He’s falling, Impulse thinks again, panic dulling his senses. His wings sprout from his back, flapping in desperation as he falls down, down, down.
His shoulder is an explosion of pain, white-hot and throbbing as blood trickles and bleeds into his shirt. The arrow shimmers with magic, because of course, of course–
Just my luck, Impulse thinks, bracing for impact. Get shot off the wall after summoning a Wither.
The white walls of the base taunt him as he falls, and suddenly– Nothing.
The first thing Impulse sees is red.
Red feathers, red sweater. Bloodied, shaking hands.
“–mpulse, wake up!” He hears someone hiss, shaking him as his vision clears. A dull pain wracks his body, but it isn’t… “Impulse, come on, please–”
“…Grian?” Impulse croaks, expression twisted in pain. The hand stills. “I’m not dead?”
Grian scoffs, “You’re welcome.” He scowls, then, quieter, “When I found you, you weren’t breathing.”
That… Huh. “You saved me?”
Grian looks away, “I– Yes. What, why?” He spits, defensive. “Saw you fall.”
His hands are trembling, still.
Impulse frowns. He sits up with a wince, his shoulder stinging as he moves. Grian’s hands shoot out to steady him, hovering inches away from him, “Be careful!” He snaps. Impulse stares at him, incredulous.
“Gri, I’m not gonna keel over–”
It’s only then that he gets a good look at Grian, and the words fall away.
His feathers are singed, blood and soot all over his wings. His hair is a mess, and his beloved sweater is torn, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He’s bleeding sluggishly from a wound on his head, and his arms are covered in blood.
Impulse swallows. His blood.
“…Why?” He asks, his throat dry.
Grian looks down, his mouth pulled into a thin line. Impulse grits his teeth.
“Grian, why did you save me?”
Silence. It prickles at his skin.
“They killed the Wither,” Grian replies, his voice dull. “I just– I saw you fall, and I got–” His hands ball into fists, “I got…”
Grian’s expression twists. Crimson drips down his face.
Then he stands up, eyes still downcast. “C’mon,” He mumbles, holding out a hand. “They’ll find us if we stay here. We gotta go.”
Impulse takes his hand, heaving himself up with a grunt.
There’s cheering in the distance. Impulse doesn’t face him as he says, “Thanks, I… I owe you one.”
Grian just shakes his head, tired.
“Don’t mention it. Just be careful,” He mutters, “You’re all I’ve got left.”
