Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a certain individual in the Ghost Hunting Division of the Department of Paranormal Activity that everyone knows about, but for varying reasons.

To the officials, he’s an incredibly skilled and humble individual that they’d rather have sitting in the safety of an office — since it’d be terrible for the entire company should he sustain some form of injury or lose his life in his risky job — but he regularly refused promotions despite their insistence. He'd say the ghost-identifying job is more interesting to him, and that would be that for the week before the cycle repeated.

To other people, he’s a closed-off — though polite — recluse who spends more time with the dead than the living. Some say he’d rather be in the house with the ghost than with anyone else, and you’d have to wrestle him out lest no one gets any sleep that night. Some say he’s actually a ghost that’s integrated into living society, but when asked why he wanted to hunt ghosts, no one had an answer.

To everyone involved, his name is well known and often placed on a pedestal, someone that aspiring ghost hunters want to be. Names he’s earned for himself get whispered behind bland gray stalls: the Apocalypse Legend, Paranormal Perfectionist, the Demon — named after the same ghost type he investigates because of his ruthless efficiency in hunting ghosts.

But to the man in question? If you managed to catch him outside his van, he’d introduce himself as Impulse.

***

A cloud of cold breath dispersed through the darkness as Impulse sighed. He swept his flashlight over the walls with clinical efficiency, brushing past rooms where he knew the power wouldn’t be, all while the other three people he’d been assigned to essentially babysit squabbled in fear outside. He massaged the bridge of his nose as he headed downstairs. He’s told them repeatedly that he didn’t want teammates, didn’t want a crew again, but the higher-ups insisted he’d be a great team leader to teach the recruits, much to his chagrin. He wasn’t often rucksacked with three completely fresh faces, but just his luck.

With a squeak and a flick of the switch, light flooded the basement as the distant hum of a heater came to life. He unclipped the radio from his belt and brought it to his mouth, holding the button, “If you guys are done, start bringing equipment in to find the ghost room. The power’s on, so thermometer readings should be reliable.”

He reclipped the radio to his belt and thumbed over the familiar lighter and incense that he always grabbed before leaving the van. It might limit how much he can carry inside, but he’d rather have the protection than the equipment. And besides, he doesn’t necessarily need evidence anyway to identify what ghost it could be, though it did help. Maybe the other three could set the equipment up by the front door. Then he wouldn’t have to prepare and double-check everything in the van-

He had to suppress another sigh as he heard hysterical laughter and shrieks upstairs, followed by thundering footsteps. Maybe he should just, complete the investigation himself. And request to never team up with those three ever again. That sounded like a great idea, he thought as he headed back upstairs and prepared to carry everything from the van by himself.

***

The company building was boring. Whether to a lack of budget or something else, he didn’t know. Every hall looked the same. Every door with the same looking placard, every flickering fluorescent light, and every stone brick that lined the walls. The one exception was the Gallery, but that wasn’t where he needed to go.

Impulse knocked twice on an unassuming wooden door with one hand, the other holding his — essentially — complaint forms. On top of the lack of on-field experience, none of them knew how to fill out report forms either, leaving Impulse with more paperwork to write up and an even more rancid mood. He was peeved, so you’d have to excuse him when he didn’t even bother waiting for a response inside before twisting the handle and walking in.

The office was boring too, with the same filing cabinet you’d see everywhere else and the same desk lamp that appeared on every other desk. Even the director looked boring, with his plain black suit and thick-framed glasses. Impulse opened his mouth to start speaking, hasty to get this over and done with, “Director, the report from the last investigation-”

-Only to snap his jaw shut when he noticed another person sitting a little off to the side in front of the desk.

The director perked up at seeing Impulse. “Wonderful! I’ll look at those and record the data. Successful mission, I assume?”

Impulse warily approached, looking over the new face as he placed the file down on the desk. Black tousled hair, tan, easy smile on his face, and wearing a simple suit with a red tie, but the sleeves were seemingly ripped off to reveal muscular but heavily scarred arms. “Yeah, poltergeist. Had easy tells.”

The director nodded with a pleased grin and slid the file to the side. “Perfect, I’ll pass the information to an exorcism team. In the meantime, let me introduce you to Mr. Elman here! He recently transferred from a different branch.”

He stood up with a beaming smile and reached his hand out to Impulse. “Nice to meet you, buddy! I’m Skizz, looking forward to working with you.”

Impulse hesitatingly accepted the handshake. The man was notably taller than him, so Impulse had to tilt his head up to look into his crystal-blue eyes. “Welcome to our branch, Skizz.”

“He’s rather knowledgeable in the field, been telling me all sorts of stories,” the director continued, adjusting his glasses with that same pleasant smile on his face. “We’re fortunate to have him with us-”

“That’s good to hear.”

“-And I believe it would be perfect for you two to partner up together.”

Impulse stared at the director, mouth closing and opening like a fish as he tried to form an argument on his tongue. “Sir, I’ve told you before-”

He shut up when the director raised his hand. “I know you’re adamantly against collaboration, but I truly believe that this pair will be beneficial.” He tilted his head down a little so his piercing gray eyes bore into Impulse. “For both of you.”

Struggling to make an excuse, Impulse sighed with a slump of his shoulders. “Fine.” The director smiled again and pushed his glasses back up. “You got a case for me?”

“I’ve got one right here for you. Case number 602, if I’m not mistaken.”

Skizz sputtered as the director passed another bland Manila folder to Impulse. “602?”

Impulse ignored him and flicked the folder open to quickly scan over the relevant information, eyes skipping over the filler text. “When can I go? Has the house been cleared of people?”

“You have full permission to investigate the house.”

“Then I’ll head out right now. Come on, Skizz.”

He followed Impulse, a little bit lost at what had just transpired. The director waved them off, his farewell of “happy hunting” just audible before the door clicked shut.

***

The walk to the van was silent. Getting into the van itself was silent since Impulse always had his van loaded. Pulling out of the parking lot was silent. It was terribly awkward, but Impulse felt like it had been too long to try and start a conversation, and it became unbearably more awkward the longer the silence continued. Someone should probably start talking, but that’s above his pay grade, so he kept his mouth shut.

“So…” Even if he didn’t feel obligated to start the obligatory small talk, Impulse wanted to cry with relief when Skizz finally broke the silence in the van after too long of the awkward drive. “I never did get your name back there.”

The sheer absurdity of the statement made him violently snort while the poor timing almost made him drift off the road. He promptly corrected his steering before replying, “Name’s Impulse.”

“Impulse,” Skizz repeated like he was trying to savor the taste of his name. “I can work with that. Better than what I’ve been calling you in my head anyway.”

“What have you been calling me?”

“Well, the first name I thought of was ‘hot stuff’ before I heard your case number, then I thought- also 602? That’s insane! How long have you been working here?”

Heat crept up his face. Impulse decided to ignore the first half of his comment in favor of answering his question. “Nine years roughly?”

Skizz whistled an impressive pitch before adopting a pensive look on his face with scrunched eyebrows and pursed lips. “Considering you haven’t gone insane yet hunting ghosts and working in that boring place, that’s pretty impressive.”

“I’ve got a good doctor, makes good sanity meds.”

“Impy dimpy- wait, are you the Demon guy that everyone was talking about when I first got here? Mr. Perfect or whatever?”

Impulse heaved a sigh as he debated whether or not to switch to a lane with less cars. “Something like that, yeah. I don’t really pay attention to the gossip around the office though.” He ended up not switching.

“Did that have anything to do with the director dude?”

“Nope. I just prefer going ghost hunting alone, but the director keeps sticking his nose where it don’t belong and keeps assigning me with random people.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Skizz adopt a guilty look before turning away. “Can I ask why?”

“Why to what? The alone thing or the director?” He pulled up to a red light.

“Both, I guess.”

“The alone thing is, complicated.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel to a tune in his head as he thought of an answer. “Let’s just say it’s hard to rely on anyone other than yourself.”

“How many cases have you done alone?”

“About half, maybe less.”

He could see Skizz giving him a contemplative from next to him. “Would you say you like working alone then?”

Impulse shrugged as best he could with both hands on the wheel. “Maybe not like necessarily. Everything is a lot faster with more hands and less scary, but-” he took a deep breath to calm the shaking that overtook his arms. “-There’s less that could go wrong when you’re by yourself.”

“And what about the director?”

He pressed the gas pedal as the light turned green. “He’s trying to get me to socialize, teach other recruits what I know, that sort of thing. I personally think he just wants a full team that he can advertise to gain traction for our branch.”

“Would that be something you want eventually?”

The van fell into a subtle silence again, the only sound being a gentle tapping as Skizz took over finger drumming duty. Impulse thought about his answer. Did he want a full squad? He tries not to think too hard about the days when he was still fresh-faced and naive at the branch, with them, but he still remembers the joy they had that he associated with this job. A joy that slowly morphed into something like spite in his grief after The Incident.

“I think,” Impulse began slowly. Skizz stopped drumming his fingers on the dashboard to listen. “I think that I want an experienced team, people I can rely on and work well with. If I don’t find one before my 666th case, then I’ll retire.”

Skizz hummed in response. “You superstitious?”

“A little. I think that would be a good point in my career to refocus on what I should do as a person. And besides,” Impulse grinned a little as he pulled up on the driveway of the house that was addressed in the file. “I think that’d be quite the funny legacy to have. Meet you in the back.”

He quickly unbuckled his seat belt and crawled through the little gap in the middle of the two seats with the grace only countless practice could achieve. He did a brief scan of the equipment on the wall to make sure nothing was missing before inputting a code into a number pad. The door opened with the press of a button to reveal a slightly red Skizz, who scrambled to meet him at the back door. Impulse passed a flashlight and thermometer over. “I’ll handle the breaker, you start with looking for the ghost room?”

Skizz swiftly accepted the equipment and saluted, practically whacking himself in the head with the flashlight. “Sir yes sir!”

Impulse chuckled as he followed the marching Skizz to the front door, keys swinging around his finger. He was brushing past him to unlock the door when Skizz suddenly loudly shouted, “I got it!”

He paused and turned around. “What did you get?”

“A nickname for you! Impy Dimpy Dippledop! Dippledop! I’m calling you that now. Er-” Skizz nervously fiddled with the switch on his flashlight. “-Only if you’re fine with it of course. I just like giving people silly nicknames, and I know not everyone likes them but-”

He stopped as Impulse laughed and swung the door open. Impulse missed the awed look on Skizz’s face as he turned around to the door. “That sounds perfect to me,” he reassured as he walked past the threshold, that old but familiar bloom of joy making itself present in his chest as Skizz dutifully followed. And after a quick ten minutes, circling Spirit in their journals and on their way back to HQ- well, Skizz didn’t need to know this was the first mission in a while where he wasn’t drafting a complaint form in his head.

***

If asked, Impulse would reluctantly admit that the director was right and that working with Skizz has been an incredibly enjoyable experience. Impulse gained a partner that he could rely on and a friend that matched his everything, from his skill to his humor. He’s happier now, much to his embarrassment when some people comment on his change in mood. His job feels less like a job now, with the drive to every location more laugh-filled than the stilted whispering he started forgetting about. Even when he walked out of a house, dejected at the time wasted from a completely normal house that some fool freaked and reported about being haunted, an arm would wrap around his shoulders to cheer him up and offer a midnight sweet treat somewhere along the road.

The director, delighted at his success with creating this newfound ”Imp and Skizz” duo, started introducing even more people to the pair. Case 614 was when he met Scar - a cane-wielding, charming figure with a strange fascination for sound and motion sensors - and Grian - an energetic (if not chaotic) red-sweater-wearing individual with an almost uncanny instinct for ghost identifying. Their chemistry with each other was perfect, and they quickly established themselves as GIGS (Scar was kind enough to offer his last name for the acronym since SIGS didn’t sound as fun). When Gem joined, fresh-faced and freaked-out but with the determination of an army, they welcomed her with open arms and an extra G in their team name, GIGGS.

Their popularity promptly skyrocketed around the different branches of their company. Impulse thought he was used to the “fame”, but the attention he got now was nothing compared to when he was still working alone. Back then, people just whispered about him behind his back when he walked past. Now, people actually approached him to ask questions about a case, or stories, or even autographs, embarrassingly enough. Skizz still had a video that he refused to delete of him signing a younger hunter’s parabolic mic, face beet red as Grian kettle-cackled in the background.

Not everything was sunshine and rainbows, though, considering his job was still to identify angry ghosts. With an established team, they got assigned harder missions: more stubborn ghosts, reports of more violence, and larger haunt locations. The cases were more difficult, but it almost felt relieving in a sense. Until they got assigned to investigate a high school. Then it was just annoying.

But even with the newfound company and having fun working, a heavy weight still seemed to crush his soul that only got heavier as time ticked towards that day. He requested a day off on that date a month ago. No cases, no paperwork, no disruptions.

On the morning of that day, Impulse ran through his usual routine before hopping into his van to head to the nearest flower shop before heading to HQ. He parked at his usual stop and walked down the usual hallway before taking a left instead of a right. He pushed open a door labeled with a plaque that had the word “Gallery” etched into the metal.

The Gallery was something like a museum of sorts, being the only area open to the public other than the front lobby. Glass cabinets lined the walls with a few stands littered around the middle of the room, displaying different ‘trophies’ that hunters acquired from different missions. Souvenirs, unidentified bones, badges, and cursed objects, each with a little sign next to it crediting who found it and little descriptors of what it was.

On the surface, it was an interactive way for the public to see what they did and see evidence of the paranormal behind the safety of the display glass. What they don’t display to the public is how the item was acquired. It doesn’t explain the effort required to gain the trophy. It doesn’t show the horror of stumbling across mutilated bodies. It doesn’t talk about the accumulated trauma that eventually takes hold of most hunters. It doesn’t mention who died during the items' retrieval.

Hunters who have submitted anything of value to the Gallery, something worth displaying, morbidly joked about calling the area ‘The Gallows’ because of what everything in here represented and the story behind each trinket. Impulse practically had a whole wall dedicated to items he’s handed in.

He slowly walks past, looking over the memorabilia with a sort of sad nostalgia, feeling like a paperweight was resting on his heart. When he finally reached where he wanted to be, a few display cases from the end, he knelt and set the small bouquet of orange tulips in a vase at the base of the cabinet. Just behind the glass sat a small wooden box with a metal comb and cylinder components attached inside.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Popular.”

Impulse replied without looking up, “Heya Jokes.”

Joker joined Impulse to kneel on the ground and slid his flowers into the vase before sitting down. Not another word was spoken as they descended into silence, hands clasped together.

Impulse didn’t know how long they sat there before Joker slid a can of Dr Pepper out of his pocket and placed it next to the vase. He snorted. Joker chuckled. Then they snickered. Then started cackling. Before he knew it, he and Jokes had tears of laughter and grief pouring down their faces, sobs somewhere in between full-chested bellows that made their jaws ache. They were definitely getting weird looks from the other people walking around in the background, but how could they care on the day they lost their third on this very day five years ago?

Impulse was wiping away the last of his tears, laughter finally dying down, when he heard a call of, “Dippledop!” from behind. He stood up and turned around as he watched Skizz approach them. “Hey Skizz.”

“What’s up buddy?” He swept Impulse into one of his bear hugs before letting go. “I thought you were off today? I- wait a minute.” He grabbed Impulse’s face with both hands, promptly squishing it, and scrutinized him like he was some kind of report form he couldn’t understand. “Have you been crying?” Then he turned to Joker who had also stood up. “I don’t think I know you, but you’ve been crying too! Are you two okay?”

Joker dried his tears on his shirt with a laugh before extending a hand in greeting, which Skizz accepted in a firm handshake after letting go of Impulse. “Nice t’meetcha! Name’s Joker, Jokes, work in the logistics department.”

“Skizz, I work with Impulse hunting ghosts.”

“I know,” Joker said. “The S in GIGGS, the Skizzle Man, the Angel to the Demon and what not. You and your crew are well known around the company.”

“I, I don’t-” he stuttered, face flushed. Even his ears were pink, Impulse noted. “You- GAH! Lemme try again. How’d you and Impulse meet?”

“We were a ghost hunting team years ago, but we split up.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joker gave Impulse a look that he quickly avoided. “You never told your new team what happened?”

“It never came up.”

“Happened to what?”

Joker opened his arms as if he were presenting a new line of some fancy tripod model. “The tragedy of the famous Team JIT of course!”

Skizz looked at Impulse, hopelessly lost and looking for an answer. Deciding to be nice, Impulse started to explain. “JIT was a three man team with me and Joker, ended up doing a lot of cases together. We were still pretty new back then, so I don’t know what you’re going on about the whole ‘famous’ thing.”

Joker slung an arm over his shoulders in retaliation and airily waved a hand in the air, as if to brush away the nonsense Impulse just sprouted from his mouth. “We were the talk of the company!”

“And the third guy? Do I know them? Are they in our branch, Dop?”

“He was.” Joker let go of Impulse as he turned around and faced the glass cabinet again. “He died.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Skizz peered over Impulse’s shoulder and took in the flowers right in front of the glass before a look of realization dawned on his face. “The music box…”

“Wooden cabin in the forest. He had a lit lantern for an Onryo test, but the ghost evented right in front of him and made him stumble into a shelf. Box got knocked off, hit the floor, caused a racket, ghost started hunting and locked us out. House caught on fire a few minutes later.” Joker’s voice was barely audible by the time he reached the end of the story. “I saw it all happen on camera before the fire destroyed it, and I couldn’t do a damn thing but watch.”

“The fire department didn’t make it in time,” Impulse tacked on. “Nothing was left of the house. Nothing but that music box.”

“That- that sucks, man,” Skizz frowned. “I’m so sorry.”

They devolved into silence again for only a few moments before Skizz started rummaging around in his pocket.

“I originally brought a little bag of snickerdoodles to share with GIGGS but…” he trailed off as he knelt and balanced the stack of cookies on the soda can with a soft crinkle of plastic. “…This feels more appropriate.”

Once he straightened up, Impulse engulfed him into a hug and wept into his shoulder.

***

Impulse had some vague expectation of what his 666th case would be. It’d be a difficult case that no one else could do at some terrifying location in the middle of the night, and after many hours, he’d walk out with a satisfied grin on his face and a ghost type circled in his journal. The reality is, as always, unfortunately disappointing.

He’d been hit with a nasty flu for a week before he finally woke up that morning feeling far better than the death warmed over from the past few days. By mid afternoon, sipping the tea that Grian recommended him, he was feeling so much better. Other than the first day where he got ushered home from mom-mode Gem, he hasn’t talked with anyone during his bedridden haze. When his phone rang and displayed Skizz’s name on the caller ID, Impulse didn’t hesitate to pick up.

“Hey buddy! You feeling any better?”

“Loads yeah.” Another sip. “What you calling for?”

“What, can’t call my best friend to check if he’s okay after he’s been sick for a week?”

“Well…”

They bickered for another five minutes, a grin spreading over his face no matter what tone he put on. He loved talking to Skizz, loved being able to talk about anything, loved the feeling blooming in his chest when he was around, loved him-

Heat crept up his face at that last thought. He shook his head to clear it of any ideas before Skizz pulled them back on track again. “Director’s got a mission for GIGGS if you’re up for it. Everyone else is down to get it done and dusted tonight, and I’ve got the folder. We just need your confirmation now.”

“Aww, you guys need me that badly?” Impulse teased.

“No!” Skizz denied. “It wouldn’t- I don’t- you have better equipment than the rest of us! And the van!”

“And besides,” a muffled voice piped up in the background. “Without the I we’d just be g-g-g-ghosts?”

“That was awful.”

“Hi Gem, hi Grian!”

A chorus of hellos echoed back before Skizz spoke again. “They just showed up, and Scar is on his way. You coming or nah?” Impulse hummed in thought before Skizz added, “It’s your 666th caseeee!”

“Fiiine.” He placed the now empty mug in the sink to wash later. “I’ll be at HQ to pick you guys up in thirty. Figure out who’s shotgun before I get there.”

Impulse hung up as soon as squabbling started exploding from his phone, laughing as he headed to the shower to freshen up.

***

Once he picked up the rest of his team with enthusiastic greetings of, “What’s up homeh buddeh?!”, and went through the typical interrogation about his health, they hit the road with Skizz in shotgun and everyone else in the back.

“Listen up everyone!” Skizz barked as he opened the folder. “I’m going to read through this case. No interruptions, I’ll answer questions at the end.”

“Ooo, Business Skizz is out.”

“Shut your mouth!” Giggles erupted in the back before dying as Skizz cleared his throat. “Alright, this mission is marked as nightmare, so medium-high difficulty. Typical signs of a ghost, creaking stairs, groans in the middle of the night, and there’s apparently a cursed item inside.”

“Oh boy,” Impulse breathed out under his breath. “Cursed items.”

Skizz continued discussing the additional objectives they could complete and standard photo requirements. They’d been through this so many times, but it’s become such a crucial part of their routine that it wouldn’t be a proper case without it.

They were moving onto more rural roads when Impulse was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. He rechecked the GPS, but he was still on the right path. “Hey, Skizz,” he interrupted. “Are you sure the address is right?”

He looked over the paper again. “Yeah, I’m sure. Why?”

“Something feels off…” Impulse trailed off. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“Maybe you’ve gone this way for a different case?” Scar piped up from the back.

“Maybe.”

“Well that’s all the information I’ve got for you,” Skizz shut the folder before turning around to face the people in the back with a grin. “Any questions?”

“What’s the ghost’s name? Is it on the file?” Grian asked.

“Lemme check.” Skizz flicked the folder open again. “It’s a fun name, I’m pretty sure… The name’s Tango Tek.”

Impulse suddenly felt like he’d been dunked into cold water. His senses became muted as the name registered in his head before he regained crystal-sharp clarity. “WHAT?!” he yelled, violently swerving the car and slamming the brakes to stop the car on the side of the empty road. He ignored the screams and the sounds of falling equipment, people, and what could only be one of the monitors hanging in the back shattering to whip around and face Skizz. “What did you say the name was?!”

“What? I- what’s wrong with the name?”

“Give me the folder.”

“Dippledop what’s going on-”

“GIVE ME THE DAMN FOLDER SKIZZ!”

Skizz practically threw the folder at him. Impulse would feel bad about yelling later, for the scared expression that flashed on Skizz’s face, but all he could do was open the bland Manila folder with shaky hands. Pictures of the house they were heading to - the same wooden cabin that he watched burn down - leered at him from where they were clipped to the paper. The name ‘Tango Tek’ glared at him in that stupid slightly slanted font that everything in the company was written in.

“They- the house got rebuilt,” Impulse whispered. His hands had a death grip on the paper, threatening to rip the folder in half. “It- the director did this on purpose! He knew about the incident, knew I was there with Jokes! Why- why did the house get rebuilt? Do they know nothing about how haunts work?! How-”

Impulse stopped his rant as warm hands reached over, one holding his shoulder steady and the other trying to pry his fingers off the folder.

“Impulse, buddy, I’m going to need you to calm down,” Skizz said calmly.

Anger reared its ugly head and Impulse lashed out, rounding on Skizz with tears burning in his eyes, “Don’t you dare-”

“Impulse, stop,” Gem interrupted, voice strong. “Sanity board’s gone, but you definitely need to pill up before you do something you regret.”

“Open the back door, two people swap seats with me and Dop.” Skizz unbuckled his and Impulse’s seatbelts. “I know you’re hurting bud, and I’m so sorry for pressuring you into this case-” he hopped out of passenger seat and walked to the other side of the van with a Grian close behind. “-but you’re currently emotionally unstable and I’m going to need you to move to the back with me.”

Impulse silently complied and got out of his seat. He was still seething when he got led into a seat in the back. The company had a sick sense of humor, which is what Impulse was discovering in real time. Giving him a similar case to his one failed mission, to the worst moment of his life, as his 666th job. Sickening. And Tango, of all people. A shudder wracked his spine when he pictured the ghosts he’d seen over the years. Would Tango be like that, too? A restless spirit still anchored to the living world because of his regrets? Maybe they got the name wrong, and it was still the ghost from before? It wouldn’t be the first-

“Hey, focus back on me.” Impulse snapped back to the present as Skizz gently grabbed his face to look him in the eyes. “Take a deep breath for me Dop.”

A deep breath in and an exhale out earned him a gentle “good job” from Skizz, so he did it again. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale-

Scar draped a blanket he procured from who knows where as Skizz asked, “You think you can take your sanity meds by yourself?”

He shook his head.

“Alright, I’ll do it for you. Keep breathing for me.”

Impulse closed his eyes and kept taking deep breaths as warm hands pushed the sleeve of his jacket further up his arm. He inhaled under his breath when the small needle pierced his skin, but he held his tongue as he felt the cold adrenaline flood his system and clear his mind. More praises were whispered in his general area as his heart eventually calmed down.

“Feeling better?” Impulse nodded without opening his eyes.

“So… not to ruin the mood or anything, but are we still going to the house?” Grian asked from where he was adjusting the driver’s seat. “Board’s gone, which sucks, it’s still doable.”

“I don’t think we should go if Impulse isn’t down for it,” Gem said from the passenger seat. She was reorganizing the folder from where the papers had scattered across the dashboard and seats.

“Let’s go back. Gem, set the GPS. Grian, start driving-”

“Wait, no,” Impulse interrupted. “Let’s, let’s keep going. I can go. I’m fine.”

“Are you serious? You freaked out just by hearing about the case. Think about what will happen when you actually go into the house!”

“It’s fine, I was just surprised. Won’t happen again.”

Skizz shot him an incredulous look. “Just surprised my foot, we’re turning this van right around–”

“I believe in Impulse. If he says he can, we should trust him to know his limits.”

Skizz glowered at Scar as the front passengers hummed in agreement. “Fine. Fine! But if anything goes wrong, we’re leaving. And I get to say I told you so.”

“Siryessir,” Grian agreed as he started the van. He’d barely started driving before he asked, “Can I ask what all that was about?”

“Grian!”

“No he’s fine. I’ll explain.”

“Impulse-” He patted Skizz’s arm to reassure him before beginning to talk.

“Tango was part of team JIT, a ghost hunting team comprised of me, Joker, and Tango,” he began before pausing, unsure about how to continue. “Tango was,“ he trailed off before trying again. “He, he was, I-” he broke off with a frustrated noise and waved his hands around to try and convey words he didn’t have.

“He was the one Joker was talking about right?” Skizz asked gently. Impulse nodded.

“What did he talk about?”

“Tango died during one of their cases,” Skizz explained. “The ghost evented and made him bump a music box off the shelf. He dropped the lantern as the hunt started and set the house on fire. Nothing was left.”

Silence took over the van as the information settled. Impulse shifted in his seat as that uncomfortable itch to say something flared under his skin.

“Maybe we should go back,” Scar said nervously. “Skizz is right, turn the van around—”

“Scar?”

“Yeah?”

“No.”

They drove further in silence before Grian piped up again. “Tango was Tim’s boyfriend, wasn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Jimmy Solidarity. Cousin of mine that works in logistics.”

“I think I remember him talking about a Jimmy before, yeah,” Impulse confirmed. “Why?”

“Dunno. But based on the stories Tim told me, Tango sounded like a great guy,” Grian trailed off before changing the subject. “We’re getting closer. Start grabbing equipment.”

Only Skizz heard Impulse’s whisper of, “He was.”

***

The house was identical to the one from so many years ago, as if it hadn’t gone down in a fiery blaze. The only difference was the shoddy front door, which was now red instead of blue.

Impulse wanted to claw his skin off at being close to this place again.

They parked in the same driveway and unloaded the relevant equipment. With five of them, assigning who took what before heading in wasn't hard.

“Scarface and I will look for the breaker,” Skizz announced. “Rest of you, split up and try to find the ghost room. If not, we’ll start using the thermometer.”

Confirmations were stated before they split up. Grian took the second floor, Impulse and Gem decided to divide and conquer the larger downstairs. He went further to the back of the house, flashlight cutting through the dark and parabolic mic scanning each room.

The more Impulse walked around, the more memories flooded his brain. The house was rebuilt with the exact same layout - kitchen connected with a dining room, a bedroom downstairs with a bathroom. There were probably three bedrooms upstairs too if the blueprint was identical.

He pushed open the last door and stood at the entrance. Storage shelves lined the walls with boxes, some empty and some full. The design may have been slightly different, but it was still a storage room nonetheless. Just like the ghost room from back then, the same room Tango died in. Impulse felt himself spiraling into his own thoughts again, becoming so zoned out that he didn’t hear footsteps from behind before a voice spoke up.

“Impulse? You alright?”

Impulse practically jumped out of his skin as he yelped and whipped around to face Gem. She took a step back too, like she was startled at Impulse’s reaction. “Oh my god!” he heaved. “Geez, I wasn’t expecting you so quickly.”

“Are you okay? It usually takes more to scare you.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, was just zoned out. I’m-”

“Breaker’s on!”

“-Almost done checking downstairs. Just haven’t checked this one yet.”

“Well let’s go in then.”

Gem brushed past him with an EMF reader and flicked the light on. Impulse followed suit. His heart crept into his throat as goosebumps erupted across his skin.

“He’s in here,” he whispered.

“This is the ghost room all right.” Gem turned to him as she pulled out a spirit box. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be completely fine, I’ll just-” he rechecks his thermometer. “-We got freezing temps here! Make sure to tick that evidence in your journals.”

He relayed the information over the radio before she gave him a concerned look. “Impulse, you’re losing it. Go back to the van. Or at the very least step out of the room while I do spirit box-”

She’d barely turned the device on before a low groan cut into the air, “Impulse.”

Gem shrieked and dropped the box as Impulse stumbled back into the door with a shout of fear. He could feel the blood drain from his face as he heard Tango’s voice, even if a bit more haunting and growly than he remembered.

“What the heck?! What’s going on in there?” Skizz jogged over after spotting them freak out in the doorway to the room. “Did you get spirit box or something?”

”What in the world was that?,” Gem screeched. “Why did he say your name?”

“He, he still remembers,” Impulse whispered. “He recognizes me.”

“Who, Tango?”

The lights flickered in the room when Skizz asked his question. They all immediately stepped out with bated breaths and sighed in relief when the lights returned to normal without a ghost manifesting in the room.

They stood in silence for a bit, only broken by Grian’s voice through the radio. “Found a monkey paw.”

Impulse raised his radio to his mouth. “Good job, G. Take it to the van. We’ve also got spirit box as second evidence.”

Grian barely finished his acknowledgment before Gem rounded on Skizz. “What is wrong with you?! Number one rule, don’t say the name!” She huffed a breath through her nose, declaring, “I’m heading back to the van.” Before spinning around and marching away.

Impulse sighed as Skizz tried to stutter out an apology. “It’s alright, Skizz. Everyone’s on edge right now. Tension’s high, don’t blame yourself.” He crouched and scooped up the abandoned spirit box. “Could you leave me alone for a bit? I want to talk to him alone.”

Skizz shot him a look he was getting really sick of seeing. “You sure?”

He nodded. Skizz hesitated before sighing and patting him on the shoulder. “Holler if you need help, okay?”

“I know, Skizz.”

Another one of those looks before Skizz walked out.

Impulse took another deep breath.

He heard Skizz’s voice through the walls, “Not yet Scar, Impulse wants some alone time,” followed by the rhythmic tapping of footsteps and Scar’s cane.

He steeled himself and turned the spirit box on. The static flooded the room as he tentatively called out, “Tango? You still here?”

A chill seemed to settle right in front of him. He could feel the cold waft over his face as Tango seemingly moved closer and responded, “Hi Impulse.”

“Hey Tango,” he responded a little breathlessly, something seizing in his chest as another wave of realization made his knees feel like jelly.

“Miss me?” He could almost hear the sharp grin he usually bore.

“It’s,” Impulse began, trying to gather years' worth of unsaid grief into a single moment and not really knowing how. How do you describe the sleepless nights and lost tears? How do you bring up the rift that grew between him and Joker after Tango was gone? How do you mention the lingering pain from a friend ripped away?

“It’s been a while.” Is what he finally settles on.

A pitched giggle crackled in the air. “It has, hasn’t it? How long has it been anyway?”

“It’s been-” His voice cracked halfway. “-About five years.”

“That long, huh? I think the house got rebuilt a year or two after my incident? So I’ve been hauntificating this place for maybe three or four years.”

They descended into silence. Eventually, Impulse blurted out, “Tango, I’m so sor-” before a freezing sensation concentrated right over his lips.

“It wasn’t your fault, Impy. You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I-”

“Don’t.”

They relapsed into silence again. Tango removed his finger from his mouth, prompting Impulse to awkwardly fidget where he stood.

“You know what kind of ghost you are? So we can get an easy job done?”

“No clue what I am. I didn’t have anything or anyone to-” Tango cut off with a quiet but ear-grating shriek from the spirit box. “Enough ‘bout me. How’ve you been? Were those people your new ghost hunting team?”

“Yep, team GIGGS, three Gs. There’s Gem, me, Grian, Scar, and Skizz,” Impulse explained while counting on his fingers.

“What happened to Joker?”

“Joker moved to a different department after that case.” Impulse dropped his hand. “It didn’t feel right to continue without you.”

“I’m glad you two have, have moved on,” Tango said. He sighed, which translated as a scratchy cacophony that made Impulse wince. “I just, miss everyone.”

“Is that why you’re still… here?”

Cold air drifted into his face again as Tango presumably nodded. “I miss Jokes, my family, Jimmy-” He cut off with a sob that didn’t quite translate through the spirit box, but was still hauntingly identifiable. “I- I miss being alive, Impulse.”

In Impulse’s defence, he’s had a rough evening. He’d been assigned to hunt his deceased friend and teammate, he’s been on edge since setting foot into the house, and he’s been standing in a dim room for longer than advised. There was definitely a slip in his sanity, of any rational thought, as he asked, ”Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”

“Well, you’re here right now, aren’t you?” Impulse whipped around as the door to the storage room slammed shut and the lights started flickering. His heart was suddenly beating against his ribcage like it longed to break out and but only managed to get lodged in his throat. “I don’t have to be alone anymore!”

Ghosts tended to physically manifest as a visage from the moment right before they died. Impulse has seen some pretty gruesome individuals, from murder victims to waterlogged bodies, but this was probably one of the worst. Details became highlighted as Tango manifested in the middle of the room. Charred holes in his usual vests and baggy pants revealed melting skin slowly sloughing off his bones. His spiky blond hair was alight with flames, forming a crown of fire around his head. Impulse had to suppress the bile rising in his throat.

He distantly heard Gem’s voice screech, “Hunt! The ghost is hunting!” over the radio as he ran and scrabbled for the doorknob with one hand. The other was fumbling for the incense at his belt.

Impulse tried to turn around for a split second, incense in hand and lighter in the other, before feeling a force slam him to the ground and knock the wind out of his lungs. The fallen incense clanged on the ground. His vision swam with the ghostly silhouette of Tango framed with the flickering lightbulb in the background. Cold fingers wrapped around his throat, claws pricking the delicate skin and drawing blood.

“Wait-” Impulse wheezed. Panic and terror clawed through his heaving chest as the tightening hands stole whatever breath he managed to gain. “Tango, stop-”

A manic cackle reverberated in the room. “We can haunt and ghostificate around the house together, Impulse! It’d be just like old times!”

Spots were starting to dance in his vision as his attempts at prying Tango’s claws off his neck gradually weakened. He could hear his desperate gasping to the rhythm of something in the distance like he was no longer in his own body. His hand eventually thudded on the ground, in sync with a loud crunch sound from far away, and was that him making that loud thumping sound-?

The storage room door violently flew open as Skizz burst in. The smell of burning incense was a welcome relief as it caused Tango to loosen his hold and allowed Impulse to breathe in some precious air. He greedily gulped down all the oxygen he could while desperately trying to scramble away from a now hissing Tango.

“Come on Impulse, we gotta get outta here! C’mon man!”

He stumbled to his feet, Skizz’s rough hands quickly dragging him up and out the door. “How’d you-” he coughed past his ruined throat. “-Get inside?”

“Broke the front door down,” Skizz huffed. “Used Scar’s cane. And a shoulder.”

They sprinted - or quickly hobbled really, with Skizz more or less carrying Impulse while his world was still swimming - to the bedroom downstairs. He peeked inside and swore under his breath before continuing to lug Impulse to the stairs. “Dang it, I keep forgetting to check for hiding spots beforehand!”

“Can’t we leave?” Impulse rasped.

“Don’t want him to follow us outside by mistake. That would not end up well if he left his haunt.”

Understanding clicked in his brain. Even if Tango was actively trying to kill him, he’s still his friend.

Impulse finally got his feet under him when the whole house seemed to growl. He glanced back at the storage room, eyes wide in fear, before Skizz yanked him around the corner and up the stairs.

“One of the bedrooms has to have a closet,” he muttered. “C’mon, c’mon-!”

A slight slip in his steps, a sharp crack of pain traveling up his leg, a tight grip catching his flailing arms, another sharp turn before Impulse was shoved into a tiny walk-in closet with Skizz quickly squeezing in. He could hear footsteps and manic cackling downstairs, as well as Grian, Scar, and Gem’s muffled bickering by the front door.

“What do we do when the ghost is hunting, but the front door is open? They never taught us this! Do we go in to help?”

“It’s hunting and we have no idea what kind of ghost it is! I say we wait here and let them know when the hunt’s over.”

“But the ghost hunted so early, none of us were remotely prepared! What if they’re in trouble right now?”

“We should use the monkey paw.”

“Grian!”

“What? I’m being serious here!”

“Let’s wait a bit. They’re both smart people and have hunted ghosts for years, I believe they can handle it.”

There wasn’t much to see in the pitch black, barely able to make out Skizz’s face in the dark, so the rest of Impulse’s senses worked overtime as adrenaline coursed like electricity through his veins. Stifled breaths to limit noise, two hearts beating an alternating rhythm in the silence, a strong arm wrapped tightly around his back and pressed to Skizz’s chest, the other hand presumably holding the door shut.

Ragged breaths in and out, inhales and exhales to regain a normal breathing pattern. His throat burned as oxygen felt like sandpaper scraping its way to his lungs. His left ankle throbbed from some kind of injury he couldn’t identify as the pain made itself very present. He leaned more of his weight onto Skizz with a slight curse of pain, who tightened his hold on Impulse and rubbed his hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him, even if he was terrified and in pain too. He became aware of every point of contact between them and his face heated up, his heart doing backflips all the while.

The sound of creaking stairs and footsteps suddenly became incredibly loud. They held their breaths as the footsteps seemed to stop somewhere outside of their bedroom. Impulse clutched Skizz’s shirt with an iron-grip, feeling his heart jack-rabbiting under his skin. He swore he heard it practically stop when Scar crackled over the radio, “You two still alive?”

A few things happened quickly after that.

Skizz swore as he scrambled to turn his radio off with a heartfelt “Fuck!” under his breath.

Impulse fumbled for his incense, but it was still downstairs in the storage room.

Grian and Gem’s yelling echoed upstairs as they reprimanded Scar.

“You don’t radio ‘til the hunt is over! The ghost can track them, Scar!”

“I don’t know if the hunt is over! The door is open!”

“Now they’re definitely dead!”

The footsteps outside seemed to speed up with a crazed giggle, getting louder as Tango approached their closet.

Impulse locked eyes with Skizz, a sliver of blue surrounding blown pupils, looking as scared as he felt, as some sort of desperate feeling clicked in understanding somewhere in his chest. He’d later blame what happened on his low sanity level and lack of judgment, or his brain confusing his adrenaline for some other feeling. But he’d look back and realize, and maybe Skizz did too, that this was inevitable.

He pulled Skizz down by his shirt and crashed his lips against his. One arm slipped down to his waist as the other cradled his head to angle their kiss better. It was panicked, with more teeth than anything, but it spoke more than enough words. Of fear, of desperation, of together.

They broke apart as Tango’s hauntingly gleeful voice emanated from the other side of the closet door. “I know you’re in there, Impulse!”

Impulse steeled himself for the confrontation, trying to put weight on his messed-up leg but failing. The hand on his shoulder pulled him back as Skizz angled forward a little so he was in front of him, squaring his shoulders with a hiss of pain and blocking him from view. He’d be the first person Tango would see, preparing himself to throw hands with a ghost despite one busted arm, to protect Impulse.

The door slowly creaked open a sliver before Grian yelled, echoing loud and clear as if the house itself wanted everyone inside to hear him, from downstairs. “I WISH FOR LIFE!”

Time and air seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second as everyone living held their breath. You’re not supposed to mess with curse items because of their heavy cost and unpredictability. With so little information about any of the items, this was the first time anyone wished for life despite no one having recently died.

Footsteps staggered backwards as the house slightly shuddered. The entire structure groaned in sync with a cry of distress and panic outside, followed by a loud thud.

“Tango?”

No response.

“Tango?!” Impulse squirmed past Skizz and threw the door open. The ghost was curled up and lying on the floor, flickering like poor TV reception, body twitching from whatever anguish he was experiencing while unconscious.

“What’s going on?” Skizz walked past, knelt next to Tango, and placed a hand on his shoulder, only for it to phase through. He tried again and managed to turn him over with minimal sounds of distress and struggle.

“I- I don’t know?” Impulse answered, his windpipe burning and straining below the cold rush of adrenaline. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Is he… coming back to life?”

Impulse tried to walk closer, only to have his ankle collapse underneath him and send him crashing to the floor with a yelp. Skizz rushed over to steady him while pulling his radio out. “Gonna need some help up here, first bedroom upstairs, hurry!”

“Gem’s coming up, I’m dealing with Grian,” Scar responded quickly, panic evident in his voice. “Is everyone alright? I’m so sorry for talking on the radio-”

“Apologize later!” Skizz interrupted. “Everyone’s alive, ghost included. Call Doc when you can.” Gem just appeared in the doorway, eyes wild and out of breath. “We’ll meet you in the van, keep your radio close. Get the van ready.”

“What’s happening? What do you mean the ghost is alive?!” Gem demanded as she sped over, slightly stumbling to regain her balance in the shaking house.

“I have a theory-”

“Explain later. Gem, my arm’s busted so I’m going to need you to carry-drag-roll-I-don’t-care Tango out of here. I’ll help Impulse.”

Gem dutifully followed his orders without ribbing about his efficiency and scooped Tango up in a bridal carry. Skizz slung Impulse’s arm over his shoulders, both of them hissing as their injuries were jostled the wrong way. They hobbled to the door like the world’s worst three-legged race competitors with Gem flanking them.

Once the red faded from his vision, Impulse gasped, “I’m pretty sure the house is collapsing.”

As if to prove his point, the sound of shattering glass, accompanied with the crack of wood, emanated from one of the further rooms.

“Move it move it!” They booked it as fast as they could out the door. Their pace significantly slowed at the stairs, with Gem having to be more careful going down with her cargo and Skizz supporting Impulse as he hopped down each step, the house falling apart and raining plaster the whole time. He stumbled at the bottom as the strongest shake so far racked the house, and Skizz had to practically drag him out the rest of the way.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the front door - with its broken handle and splintered wooden surface - slammed shut behind him.

They didn’t turn around until they reached the van, engines already on and ready to go, and piled inside. Gem unceremoniously dropped Tango into a seat and swung the back door shut as Skizz frantically smacked the number pad to close the back door, yelling, “Hit the gas, go go go!”

”I’ve never driven a va-”

“HIT THE GAS, SCAR.”

The van lurched forward, followed by more crashes and screams, and sped onto the dirt pathway leading away from the collapsing cabin.

For a while, no one uttered a single sound except for harsh pants and shuddering breaths as Scar wrestled the van into an acceptable speed that didn’t break federal law. Everyone was coming down from the adrenaline, still stunned from the close call. Gem snapped out of the daze first and finally broke the tense silence.

“That,” she breathed. “Was awful.”

Breathy chuckles echoed around.

“You can say that again,” Skizz muttered, sitting up from where he’d fallen. “Never doing that again.”

“What even happened?” she asked. “I watched everything, but what? Why was the house falling apart? You said you had a theory, Impulse?”

“And when can I stop driving?” Scar asked, jaws clenched.

“Slow down and pull to the side here,” Grian directed from the passenger seat. There wasn’t any way to describe him other than haggard, his face pale and exhaustion weighing on his voice. “Let’s take some time to gather ourselves and plan our next step.”

Scar jerked to a stop on the side of the road and turned the engine off as Impulse started speaking from the ground. “The monkey paw worked,” he began. Skizz got up and pulled the first aid kit off the wall and knelt next to his leg. “It brought back the most recently dead person, being Tango.”

“And the house?”

“The house was Tango’s haunt,” he explained as Skizz lifted the hem of his pants and prodded at his swollen ankle. “But since he came back to life instead of being exorcised, I think the house was still maybe tied to his soul? And it broke under the pressure of his soul getting yanked back to the living world. Or it was the price of the monkey paw-OW!”

His leg jerked when Skizz pressed a little too hard on the injury. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, trying to figure out if you twisted or sprained your ankle or something. It’s definitely busted, though, so maybe we should go to Doc’s place. Get everyone checked out.”

“Speaking of!” Gem jabbed a finger in the gap under the head cushion of the passenger seat, making the man in question yelp. “That was incredibly stupid of you to wish for life with the monkey paw! It’s a fifty-fifty chance you could’ve died!”

“Gem’s right, you know?” Scar fretted as he twisted his fingers together into a nervous knot. “I-I was so worried and s-scared when the paw c-cracked and you just fell and-”

“I’m alright, I promise.” Grian’s smaller hand reached over and clasped Scar’s, stopping the nervous fidgeting and threading his fingers with his scarred ones. “Main character, remember?”

“Oh great, now he’s losing it,” Gem sighed as Scar’s chuckles morphed into a quiet sniff.

“Let’s move on, yeah?” Impulse gaze drifted to the still unconscious Tango lying on the floor. He giggled as he thought about how he was going to tell Joker the news. “I’m just glad everyone’s alive…”

His eyes slipped shut to the sound of panicked calls of his name as he passed out, leaning against the side of the van.

***

When Impulse woke up, it was to the sound of a heartbeat monitor and surrounded by a warm blanket. Eyes peeled open and blearily looking around the dim room, not recognizing the mix of bedroom and hospital equipment. Slivers of sunlight slipped through the blinds and shone on a dark mound next to him, catching Impulse’s gaze. He pried his lips apart with more effort than should be necessary and rasped out, “Skizz?”

What felt like shards of glass scraped past his throat, a combination of lack of water and bruised tissue. Tears sprang in his eyes as he started coughing, blurring his vision of Skizz shooting upwards and hitting his knee against the edge of the bed. Laughs forced themselves from his chest as he watched Skizz curse his misfortune and hop around, leading to more coughs and exacerbating the pain.

“You’re awake!” Skizz exclaimed once he was settled again. “How are you feeling?”

“Your arm,” Impulse whispered. “What—”

Skizz glanced at the sling before moving again. “Tore rotator cuff, but it’ll be fine, Bdubs already looked over it. Let me get you some water, hold on.”

Skizz filled a glass with a pitcher on the bedside table as he told Impulse about what happened while he was asleep. “We managed to get to Doc’s place in one piece, thankfully. Bdubs said you shouldn’t use your throat or busted ankle too much for at least a week before coming back for another checkup.” He must’ve noticed Impulse’s crestfallen look because he gently patted his legs under the covers. “I know, I know, right after getting sick too. But at least I’ll be able to take care of you and make you soup that’d be good for your throat without getting sick! What’s up!”

He raised the glass to Impulse’s lips and gently tipped it. His movement was gentle to make sure he wasn’t drinking too fast, following the tilt of his head as Impulse took tentative sips.

“Everyone okay?” He rasped, sounding marginally better after the drink.

“Yep! Tango actually woke up before we got here, but passed out again. Doc's got him and Grian covered, they just need good rest after their whole ordeal.” Skizz continued rambling as he set the glass down. “Bdubs apparently knows a guy- Ethan? Some shady dude - that can help Tango in the legal department. Grian also managed to get in touch with Jimmy, who’s waiting for his lover boy to wake up.” Skizz leaned in, hand cupped around his grin like he was sharing gossip. “His reaction was priceless when he saw Tango, dude.”

“What ‘bout you?”

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you after Bdubs gave me the green light.” Skizz sat down and clasped one of Impulse’s hands. ”After making sure everyone else was settled, I sat here. Must’ve passed out at some point, and I can already feel the crick in my neck, but I had to make sure you were-” he cut off as his voice became choked, pressing his forehead to their intertwined hands. A beat of silence before a quiet sniff was heard. “I was terrified. Hearing a hunt start and knowing you were alone in there scared the crap out of me, dude. What would have happened if I hadn't gotten there in time? What if I couldn’t break the door? Or Grian was just a little too late to bring Tango back?”

He let his hand go to delicately trace the bruises along Impulse’s neck, like it was evidence of some heinous crime he committed. “What if I lost you?” he whispered.

Something heavy and indescribable lodged in Impulse’s throat. Not knowing what to say, he cupped Skizz’s face, gently wiping away tears as he leaned his weight into the caress. Impulse swallowed down nails as he tried to apologize, “My fault. Was stupid. Sorry.”

Skizz tilted his face and pressed his lips to his palm. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Impulse tried to piece together a sentence in his brain to convey every emotion he was feeling, but Skizz was always the better speaker between them.

He pulled Skizz towards him and sat up to meet him in the middle. Impulse leaned in slowly to give him ample time to pull away, but Skizz was having none of it. The hand tracing his neck moved up until it was cupping his head, fingers threaded through the short strands of hair above his neck.

“Just kiss me, Dop.”

How eloquent, Impulse thought before everything in his brain fizzled away once Skizz slotted their lips together. They could take their time, and Impulse noticed details he had missed before. A little scar near the edge of his lips, chapped but soft and warm and impossibly kind somehow, and Impulse felt like he was drowning and getting struck by lightning simultaneously. He felt like a live wire as he drank in the moment, sparks flickering between them. Skizz gently tugged and tilted Impulse’s head to deepen the kiss. He gave and gave until Impulse couldn’t keep up, chest aching from his affection and lack of oxygen.

Impulse broke away first, panting like he ran a marathon. Skizz was in a similar state, but a smile stretched across his face as he wiped away a little bit of saliva off Impulse’s lip. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

Impulse nuzzled the hand next to his face, brain still lightheaded as he rasped the loudest statement so far, “Love you, Skizz.”

His expression melted and turned, dare I say, sappy. Something glimmered in his eyes, maybe tears or affection, as he responded, “Love you too, Dippledop.”

They kissed again. Skizz licked his bottom lip for access, which Impulse immediately granted with a hitch in his breath. They were so lost in their own world that they didn’t hear a knock on the door, nor the click of it opening and the footsteps following after.

“Am I interrupting?”

They sprang apart from the sudden intrusion and whipped around. Doc was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking at their misfortune. “This is a hospital environment, please avoid jeopardizing the health of the patient.”

Embarrassment colored Impulse’s face as Skizz sputtered, “This is a spare bedroom at best! And have you ever heard of privacy?!”

Doc laughed, deep voice booming in the otherwise silent morning, “Glad to see both of you doing well. Thought I’d come over and tell you everyone else is awake, but don’t let me stop you two.” He started walking out with his hands in his lab coat pockets, emitting an aura of smugness as he practically sauntered out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Etho owes me money. Make sure you use protection, and clean up if you make a mess!”

His cackle could be heard above Skizz cussing him out. The door closed just before a pen hit the door, a distant “what’s going on?” sounding from the hallway before it fully shut.

“The nerves of that guy,” Skizz huffed before returning to Impulse. “Well then. Wanna get up to go see Tango?”

A grin split Impulse’s face as he nodded. Skizz helped him out of the bed and on the ground, taking extra care to make sure he could balance and limp properly with the ankle brace on. His face had since stopped feeling like it caught on fire, and the heat had traveled to nestle in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d do after he recovered, nor the direction of his career, but after hearing Skizz yell expletives about Doc for the “DO NOT DISTURB” note on their door and watching Tango sit up in bed while surrounded by some of the closest people in his life? Well, everything might just turn out alright.

Chapter Text

Skizz has had an, inarguably, successful life. He’d been working at the age of twenty in a cushy corporate job for almost a decade, earning more than enough to support himself and Kevin Bubbles Malone Refrigerator Jimmy Mad-Eye Dugan. Seven hours a day, five days a week, with a perfect schedule he followed to a T.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t unbearably boring.

So he’d started dabbling in the paranormal as a hobby, learning about different ghosts and their traits. He committed all the information he read from these foot-thick manuals to memory and, when he saw a recruit advert from one of those ghost-activity companies, quit his office job after successfully getting admitted into the paranormal program.

He started with small cases - creaking at night, a few sobs here and there in the wind, that sort of thing - before quickly learning the ropes and advancing to more difficult cases. In the six months he’d been there, he quickly outgrew the amateur missions given at this more rural branch, so he was offered a transfer to their parent company closer to the city, which he promptly accepted. Not even an hour of packing his minimalistic decor in his small apartment, Skizz drove his bike with Kevin in tow and left shortly after his promotion.

It’d been a terrible few days of logistics, disgustingly enough. He moved to avoid paperwork, not to do more! But he knows past the papers of doom that gatekept his future, it’d be worth it. After several trips to the coffee machine and one too many breakdowns at the coffee machine, Skizz was finally opening the door to the Ghost Hunting Division’s director’s office.

He wore his usual shirt, tie, and suit - after ripping off the sleeves because he never wanted to experience the agony of the offensively restricting fabric ever again – to give off a good impression. It was his first official day here, after all! Looks mattered sometimes.

The director wore a similar, though sleeved, attire. He glanced up at the creak of a door and immediately stood up to greet Skizz with a smile and a handshake. “Hello! You must be Mr. Elman, who recently transferred over, yes?”

Skizz pasted that customer service smile he’d perfected over the years on his face as he accepted the gesture. “Yep, that’s me. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise, likewise. Take a seat!” They both sat down before he started asking more questions. “How are you? Have you been looking around and meeting others?”

Skizz didn’t really know how to answer the ‘looking around’ bit, since everything in the building was practically equally as boring as his previous job, but, “I’m doing good, been getting to know some people around. Everyone’s pretty friendly.” Which was true! His desk-mates were very eager to welcome him and start spilling some company tea. Who to avoid, when to head into the break room to avoid said people, some demon or other, where the best lunch seat was, whoever Mr. Perfect-Or-Something was, the Gallows, and which director to avoid lest he wanted a scolding for not having his hair brushed right amongst other things.

“That’s good to hear,” the director mused before changing the topic. “Tell me about what you’ve done then. What are some cases you’ve been on?”

More than happy to oblige, Skizz launched into a story about one of his scarier cases at a lighthouse when his team changed the lighthouse until it emitted UV light, which revealed hundreds of drifting spirits of people who lost their lives at sea. It was breathtaking, and he still had the photo on his phone to prove it.

He’d just finished his spiel when the door suddenly creaked open, followed by a voice saying, “Director, the report from the last investigation.”

Skizz turned around and almost did a double-take when he saw the man closing the door. Slightly styled brown hair swept to the right, black shirt with a small yellow ‘i’ embossed on the front, and soft brown eyes - even if his eyebrows were furrowed from something like anger or irritation - as he practically marched into the office. He was Handsome, with a capital H, in a rugged and mature sense of self.

Now, Skizz was mature enough to understand himself and his preferences in partners, but also immature enough to warrant a little whistle of admiration in his head.

The director visibly perked up at seeing the sudden guest. “Wonderful! I’ll look at those and record the data. Successful mission, I assume?”

Skizz watched Gorgeous glance over at him and couldn’t resist shooting him a smile as he set the manila folder down on the desk. “Yeah, poltergeist. Had easy tells.”

The director slid the file to the side, grin on his face, before replying, “Perfect, I’ll pass the information to an exorcism team. In the meantime…” He gestured at Skizz. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Elman here! He recently transferred from a different branch.”

He stood up and offered his hand to the mystery man with the brightest smile he could muster. “Nice to meet you, buddy! I’m Skizz, looking forward to working with you.”

Skizz felt a little crestfallen when he hesitated and stiffly accepted the handshake, but he felt a little bit better when he at least made eye contact and said, “Welcome to our branch, Skizz.”

The director spoke up after their little interaction, “He’s rather knowledgeable in the field, been telling me all sorts of stories.” Quick adjustment of his glasses. “We’re fortunate to have him with us-”

He heard Hot Stuff mutter an off-hand, “That’s good to hear.”

The director continued talking, “-And I believe it would be perfect for you two to partner up together.”

Skizz watched him stare at the director, flabbergasted. “Sir, I’ve told you before-”

“I know you’re adamantly against collaboration, but I truly believe that this pair will be beneficial. For both of you.”

Helpless and at a loss for what to do as he watched the fight leave his soul. It was almost funny seeing that pouting expression on his face, if Skizz wasn’t hopelessly lost at what was happening. “Fine. You got a case for me?”

“I’ve got one right here for you. Case number 602, if I’m not mistaken.”

Skizz practically choked on his air when he registered the case number, watching the director pass over a different folder. “602?”

He was promptly ignored by Handsome in favor of reading the folder. “When can I go? Has the house been cleared of people?”

“You have full permission to investigate the house.”

“Then I’ll head out right now. Come on, Skizz.”

He scrambled to follow, briefly hearing a farewell of “happy hunting” before the door clicked shut.

***

The walk and the beginning of the journey were silent. The man didn’t make a sound after they left the HQ, and Skizz was too lost in his own head to try and start a conversation either. What did the people near his desk tell him? Was this guy on the Avoid list? He sure had the attitude of someone that wanted to be avoided. They continued their journey in silence as Skizz tried to settle his opinions. But after a good couple of minutes, he realized a glaring error.

“So…” He started. “I never did get your name back there.”

The other guy snorted, much to Skizz’s delight, and had to correct his steering after slightly veering off the road. Once he made sure nothing was going to crash, he introduced himself, “Name’s Impulse.”

“Impulse,” Skizz repeated, brain cataloging his name and whirring to create some sort of silly nickname. He’s not someone who he wanted to avoid since he’d definitely remember that name on the Avoid list. It’s an interesting name too! “I can work with that. Better than what I’ve been calling you in my head anyway.”

“What have you been calling me?”

“Well, the first name I thought of was ‘hot stuff’ before I heard your case number, then I thought–” Skizz cut himself off and quickly pivoted before something embarrassing slipped out. “Also 602? That’s insane! How long have you been working here?”

His ears turned pink! Skizz would’ve cooed if he didn’t respond almost immediately. “Nine years roughly?”

Skizz whistled. Six hundred cases in nine years, roughly sixty cases per year, five per month. You don’t need to be a genius to recognize the amount of work Impulse has done. “Considering you haven’t gone insane yet hunting ghosts and working in that boring place, that’s pretty impressive.”

“I’ve got a good doctor.” Impulse brushed off. “Makes good sanity meds.”

“Impy dimpy- wait.” The puzzle pieces in his brian finally clicked together. “Are you the demon guy that everyone was talking about when I first got here? Mr. Perfect or whatever?”

He heaved a sigh. “Something like that, yeah. I don’t really pay attention to the gossip around the office, though.”

“Did that have anything to do with the director dude?”

“Nope. I just prefer going ghost hunting alone, but the director keeps sticking his nose where it don’t belong and keeps assigning me with random people.”

Guilt settled in his stomach, and he looked out the passenger window awkwardly. He’s one of the exact people that Impulse gets hitched with. “Can I ask why?”

“Why to what? The alone thing or the director?”

“Both, I guess.”

“The alone thing is, complicated.” Impulse started drumming the rhythm of a song he’s pretty sure he recognizes. “Let’s just say it’s hard to rely on anyone other than yourself.”

That tidbit of information niggled at the back of Skizz’s brain, but he brushed it away for now. “How many cases have you done alone?”

“About half, maybe less.”

He shot him a contemplative look. “Would you say you like working alone then?”

Impulse shrugged. “Maybe not like necessarily. Everything is a lot faster with more hands and less scary, but-” A deep breath. “-There’s less that could go wrong when you’re by yourself.”

“And what about the director?”

“He’s trying to get me to socialize, teach other recruits what I know, that sort of thing. I personally think he just wants a full team that he can advertise to gain traction for our branch.”

A slight lull in their conversation before Skizz tentatively asked, “Would that be something you want eventually?” Look, he knows Impulse just said he’s not really the biggest fan of newbies, but you can’t blame someone for shooting his shot.

As Impulse thought about his answer, Skizz started nervously drumming his fingers on the dashboard. He doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous for his answer, he’d barely known this guy for thirty minutes, but some feeling in his gut felt like this was worth the attempt.

“I think.” Skizz paused his drumming to listen to Impulse’s answer. “I think that I want an experienced team, people I can rely on and work well with. If I don’t find one before my 666th case, then I’ll retire.”

“You superstitious?”

“A little. I think that would be a good point in my career to refocus on what I should do as a person. And besides,” Impulse grinned a little as they arrived at the house, van pulling up into the driveway. “I think that’d be quite the funny legacy to have. Meet you in the back.”

Skizz watched Impulse quickly unbuckle his seat belt and somehow crawl between the little gap of the two seats before scrambling to open his door. He sprinted to the back door just as it swung open, the light from inside the van illuminating and highlighting Impulse’s silhouette.

He passed a flashlight and thermometer over. “I’ll handle the breaker, you start with looking for the ghost room?”

Skizz took the items before saluting, narrowly avoiding hitting himself in the head with the flashlight, and yelled, “Sir yes sir!” before marching towards the door, Impulse followed with a chuckle.

He walked past with the house keys in hand, shoulder brushing his arm because of the height difference, when a light seemingly went off in Skizz’s brain. “I got it!”

“What did you get?” Impulse asked, a bewildered expression on his face.

“A nickname for you!” He responded. “Impy Dimpy Dippledop! Dippledop! I’m calling you that now. Er-” He fiddled with the switch on his flashlight as the nervous feeling crept in his chest again, looking down to avoid eye contact. “-Only if you’re fine with it of course.” Words started tripping over each other as he explained the nonsense he just sprouted. “I just like giving people silly nicknames, and I know not everyone likes them, but-”

A laugh made him whip his head up. It was a deep, joyful thing, one that seemed so genuine with parts of his personality peeking through the cracks. Skizz must’ve had an incredibly dumb look on his face as he stared slack-jawed at Impulse while he walked through the now open door.

“That sounds perfect to me!” He called out from inside. Skizz had to shake himself out of his stupor and jog after him, a dopey smile spreading across his face. His gut instinct was right. After a quick ten minutes, circling Spirit in their journal, Skizz knew they were going to get along like a house on fire.

***

As a pair, they were formidable. Breezing through cases and filling out paperwork all in record time, while still having a grand time together. Skizz knew that on the technical side, he was definitely the liability. Impulse would argue otherwise, even though it was true. He barely had seven months of knowledge under is belt, let alone experience, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working his butt off to catch up.

What he did have more experience in was emotional support. After every successful case, Skizz made sure to offer a high-five and a smile for a job well done. It didn’t take Impulse long to reciprocate the same joy after the first few cases of confused returned high-fives that broke his heart. But now, Skizz would yell a dramatic ‘ow’ when Impulse slapped him, because his hits hurt, and he couldn’t be happier. They riffed off of each other so perfectly that Skizz doesn’t understand how he managed to live so long without Impulse.

On the rougher nights, though, when they walked back to the van with disappointment weighing on their shoulders because of a false report, Skizz made sure to offer a shoulder for him to lean on and ears to rant to.

“-How do you even confuse a drafty window for ghosts–”

A lot of ranting.

“Tell you what, Dippledop.” Skizz interrupted his spiel and spun around right before they reached the van. He shielded his eyes from the setting sun just peaking over the roof of the house. “How ‘bout we take the night off? Relax, chill out, do the paperwork and whatnot tomorrow?”

He got a raised eyebrow and another question instead of an answer. “You got a plan?”

“Yep, nooch.” He popped the ‘p’.

Skizz could practically hear the gears turning in Impulse’s head before he came to a decision with relaxed shoulders and a nod of the head.

“Let’s go then. Lead the way.”

“Yeah baby!” Skizz pumped his fists in the air before teasingly poking him in the side. “Does that mean I get to drive?”

He stopped in his tracks when Impulse actually held out the keys with a casual, “Go for it.” Like an idiot.

“Impulse, I, what–” Skizz stuttered.”-I was kidding, this is your van—“

“I trust you, Skizz. Trust you to not crash my van, anyway.” Impulse grabbed his hand, unfurled his fingers, and placed it on his palm. Then he walked around and popped the passenger door open before hopping inside. He glanced at Skizz and gestured with his head when he saw him standing still on the sidewalk. “You coming or what?”

He snapped out of his stupor and got into the driver's seat. “You realize it’s not normal to just, hand the keys to your car to someone else?” He asked while adjusting the seat.

“I’ve got great insurance,” Impulse reassured. “If this van somehow does get absolutely tanked, the company will basically cover the cost for a new one.”

Skizz barked out a laugh as he turned the engine on. “Less stress off my back, then. How’d you manage to get that benefit?”

“Perks of being their best employee for nearly nine years.”

“What?!”

The rest of the forty-minute ride was filled with back-and-forth bickering. They really shouldn’t have been messing around so much, but Skizz took the rural roads for a reason, and practically no one was out this late.

In what felt like almost no time at all, Skizz pulled up at his intended destination. “We’re here! Let me just grab something, nooch—” He awkwardly leaned through the gaps between the seats and blindly felt around for what he was looking for. Something soft brushed against his fingers, and he grabbed it, cheering internally when he pulled it to the front. “-And snoogins! Alright, we can go.”

“A picnic blanket?” Impulse asked as they hopped out of the van. “Did you put that in there? I never put one inside.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Skizz!”

He cackled as he ran down a familiar winding path through the trees, blanket fluttering after him as Impulse took chase with echoes of his own childish glee. He’d throw the occasional teasing taunt over his shoulder, but sped up whenever he got too close.

“Is that all you got?”

“Get back here!”

Skizz slowed down once the trees on the edge of the path thinned out. He took a deep breath of cold, fresh air, waiting for Impulse to inevitably catch up. But he didn’t expect getting slammed from behind, knocking the air he just took out of his lungs and sending both of them off the concrete path and tumbling into the grass with peals of laughter ringing in the air.

“Got– got you,” Impulse gasped. They were panting and trying to catch their breath from the exertion. “What was, what was that for?”

“Wanted to show – whew – show you something,” Skizz responded. His lungs were only slightly on fire. With great effort, he sat up and got to his feet. “C’mon, it’s not far from here. You can lie back down again after.”

Impulse made a grabby motion with his hands from where he was still lying down, prompting a fond eye roll from Skizz before he dutifully reached out to help him to his feet. They half walked, half stumbled up a little hill. That picture must’ve looked hilarious, Skizz thought. Two guys, delirious from laughter, struggling up a hill far later than would be recommended, all while dragging a blanket behind them. He snorted, earning a confused look from Impulse.

When he reached the peak, Skizz stopped. Impulse stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, as they looked over the dark fields that seemed to stretch for miles. Their little pause seemed to stretch for just as long as they took in the almost serene moment.

“Didn’t know this place existed,” Impulse commented.

“Found it when I was looking for a place for walks,” Skizz said before turning around and spreading the blanket on the ground. “Come on, help me out here.”

They quickly set up the blanket. Impulse sat down once they were done and asked, “What’s all this for?”

Skizz joined him on the ground. “Lie down.”

“Okay?” He obeyed without question and gasped when he properly saw the night sky.

Skizz really couldn’t have gotten luckier with the weather. Not a single wisp of a cloud was present in the sky, leaving the bright moon hanging heavily against the navy backdrop. Very few stars were dotted in the vast expanse and twinkled away despite the heavy light pollution that seemed to be everywhere, like they were refusing to be snuffed out by humanity.

“This is beautiful, Skizz,” Impulse murmured like he didn’t want his voice to cause everything to come crashing down.

“Right?” Skizz crossed his ankles and settled his hands on his stomach. “Perfect weather.” He turned his head to look at Impulse. “Perfect view. Can’t ask for much more in life.”

Impulse glanced over before flicking his eyes back to the sky. “Can I be real with you for a sec?”

“Yeah?”

“Since meeting you, I’ve realized more and more that there’s a lot more to life than I thought,” Impulse admitted. “You’re very carefree. Funny. Optimistic in every scenario. It’s oddly refreshing, especially considering what I was like beforehand.” He took a deep breath, breathing out before continuing. “I think I’m doing better because of you, Skizz.”

“Aw, Dippledop! Was that a compliment?”

He laughed and squirmed away when Impulse – gently! – punched his shoulder. “Come on, I was having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Skizz settled down again in the same position as before. “I don’t really know why I’m the way I am. Sometimes I think I care too little, if I’m being honest. But–” He turned his head and made eye contact with Impulse, feeling his face stretch into a genuine smile. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”

Impulse chuckled and looked away, closing his eyes to enjoy being immersed in nature, but Skizz kept looking at him. Eyes tracking the curve of his eyelashes, the slope of his nose, the way the moonlight highlighted his face. No furrowed brows or pursed lips, just at peace. He wanted to take a picture, but decided to commit this moment to memory instead.

“You know,” Impulse said, breaking the silence. “I’m glad I met you, Skizz.”

His heart did cartwheels as he fondly poked Impulse in the side. “You too, Dop. You too.” Skizz really couldn’t have gotten luckier.

***

They quickly sped through several cases together and, naturally, a reputation followed. Mind you, Impulse already had one long before he joined, but now it wasn’t just Impulse’s name whispered behind boring stalls and cupped hands. It was now ‘Imp and Skizz’, the Demon and Angel, the wonder duo of the company. Skizz had also developed the moniker of ‘Skizzleman’ at some point as well, much to his delight.

The director was probably riding his high after his success, since he introduced them to more people not too long after. They’ve had some other random people in between, rookies just starting out, strange fans that didn’t know what a normal social interaction was, but none of them were permanent. After many failed matchups, they were starting to really doubt the director. But he did manage to successfully match them together, so they kept their fingers crossed. And his strange method of trial and error must’ve suddenly worked one day when they received an email promising ‘a beneficial collaboration’. He had told them to meet him in his office, and without much choice, they walked down the boring hall to the meeting area.

When they got there and swung the door open, two people had already taken the seats. One was evidently shorter, one knee scrunched up on the chair and hugged against his red sweater with an almost bored expression. The other had his legs politely crossed under the chair and a cane hooked on the arm rest. He turned around when the door creaked open and shot them a crooked smile.

“Deja vu,” Impulse muttered under his breath before they stepped in.

“Mr. Esvee, Mr. Elman! I’m glad you two came,” the director said, like he didn’t essentially order them to come. “I’d like you two to meet Mr. Xelqua–” he gestured to the shorter man wearing the red sweater. “-And Mr. Goodtimes.” he waved his hand to the taller man.

“Why hello there!” Mr. Goodtimes greeted in a smooth, chipper voice.

“What’s up?” was the other’s response. Skizz wasn’t even going to try and pronounce that name.

“I’ll keep this short, gentlemen, since I’ve got to be somewhere soon.” The director handed a folder to Impulse. “Case 614 for you, Mr. Esvee. The house has been cleared, you may proceed whenever you wish.”

“Thank you, sir.” Impulse took it and tucked it under his arm. He redirected his focus on the two people still sitting in the chairs and jerked his thumb out the door, head tilting too just in case they didn’t get the idea. “Let’s head out. We’re burning daylight out here, and I’m pretty sure it’s raining later too.”

Skizz watched Impulse leave as he waited behind and held the door open. He already had his nose stuck in the folder as he read over the information he was going to forget about sharing later. Skizz sighed. He knows his buddy wasn’t the most sociable person ever, and he did this every time there was someone new, but something was wiggling in his brain that told him these two were going to be worth Impulse’s attention.

As soon as Goodtimes had passed him and the sound of the director wishing them luck faded behind the closing door, he quickly reached Impulse with larger than usual strides with his long legs and plucked the folder out from between his hands.

Impulse sputtered. “What was that for? I was reading that!”

“You’re getting way too into it, mister. I’ll read the mission details on the van later.” He tucked the folder under his arm and gestured to the two new members following them. “We've got to have proper introductions! You know the director is terrible at those.”

“We can all agree that meeting was awkward, right?” The shorter one asked. “‘Cuz that felt really awkward.”

“Oh definitely.” Goodtimes solemnly nodded. He held out his hand not holding onto his cane, a wide, crooked smile on his face. “I go by Scar, and this here is Grian!”

“I can introduce myself, Scar,” Grian whined.

Skizz accepted the handshake with a grin. “Nice to meet’cha! I’m Skizz.”

“I’m Impulse.”

“And together, we’re Imp and Skizz!”

“We’ve heard about you guys around the company, but we’re both pretty new. What’s all the talk about?” Grian’s head tilt was almost bird-like. “Does it have something to do with the fact that you’re on your 614th case?”

Impulse groaned as Skizz laughed. “Let me tell you two–” He launched into a ramble about Impulse’s reputation and track record, more than happy to show off his best friend’s achievements. His audience listened tentatively as they continued down the hallway, occasionally interrupting with a question he was glad to answer.

“-That’s how we met and got started.” Skizz finished. He glanced at them over his shoulder as they finally stepped out of the building and into the parking lot. “What about you two? How’d you guys get roped into this business?”

“I followed Grian,” Scar said while shooting his partner a beaming grin.

Said partner bashfully looked away from the fond look he was receiving. “I was recommended by Pearl,” Grian said.

Impulse immediately perked up at the name after having spaced out from the conversation. “Oh, I know Pearl! I’ve had to sub for her team when someone was out sick.”

They continued their idle chatter, Grian mentioning how his gut instinct when it came to ghost hunting was the reason why Pearl thought he’d be a good fit in this line of work. Skizz was skeptical. How does someone just get a gut feeling with this kind of thing?

“What do you mean? Is it just intuition?”

“Pretty much.”

What.

“What’s your success rate?”

Grian pursed his lips as they arrived at the truck. Impulse unlocked the front door of the van and slipped inside as he answered, “Ehh, about 70% maybe?”

“Dang dude! You’re that accurate with just guessing?”

“Well, when you put it like that...”

The back door swung open, revealing an Impulse. “The seats are prepped in the back,” he informed as he hopped out.

“Alright alright!” Skizz cheered. He swung his arm in an arc in front of him to usher them into the van. “Let’s get this show on the road, nooch.”

He watched Scar and Grian echo his excitement as they got into the van. He didn’t know how Grian’s gut instinct worked, but his instincts told him that they were going to be a pretty fantastic team.

***

A couple of cases later, Skizz still has no idea how Grian’s accuracy with guessing was so high, nor how Scar can somehow make motion and sound sensors useful. It baffled him to no end, and at this point, he shouldn’t question either of them. But at least they collectively agreed that they worked brilliantly as a team! So brilliantly, in fact, that they even made it official with a team name of GIGS, what’s up.

The plan usually goes like this: Skizz and Scar would look for the power, Grian would drop the necessary equipment inside, and Impulse would go find the ghost room. Afterwards, Skizz would focus on the photos while everyone else tried to figure out the ghost. It was a great system, even if sometimes difficult with no one in the van. Grian tries, but Skizz much prefers him inside. He’s comforting and provides hysterical comedic value, and his accuracy tends to be higher after feeling the vibe of the haunt, so it’s a win-win in his books.

They’d been thinking about getting a fifth, but with being semi-celebrities came weirdos that care more about the team name than the work, which, considering their lives are on the line when they walk into a haunt, is terrible. But it’s difficult to find the best person for the position — Skizz doesn’t know how many rejections he’s had to dish out — and they’re all busy with their own responsibilities, so the problem was left sitting on the back burner as they passively looked for another member.

The solution ended up crashing into him a few weeks later in the form of a fiery red-head.

He’s minding his business, trying to pretend like his designated desk in the office was actually useful. For the record, it absolutely wasn’t since he only rarely filled out paperwork there, but it felt nice regardless. He’d just finished the paperwork he promised Impulse he would do and walked out of his cubicle when something slammed into him with a surprised squeak. He only slightly staggered, considering he’s well over six feet tall, and managed to catch the little lady before she completely fell over.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, that’s my fault,” she apologized. She has a delightful way of saying “sorry” Skizz noted. More “Sore ree” sounding. “Whew, thanks for the catch!”

“No worries!” He let go of her arm once she managed to get her footing. “What’s the rush for anyway?”

She adjusted her glasses and glanced up. “I was–” Skizz laughed internally when she saw her do a violent double-take. “Wait, you’re Skizz!”

“The one and only!” He placed his hands on his hips. “What’s up?”

“I was just going to try and find you!”

That made him pause. He properly looked at her. Flaming orange hair tied into a bun with portions framing her face, dark green eyes, glasses over a light smattering of freckles, blue denim jacket over a green shirt, and just about reaching his shoulders.

Skizz did not recognize her.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “But who are you?”

“I’m Gem,” She introduced. “And I want to join GIGS.”

He could only stare at her for a few seconds as his brain sped at a million miles per hour. On one hand, this most definitely wasn’t his decision to make. And he’s pretty sure she’s new to the company, so he really had no idea what her skill level was like either. But on the other hand…

Skizz clapped his hands together with a grin on his face. “We were just thinking about getting a fifth!” He felt a little bit bad at leaving her hanging for so long, but it was kind of funny watching her shoulders sag in relief. “Follow me, I need to meet up with the rest of them anyway. I can introduce you to them while I’m there. Nooch!”

He turned around and started walking, hearing a little ‘thank God’ before footsteps rushed to match his much larger strides.

“So, Gem,” he began. “How long have you been working here?”

“Is this where the interview begins?” She shot back. “I thought I wouldn’t get interrogated until the rest of your team was here.”

“Don’t you worry your little head–”

“Little?!”

“-About it. So? You new here?”

“Y-yeah, I am,” she nervously admitted with a sigh. “I transferred here from a different branch last week.”

“Why the change?”

“I won’t lie, it was to try and join GIGS.”

This was becoming interesting. What was her reason? Did Skizz misjudge her character when she was actually just another fan?

“You know you could create your own team, right?”

“I didn’t know anyone there, and it’s terribly difficult to build relationships with four brand new people to the point of trusting them with your life. It’s much easier to try and join a premade team and pray.”

“But why GIGS specifically? There are plenty of other teams around the company.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gem was looking at him like he sprouted a second head from his shoulders. “Why would I want to join anyone other than GIGS?”

“Explain.”

“What is there to explain? The entire building sings praises about your team, I swear. It kind of makes me sick sometimes.”

That pulled a chuckle out of Skizz. “What are you trying to get out of joining then?”

“Well, the main thing would be experience,” Gem said while raising a hand to count on. “There’s Scar, who has more technical skill with equipment. There’s Grian, who has a lot of knowledge about ghosts. There’s you and your camera work, objective completion rate, and just overall understanding of the paranormal. And then there’s Impulse, who knows basically everything. And the second thing”- she clenched her hands and made eye contact with Skizz. -“is that you guys are incredibly successful. Your rate of incident is at a record-breaking low, assuming everything I’ve heard is true. Which probably isn’t, but I have people to support, so I’m willing to risk it.”

Skizz opened and held the door leading to the parking lot for her. “And what can you provide for us?”

“I’m good with cameras,” she immediately answered. “I can manage a lot of information and communicate effectively. In previous missions, I’d sit in the truck and relay what’s going on to everyone, like if a hunt was starting or if there were ghost orbs.” She bashfully looked away, the first crack in her confident facade. “I know that sounds pretty useless, especially compared to your team’s caliber, but I can learn! I can do whatever you need more hands for.”

Skizz wanted to jump for joy at her words. A fifth member who could fill in the gaps of their team that actually had conviction? He has no idea what he did in his previous life to get this lucky, but in no world was he going to complain. This was perfect.

“You won’t need to worry about that.” He knew it was mean, but he started giggling at her crestfallen look. ”Aww, don’t look so down! The world isn’t ending just yet.” He spotted Impulse and Grian organizing the equipment in the truck with Scar sitting at the entrance and yelled to get their attention, “Guys! I got ourselves a fifth!”

They immediately looked up as they approached. Scar with glee, Impulse with bemusement, and Grian with something almost evil in his expression. Gem squawked as Skizz slung an arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer to the rest of the team.

“I’d like you guys to meet Gem, Gemstone, or Gemmy Bemmy – take your pick – and she’s going to be our designated van man! Or van woman in this case.”

“I, what?” Gem sputtered while struggling to get out of the soft headlock he had managed to trap her in. “But you said earlier–”

“Shh, don’t worry about it, Gemstone. Just go along with it.”

“You know it’s usually the director who does the recruiting right?” Impulse joked as he hopped out of the van. He held out a hand for her to shake, so Skizz reluctantly released her. “Nice to meet you, Gem was it? With a G?”

“Y-yeah, uh, I already k-know most of, most of you,” she nervously stammered as she shook his hand.

Impulse grinned. “Well, that saves us some time then. We’ve got two cases to get through tonight, so let’s head out.”

“Welcome to GIGS, Gem!” Scar congratulated. “We can add the extra G once we’re back, make it official and all that.”

“Wait, just like that? No nothing?”

Scar looked back at her as Grian helped him up. “Well Skizz gave you a nickname, didn’t he? That means he likes you, and that’s enough for the rest of us.”

Gem stared at Skizz, who only shot her a smug smirk. “He’s Scarface, and Grian is G-sharp, sometimes Sunspot. Impulse is Dippledop.”

“That literally doesn’t explain anything.”

He clapped her on the shoulder as he headed to the passenger seat. “You’ll find I’m a pretty good judge of character. Now hop on! Otherwise, we’ll leave without you.”

Skizz cackled as she scrambled into the truck, the back door closing with a resounding slam. He climbed into his own seat and watched Impulse quickly skim over the two folders open on his lap.

“Maybe we should do the easier one today. You know, ease Gem into it and all that.”

“Nah, let’s do both.” Skizz turned around and shivered at the manic grin Grian was aiming at Gem. “Have you ever done an insanity difficulty case?”

“No?”

“Impulse, we’re going to the prison.”

The van erupted in laughter at Gem’s explosive “WHAT”. Skizz was wiping away his tears as Impulse handed him the folders to read through, heart soaring in delight.

***

After the first official mission as a full GIGGS crew — which went swimmingly of course — their popularity skyrocketed. Their social media page was flooded with their profiles, and the company started gaining more traction, which the director must have been delighted about. #GIGGS was even trending on the paranormal side of Instagram, which completely baffled Skizz when Gem showed them. He knew paranormal shenanigans and ghost stories were on fire lately, but what in the world guys.

But here’s the real kicker: people started wanting autographs.

It was just him, Impulse, and Grian in the coffee room, waiting for Impulse’s drink to finish gurgling out of the Keurig. No one was talking much, since it was barely seven in the morning and they tended to sleep much later than the average person, and they were all dead on their feet. Still, Skizz stirred a little when he heard whispers and shuffling around in the room that was most definitely not coming from his friends, since Grian was starting to sway on his feet and lean against Impulse. He looked up and scanned the room, and immediately found the source of the commotion.

A gaggle of younger hunters was waiting at the entrance of the room. About six of them, and not a single one looked over the age of twenty-five. Sounds of alarm emitted from the group as they noticed Skizz scrutinizing them, and they ducked around the edge of the doorframe. He had to withhold a chuckle. Deliriously, they reminded him of little kids trying to eavesdrop on their parents talking.

He lightly kicked Grian in the leg, making him jolt awake and squawk, which in turn jostled Impulse back to the conscious world.

“What was that for?!” Grian shot him a scathing look as he resettled himself. Impulse, on the other hand, looked unfazed, far too used to Skizz’s antics. He simply walked past and got his cup of joe with a wide yawn. “Can’t a man take a nap?”

Skizz jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door, grin on his face. “We’ve got some fans at the door.” He turned around and laughed as the stack of heads ducked behind the frame again.

Impulse perked up as he sipped his coffee. “Do they need something?” He asked before raising his voice. “You guys can come in! It’s a public space after all.”

They slowly sidled in, anxiously exchanging looks with each other. They still haven’t separated from the door, like they were scared a hunt was going to start and they’d have to bolt out or something.

Eventually, one of the braver ones evidently took a step forward and stammered out a greeting. “Hi, uh. Are, are you guys team, team GIGGS?” She nervously brushed a long lock of brown hair behind her ear.

“No, we’re team SIGGS– ow!” Grian muttered before Skizz jabbed him in the side.

Impulse ignored them and gave her the kindest smile he could muster while putting the coffee back down on the counter. “Yeah, part of the team anyway. The other two are waking up probably. You lot looking for us?”

She quickly nodded before glancing at the people behind her, hands clasped behind her back. “Yeah, we, uh, we just wanted to say how, um, how could you guys are, and, and–”

“You guys figure out the ghost so quickly–”

“-How are you guys so successful–”

“-Can you share some stories–”

“-And the looping is so good can you teach me–”

Now, Skizz was a weird guy. Any sort of comments rolled right off of him like water on a duck’s back, regardless if the comment was positive or negative. He smiled and nodded as none of the words really registered in his heart, and neither did Grian by the look of it, but Impulse?

Skizz backed up a little and pulled his phone out to record the moment, watching Impulse’s face turn more and more red with every new compliment as he became the sole attention of the young hunters. “Do you see Dippledop’s face, G?” He whispered to Grian, who was muffling the sounds of his laughter with a hand over his mouth. “He’s gonna explode, dude!”

The commotion seemed to finally calm down after a hot minute, leaving Impulse a stuttering mess as he tried to scrape words together to express his gratitude. A flush covered his face, reaching below the collar of his shirt and to the tip of his ears. The footage of this was going to be terrible with how badly Skizz was shaking from holding his laugh in, but it was so worth it.

The first hunter piped up again. “The parabolic mic is, is one of your iconic items, right? You used it for the Apocalypse challenge?”

Impulse nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah! It’s, uh, it’s useful for larger haunts. Wouldn’t have been able to complete the case without it.”

“Could you”— she finally pulled her hand out from behind her, revealing a small tier-one parabolic mic in one hand and a silver Sharpie in the other. —“Sign this please?”

That’s when Grian lost it, high-pitched kettle-wheezes forcing their way out from deep in his chest. Skizz silently cackled, phone still recording, as he watched Impulse’s brain implode. He could practically see the steam clouds floating out of his face as he stammered out a squeaky, “Sure sure! Yeah, I’d, I’d love to!”

The little crowd of hunters whooped and celebrated as Impulse accepted the pen and scrawled his signature on the cone part of the mic. Cheers of “let’s go, Ava!” went around as they swarmed her after Impulse finished. They rushed out of the room afterwards, a distant, “You got the Demon’s favor!” echoing back before Grian and Skizz’s laughter became the only sound in the room.

“Shut up! Stop laughing!” Impulse buried his face in his hands when they only laughed harder. “Aw, that was so embarrassing…”

“Skizz, Skizz,” Grian breathed, hacking as the air struggled to enter his lungs. “Please tell me you, you caught all of that.”

“Oh no you didn’t,” Impulse whispered as a look of horror dawned on his face.

Skizz couldn’t contain the manic glee. “Oh yes I did! Haha!”

“Delete that right now!”

“Make me!”

Impulse jumped at him to try and steal the phone, but Skizz took advantage of the height difference and raised it far above his head, taunting him between cackles. All the while, Grian had completely collapsed and was hugging his stomach as he rolled around while shrieking like a hyena.

He eventually gave up and slumped on Skizz. “It’s too early for this,” he whined, knocking his head into his shoulder.

Skizz patted his back fondly, swiftly sliding his phone in his pocket. Seeing Impulse all flushed and embarrassed through his blurry vision made him want to plant a kiss on the top of his head and watch him have a meltdown all over again. Would he be able to feel his face heat up through the shirt? Would his voice pitch up like it did when he agreed to sign an autograph? His heart fluttered in his chest.

He was brought back to reality by Grian getting up. “Oh my goodness, my jaw,” he heaved a breath in. “I can’t wait to tell Scar and Gem, oh my goodness.”

That made Impulse jerk up. “Wha-no! You can’t!”

“Make me,” Grian parroted while snatching Impulse’s cup of coffee. “See ya!” He proceeded to speed out the door.

“Grian!” Impulse darted after him, leaving Skizz alone with his pattering heart and running thoughts.

He’s definitely in love, was his first revelation. The second was that he was so screwed. Third, he’s definitely sending that video in the groupchat.

***

There’s the idea that once you realize something, you can’t stop realizing it. Like how you’re actively breathing or your toes are always touching each other. One little detail leads and connects to another to create this cascading effect, like how one person losing The Game ruins it for everyone else. Yeah, that’s what Skizz was going through right now.

He’s started paying more attention to the little quirks that Impulse does. The way he ducks his head when embarrassed, the squint of his eyes when he smiles, the near-violent throwback of his head when he laughs. If Impulse was just a little more observant, he’d have definitely caught Skizz staring at him once in a while.

For the record, Skizz isn’t ashamed about his feelings. If anything, he’s more worried about Impulse. Does he even like Skizz? Does he even like men?

But he does feel ashamed for what he felt when he was introduced to Joker. Jealousy flooded his chest when he learnt that he was Impulse’s partner – not even romantic, just work – before him, which died down when he said they split up. Then the feeling rose up again at the mention of a third, before feeling cold relief when he learnt that he was dead and out of the picture. Which he felt absolutely awful about a split second later. He stood in silence in front of the makeshift memorial, mentally apologizing before placing the cookies on the soda can.

Not to say that someone lost their lines in their line of work wasn’t tragic. It had been a while, but the realization of the risk that their job presented hit him again like a wrecking ball swinging back for a second serving. They’re always in close contact with death, which is something you can become desensitized too if not careful. And if he put more strength into hugging Impulse as he cried into his shoulder, that’s for him to know.

A few days later, Impulse caught the flu and was promptly ushered home before he made everyone else sick. It did give everyone else an excuse to take a few days off though, since Impulse’s van had all of their equipment. And considering how taxing their job could be on the mind, they deserved this impromptu vacation after getting put through the wringer by the company.

Skizz decided that he was going to do absolutely nothing other than rest, but that also meant he had nothing to distract himself with. He’d wake up, text Impulse, play with Kevin, exercise a little, eat the necessary meals, check up on the rest of GIGGS, text Impulse again once he gave a non-answer gibberish as a sickness-ridden reply to his concerns, and go to bed. Skizz liked being busy, so the few days of nothing were near absolute torture even if he felt clear-minded.

When he finally got back to work and stepped into the break room to meet up with Gem, giving a few coworkers a high five as he moved past the tables and seats, the first sentence he was greeted with was, “Skizz, you look terrible.”

“Thanks, Gem.” She patted one of the seats next to her in the corner she had commandeered. He slumped back into the cushion and dragged a hand down his face. ”Real talker aren’t you.”

“Hey, I’m just saying! Weren’t we all on break? Why do you look like you got run over?”

“It was so boring, Gem,” he whined. “No missions, no Dippledop, no paperwork. I hate paperwork! You know it’s bad when I want to fill out endless sheets of paper.”

“You just need someone to do it with you, get Impulse to stare over your shoulder to do it. Oh, speaking of Impulse actually…” She leaned in closer and whispered. “What’s going on between you two?”

His face immediately involuntarily heated up. “Nothing.”

Gem quirked an eyebrow at him. “You sure about that?”

Skizz sighed and leaned forward. “You know already, don’t you?”

“I know about you, since you’re not exactly subtle. But I don’t know about Impulse, so I thought I’d ask. Grian and Scar have been wondering too.”

He groaned. “So you’re telling me everyone except the person that matters knows?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” She said while shrugging.

“I’m leaving,” he announced. Skizz stood up and speed-walked out of the break room, ignoring Gem’s “wait, let me finish my sandwich” as he wrenched the door open.

He took a few steps and rounded the corner, only to very nearly crash into the director. Skizz took a quick step backwards and reached out to steady him, worried the older man would topple over and fracture his spleen or something.

“Sorry, I should’ve looked, that’s my bad sir.”

“That’s alright Mr. Elman, I was just looking for you, actually!” The director held out another bland Manila folder that he seemingly pulled out of thin air. “I have a case for GIGGS, should you be interested in accepting. This is your 64th case.”

“I don’t know, Impulse still isn’t back yet…” Skizz trailed off, hesitant on whether to take a call for the team. I was typically a majority agreement, though they’ve never rejected taking a case before. But it still felt bad to not ask anyone.

“That’s alright, you can hold onto it for as long as you need. It’d be Mr. Esvee’s 666th case, and I’m quite confident he’d be interested in taking it.” He practically shoved it into Skizz’s hands before walking away. “Let me know if any of you have any questions or concerns, and I wish you all a happy hunt.”

“Sir, I—” he looked up, but the director was already gone. Skizz heaved a sigh and decided to turn around and head back into the break room. Maybe he’ll just start with asking Gem.

Gem was still where he had left her, the last bite of sandwich raised to her mouth. He sat down in the same seat as before as she shot him a confused look while lowering the sandwich.

“You’re back?”

“Director has a new case for us,” he answered, throwing the folder onto the little coffee table and drumming a rhythm on the edge. “Basically forced it on me, but he said we didn’t have to do it immediately.”

“Scar and Grian are on their way so we can ask them, but I vote we do it,” Gem decided before raising the sandwich back to her mouth and taking the last bite.

“But the company equipment sucks. It’s all tier one!”

“Then call Impulse,” she said with her hand covering her mouth, though through her sandwich it sounded more like, “Zhen coal Impulsh.”

“But what if he’s still sick?”

“Coal Impulsh, Shkizz.”

“Fine, fine.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the appropriate contact before holding it to his ear. It had barely rung once before it went through. His spirit immediately perked up at the accepted call as he greeted him with a cheerful, “Hey buddy! You feeling any better?”

“Loads yeah.” That familiar voice, even if a bit tinny and still slightly rough from sickness, came through the speaker and sent his heart fluttering. “What you calling for?”

“What, can’t call my best friend to check if he’s okay after he’s been sick for a week?” He retorted.

“Well…”

“You—!”

They play-fought back and forth for what felt like only a few seconds but must’ve been several minutes, based on Gem’s confused look when he looked over. It was also apparently long enough for Grian to show up unnoticed, and they were in a silent conversation about the folder on the table.

When they gave a thumbs up for the mission, Skizz set the phone on the table and put it on speaker for everyone else to hear as he pulled the conversation he was having with Impulse back on track.

“Director’s got a mission for GIGGS if you’re up for it,” Skizz pivoted. “Everyone else is down to get it done and dusted tonight, and I’ve got the folder. We just need your confirmation now.”

“Aww, you guys need me that badly?” Impulse teased.

“No!” Skizz denied. “It wouldn’t—” —Be the same if you’re not there “I don’t—” —want to do this without you. “You have better equipment than the rest of us! And the van!”

“And besides,” Grian piped up as he leaned in. “Without the I we’d just be g-g-g-ghosts?”

Everyone in the near vicinity groaned, all while he snickered at their reactions.

“That was awful,” Gem muttered.

It must have been loud enough since Impulse called out a, “Hi Gem, hi Grian!” through the phone.

They leaned their head towards the phone and echoed the greeting back before Skizz continued where he left off. “They just showed up, and Scar is on his way. You coming or nah?”

A hum of thought reverberated through the speakers, and knowing Impulse, he was way overthinking the choice. “It’s your 666th case!” He tacked on, dragging out the ‘e’ and hoping the case number was enough to convince him. Sue him, but he missed Impulse.

“Fiiine. I’ll be at HQ to pick you guys up in thirty.” Skizz mentally pumped a fist. “Figure out who’s shotgun before I get there.”

Impulse hung up as soon as Skizz and Grian yelled out, “Shotgun!” They turned into each other, eyes narrowed before beginning to bicker.

“What are you calling shotgun for?”

“I could ask you the same thing!”

“Why are you coming for my seat!? I always sit shotgun!”

“Which is exactly why you should let other people have a chance!”

“What are we fighting about?”

They broke apart from the stare off to look at Scar, who sat next to Gem.

“They’re arguing about who gets shotgun,” Gem filled in before adding her own piece. “I think Skizz should sit up front–”

“Geeem!”

“Yeah baby!”

“-Only because he’s been moping around like a kicked puppy without Impulse around,” she continued.

“Hey!” Skizz yelled. He has not, it’s just Gem making stuff up again! “Well now I don’t want to!”

“What has been going with you and Impulse, anyway?” Scar asked curiously, prompting a sigh out of Skizz.

“It’s nothing, Scar,” he muttered.

“No no, answer the question Skizz! We're all curious,” Grian hopped onto Skizz’s seat and somehow finessed his way to sitting on the headrest with his feet planted on either side of Skizz. “If you answer, I’ll let you take shotgun.”

“Do you guys have nothing better to do?”

“Nope!” Grian popped the ‘p’.

Skizz shot him a glare. He sighed as all Grian did was shoot back an innocent smile and slouched in his seat. Everyone else leaned in, watching Skizz’s resolve crumbling like a house of cards. “I love Dippledop,” he spat out. “That good enough for you?”

“Oh come on, there’s gotta be more than that! Does he know?”

“No.”

“Need us to wingman?” Scar waggled his eyebrow. “Scar’s relationship asi– asa– asse– help service has a one-hundred-percent success rate!”

“Isn’t the only relationship you’ve matched together just yours and Grian’s?”

“Yep!”

“I appreciate it Scar, but that’s not going to be necessary.” Skizz stood up and headed out yet again. “Impulse shouldn’t take too long to get here, so I’m going to go wait outside.”

He ignored the fact that they were exchanging worried looks behind him, and the fact that Impulse wouldn’t show up for another twenty minutes.

***

The moment Impulse pulled up, Skizz’s mood immediately brightened. He doesn’t mean to be so sour whenever the others bring up his pining, but Impulse is his best friend, so he doesn’t want to risk losing the closest person in his life. Which is why he reacted in such a demanding fashion at everyone else after Impulse nearly crashed the car after hearing about the case.

He tries not to pull out the corporate skillcard he developed at his old job, but he was scared. Not even at the crash – though it did play a part – but because of Impulse. His face was so pale it looked almost gray, huddled in the picnic blanket and staring blankly at the opposite wall.

“You think you can take your sanity meds by yourself?” Skizz asked and received a nod for an answer. “Alright, I’ll do it for you. Keep breathing for me.”

Impulse closed his eyes as Skizz pushed up the sleeve of his jacket. He pinched a bit at the inside of his elbow, thumb gently brushing the delicate skin, before pressing the small needle down and squeezing the tube. He watched Impulse take a deep breath and hold his breath as he held the sanity medication in place for a few moments. He doesn’t understand how the medicine works nor how it was made, but he does understand the uncomfortable feeling of forced calmness through his body when he had to take some on occasions.

He continued whispering praises as he made sure he didn’t puncture something he wasn’t supposed to, streams of “good job” and “perfect” leaving his babbling lips a he pulled the sleeve back down. Skizz glanced up to make sure Impulse wasn’t in any pain, only to find him sitting stock still with his eyes still closed.

“Feeling better?” He got a little nod in response.

“So…” Grian interrupted from the driver’s seat. “Not to ruin the mood or anything, but are we still going to the house?” He was adjusting the driver’s seat since, even though Impulse was a little short, Grian was still shorter. “Board’s gone, which sucks, but it’s still doable.”

“I don’t think we should go if Impulse isn’t down for it,” Gem said.

Skizz’s mind had already decided as he said, “Let’s go back.” He leaned forward between the two seats and pointed at the little device attached to the dashboard. “Gem, set the GPS. Grian, start driving-”

“Wait, no. Let’s, let’s keep going. I can go. I’m fine.”

Skizz whipped around and looked Impulse in the eye. “Are you serious? You freaked out just by hearing about the case. Think about what will happen when you actually go into the house!”

“It’s fine, I was just surprised.” He averted his gaze. “Won’t happen again.”

He could only imagine the look of disbelief on his face as he denied his request. “Just surprised my foot, we’re turning this van right around–”

“I believe in Impulse,” Scar piped up, completely unhelpfully in Skizz's opinion. He scowled at him as he rolled on and ignored the scathing glare. “If he says he can, we should trust him to know his limits.”

The front passengers hummed in agreement, and Skizz knew immediately that he was outvoted. “Fine. Fine!” He threw his hands in the air as he headed back to sit on a proper seat. “But if anything goes wrong, we’re leaving. And I get to say I told you so.”

“Siryessir.” Grian started the van and drove for around ten minutes before he asked, “Can I ask what all that was about?”

“Grian!” Gem admonished, reaching over and bopping him in the head with the folder.

“No he’s fine.” Impulse interrupted as he stared down at the van floor. He looked like he was getting sent to the gallows or something, with his face pale and eyes downcast. “I’ll explain.”

“Impulse-” Skizz started, but Impulse patted his shoulder, so he kept quiet.

“Tango was part of team JIT, a ghost hunting team comprised of me, Joker, and Tango,” he began. He paused. His mouth opened and closed again as he tried to figure out what to say. Trailing off every botched sentence before trying again only to give up with a frustrated noise while waving his hands.

Skizz decided to jump in to help. “He was the one Joker was talking about right?” he asked gently. Impulse nodded.

“What did he talk about?” Grian asked.

So Skizz told the story that Joker had told him when he met him and Impulse mourning for Tango, their teammate and friend who died in the burning cabin. After he finished, the van descended into silence.

“Maybe we should go back,” Scar said, finally breaking the quiet. “Skizz is right, turn the van around—”

“Scar?” Gem asked, innocently.

“Yeah?”

“No.”

They continued in silence again. Skizz had half a mind to start talking again, but what was there to say? The whole van itself felt like it was grieving, even if hardly any of them knew Tango. Maybe it was the close proximity to death on a regular basis, but every hunter knew to respect the dead, regardless of what interactions you had when they were alive. So, Skizz stayed quiet, and let them mourn.

But eventually someone would’ve had to make the first sound, ask some sort of question. Skizz expected it to be Grian, but he didn’t expect what he asked, “Tango was Tim’s boyfriend, wasn’t he?”

“Who?” Skizz asked.

“Jimmy Solidarity. Cousin of mine that works in logistics.”

“I think I remember him talking about a Jimmy before, yeah,” Impulse confirmed. “Why?”

“Dunno. But based on the stories Tim told me, Tango sounded like a great guy,” his sentence trailed off into silence again before he checked the GPS. “We’re getting closer. Start grabbing equipment.”

Skizz barely heard Impulse’s whisper of, “He was.”

***

They pulled up and parked in the driveway of a quaint wooden cabin. It would’ve looked like a nice home in the woods, if not for the creaking floor boards and squeaky red front door. Surrounded on all sides by a thick forest, this was a prime location for a haunt. Skizz has no idea how anyone managed to get this house green-flagged to build here, but it just meant more work for them.

They hopped out of the van with respective equipment in hand. Skizz held a flashlight in one hand and an EMF reader in the other. “Scarface and I will look for the breaker,” he announced. “Rest of you, split up and try to find the ghost room. If not, we’ll start using the thermometer.”

He unlocked the front door as agreement rang from behind him. The stairs were just on the right of the door, so he immediately started heading up in search of the breaker and left downstairs for Scar.

There wasn’t much to be seen, in all honesty. Stairs leading up to the first bedroom, then a small hallway that hairpin turned into more bedrooms further down. A large window sat at the end framed in thick wood, similar to the rest of the house, giving it a vague rustic look.

He peeked into each room before leaving when the breaker was evidently not there. A place like this would most likely have the power outside or downstairs somewhere, but it was safer to double check.

Skizz reached the end of the hallway and stood in front of the large window, which had a perfect view into the driveway where the van was parked. Standing still in the dark with only his flashlight, his nerves finally settled as he looked out into the distance, and he felt at peace for whatever reason. Despite the house being haunted by his love-interest’s dead teammate.

Lovely.

Scar’s voice crackled through the radio and broke him out of his trance. “Breaker’s on!”

He shook himself awake and raised the radio to respond, “Thank you, Scar!”

With no activity detected from the EMF reader, he started heading for the stairs, passing by a Grian, when Impulse spoke through the radio.

“We have freezing temps.”

When Skizz reached the bottom of the stairs, a shriek from further down the hallway caught his attention, panic immediately pinging in his brain from the sound Gem made. He jogged the rest of the way down to a little room at the end of the first floor hallway, which seemed like a storage room of some kind. Gem and Impulse were hovering just inside the door, evidently frazzled from whatever just happened.

“What the heck?! What’s going on in there? Did you get spirit box or something?”

”What in the world was that?,” Gem yelled instead, ignoring Skizz’s question. “Why did he say your name?”

All the blood had seemingly drained out of Impulse’s face as he whispered, “He, he still remembers. He recognizes me.”

“Who, Tango?” Skizz blurted out, brain not functioning from the scare.

Gem and Impulse practically leapt out of the room as the lights inside flickered. A long break, a short one, and they sighed when the lights returned to normal without anything trying to rip their faces off. They had a moment of peace as their BPM returned to normal levels.

Grian’s voice suddenly cracked over the radio and made Skizz jolt where he stood. “Found a monkey paw.”

Impulse raised his radio to his mouth. “Good job, G. Take it to the van. We’ve also got spirit box as second evidence.”

“Nice.”

“What is wrong with you?! Number one rule, don’t say the name!” Skizz backed up when Gem rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. She sharply exhaled through her nose in anger. “I’m heading back to the van.” She spun around and marched away in a huff.

“I–” he could only helplessly watch her storm away. He didn’t mean to say his name, he just got worried when he heard the commotion, but she had long since stormed out of earshot. “Gem–”

“It’s alright, Skizz. Everyone’s on edge right now. Tension’s high, don’t blame yourself,” Impulse reassured. He crouched down and picked up the spirit box before standing up. “Could you leave me alone for a bit? I want to talk to him alone.”

He gave Impulse a worried look. “You sure?” He got a nod for an answer, but he hesitated. He trusts Impulse to know what he’s doing, but this wasn’t a typical case either. And he was under incredible emotional distress earlier, but… “Holler if you need help, okay?”

Impulse gave him a small grin that did nothing to reassure him. “I know, Skizz.”

Skizz walked out, but only after giving him another concerned look. He met Scar heading through the front door with a sound sensor in hand, and warned him, “Not yet Scar, Impulse wants some alone time.”

“Oh alright, I’ll just set this here then”, he said softly, placing the sound sensor down. They walked together back to the truck to find a Gem stress-cleaning one of her cameras.

“Hey Gemmy Bemmy,” Skizz began awkwardly. He nervously stood in the middle of the van, a little worried to take a step closer. Scar was still behind him, fiddling with the monitor and adjusting the range of the sound sensor he had set down. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just, the name just slipped out and I forgot when I ran over, and I didn’t mean to make you upset or anything. It was an honest mistake.”

She stayed quiet for a little while longer, making Skizz sweat where he stood. She eventually sighed, placing the cloth down and turning around. “You’re okay, Skizz. I shouldn’t have yelled and shoved you like that either. It’s just–” she smothered her face into her hands and heaved a tired groan. “-tonight feels off. We’re hunting someone that used to work at the same company, Impulse is freaking out, I’m freaking out and–”

“I get it,” Skizz said, moving closer and clapping a hand on her shoulder. He started rubbing circles over her shoulder blades and felt her melt and lean a little closer. “We got off on the wrong foot, didn’t have a proper moment of peace. It’s incredibly jarring.”

“I managed to scare Impulse earlier, too.” Grian walked in as Gem kept talking, monkey paw in hand. “That man can look a ghost in the eyes and loop it and not get scared, but I made him jump, Skizz. Jump.”

“What’s going on?”

“Talking about Impulse. I’m worried about him,” Skizz admits. “I’ve never seen him so frazzled before and I don’t like it.”

“How long have you known him for?” Scar asks. “Also, Gem, the sensors are set up now.”

She chimed a “thanks” and started typing on the computer as Skizz answered his question. “I’ve known him for maybe half a year, give or take. Maybe more.”

“Only half?” Gem asked, astonished. “I feel like you’ve known each other since, like, school.”

“I wish.” Skizz looked over Gem’s shoulder and watched her connect to the camera’s in the house. “It sure feels like it.”

“You two sure act like it, that’s for sure,” she commented offhandedly, sighing as she fiddled with the settings on the computer. “And this camera isn’t useful. Figured.”

“While you get that sorted” - he tucked his flashlight under his arm, pocketed a lighter, and grabbed a crucifix and incense with his now free hands. – “I’m heading back inside. Impulse has been in there for a while now.”

“Scared?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“You don’t seem it.”

“A scared Skizz is a calm Skizz,” he said, hopping out of the truck. “And you don’t want to see that.”

He walked around and in front to the porch, footsteps crunching in the gravel. The sun had completely set during ride over, and the moon had hung itself up in the night sky. He stared at the view and had to tear himself away as he skipped the stairs to up entirely.

Skizz had just about reached the door before it banged shut and locked with a resounding click. His heart dropped to through the floor as he threw the crucifix aside and immediately tried the handle, but surprise, it didn’t budge.

“No no no no no,” he found himself muttering, letting go of the incense to get another hand scrabbling to push against the door. Gem’s warning of a hunt shot through his panic and he backed up when using his hands was ineffective. The hunt was too early and they were all too distracted pre-entering the house. Impulse may always bring an incense with him, but he wasn’t in the right headspace either. He’d make mistakes, get caught unaware, and it could cost him his life.

Skizz’s brain was running at too many miles per hour, heart beating right after it as he raised a foot and slammed it next to the lock. A jarring ache shot through his ankle, but he grit his teeth and did it again.

“Skizz! Skizzy wizzy!” Scar’s voice was frantic from behind him, just audible over the thud of him trying to kick the door down. “Oh thank god, you didn’t get trapped inside.”

“Impulse is still in there!” Skizz yelled. Another kick followed by a shot of pain up his leg, and hope flickered in his chest as he felt the wood give in. But at this rate, he’d be too slow. He needs to get to Impulse, who was talking to the ghost in the room, who was stuck inside, and Skizz still had too many things to tell him.

“I–is there anything I can help with?”

Skizz could feel his ankle throbbing from the force behind his kicks. He considered swapping to the other foot, but he needed at least one good leg, just in case Impulse couldn’t–

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scar nervously tittering at the steps, unable to help with his condition. His bones would snap before the door if he tried, but the cane-

“Scar, what’s your cane made of?”

“Carbon fiber. Why?”

“Hand it.”

Skizz couldn’t articulate his relief when Scar willingly handed it over without any questions. He spun back to the door and roughly jabbed the end of it into the vague dent he had managed to create in desperation. Either he was stronger than he thought as adrenaline coursed through his body, or Scar’s cane was just that good, but the wood finally cracked.

He pushed the door, only to be stopped short by that stupid little chain that acted as a second lock.

“Oh come on!” he yelled while throwing the cane aside. “I don’t have time for this!”

“The ghost is in the storage room– Skizz what are you doing.”

“Get Scar to the truck, Grian.” Skizz swooped down and grabbed the abandoned incense before taking a few steps back. “Don’t follow.”

“What–”

Skizz ran at the door shoulders first and threw himself at it. Pain ripped through the shoulder when he collided with the surface, pulling a cry from his lips, but the door thankfully gave away with a thunderous crack of splintering wood. Scrambling to his feet, incense in his aching arm, the other fumbling the igniter, he ran into the house without looking back.

The storage room the storage room the storage room–

He barely heard his footsteps over the blood rushing in his ears as he sprinted at the door by the end of the hallway. The flint and steel sparked under his thumb, smoke trailed in his wake, and his hand was already reaching out for the door knob. As soon as his fingers made contact with the cool metal, he threw it open and waved his incense around like a madman. He quickly took in the scene with a terrifying clarity.

The ghost looked like he was still on fire, skin melting and dripping off his frame as he backed off with a grating hiss. Impulse desperately rolled over and away from his attacker, choking and heaving the whole way. His lips were stark blue against the washed-gray color of his face, highlighted by a little blood trickling down his neck.

Just in the nick of time.

Skizz nearly tripped in his haste to reach Impulse. He grabbed him around the arm and pulled him up. “Come on Impulse, we gotta get outta here!” he yanked, hissing when Impulse stumbled and jerked his arm the wrong way. “C’mon man!”

Skizz manhandled Impulse through the door like a ragdoll and booked it as fast as he could to the neighbouring bedroom.

“How’d you–” Impulse coughed through his ruined voice. “-Get inside?”

“Broke the front door down. Used Scar’s cane. And a shoulder.”

He quickly scanned the bedroom for a hiding place, swearing when results came out empty.

“Dang it, I keep forgetting to check for hiding spots beforehand!” Skizz quickly pulled – more like carried – Impulse back into the hallway to head for the stairs.

He briefly considered running outside, and Impulse apparently had a similar idea in whatever oxygen deprived state he was in as he rasped, “Can’t we leave?” He seemed to finally catch his footing, so Skizz let go of the death grip he had on his shirt.

He so desperately wanted to run to where he could see the silhouettes of Grian and Scar outside and get Impulse out, but ghosts can’t leave their haunts without moving on permanently, and he didn’t want to do that to Impulse’s friend.

“Don’t want him to follow us outside by mistake. That would not end up well if he left his haunt.”

The whole house shook as a groan ripped through the foundation. Their time was up. Skizz picked up the pace and did a sharp turn around the banister before sprinting up the stairs, Impulse right behind.

“One of the bedrooms has to have a closet, c’mon, c’mon-!”

He heard Impulse slip more than anything else as they reached the top. The stutter steps on the stairs, a wet crack followed by a cry of pain. Skizz just managed to spin around and catch a flailing arm before rounding a corner and into the closest bedroom. A small door sat at the end of the room, and he nearly cried in relief when he yanked it open and threw Impulse, then himself, inside. He quickly closed it behind him, hand still holding onto the little knob of a handle to keep the door shut.

They took a moment to catch their breath, the sound of their panting far too loud in the tiny space. He distantly heard other sounds in the background, but he had completely tunnel-visioned on the man in front of him. All his senses were zoned in on Impulse as his headspace gained devastating clarity once realizatin settled in their moment of safety.

He saved Impulse. Impulse almost died. He saved Impulse.

Skizz instinctively wrapped an arm, unfortunately the busted one, around his friend to press him closer into some improvised hug. He could feel his fluttering pulse through both their shirts as he hissed and leaned more of his weight onto Skizz. His only response was to tighten his grip and rub circles over his back.

Impulse looked at the door as he heard something Skizz didn’t, and the little tiny sliver of light that managed to seep through the door illuminated his features. Skizz had a sudden delirious comparison to the time he first showed Impulse his favorite spot. Lashes nearly white from the moonlight shining through, light reflecting the sharper edges of his face while casting a shadow on the rest. His jaw was clenched in fear as he took ragged breaths, body shaking slightly as they waited. This moment was fragile, precarious in its volatility. Either the hunt ends without Tango finding them, or he succeeds. Or maybe it was just Skizz’s imagination.

He violently jumped when his trance was broken by Scar’s voice through the radio, “You two still alive?”

“Fuck,” he swore vehemently under his breath. He scrabbled at the device attached to his belt to turn it off after he forgot about it during his panic breaking into the house. It was now that he could hear voices that had previously seemed muffled, as if underwater. He heard Grian and Gem’s reprimanding of Scar, which was accompanied by a high pitched cackle from just outside the bedroom. His heart was going to march out of his ribcage at this rate, matching the quickening steps approaching their little closet.

Skizz looked down when Impulse tugged his shirt a little and made eye contact. The color had slightly returned to his face, less of a pallid gray and more just pale. His breathing was just on the edge of hyperventilating, but he held onto Skizz’s shirt tighter. Something fond replaced the terror in his chest as hesitance swirled in Impulse’s expression. It was a small thing, a tick of the eyebrow and a quiver in his lips, but Skizz knew how to read him better than anyone. Skizz gave him a small smile that evidently came off reassuring enough since they leaned in at the same time.

Kissing Impulse felt right. It was something familiar, like they’ve done it a million times before in a different world. He pulled him close through the iron grip on his shirt and Skizz wrapped an arm around his waist, as if to merge every atom in their bodies together. Skizz ignored the pain lancing in his nerves as he brought a hand up to cradle Impulse’s neck, tilting his head and giving every part of himself in his desperation. He could feel Impulse holding on, both hands now holding onto his shirt, as his movement briefly turned frantic in their hunger.

Skizz wished he could stay in that moment forever, but their current predicament just had to ruin the bliss. They broke apart when Tango called out in a singsong voice that only ghost’s seemed to be able to do, “I know you’re in there, Impulse!”

Without a second thought, Skizz pulled Impulse back and squeezed in front of him, squaring his shoulders with a slight hiss under his breath. He was after Impulse, and Skizz wasn’t going to let him. Plain and simple. He made sure he was blocking Impulse with his body and raised his fists up when the door slightly creaked open.

Grian’s voice reverberated around the house like a gong with the suddenness of one too. “I WISH FOR LIFE!”

The door stopped opening. He sucked a breath in and held it, hearing Impulse do the same behind him. Cold blood rushed like a river through his veins.

Every wish made with the monkey paw has a cost, with the wish for life having a fifty percent chance of killing the wisher. And that was when someone had recently died, let alone a ghost that’s been dead for five years. Grian could be dead, for all he knew.

Silence hung in the air, everyone waiting for what would happen next.

The quiet shattered like glass as footsteps stumbled backwards past the closet door. The house seemed to buckle at the same time a thud was heard, wooden beams creaking in sync with groans of pain and panic.

He felt Impulse lean into him from behind, a tentative “Tango?” getting called out. When he didn’t get an answer, he squished past Skizz and yanked the door open with a much louder, “Tango?!”

Skizz followed his – what are they now? Doesn’t matter – out of the closet and saw Tango twitching on the ground. He was blinking in and out of existence like most ghosts did when hunting, but the blinks were quite quickly decreasing in frequency like an Oni. Twitches wrought a finger occasionally, followed by a suppressed whimper like he was having some bad nightmare.

“What’s going on?” He knelt next to Tango to see if a closeup could better explain what in the world was happening. He tried to roll Tango over, but his hand phased through the shoulder he tried to grab. Shaking off the feeling of dipping his hand into snow, he tried again and succeeded without much groaning from below.

“I- I don’t know? I’ve never seen this before.”

The cogs in Skizz’s brain were spinning at a new velocity as he wracked his head for any kind of vague explanation. “Is he…” he started not wanting to raise Impulse’s hope, but what else could be happening? “Coming back to life?”

Skizz whipped around as he heard Impulse collapse to the ground with a yelp of pain. He immediately dashed over to help him up with his steady arm, the other one pulling out his radio and swiftly turning it back on with all the ease he should’ve had earlier. “Gonna need some help up here, first bedroom upstairs, hurry!”

“Gem’s coming up, I’m dealing with Grian.” Skizz had to breathe a sigh of relief when Scar’s first words weren’t anything about Grian being dead. “Is everyone alright? I’m so sorry for talking on the radio–”

“Apologize later!” Skizz interrupted. “Everyone’s alive, ghost included. Call Doc when you can”- A Gem skidded into the room. -“We’ll meet you in the van, keep your radio close. Get the van ready.”

Gem sped over with her lingering speed, questions tumbling from her lips. “What’s happening? What do you mean the ghost is alive?!” The house shook again, dusting a fine layer of plaster atop her curls. Realization clicked in Skizz’s brain, horror dawning at his revelation. He whipped his head around to look at Impulse as he started talking and nearly gave himself whiplash in the process.

“I have a theory-” Impulse began, before Skizz had to cut him off.

“Explain later. Gem”- she snapped to him as he said her name, fear glittering in wide green eyes. -“My arm’s busted, so I’m going to need you to carry-drag-roll-I-don’t-care Tango out of here. I’ll help Impulse.”

A lot could be said about Gem as she wordlessly scooped Tango up in her arms. Her efforts in the gym really seemed to pay off as she seemingly effortlessly speed-walked to the door. Skizz quickly wrapped Impulse’s arm around his shoulders, aggravating the injured one. What even happened to it? All he did was slam it into a door, it shouldn’t be this bad.

With Impulse hopping on one foot and relying on Skizz to balance himself, they shakily staggered to the door as fast as they could. When they were barely out the door, Impulse muttered a sharp, “I’m pretty sure the house is collapsing.”

The sound of shattering glass boomed from the large window Skizz was staring out of earlier, and he yelled out, “Move it move it!”

Going down the stairs was probably the worst thing Skizz has ever had to do. Gem had to be careful with each step, lest she trip forward and snap either her or Tango’s neck, and Impulse had to take each step at a time while having a death grip on Skizz. He could feel plaster caking his skin as he sweated from their predicament.

A snap of wood sounded behind them, causing him to turn around. The top of the stairs had completely splintered in two and the creaking suggested another step was going to do the same. He swore under his breath, barely able to hear it over the pounding in his chest. Another tremor wracked the house just as Gem hit the first floor and hurried to the front door. He felt Impulse slip slightly, so he grabbed him and unceremoniously heaved him outside where Gem had propped the door open with her foot.

Gem let go as soon as they’d crossed the threshold, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Skizz was half tempted to turn around, but he was almost carrying Impulse again and his shoulder was howling in protest at the brutal treatment. So he kept moving forward with Gem leading the way. The backdoor of the van was thankfully open and engines sputtering, so they leaped inside and – after Gem had dropped Tango onto the ground – swung the doors shut. Skizz was fumbling with the number pad to lock the doors and yelled at whoever was in the driver’s seat. “Hit the gas, go go go!”

Scar’s face popped around the chair with a fearful expression, face pale and sweaty from whatever he had to go through and the added pressure of driving away. ”I’ve never driven a va-”

“HIT THE GAS, SCAR.”

He slammed on the accelerator, making the van lurch forward and swerve slightly before Scar tightened his turns. Gem yelped as she had to narrowly avoid falling on Tango while Skizz crashed into the rack, crying out as something sharp jabbed into his side and losing his grip on Impulse. He hit the ground with a shriek of pain as the crashing of the collapsing house could be heard behind them.

Panting filled the back as Scar evened out the speed and made sure they weren’t going to crash face first into a tree. Concerns whizzed through Skizz’s head. They shouldn’t get into any sort of trouble legally, since all camera evidence was gone. Oh goodness gracious the house. They're so going to have to pay damage costs aren’t they. How are they going to explain this?

Gem’s voice snapped him out of his stewing with a heavy, “That, was awful.”

A chorus of weak laughs went around the van.

“You can say that again,” Skizz mumbled under his breath. He stood up and took a few minutes himself. Busted shoulder, aching muscles, tender ankle, a slight headache settling in. Not terrible, but definitely one of the worst results of a mission. He quickly swiped a sanity med off the ground from where everything had scattered and pricked his arm, while grumbling. “Never doing that again.”

“What even happened? I watched everything, but what?” Gem asked with a hint of hysteria in her voice. He passed another medicine over, which she accepted mid spiel. “Why was the house falling apart? You said you had a theory, Impulse?”

“And when can I stop driving?” Scar cut in from the front.

“Slow down and pull to the side here,” Grian muttered. Skizz leaned over to get a good look at him and winced. Skizz was reminded of when he pulled all-nighters for three days in a row. His face was sallow, bags weighing under his eyes as he rasped, “Let’s take some time to gather ourselves and plan our next step.”

He gave Scar directions to slow down and pull to the side of the road. It was a little bumpy, but considering he’s never driven a van and probably didn’t have any kind of license, it was good enough. Once he’d come to a complete stop, Impulse started talking, “The monkey paw worked.”

Skizz grabbed the first aid kit from the small cabinet under the computer and returned to Impulse while he kept talking. “It brought back the most recently dead person, being Tango.”

“And the house?” Gem asked.

“The house was Tango’s haunt.” Skizz rolled up his pant sleeve and hid a wince. The area around the ankle was swollen and an irritated red, with beginning specklings of a bruise coming in. “But since he came back to life instead of being exorcised, I think the house was still maybe tied to his soul?” He gently touched around the injury to try and parse what was wrong but he’s unfortunately not an ankle doctor, and couldn’t identify whether it was broken or sprained or something else. “And it broke under the pressure of his soul getting yanked back to the living world. Or it was the price of the monkey paw-OW!”

Skizz jumped when Impulse yelled out in pain. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, trying to figure out if you twisted or sprained your ankle or something. It’s definitely busted, though, so maybe we should go to Doc’s place. Get everyone checked out.”

“Speaking of!” Gem suddenly exclaimed. She turned around to jab a finger into Grian’s neck from behind. “That was incredibly stupid of you to wish for life with the monkey paw! It’s a fifty-fifty chance you could’ve died!”

“Gem’s right, you know? Skizz looked over at Scar as he started wringing his hands together. “I-I was so worried and s-scared when the paw c-cracked and you just fell and-”

“I’m alright, I promise.” Grian reached over to hold Scar’s hand, effectively stopping the fidgeting. Skizz looked away when he gave Scar a soft look that didn’t feel right for him to see. “Main character, remember?”

That managed to pull a small laugh out of Scar, hiding the stifled sob in his chest. Gem groaned and dragged a hand down her face.

“Oh great, now he’s losing it,” she muttered.

“Let’s move on, yeah?” Impulse said airily. Skizz glanced at him in concern as he hysterically giggled at something. “I’m just glad everyone’s alive…” His eyes slid shut and his body slumped over slightly.

“Wha– Impulse!”

“Impulse?!”

Skizz frantically grabbed his wrist and checked his pulse before sighing in relief when he could feel the quick beat under his skin. “Just passed out.“ He let go and slumped back against the wall of the van. “Don’t blame him to be fair. It’s been a rough night for him.”

“Give him this as a pillow or something.” Grian passed that blanket to Scar, who twisted around to hand it to the back. Skizz dutifully folded it and slid it under his head to cushion it against the hard metal floor. He eyed Tango lying two feet away, scanned the van, before taking his suit jacket off too to fold and tuck it under his head.

They lapsed into silence again.

“So… what’s the plan?”

“Let me think, hold on.” Skizz pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, thinking past the pounding in his head. “Gem, can you drive?”

“Me?!”

“There’s two people passed out in the back, Scar driving would probably break some kind of law or regulation, I’ve got a messed up arm and maybe a leg, which would definitely be a DWAI, and Grian was just on death’s doors. You’ve got a license and four working limbs, that’s good enough for me.”

“You’d let me drive Impulse’s van?”

“He doesn’t care ‘cuz he’s weird. Go swap seats with Scar.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. Skizz could barely hear a sigh of relief from the green-eyed man as he quickly hobbled out of the door.

Gem was still grumbling when she slid into the driver’s seat. “Where we going? The hospital?”

“No, we’re going to Doc’s. Grian, can you set the GPS?”

“Mhm.”

Skizz rattled off the address and, after getting Scar situated into a seat in the back, they were off. Scar pulled out his phone to call Doc, who was thankfully a late sleeper and picked up. The scientist was a miracle worker, to the point that Skizz genuinely thinks he’s bending the laws of this world to do what he does. He’s become well acquainted with him over the time he’s been with Impulse, and even dares to tentatively call them friends.

He kept himself busy where he sat on the ground by reorganizing the first aid to try and feel useful as Scar filled Doc in on what happened and what he’d have to prepare for. He’d chime in occasionally when Scar asked him a question, since he’s known him the longest out of the people that are conscious.

Once he hung up after Doc assured them he'd get spare bedrooms set up, a groan came from the corner of the van. Skizz glanced over to watch Tango clumsily roll over. He stayed face down for a second before lifting himself up on his arms with a heave of air and a slurred, “Wuzgoinon?”

Skizz scooted over. “Tango?”

“Hold on, gimme a sec,” he grunted. He slowly shifted to put more weight on his knees until he was effectively in a crawling position, before managing to muster enough energy to lift his torso up and kneel without arm support. He blearily blinked the blurriness from scarlet eyes and looked around in the dim lighting and locked onto Skizz sitting next to him. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized him. “Do I know you? I feel like I know you.”

“Um,” Skizz hesitated. “Sort of. What do you remember? Anything in the last hour?”

“I was with Impulse and Jokes,” Tango started slowly. “I headed inside with a lantern and–”

His face paled as he froze mid sentence. “I…” A hand crept up to run through his mussed up hair. “I… died,” he recalled in what Skizz could only describe as shell shocked. “But I, I’m back?”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Tango Tek!” Skizz gave a weak one-armed jazz hand.

“You guys were in, in my haunt? Right? Impulse said you were Skizz, and he–” He looked around and finally saw Impulse burrowed in the blanket. “Impulse! What–?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Skizz reassured before Tango flew into an all-out panic. “We’re all a little worse for wear, but we’re alive.”

“Did I,” Tango hesitated. “Was I the one that hurt you guys? I don’t remember much, but I can’t imagine none of the injuries were from me.”

“Nothing lasting and nothing we’d ever hold against you.” Tango opened his mouth to retort, but Skizz slightly leaned over and placed a hand on a warm knee. “You’re fine, Tango.” He snapped his jaw shut, tension leaving his body and making his shoulders slump.

Once he was sure Tango wouldn’t keep playing the blame game, he retracted his hand and asked, “How you feeling?”

“Like I got my bits run over and my head chomped off,” he grumbled before shuffling around to mimic Skizz’s position leaning against the van. “What even happened? My head is killing me out here.”

“Long story short, we brought you back with a monkey paw. We’re on our way to get checked out by a doctor friend, so if you feel off it’d be best to let us know before we get there.”

“Headache, soreness, nothing I can’t sleep off. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Would you like me to call Timmy?”

Tango started like he woke up with the world’s loudest alarm. “Powers of observation, powers of observation,” he chanted before looking towards the front of the van. “Grian?”

The man in question gave a weak wave through the seat gap. “Resident resurrector in the van, at your service.”

“Why would you– never mind.” The question registered in his head. “How is Jimmy? It’s been…” Tango scrunched his eyebrows together. “It’s been five years?” He went quiet for a beat as the knowledge settled in his head. He swallowed as he asked the next question like it was physically painful for the words to leave his mouth. “Has he… moved on?” His voice cracked halfway through the question.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if he had.”

“Would he even want to see me? I skadoodled and died in that stupid house and left him like an idiot, would he–”

He cut himself off when Grian looked over his shoulder, in all his exhausted glory, and gave him a small smile. “He misses his rancher, Tango.”

That must have been a good enough answer since he breathed out an, “Oh thank god.” Tango’s voice shook as he clasped his hands in front of him and bent his head down into a prayer. “Then y-yeah, it’d be great if you could call him.” Skizz respectfully ignored the quiet sniff as he rubbed a hand across his back.

“I’ll make it a surprise and everything. Give him a cryptic message to show up at Doc’s house for something special.”

A wet chuckle broke through the soft sobs. “Thank you, Grian. The rest of you too. For everything.”

“It was nothing, Tango,” Skizz reassured yet again. Sure, he and Impulse almost died, but any lingering molecule of negative emotions evaporated at the genuine gratitude the blond man gave. “Sleep for a bit, you’re safe now. We’ve got you.”

“A nap sounds… great.” His eyelids slid shut and his head lolled slightly onto Skizz’s shoulder before he was out like a light.

“Is he asleep already?” Scar asked incredulously.

“He just came back to life, leave him be,” Skizz said. The words clicked together in his exhausted brain and he couldn’t help but giggle uncontrollably.

“Skizz?”

“Dude, we just resurrected the dead. Isn’t that cool?”

“You don’t get to say that everyday, do you?” Gem mused.

“I can probably write that on my resume. You think that would help my application?”

“I think a nap would sure help right now.”

“I’ll wake you up when we get there,” Scar said.

“You sure?”

“Positive. You can rest, you’ve been through a lot too.”

As if his body needed that approval, exhaustion dragged at his eyelids as every muscle in his body relaxed. He’s pretty sure he muttered goodnight and heard Scar reply before his head listed to the side, face slightly brushing Tango’s hair, and nodded off.

After what felt like almost instantly, Skizz’s eyes snapped awake as he felt the van stop moving and a hand gently shaking his shoulder. A blurry Scar stood up and walked away when he realized he was conscious, and Skizz rubbed his eyes to clear his vision.

“We’re at Doc’s now,” Gem whispered while turning the engine off to avoid waking anyone else up. The silence was almost unnerving from the late hours and the general low energy of the usually lively crew. They’ve had late jobs before, but they’re never usually this drained. “I’ll go knock.”

“Sounds good.”

Scar unlatched the door open and the cold night air immediately flooded in, sending a shiver down Skizz’s spine and goosebumps to erupt over his skin. He jumped out to stretch and watched Gem jog to the front door. Grian sidled up next to him on the driveway with a wide yawn.

“Did you sleep, G?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be honest, I was worried I wouldn’t wake up,” Grian confessed still with that perpetual air of tiredness. “Was talking with Gem the whole time so I wouldn’t black out.”

Skizz’s heart ached as a shudder that had nothing to do with the chill wracked his body. “Paranoia sucks, huh? If it’s any worth, I think you’re in the clear. Monkey paw effects tend to set in immediately after the wish.”

Grian sighed. “I know. Just, hard to shake off I guess.” A blue car sped onto the road going far above the speed limit and only marginally slowed down to park against the curb a few feet away from them. The lights quickly blinked off as a man got out, slammed the car door shut, and ran towards them.

Skizz was immediately on guard before Grian said, with that grin he’d always wear when he was about to mess with someone, “There’s Jimmy. Oh I can’t wait to get his reaction.”

“Grian, what is going on?” Jimmy demanded as he marched up to his shorter cousin. A denim jacket was hastily thrown over a soft band t-shirt that must’ve been his pajamas, since he was sporting a pair of plaid pants and his hair was styled in the tell-tale style of having just woken up. “Why are you calling me at half past midnight with nothing but an address and telling me to hurry up?” Once he got closer and finally registered their state of dishevelment, he paused and asked, “What happened to you lot? Did your mission go poorly?”

“On the contrary, it went rather well, especially for you,” Grian started pleasantly, still with that mischievous smile on his face.

“Me? What do I have to do with any of this?”

“So well, in fact,” Grian bulldozed on. “That I reckon we make a deal before I show you.”

“What? Grian, tell me what’s going on–”

“A year's worth of favors from you,” Grian stated, his grin only stretching wider with hands still innocently crossed behind his back.

“A year?! You’re mad!”

“I promise it’s worth it. More than, really, but I’ll be nice, Tim. So? Got ourselves a deal?” He stuck a hand out for a handshake.

Jimmy scrutinized him as they locked into a staring competition. Deciding this argument wasn’t worth it, or he was simply tired of his shenanigans and wanted it over with, he grabbed Grian’s hand and accepted the handshake with a muttered, “Sure, whatever. Don’t know what I’m signing up for, but fine. Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Right this way, good sir!”

Skizz could only follow and bemusedly watch Grian put some kind of businessman facade on as he took Jimmy to the back of the van where the doors were still open. “As you know, there are many turning cogs within the company. There’s us hunters, who arguably have the hardest job. Then there’s the exorcism teams, the higher ups and whatnots, and of course the logistics team that organizes the relevant information for the rest of us, which is where you work.”

“Grian, I swear–”

“Earlier today, we received a Nightmare mission at this cabin in the forest and let me tell you, was it a nightmare!” He clapped his hands together and stopped right before the doors. “Impulse was a mess, Skizz was a mess–”

“Hey!”

“-There was a monkey paw, and we had to hunt someone that you're rather familiar with.”

“I’ve never hunted a ghost in my life, Grian, what are you on about–”

“All of this”- he swept his arms out like he was presenting something behind him. - “Is for me to get on your nerves before I show you who we managed to bring back to life.”

“Grian!” Jimmy whined before the second half caught up in his head. “Wait, bring back to life? Who did you resurrect?”

“Take a look for yourself.” Grian stepped aside.

Jimmy slowly peeked around the open door like he was scared something was going to leap out of the back and bite his head off. “Impulse? Was he the one you–” He cut himself off with a loud gasp, followed by a disbelieving scream as he nearly crumpled to the ground in his shock. His eyes were wide as he stared inside, knuckles white where he was hanging onto the door. “Tan, Tango?!”

Grian started cackling at his cousin’s reaction. “His face!” he crowed between breaths. “Did you see his face?” Skizz couldn’t help letting out a little chuckle at his reaction.

“I– Stop laughing! Is this real?!” Jimmy asked, tearing his gaze away. “Are you serious? That’s actually Tango?”

“Go in and check for yourself,” Skizz encouraged.

He didn’t hesitate before scrambling up the ledge and to Tango’s side. Skizz watched as he knelt in from Tango and, with shaky hands, swept a bit of stray hair off of his face. His other hand fluttered around, not really knowing what to do, before eventually deciding to rest it on his knee.

Tango’s eyes fluttered open as he woke up from whatever he felt while unconscious. He jolted a little at seeing someone so close to his face before realizing who it was and relaxed.

He gave Jimmy a sharp grin, “Hey rancher. Long time no see?”

“It is you!” Jimmy gasped, hands flying to cup his face and soak up every little detail of it like Tango would suddenly disappear. “You’re alive again! This is, this, I’m—“

Tango reached up and peeled one of Jimmy’s hands off his face so he could thread their fingers together. The other one brushed away an escaped tear that had started trickling its way down Jimmy’s cheek. His smile smoothed into something gentler, more private, as he muttered a quiet, “I’ve missed you.”

Jimmy wrapped him into an encompassing hug, and Skizz realized this was not something he should probably be looking at. It’s been five long years, they deserved this moment together, and definitely alone.

He turned around, took a few steps around the corner, and almost crashed into Doc — who was talking to Grian — in the process.

“Doc! Sorry, didn’t see you there. How’s it going?”

“I should be asking you that,” he replied, amused. “Bdub’s getting Gem situated inside and I’ve sent Scar inside too. We should get everyone else inside as well, especially Grian and Tango.”

“How come?” Grian asked.

“Resurrection is a fickle thing,” he started explaining in his strong accent. “The short explanation is that life has to come from somewhere, which is why people tend to die after they bring someone back. You know, an eye for an eye, that sort of thing. But when people don’t die and still bring someone back, the life support still has to come from somewhere. Nutrients, water, blood, minerals, electrolytes, stuff like that. Which is why” — He turned to Grian, who had started to sway on his feet. — “We should get them hooked up to an IV before their bodies fail.”

“That checks out, actually,” Grian said weakly. He staggered slightly and Doc was already there, arms out and ready to catch him.

“Right, let’s go,” Skizz ushered. “Let me tell Jimmy and carry Impulse.”

They headed inside, Tango in Jimmy’s arms after he adamantly refused to leave his boyfriend’s side, and Impulse still unconscious in Skizz’s. Man could sleep through a whole earthquake, seriously.

Bdubs was hovering in the spacious living room, doing quick check ups on Gem and Scar on the couch before he pointed them to the stairs where Doc was already helping Grian up the stairs. When he spotted Skizz walking in last, closing the door with his foot, he winced.

“Wow, you two look rough.”

“Nice to see you too, Bdubs,” Skizz greeted dryly.

“Alright, you two—” he pointed at Jimmy and Tango. “—Either of you need medical attention? Outside of resurrection symptoms?”

“How do you feel, my love?” Jimmy directed at Tango.

“I think it’s just the resurrection symptoms.”

“Head upstairs then, second door on the left,” Bdubs announced. They immediately headed for the stairs, and he called out after them, “And don’t touch the equipment without either me or Doc!”

“Don’t touch the skadoodlers, got it!”

“Now back to you two,” Bdubs pivoted. He scanned them over with intense dark brown eyes. “Let’s head up too, and you tell me what happened and how you feel.”

Skizz dutifully followed directions, telling the story as he trailed after Bdubs and into a bedroom. The curtains were drawn and a heart monitor stood next to the bed with a tray of equipment, giving the impression of a hospital room, but it felt like a hotel bedroom otherwise when Bdubs turned the lights on. There was even a small notebook and a cup of pens on the nightstand.

“So strangulation and some sort of ankle injury for Impulse?”

“As far as I know, yeah. A bit of his neck was bleeding when I first got to him too.”

“Thought that’s what I saw earlier. Alright, you clean up the dried blood, I’ll wrap up his ankle.”

They worked around each, Skizz with a wet towel in hand to gently brush the flaking blood off of Impulse’s skin, and Bdubs hooking him up to the heart monitor before wrapping his ankle into some kind of brace.

Once they finished, Bdubs dusted his hands off and turned to Skizz with his hands on his hips. “Now your turn. And don’t bother trying to hide anything either, mister.”

With a sigh, Skizz rattled off his list of symptoms, shoulder pain and aching ankle being the primary problems. Then there’s the headache and fatigue that he could easily sleep off. Not too terrible overall.

Bdubs wordlessly nodded once he was done and slipped out of the room with a quiet, “Hold on.”

Left with not much to do, Skizz pushed an armchair next to the bed where Impulse somehow still hadn't stirred and sat in the seat, patiently waiting and trying not to nod off. Bdubs came back a couple minutes later with a filled pitcher in one hand, empty cups and a sling in the other, and an ice pack under his arm. The glassware was put down on the bedside table before Bdubs fussed about, making sure the ice pack rested on his ankle and the sling was securely on after Bdubs theorised it was a minor tear in his rotator cuff.

“It should hopefully be alright, and I can mix up something that can help the healing process,” Bdubs assured. “I couldn’t do much with such short notice, but I'm sure I’ve got everything in my station that I can get you guys tomorrow morning. Just make sure you don’t do anything strenuous for at least a week, then come check up again with me.”

Skizz nodded before asking, “How’s everyone else? How’s Tango?”

“You don’t have to worry about Tango, he’s in good hands, Doc knows what he’s doing. And for the whole “brought back to life” thing, I know a guy — Etho? If you know him? — who can get some documents for him.” He waved his hand to brush away Skizz’s concern. “And everyone else is sound ashreep, considering it’s well over one o’clock. We really should get you to bed too. Come on, I’ll show you a spare bed–”

“I’d like to say here, actually.”

Bdubs squinted at him, sweeping him over like that same x-ray feeling Skizz had earlier. “What, did you two finally straighten yourself out? Well, I say that in layman’s term, but–”

“No!” Skizz yelled. He quickly lowered his volume. “No, it’s just, it’s complicated.”

His expression softened. “I get that, unfortunately. Either way–” He spun around and started heading for the door. “-M’too tired to argue. Make sure to actually rest!”

“Will do, thanks for everything Bdubs!” The lights flicked off and the door clicked shut right after. Left in the dark, with Impulse’s soft breathing and beeping heart monitor in the background, Skizz sighed and settled back in the chair. The day’s worth of grime and sweat was still stuck to his body, and there were so many things that needed to be sorted out. But that really could be tomorrow’s problem, couldn’t it? Skizz let his eyes slipp shut and didn’t even realize when he began to drift.

***

Skizz doesn’t often remember his dreams. But when he does, it’s usually some terrible nightmare that’s too graphic to describe. Curse his rampant imagination and whatnot. He’d usually jerk awake in cold sweat from the quietest of scuffles, head over tails and tangled in his comforter. It was a blessing being a light sleeper sometimes.

A quiet rasp of his name was what tore him from his violent imaginations of what could have happened in the cabin and returned his consciousness. He snapped awake as Impulse hacked his lungs out and, in some mix of panic and delight, shot up to do something. But in typical Skizz fashion, he smashed his knee into the edge of the bed instead and the ice pack fell on the ground with a sad slosh.

“Damn it–” he hopped around, cursing his luck as Impulse’s coughs intermixed with choked laughter. At least someone was enjoying his misfortune.

He gingerly set his leg back down after the tingling had stopped, noting that his ankle didn’t feel nearly as battered anymore after a night of icing. He focused back on Impulse again, who seemed to have finally finished the coughing fit and was wiping his eyes.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Impulse looked up and opened his mouth to reply, but then completely ignored his question to instead ask, “Your arm, what—”

He genuinely forgot the sling existed. Skizz gave it a cursory glance before shrugging a little, only to immediately regret it. He winced before explaining, “Tore rotator cuff, but it’ll be fine, Bdubs already looked over it.” He spotted the pitcher on the nightstand and headed towards it. “Let me get you some water, hold on.”

A nervous energy filled Skizz with each step for some inexplicable reason. He bounced his leg while rambling about what their resident healthcare provider had said about their injuries. Skizz noticed the depressed look crossing Impulse’s face when he told him he shouldn’t really use his leg much for the next week, and patted his leg under the sheets in a hopefully comforting manner. “I know, I know, right after getting sick too. But at least I’ll be able to take care of you and make you soup that’d be good for your throat without getting sick! What’s up!”

He wordlessly raised the glass for Impulse and helped him drink, despite knowing full well it was his ankle that was the problem, not an arm. But he didn’t deem it strange by any means, considering he followed the tilt of the glass and took a couple sips, so Skizz continued to soothe that caretaking urge inside.

Once Impulse was done, he whispered, “Everyone okay?” With a voice much less grating than before, even if as quiet.

“Yep! Tango actually woke up before we got here but passed out again. Doc’s got him and Grian covered, they just need good rest after their whole ordeal.”

That nervous energy buzzed under his skin like bees as he set the glass down. “Bdubs apparently knows a guy- Ethan? Some shady dude - that can help Tango in the legal department. Grian also managed to get in touch with Jimmy, who’s waiting for his lover boy to wake up.”

With a grin, Skizz leaned closer to whisper to Impulse even though there was no possible way that anyone other than them would hear the, “His reaction was priceless when he saw Tango, dude.”

Impulse let out a strained chuckle before asking, “What ‘bout you?”

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you after Bdubs gave me the green light.”

He sat back down in the chair and subconsciously reached out to grab Impulse’s hand. He started drawing random shapes into the back of his hand with his thumb as he continued his nervous ramblings. ”After making sure everyone else was settled, I sat here. Must’ve passed out at some point, and I can already feel the crick in my neck, but I had to make sure you were-” He interrupted himself when he felt his voice falter and about to crack before looking down, pressing their intertwined hands to his forehead to avoid that pitying look Impulse was giving him.

Skizz tried so hard to organize everything inside into neat little boxes, so he could better control what’s happening and what he was feeling. He had to keep everything under lock and key before something lashed out and did more damage than good. Relief, anger, panic, everything he had suppressed while forcing himself in a state collected calm for everyone else last night flooded out in this moment, and a quiet sniff boomed in their quiet moment.

Skizz was scared, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. So, he let go. He let himself cry.

A soft squeeze of his hand was what pulled the words that he wanted to say from his chest.

“I was terrified,” Skizz admitted. “Hearing a hunt start and knowing you were alone in there scared the crap out of me, dude. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten there in time? What if I couldn’t break the door?” A hitch in his breath. “Or Grian was just a little too late to bring Tango back?”

Skizz felt more tears brimming his eyes as he let go to gently brush his one working hand along the purple marks, the bruises stark against Impulse’s pale skin, that were shaped perfectly into two hands. Would those be there, if he was faster? Would the marks be so dark had Skizz been more aggressive in breaking the door down? Maybe he’d have left the house with more than just a torn rotator cuff, and Impulse would be the one walking and talking at the side of the bed. Or maybe he’d be perfectly fine, and Impulse wouldn’t be here.

Tears raced down his face as he quickly blinked to clear his vision. “What if I lost you?” he whispered.

Impulse raised both hands to gently cup his face, like holding too hard would shatter Skizz into a million pieces. But Skizz needed that pressure, otherwise he really did feel like he was going to disintegrate into dust, so he leaned into the contact as Impulse brushed the tears away.

“My fault,” Impulse apologized, voice scratchy. “Was stupid. Sorry.”

Skizz turned his face slightly so he could brush a kiss into Impulse’s palm. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He watched something conflicted pass through Impulse’s eyes before it became more confident. He leaned forwards and slowly dragged Skizz towards him with the hold he had, but seemed to hesitate with a little less than half a feet of distance between them.

Fondness crept into his chest and he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He raised his hand from where it was still delicately brushing the bruises and threaded it through the short buzz at the back of Impulse’s head.

Skizz whispered, “Just kiss me, Dop,” before he copied his actions and dragged him closer.

Even with just the first contact, Skizz knew he needed more, craved more, like a starved man who finally got a taste of ambrosia. He’d been teased for over half a year by this man, chasing for almost as long, and he’d finally been given approval to take to his heart’s content. He could feel the hesitancy, could feel the restraint Impulse still had on himself through warm skin and soft lips, and Skizz’s heart ached with desperate affection. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and swore he could taste that stupid cherry chapstick Gem had given him, even if he hadn't used it in over twelve hours, and a pit was growing in his stomach that craved for another taste. Skizz gently tugged on his hair to deepen the kiss and Impulse pliantly followed, feeding his want as he greedily took everything he could like the waves at sea amidst a storm. Impulse could only desperately hold on from where a hand had slipped down and was clutching onto his shirt in desperation.

He reluctantly let go when he felt Impulse gently push him away. His heart had started climbing into his throat, scared Impulse pushed him away for some negative reason, but he was overtaken by relief when he seemed to break away just to get some air. A satisfied smile stretched across his face seeing how wrecked Impulse looked, cheeks red and panting through swollen lips. He did that. Skizz did that.

He swiped a thumb across his mouth, smearing a bit of spit across his lip. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he said fondly, hand cupping his face.

Skizz just about short-circuited as Impulse, probably in his oxygen-deprived delirium, nuzzled his hand and muttered – muttered! – a short, “Love you, Skizz.”

Tears started brimming in his eyes again as his heart soared. “Love you too, Dippledop.”

They leaned in and slotted their lips together again. In some dopamine-driven high, Skizz licked Impulse’s bottom lip, partly to soothe it from the earlier abuse, but also partly hoping for something more. He felt more than heard the hitch in Impulse’s breath before he shyly gave access. Skizz enthusiastically dove in, tongue running across his palate and tracing every groove of his molars. His hold on the nape of Impulse’s neck tightened as the kiss briefly turned filthier and more passionate.

He was so distracted trying to commit everything to memory, just in case this was a one-time thing, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice from behind asked, “Am I interrupting?”

They would’ve leapt apart if they weren’t both sitting down, hands letting go and putting distance between them like they got terribly shocked, and turned around to a smug Doc. “This is a hospital environment, please avoid jeopardizing the health of the patient,” he drawled as a smirk danced across his features, face perpetually smug.

Skizz scrambled for a retort, only weakly coming out with a, “This is a spare bedroom at best! And have you ever heard of privacy?!”

“Glad to see both of you doing well,” Doc chuckled in that stupid accented voice of his. “Thought I’d come over and tell you everyone else is awake, but don’t let me stop you two.” He had the audacity to sashay out, hands in his lab coat pockets and everything. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Etho owes me money. Make sure you use protection, and clean up if you make a mess!” he singsonged over his shoulder.

Skizz reached over and grabbed a pen from the bedside table and chucked it at his back. He’s pretty sure he heard Scar ask, “What’s going on?” from the hallway before the door clicked shut, pen thwacking against it.

“The nerves of that guy,” Skizz grumbled. He turned back to Impulse and already felt some of the anger from getting interrupted dissipate when he saw the embarrassment coloring Impulse’s face and his ears tinged pink. He had to tamper down the urge to coo about how cute he was and instead offered, “Well then. Wanna get up to go see Tango?”

He earned a delighted nod, so Skizz supported him while he shuffled out of the bed. He was there at every step of the way, making sure he had a good footing on the ground and helped with every stutter step and hop. It must’ve taken them an eternity to reach the door, but Skizz wasn’t bothered. How could he? All his friends seemed to be recovering, he’d confessed – sort of, Impulse did say it first – to his buddy and had the feeling reciprocated, and life was looking good.

Skizz slipped ahead of Impulse to open the door for him and watched a green sticky note flutter to the ground as it swung open. Curious, and making sure Impulse had a good grip on the doorknob, he knelt down and picked it up. In black pen scrawled on the piece of paper was, “DO NOT DISTURB”, followed by a smug “,’:)” in the corner.

“DOC, YOU FU–”

Skizz couldn’t have gotten luckier.