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Impulse bit down hard on his lip, ignoring the taste of blood as he stumbled, fighting not to cry out in pain at every step.
He leaned heavily on the man at his side, who was half-dragging him along through the woods. One of Impulse’s arms was thrown around the man’s shoulders, held tight in his grip, the other was fisted against the awful wound in his abdomen, desperately trying to keep some of the pouring blood inside him. Where it was meant to be.
Even through the blood rushing in his ears and the pain—the pain blinding him, Impulse could hear the sounds of pursuit.
Every step was agony, raw sharp aching—
There were footsteps and shouts getting closer. Impulse managed to turn his head enough to see the tension in his companion’s face, his brows knitted down in a harsh line. The rest of his face was obscured by a black mask, but Impulse knew Etho well enough to read his feelings in what little of his expressions were visible.
“They’re—” Impulse tried to cough out a warning, but was cut off by Etho hurrying their steps, almost carrying him when he stumbled on uneven ground.
“Yup, yup.” The white-haired man’s response was quick and even.
Impulse gasped as his legs started to give out, the raw open nerve of his axe wound pulsing against his consciousness, against where he tightened his hand in a need- a need to—to-
“Here.” Impulse gasped as Etho helped sit him down against a large tree, situated at the edge of a clearing, sky visible through the treetops.
Immediately the taller man turned around, drawing his sword in a fluid motion and tucking himself against a tree trunk, within view of Impulse, but not from the path they had just ran down. Impulse forced himself not to look at Etho, to stare ahead and not risk giving his position away.
But, still…
“Etho, you should-“ His words cut off in a gasping sound of pain “Go, should go.”
Etho barely spared him a glance, snorting dismissively and shaking his head, head tilted as he focused on the rapid approach of footsteps on the leaves.
And in the space between one blink and the next they were there. The first two men hunting them down ran in unison, slowing and relaxing the grip they had on their weapons when they saw Impulse laying there helplessly.
“Well, aren’t you-“
They didn’t get any further than the tree Etho was behind before the man jumped out, stabbing one of the hunters in a gap below their chest plate before he could even react. The other half-turned, axe swinging around in a brutal arc, but Etho was fluid.
It was like watching a magic trick how he seemed to slide under the reach of the blade and planted himself between Impulse and the remaining three attackers.
There was no grace in the fight, all vicious and animalistic. Etho was fighting for survival, and there were no rules when it came to survival. It seemed so fast. Impulse might have lost consciousness for a moment, or maybe it really was just over that quickly.
But the next thing he knew two of the attackers were laying dead or wounded, and the others had beaten a fast retreat, bleeding as they limped away. Etho turned back to him, and Impulse saw that he hadn’t escaped unscathed.
He had several scratches and bleeding wounds, a particularly nasty slice had been scored across his shoulder, but he was walking. Etho even offered a small smile as he approached, his eyes slightly narrowed in a way that was clearly meant to be reassuring.
“You ready to keep moving?” Etho extended his hands with the not-question. They had to keep moving. As much as Impulse would like to stay right where he was thank-you-very-much, they had to move.
As much as it was going to hurt, as much as it already hurt—
Something cracked in the trees behind Etho.
The white-haired man seized towards him with a shout, and for a moment Impulse just saw the flash of movement, he couldn’t tell what had happened in the blur.
By the time he worked it out Etho had already spun around and was on his feet, sprinting towards the crossbow wielding hunter, blood spiderwebbing across the front and back of his shirt where the arrow wound glued it to the skin. The crossbow bolt had gone straight through Etho’s torso and, fortunately for Impulse, had been at such an angle to continue sideways instead of hitting him as well.
Etho had his sword out, and managed to catch the next arrow shot on the side of the blade and deflected it harmlessly to the side, an impressive feat even without the blood Impulse could see spilling out too quickly, dangerously quickly.
He only made it a couple more steps before suddenly keeling over, dropping to hands and knees as an arrow went through his left thigh and buried itself in the dirt at Impulse’s feet. Impulse shouted something unintelligible, suddenly trying to move, to push himself forward and up—
Everything whited out for a moment and when he blinked away the haze he was still laying against the tree, and Etho was still on his knees with his head pressed to the dirt, the hand under his forehead clutching his sword hilt in a white-knuckled grip. The other hand was spayed against the hole in his leg, blood creating a muddy puddle under his left knee.
And then the attacker stepped out.
With easy, steady steps he walked up to Etho, and didn’t hesitate to send a kick directly towards his bowed head.
“ETHO!!” Impulse felt the name tear itself out of his throat, then almost heaved at the pain that tore through his body when he yelled.
Etho reeled back from the impact, hand losing his sword which was quickly kicked far out of reach. He collapsed to the ground on his side, and all Impulse could really see was the top of his head.
Etho would really need to wash his hair. It was so muddy…
Large, sturdy boots strode confidently towards Impulse, and he didn’t bother to follow them upwards. Uncaring the man strode past Etho’s crumpled form, heading directly to—
“Really?” The man let out a course, cruel laugh. Impulse tensed at the sound, and at the sight of Etho grabbing weakly at the hunter’s leg, hand trying its best to claw into the skin. “Ouch!”
Apparently, he had succeeded somewhat. The man yanked his leg away with a shout of annoyance, and Impulse gasped for air as the man slammed his foot back down. Right back onto Etho’s forearm, again and again and again until there was a crack and Etho let out a gut-wrenching scream, keening high pitched on the end notes as he ran out of breath.
With a huff the hunter stepped away, continuing towards where Impulse sat helpless.
He crouched down in front of him, almost mirroring Etho’s earlier posture. Impulse stubbornly refused to look up and meet his gaze, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
Cold metal pressed insistently against his throat and Impulse found himself rethinking that position.
The hunter chuckled lowly as Impulse was forced to tilt his head, knife sharp on his neck. With that threat, Impulse didn’t flinch away when the man reached out and grabbed one of his hands, prying it away from the wound it covered. He let his hand be pulled away and managed to only let out a whimper when cold air hit the exposed flesh, blood flowing freely.
Impulse could only watch as the man pulled at his shirt, inspecting the jagged, deep gash that marred his abdomen. He was forced to really look at the wound himself for the first time, and the sight made him sick. Bile rose in his throat, no wonder it hurt so bad. His abdominal wall was—
The man huffed and jabbed a thumb into the wound.
Impulse screamed.
He didn’t know anything but pain. It was red-hot and all consuming. He was pain, made of pain. His veins ran with fire instead of blood, liquid pain radiating from his gut.
By the time he came back to his senses Impulse was on his back, being dragged by the arms into the slight clearing next to Etho. He was dropped uncaringly to the dirt, head lolling back and staring at the blue sky above. The hunter paused for a moment, before striding off to the side of the clearing.
Impulse could barely see through bleary eyes as he affixed some sort of rope to a tree, then vanished into the woods.
He just… left them? Wait, them? He was- pain, he was…
Impulse managed to turn his head to the side, just able to see Etho’s face in his field of vision. Etho was laying on his side, one half of his face swollen to the point of obscuring the eye, and his injured arm still laying where the hunter had stomped on it. He was… there was a lot of blood.
Though based on the pain Impulse figured he probably had a crimson pool of his own. He was caught up in the pain for an unknowable amount of time, panting just to get air, to feel anything other than the raw agony.
“Impulse?” Etho twitched, head turning down to better see him. Where Impulse was panting, Etho was gasping, mask visibly pulling in and out. But still he managed to rub his cheek on his shoulder without moving his body, managed to pull his mask down and take more air into his lungs. Managed to speak again. “ ‘m sorry Impulse, I tried.”
Impulse wanted to reply, wanted to reassure him that he was amazing, that there was nothing he could have done, that it’s not his fault, but his body refused to even give him that comfort.
Refused to give either of them that comfort.
There wasn’t… he didn’t want to be here. He wanted- he wanted Tango! Tears flooded his eyes as he realized- his friends—Tango and Skizz and Bdubs and, and, and—
He couldn’t fight back a single sob. The sob almost turned to a scream as his wound protested.
They… The birds were calling.
The sky was blurry now, but Impulse could see birds circling. Maybe vultures come to have their fill. Chirping and whistling. A look to Etho reassured him that the other still breathed, though he had gone still, uninjured eye looking out blankly.
The bird swooped down. Grew larger and larger and—
“—pulse!? Impulse!! Come on, hey!” Huge red-blue-yellow wings were above him and there were dark eyes meeting his own, leaning over him. “There, look at—”
The bird, the… Grian—Grian suddenly screeched, recoiling and trying to launch himself away but his wings wouldn’t spread. Impulse could feel the edges of.. rope. Rope trailed over him and Grian was draped in nets, barbed nets entangling his wings.
The avian screeched as boots stomped out of the woods, doing his best to bristle over both Impulse and Etho, despite his own predicament.
“Well, that was easy.” The hunter scoffed. “Easy enough trap to fall for, birdy.”
“Let us go!!” Grian lunged forward, but screamed in pain as the rope attaching the nets to a tree drew up short.
“No. I think I’ll keep you here until some more of your little…. Group come by. Call them down birdy.” The man laughed, then returned to the trees.
Impulse couldn’t help it. With Grian struggling beside him and Etho so still… tears as hot as the pain in his body poured down his face. He tried not to sob, but his body shook despite itself. Grian stopped struggling with the nets long enough to coo at him, but the noise barely broke though. He was hurting and so were his friends. He had—he had just been used as bait, and it had worked.
And, there was another bird in the sky. Huge and yellow as the sun.
Grian suddenly froze, then let out a series of shrill chirping notes. The bird swooped away.
“Well, what’d you go and alarm call for birdy?” The man was back, and he sounded annoyed.
“I won’t let you hurt the others.” Grian tilted his head up defiantly, and Impulse admired him all the more for it.
The avian barely even flinched when the hunter raised the crossbow and pressed it to his forehead, dark eyes filling with tears, but head still raised furiously.
“You’ve made yourself- all three of you- useless.” The man gestured with the loaded crossbow and Impulse wasn’t as steady. He flinched and then cried out from the pain of his own motion when it was waved his way.
Etho didn’t stir when it was pointed at him, but Impulse wasn’t sure it mattered. He wasn’t sure if Etho was—
“Just let them go!” Grian was begging, begging for them like he had refused to do for himself moments before.
“Why?” The man humored him.
“I—we can pay you, give you things—”
“Not interested.”
“Why not?!” Grian was blurring in Impulse’s vision. This time he couldn’t blink the blur away. It seemed there to stay…
“What good is money if my job’s gone? My good standing. Much easier to finish this job I’d say.” Impulse wasn’t sure where the crossbow was being pointed now, he couldn’t really see it very well. But there was a final note in the man’s words. Grian’s play wasn’t working.
“No…” And Grian knew it. He was pleading now. The man only laughed.
“Say bye bye birdy, you’ll—” The man’s words were cut off by crashing in the bushes, he spun as a wave of heat rolled over Impulse’s body, not warm enough to be uncomfortable yet, but there was an edge of danger. Like being near a campfire knowing it could burn.
There was shouting, screaming, crackling and the air grew hotter and hotter.
The sunshine bird was back, up above….
And suddenly obscured by blurry red and yellow. He flinched because it was hot, it was fire and—
It wasn’t hot enough to burn him. He realized belatedly that everything was quieter, almost… distant. Muffled. He could see movement above him. Red and Yellow still there.
Warmth cupped the back of his head and Impulse instinctively leaned into the touch. He knew that touch, that warmth.
“Here buddy, stay with me Impy. Can you hear me?”
“tango?” The word was less than a whisper, but Tango must have seen the movement of his lips or recognition in his eyes, because his friend’s voice rose elatedly.
“It’s me, it’s Tango!” Impulse felt the other warm hand carefully cover his own where they grasped at his wound. “Listen, I’m so sorry buddy, but I won’t sugarcoat this, I need to do something and it’s gonna hurt like the void.”
Impulse wasn’t sure what that meant, the words slipped from his mind almost as soon as they entered, everything blurring together like his vision. But he trusted Tango implicitly, and didn’t fight when his friend moved his hands to the side. He couldn’t, even if he’d tried. Even if there was a part of him sparking with panic when Tango’s hand replaced his, pressing to the wound.
Even if he remembered a rougher hand—
Warm and burning—
The burning was real, the burning was real and—
He was screaming, screaming, screaming
Screaming until he sank into the blessed bliss of unconsciousness.
Impulse woke up blessedly slowly.
His consciousness filtered in like sand through an hourglass, slowly filling himself up with awareness. The pain joined the flow long before the hourglass was full, but it wasn’t enough to send him fleeing from the waking world. It wasn’t enough to put him back under, just a dulled, deep ache.
His senses dripped back one by one. He could hear breathing, someone moving around, footsteps on a hard floor. He could feel pain, and something soft laid across his arms and chest. He could smell antiseptic and the sickly sweet of potions. He could- he could slowly blink his eyes open, wincing against even the dull light.
“Easy there Dippledop.” A hand smoothed back his hair, cool and callused. “You gave us quite the scare.”
The voice was a restrained whisper, and when Impulse finally managed to get his eyes to focus on the face, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Skizz..” His voice was little more than a rasp, but it was enough.
“It’s me, the one and only.” Dark brown eyes met his own, filled with love and care. His brother in all but blood was leaning at his bedside. “Take it slow, need some water?”
Impulse nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. Fortunately, he had already been positioned half propped up on some pillows, so it was easy for Skizz to raise a glass to his lips, carefully giving him small sips. The cool water soothed his aching throat, sore and torn.
“You’re safe now buddy, we got regrouped at the north safehouse. Setup with all the medi-stuff.” Skizz soothed his unvoiced fears, keeping up a steady stream of words. For the first time since he woke up Impulse noticed the bandages wrapped around Skizz’s head, bound tightly across his forehead like a halo.
He raised a hand, slowly and shakily, to poke lightly at the cloth. Skizz understood the question.
“I’m fine Dippledop, got scuffed up a bit in the escape, but I’m fixed up now.” Gently, delicately as if Impulse might break, Skizz leaned down and bumped their foreheads together. “I’m good.”
Some of the events started coming back to him, and Impulse finally surveyed the room he was in. There were curtains hanging and surrounding his little bed area. At the foot of his bed there was a chair containing a particular blond, curled up like a cat. Tango was fully asleep, snoring softly with a distinctly netherborn purr.
But he was missing something, something important—someone..
“Etho? Where’s—” Impulse winced as his jolt of movement sent a surge of pain through his torso.
“Shhhhh…” Skizz pressed a hand to his shoulder, holding him still. “Listen, Etho- he’s… You were in bad enough shape when we got you back here. If not for Tango emergency cauterizing that axe wound you had… I just dunno man.”
His friend shivered violently, eyes growing briefly distant.
“Etho was worse off than I’ve ever seen him, and you know how that guy is.” Skizz tried for a forced chuckle, but Impulse could only feel fear, cold as ice crawling up his veins. “He’s- they’ve stabilized him, we think. But there’s still no telling man. There’s only so many potions you can give a guy before they stop working.”
“He’s alive?” Impulse grabbed Skizz’s wrist, stopping his rambling in its tracks.
“Yeah, he’s alive. Do you wanna see him?” Impulse couldn’t shake his head yes fast enough. “Okay, okay, let me check with Bdubs, then I’ll get the curtain.”
While Skizz slipped out of the room thought one of the curtains, Impulse took stock of himself. His chest was bare save for the generous layer of bandages wrapped around his torso, and his inner elbow had a needle in it, feeding some sort of liquid into his veins.
“Don’t pick at your IV!”
Impulse pulled his hand away, scowling at Skizzleman through the curtain. How did he even know?
“Okay, here ya go.” Skizz pulled back one of the cloth walls, and Impulse had to take a moment for his eyes to refocus.
Eventually the scene solidified. Etho was laying in a bed much like his own, prone and still. His face was bandaged heavily, though even that didn’t hide the swelling. One of his arms was in a thick cast. His torso and leg wounds were both bandaged tightly, and based on the lack of red Impulse hopped they had stopped bleeding.
Bdubs was sitting with his head down on the bed, though he lifted it just long enough to give Impulse a wave, before resting his forehead back on his forearms. Nearby Cleo sat stiffly in another chair. She gave Impulse a warm look, but her attention quickly bounced back to the white-haired man in front of her. His chest rose and fell steadily, but shallowly. Weakly.
Impulse noted that someone had in fact washed Etho’s hair. It was white and unmuddied once again.
“He’s—” Impulse started
“Going to be okay.” Cleo finished firmly, leaning forward to rest a hand on Bdubs’s back, rubbing circles into his tense muscles.
“He’s gotta be.” Bdubs sounded like he had been crying. He probably had been.
“And Grian, is he okay?” Impulse’s voice was still rough, probably from all the screaming he’d been doing recently, but it was getting easier to form the words.
“He’s got a lot of small wounds that are driving him mad, but he’ll heal. Jimmy was able to untangle him without causing more damage to his wings.” Cleo smiled thinly, but Impulse was still reassured. “And everyone else is accounted for. Some in… better or worse states, but no one else as badly hurt as you and Etho.”
Impulse nodded, yawning involuntarily as some of the tension left his body. He did notice that one of Cleo’s arms was in a sling, and Bdubs had bandages wrapped around both his legs from the knees down. Neither of them were unscathed.
“Wha—hey whatcha—heh?” Impulse snorted, then winced at the painful tug, as Tango shook himself awake at last and made cartoonish noises.
Red eyes met his brown and were blown wide as Tango nearly knocked his chair over in his eagerness to get to his side. In the background Impulse heard Skizz excusing them and moving the dividing curtain back into place, but for the moment Tango had his full attention.
“You’re— I mean—hey Impy.” Tango seemed torn somewhere between a grin and bursting into tears. His hands shook as he half-reached out, hesitant by his bedside. “I’m—I’m so sorry man. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you were bleeding so much and—I couldn’t lose you, you know—”
“Hey, hey Tango..” Impulse closed the distance as well as he could laying down, grabbing Tango’s hands in his own. “it’s okay, I understand. From what Skizz said, you saved my life.”
“You were screaming Impulse.” Tango’s voice broke on a sob. “You begged me to stop and I didn’t.”
“Tango, listen to me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate that- that whole thing, but you did what you had to.” Impulse waited until Tango met his eyes steadily. “Thank you.”
That broke the netherborn’s last bit of restraint, and Impulse gladly accepted Tango’s embrace. The blond pressed his face into Impulse’s shoulder and sobbed openly. Skizz was quick to press to Tango’s side, pulling him close and rubbing his shoulder with steadying squeezes.
Impulse felt tears filling his own eyes, despite his best efforts to blink them away.
“Hey, you okay Dippledop, are you hurting?” Skizz looked ready to dash from the room instantly if the answer was yes.
“No, no it’s just… stay with me?”
“Of course.”
“You couldn’t make me leave.”
It took a little doing, but eventually another cot had been setup next to his, and Tango lay within arm’s reach, purring steadily. Skizz was in the chair, sleeping with his head on the other side of Impulse, holding his hand.
This time Impulse chose to drift off, to let himself rest and heal in the presence of his friends.