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thetomorrowshow · 8 days ago

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Whumptober 30 - Recovery

title: one of the vaguer divinities

fandom: hermitcraft smp

more of sleep cycle :)

The moment they get back is when Tango finally bursts into tears.

He’d been holding them back for a week now, and when everyone had burst in with the rescue party he’d still held them back, too focused on getting Impulse out of his binds and letting the man slump against him, entirely unconscious.

But stepping onto Hermitcraft, seeing the colorful spawn with everyone’s starter houses and being surrounded by worried faces, loud and pushing forward? That’s the final straw.

Tango practically collapses, his sobs shaking his frame so badly that he can’t hold himself up anymore. He would have fallen to the ground entirely, if it wasn’t for Bdubs suddenly at his side, supporting him as they all move quickly toward the medical building set up for this express purpose.

Tango lets Bdubs help him to a bed, despite the fact that he’s really just got a couple of bruises. He watches, through his relentless tears, as Doc fights the effects of the turtle-master potion that they ease down his throat, one arm missing and a screwdriver stuck in his eye. He watches as Ren chews on his nails, wincing every time Scar rubs a bit more fire-resistance into the burns on the soles of his feet. He watches as Mumbo trembles and panics silently, refusing all touch and offers of sedation. He watches as Impulse lies entirely still, Cleo and Joe trying to categorize the plethora of injuries that litter his body.

“I don’t need to be here,” he chokes out, but Bdubs just pushes him onto his back.

“You can rest, Tango,” he insists. “It’s okay. We got you out.”

He has rested. He has.

He’s a little bit tired from the rescue, though, so he doesn’t fight to get back up, just lies there and lets Gem check his vitals.

When she gives him the all-clear, Tango sits back up. When it becomes clear that no one’s paying a lot of attention to him, too focused on the others, he slips out of the room. When he runs into no opposition, he makes a break for it, sprinting for the nearest Ender chest to collect his elytra.

With no eyes on him, Tango flies home.

He isn’t avoiding Impulse.

He really, really isn’t. It’s just that Decked Out takes all his time, anyways. It isn’t out of the ordinary for him to be buried in work in his fortress, too busy to do more than casually respond to messages.

They have to take Impulse off-world for surgery. Something about his shoulders that they want to make sure is sorted before they force a respawn. Tango shows up when they bring him back, sleepy and not-quite-there, but he can’t bring himself to enter the room and just watches from the doorway, before eventually leaving, handing a ‘get well’ card to Gem to give to him.

He spends the rest of his time in the inner mechanisms of Decked Out. He sees the notification for Impulse’s death and respawn, following Ren’s, and later joined by Doc’s. They’d decided that Mumbo’s wouldn’t change anything, as most of the visible effects that the imprisonment had had on him were malnutrition and wouldn’t be solved by a respawn.

Tango hadn’t even had any clue that Mumbo was trapped in there with them. He hadn’t known until False had emerged from the building with a trembling Mumbo in her arms.

Tango also hadn’t merited a respawn, but he wasn’t hurt. It was Impulse who was hurt the most, he thinks. Even Doc and Ren got to sleep. Even Doc and Ren got breaks.

Tango works absentmindedly on the wiring of one of the key releases while he thinks, debating on whether or not he should message Impulse.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, so there shouldn’t be any inner debate.

He really wants to, though.

Impulse had made it clear that he didn’t want to see him. He’d glimpsed him in the doorway after returning home from the surgery and had turned away with a shudder, and maybe that had been instrumental in Tango leaving, because clearly Impulse couldn’t stand the sight of him.

Tango remembers what he said, back in that awful place. About how he never wanted to see Tango again.

The least he can do is honor that wish. He tried so hard to show Impulse that he didn’t want to hurt him, that he was forced to, but it obviously hadn’t worked. And that was okay! It wasn’t Impulse’s fault that Tango’s face was linked to his trauma. If it makes it easier for Impulse to get better, Tango would happily never see him again.

Well. Not happily, he supposes. But he’ll do it, for Impulse.

It keeps him up at night. Thinking about Impulse, about everything that he could’ve done to try and make it even better.

He could’ve given in.

He could have, and it wouldn’t have been too huge of a problem! He could’ve said it’ll take a while, then start designing some crappy piece of redstone and spend days on it, long enough to let the others find them. It was only a week, after all. He could have done that, and then Impulse would be fine.

It’s his fault, really.

He’s the one who held out so stubbornly, he’s the one who beat Impulse, he’s the one who got to sleep.

He’s the one—

Zzzt!

Tango yelps as the wires he’s holding suddenly zap him; drops them to the stoney ground.

What’s that all about?

He picks them back up, muttering darkly about his singed fingers, and examines the wire ends. They look fine, but when he tries to connect them, they short-circuit again, shocking him a second time.

Tango curses, then reaches into the shulker box behind him. He can replace them, he’ll just need. . . .

He’s out.

Perfect. Well, it’s not like he was making much progress, anyway. He’s been working on this one spot for hours, now, and it’s absolutely time to go for a walk or something to clear his head.

Something to stop thinking about the abrupt end to his and Impulse’s friendship.

It’s nighttime when Tango leaves, which comes as a surprise, because wasn’t it nighttime last time he left to grab a bite to eat? He’s been working for longer than he thought, no wonder his work was getting slow.

He should probably go to Scar’s redstone shop, but the place is overpriced at the best of times. Maybe he can just dip in on Cub and steal some? Surely the guy wouldn’t notice.

His thoughts of thievery are cut short, however, by the sound of demonic screeching behind him. Tango grimaces. Phantoms.

iBuy looms ahead of him. iBuy sells some redstone stuff, right? It has string, at least, and he definitely needs string.

Impulse won’t be in. It’s the middle of the night; nobody else will even be up, let alone Impulse. Why would Impulse visit his own shop, anyway? The only reason to visit one’s own shop is to restock, and there’s no reason anyone would be restocking at this time.

Why would he even think to steal Cub’s redstone before checking iBuy? It makes sense to go there first. It’s closer, everything will be sorted, no chance of accidentally running into someone. Way better.

That doesn’t stop the dread creeping up his throat when he lands on the doorstep.

The first drops of a midnight rain shower are hitting the ground when he hurries in, slamming the door to the shop right before the phantoms swoop in after him. They continue to attack the side of the building and windows, but Tango ignores him as much as he ignores the rain picking up.

Tango starts browsing the shop, glancing around for the particular wires that he needs. He doesn’t see a redstone section, but that’s not the end of the world—he needs to restock on several things, really. Good thing he ended up going to iBuy. The place had just about everything (redstone not included).

He nabs some shulker shells, then an entire box of bamboo (he doesn’t need near that much for his scaffolding plans, but he isn’t sure how to pay half a diamond for only half a box so he just gets the whole thing). He’s about to head up to the fourth floor when—

“Tango?”

Tango shrieks, spinning around.

Impulse.

Impulse is standing there, among the shelves, and he looks—

The shadows under his eyes are dark and thick, his stubble is almost a beard. His hair is unbrushed, and he still looks too thin, a bit hunched over on himself.

He looks tired.

Tango’s fingers twitch.

“You should be sleeping,” Tango blurts out, then curses silently as Impulse winces.

“You’re the one with the phantoms,” he replies, gesturing toward the window.

True. Still. “Yeah, but that’s . . . that’s normal. What are you even doing here?”

“Restocking.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“What are you doing?”

“Uh. Shopping.”

Impulse raises an eyebrow. Okay, maybe it is a bit hypocritical. Can he blame Impulse for being here when he’s here, as well?

“You should still be in bed. You know. . . .” Tango waves vaguely, hoping he doesn’t need to say it.

Impulse’s face shutters closed. “Right. Thanks.”

He’s messed up.

He’s messed up big time. Impulse looks down at his shoes, and Tango’s such an idiot, because of course Impulse doesn’t want to think about it, of course he doesn’t want to see Tango—

Tango doesn’t wait a moment longer. He steps back into the elevator and shoots down to the first floor, where he sprints out the door. He’d rather take the rain and the phantoms over hurting Impulse any more.

Some secret, lonely part of him hopes that Impulse will follow him, drag him into some sort of cover to keep him dry and safe from the phantoms.

He doesn’t.

“I miss him,” Tango admits, cursing his throat for choking up.

Doc raises an eyebrow.

Tango hasn’t left his fortress since that terrible midnight encounter, so Doc had had to track him down. Tango had seen in chat that Doc was uncomfortable with being alone, followed by multiple Hermits volunteering to get a schedule of people hanging out with him until he felt a bit better. Tango had loved the idea, but hadn’t put his own name in.

It seems like that didn’t matter. Doc found him anyway, in the depths of Decked Out.

“He doesn’t want to be around me, and that’s fine,” he continues. “But—I mean, it’s Impulse. He was one of my best friends. It’s hard.”

“Why did you say, ‘was’?” Doc asks, frowning. “He did not die.”

“I mean, we aren’t best friends anymore. So, was. You know?”

Doc stares at him for a long time. “Tango, you look exhausted,” he says. “Are you sleeping?”

Tango waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Is Impulse sleeping? Do you know?”

“Maybe you should ask him.”

“I don’t want to upset him.”

“Why would you upset him?”

“Because—he doesn’t want me around, okay?”

Doc hums. “I would think that if you were best friends, he would be missing you as much as you are missing him.”

“He isn’t. He—he doesn’t want to see me.” Tango runs his hands through his hair and finally sits down, abandoning the fine detailing he’d been painting onto the wall of this room. Doc has been seated in a chair for the past thirty minutes, watching Tango paint, but he hadn’t brought a second chair, so Tango ends up on the floor. “You don’t know what I did to him.”

“No,” Doc shrugs. He grimaces at the movement, but keeps rotating his half-built mechanical arm. “Stupid wires,” he mutters. “Keep pinching. No, I do not know what you did to him. I do not know what he did to you.”

“He didn’t—”

“We all did something to each other,” Doc says, waving his hand dismissively. “You feel guilty. Do you know how to overcome that guilt?”

Tango knows what Doc wants to hear. He knows that Doc is going to tell him that the only way to overcome the guilt is make things right with Impulse.

He messes with the laces of his boots for a moment. “I hurt him,” he says eventually, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I—they wouldn’t let him sleep, but they let me sleep, and—and to keep him awake, I hurt him. I chose to, I thought I’d be—be better than his guards. I kept him awake. I—I was his hell for a whole week, and he said—”

He can’t get it out.

A tear drips down his nose.

“That sounds . . . very hard,” Doc responds after a moment, sounding uncomfortable. “But I’m sure—”

“I can’t make that right,” Tango cries. “I can’t—I don’t deserve to. I don’t deserve his forgiveness. And he won’t forgive me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He said—he—he never wants to—to see me, ever again! I can’t. I can’t try to—to overstep that. I can’t!”

He buries his face in his knees, hiding from Doc’s judgemental eyes. He sobs, then, just as he had when they got back to Hermitcraft, five days and a lifetime ago.

“I . . . I hurt Mumbo,” Doc admits after a long moment, and Tango looks up.

Doc’s face is twisted in some strange mixture of guilt and disgust, his fingers tapping against his chair. “They—I am having a hard time talking about it. They made me choose to hurt either Mumbo or Ren. I—I’m ashamed to say I hurt Mumbo.”

Oh.

Oh, that sounds terrible. Having to pick between two friends, knowing that in one’s safety is the other’s condemnation? That’s the worst.

And that answers the question of how Doc had known that Mumbo was there, when no one else had any clue.

“Dude, that sucks,” Tango manages, running the heel of his hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I . . . I have not told Mumbo, yet. I don’t know if he knew it was me. I want to apologize to him but . . . I don’t want him to hate me.”

“It isn’t your fault, though,” argues Tango. “Like, it isn’t your fault they made you hurt someone. I’m sure Mumbo will forgive you, he’ll get it.”

“Yes, but I chose to hurt him. I could have chosen Ren.”

“That just means you would have to be apologizing to Ren right now,” Tango says. “Like, either way, someone would get hurt. You say it was your choice, but they didn’t give you a real choice. That isn’t your fault.”

Doc nods, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “I will talk to Mumbo,” he says eventually. “And you will talk to Impulse.”

“I—what?”

“All the advice you just gave me? It isn’t my fault? Mumbo will forgive me? I did not have a real choice?”

“It’s not—”

“It is not the same,” Doc agrees before Tango can even fully say it. “But the solution is no different. Let’s meet again in three days and report back, okay?”

Doc stands, nods, and leaves.

And Tango?

Tango throws a paintbrush at the stupid wall and goes back to crying.

It takes Zed staging an ‘accidental’ meeting for Tango to see Impulse next, two days after Doc talks to him.

“Oh my goodness! Impulse! I didn’t know you were coming to the shopping district, too!”

“You invited me,” Impulse says, eyes fixed on Tango.

“Well. Now how about that? My memory these days,” Zed says, shaking his head sadly. “Speaking of, I forgot! I have a Zedvancement with Cleo right now! Silly me, making all these scheduling errors. I guess I’ll just have to leave you two here!”

And Zed leaves.

Tango’s pretty sure that Doc is genuinely going to show up to their recap meeting, so even though Impulse looks like he’s about to leave again, Tango goes for it.

“I’m so so sorry,” he blurts out, and Impulse freezes.

“What?”

“I’m really sorry for what I did, and—I didn’t want to, I hated it, and it kills me that I did it, and you don’t have to forgive me but I needed to tell you sorry.”

Impulse doesn’t answer for a long moment. When he does, it’s with slight confusion painting his haggard features. “Dude, what?”

Tango tries to rub away the burning of his eyes. He can’t cry again, not when he’s finally facing Impulse. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he says, as clearly as he can. “I should’ve done something to help you. I should’ve been someone safe, but I hurt you, just like them. I—I know you don’t want to see me again, and that’s okay. I just wanted to say sorry.”

Impulse bites his lip. “Did you and Zed plan this?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Tango says, trying (and failing) to laugh. “That’s all Zed. Sorry about that—I didn’t want to make you talk to me.”

Tango looks away, now. He’s probably two seconds away from crying, and he’s not going to do that right now. He doesn’t want to guilt-trip Impulse.

“I don’t hate you, Tango,” Impulse says, and Tango’s head jerks back to him.

What?

Impulse’s eyes are wet, his face open and honest. He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Dude, I’m sorry. I thought—it doesn’t matter. Why do you think I don’t want to see you again?”

“I—you said it. Back—when—”

Impulse pulls a face. “I don’t remember a lot of those last few days. But—but I was definitely lashing out, I know that. Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it, promise. I just—why didn’t you come talk to me?”

“I—I thought you didn’t want to see me.” It’s a surprise to Tango when Impulse makes up the distance between them with two giant steps and wraps him in a hug.

He missed this. He really, really missed Impulse’s hugs, the way Tango fits just perfectly between his arms. Impulse’s hugs mean comfort, home, happiness.

Tango’s crying before he can stop himself, clinging to Impulse like he never has before. Impulse is crying, too, he realizes, squeezing Tango almost too tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Tango sobs, and he’s sorry for everything, for the kidnapping and the torture and avoiding him and the crying, and probably a bunch of other stuff. He hopes Impulse picks up on all that.

“I forgive you,” Impulse tells him, voice hitching.

Tango hadn’t needed medical help. He had sat on the bed and watched his friends be healed, before slipping away. He hadn’t thought he had anything to be healed.

He was wrong.

Here, now, in Impulse’s arms, he thinks he finally starts healing from a wound he hadn’t realized he had.

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