Archive of Our Own ^beta

          Impulse had never thought he would be blessed with being a father.

          It wasn’t being pessimistic. Actually, it was being realistic. Even as an optimist, Impulse looked around at the world he lived in and knew that he would struggle with finding someone to date, let alone marry and then have children with. He wasn’t going to be allowed to adopt, because he was a Netherborn and they didn’t have Netherborn kids available to adopt. Cross-species couples weren’t allowed to adopt, either. It was awful. He didn’t make the money, didn’t have the heart to go through the process of even trying just for them to decide to refuse him. Adoption had never been on the table, so his only option as a Netherborn was to find someone to marry and have kids with. He would have to get lucky there, too. There weren’t many Netherborns. In his forty years of living, he had only ever met Tango, and Tango wasn’t even the same type of Netherborn as him. Tango was a fire-type blaze, and he was an earth-type elemental. It wasn’t the same thing. Worse, he and Tango were incompatible—something the both of them had been pursuing, a compatible partner.

          And then Hermitcraft.

          And then the Life series.

          He’d had a few partners, including Tango. All at different times. He only had the heart for one heartbreak at a time. But, of course, it wasn’t meant to be. He went through a few brief relationships where they were on dates, but that never actually turned into anything. He stayed friends with most of them, sure, but—it wasn’t like Tango and Jimmy, who fell into one another naturally. What started as just a brief soulmate stint was suddenly something stronger. Something powerful.

          Impulse was happy for Tango. He was. His friend had found a life partner, and he and Jimmy were likely to spend the rest of their days together—Jimmy was a phoenix, and avians themselves were already long-lived beings. So he was happy for Tango, but as Impulse looked at his own relationship with Bdubs, knowing they were soulmates and even then not being able to work things out…it was disheartening.

          And then Grian. Of course it was Grian. Grian had thundered onto the Season Six scene with a wicked grin on his face and bright eyes that were somewhere between dark blue and black. He was fascinating, and Impulse could never be sure what colour his wings were. They were red and yellow and blue like a parrot’s one day, then suddenly he had wings like an owl’s. Then, it was like Impulse had turned around and suddenly Grian’s wings were black with lines of golden and orange between them, flecks of gold in the coal black feathers.

          Impulse didn’t want to admit it, but he had loved those feathers.

          Anyways, the long story short was that Grian asked him out shortly after those coal-coloured wings showed up. They ended up catching on like fire and a house, so quickly that Impulse understood exactly what Tango and Jimmy had felt. He knew. He felt it. He and Grian had that same thing, that same fire burning in their chests. Maybe it was something about their family—Grian and Jimmy were brothers, after all.

          The other thing Impulse found in his relationship with Grian was that the avian was just as, if not more, attentive and intense about finding a partner. They courted like a whirlwind, going through the typical starting stages in a single month. The weirdest thing? It wasn’t even a summer fling. Six months had passed before Impulse had thought about it, then Grian was secretive for three days before appearing with a handmade ring forged of gold specifically gotten from the Nether with fire quartz for the gemstone. Fire quartz. He would have had to trade for months with the piglins to get that.

          They got married in a quiet courthouse wedding, it had been a year since then, and Impulse was the happiest he had ever been. He had a loving husband, and neither of them were going anywhere for a long while—Grian, an avian, could live for centuries. Impulse was the same way. They were stuck together until they died, and both of them were happy that way.

          He still didn’t think he’d be blessed with being a father, though.

          (Oh, he was wrong about that.)

          When he woke, his and Grian’s bed was empty.

          The other side was still warm, covers pulled away and the fire stoked, so clearly, Grian hadn’t been gone for long. With a slow stretch and a low grunt, shoulders popping, Impulse pulled himself upright. He and Grian had spent the night in the community house, thanks to a storm that had been rocking the server. Xisuma had taken some others to go and see if they could calm it, but in the meantime everyone else was hanging out in the house. The smell of cooking food—bacon and pancakes and eggs—filled the air. His mouth watered. Smiling, he looked around.

          He could see the others lingering in the main family room—Zedaph sitting with Skizz, Joel, and Tango over a board game. He didn’t know what it was, he just knew that it was some kind of strategy game, not something easier but more stressful like Monopoly. That one, he knew, was banned from community house gatherings. If they wanted to ruin their friendships for the week, they could do it on their own time.

          Sighing, Impulse glanced outside. If he remembered correctly, Xisuma had taken Keralis, False, Wels, Pearl, and Joe with him. Everyone else…hmm.

          “Grian?” He called, poking his head into the kitchen.

          Standing by the counter, where xB and Jevin were cooking, was his lovely husband. Grian looked rather sleepy, feathers soft and hair still mussed. He’d stolen one of Impulse’s shirts to sleep in, soft baby pink hanging off of one shoulder and pale grey joggers clinging to his legs. His wings were in that comfortable heart shape that most avians kept their wings in when they were comfy. Dark blue eyes glittering in the lights, Grian turned to look at Impulse and smiled. He wandered over.

          “Grian. Hey.” Impulse murmured.

          “Hi.” Tilting his head to the side, Impulse looked down at him. Grian held his hands, rubbing his thumbs over Impulse’s knuckles. There was something he wanted to say—Impulse naturally had that sense about his husband. He wasn’t sure if it was developed before their relationship or after it. Genuinely, he didn’t know.

          “Were you trying to sneak breakfast early?” Impulse asked, rocking forward on his feet to back Grian against the counter. Smiling lazily, Grian pulled him into a sort of slow dance. Their eyes held. Behind him, Impulse could hear xB and Jevin snorting. Presumably, it was at him and Grian being so lovey-dovey so early in the morning. Whatever.

          “Maybe. Maybe not.” Grian looked at him. Then, his face grew a little bit more serious. Suddenly, Grian said, “Can we speak? In one of the side rooms.”

          “Just don’t forget breakfast is in a few minutes.” Hypno said, pointing a batter-covered spatula at Grian and Impulse before he even had the chance to nod. A grin flashed across his features.

          Turning to his husband, Impulse said, “Of course we can talk. Back to our room?”

          “I—would prefer this to be—not in our room.” Grian tilted his head to the side. Then, hurriedly, he grabbed Impulse’s hand and pulled him through the community house. Frowning, Impulse stared at his back. He allowed his husband to lead him over to the other main room, which was thankfully deserted at the moment. Still, Impulse could just barely feel people’s eyes on his back, watching from the kitchen. He wasn’t going to give them the time of day by glancing over, though. Instead, he focused solely on his husband. They settled on one of the couches, a pale blue one covered with the most hideous floral pattern Impulse had ever seen, which had been found by the ladies during one of their thrift shop runs. Then, quietly, Grian took a breath. Impulse saw him swallow. “Can I—can I have your hands? I think I’m about to lose my nerve—”

          “I—sure.” Impulse held out his hands to him. Wings trembling, Grian sat there for a second. Did I forget something? I can’t have forgotten our anniversary. That’s in April. It’s October. His birthday—no, we wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do this for his own birthday. Maybe mine, but that’s—

          “I really should have—I almost did this with a joke, I should have gotten you something but I only found out last week and I was so scared—” Grian wouldn’t look at him. Impulse wished he would. Instead, Grian shifted again, took a shaky breath.

          He pressed Impulse’s hands to his stomach.

          Impulse blinked, tilting his head slightly. “Grian?” He asked, confused. Dark blue eyes flicked up to him, Grian was looking at him anxiously—I only found out last week. The words echoed in his mind. Blinking a bit more, Impulse asked, “Grian, are we—”

          A mute nod, lips drawn into a thin line.

          Quietly, very quietly, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it, Grian whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

          “Oh.”

          Oh!? OH?! He screamed at himself internally. Your beloved husband just told you that you’re having a baby and your response was just “OH?!” What’s wrong with you?!

          Grian reeled back, suddenly looking worried. He pulled his hands away, yanking them to his chest and turning. “I mean, we can—uhm—”

          Impulse managed to boot his brain back up, finally, and spluttered, “I—wait—hold on, that came out wrong. You’re—really?” Grian nodded. Hand slapping over his mouth, he swallowed. His heart pounded. Then, hands shaking, he reached for Grian’s stomach, yanked his hand back. His tail curled against the couch, anxiously coiling at the tip. “Can—can I ask—how far along? Like, when would you have gotten—”

          “May. Like. Early. May.” Grian struggled with the words, face flushing. “I’m almost seven months.”

          “Almost seven—” Impulse glanced down at his stomach. It was flat, or—well, not flat, but definitely flat for someone who was seven months pregnant. “How—”

          “Avians are a whole lot of muscle, so—we don’t show very much. Some survival stuff, too. It’s like our magic naturally adapted so that we tend not to show as much, and there’s only one baby, so.”

          “There’s only one? Do we—do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

          “A girl.” Grian replied. “You’re not—mad?”

          “Mad?” When he said it, Grian flinched. Impulse grimaced, wincing as he remembered right, right. He didn’t know a lot about Grian’s background, but he did know that there was abuse from several people. Within a second of Impulse even speaking, Grian was already protecting his belly. It wasn’t out of fear of Impulse himself. He was still trying to protect his stomach—protect their daughter. They were going to have a daughter. And—and he hadn’t spoken more. “No, I’m not mad. I mean—shocked, sure, I—wow. Seven months. Do you—do you know how long we have left to prepare?”

          “Three months,” Grian replied. “We have three months. About. I mean, most avians are pregnant for about two hundred and eighty days, so I don’t know what specifically is going to happen. It’s complicated.” Reaching up, he rubbed at his eyes. Impulse’s heart stuttered as he spotted silvery tears running down Grian’s face.

          “Hey, hey—why the tears? Why are you crying?”

          “I—” Grian’s wings dipped around them both, hiding his face from the others. “I didn’t know. How didn’t I know? It’s my—we were trying, I was taking tests regularly, I should have noticed—”

          “Hey, no—” Impulse pulled Grian into a hug, wrapping his arms around him. He felt his husband’s nose pressing uncomfortably into his sternum. He didn’t care. Holding him close, he glanced around. Skizz was frozen in the doorframe while Gem and Joel had disappeared. Looking at them scathingly, Impulse frowned at them. Then, he signed, “Water.” And pointed to Grian. Nodding, Skizz ducked out. “Everything’s going to be okay, G.”

          “What if I’ve ruined her already? What if I’ve already messed up everything? Her entire life?” He asked, leaning against Grian. His fingers were tangled in Impulse’s shirt. Gently, Impulse rubbed his back, between his wings. He kissed the top of his head.

          “Then we’ll handle it. It’s nothing we can’t handle. I promise.” He reassured. Taking a breath, he added, “We were having a bunch of negatives, weren’t we? Maybe the tests aren’t accurate for avians, either. There’s so many different things that could have caused this to happen. We’re going to be fine.”

          Grian’s breathing hitched. Then, clinging to him, he nodded. “Okay, Impulse. I trust you.” Impulse held him gently, just a little bit tighter. Two hundred and eighty days. We’re probably about two hundred and seventeen days. We’re at twenty-eight weeks or so. Should have twelve more.

          We have twelve weeks…

          Six weeks passed.

          They told everyone. Ren and Cub were working with Keralis and Xisuma to make furniture for them, because Impulse had been ordered to make sure everything for the baby was ready. He had to get everything in order, and Tango was helping, which was nice. Cleo was making baby clothes with Bdubs, Gem, and Joel helping her. Pearl was decorating the baby room for them.

          Still, they were meant to be on track to have the baby normally. Grian was wolfing down watermelon like crazy, which Impulse had known he did once, but that had been a small watermelon and this was…a lot. Like…a lot of watermelon. If something had watermelon in it, Grian was eating it, which hadn’t been a surprise because he’d been going through phases of eating specific foods. It had started out with cereal, pretty much only a wholegrain cereal that Impulse had no idea where Grian got it but he just knew Mumbo got it for him. Looking back, also a good thing—apparently Grian had been having a lot of folate without even realizing it.

          They weren’t on Hermitcraft at the moment. Instead, they were on the World Hub at a small restaurant to eat. They just—it was part of their marriage. They would head out on dates every once in a while so that they could take a moment to themselves. It was nice. It was a good thing for them, gave them a chance to relax and unwind with each other. Impulse had a bowl of sweet and spicy pork in front of him, Grian had what was some kind of street dog (a hot dog wrapped in bacon—it sounded awful but it made Grian happy to have that and his watermelon lemonade). The two of them were chilling, Impulse shoved red pepper and chow mien noodles into his mouth. His husband smiled at him, then turned back to his food.

          “So.” Grian began. “Tango and Jimmy are pregnant.”

          The words took a second to process. “Already?” He asked. “It—it hasn’t been that long, has it?”

          “Imp, they’ve been married for three years now.” Impulse stared at his noodles. “Almost four, now that I think about it. Anyways, they’ve been a lot more focused on testing because they only just got started. You know how we took, like, months to have one catch?”

          “Yes.” Impulse grimaced, thinking about calendars and negative tests. Honestly, they were expecting to be pregnant at some point, just—they hadn’t planned on missing seven months of it.

          Holding up two fingers, Grian said bitterly, “Two months. They were trying for two months. Anyways, Jimmy’s at four now.”

          “So they were trying before we even found out.” Impulse frowned. “I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to me.”

          “Might not have wanted to jab a sore—” Grian suddenly froze, hot dog dropping from his hands. Slowly, he sucked in a breath. His wings shifted uncomfortably, feathers unfurling. He snapped his wings close to his back. “Impulse.”

          Frowning, Impulse reached for him, “G?”

          “I think I just went into labour.”

          They stared at one another for a second. “Surely not.” Impulse said worriedly. “It’s not supposed to be until—baby’s not meant to be here until late December, early January. It’s November.”

          Voice tight, Grian echoed. “It’s November.” His face suddenly went very pale, jaw going tight. He swallowed. “Impulse. I think. We should get to the hospital server, because I’m going to need help.”

          “Definitely.” Waving down a server, Impulse started, “I’m so sorry, uh—we need to go. Uhm, send the check to me, feel free to keep the change?” He threw down way too much money.

          They hurried away as quickly as possible, Grian taking a few pauses as he grabbed onto Impulse’s arm. He didn’t remember getting to the hospital server, just that they were there, he hurried to the secretary as Grian hurried along after him—

          And then the doctors kicked him out of the hospital.

          Not just out of the operating room. Out of the entire hospital. There was a comment about his Netherborn appearance scaring people, and then a woman with icy hands had shoved him out and Grian was being yelled at as he was dragged off, wings flaring and eyes panicked. But then his water broke and—and then Impulse was standing on the pavement outside the hospital, and the security guard was eyeing him like something was wrong.

          Wrapping his arms around himself, fighting back a sob, Impulse stared at the hospital doors.

          And then he called the Hermits.

          “Impulse?” The first person he called, Cleo, asked. Taking a shaky, shuddery breath, Impulse walked over and sat down on a bench, heavily. His tail flicked around his legs, he could see where his skin was beginning to gain glowing gold cracks.

          “Grian’s having the baby.” He choked out, voice shaking. Grabbing his arm, he rubbed at his bicep. The muscle ached. He took another slow, shaky breath. It wouldn’t do any good if he panicked. If anything, it could easily make things worse, especially with how the security guard was looking at him.

          “—pulse? Impulse, honey.” Cleo’s voice had been replaced by False’s. “Can you hear me? What’s going on?”

          “They kicked me out. And—and they took him back, and then they kicked me out of the hospital because I’m Netherborn and they’re worried about me setting the place on fire.” He continued talking, rambling even though he knew he shouldn’t. Then, suddenly, the other Hermits were there with him. “It’s six weeks early. He shouldn’t—he shouldn’t be in labour.”

          His eyes flicked to Keralis, who was visibly holding back rage. Jaw clenched, eyes glowing gold and green, Keralis whipped his head around and stormed into the hospital. “Oh, Papa K’s on a warpath. X, go get your husband.” Skizz warned, crouching in front of Impulse. “Hey, Imp. Impy, Dippledop, look at me. I want you to look at me, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

          “The baby’s early.” Impulse croaked out.

          “It happens. She’s going to be fine, Grian’s going to be fine, I promise.” Skizz told him. Panting, Impulse looked at him. Swallowing, he choked out a few words. It felt like they were edged with thorns.

          “I wanted to hold his hand.”

          Impulse wasn’t let back into the hospital.

          Instead, he and the others ended up having to go back to the Hermitcraft server. Some of the others stayed behind. Xisuma and Keralis handled things with Grian and the baby, who’d been written down as Jane Doe because Grian refused to name her unless Impulse was there. Still, Impulse wasn’t even able to bring his husband back. None of the hybrids were allowed to be there, except for the other avians, Xisuma, and Keralis. Pearl, False, Joel, Skizz, and Bdubs had all served as guardians, Scar and Mumbo had tagged along to help get Grian and the baby, and then they were back. It took three days.

          By the time they got back, Wels had started the process of fixing his daughter’s name. Joe and Skizz were working on the lawsuit with the hospital in the background, but for now they wanted Impulse and Grian to take some time to actually get used to their daughter. It didn’t matter what her written-down name was. The hospital was wrong. They had already started to try and settle in, but…

          Stuff had happened, in the hospital. Those three days that Grian was in the hospital, he hadn’t been able to see their daughter at all. The nurses were demanding answers, interrogating him about Impulse. About whether or not Grian actually wanted the child. They were threatening to take her away, because they believed Impulse had to be abusive. When Grian fought it, they threatened to keep him on a psych hold. The only good people were two of the postpartum nurses who had fought for him, and made sure Grian didn’t get shoved into the psych ward when he was just twenty minutes postpartum, struggling from waking up from way too much anaesthetic for an avian with way too little painkillers and a giant slice through his midsection. They’d also made sure that his and Impulse’s daughter wasn’t shoved off into the foster system for no reason, that Grian didn’t get more medication that would mess with his heart—which, by the way, the medication he did get forced on was already messing with his ability to feed their baby and not have panic attacks. It was a whole mess.

          And now, Impulse was sitting with Grian as his husband struggled through what he knew was the start of postpartum anxiety.

          Grian wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t letting anyone else hold the baby—not even Impulse—and he wasn’t letting their daughter out of his sight.

          They had named her. Mia. She was theirs, she was their beloved, she was their little star. She was theirs, and Impulse didn’t have the heart to try and take her from Grian because it hadn’t even been a week since she was born. Her little incubator was set up in their room, she had tubes strapped to her and Impulse hated it. Six weeks early, with wavy brown hair and both avian and Netherborn traits.

          Pacing the floor, tail twitching, Impulse glanced at Grian as he scowled at Cleo and Gem. They were just checking on Mia. Taking a shaky breath, Grian shifted where he sat. His fingers were tight, white-knuckled, scraping against the fabric. His eyes were laser-focused on Mia. Gritting his teeth, he shifted again.

          Impulse waited until the two had left, confirming that Mia was okay, before talking.

          “Grian.” He set a hand on Grian’s arm. “You need to take a bath.”

          “I’m not leaving her.” Grian turned to look at him. His eyes were narrowed.

          “I’m not saying you need to leave her. Let’s leave the door open, get you in the bath, and get you cleaned off, okay?” Impulse asked. Shoulders relaxing, Grian swallowed. His eyes were watery. “I know how you get about your hair and wings. You need to get clean, you’ll feel better.”

          He didn’t miss how Grian’s hands were shaking. A long moment passed. Then, “Okay.” Grian forced out.

          They ended up bringing the incubator over to the door, leaving it open. Grian sat on the toilet lid, staring at Mia as she slept. Meanwhile, Impulse filled the bath, adding some of Grian’s favourite oils to make it smell nice. The smell of lavender wreathed through the air.

          He focused more on getting Grian clean than anything else. The two of them didn’t speak. They didn’t share any words. Instead, they just…existed together. Grian kept his eyes on Mia, though he was starting to drift off. As he started to fall asleep, he kept jerking himself upright, trying to wake himself. It happened several times. Kissing his wet hair, Impulse broke the silence, “I’ll keep an eye on the both of you. I promise.” He swore. Looking at him, Grian sniffed once. Then, he nodded. This time, when Grian started to fall asleep, he let himself. His cheek rested against Impulse’s shoulder, Impulse kept working on cleaning his wings, and he kept his ears pricked for Mia. If she made any sound, if she stopped making sound, then he would know.

          (That was the first time Grian had slept through the whole night since he gave birth.)

          By the time Mia opened her eyes fully (a Netherborn thing, it was normal—they had to keep their eyes protected from lava somehow), Grian was…not fully back to normal. But he was better.

          It was an unusually warm day, Mia was four months old, and they were out with the other Hermits basking in the late winter sun. Currently, Grian and Impulse were sitting on a red gingham picnic blanket, and Tango was sitting nearby with Mia in his arms. She was babbling, trying to grab his tail as Tango flicked it just out her reach. Meanwhile, Grian was curled into Impulse’s side, watching her. Little wings flailing, Mia flicked her own tail and babbled. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, like lapis lazuli stones hidden in a cave. He loved it.

          “How’s Jimmy?” Grian asked. Jolting, Tango turned to him. Mia grabbed his tail in her little chubby hands. “He would be close to having the twins now, wouldn’t he?”

          Tango grinned. “He’s got about a week to go. But yeah. You’re going to have some cousins soon, Mia.”

          “Do you have a plan?” Grian asked, curious. Nodding, Tango held out his hands to Mia. She grabbed onto his fingers, wiggling her hands around. Tango went with what she wanted, smiling. His tail continued to flick excitedly. He nodded.

          “We’re going to have a home birth. Lizzie and Pearl are going to help.” Turning to him, Tango added, “You and Impulse can come if you want to. Don’t feel like we’re kicking you out by any means.”

          Grian smiled softly. Impulse watched him, waited for his response.

          And then Mia chomped down on Tango’s tail—thankfully she didn’t have any teeth yet.