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One moment, Tango’s trading quips with Impulse and Skizz as they fight Alkaline, snarkily remarking on the newest set of Skizz’s breeze-related puns that he was trying out for the day. The worst of the lot had to be “what comes up, must come down!” after spontaneously tossing Impulse into the air to use as a human projectile. Everything had been business as normal, until it wasn’t.
One moment Tango's dodging what looks like some poor kid’s beloved water bottle—unfortunate, really, because he knows some of those stickers had to be a pain to get ahold of—and the next, a manhole cover slams into his chest.
Tango lets out a wheeze as he feels something in his sternum crack, his breathing immediately growing labored and painful. He’s so distracted by his newfound inability to breathe that he misses the follow-up attack, a metal spear piercing through his abdomen. Tango staggers, his hands dropping to his stomach to try and staunch the steady stream of blood leaking from it. Neither Impulse or Skizz have noticed how badly he’s injured, not even Alkaline seems to realize they’ve wounded him to this extent, or they probably would’ve finished him off right now—almost certainly accompanied by another dismissive remark about how he’s “no match for someone of much superior intellect,” or something similarly stupid.
Unfortunately for him, all rational thoughts seem to be rapidly leaving his head right alongside his blood—and maybe his internal organs, if the pain he’s in is any indicator.
A quick glance around with his blurring vision reveals a secluded alleyway halfway across the street from where he currently is. If he can just get himself there, he can— well he’s not sure what he’ll do, but it’s better than distracting his partners long enough to put them at risk too. Tango limps himself across the street as fast as he’s able to—which is to say incredibly slowly—his knees giving out halfway through and dropping him to the ground. It’s too hard to breathe, or move, or do anything other than just give up, but he can’t do that. Just as he gets to the opening of the alleyway the lack of oxygen gets too difficult to push through, his body finally growing too heavy to move. Tango lies against the ground for a long moment, trying to gather whatever strength he has left to pull himself the last few steps to where he needs to be.
He’s dying.
That much is obvious, really. Even if he wasn’t struggling so hard to keep himself awake, it’s all too clear that the massive hole in his stomach is a near-fatal wound that’s rapidly descending into his death sentence. A not-so-small part of himself is bitter at the fact that his death will be at the hands of someone like Alkaline, and seemingly not even intentionally, but most of him is just scared. Too scared to just roll over and give up, at least.
Tango’s hands wearily pull at the bricks around him, managing to leverage himself halfway to his feet before the sudden onrush of blood escaping his stomach drops him right back to the ground, even more tired than before. His vision dims as he stares up at the sky, a stronger exhaustion than he’s ever known making it too hard to even turn his head to watch the fight going on just a few feet away. He has to trust that Impulse and Skizz will be okay without him—and if he tells himself that enough times, he might even believe they’ll be able to get through his death without breaking. It hasn’t worked yet, but he can’t think of a better way to spend his last few moments.
And so he drifts mindlessly, doing his best to think of happy memories and block out the pain he’s in. He drifts, and drifts, and continues to drift until tentative hands pat the side of his face, a soft voice drawing his eyes down to its source. The person—or thing, everything is too hazy to really tell one way or another—talking to him is light, sitting at his side and blocking his view of anything else. Vaguely, he makes out a question from the voice, asking him to agree to something he can’t even pretend to have heard. He should respond, he has to respond, especially when the soft voice starts to glow with radiant yellow light, a warmth flooding into Tango’s body that he didn’t realize was missing until it was back again.
He’s dying, but at the moment, everything stops hurting. Tango finally musters up the strength to speak, trying to put a smile onto his face. “Wha’ever you say, Angel.” Because what else could this be but some type of angel? It appeared suddenly, it’s at his side in his last moments, and it’s making him calm, unaware of the pain he’d grown all too acquainted with. The last thing he hears before letting himself fall asleep is a soft string of words in rapid succession, the golden light imprinted on his eyes even after they slip shut.
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And then everything snaps back into focus.
Impulse is at his side, shaking him with an intensity they usually reserve for–
For near-death experiences.
Tango bolts upright with a sharp inhale, hands immediately dropping to his stomach to try and stem his bleeding. Except- he can breathe without pain, and his stomach is no longer burning and- and he’s not bleeding. His hands are covered in blood along with his costume, which means he couldn’t have been hallucinating, but he’s not bleeding.
What the fuck.
Impulse nearly tackles him right back onto the ground, voice tight with worry. “Holy– Tek you scared me, you scared me so bad. You’re alright, you’re alright– right?” Is he alright? Tango lets out another shaky breath in disbelief, eyes darting around the area to figure out where he is. If he’d woken up in the infirmary all this would make sense, but he isn’t in the infirmary, he’s in an alleyway. The same alleyway he thought he was going to die in, that he was dying in just-
“What- what happened? How long has it been, where’s Alkaline?” Tango’s voice sounds rough even to himself, causing him to wince as he watches Impulse’s face pinch even further in worry. “I– I think I’m alright? I don’t know what happened, you’re– you are seeing all this blood on me, right? I’m not hallucinating?” A small chuckle slips out of his mouth involuntarily, his brain practically melting at the sheer amount of information he seems to be missing. One moment, he’s dying, convinced that his last sight would be-
An angel?
That can’t be right.
Angels aren’t real, and Tango isn’t religious by any means.
But someone was here, that much he’d be willing to bet his life on. Someone was here, and whatever they did is the reason he’s still alive, he’s sure of it. More sure than he’s ever been of anything.
Impulse finally leans back, letting Tango get a good look at him fully. He’s favoring his left leg heavily, his right extended with two large gashes cutting through the fabric of his costume and skin alike. Tango’s blood boils at the sight, the ground shaking slightly beneath them. Impulse catches his gaze quickly, his eyes steady even as his voice shakes. “I’m alright, they’re surface wounds. But you– yes of course I’m seeing all that blood, that’s why I’m so concerned. Alkaline ran off after we overwhelmed them, it’s been like fifteen minutes since either of us last saw you. We started to get scared when you didn’t answer our calls.” Fifteen minutes. Some time in that fifteen minutes, someone had come and saved him. If he tells Impulse any of that he’ll freak out—and probably assume that Tango managed to scrounge up a concussion along with the rest of his wounds, wherever they might’ve disappeared to—so he instead he settles for carefully pulling himself to his feet, mouth going dry at the pool of blood beneath him.
There’s a small interrupted section that looks like a set of knees if he squints. His mystery “angel,” if he had to guess. Another glance around the alley reveals a set of handprints closer to the street exit, hands that definitely are too small to be his. Interesting. He’s not up to date on any of the teachings of Aeor, Exor, or the Watchers, but he doesn’t remember any of them having hands. Or knees, for that matter.
Tango shelves that line of reasoning for now, turning his attention back to his panic-adjacent boyfriend. “I– I’m okay, surprisingly. All my injuries seem to be taken care of, where’s Vortex?” Now that he’s mentioned it, a large part of him balks in terror over the realization that he hasn’t seen—or heard—a single hint of Skizz’s presence since he woke up, worst case scenarios already jumping to the front of his mind with how close his own death had been.
Impulse swipes a tired hand down his face, letting out a long breath as he collapses into the wall behind him. “He’s checking a little further down the street, once Alkaline left and we still couldn’t find you we decided to split up.” Impulse taps a few buttons on his watch as he speaks, Tango feeling the familiar buzz of a locator ping on his wrist. Skizz appears a few short moments later, the worry on his face fading instantly when he sees Tango awake and standing.
“Tek. Oh thank Aeor, we couldn’t find you anywhere dude!” Skizz scoops him up into a tight hug before he even finishes speaking, pulling a quiet laugh out of Tango’s mouth in surprise. “And before you say anything about our ‘public image,’ it’s perfectly reasonable to hug your teammate when you thought they were dead.” Despite Skizz’s casual tone it’s all too easy to see how worried he really was—and still is, if Tango’s being honest, but that thought is overwhelming at the moment—from the bristled state of his feathers to the worried crease of his brow that has yet to lighten even with proof that everything is okay. He’s favoring his right leg slightly, leaning against the wall to take some of the pressure off his left.
Tango narrows his eyes at the sight, leveling Skizz with his most mature look. “Are you okay? You sure do seem to be favoring that right leg, buddy.” He snickers at Skizz’s faux fear, simply crossing his arms, raising an eyebrow, and waiting for a response.
They continue to stay locked in their dramatic staring contest until Impulse shifts himself to his feet, wincing slightly at the weight on his injured leg. “If you two wouldn’t mind waiting to do this until after we clock out for the night, that’d be great.” Tango’s at his side in an instant, shifting his body so Impulse can readjust his weight more securely. “Vortex if you don’t mind doing final perimeter checks that would be great, I need to get this patched up.” Impulse pointedly avoids looking down at his wounds, but the thin sheen of sweat across his forehead tells Tango everything he needs to know. Skizz nods immediately, giving them both one last long glance before turning and making his way back onto the street.
With a few short taps on his watch Tango’s charted the fastest path back to the hero agency that he can find, memorizing the directions before lightly guiding Impulse towards the sidewalk. “Come on, just ten minutes and then you can sit and I can fix-ificate you.” Just as he’d hoped, the use of his favorite suffix teases a smile out of Impulse’s pursed lips as they hobble along. By the time the two of them make it to the agency and into the infirmary they’re both out of breath from their awkward shuffle down the street, the only advantage to it being later in the night the fact that less people were around to stare at them. The last thing they need is the media circus that comes with them losing a fight, let alone losing and getting injured badly.
If any of them had seen Tango lying in that alley he’d hear about it until the day he died, and then probably a little more in whatever afterlife might be waiting for him.
Just as he and Impulse have gotten settled in the infirmary and Tango’s about to start wrapping Impulse’s leg—after checking thoroughly for any debris and dodging Impulse’s unhappy tail as he wipes the cuts down with disinfectant—Skizz practically bursts through the door, yet another look of concern plastered on his face, though it lightens when he catches sight of them. Skizz slips his mask off with a relieved groan, collapsing onto the bed closest to them and stretching his wings out. Impulse rolls his eyes fondly, his tail casually lowering to wrap around Tango’s ankle. “Why don’t you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, huh Skizzle?”
Skizz snickers, still staring up at the ceiling. “Why, that sounds like a wonderful idea Dippledop, don’t mind if I do. Don’t mind if I do at all.” After another moment of silence Skizz rolls over to watch the two of them, an easy smile resting on his face. “Well don’t let little ‘ole me stop you from what you were doing, go on!”
Tango turns to give him a piece of his mind, but stops short when he takes in his appearance. “Skizz where did all that blood come from? Are you okay? Lie back, let me look at you.” He’s half convinced his heart stops beating for a moment, a stab of panic overtaking his common sense. He would know if Skizz was on the verge of death because he’d sound like it, let alone the fact that it’s not like him to hide injuries, not when he knows how anxious the thought makes Impulse. But all of that is logic, and logic immediately goes out the window when he sees his boyfriend soaked in blood.
“As much as I’m not opposed to you examinin’ me, I’m fine.” Skizz wiggles his eyebrows at Tango, pulling an annoyed groan out from him. “I found a civilian in an alley while I was finishing up perimeter, he was covered in blood but refused to admit to any wounds.” For a brief moment all hints of casualness flee from Skizz’s face, leaving only concern in its place. “I took the guy back to his apartment and he could barely stand up straight, I was thinking about sending someone from the agency to check up on him in the next few days. Supposedly he has a roommate but no one was there when we got back and they didn’t answer their phone when he called them.” Skizz frowns again, idly poking at one of the stains on his costume. “It was a lot of blood, he looked as bad as you, Top.”
Wait.
Tango nearly drops the roll of gauze with how fast he stands up, eyes wild. “Tell me what he looked like?” When both Impulse and Skizz stare at him in complete silence Tango freezes, one hand pushing through his fiery hair to try and tame it back down to a reasonable height. “I didn’t want to tell you guys because I thought you might think I was crazy, but I was almost dead in that alley. All that blood is mine, Alkaline managed to stab me pretty solid.” He rushes to continue, not wanting to give either of them the chance to freak out over the “new” information. “But—and this is the ‘I sound crazy’ part—someone who I thought was an angel was suddenly at my side, and I think they heal-ificated me. And I know it seems insane, but there’s no other explanation– I was dying and then I wasn’t.” With anyone else, Tango would be concerned that they’re about to lock him up in a psychiatric ward. He wouldn’t even blame them, to be quite honest, because it’s insane. People don’t just spontaneously heal, angels aren’t real, and there haven’t been healers in this city for the last fifty years at least, let alone one in active hero-duty.
But somehow it’s the only thing that makes sense—there was a healer at the scene, and he’d be willing to bet money that it’s the person Skizz found.
Impulse shifts forward slightly, a look Tango’s come to intimately know as his “connecting the dots” expression clear to see on his face. “You think they healed you and then fled the scene, but couldn’t get far?” It makes no sense for them to run after the fact, especially if they were in some type of pain that prevented them from fully leaving. Unless they didn’t want to be connected with the event, which also doesn’t make sense because they didn’t have to help him.
Skizz sits up as well, eyes scrunched tight in concentration. “If I remember correctly he seemed to be having stomach pain and breathing problems, mostly? He was pretty incoherent when I tried to ask him for more details, I’m not sure he knew he was answering me.” Stomach pain and breathing problems—the stab wound and his ribs. The more he finds out about this “mystery civilian” the more curious he is, and the more he wants to find them.
To thank them, of course. For saving his life. And not at all because he needs to see them when he’s not deliriously on the verge of death. Even now when he thinks back to that moment all he can remember is golden glows and soft-spoken words, not enough to put together a true picture of them.
“Yeah no, I’m almost certain of it at this point. I think your civilian is the only reason I’m still alive Skizz.” Tango can’t help the small note of breathlessness the words cause in him despite his best attempts to keep his tone light. He could’ve died today, he should’ve died earlier. His life was in the hands of a complete stranger and he lived. It’s only fair that they check up on the mystery healer, just to make sure they’re not hurt. It’s the least he could do to repay them.
Now that he’s done with his revelations Tango drops back into his seat, starting to carefully rearrange Impulse on the bed so he can wrap his leg as easily as possible. It’s a bit awkward with Impulse’s tail cheekily refusing to budge from his ankle, but Tango’s more than used to the antics at this point, simply taking it in stride as he executes the world’s slowest handspring across the bed to untangle them- pointedly ignoring Skizz’s appreciative whistle and Impulse’s raised eyebrow.
For a few moments it’s quiet, the sound so uncharacteristic for all three of them being in the same place that it’s starting to make him a little anxious. Eventually Impulse shifts, his words measured and precise. “So. You almost died during that fight? Why didn’t you tell either of us, we could’ve retreated and gotten you help.” Ah. Right. In the wake of all his dot-connecting and concern, Tango somehow managed to forget where they inevitably always end up- Impulse’s specific brand of concerned frustration. He’s been on the receiving end of this far too many times to count, but even now he still balks slightly under it.
“I– y’know–” Tango keeps his eyes focused on the bandages, carefully maneuvering the roll under Impulse’s thigh. “I was delirious, man, you can’t blame me!” It’s a weak defense on a good day, and he doesn’t even have to look up to know exactly what expression is staring down at him. Tango ties off the bandages silently, still avoiding Impulse’s face. “Besides, if we’d walked away from that fight without winning you know Alkaline would’ve taken that as a sign to escalate, it’s strange enough that they decided to come out as early as they did.” He tucks the gauze back into their well-worn first aid kit, finally out of tasks to busy himself with. Impulse’s stare is exactly what he imagined, equal parts irritated and afraid, neither side quite winning out but somehow managing to double the intensity of the look. The heat of Skizz’s pointed gaze presses into his back, sending a small current of guilt rushing down his spine. Tango lets out a long sigh, absentmindedly raising one hand to his chest. “Look, I’m sorry. I just panicked and didn’t want you guys to get thrown off your game.”
Strong arms wrap around him, stealing his breath away with the suddenness. A second later the soft feathers of Skizz’s wings ghost over his cheeks, prompting Tango to giggle from the ticklish sensation. Impulse carefully stands up—still favoring his left leg slightly, though significantly less than before—and joins them, tail moving to wrap both him and Skizz even closer. “We’re just happy you’re okay, dude.” Skizz’s voice is soft as he presses a light kiss to Tango’s cheek, smiling against it. “But Impy is right, the next time you want to try and hide something like this from us, don’t.” Tango groans dramatically, carefully letting himself collapse in a way he knows won’t aggravate any of their injuries. Speaking of–
“Shouldn’t you be icing that ankle of yours, mister? Last I checked that’s like,- the only thing you have to do, surely you can manage it.” Tango can’t help but laugh halfway through his declaration, too amused by his many memories of Holly from their medical team chastising them over the years. Skizz scoffs good-naturedly but retreats back to the bed he was on before, flopping onto it dramatically.
“You’re right, I’m too wounded to walk to the fridge and get an ice pack, oh won’t somebody save me! Oh the horrors!” Skizz throws one of his hands behind his head as he’s lying down, fluttering his eyelashes rapidly. Impulse rolls his eyes with a small huff, not that it stops him from tossing a heart-shaped pack a few moments later. It’s adorable how quickly Skizz’s eyes light up once he sees the shape, a giddy smile breaking onto his face. “Awh, it’s even my favorite one! Maybe you do love me afterall, Dippledop!”
Tango watches the two of them from the other bed, letting their banter fade to the background as he closes his eyes. He almost died. He would’ve died. It doesn’t feel real, in a sense, not when it happened like that– not in a random fight against Alkaline, a villain they’ve encountered so frequently over the last five years that they might as well exchange coffee orders. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about the day makes any sense at all, the longer he stops to think about it.
He and Impulse had secured the area before coming to rescue Skizz—something he needs to remember to rib him for later—which means there’s almost no way this mystery healer could’ve slipped past them before they'd entered the fight. Not to mention the fact that they’d know if there was a new vigilante on the streets, and that’s if he’s completely ignoring the fact that a healer wouldn’t be a vigilante anyway. But Impulse and Skizz didn’t know where he was, Alkaline would’ve never healed him even if their own life depended on it, and he sure as hell didn’t heal himself.
And then there’s their mystery civilian. The one who would’ve had to have healed him- somehow. And then ran away- for some reason. And, from what Skizz was saying, seemed to be just as badly injured as he was- somehow. It doesn’t add up. It’s so far from adding up, in fact, that there’s not even an equation.
But he needs to solve it all the same.
Later that night, once they’ve clocked out for the day, are back in their apartment, and finally curled up in bed, Tango rolls over and lightly taps Skizz on the shoulder. Two wide, curious eyes stare back at him in the darkness, too tired to be concerned but too awake to be droopy. Tango smiles in spite of himself, keeping his voice quiet so he doesn’t wake up Impulse. “Hey, do you remember the address of where you dropped that guy off today? I’ll do the wellness check myself.” A few minutes and the quiet sounds of a pen on paper later Skizz drifts off to sleep, one arm splayed across Tango’s stomach. Tango stares up at the ceiling for a long moment, letting out a deep breath. In the morning, he’ll stop by and see if he can meet the man who saved him.
In the morning, he can make all of this make sense.