#hero impulse

“Why?”

Impulse looks up from the laptop he’s been using. They’re in Gem’s apartment, which isn’t as secure as Tango’s study but is at least a place they are expected to be and thus does not ping anywhere as unusual.

"Why what?” Impulse asks. Grian shuffles a little.

“You know.” He says.

“I do. I wanna hear you say it, G.”

Grian huffs, feathers puffing a little. “Why’d you agree to it? To fighting the Council? I’d figured you for Watcher through and through.”

“And ten years ago you’d have been right.” Impulse says. “They got me the way they get everyone they don’t drag through the games- you’ll do good, your power is too immense to waste out of the field, don’t you want to be loved?”

Impulse snorts. “Yeah. I wanted to be loved. I wanted concrete answers to ethereal problems and they offered them and I bit.”

“So what made you change your mind? It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Scar.”

You didn’t tell us.”

“I wasn’t capable. I’m still not.”

That is technically true. Grian is still bound by the Contract that was written up for him, just like Scar had been.

“You found a way to tell Gem. You trusted her. You didn’t trust me. It’s okay, G, I understand. In your position I wouldn’t have trusted me.”

Impulse leans back from the laptop, staring at the popcorn ceiling Gem keeps talking about scraping off but never does anything about. His jaw works for a minute before he says, “I had this. Friend.”

“Oh boy.” Grian says. Impulse chuckles and the chuckle is wet. Grian’s eyes go wide in alarm. “Impulse,” he says carefully. “If you don’t want to- if it’s too complicated, or it hurts, or. I know the value of keeping something that tight.”

“That’s half the problem, Grian.” Impulse says, blinking hard to force the tears back. “Keeping it too tight. Remember how you ragged on me for my earring?”

“..yeah?”

“It was stolen.” Impulse says simply. “One of two pairs, actually. From a high end jewelry store back home. I didn’t know until months later and by then the, uh, perpetrator had been picked up on another theft. They never did pin the jewelry store on him. He never outright said it was him but we both knew he couldn’t afford diamonds, especially not natural blue or yellow ones.”

Impulse remembers having the earring privately assessed, a couple months after arriving in Hermiton. The jeweler had complimented his taste, told him about gem’s color and cut and clarity, assured him that it was the genuine article.

The pawning of its mate and the mate to the yellow diamond Skizz wore had paid for his truck.

Impulse hadn’t worn the earring for almost a year after that. Looking at it made him feel vaguely ill.

“Impulse. What does your diamond earring have to do with anything?” Grian asks.

“That friend I mentioned? He stole it. He stole a lot of things, his meta ability was good for it. He was- they got him.”

Grian looks at Impulse, all the color draining from his face.

“He was listed as eliminated in the files. He went missing after Tango and I left town, and by the time we heard- they never found a body.”

One drop.

“His name was Skizz.”

Another.

“Skizriel Lehman.”

More, until Impulse cannot hold them anymore. He stares down at hands he can’t quite see through the tears and doggedly continues, unable to look Grian in the face as his younger compatriot begins making those soft birdlike noises of compassion and pain.

“He wanted to come with us. Just to be here, to support us. That was the kind of guy he was. And my last conversation with him was outside a shitty motel full of people I knew would ask him to fence stolen goods because Skizz was a good talker. I wanted him to clean up, do something, make something of himself and he tried and they killed him for it.”

When Grian’s hand gently puts a tissue within view Impulse takes it gratefully and blows his nose, mops his eyes.

“The man in the photo.” Grian says. “The one with no sleeves. That’s him, isn’t it?”

Impulse laughs shakily. “Skizz hated sleeves. A real sun’s out guns out kinda guy.”

He sighs. “Tango always said it wasn’t our fault. That we couldn’t have known. He’s right, I know he is, but they took Skizz from me. And then it turns out they hurt you so bad you couldn’t rely on me. I’m supposed to be your team leader, Grian. I’m supposed to have your back.”

“You have it now.” Grian says. “That counts for something, Impulse.”

Impulse’s laptop beeps and they both instinctively look. Grian sees the results of the database crawl and groans. “Nothing.”

“Like we expected anything?” Impulse asks. “This man’s a ghost.”

“No,” Grian objects, “He’s too real to be real.”

“Gordon Nathaniel House,” Impulse reads aloud. It’s all information they already know, stuff they’ve read before. It doesn’t matter how deep they go, they never come up with anything new. Aside from Scar’s brief description of ‘an incredibly handsome man with a diamond eye’ none of the Watcher Council heroes have so much as had a fleeting glimpse of the Conflagration’s foremost thief.

This, the Goat had told them, was because Mr. House was a one man operation, and recognition could put a great many things in jeopardy. Like the old gorilla on a basketball court experiment- they needed their man to remain nondescript and unseen.

That Mr. House was the same Gordon House who OWNED the Angel Heart was something Tango had shared with them during a debrief after that meeting in the Lapis Lounge; but this didn’t help. Mr. House doesn’t have social media pages, is never photographed in or around his casino, and asking any of the Angel Heart’s employees about him is simply a step too far.

They need the Conflagration for what is coming, but neither Singularity nor Cute Guy have ever been very good at letting sleeping dogs lie.

“It’s like he was built to have all these simple answers,” Grian mutters as he goes back to his own computer. “I asked Mumbo and he didn’t say anything other than House was a good customer.”

“Which could mean anything,” Impulse sighs. Mumbo K. Jumbo would never let Singularity within a country mile of his current lair, but Cute Guy was another story. There was history there. Maybe someday Grian would feel safe enough to share it.

“Enough for tonight,” Impulse says, looking at the clock. Gem had already messaged them about her success with Moon Moth and Symmetria. They were swift approaching the eleventh hour. A couple more days and the Life Games would have their opening ceremony.

It would be, so Mindcrack had assured them, a blast.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Grian says. “I’ll order food. The usual?”

The usual,” Impulse agrees, and gets his work packed up as Grian heads for the phone. He looks at the business registry one more time.

Gordon Nathaniel House.

Funny.

“You sure about this, Dop?” Skizz says quietly, staring at the same sign his partner is. White block lettering on a cyan colored background, cheerfully set above the door and some of the small red and white awnings that shade the windows.

“Which part?” Impulse asks blankly, not looking away, and, yeah, which part indeed?

It’s quiet on the streets, well past the lunch hour but not yet when schools let out and work hours end.

Time when there’d be the fewest people around.

If— If they’re wrong. Or right. Or whatever, because they should not be here with the questions they have, the papers Dipple has on him.

Impulse steps forward first, the first to move as usual, a momentary headstart that isn’t kept. Him and Skizz crossing the street and walking down to the restaurant in perfect step with each other.

Skizz doesn’t think as he reaches forward and opens the door, a bell ringing brightly from above their heads as they enter.

“Hello, welcome to the Hungry Hermit!” The host says professionally upbeat, hands already moving to the menus. “Is it just the two of you in your party?” They check, eyes glancing back and forth between him and Impulse

“Hi, we’re actually here to see Tango if he’s in?” Skizz grins back, easy and casual. “We’re old friends, wanted to stop by and say hi.”

“Well I can certainly go check.” The host replies, letting go of the menus and stepping out from behind their counter. “Give me just a second, feel free to sit wherever.” They say gesturing around the empty restaurant before moving towards the back. There’s a server, or busser maybe, cleaning up a table, but they finish with their task barely seconds after he and Impulse sit down at one of the four tops scattered throughout the restaurant. Close enough to the door and good views of the room between him and Dipple. Something neither of them could seem to get rid of even out of uniform.

Nothing seems all that different from the last time they were here. Over a year and a half ago, even though it doesn’t feel that long ago. Everything still more or less exactly the same.

The kitchen door swings back open and a familiar blonde haired man walks out.

The host and server don’t.

“Impulse and Skizz!” Tango says, with a wide grin and bright eyes. “Wow! Hi! I haven’t seen you guys in ages! How long’s it been?” His voice is cheerful and open, but… but then it would be wouldn’t it.

“So what brought you guys in?” He asks, sitting down, casual and curious and the same Top as always. Almost.

“Have… you seen the news recently?” Impulse asks carefully, watching his face, his posture, the same as Skizz, and Tango shakes his head.

“Not really, been too busy with work and such.” He grins and for a moment Skizz maybe sees something flash across his expression. Maybe. “Why, what’s up?” He asks, tone casual and just a little higher maybe? Skizz can’t tell. Just feels like it’s the same almost mocking tone he’d taken with teachers and substitutes growing up, but it’s not.

Tango blinks at him and Impulse curious and a bit confused and happy to see them, and Skizz can’t tell if it’s real. Can’t tell if he’s making things up, in either direction.

Impulse pulls out the File.

“These are all of The Tangler’s newest puzzle.” He says, laying it out without looking. Pictures on top.

“Should you even be showing me these?” Tango asks, but there isn’t the concern he’d normally have when they get too close to talking about heroing things, just the humour. “And how’d you even get them? I thought cameras always frizted when exposed to his power.” He says and Skizz can’t tell if he’s actually looking for an answer or not. Doesn’t know which would be better.

“Special tech.” He answers anyway. Watching for a reaction that’s not there. “And not really. But it’s important so just keep it quiet?” Skizz says, pretending he’s more calm and sure than he is, and Tango nods.

“Gottcha. No worries, I can keep a secret.” He says, the almost humour again, maybe. Skizz can’t tell. Tango continues. “So then why am I looking at these then?” He asks, flipping through the pictures and sketches almost too casually.

“Because of this.” Impulse says, pulling out the most clear photo they have of the Dungeons Beasts. Pushing it towards Tango, who looks down at it bemused.

“Huh. That’s a ravager.” Tango says, sort of surprised and confused and maybe slightly impressed? “I think?” He glances back up at Skizz and Impulse like he’s looking for confirmation.

“Wait, and these are in the castle?” He continues before either of them can say anything else, putting it together, maybe? But he doesn’t seem concerned. That they’re here. That they linked a villain to him.

Skizz doesn’t know what that means.

“Did you ever give your designs for Decked Out to anyone?” He asks, keeping to the plan, and Tango blinks.

“Like in college and after? Uh, not that I can’t think of, but maybe.” He tilts his head as he thinks back. “Most of the places I applied didn’t like the “mental” designation of my quirk,” he makes air quotes around the word with an aggravated roll of the eyes, “but between the starving-artist and sleep deprification and such I might’ve shown someone.” He snorts. “That’s caffeine poisoning and chronic insomnia for you.”

“Wait, caffeine poisoning?" Skizz asks, thrown out of analyzing one of his best friends’ face.

“Yeah?” Tango says, shooting a confused look at him. “I got it like, eight times those couple of years after Mom died. I know I’ve mentioned it in a call before, Zed gets on my case about it all the time.” And Skizz remembers all the times Zedaph had jumped on Tango for drinking “yet another coffee” or asking how many he’d had during their calls. Skizz had thought it’d been a joke. A bit. Tango tilts his head slightly, flicking his gaze away. “Huh, might’ve been one of the ones you guys missed or had to drop.” He shrugs, brushing past the tangent without a second thought. Despite the fact he and Impulse should be two of Tango’s emergency contacts.

“Right…” Skizz says. At least they were. Did they really miss that many calls? Had they missed an emergency call?

“Anyway, I don’t remember sharing Decked Out with anyone, but I definitely could’ve passed the designs to someone.” Tango continues, head tilted in thought but a tight frown that don’t make sense combined together.

It’d always been him and Impulse and Tango and Zed. The four of them.

“Or posted something online maybe? But I feel like I would have noticed that.”

They’re the reason he has both eyes, each of their left one’s all slightly worse because they’d been who he ran to after the accident and then forced him to pull from them until he could see again.

“Sorry, I can’t be more help.” Tango says, looking over the pictures intrigued. “They do look really similar, I’m surprised you didn’t pick it up earlier. Or, well, I guess you might have been too busy to come check.” It’s casual, offhand, but…

“You really can’t remember anything or anyone?” Skizz presses. “Decked Out was your baby.” There has to be someone else. “You had all of those plans before suddenly dropping the professional path.” He and Dipple had both been surprised hearing about it, but then they got called out before they could ask, and then it’d just been the new norm. Skizz and Impulse were heroes, Zed worked in a lab, and Tango owned a restaurant.

“Baby and the bathwater though.” Tango points out, humorously, before dropping his smile a bit. “I really don’t have a lot of memories of those years, Skizz. They weren’t good.” He says, an edge to his voice Skizz hasn’t heard before. At least he doesn’t think so. A warning not to push it.

“Besides, now I’ve got the restaurant and everything else!” Tango says with a grin, back to his previous brightness like nothing had happened. Like the normal Tango. Like the Tango they knew.

“Right.” Skizz replies, almost robotically.

“Sorry again.” Tango apologies calmly as he sweeps all the pictures back into their folder. “And good luck with everything if it really is based on Decked Out.” The almost humor’s back. Maybe. Probably.

“Was that all you came by for?” He asks, expectant. Like he’s used to them leaving. Is he really that used to it?

“Tango, please, if you— if you know something and don’t tell us now…” Impulse trails off. Unable to finish that sentence. “I don’t want to have to come back.” He admits pleadingly, trying to put all his thoughts and Skizz’s into a sentence and expression so similar to their childhood, and there’s a pause.

“What makes you think you’d even make it to the door?” Tango asks like he’s amused, eyes red on darker red for a second between blinks, and then overly saturated blue and glowing, and Skizz finds himself unable to breathe. No. No, no, no.

“Come on, I’ll show you out!” Their childhood friend says cheerfully as he stands, they’re standing. “I’m sure you’re pretty busy with heroificating and all!” Walking to the door.

“Thanks for dropping by though! It was good to see you guys!” He says, cheerfully. The bell in the doorframe chiming as he opens the door. “We’ll have to try and arrange a call sometime soon!” They’re outside the door.

“See you around Impulse and Skizzle!” Tango calls from behind them and there’s the bell again, ringing.

The sidewalks are practically empty this time of day, past lunch, before schools get out or workplaces end.

The wooden door solid and shut not directly behind them, under an overhang between the two red and white awnings that shade the windows. A white and cyan sign spelling out “The Hungry Hermit”.

It’d been a warm day. The sunlight still hitting the area around them.

The street quiet and sunny and calm.

The restaurant colorful and cheerful and exactly the same as before they entered.

“We have to tell the brass.” Skizz says numbly.

“We have to.” He repeats. Trying to convince himself.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Life Series | 3rd Life SMP Series Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: EthosLab & impulsesv, EthosLab & Joel | SmallishBeans Characters: EthosLab (Video Blogging RPF), impulseSV (Video Blogging RPF), Joel | SmallishBeans Additional Tags: very minor original character - Freeform, he's not important dw about him, Assassination Attempt(s), Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Superhero EthosLab (Video Blogging RPF), Superhero impulseSV (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Joel | SmallishBeans, etho is part weeping angel, First Meetings, aka the start of what will become a rivalry!, Etho is traumatized, it's really only there if you squint though, Mentioned TangoTek (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF) Series: Part 9 of specter's hero/villain/vigilante au Summary:

Of course! It's Blackhole!

It's not that Impulse minds having new teammates, exactly.

It's just that, well, he and Tango have been doing really well. They're getting decently established, people know them, they've gotten into the swing of things- hell Impulse is finally used to giving interviews, which isn't something he ever thought he'd get used to. Tango still hates them, ducks away as soon as possible. the other heroes they've trained with have moved on to other assignments but the two of them are still in Hermiton, and as far as Impulse can tell they're here to stay, flagship heroes of the Watcher Council.

So, like.

Why ruin a good thing?

"Be reasonable," Tango had told him that morning when they got word that the newest recruit had passed through his initial training with flying colors. "This guy could be a good fit! Worst case, they wind up shuffling him off downstairs or to another city."

No, Impulse had wanted to say, worst case is he's a closet villain infiltrating to destroy us from the inside, but that sounded a little paranoid even to him and it's not the style of their growing rogues' gallery.

Still he avoids opening the folder until there's only a few hours before their intended meeting. Then he reluctantly flips it open and starts to read.

He gets about three sentences in before he throws the folder and scrambles for the communicator on the wall. It's beeping before he can even activate it and he slams the call button. "Tango?!"

-DID YOU READ IT?-

"I didn't even get past the first page- get up here!"

-Already on my way!-

Tango arrives at Impulse's door seven minutes later, still smelling faintly of machine oil but looking decent. His metal halo is chiming non-stop and his face is spread in a grin that is almost grotesque.

"How?!" Impulse demands. He'd picked up the scattered pages but found himself unable to read them, full of nerves. Tango has no such problem and snatches the folder from Impulse, opening it and clearing his throat.

"After demonstrating meta control above and beyond that of others in the program," he reads, "it was agreed that Mr. Lehman be put through the same basic training offered to aspiring members of the Watcher Heroes, where he continued to exhibit the skill, drive, and flexible thinking that has marked some of the very best of our number."

He chuckles. "This next part's my favorite."

"Oh my god shut up and read!" Impulse bursts and Tango laughs before continuing, voice getting faster and a touch more hysterical with every word, "considering Mr. Lehman's childhood associations with current heroes Singularity and the Teknician, and his demonstrated knowledge of their meta abilities, he will be stationed in Hermiton for the foreseeable future' He fucking DID IT IMPULSE!"

Impulse looks from the folder to Tango.

He opens his mouth, closes it-

then bursts into tears.

Tango's arms are around him in an instant. "It's okay, buddy," he says softly. "He's okay."

"I just left him there," Impulse sobs, "and I said such shitty things and- and- Tango he did it. He did it!"

"Of course he did," Tango says, his own eyes a little damp. "He's Skizz."

Impulse gropes for a nearby tissue box. "We gotta put together a welcome box," he says as he wipes his eyes, blows his nose. "We- he'll need all the takeout numbers, and we're gonna have to show him the trick with the washing machines, and we can take him to that karaoke bar by the speedway- Tango we should have read this stupid file three days ago!"

"Well we thought we were dealing with a rando three days ago!"

"Oh my god we have so much to do. How long- damn we have like two hours TOPS-"

"..hey, Impulse?"

"Yeah?"

"There's something else in here."

-

Skizz had always been more physically intimidating than either Impulse or Tango. He's a full head taller, for one thing, and years of running- for fun, from cops- had given him a lean frame that somehow didn't seem incongruous with his frankly ridiculous biceps.

Seeing him in the conference room, talking quietly with a Watcher administrator- the purple mist woman, her name escapes Impulse at the moment- is jarring. Gone is the sleeveless flannel, the torn jeans, the mullet that he had always managed to make look good regardless of how his friend ribbed him about it. His hair's still shaggy, still a little too long but his clothes are mostly black and gray.

"Oh my god the cargo pants," Tango mutters as Impulse reaches for the doorknob. "Think he picked those on purpose?"

"You know he did," Impulse hears himself say, and then he opens the door. Skizz looks up and towards them.

The Something Else becomes jarringly obvious, because his best friend's brilliant blue eyes don't match anymore.

One is edge to edge gold, shining with an inner light- a prosthetic.

Skizz had become one of them, become a hero- but it cost him an eye.

The last time Impulse Esvey had seen Skizriel Lehman it had been his back, hunched in the cool unfairly beautiful autumn afternoon, walking away from him and into the Flamingo Motel's main lobby.

Now he watches that grin spread, megawatt and white, and though he doesn't know enough about himself to feel it Impulse's heart skips a beat-

And he's reaching for the doorknob again.

He's opening the door again.

Skizz is grinning again.

Then he's reaching for the doorknob. He stares at it and then at Tango. "You go first," he says, and Tango shrugs and pushes the door open.

"SKIZZ!" He cheers, and Skizz turns and sees him and says, "TOP!" and barrels towards him, fearlessly grabbing him despite the whirling metal shards around Tango's head and lifting him in the kind of hug that cracks backs. The administrator laughs, delighted, and then Skizz is putting Tango down and looking past him and Impulse holds on this time, smiling so hard it hurts, knowing he's tearing up and knowing that Skizz won't say a word about it.

Impulse doesn't say anything. He only opens his arms, and Skizz steps into them, and when they hug Skizz murmurs, "Why does my nose itch, Dippledop?"

Impulse laughs and laughs and then sobs into Skizz's shoulder, not wanting the administrator to hear (knowing she does) but safe in the knowledge that Skizz won't let go until he's done.

That first loop ends abruptly, which means someone killed him.

The Mountain, Singularity figures- probably came around from behind and broke his neck before anyone else could react. He’d known the big man was fast, but he hadn’t known he was that fast.

Another loop is wasted on panic and violence-an attempt to infiltrate the casino after hours which results in a fight with the single most ridiculous security team he’s ever seen-before loop three, where Singularity proceeds with the meeting as best he remembers it.

When Tango tells them during the debrief that Mr. House is a real person, is in fact Gordon House, something clicks.

Impulse catches Skizz the first time in loop four after running out of the room to follow Stratos. He lingers, tailing his younger compatriot until the back hallway.

Until he watches, wide eyed and horrified, as Skizriel Lehman- who once spent an entire day running from the truant officer while trying to find a shelter that would accept half-drowned kittens he’d found on his way to school- cheerfully picks up a struggling, bound man by his lapels, says, “Better luck next time, buddy!” and drops him down an elevator shaft.

There is an audible, distant crunch. Skizz winces. “I’m sure that’ll buff out,” he says, peering down the shaft.

It’s so morbid, so ridiculous, so perfectly Skizz, that Impulse laughs. The laugh comes out a hysterical sob, and that first time Skizz doesn’t drop the knife.

Impulse bleeds out on the casino floor, Skizz’s panicked voice getting farther and farther away, don’t you die on me, we need you for this, I need you, I need you Impulse-!

Loop five is the first loop Skizz runs.

He runs for loop six, seven, eight.

Loop nine is.. different.

Impulse is thinking about loop nine as he watches Skizz stare at him.

Skizz licks his lips. “…..hey, Dippledop.”

-

"So what do you want to hear, Impulse, that you were right? Well you were right! I'm a thief! The best in the goddamn business, sure, but still a thief, because thats all anyone would ever let me be! I TRIED, you know? But the instant an employer saw my ability, saw my record, it was 'no thanks, that position has been filled, hit the road, jack.' I was doing NIGHT CONSTRUCTION, Impulse. All I wanted was to, to see people. Help old ladies move heavy stuff, maybe. Serve some soup. Shit no one needed to see my record for. Next thing I know I'm in an unmarked van headed to god only knows where and when I get out would you look at that, it's like prison only cleaner and hey would you all mind terribly obeying the teeny tiny print and murdering one another for our enjoyment?!”

-

“Hey, Skizz.” Impulse says. “Long time no see. Uh. Nice. Nice place?”

He hadn’t thought he’d get this far.

- "You know why I'm not dead? Because the other guy had never used a bow before. This was a lucky shot and I ducked. And then, after feeding me SOMETHING they probably got from someone tied up in a BASEMENT, they took me out back like a dog with rabies and I was scared and you weren't there and suddenly I was where the dude with the gun was and he was where I was and well shit, Skizriel, not bad enough you've got burglary and robbery and grand theft fucking auto on your record now a man is DEAD."

-

Skizz takes a step forward.

-

“So what the fuck was I gonna do, Impulse? Go home? Go to the POLICE? Serve myself up on a fucking platter to serve twenty to life for the AUDACITY of not dying, or worse get forked over so the Watcher Council could finish what they started and turn me into what Doc made Beef? Or, or those two poor sons of bitches they left in the bay? No. No all they did was speed up what I knew was coming all along so I made like you and I got the hell out of dodge and yeah, here I am, doing the same shit I was when you an' Top left. Here to clean up your mess, just like always, you big damn hero.”

-

Impulse braces.

-

"Is THAT why you think I'm doing this? To, to win? To be right?"

"Well why the hell else-”

"THEY KILLED YOU, SKIZZ!”

-

“How many times?” Skizz asks, taking another step forward.

“I. Uh, I lost count.”

Skizz is faster now, so much faster.

He has his arms around Impulse before the other man can blink.

“Liar.” Skizz says, muffled against his shoulder. Still that much taller than him, the absolute jerk.

“…this is number ten.” Impulse says. “It shouldn’t be possible, you know that? We ran tests. They ran tests. Any more than, than five and I can cause aneurisms. It’s not safe.”

“I don’t give a shit how safe it is.”

“You should. I- last time you were yelling.”

There’s a wet spot growing on Impulse’s shoulder. “Good for me. Must have said what needed saying.”

“Yeah. You did. But I didn’t.” Impulse’s hands finally lift, wrapping around the bigger man, then his fingers tighten and no force on earth will make him let go.

“Skizz I’m sorry.” He sobs. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry. Tango found what Moth stole and it said they’d killed you and then Grian and Scar and- and I left you out there and you were missing for so long and I didn’t know, and I couldn’t let them kill anyone else’s Skizz.”

“They won’t.” Skizz promises, pulling back. The eye patch has a wet spot that matches the tear tracks on his other cheek. “They won’t.”

“Skizz we’ve tried!” Impulse says. “We’ve tried and tried and every time the plan goes off and she figures it out. At the very last second she realizes what’s happening and she tries to kill me.”

“Only I won’t let her.” Skizz says simply. “I’m stupid like that. So I die instead. Right?”

Impulse forces himself to meet Skizz’s gaze. “Leave. We can figure out another way.”

“There is no other way.”

“Yes there is. The interview and the file drop is damning enough. All you want is the stadium messed up. Xibraltar can do it, or Stratos. Hell the Mountain if he’s pressed.”

“We need to get those people out first or it’s a deathtrap.”

“FUCK those people!” Impulse bursts and Skizz smiles down at him, Skizz who isn’t dead and is here and is touching him.

“You don’t mean that.” Skizz says.

“I want to mean it.” Impulse says. “Skizz..”

Skizz cups Impulse’s face in his hands, like he did when they were younger and Impulse was having a panic attack. He grins, lopsided. There are scars and lines now. Impulse can almost smell the campfire smoke, the pine sap.

“I have an idea. And all my ideas are good ideas, remember?”

Impulse sniffs. "Yeah."

"See? Okay. Cool. Step one." Skizz pulls back a little, takes his hand like when they were eight. "Let's go find Tango."

--

Steven looks up from his evening paper at the man who has just walked into his house, breathing shallow and eyes wide. He sniffs. 

"I see," he says, touching the side of his own nose, feeling the tenderness in the sinuses there. "And how many times have you Looped me, then?"

"I believe you." 

"Oh?" Steven folds up his newspaper, sets it down on his table and steeples his fingers. "And why is that?"

"Because this is loop fifty and I can't find any proof you're lying." Singularity says. "So you didn't kill Scar." 

"HotGuy? No, HotGuy was not my work. And if this is indeed a Loop, then you know what I am going to say next." 

"Yes. I do." Singularity pulls out a chair and sits down which is bold of him, Steven thinks, but he'll let it slide. After all the man has proven capable of getting through several layers of security to make it here. He'll have to examine that later. 

"Where is he?" Singularity asks.

"Where is- oh. HotGuy." 

"YES HotGuy where is he?"

"Just because I didn't kill him doesn't mean he isn't dead, Singularity."

"Only he's not. I know he's not because last Loop we- you told me." Singularity's eyes don't quite meet his. 

"How strange it must be," Steven murmurs, "to live so many more lives than those around you. Very well. HotGuy lives." 

"Where is he?"

"He is safe, that is what matters. His partner has been informed of his survival."

"Gr- CuteGuy knows?"

"He does."

"...you know about them. About the Games."

"We do." A tit for a tat, Steven thinks, not his usual methods of operation- it's far more like Ren to give an enemy even an inch- but then again, enemy of my enemy. "A few of our own were also involved in the Games."

Singularity takes a deep, even breath. "Litch told me about you."

Steven tilts his head. "Oh?"

"I went down to the Archives. I was looking for something. They told me what I was looking for was before their time. It would have been when you were in the basement."

"And you want to know what I did." Steven says. "Does this have any relevance to current operations?"

"I need to know if they ever handed you a body," Singularity gets it out in a rush. "Six three. Caucasian. Brown hair. Probably woulda been long. Tattoo around his right bicep, tribal waves. Tongue piercing, maybe? Blue- blue eyes. Really blue."

He's shaking, Steven notes. Singularity is shaking like a terrified dog. The man doesn't even seem to know it's happening.

Hm, he thinks. Skizz does seem like the kind of man who had a tongue ring, once.

"I can tell you honestly no such corpse ever wound up on my slab." He says. "My projects were very limited, as you know."

Only ever had two successes, and Steven knows he can't count Etho as 'his' success. The man had come back to life all by himself, his meta ability finally triggering on death.

Singularity breathes in.

He breathes out.

He forces himself to calmness. It's as fascinating to watch as the shaking was.

"I believe you." He says.

"Did I beg for my life?" Steven asks.

"Wh-what?"

"In a previous loop. Did I beg for my life?"

"No," Singularity says, the word harsh and bitten off. "No, you didn't."

"Good." Steven looks out the kitchen window for a moment. "We accept your offer, and will share our plans. Our intention is to read in both HotGuy and CuteGuy, if they wish- or if they don't, we will find a way to get them out of Hermiton. I believe you will agree with me when I say they have suffered enough under the thumbs of the Watchers."

His gaze sharpens. "Our other intention is to blow the arena into the ground."

Singularity jerks. "But the contestants-!"

"We are working on that. Limited to no civilian casualties, if we do it right."

"That's a pretty big if, Doc!"

"It is. But in this particular case I have full faith in my associates. It will make life difficult for both Litch and Puppet, but," he shrugs. "eggs, omelets. You know how it goes."

Singularity takes another long breath. "Fuck. Do you have whiskey in this place?"

"I do. The question is whether I intend to share it. And I do."

"Good."

"Whatever would your fellow heroes think of you in this moment? Asking for booze from the notorious Doc."

"Don't know, don't care."