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Tango had never been religious, and he had never truly believed that other powers were out there. But he had taken to talking to Death in his head. As if there was an entity out there listening, understanding, knowing. Maybe it was the way Tango’s life had become twisted with death, a stain on his soul that never went away.
Oh, Death, what did I do to deserve this?
Tango’s first question was born of desperation. The agony of an axe to the back from someone he trusted deeply was nauseating. The sick, visceral betrayal brought the blaze to his knees and in the precious seconds he had before respawn, all he could think was why, why, why.
Team BEST meant something to Tango. And Bdubs flippant dismissal of his betrayal wrought something dark in him. A twisting, sickening feeling that made the blaze shudder and his soul wail. When he looked into Bdubs eyes, listened to him describe the Boogeyman curse, all he could feel was grim satisfaction. I’m glad you hurt like I did. Finishing Last Life with Team BEST was one of the hardest things Tango ever did.
And then Limited Life came. Team TIES made Tango happy. He felt like he belonged, surrounded by people he’s known, trusted, loved. And he felt known in return. But Bdubs visited often. He found a family with Scar and Cleo, a family that had no place for Tango. Bdubs didn’t have space at his side for him and just the thought of that made the blaze’s chest clench so hard he was short of breath.
They were in a death game, and the rapid pounding of his heart every time Bdubs came around was getting old quickly. The way Bdubs looked through him, eyes distant when they turned Tango’s way, felt worse than permadeath.
Oh, Death, aren’t I owed more?
He did take joy in messing with the Bad Boys. Destroying their bread bridge gave something for Tango to take his emotions out on, and though they didn’t know it, the blaze was grateful. Sometimes, in the nights between sessions, Tango sat outside on the bridge connecting TIES tower to the Clockers. He let his legs dangle over the side, boots brushing the top of the water. Out here, just Tango and the crackle of his fire beneath stars and moonlight, his emotions felt massive.
It was stupid - and laughable, and pathetic, and a dictionary’s list of descriptive words - how the blaze just couldn’t stay away. To Bdubs, Tango was nothing. At most, his enemy to be taken out. To Tango, Bdubs was everything. The enticing pain that the blaze kept coming back to, time and time again.
The chasm of Double Life lay between them. The thought of Bdubs moving on, the idea of him leaving Tango behind, well- That hurt more than his axe ever did.
Oh, Death, do I exist only to hurt?
Secret Life brought with it one of the healthiest friendships Tango had ever experienced. Skizz was a blessing in every way. In contrast to last season, when Skizz made it his mission to give affirmations to everyone, this season he focused on Tango and BigB. Every session, Tango was gifted pure trust. The angel uplifted him to be the best he could be while in a death game.
And yet, resentment festered in his heart. It was ugly, sinister, and dark. Seeing Bdubs with his stupid Mounders made Tango want to scream and flame so intensely he burned the Heart Foundation to the ground. Guilt followed swiftly behind, twin with anger. The look on Skizz’s face sometimes, when he thought the blaze wasn’t looking, made remorse roar through his veins.
It wouldn’t fix everything, but Tango felt he was owed an apology. It’s not about vengeance, or getting even, it’s just right. It was exhausting, the coexisting feelings that followed Bdubs like a pathetic puppy. The fluttering of his traitorous heart, chased away with anger that sometimes felt fake. It was easier to swallow anger than the anguish Bdubs stirred, after all.
Oh, Death, am I too broken to deserve love?
“Tango, I am sorry for stabbing you in the back when we were on BEST team. I feel bad about it and I never truly apologized.”
Silence in Tango’s brain. His thoughts were truly silent for the first time ever, but there was dread building in his heart. He had been struggling so much in the Tuff Guys, even Etho had asked if he was okay. He wasn’t.
The next few minutes, Tango felt like he was a passenger in his own body. He wasn’t holding the reins anymore. Instead, it was a fake Tango, one that wasn’t intimately familiar with the feeling of betrayal. The pull that Bdubs had on Tango felt more heavy than ever.
“Tango, do you think this is a manipulation tactic?” Etho said.
“I do,” Tango replied faintly, the words ripped from him. His hands were shaking too much to properly hold his shield and the sideways glance Etho gave him made the blaze want to throw it at Bdubs stupid, smiling face.
“No, I don’t feel no remorse,” it’s said with Bdubs usual smug voice and Tango’s next swallow was rough. “I’m so glad I killed you.”
The blaze’s breath escaped him with a wheeze. Bdubs knew exactly what to say to hurt him every time, without fail. He seemed to take satisfaction in it and Tango felt like screaming into the void. Death by void sounded so much less painful than this. Tango would rather his atoms be spliced apart until he was nothing more than soul wisps floating in nothingness, than face these emotions.
Oh, Death, what did I do? Oh, Death, is there something wrong with me, something intrinsic? Oh, Death, is my soul as black and undeserving as I think it is?
Tango had never felt so unworthy, so pitiful. He ached to tell Bdubs something, anything to make him understand. To share his pain until Bdubs was crippled by it the same way Tango was. His brain insists that it’s toxic, it’s evil, to wish pain on someone he loved so deeply.
But Tango was fed up. Tired. He kept coming back, kept being drawn to Bdubs’ orbit. Just a moon circling his planet. That night after running from his snail for the whole session, the blaze was cocooned in bed. Crying felt like giving up, like letting Bdubs win. And yet, there was nothing else for Tango to do.
His pain and his suffering, his dark, dark soul - all of it - was Bdubs’. And nothing Tango ever did changed that.
Oh, Death, I’m tired. When can it be too much?