Almost ten years after the formation of the Silo, Imp and Skizz return to the City to look for survivors.
RATING: T | WARNINGS: Violence, mild language | AO3
Can you hear that, darling?
A revolution’s calling
No child of ours
Should have to starve
Should have to die for us…
- Sincerely by Stephen
By the time that X returns, Impulse is sitting on a crate in the corner, blinking heavily and close to dozing off; and Skizz is pacing the little room, peering at diagrams and equipment and the huge map of the City that’s pinned to the wall. He’s determined to stay awake, even if Impulse nods off. Somebody has to keep watch.
Both of them look up when the door opens. “Well, gentlemen," X says as he steps into the room, “I think I’ve found someone.”
“Er, well…” X hesitates in the doorway. “Maybe not…both of you.”
Skizz blinks. His eyes narrow. “What?”
X raises his hands. “I mean no offense,” he says placatingly, “but the people here are wary of outsiders to begin with. And you’re not exactly a small man, Skizz. I don’t want to scare her.”
Skizz frowns. Then his lower lip juts out in a pout. “But—” he protests, “but I gotta protect my Dipple Dop!”
“I’ll be fine, Skizz.” With an effort, Impulse slides off the crate and comes to stand next to him. He’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “We’re not going far. I think I can handle this myself.”
Skizz stares down at him. He’d never describe Impulse as weak and helpless—he’s been through a lot and came out hardy and strong—but looking down at him right now, sleepy and rain-soaked and cradling a tiny infant in his arms, he can’t help but feel protective over him.
Ever since they left the Silo, he hasn’t let Impulse out of his sight. That was his job, or the job that he assigned himself: guard your friend. Keep him alive at all costs. For the first time since they got here, they’re splitting up, and it feels like cutting off a part of himself.
But at the same time, Impulse is looking up at him and silently pleading for his trust. And god knows he can’t say no to those bleeding-heart brown eyes for long.
Skizz huffs and crosses his arms. He’s giving up, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.
“Don’t be stupid, dude.”
“I won’t be stupid,” Impulse says softly.
“Okay.” That single word is just above a whisper.
Please just come back to me safe.
But he doesn’t want to stay in that mood for long. Skizz draws in a deep breath and complains loudly to the room at large, “Well what am I supposed to do, just sit around with my thumb up my butt?”
Unsurprisingly, X doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Impulse simply asks, “Can you try to find us a place to sleep?”
Skizz is silent for a while. Unfortunately, that request is extremely reasonable. He slumps a little and loses the dramatics. “Yeah okay sure I can do that.”
Impulse smiles. “Thanks Skizz.”
“Don’t die dude.” It’s half a joke and half dead serious.
Moving towards the door, Impulse replies over his shoulder, “Love you too.”
------
X moves surely and steadily through the camp, navigating around the makeshift tents and stepping deftly over the piles of belongings like it’s nothing. Impulse stumbles after him. It’s dark, and he has to pick his way carefully. Every time he thinks he’s found a safe place to put his feet, something slips underneath him, and he has to scramble for his balance again.
He’s only just about starting to get his footing when X speaks up.
“So. The scar?”
Impulse looks up in surprise. It takes a second for his brain to catch up with what he’s asking. “Oh. Uh…” He gestures lamely to his face and keeps walking. “Fall of the City. A drone…blew up my implant.”
He can’t see X’s face, but he sounds like he’s frowning. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Impulse’s voice falls slightly. “I…wouldn’t even be here right now if it wasn’t for Skizz.”
He’d been knocked unconscious immediately. The impact of the explosion had concussed him and destroyed his hearing in that ear, and the burns were so severe that a quarter of his face was warped and blistering. Who knows what would have happened if he’d been alone in that alleyway…if Skizz hadn’t been there to literally carry him out of the City on his back.
X sounds like he’s smiling. “I see why the two of you are close.”
Impulse smiles a little. “That’s not even the half of it,” he says softly.
Saving a man’s life is one thing. Being there for him through everything that comes afterwards is another.
But he doesn’t want to get mushy right now, so he changes the subject. “What about you?”
“Same thing,” X answers easily. “Happened in the Collapse—or the Fall, as you call it. I was knocked unconscious. Must have breathed in something that burned my lungs. I’ve needed the respirator ever since.” He shrugs. “Can’t tell you how I lost the eye. It was gone when I woke up.”
“Geez.” Impulse winces. “I’m so sorry.”
X shrugs again. “It is what it is. I’m lucky to be alive.” A jovial tone comes into his voice. “If you count that as good luck.”
Impulse coughs up a little laugh.
It’s not all that funny. It’s actually a little sad. But at the same time, he can see why a resident of the City would make jokes like that.
They keep walking for a little while, and then X speaks again after a pause. “Just making sure I’ve got this straight…he said you ‘found’ the little one?”
“Yeah.” His grip shifts slightly around the lump in his jacket. This next part puts a heaviness in his chest. “Someone left her in a dumpster.”
X clicks his tongue. “Yeah, that checks out.”
That stops Impulse in his tracks for a second. The nonchalance is almost alarming. “Is that…common around here?” he asks slowly, almost afraid of the answer.
X sighs. “More common than it should be. It’s every man for himself out there. The ones that are seen as burdens…well, they can get left behind.”
Impulse is near speechless. “That’s…horrible.”
“It is. But it’s survival.”
Impulse pulls the baby tighter against his chest. Something hot is flickering to life in his ribs. She can’t understand—she’s not old enough yet—but one day she will be, and the thought of this tiny, innocent person believing that she’s worth nothing more than the filth he found her in makes him sad, and protective, and angry.
“You’re not a burden,” he whispers against her little scalp, quietly but fiercely, like the words themselves can push back against all the ways the world has wronged her. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re not.”
If X heard that, he doesn’t make any sign, except for a slight turn of his head.
They stop in front of a particular makeshift tent built out of an old tarp.
“She’s in here.” X lowers his voice. “Now, to manage your expectations: she hasn’t promised anything yet. She just said she wanted to see for herself before she made a decision.” He turns and fixes Impulse with a look that’s not unkind, but arresting. “No one else was willing to consider it.”
Impulse sighs. As much as he hates it, he understands. “Survival.”
“Exactly.”
Bracing himself for disappointment, he takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”
X kneels by the tent opening and whispers softly, “Willow?”
A pale, thin woman timidly pokes her head out of the tent. Her long, dark hair drips like an oil spill out of a threadbare hood, and her eyes—wide and frog-like, with heavy bags underneath that are dark from lack of sleep—timidly scan left and right.
She looks at X, then turns, looks up, and locks eyes with Impulse.
Something crackles across the air as they size each other up; anxiety, distrust, and wary curiosity. Impulse tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry.
Don’t mess this up, his brain whispers. A life depends on it.
He takes a small, bolstering breath.
Well, he thinks, here goes nothing.
------
Skizz is watching the conversation from a distance. Call him paranoid, but he just isn’t all that keen on the idea of his buddy going off alone. He’d kept an eye on X and Impulse as they made their way deeper into the camp, and he can now just barely see them, tiny figures in the dark half-obscured by the shapes of tarps and piled belongings as they speak to the woman in the tent.
He isn’t the only one who’s keeping watch. X oversees the entire interaction from a pace or two behind Impulse, arms crossed, like a handler introducing two skittish animals to each other. The woman keeps sneaking glances at him as if for comfort or assurance, but she does it less as the conversation continues.
They talk for a bit. Impulse shows her the baby. They have a short, hushed conversation. She hesitates for a long time, staring at the little one’s face, and then shakes her head, shoulders hunched.
Skizz can see Impulse’s disappointment from here. His entire body seems to deflate. God, he looks heartbroken. He was so invested in the kid too.
It’s horrible, but Skizz is already running mental calculations as he piles cardboard in a corner of the parking garage. He knows Impulse won’t want to give up. He knows he’ll keep trying. He’ll probably keep feeding the kid mashed veggies for her to throw up until that doesn’t work anymore. He’s already bracing himself for the day they find her not breathing; bracing himself for having to hold Impulse and console him.
He wonders what they’re going to do then. It’s not as if they can bury her out here. There’s not a square foot of land within the Wall that isn’t paved. The desert is an option, he supposes. The earth is dry and sandy out there, but it’ll hold a little grave.
That’s a horrible thought. He hates that he’s considering this. But he has to be prepared. God knows Impulse won’t be in a state to think through things rationally when the inevitable happens.
But as he’s considering all of this, something changes. Impulse lifts his head and asks a quiet question. The woman answers slowly. Impulse sits up a little straighter, slings his pack off his shoulder, opens up the food tin, and scoots it forward.
This is apparently of great interest to the two other people in this conversation. The woman recoils, like he just presented her with a case full of gold, and X leans forward over Impulse’s shoulder, intensely interested. Both of them are asking Impulse questions; Skizz can’t make out the words, but he can hear that their voices are high with surprise and disbelief.
In the course of answering, Impulse points in a vaguely southwestern direction, arcing his finger in the air like he’s indicating something far away. The Wall is in that direction. And the Gap, the desert, and the Silo. Home. He must be talking about that.
She asks another question. He answers. She suddenly lunges forward, grasping the sleeve of his jacket in her fervor, and then shrinks back apologetically.
And then, Impulse laughs.
Skizz feels like air has come back into his lungs. He hasn’t heard a word of that entire conversation, but the sound of that laughter rings like a clear bell calling him home, and it makes the world feel lighter, like he can breathe again.
The conversation continues, but there’s a new atmosphere to it; something comfortable and easy and hopeful, where there was only tension and distrust before. The woman opens her arms. Impulse carefully hands the baby over. As he sits back on his heels, he rubs at the corner of his good eye, and says something in a voice that’s happy and relieved and close to tears.
Skizz can’t help but smile. Good, that’s good. That’s more like it.
He finishes preparing their little pallet of stacked cardboard, stands up, and heads over that way. It’s not easy to find places for his huge feet in all this junk, but he somehow manages. By the time he gets close, the woman seems to be eating something, and she has a cloth draped over her shoulder, and Impulse is talking more easily to X, who’s leaning on a support pillar of the garage.
The woman freezes stiff when she sees Skizz, but she doesn’t bolt for it. It would be rather difficult for her to run; she’s sitting cross-legged, one hand occupied with holding a bit of dried fruit up to her mouth, the other arm holding the baby underneath her shoulder cloth, and another infant slumbering in a wrap on her back. She’s a bit pinned down.
“Oh,” she says instead, with just the slightest tremor in her voice, as she stares at him with wide eyes. “Hello.”
Skizz stops a good distance away and waves. “Hi. Sorry.” He points at Impulse. “I’m with him.”
At the sound of his voice, Impulse looks up. “Oh, hey, Skizz!” he says cheerfully, and then turns to the woman. “He’s my best friend,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “He looks scary, but he’s a big softie.”
Skizz scoffs and crosses his arms. “Softie. Look who’s talkin’.”
Impulse shoots him a stink-eye, but there’s a smile underneath it. “You shut up.”
The banter seems to be working. A timid smile slowly grows on her face.
Impulse stands up, dusting off his pants, and comes to stand next to him. “Skizz, this is Willow. She’s gonna look after the baby for us.”
“Really? That’s great!” He’s hamming it up a little for her benefit, but there really is some genuine relief in his voice. The kid’s gonna be okay, and that’s wonderful; but even better is the fact that Impulse seems to have cheered up so much.
Impulse turns back to Willow. “Thanks again.”
She hides in her dark hair, almost bashful. “I don’t know why you’re thanking me.”
“Hey, you’re doing something that I can’t,” Impulse says softly. “And you’re helping me save a life. That’s a big deal.”
Her only answer is a shy little smile.
Impulse reaches down to grab his pack off the concrete floor and sling it back onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Just like I promised.”
She nods. “Tomorrow.”
He looks up and nods. “Thanks, X.”
X gives a lazy salute with two fingers. “My pleasure. Good night, gents.”
Impulse turns, grins at Skizz, and trots back towards the corner he came from.
Skizz can’t help but laugh. If he were walking any lighter, he’d be floating.
------
“So,” Skizz says through a grunt as he sits down on the cardboard pallet, “looks like that went well.”
“It went great!” Impulse plops down next to him and starts to undo the laces on his boots. “She’s really nice. I think she was kinda scared of me at first, but we got over that quick. And she’s really excited about the Silo!”
“Really?” he asks indulgently. He’s interested, of course, but mostly he just wants to listen to Impulse talk. It’s nice to see him so happy.
“Yeah!” He shucks his shoes off and sets them aside. “The food thing was a big deal, I guess. Apparently they don’t have meat here? Or what they do have isn’t good. No beef, obviously, but…not even fish. Or chicken.”
On the outside, Skizz says, “Dang.” On the inside, he’s not surprised. He hasn’t seen a single animal within miles of the City but bugs and gaunt rats, and the occasional bird of prey circling high in the sky.
The Silo was fortunate enough to get some small livestock into the A.R.C. before their food stores ran out, but any settlements without contact with the local farmers that survived the Fall wouldn’t be so lucky. And it’s not like meat was in high supply, even back home. The only reason Skizz had sticks of beef jerky in his tin right now is because one of their precious dairy cows died of old age, and nothing in the Silo ever goes to waste.
It’s not like that stuff was cheap either. He hated to admit it, but being friends with a Director like Impulse had its perks.
“Yeah,” says Impulse. “But Willow’s great. She really wants to come with us. She’ll…do anything to come with us.” His voice falls. “It’s kinda scary, actually.”
Skizz raises an eyebrow. “Whaddya mean?”
“I mean…I think…I think she thought she had to pay for it? And…and taking care of the baby was the payment. So she said…some weird stuff…” He rubs his legs through his patched and faded trousers, not looking at Skizz. “I didn’t get it at first, X had to explain. But basically she said if she can’t make enough milk for both of them, she’d let our baby have first pick and let her baby starve…”
“Geez.” That’s grim.
“But it’s okay!” Impulse says hastily, turning to face him. “She’s not a bad person, it’s just—it freaked me out too. But you gotta understand, Skizz, the people here, they’re—it’s really rough here. They’re just doing what they can to survive. And that means doing some awful stuff sometimes.”
Skizz says nothing. It’s been over ten years since he was scraping a living off the streets Downtown, but he still remembers his days in the Underground. He’s done and promised worse. Impulse doesn’t need to tell him what survival will do to a person.
“Yeah,” he finally manages to say. “Yeah, I get it.”
“It’s awful,” Impulse says quietly. “It’s messed up. But it’s okay! We fixed it, we got it all straightened out. She knows she can go to the Silo no matter what. I told her to put her kid first. And she’s gonna get some of my food so that she has enough milk for both of them.”
“Okay, that’s…that’s good.” He doesn’t sound as confident as he wants to be. Privately, he’s worried that there’s not gonna be enough for Impulse himself by the end of this. You can’t keep giving your food away to everyone, dude.
Impulse takes off his jacket and folds it into a pillow, fluffing it up as he talks. “And I told her not to worry about it, there’s more than enough for everybody back home, and we’re gonna get everyone out of here and head out to the Silo tomorrow and everything’s finally gonna be okay—”
Skizz bites the inside of his cheek. Whoa there, Icarus.
“And she can raise her son somewhere safe and have meat when she wants it and she won’t have to worry about anything, ever again—”
Um.
Impulse suddenly falls quiet. “I hope I didn’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“Yeah,” Skizz says, trying to word this carefully, “I was kinda thinkin’ about that, dude.”
His face falls. “Oh no.”
“Hey, no no no, dude, it’s fine.”
“Did I lie?” His tone is rising. He’s starting to panic.
“You didn’t lie.” Skizz throws himself in front of that train of thought before it can pick up too much speed. “There’s a lot of things that are possible, and that’s…on the more optimistic side.”
Impulse doesn’t sound convinced. “Right.”
Skizz shakes his head. He’s not gonna let his buddy spiral over this. “Don’t sweat it, dude. I know you’re excited. I’d just be a bit more careful with your promises next time.” He shrugs. “And hey, who knows? You could be right. We could be out of here as early as tomorrow. We could make it through the desert just fine. We could all make it to the Silo alive. You dunno.”
Impulse is quiet, staring at his hands. “I hope so.”
“I hope so too.”
Life in the Underground taught him to expect the worst at all times. But life seems charmed for Impulse sometimes. Who knows. Maybe the universe will be kind, just this once, just for him.
After a long moment, Skizz pats his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself now, dude. It’s going well so far. Maybe our luck will hold out. And y’know what? Hey!” he barks, and then leans in. “Listen to me. Listen to my face, dude. This is important.”
Impulse chuckles softly, meeting his eye. “Okay.”
Skizz jabs his finger into Impulse’s chest for emphasis as he speaks. “You’re giving these people something really really important. Something I don’t think anyone here has had in a long-ass time. And it’s not food. It’s not a place to stay. It’s bigger than that. And y’know what that is?”
“What?” he asks indulgently.
“It’s hope, dude.”
Just like that, he’s not just humoring Skizz anymore. His face softens, and his eyes get wide and round, and then he looks meekly down at his hands in his lap.
Yep. That hit home.
“Hope for the future,” Skizz continues quietly. “Hope for right now. People can’t live without hope. You’re saving lives already. That’s huge.”
A tiny smile is forming on Impulse’s face. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Skizz lets that marinate for a little longer and then gently nudges him with his shoulder. “You’re doin’ a good thing, homie,” he says softly. “Don’t sell yourself short there.”
Impulse finally looks up. There’s a tiny, anxious, but genuine smile on his face. “Thanks, Skizz.”
Skizz can’t help but smile back. “Anytime, buddy.”
He lets that moment sit for a little longer, and then lowers himself down onto his back with a groan. Man, he’s exhausted. He throws his arm over his eyes. “You gonna be able to sleep?”
Impulse doesn’t answer at first. Skizz can hear his clothing rustle as he moves. “Where’s our cloaks?”
“Still wet.” He points blindly over his head at where he knows the barrier of the garage is. “Put ‘em up there to dry. Figured you didn’t want to sleep on that.”
Impulse sounds like he’s pulling a face. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“Yup.”
Skizz both hears and feels Impulse carefully lying down next to him; there’s the rustle of cloth and the warmth of his body and the faint, familiar smell of a living human being. It’s kinda comforting. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, of course.
Impulse’s sigh is right next to his shoulder. “Man, how is it that you can be exhausted and wired at the same time?”
Skizz chuckles. “I know, right?”
Impulse rolls over with a groan. “I’m never gonna get to sleep.”
Skizz tosses his jacket over them both and nestles in next to him, like a wall to protect him. “Just close your eyes and try to think about nothin’,” he mumbles. “See what happens.”
Impulse grunts like he’s not sure that’s gonna work, but settles in and lies very still…
And within a few minutes, from under his chin, Skizz can hear some soft snores.
