Archive of Our Own

It starts as a trickle. Something barely noticeable. A small drop of rain before a big storm.

Not the anger. No, the anger hits like a truck. Hard and fast and with a weight that sends him reeling. It overwhelms the senses, clings to Impulse's body like a parasite and makes a home for itself in his gut.

Not the sadness, either. The grief. It comes in waves, sure, but each is heavier than the last. Bigger and scarier. It tosses him around every time it comes back to find him. Thrashes his poor mind and heart from side to side in its currents and deep blue nothingness.

Those feelings could never start as something so small. They never have, and they never will. Impulse can't help it. He wishes he could.

What does start small, though, is the impulsivity. The lack of control. The little urges that, if left alone to fester, will grow into something far uglier than a mere slip up.

Impulse is impulsive (if the name wasn't enough to give it away). He's just better at hiding it. More skilled and adept at pushing it down, maybe working around it and compromising if the thoughts get a bit too loud and mean. You couldn't tell at a glance what was going on in his head. He takes pride in that.

That doesn't mean it isn't hard, though. God, is it hard. Sometimes he'd rather rip his own skin off just to get away from his brain, from all the gross things it has to say.

Like how he's doing everything wrong. A funeral? Really? Why did he ever think he could do this right? Tango is probably glaring down at him right now. He's probably laughing along with the Villies, too.

A certain sense of dread had settled inside Impulse ever since Ren had decided they would set this whole thing up for Tango. It's not like Impulse had ever disagreed. He just… should've known better, he supposes. He should've known he could never make Tango proud.

So maybe the trickle started there, when the very idea of a funeral was set in stone. Maybe it started when Impulse was hidden underground in the cold, dark dirt for half an hour, forced to listen to the grating voices above him. Maybe it started when the Villies stopped by, when they laughed at him and his pathetic attempt at laying a trap.

It could've also been the awkward marriage proposal Ren had sprung on him and Cleo. That had thrown him for a loop.

Or maybe it all started with Tango. Either meeting him or losing him, Impulse wasn't sure. Sometimes Impulse wishes he had never come into his life. This would be so much easier if he hadn't.

(Don't think that way, Impulse tries to reason with himself, biting the inside of his cheek, scratching his skin raw. You love Tango. You're just having an off day.)

But all those little droplets turned into sheets of rain when the funeral actually started.

It wasn't going to be perfect, Impulse had to accept that, as much as the perfectionist in him utterly loathed the idea. He had tried, at least. A trap was set, a plan was in motion. Somebody was going to die. For Tango.

Honestly, Impulse isn't sure why he ever thought people would be respectful. Maybe he thought they'd feel bad. For him or his dead teammate, he wasn't sure. Maybe both? Because they were both completely and totally pathetic.

Someone had set a trap. It went off. It was supposed to be his trap to take out all those people. The gall of those jerks to try and use his funeral, the one he painstakingly put together for his dead teammate, for their own selfish gain… oh, it made Impulse's blood burn.

And it took out Ren, too, because of course it did. Somehow, when things couldn't seem to get worse, they always did. Impulse isn't sure why he was ever surprised. It's always the same. He should've never expected anything better from anybody.

And the laughter. Oh, the nails on a chalkboard that was the laughter of all the bystanders. Grian's grating cackle… even Pearl's airy chuckling made him tense up so hard he swore his muscles would burst from his skin, from seams of scars and joints.

When Ren came back after it all, Impulse isn't sure why he didn't run to comfort him. He isn't sure why he strayed closer and closer to the block hiding his own trap, either. Except maybe he did know. He definitely does now.

It kept getting worse. The sun started rising and the atmosphere was ruined, along with Ren's pyramid show (he's stronger than Impulse, though, because at least he tried to make do with what he had). Jimmy wasn't showing up, either, and Impulse needed Jimmy to show up. Was he seriously leaving him alone? Why did everybody always have to leave him—

Impulse had no time for thoughts like that, not with the waves crashing inside his head. If he didn't stop more from flooding in now, he was sure he would drown before he even got to the euology.

But it’s just hard to do that when everybody wants to hear Etho's speech instead of his. And when Etho's speech itself is so filled with disrespect that Impulse feels his own ego shrivel up by proxy, and when everybody else agreed and laughed about what he had to say… well, Impulse could feel the water rising.

Tango was his teammate. His friend. He should be up there giving a speech, not some washed up has-been who'd look way better blown to bits than up on that pedestal.

So Impulse went up there, because that's where he deserved to be. He was the one who deserved to speak for the dead. Because Etho was doing it wrong. Everybody was doing it all wrong!

Impulse didn't feel bad shoving him off. Why should he? He knows what kind of person Etho is now. He's always known was kind of person Etho is, actually.

Impulse poured his heart out on that pedestal. Even with everybody's eyes boring into him and making him squirm, he talked and he talked and he talked. Because Tango deserved to have good things said about him. He deserved to be remembered how Impulse saw him. He deserved a good eulogy.

"Rest easy, my friend," Impulse had said with a smile. Maybe it was a real one. "And we'll see you in the next life."

And he stood there for a second. Still. Smiling.

His eyes flit over to the right.

He waited.

But nothing ever came.

No explosions. No deaths. No Jimmy. Nothing.

And so Impulse had stepped down from the pedestal, tried to play it off. Tried to keep that smile on his face, one that was slowly distorting into something twitchy and sharp. He could feel his heart shattering. He could feel his mind breaking.

He kept waiting. Maybe Jimmy was late. Maybe the trap just didn't work! But nothing happened. Nothing freaking happened.

He kept looking over, and he kept getting disappointed. Why did he ever get his hopes up?

All the compliments about his speech fell flat. Every word he heard about it, every single attempt at a compliment felt empty and pitiful. It meant nothing to him. Nothing meant anything to him anymore.

It all went so wrong.

It was supposed to be a little less than perfect! He was supposed to have this grand speech and end it with a cool line and then everybody would get blown to smithereens! There had been a whole freaking plan!

It all was ruined. Everybody ruined it. Etho ruined it. Jimmy ruined it. Impulse ruined it.

Impulse wonders, as he stumbles towards the oak planks and pulls a button from his pocket, why he can't do anything right. Why everything he ever tries seems to fail so miserably. Why everybody seems to have it all figured out but him.

He stares daggers into the wood with twitchy eyes, a shaking hand clenched around the button, knuckles turning white.

He doesn't know why he placed it down, except he absolutely does. In the moment he did, and in hindsight he does, too.

Impulse couldn't do anything right then, so maybe he can now.

He presses it, and for a moment all feels quiet save for the sound of something traveling along a track.

Then there's a flash, sparks and dirt flying in a flurry as an explosion wracks the ground. Impulse can hardly process any of it before he feels the air leave his lungs and a searing heat burning into the side of his face.

And then everything goes dark and quiet. Finally, Impulse thinks. Quiet.

He wakes up in bed. A comfy, cozy bed. He wishes he could stay there. He knows he can't.

He gives himself some grace, a moment to calm himself before he sits up. His head hurts, a gnarly pain blossoming from his cheek, spreading downwards by the second. It comes with death, he supposes.

Impulse can't help but smile, in a sick sort of way. His trap worked! Sure, it had killed him, but it worked!

He feels his eyes water a little, but he doesn't let himself cry. He can't cry. He feels better now.

At least, he did until he looked to his right, at Ren's bed. It wasn't empty. Why wasn't it empty..?

Impulse searches madly for his communicator, trembling fingers scrolling through the logs as dread begins to settle over him like a thick fog. No. No, no, no. He didn't do that. He couldn't have done that—

Renthedog blew up.

impulseSV blew up.

Impulse could care less about the latter, it barely reaches him. But the first message makes something in his chest shatter.

His frantic eyes flit back to Ren, and he can faintly hear some groaning, his groggy figure writhing under the sheets. No. Oh, god no.

Impulse can't do this. No, no, no, he can't do this. He can't see Ren like this. He doesn't want Ren to see him, either.

It's wrong. It's all wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong!

Impulse stumbles out of the pyramid, wobbly steps carrying him back to the crater that once was a funeral. Everybody is saying stuff to him or about him. He can't really understand any of it. Nothing reaches him. His mouth only moves when he thinks it's supposed to, to make them all shut up.

They died to their own trap? Yes, we did! All he killed was himself and his team? Well, Ren wasn't supposed to die, just me! Why did you kill yourself and your team? That trap had to kill someone, and Impulse refused to leave unless it did.

He tries to ignore who that trap killed.

He also tries to ignore how his communicator buzzes with the last thing he wants to hear.

"Worst teammate ever."

He can't do anything right. God, why did he ever think he could—?

"You killed me!"

Impulse's head shoots up as the voice he was dreading to hear shouts at him.

"You killed me to red!" Ren exclaims, and Impulse can't pay attention to anything other than how accusatory he sounds. He shouldn't be talking like that, not to him. No, no, Impulse didn't mean to do it. He's sorry, he really is. But it wasn't even meant to happen! How is it his fault if it wasn't even meant to happen?

"You weren't supposed to be here!" Impulse yells back, his body moving before his mind can even register it, finger pointing to Ren's chest before shooting towards their base. "You were supposed to be on the pyramid!"

He sounds mean. Oh god, Impulse hates sounding mean. But Ren doesn't get it! Nobody gets it! He needs to make them understand!

Suddenly, the furrowed brow Ren is sporting begins to let up, and his eyes lose the darkness in them that anger had brought about. And his posture slumps a bit, shoulders not so much relaxing as much as giving up.

"Oh, that was… yeah, that was, but… n'yeah…" Ren starts, and the words quickly fall apart, his throat bobbing as his head nods up and down. His eyes look a little distant. His lip almost quivers a bit.

And it's then Impulse notices something. An ugly explosion scar painting right side of Ren's face.

He did that, didn't he..?

A part of Impulse wants to run forward, hug Ren with all the strength his achy bones can rally, sob apologies into his neck scarf until his throat feels raw. The other part of Impulse wants to back away until Ren is out of his sight, until the memory of their time together fades away completely, like it had never even happened at all.

The latter feels easier. Of course it feels easier. No wonder that's all anybody had ever done to Impulse before.

He stares at Ren, first from a distance, as people keep talking. Saying stuff about how how the server is going to be "gluten free" soon or whatever. Impulse doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want to believe it's going to be his fault, either.

Eventually, he finds it in himself to stumble back towards Ren, and the sight is heartbreaking.

Tail tucked between his legs, head hung low, fists clenched at his sides.

Impulse wants to kill himself again. Death would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

He tries to reach out, he really does. And it's then he realizes he didn't come out unscathed, either, an explosion scar of his own running up his arm. Impulse's chest deflates. He deserves it.

His hand stutters near Ren's arms, pauses as he scans over the werewolf. Impulse is scared. He thinks Ren is scared, too.

He prays it's not because of him.

Impulse's hand jerks away, back towards his chest as he stumbles away a couple steps. He can't stomach the thought of scaring Ren even more. He can't make things worse when he already has messed them up so insurmountably. He won't let himself.

So instead he stands at an awkward distance by Ren's side, shifting back and forth on his feet. He sighs.

"The TNT minecarts bounced back to the button, by the way," Impulse forces himself to speak. The least he can do is give some closure, right? That's more than anybody has ever done for him. "That… wasn't supposed to happen."

Ren laughs that hearty laugh of his. Good. That means Impulse can keep talking, right? Yeah, he can keep talking. Maybe he'll understand if he keeps talking.

"But listen, they needed to go off! I didn't do all that work without… without them going off, okay?" Impulse goes on, kicking up dirt, trying to fix the mess he made. If only it was so easy as placing a few blocks back in place.

"No, I understand it, it's…" Ren replies, and Impulse can hear him taking in a big breath. It doesn't make him feel good. "It's fair! Y'know, it's all good—"

"And if I had killed anyone else, people would've been mad about it!" Impulse can't stop himself, even when he hears Etho try to butt in.

("You don't have to take that, Ren." Impulse knows he doesn't, and Impulse knows he shouldn't.)

"That's true…" Ren nods, and Impulse can see the way his face begins to contort back into the one he'd walked out the pyramid with. "Take us out… and me, dude!"

And Impulse just… stares at him for a moment when he says that. Because he sounds angry. And he has every right to be, and Impulse's rational mind knows that. But he doesn't want to believe it. It doesn't feel nice. Even the idea of Ren not liking him makes Impulse's skin crawl and the backs of his eyes grow warm.

His head jerks around, because Ren's mad at him, right? Nobody else? He is the one who pushed the button, after all… but he wasn't supposed to be the one to do it! No, no, no, that was Jimmy!

"I'm just very disappointed in Jimmy right now," Impulse shoots back, arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. He feels safer like this. Less vulnerable. "Very disappointed in Jimmy…"

And when Ren agrees with an "I am, too… where even is he?", Impulse feels a little less disappointed in himself.

Maybe it's for the best, though, that Jimmy wasn't there. If it took him and Ren down a life, it would've taken that poor guy out of the series! And Impulse doesn't want that, even if an ugly voice inside of him does.

Ren laughs with him for a moment. Maybe things are good. Except for when they clearly aren't, and Impulse is reminded of it.

"Well… I'm red," the werewolf shrugs, and Impulse doesn't look right at him, because he knows if he did, he'd see nothing behind his eyes. "Nice."

It's easier to ignore it. Why hadn't Impulse started doing this sooner?

"This whole thing was just a waste!" Impulse huffs, throwing his hands up as he strides over to examine the mess of a trap that's left. Because it was just that. It was all for nothing. "A huge waste!"

Impulse picks up his shovel and starts digging at whatever. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"…Well, at least our alliance now has two reds in it, Impulse," Ren says from somewhere, Impulse can't really tell. All he can tell is that Ren sounds way too okay about all of this. "So that's good!"

"…Yeah… true…" Impulse brings himself to respond, achy shoulders shrugging. "True…"

It's not until Impulse hears some chit-chat behind him, a quiet "two deaths today" that he can barely register, that it dawns on him the day his poor teammate has had.

Oh god, he's been so stuck in his own head that he hadn't even realized the severity of it all, hasn't he? He's such an asshole. Tango had said it best himself: worst teammate ever.

"You… you really— you really took a hit today," Impulse stutters out, and his body untenses a bit when he hears Ren laugh in response. Maybe it's okay to keep talking. "That's my bad, Ren… that's my bad…"

"That's okay, that's okay!" Ren replies, and Impulse can hear a smile in his voice. It doesn't sound like a happy one, more of something made from acceptance. He'll take that.

And so Impulse keeps talking. He explains how it all went wrong. What was supposed to happen and how everything else that went down had ruined it all. Surely Ren understands now, right? He never meant to hurt him. God, no, Impulse would never hurt him.

Impulse didn't want to die… he thinks so, at least. He tells Ren that. He tells Ren that he didn't want him to die, either, because of course he didn't! Who would want their teammate on red? Impulse couldn't do that again. He needs teammates with lives.

Ren says it's all fine, because he likes being red. Martyn's red, too, he goes on to add, so they can be red together! And Impulse tries not to get jealous. Because he doesn't deserve to be. After all he's done, Ren deserves better.

Impulse can't help but feel put off by it all. Why is Ren so okay with all of this? Why isn't he using that red name for something worthwhile and gutting Impulse from the inside out?

No, instead of getting some bloody revenge and taking Impulse down a notch, Ren reassures him that he's the safest man on the server. "Protected by two reds" or however he had put it. That sentiment should put Impulse at ease. It doesn't. How could it when he's the reason one of them is red in the first place?

Ren is just acting so normal. Too normal. Impulse would be in hysterics if his teammate had hurt him like that, wouldn't he? So why is Ren so content? Why isn't he hurting him?

Impulse guesses he should be grateful that Ren isn't like him. Or maybe he's too much like him, and that's why he hasn't left yet. Either options leave a pit in Impulse's stomach.

They go back into their base. It had been a long day, after all. They deserved some rest.

After their usual ritual of staring down at the server from the top of their pyramid, they climb down to their "basement" for bed.

And Impulse is a little shocked when he hears a soft "hey" from behind him as he began lifting his sheets up.

He whips around, seeing Ren standing a little ways away from him, already walking towards his own bed. Impulse raises a brow.

"C'mere," Ren exclaims, making a beckoning motion with his hand.

Impulse's brow furrows. "Huh? Why?"

"Well…" Ren shrugs, tail wagging anxiously behind him before slotting between his legs. "We're, like… y'know… married now. So…"

He then motions to his bed before meeting Impulse's gaze again. And his eyes aren't expectant, they just look… hopeful.

For a moment, a flurry of ugly feelings stir inside of Impulse. Because no. Regardless of the day they've had, the day Ren has had, it feels wrong. He's already done this all before, the whole sharing a bed thing. It scared him then, and it scares him now.

But oh… Ren's eyes just look so sweet. There's no timer ticking for him to climb into bed, just a hopeful expression leaving room for him to if he wants to.

Impulse likes that.

He doesn't realize how long he's been staring until Ren suddenly begins to speak again, tone flustered and shaky. "Y-You don't have to! I'm sorry, maybe that was too forward… I know you have your reasons, and—"

"No," Impulse says simply, cutting him off. He swallows down the bile that had risen in his throat when the fear first rolled around. "No, I… this is okay."

"Are you sure..?" Ren asks, brow furrowing a little, concern etched in his forehead. "I don't want you saying yes just because you think you should. I don't want that—"

"And I'm not," Impulse shrugs, forcing an awkward smile as he slowly steps forward. "I want this. I mean… it feels right. And not just because of the whole 'married' thing."

Ren's own lips quirk up in a little smile of their own. "You mean it?"

Impulse nods, huffing a chuckle through his nose. "I mean it."

The werewolf's tail whips back and forth as his smile grows, striding over to his bed and flipping the covers up, beckoning Impulse closer again. And Impulse goes willingly. Maybe even the slightest bit happily.

It's weird, sharing a bed with someone again. Especially after you just accidently killed them and yourself. But Impulse tries not to make it even weirder. He settles in beside Ren and lets him pull the sheets back up, keeping them both warm and safe beneath them.

Impulse isn't really sure where to go from there, and given the awkward chuckle Ren lets out, he supposes he doesn't know, either.

"So, uhm…" Ren starts, clearing his throat. "How do you wanna do this."

"…I don't mind," Impulse shrugs. "…You died twice today. You can pick."

Ren laughs, hearty and a little tired. It makes Impulse's heart flutter in his chest.

"Okay, okay…" he replies, humming to himself as he thinks for a moment. "…You okay with spooning?"

Impulse nods again. His head turns a little to the side to look at the other. "Where do you want me?"

The demon can see the way Ren bites the inside of his cheek, cogs working inside his head as he lays in silence for a moment. It's suddenly broken by some rustling, Ren beginning to shift onto his side facing Impulse.

Impulse raises a brow. He thought Ren would want to be the one being held.

Before he can raise any concerns as well, Ren gives a little shake of his head. How can he always tell when Impulse is about to start getting swept up in his thoughts? "I insist… I wanna protect you, okay? Like I told 'ya earlier."

"You don't have to," Impulse spits out. Maybe his honesty sounds rude. He just can't help himself. Ren makes him feel like he can be.

Ren shakes his head again, one hand gently urging Impulse to turn over. Not pushing or anything, just gingerly resting on his lower back. "But I want to."

And that completely shatters any reluctance Impulse had felt. The least he can do is give Ren what he wants, right? Right.

So he flips over, and not even a moment later he feels arms wrapping around his middle and pulling him flush to the broad chest behind him. Impulse feels his heart race in his chest for a moment, a little frightened by it all, but it's okay. Because Ren wants to protect him. And even if he didn't and this was all some elaborate plan to get Impulse to let his guard down… well, Impulse wouldn't even mind.

Ren's face buries itself in his neck, breathing him in. It feels nice. Familiar in a sort of way. The scar is gone now, but it's replaced with something new. Something much uglier and hard to hide. Oh well.

He feels Ren kiss it, and his body tenses quickly before melting into the bed. He's too kind to him. He doesn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry."

It tumbles from Impulse's lips without any warning. He doesn't cry. He can't bring himself to tonight. He's too tired.

Ren's head gives a little shake as he hums into his neck. "It's okay."

Impulse stares at the wall, eyes heavy and twitchy as voices scream inside his head, all too loud and silent at the same time as if they're under water.

It's not okay. They both know it's not.

"…I'm not very good, am I..?" Impulse chokes out, voice barely above a whisper.

It's silent for a couple passing beats before he hears another soft hum against his neck, the arms around his waist tightening a bit.

"…you're fine," Ren murmurs back, planting another gentle kiss to the scar. Impulse wishes he could turn around and do the same.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he lets out a deep, heavy sigh, swallowing a hard lump in his throat. It stings like bile.

"Okay."

It's all Impulse can really say. He doesn't want to argue about it. Maybe it's because he's scared of confrontation. Maybe it's because he's scared of being told the truth.

Either way, he tries to melt into Ren. Tries to feel a little less like himself. Tries to get away from here and all the wrong he's done.

And despite it all, Ren lets him, planting one last kiss to the scar running up the side of his neck as they both drift off to sleep.