Chapter Text
Tango’s been staring at the ceiling for about two hours if the clock is correct.
It’s not that he can’t sleep, and not that he doesn’t want to. In fact, he’s not even trying to sleep. Not one bit, Nuh uh, he’s having a joyful time staring at his ceiling. It’s still stone and granite; he hasn’t bothered to do the roof in his storage room. Yet another thing he could be doing instead of lying here, for fun because he wasn’t trying to sleep at all. The grooves of the granite ceiling make many little, distorted, caviling faces to look coldly down at the floor. He makes eye contact with one, and it stares back judgmentally.
Okay, he’s getting up. This is boring now, he has better things to do than lie on the floor.
To the noodles of Decked Out II, level 1 he goes, again. He’s been working on hooking up the sound system, getting it to not overlap itself. It was annoying, tedious, and mind numbing. The perfect task.
Measure, place, test, adjust, test, repeat. A methodical, blissful cycle that he falls into with ease and efficiency. The only bad part is the sound of his own voice over the system starting to get grating.
The end of his work on the sound system comes all to soon, he’s hooked up every last jukebox to the main system-redstone-ificator that processes cards so now, every time a card is called, his voice plays throughout the dungeon. He even does the filters for the sorting system section of it! Plus, recording the little soundbites is fun, even if he gets sick of hearing them after the ten billionth time.
He’s vaguely aware that it’s getting late, but he doesn’t mind really. Last he checked no one expected him for anything, and he was totally in the groove with no real reason to stop now.
He walks through the cave passages of Decked Out, placing any blocks he missed where he sees them, adjusting some hazard traps, and prettifying the walls a bit. It’s less methodical than the sound system, but it’s still rather time consuming and mind numbing. At least to a certain extent.
His ribs hurt
He stops working on the detailing without much distraction.
He can re-wire all the base lines with the colored wool so that everything’s organized. That’s a much better idea.
So he makes his way out of the actual dungeon and to the redstone noodles yet again. He nods a little at his previous work on the sound system, and double checks it just once before moving on.
Destroying and resetting the redstone lines proves to be just as soothing as he hoped as he easily falls into the rhythm of it. His thoughts stay tightly on the redstone at hand, humming to himself a little as he lets himself slip into autopilot. The relief is intangible, but there, he knows it is, because his ribs don’t even hurt.
His ribs never hurt in the first place,
His ribs hurt
He stops the task instantly.
He could work on the ceiling of his storage room! Full circle, that’s a great idea.
He moves back through the messy redstone noodles of Decked Out II before arriving in his storage room, quickly selecting a nice wood for the ceiling and starting to dig it out.
He gets a truly unreasonable amount of empowering glee from tearing the stupid granite faces down. They’ve been looking at him for far too long. Upon mining the stone out, he takes his time placing in the wood ceiling. Slowly his thoughts start to drift, he doesn’t like this manual labor stuff as much as the redstone. To much to think about well he does it.
Like how much his ribs hurt
He pauses. He doesn’t want to stop this task, he hates being looked at, and he’s not done tearing their stupid faces off. After a moment of consideration, he continues to install the ceiling. Place plank, turn, place plank, turn, place plank, turn,
He jumps out of his skin as he turns for the fourth time, and sees Zed in the corner of the room, camera in hand. Tango shoots him a glare after letting out the most manly sound he can muster for the moment. Zed giggles,
“Is this a Zedvancement?” Tango grumbles, brushing off his shirt that wasn’t dirty one bit, he just needed something to do with his hands. He brushes against his ribs, it doesn’t hurt.
“No, no! No, well, okay, the picture thing was, but that was more of a uh… side quest. I’m here to drag you out of your redstone hole,” Zed sighs with a slight wave of his hand, pocketing the camera. “It’s been forever we miss you buddy! You’re looking awful blue as of late to be honest…” he adds, unable to suppress a small smirk at his own pun.
Tango offers a withering look in response, rolling his eyes. “I’m looking cooler than ever, and I’m good, just in the groove of working.” He huffs.
Zed shifts, his expression turning a bit more serious, and he crosses his arms with another sigh. “Tango, man, I mean, not to be pushy, but it’s been like… two, almost three days, and no one’s heard a peep from you. You should take a break.” He insists. “If you want to be left alone that’s alright too, you just need a break. Genuinely, no pun or joke, but you’re looking pale, in a sickly way, not just in a blue flame way.”
“I’m fine,” Tango snaps immediately, his tail lashing a little defensively before he notices and nervously curls it around his ankle. “I mean— Uhg, I’m fine. I’ll take a break by myself.” He mutters, turning around to face his chests again. He hates looking at his friends when they look at him.
Zed gives him a bit of a skeptical look. “Um… okay… but,” he cuts himself off as Tango turns, pausing for a moment. “Tango did you mess up something in the redstone bits? Your shirt has got redstone like all over it mate.” He chuckles.
Tango whirls around again, trying to look at the back of his shirt.
his ribs hurt
“…what? Are you hurt?” Zed huffs, suddenly sounding a lot more concerned.
“Huh? No. I must not have noticed, er, let me change,” Tango says weakly, a nervous lilt in his voice before he goes to turn around again.
“What, no, Tango why the hell did you make that noise?” Zed says, grabbing his arm.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do! You made the damn noise what are you talking about! Sometimes with you,” Zed grumbles, “I— whatever, go change.” He mutters, tapping his hoof against the ground impatiently.
Tango rolls his eyes, but grabs a spare tank out of his storage chest and starts to make his way to the bathroom near the side of his storage room.
Creaking open the door, he covers up the mirror with a towel, and shuts and locks the door. It’s become routine every time he enters the bathroom.
He starts to peel off the sticky, stained tank top, shuddering at the crusting redstone stain, now a dark sanguine color.
redstone isn’t sticky
His torso feels dirty.
He doesn’t look.
He pulls the clean grey tank top on, sliding it down his torso with no pain, adjusting it and tucking it into his pants as usual.
his ribs hurt
He yanks the towel off of the mirror, turning before he can get a good look at his reflection, discarding the towel on the floor along with the dirtied top and opening the door.
Zed is still in his storage room waiting for him. He’s looking distantly at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought. He shifts, looking nervously at Tango as he enters, and there’s an uneasy silence between the two for an uncomfortable. “Tango, I really think it would be best for you to come and spend the night with me and Impulse, we were having a very manly and adult sleepover.”
“I’ll sleep by myself.” Tango grumbles out in response, making sure not to meet the satyrs eyes.
“We both know you won’t.” Zed huffs back. He sighs yet again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look mate, we’re just worried, please?”
Tango doesn’t have an immediate response to that, so he averts his gaze, his floorboards were much more interesting than Zeds concerned expression. “I…” he starts but sighs. He can’t think of what to say. His sides are sticky. Why is that again?
Zed rubs his temples, “I mean, I can’t force you to do anything I guess. Just… know that we care, and are worried.” He mumbles, but stops when he re-crosses his arms, pausing mid-action to look back to Tango. “Tango, that shirts dirty too,” he huffs, “in the same… Tango are you hurt? Is that blood? Why didn’t you just tell me, that doesn’t—“ he stammers.
Tango looks down. Huh, there was a stain on this shirt too. It was growing quickly though. Right, sticky, not a redstone stain. Not looking in the mirror has never failed him such before. Sometimes he actually does convince himself of untrue things when he thinks it enough… strange.
“Nevermind, you’re coming back with me, you don’t get a choice when you’re like this,” Zed huffs, ushering Tango out of his storage room.
“I’m fine Zed, I can sleep in my own bed!” He huffs in protest as he’s pushed out.
“You’re clearly not! You never tell us when you’re hurt. You’re lucky you have friends that care about you or you’d have actually killed yourself by now, this isn’t healthy,” Zed scolds.
Tango doesn’t respond, he knows there’s no response that would please Zed in this moment.
“Yeah great, ignore me, works to.” Zed mutters, and for another long moment there’s silence. “Care to tell what’s wrong?” Zed growls out shortly.
Tango shifts uncomfortably under Zeds scrutinizing gaze. It reminds him of the faces on the ceiling, the ones that judge him every night. “I, it’s not… it’s probably just a scratch or something from working, I didn’t even notice it.” He mumbles out.
Zed clearly doesn’t buy it, “no, no, Tango, this—“ he takes a deep breath. “Just, come on. We’re going back to my base. I’ll check you over there.” He breathes out, grabbing Tango’s wrist before he can respond.
The walk is tense and uncomfortable, Zeds grip is almost painful, and he looks deep in thought.
By the time they make it to Zed’s base, Tango feels faintly dizzy for some odd reason. They make their way down past the dangled creatures and to Zeds living area past his storage room, where Impulse is already.
“Ah! Impulse, you’re a bit early, Tango’s decided to join us.” Zed hums in a flat tone, crossing his arms. Tango gives him an incredulous look, but says nothing.
“Yeah, love a guys night. Er… Tango, are you okay, and that’s redstone on your shirt right..?” Impulse responds after a long moment, blinking at Tango.
Tango tries to open his mouth to speak, but Zed cuts him off. “I’m ninety eight percent certain it’s blood, but I don’t know, because he won’t tell me.” Zed huffs.
“I never didn’t tell you, y-you just didn’t ask,” Tango sputters,
“I absolutely did!” Zed retorts,
“And it was clearly a rhetorical question!” Tango whines, and before either can continue bickering, Impulse puts a hand on Tango’s arm, lifting it up to try and look at the stain on his shirt. Tango recoils sharply, letting out an involuntary hiss before flinching at his own sound.
“Okay, woah, Tango, calm down,” Impulse says, quickly retracting his hand, looking concerned.
“I’m very calm!” Tango huffs. “…sorry,” he adds under his breath.
“…Why are you sorry exactly?” Impulse inquires after a long moment. “There’s no reason to apologize, we’re just concerned.” Impulse explains gently when Tango just gives him a look.
Zed raises a brow at Impulse, giving him an almost disapproving look at the gentle, almost soothing tone Impulse has so immediately taken, but steels his expression when Impulse glares back.
“Don’t patronize me,” Tango huffs, tail flicking a little in irritation.
“I’m not, I’m just trying to diffuse the situation, calm everyone down a little maybe?” Impulse sighs. “Can you please show us where you’re injured?” He asks softly.
“I’m not.” Tango replies flatly, giving him a truly insidious look.
“You’re… not,” Impulse hums with a slight nod, raising a brow at Tango. “Man, you’re not making this any better, it’s going to be the same result anyways, just take your damn shirt off and show us.” He mutters.
“Impulse!” Tango sputters, his face heating up as he tries to think of something. “I’m, no! Just no! I’m not doing that,” he huffs.
“And why not?! Tango we don’t care if you’re hurt, we care that you’re not letting us help fix it!” Zed snaps.
“Because I’m not hurt!” Tango retorts snippily.
Zed opens his mouth to say something equally snappy before Impulse cuts him off. “Tango, this isn’t up for discussion anymore, if you’re hurt that’s serious. If it’s nothing then just show us and then yell at us okay, we just want to make sure you’re okay,” Impulse says, with a nearly pleading expression.
“I can take care of myself, even if I am hurt,” Tango doubles down anxiously, not meeting Impulses eyes.
“Tango.” Impulse sighs sternly, furrowing his brow, “how bad is it?” He asks gently.
“It’s— it’s not…” he stammers, but crumples a little as he accidentally looks towards Zeds scrutinizing expression. “…it’s just a few little cuts,” he mutters.
“Okay, how’d that happen?” Impulse hums, looking relieved at an actual answer for once.
“Redstone… accident.” Tango lies weakly, looking down.
Impulse raises a brow, but doesn’t call him out. “Uh… huh… alright, can you show us? If it needs stitches I know Zed can do them.” He sighs.
“I— um… can I just go undress them quick..? The things must be gross y’know, probably looks worse than it is.” Tango mumbles.
“Why not here?” Impulse breathes out.
“I just need a minute..?” Tango offers feebly.
“I… fine, just, fine.” Impulse huffs, rubbing his furrowed brow. “Be quick.” He adds as Tango starts to nervously walk to the bathroom.
For now he has a moment to breathe, maybe figure something out.