Lord Heron forced the bolt on the door and walked into his son's room. The bed was a messy heap of blankets and pillows. A brown head was visible at the end, under a red blanket. Lord Heron gave it a sharp wake up pat and waited for results. "Hey. Dad?" said Steve sleepily, squinting up at him. Lord Heron, only now realizing that this was entirely the wrong person, jumped. "You. What are you doing here?" "Sleeping." "Hey," said Herobrine, appearing from the other end of the pillow nest. "What's up?" Lord Heron pointed questioningly at Steve, who had gone back to sleep. "What… what is he doing here?" Herobrine yawned and made himself into a blanket burrito. "Well I'm apparently the only person in this family that cares about his mental health. So he comes up here when he has nightmares. Usually he just sleeps on the floor, but I was awake and I told him to join me. Don't know why he sleeps on the floor. We could fit at least five more people in here and still have room to roll over." "Nightmares." said Lord Heron. "Uh, yeah. Are you deaf as well as uninterested? He screams sometimes." "Oh, that's Steve? I thought it was zombies." Steve sounded nothing like a zombie. "About that. We need more lights in this house." "Oh shut up about that. It's fine." "It really messes with him, y'know. He doesn't feel safe." "Who?" "This idiot." Herobrine ruffled Steve's hair with his toes. Steve didn't wake up. "He doesn't whine about it, but I think he has some serious anxiety issues." "Well, great. That's all we need." "What do you want? You never come in here." "Your horse is undead. Regrettable incident in the stables." "What! Seriously?" "We'll discuss possible replacements later, but I thought I should warn you not to go in there." his message given, Lord Heron walked to the door. He shot a disapproving look at Steve before he slammed it, rather loudly. Steve didn't wake up. Herobrine said some choice words about zombies running loose over the premises and not enough torches burning and his poor stupid horse. Steve didn't wake up. Herobrine kicked him. He then resorted to rolling him out of bed, wrapping him in blankets, and rolling him around the floor like a barrel until he showed signs of life. "So guess what, I now have a zombie horse." "Hnng?" said Steve. "Why are you so impossible to wake up?...Steve! Don't you dare go back to sleep!"
Later, Herobrine would remember that night as the beginning of the Saga of Dad Constantly Giving Us Weird Looks.
Steve didn't remember anything. He had been asleep.
The Saga continued for nearly a month, and it began to make Herobrine nervous. His father would appear out of nowhere, give them a disapproving look, and then disappear before he could say anything. Once he popped out of nowhere to stare judgmentally at them while they were arguing about the translation of a historical document they'd discovered in the library. Herobrine had a hard time seeing how that could even be misinterpreted, but he guessed it could be, with a steadfast determination to view everything as abnormal and a complete lack of context, both of which his father apparently had. Steve, despite his sharp eyes, generally missed these brief visitations. "What?" "Dammit he's gone. It was dad again." "Where?" "Just there, looking at you. I don't like how he looks at you." Steve looked quizzically at him. "Never mind. Just don't ask." "OK." Steve had a tendency to accept whatever he said. Sometimes he found it annoying, but at times like this it was convenient.
One morning Herobrine was sitting at the open window munching on a piece of toast when Steve came in to say good morning before leaving for work. A few seconds later Lord Heron barged in without knocking. Herobrine choked on his toast. "Ah. I thought you would both be here." "Lucky guess, he just came in," said Herobrine, trying to catch his father's eye so he could give him a meaningful look. Steve was distracted by a butterfly which had fluttered through the open window and was bumbling around the room. Lord Heron waved his hand dismissively. "I have an errand for you. Both of you." Herobrine's the idiot is scheming something idiotic and I object to the idiocy sense tingled. He cringed slightly. "What." Steve trapped the butterfly under a glass dome that usually stood over some of Herobrine's scientific equipment, carried it to the window and released it. Herobrine pressed himself against the opposite windowsill. Steve, completely missing the hint, leaned companionably against him to watch the butterfly fly away. Herobrine refused to look at his father. "Steve get off," he whispered. "Hmm?" "Get. off." "I can't hear you?" "You're crushing my ribs!" "Oh. Sorry." Herobrine looked at his father, who was smiling at him. The kind of smile that causes heart palpitations. No, not happy palpitations. Panic palpitations. "So what do you want?" he said. Lord Heron slid his signet ring off his finger and handed it to him. "I want you to take this into town and have the stone reset. It's loose, and it makes this annoying clicky noise when I move my hand. I don't want to lose it." Herobrine poked the stone. "It's fine." "It is not. It's very annoying." "It is perfectly fine." "You don't have to wear it. It clicks and it's annoying." Herobrine put it on his hand and shook it vigorously. "Absolutely no clicking." Lord Heron glared at him. "Will you go or not?" "Alright, I'll go." "Good. Here's some spending money for you. Take Steve." "Steve has a job, remember?" "I talked to Hagen and informed him that this is non-negotiable. I want Steve to make sure they do a decent job." "What, I can't?" "You aren't a blacksmith." "Blacksmiths aren't jewelers, either." "Listen, I've already had it settled. You'll leave in the morning?" Steve and Herobrine looked at each other. Steve shrugged. "Sure?" "Alright, fine." "Good."
There is something shady about this, thought Herobrine, and I resent that.
A/N: In case you're wondering, yes this does take place in the backstory of my universe, at the time when Steve and Herobrine were bros, before they got slammed with The Plot. (And before Herobrine had most of his power.)
Or would, if it were canon and not 100% crack.
Then again, Convenient Alias has pointed out that practically everything I write is crack...