Work Text:
Impulse rushed to the pumpkin farm. Frosty friend, frosty friend... he muttered to himself, flipping the pages of an instruction manual in his right arm. Oh, that’s Zed! he noticed, from the corner of his eye, an old friend of his, with a fishing rod in his hands.
“Hey, Zed!” he said, grinning, which barely caught Zedaph’s attention — he replied with a hasty “hi” and a nod, looking rushed, more than ever.
Impulse’s heart sank at Zedaph’s reaction.
They’ve been friends for years, nearly a decade, even, and things weren’t going as they used to — no matter how much Impulse wished the opposite was the case. In fact, he thought as he plonked a bunch of pumpkins to the barrel, have they ever been friends at all?
Sure, there’s Team ZIT, but they’re friends even without Tango around! Like, they had their shenanigans — they survived the Tangler together, explored the Void, blew up the Dinghy, and — yeah, okay, that’s about it.
It’s a shame, Impulse thought to himself as he threw logs in the fireplace, he did genuinely like Zedaph, and wished they could’ve worked together more. He could feel that they share a lot of the same ideas and styles, unique to them alone — not even Tango’s a part of it.
They just weren’t fit to work together without awkwardness, that’s all.
Zedaph winked at Grian. Things were looking extremely good for both of them, it seemed. Keralis was one top-notch third impostor, they won’t even need to defend themselves in the next meeting! — and Grian with him just... clicked. It made him wonder how come he’d never interacted with Grian much before.
He was quiet, reserved, always up to his own shenanigans in his Cave without much care to the outside world — be it wars or wagers, murder or collaborations.
Grian, on the other hand... he couldn’t have been more different. He’s nearly always the one who started whatever’s going on in the outside world. He’s charismatic, confident, loud — everything Zedaph wasn’t, making them fit like puzzle pieces.
“You’re still going with the cod alibi?” Grian yawned next to him. “I’m bored. I want blood.”
“It’s my only chance of being believable, man!” replied Zedaph with his signature awkwardness-cover-up half-laugh, always unsure of his own voice. “We’re going to win, aren’t we?”
Before Zedaph could reply, he heard Impulse over yonder — but he disappeared before he could hear a word he’d said.
That’s the thing, though, Zedaph thought to himself, so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Grian jumping to the lake yelling “if the rods won’t catch the cods, I’ll catch them myself!”.
Both him and Impulse are naturally quiet, or introverted, some might say, he thought. They’re compatible with the louder Hermits — Grian, Tango, amongst others — but never with each other.
Even for eight years.
Keralis got voted off.
Between Zedaph and Grian, it was obvious to Impulse who the impostor was.
To be fair, it’s hard to even take one single look at Grian and conclude that he’s not the bad guy. He reeks so much of chaos and bloodlust that it seemed like the only logical option.
His main objective now was to protect Zedaph from Grian, and then they’ll win together.
Zedaph was torn.
When he entered the ship with a drive for victory, he didn’t expect Impulse to be the lonesome crewmate at the end, the last innocent standing.
And now his best friend, or, well, the friend of his actual best friend (since Zedaph had always loved over-complicating simple things), was standing next to him, taller and stronger than him like he’d always been, chattering about fishing with a smile that never seemed to escape his face.
So easy to be murdered right then and there.
“And that Grian’s got nothing on us,” Impulse laughed, trying to compensate the tremble in his voice with joy, “we’re two-thirds of Team ZIT, we’ll survive this.”
“Oh, I got a cod!” Zedaph yelled, pulling out the fishing rod and throwing it to the ground. “Quick, the Guard Room!”
“Okay!” Impulse went on his feet at once, “okay, let me just plonk them back in the barrels! Zed, stay safe! Stay close to me!”
The crossbow was ready in his pocket, all primed and loaded. Zedaph could feel it.
He felt it when Impulse dragged him away from the forest, in a hasty attempt to protect him.
He felt it when Impulse, his friend, or the friend of his actual friend, whatever, panicked over his lack of emergency meeting token, begging Zedaph to use his own, so they’d be safe from Grian, the only impostor, the one threat against Zedaph and Impulse.
Impulse really didn’t like the maniac smirk on Grian’s face right now.
Why wasn’t Zedaph calling for emergency?
Zedaph figured, since he had failed to give Impulse anything else, the guy deserved the truth.
He pulled out the primed crossbow off his pockets, the weapon exclusive to an impostor.
Right in front of his friend’s eyes.
The person that had been protecting him all along.
[BANG! You’re Dead]