe it or not, are mutated pigs.”

“Pigs?!”

“Are you really that surprised? Out of all the live stalks and wildlife, pigs are vicious. You do know they have a tendency for cannibalism –”

“Lalala can't hear ya!” Steve yelped, “I don't wanna know, I've heard enough.”

“No longer curious?”

He hesitated, “weeellllll…. I'd like to know the full story of how they came about, but like, no gory details, if you can?”

“I shall try. It's rotten business.” They sighed.

The man giggled, “no pun intended, eh?”

They gave him a half hearted glare, “I shall not dignify that with a response.”

A pause, and they took a deep breath, “first you must understand, the world used to be one ruled by kingdoms and factions, unlike what it seems to be now. Vast networks of roads and trade routes webbed the map, extending up the mountains and down the caves.

There were three major powers: humans, children of the light; night walkers, children of the dark; merfolk, children of the sea.

Way back, when the world was just created, Notch made humans and merfolk, who naturally worshipped him as their god, and I molded the land, and was prayed to by travelers. After a few centuries, I began to feel the night to be too empty, and made life of my own. Notch wasn't happy, we had agreed before we started that he's in charge of the living, and me the dead. We argued, and eventually came to the conclusion that we just needed to be apart for a while.

So it went on, and I had thought we had put that disagreement behind us. Humans resided the surface, night walkers the underground, and merfolk the waters.

Peace lasted until a slight disagreement between a human king and a nightwalker queen, something about the ownership of a bit of land, insignificant, really. But, harbouring resentment for me and mine, Notch decided a bit of ‘divine intervention’ was in order. He made the land grow out an array of new life forms. All animals, it was dazzling, I must admit. A retaliation, I made new life, now he makes more.

Feeling bold after that stunt, the king made a move for more land, and war started.

It could have ended in a few years, it was a minor thing… but during that time Notch and I spoke, and I accused him of being a vengeful idiot and he wanted me to apologize for everything. I refused, so in a fit of passion, he bestowed upon the King the ability to wield magic. Things escalated from there, dragging the rest of the two species in as well. It only ended when I intervened to separate the two– I broke the world in two, the Overworld and the Nether. Above ground and the caves. And from there came the void too, under the Overworld and above the Nether.

With the two only connected by portals, the war died. Notch was furious, he hated the altering I made of the world. The next few centuries were tense, and riddled with smaller warfare, battles, and terse treaties.

Notch gave the humans full reign of the creation magic we had, and it was clear if that went on there'd be a genocide of night walkers. So, I made the foolish decision of giving my people the secret to life and death, the ability to toe the line between the two, and to live in a state of undead.

Of course, as we are wont to, Notch and I argued over it. It ended with him threatening all out war again if I didn't take it all back, I told him exactly where he could shove it, so.. war it was.

It lasted for decades, nobody could win. The merfolk were forced to pick a side eventually, and they ended up on mine. By that time, humans had separated into two– the ones with magic and the ones without, since you had to be initiated into the church of Notch to obtain it. And those with magic were almost like us– gods.

It ended in Notch’s favour, and he endorsed the humans destroying the Nether. Notch cursed all the night walkers who fought in the war to rot, literally. Something about being ‘unclean’, a religious thing. They're the zombies you know. And those who didn't take an active part were cursed to be always starving, hungry, wanting, with a passion they never put to use in the war, they're skeletons now.

Spiders to the night walkers were like horses to humans, so they were also condemned, to be blood thirsty and disfigured.

They were all made to burn when they'd touch something close to Notch. Churches, magic, and sunlight were the three main ones.

The merfolk were simply massacred, none left alive. Notch had a special hatred for traitors.

Following the war, there was a large famine. Turns out, altering the natural world as humans had with magic had consequences. Crops didn't grow, animals died and mutated— creepers and pigs, mooshrooms and cows…

I was on the run then, the humans blamed me for everything. I was hunted, which caused even more destruction. When I was eventually cornered, as a last resort as well as revenge, I gathered everything I had in me and created a storm of magic. It went off like a bomb, warping the world around me, spreading–

Notch sensed it, and managed to shield a single kingdom from it, which I imagine is where we stand now. The rest was made uninhabitable as the Nether.

Notch found me after, I was weakened and tired of running. He gave me one last chance to repent, I spat at him and told him he is on a massive power trip and needs to check himself.

He cursed me, caged me, and left me in a small Nether cave. Throughout the years, there were a few times humans found me, dragged me out and tried to either punish me or make me perform miracles. I could give them nothing, and was chained back each time. Until you.”

They were silent after the tale, and would not meet Steve's gaze.

He let out a shaky breath, “... Well damn.”

They snorted, “precisely.”

Steve shook his head, “I… that's a lot to process. We don't really got real history, just lots of myths contradicting each other."

Herobrine nodded, “I figured as much.”

He sighed, “... That's messed up though, what Notch did. And besides, we haven't had any divine shit around for the last 7 hundred years. So it was all for naught anyway I guess.”

They chuckled, “I would ask you to fill me in on those centuries, but I think we've had enough long, sad tales for the day.”

He huffed out a laugh, “ha! You're right though, and it's probably less of a story and more of a 'lets puzzle out what the void happened together', let's play a game instead!”

“A game? You've got me intrigued.”

“It's called Eye-Spy. Or is it I-Spy? I actually don't know, anyway, it starts like this: I spy with my little eye... ...”

Notes:

Also... Sorry I like disappeared for a bit, art fight and real life had me busy

Hope y'all enjoyed 🙏

Chapter 11: A version of me with a spark in her eyes

Notes:

Hey hey hey I'm back with another short one!!! If you're still following I literally love you 💖

Title from the song Black Hole Fantasy by the Crane Wives

Days turned to weeks as the hills and trees transformed to scorching sands. When they first reached the edge of the desert, Steve had proposed they go around, but Herobrine insisted they wanted to see those temples.

“I think seeing the sacred ground of Notch's worship falling to disrepair would do me good.” They said.

Steve chuckled, “petty. hell yeah, let's go dance on his grave!”

Herobrine smirked, “you seem more excited than me.”

“Hey, he literally like tortured you for hundreds of years, as your friend I'm allowed to be mad about it.”

They straightened up at that. Friend, huh? They could get used to this.

So into the yellow heat they ventured. And although the surroundings were bleak, the company was lively. Steve told Herobrine about his escapades and travels: the villages, the forests, the caves, and the ancient monuments.

For each of these, Herobrine filled him in on the details he couldn't figure out. Turned out, the reason villagers were so different from humans even though the two were supposedly the same species, was because of the past divide between magic and non magic folk. The folk who were initiated in the church of Notch, who took the power of creation and used it for destruction, were corrupted by it after the war. Their physical form as well as their intellect were soon unrecognizable, in a bad way. And as soon as they were rendered no longer capable of using the power they have, the mutation stopped.

Beside camp fires, Steve described the moss eaten buildings he had looted, and Herobrine lamented the glory they used to hold. On the road, the has-been-deity showed off some hocus-pocus nonsense like pulling flowers out of thin air, and the traveler demonstrated fancy tricks with Lemon.

At night, as the man slept, a pair of glowing white eyes took watch. Herobrine pondered how easily he had fallen into step beside the lumbering hunk of muscle currently snoring under two blankets, how easily he smiled, and how readily he offered help to anyone who needed. It seemed an insignificant thing, when compared to all the kingdoms that rose and fell, the world transformed, and centuries of blood; but those belonged to the past, and this is real, right now.

Steve stirred in his sleep and seemed to be cold, so Herobrine may or may not have used a bit of magic to rekindle the fire. This was real, they reminded themselves, this is now. The past really did not matter beyond the scars they left on them, but the present shapes the future. Breath in, breath out. No, the air is not filled with dragons breath, and they were not surrounded by treasure coveted by queens; but the scent of last night's dinner was no less enticing, and what they now had no amount of gold could produce. They had a friend.

It took three days for them to see the temple in the swirling sand, Lemon was very ready for the solid ground it offered, and the two found themselves agreeing with her. The temple, despite the god it worshipped being temperamental and in Steve's words, “a right asshole”, was well built. Shades cooling during the day, rocks retaining heat throughout the night.

This time, with Herobrine's help, Steve managed to extract the treasure beneath without causing an explosion. When he climbed back up from the pit (seriously though, who's idea was it to dig a pit like that? How can anyone go up and down without getting covered in dust?), he saw his companion brooding at a disintegrating portrait of notch.

They seemed deep in thought, and somehow the glow in their eyes reminded Steve of redstone and gunpowder. Can't have that. He smiled to himself as he snuck up behind them and–

“BOO!”

“Fucking–!”

Crash!

Herobrine flinched so hard he hit the fragile portrait, and off came the face, shattering into sand on the floor.

Steve had the audacity to look sheepish when Herobrine turned to glare. “Oopsies, uhm, here lemme fix that–”

They sighed, “it is a centuries old relic, you can't fix it-… what are you doing.”

Steve gave him a blinding grin (it looked ridiculous, as he was still all covered in dark yellow and Grey dust, and with a smile that wide his glaring white teeth contrasts with it) as he revealed the frownie face with a mustache and clown nose he drew in place of the original painting. “Ta-da! See? You can't even tell it from the real deal!”

They stared blankly, and for a moment, Steve cursed internally because oh shit he must have messed up maybe this was too far did he take it too far were they mad–

And then they laughed. It started as a snort, a chuckle, but then the two made eye contact and they were suddenly both wheezing and giggling, faces almost cracking from how wide they grinned.

It was like a spell had broke, after that. When Herobrine glanced back at the temple as they left, they didn't have that forlorn look about them anymore. It was nostalgic, maybe, but there was an air of finality. Like some unfinished business finally ended. And when they turned back to see Steve cautiously watching them, they smiled openly, and placed a hand on his back. The glow in their eyes reminded Steve of hope.

Notes:

This is actually helping so much irl you wouldn't believe it, I never actually had anyone really appreciate my writing like this before (teachers and professors don't count they're literally paid to read what I write) so I'm being so for real when I say: thank you for reading, I love you ✌️

Chapter 12: What I felt, surely was a spark

Notes:

A really short one, sorry y'all I promise I'll write more soon😭

Title from Rule#13 Waterfall by Fish in a Birdcage

Something was happening, growing in their chest. Herobrine felt it pushing at their lungs, past their ribs, and spreading through their veins. They first felt it at night, as the familiar darkness descended and a hush engulfed the small camp. Steve had gone to sleep already, his face was peaceful and his body lax. Herobrine found themselves unable to look away from the sight. They slowly took in the dark brown hair, the thick brows, and the stubbles on his cheeks. How his hands held the blanket close even in slumber, how the callouses on those fingers told of years spent in the wilderness. They methodically stored each piece of information away, tucked into the back of their minds like something precious.

Some of that must have gotten lost on the way, went to their heart instead of his head. And from it, this thing grew. Slow, soft, simmering. They felt the seed settle into the soil, and knew they could not stop it.  Each time the two shared a word, a laugh, a story, a thought, the thing grew stronger. 

Each morning, Steve tended to Lemon, and Herobrine packed up their camp. Steve always spoke to the horse, and brushed her fur with such care. His hands always moved deftly over her mane, helping her shake off the lingering sleep. They would steal glances as the man secured the saddle and the packs on her pack, carefully catalogue exactly how his hands held the leather, tied the straps, and tested the hold. These snippets and images stored away will then feed the thing in his chest, like the morning dew refreshes the grass.

Steve caught them staring one day, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Shit, they have to say something…

"She's a beautiful mare." Herobrine managed.

Steve beamed, "yes, yes she is. I mean, she's not one of those pure bred animals some people like to keep, but she's a good horse."

They could have sighed with relief, picked a good topic to distract the man there, he loves his horse.

"Yeah?" They nodded, "where'd you get her?"

"Oh, just one of the villages I passed through in the early days." He shrugged, "I needed a horse, a villager wanted to sell one, it was a good deal. He didn't charge too much, probably because she's not those pretty things that earns big money on fairs or horse shows… but you know what? The pure bred or the ones bred for looks usually ain't good, did you know that?"

Herobrine smiled to themselves. When Steve talked like this, with such passion, the thing in their chest glowed with warmth. They shook their head, just to keep him talking.

Steve finished up securing everything as he looked at his companions, "no? Ok, well… when people breed animals just for them to look good, it usually hurts something else. Maybe the 'look' they're going for actually isn't healthy, or it's too specific that they have to do a lot of inbreeding, anyhow it never ends nicely for the animals. It's kinda sad, actually."

Herobrine had to reign in the grin tugging on their lips. He's talking about borderline animal cruelty, damn it, they should not look happy about it. There, blank face, one solemn nod, look away count 1, 2, 3, glance back over at him. Perfect.

Steve prattled on about horses and fairs and how to pick out a strong steed. Herobrine half listened, spending most of their brain power focusing on the thing in their chest and taking imaginary pictures of all the expressions Steve wore, each smile, each concentrated look.

They did this often, asking just the right questions with as little words as possible to get the man talking about anything at all. From Lemon horse, to how to cook a perfect pot of soup, to that one time he had to kill a bunch of skeletons in a cave.

Slowly, the former deity started to notice something. Steve never talked about: his childhood.

No, scratch that, actually, he did talk about his childhood, but it was always small details. 'i used to climb trees all the time', or 'there was this one day I had so much cake my stomach hurt'. Nothing revealing, nothing to offer a glimpse of a fuller picture.

He only ever gave one name, even though he told plenty of stories about fooling around with friends. The story he was telling had something to do with cats on roofs, when he said "— and then Alex went and—"

He had abruptly paused then, his smile suddenly strained, "I mean, you know, uh, us kids climbed up the roof too, cause, uhm, it's fun, right? Yeah, so…" and he kept going.

That was when Herobrine knew he was hiding something. It was probably nothing, they were sure, most likely something later happened to soil the memory of his hometown, nothing to lose sleep over.

But once they've seen it, they cannot unsee it. The expert avoidance of just the right details, the carefully maintained joking manner when conversation veered in a path he didn't seem comfortable with, and that sweet disarming smile of his.

He was definitely hiding something, but the thing growing in their chest held them back from prodding. Whatever disturbed Steve enough for him to go such lengths just to not let them know must be important to him, and this bond between the two was still too new to be tested.

They would wait, preferably it wouldn't matter and he'd tell them when he was ready. They would wait, because the thing in his chest whispered they might scare him off if they overstepped, and the last thing they want is to push him away.

So Herobrine pushed down their own doubt, their curiousity, and instead memorized Steve's favorite biom, his special stew making techniques, and the exact colour of his eyes.

At the end of the day, a little secret couldn't hurt them. They would cross that bridge when they come to it, yes, until then, they can just enjoy the company of this man and his horse.

Notes:

Ty for reading!