Mild TW for intrusive thoughts
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Impulse kicked rocks along the path as he walked. He felt strangely exposed, going for a walk with his demon traits on full display; it was only a day after he'd revealed them to everyone after all. But Mumbo was walking with him, reassuring him that it was fine.

"Really, none of us mind at all," Mumbo hummed for what may have been the fifth time that day. "Honestly, it's not like I can be one to judge, just look at me!" As if to show off his inhumanity, Mumbo twirled the black parasol he was holding to keep him out of the sun.

"Fair point," Impulse gave in with a smile. "I guess we aren't that much different, you and I," he nudged Mumbo with an elbow as he spoke.

"And you don't need to feel bad about hiding it for so long either," the vampire added on. "You know, Xisuma, when he joined the village, before he was mayor obviously, he hid his species too. For way longer than you did as well. Or so I've heard at least."

Mumbo, Impulse had learned, was a bit of a rambler when he spoke. But Impulse was plenty content to just listen; even though he had a lot of thoughts, he didn't ever feel like he had all that much to say.

"I don't know though, I started living here after he was already mayor and everything," Mumbo continued. "I've been thinking, actually, about how some hybrids hide their traits. Like, I can sort of pass as human if I do it correctly, and people like X can because he already looks human enough except for his eyes, and you, or Scar and Cub can because you have spells. But so many hybrids can't, it had me wondering if hiding was a good thing or a bad one, you know?"

Not having expected that, Impulse's thoughts spun a little faster than before with the new question in mind. Was hiding a good thing? To answer honestly, Impulse would've said yes, because, before his banishment and everything, his cloaking spell had been helpful in places where he otherwise would've been hated upon for his demon traits. But, on the other hand, the spell had gotten him stuck.

"I don't know," he answered simply. "Maybe it's a little bit of both."

Mumbo nodded, fiddling with the end of his mustache as he thought. "I feel bad for hybrids who can't though. Ones who have noticeable traits but no way of hiding them, like Doc, or Tango."

"Yeah," Impulse shuddered to think of those who didn't have a cloak to hide behind, who had to face not being accepted and not being able to do anything about it. However at the same time, the whole thing was both a blessing and a curse. "But, it's still hard with a disguise too. Because you get all worked up with this human image that you've already presented to everyone, and it's- it's overwhelming."

He had gotten worked up with being 'human.' He had feared what the others would think since they only knew him as human. A lot of people don't like change.

Maybe it was a good thing that the hermits weren't 'a lot of people.'

"Oh, I didn't think of it that way," Mumbo managed to breathe out. "I guess us hybrids are just cursed either way, huh?" He was half serious, and half joking in his statement.

"Yep," Impulse laughed back. "Oooooh, I'm cuuursed~" he joked, raising his hands above his head and wiggling his clawed fingers, as if he were imitating a ghost. Mumbo snorted back a laugh, before doing his own impression, hunching over and making a snarling face. "I am too, rawr!"

Despite how serious Mumbo tried to make his roar sound, it just came out rather cute sounding. And a bit sad, like a wet cat.

Mumbo tried again, pulling a face that was meant to be mockingly creepy. Impulse, however, could not take him seriously in the slightest, and burst out laughing, tail flicking behind him in amusement. "We are little monsters!" he growled, fangs on display.

"Yeah!" Mumbo tried to make his voice sound deeper, "And we will murder you in your sleeeeep!"

The vampire pulled himself up straight, and laughed at his joke. Impulse tried to as well, though his chuckle was half hearted compared to Mumbo's, unannounced panic stabbing into his chest.

It was fine, it was fiiiine, he tried to reassure himself, his inner voice a squeaky mess. Mumbo hadn't meant anything by it, and they were not going to be doing any murdering whatsoever, end of story, because murdering resulted in death, and death resulted in souls, and that wasn't something Impulse had any desire for at all. Definitely not. Mhmm. Absolutely not.

It was a joke, the murder thing was a joke. He wasn't being called a murderer, because he wasn't a murderer. Not a murderer yet, the back of his mind whispered. 

"Impulse?" Mumbo seemed concerned, and had undoubtedly noticed the demon's silence. And maybe his widened eyes and far off look too. Impulse pulled himself out of his mind and rapidly flicked his eyes back to Mumbo again. "Are you- should- should I not have said that?" The raven haired man asked.

For maybe a moment too long, Impulse stared at him, opening and closing his mouth a few times while he found his words. "Ah- No, no- you're fine. You didn't mean anything by it–"

"Oh my void, you didn't murder someone in their sleep, did you?!" Mumbo interrupted him, lifting his hands to cover his mouth. "And you're forever haunted by your actions?" he squeaked through his fingers.

"No!" Impulse squawked out, waving his arms around to frantically deny Mumbo's weirdly joking theory. "I just..." Make up something quick, he thought.

"I just get worried because people call demons 'murderers' all the time, even though I have never killed anyone, of course." Impulse said quickly. The statement had truth to it, it just wasn't his whole truth. Mumbo accepted it though, giving Impulse a sympathetic look and letting out a sigh of relief at the same time.

"Phew, glad you aren't a killer bud." Mumbo smiled at him. Impulse nearly laughed at the strange irony of that sentence, of the fact that Mumbo was relieved that he had yet to do the one thing he needed to do to stay alive. It was kill or be killed, eat or be eaten at this point, even if part of his head tried to deny that fact.

"I'm sorry that happens to you though, I know how horrible people can be sometimes about guys like you." Mumbo's words snapped Impulse out of his dread and into self pity. It really sucked, didn't it? But Impulse then quickly snapped himself out of that self pity, because there wasn't anything he could do to change those facts.

"Yeah, but there's nothing I can do to change it so... it is what it is," Impulse relayed his thoughts to Mumbo with a shrug and a little bit of a downcast look.

Mumbo gave a hum in response, features contemplative for a moment before lightening up. "Okay, okay, no murder-in-the-sleep then... but- we can pour expired milk on people in their sleep instead!" The vampire let out a maniacal laugh, turning to Impulse with a toothy grin.

His mood seemed to brighten up Impulse too. "Yeah! Or we could- uh- sprinkle shredded cheese on their beds! Or graham crackers! That's evil, right?" He looked to Mumbo expectantly. Mumbo, in response, nodded furiously, eyes practically sparkling.

. . .

They continued joking like that for a while. All the while they walked, and Impulse stared out at the path ahead of them. And that's when the demon noticed something, and a thought slowly rose to the forefront of his mind, one he wished he never would've had.

He couldn't help but notice how a lot of the cobbles on the path underneath their feet were uneven, and jutting out in places. It was likely that the paths had been made by hand, and normally, Impulse would've spent time admiring the intricate work that the hermit's must've spent so much time doing. But right now, he was just imagining how much of a tripping hazard it probably was.

Imagine if he was trying to run somewhere, and his foot caught on the edge of a stone, sending him sprawling onto the ground? That would be bad, wouldn't it? Someone could get injured if they weren't careful. He could practically see Scar in the back of his mind getting into that sort of an accident. It was likely the man already had.

Impulse thought of how some of the other clumsier hermits could also get into similar predicaments via these cobbles. Even if he hadn't seen all of them being clumsy himself, he'd heard stories, and those stories said a lot. Mumbo, he knew, could be particularly uncoordinated.

Now he felt a bit worried that Mumbo might trip, but they had walked all this way and been fine. Plus, if he did, it would probably be funny. Mumbo's arms would whirl around as he tried to catch himself, his parasol would go skittering from his hands, and he'd probably shout something high pitched and silly.

And then, they would laugh and Mumbo would get up and dust himself off, likely with a few new scrapes and his hair and mustache all mussed up.

But-

Wait, but his parasol would go skittering from his hands.

Today was sunny. And Mumbo was a vampire.

What would happen if his fancified umbrella didn't protect him from being burned? Impulse wondered with a fascination so sick it made him feel actually sick to the stomach. He could imagine the scene at the back of his mind– the burns, the screams.

He saw a pile of ash, a soul bobbing above it.

For a moment, his thoughts were silent. Then they weren't. His head cried out at the thought of success. His heart cried out in fear. But– they'd gone this whole way already, and no one had tripped, so it would be fine, right? That wasn't going to happen, there would be no success and no fear. ...But that was wrong, because without success, his fear was constant.

Impulse scanned Mumbo up and down slowly, and had his very first 'demonic' thought. He- He wanted to kill him. (Just one little push and he'd be gone)

The scenario was unavoidable. Death was unavoidable. By the end of the month, one of two was going to be dead. It was either Impulse's life, or Mumbo's. It didn't even have to be Mumbo either! There were plenty of other bodies to take a soul from.

There was a sudden craving Impulse hadn't realized he had before. He was desperate for a soul the way a child longs for his mother's attention, the way lovers' hearts ache for each other, the way his own pleaded for safety and family. It was like he was an addict going sober, it was like he was touch starved but alone, it was like he was emaciated and dying.

The want was so alien to him, yet he knew it wasn't unnatural. It was so strong it ceased to be a yearning, but instead felt like a need. He needed a soul. Three, to be precise. And all of his logic went to explaining how that was true, it was a need. He had to survive, right?

That self preservation is finally starting to kick in, his mind whispered, caught between teasing and prideful. He didn't want to die.

For the first time, Impulse was learning what it truly meant to be desperate.

He felt as if he could be foaming at the mouth, drooling at the tantalizing presence of Mumbo's soul, just one little fall away. One little trip. His hands shook as he forced them not to reach out in longing.

Mumbo was in the middle of some explanation of a redstone machine he'd recently been working on, that Impulse had been invested in, but now he was really just nodding along. His eyes were wide, staring at Mumbo, the parasol, the road– analyzing, intense.

He eventually settled his gaze on a particularly rough section of the path coming up ahead, midday sunlight streaming onto the bricks thoroughly. Impulse's features inched into a smirk. He could stage it as his own stumble, his own trip, and fall over into Mumbo on the way down. And the sun would do the rest of the work for him.

This is what you wanted, huh?! He imagined himself addressing the 'superiors' chaotically. It was just one soul. And then he'd be a third of the way there.

The patch of uneven cobble was coming up.

Closer.

Ten steps.

Five steps.

Three steps.

Two.

One–

WHAT WAS HE DOING?!

When Impulse looked at Mumbo, he saw an animated restoner, a friendly, nervous, lanky vampire, a kind, enigmatic person– a friend.

When Impulse looked at Mumbo, he did not see an object, used only for a soul.

Impulse couldn't do it he couldn't kill Mumbo he couldn't murder his friend. He couldn't do it. He couldn't be a killer.

Mumbo had been nothing but caring towards him. Mumbo had comforted him at his lowest, exposed at that party. Mumbo understood him with a level of empathy that others hadn't had. Mumbo was a monster like him, they were practically kin in their suffering.

He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.

But it was too late. His foot caught on the edge of a cobblestone, careening him forwards. Impulse circled his arms to stabilize himself, letting out a yelp as he failed to. His shoulder rammed into Mumbo's, sending the vampire off balance. Impulse shot his hands out to catch himself, pebbles grating into his palms as he skidded to a stop on the ground. Mumbo fell in the opposite direction, dropping his parasol with a confused shout.

The thing, beautiful, black, and frilled along the edges, hit the ground and rolled to a stop between them.

Impulse felt a terrified screech of Mumbo's name rip itself from his throat.

He pushed himself to his feet in seconds despite the scratches coating his hands. Their sting was barely noticeable. He was going to be a killer, a killer, a murderer. Impulse practically threw himself into the space above where Mumbo had fallen into a kneel, mantling his arms over him for any little shade they could provide.

Mumbo was going to burn– he was going to burn up in a burst of horrible flames and die, it was going to be agony and all Impulse would get out of it was a lame soul that he could care less about, because his dumb mission didn't matter more than a person, more than a friend–

"Ow," Mumbo hissed, hand shooting out to grab his parasol and lift it back above his head. He made himself small, pulling his arms and legs under the shade once more.

Impulse's panic screeched to a stop, replaced by wide eyed confusion. What? Why didn't Mumbo burst into flames the second he touched the sunlight? How was he alive? Impulse blinked a few times, trying to figure out if what he saw was real.

"Watch where you're walking, Imp'!" Mumbo– who was very much living –teased.

"I- I tripped– Mumbo I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean it– I tripped... how are you not burning?!" Impulse wasn't fully aware of what he was stammering out, caught between worry and sputtering incomprehension. He was, for the most part, extremely relieved by the fact that Mumbo wasn't on fire, but he was also completely bewildered.

Mumbo looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Whoa, Impulse, breathe bud." Shooting him a sympathetic look, Mumbo pulled himself to his feet, careful to stay underneath his parasol. "Sunscreen, mate, sunscreen. Joe makes this kind with an absurdly high SPF for me and Cleo so that we don't burn up. It's some sort of magic that I don't get, but hey, it helps me from spontaneously combusting, so I'll take it."

"Oh- I- oh." Impulse processed for a moment, almost cracking a smile, but not quite. Sunscreen. How silly was that? If he thought back, he remembered overhearing a conversation between Joe and Cleo about the matter a while ago.

"I don't think I've told you about it though, so I'm sorry I made you panic," the vampire followed up with a sheepish smile. "The sun still hurts, but I'm fine. Just a tad sunburnt from what the sunscreen isn't able to cover." Mumbo held out his hand, which was slightly red and splotchy compared to its usual nearly white pallor. When Impulse looked up, he could see that Mumbo's face and neck were the same, while everywhere else had been protected by his clothes.

A tad sunburnt may have been an understatement. It looked like it hurt a lot. "Mumbo- you- that looks bad! I'm so sorry, gods..." Impulse said, chest heaving with guilt. He reached into the shade to take Mumbo's hand and cradle it in his own, studying it. "We should- we should get some water on this- I bet it hurts. Maybe some creams or some aloe–"

"Impulse." Mumbo interrupted him, raising his eyebrows in annoyance. "It's fine, trust me. It doesn't hurt very much at all- I've had it much worse than this before, okay? It's like a papercut, it's so little." He reassured, and he seemed genuinely honest with his words, trying to lighten the mood.

Impulse forced himself to buy it, but he still let his concern wash over him in waves. "Bad metaphor, papercuts hurt like the nether's wrath, man," he said in an attempt to match Mumbo's joking tone. "Now come on, let's get you fixed up, yeah?"

After rolling his eyes like a sassy teen, Mumbo sighed and gave a nod. "Yeah, but you don't have to mother me about it. I can fix it up on my own, you don't have to help me you know."

"But it was my fault," Impulse responded without missing a beat, "So I'm gonna help you, it's only fair."

He wasn't saying that because the small trip had almost been an attempt on Mumbo's life, no no, of course not. He was only saying that because he was a good friend. Impulse was a good friend, right? No, he wasn't, but that's besides the point.

"Okay," Mumbo agreed, smiling. "But it was an accident, so don't worry about it, okay?"

It would've been impossible for Impulse not to worry about it, considering the 'accident' had been the fallouts of a very bad decision, but he still took Mumbo's sentiments to heart. His friend cared about him. Impulse nodded in fake agreement.

"Okay. We- I bet Stress probably has some stuff to help with the burns. Or- if not, there's some stuff back at the lodge I think." Impulse hummed thoughtfully, trying to avoid any more introspective thoughts.

"I have stuff back at my house for when things like this happen," Mumbo noted. He nodded in the direction of his place, and the two started in that direction, before he asked, "When are you ever going to move out of the lodge by the way?"

"Soon enough!" Impulse retorted to Mumbo's condescending tone. "Xisuma keeps asking me that," he grumbled under his breath. He wanted to build his own place amongst the other hermit's houses, he really did, he just didn't want the home to be short lived. It would only have a month to stand before he went back to the nether, after all. (Not that the others knew that.)

"I can't pick a build style anyways, all of you guys are so creative, I don't know what to do." He excused with a shrug.

Mumbo looked skeptical, lips pursed together. "Hmm, I sense you're just procrastinating, but okay. Building's hard anyways, so..." Mumbo trailed off, waving a hand around in lazy circles 

"Agreed," Impulse huffed, "Just lock me in a redstone basement and I'll be a-okay for life," he laughed, making an 'okay' sign with his fingers.

"Saaaaame," Mumbo stretched out the word, sighing. "I can't go without redstone, honestly. I've got some in my pocket!" Saying that, Mumbo reached into a pocket on his suit jacket and brought out an entire handful of redstone dust.

Impulse's eyes widened as he looked at it, before he giggled out "But why?"

"Uh, so I can– confetti?" On cue, Mumbo tossed the handful in the air, and it sprinkled over the two of them, rolling off Mumbo's parasol. Impulse let out a surprised yelp as he did so, before laughing harder, and trying to brush the stuff off of his clothes.

"The best confetti out there," Impulse said with approval.

"The best indeed," Mumbo brushed his hands off on his pants. Suddenly, he stopped walking, planting his feet. "...What's that?"

Mumbo was staring through a gap between two buildings. They were at the edge of the village, so it peered out towards the forest, a small hill between the buildings and the treeline. Impulse shuffled around the vampire so that he could see what he'd been looking at.

On the top of the hill, stood a humanoid figure.

"...Who's that?" Impulse corrected.

From this distance, he couldn't quite tell which hermit it was. Or maybe he could? They had a mop of fiery orange hair that was a bushy, messy statement, and they seemed to be wearing some kind of long pinkish dress. Was it a dress? He wasn't sure, it was hard to see.

"Is that Cleo? What're they doing up there?" Mumbo asked, voice a pitch too high.

Impulse and Mumbo stared on as the figure swayed gently with the wind. Impulse looked between Mumbo and the person, disturbed.

"That's not Cleo."

~ end chapter twenty six ~

[CHAPTER ART COMING SOON!]

A/N: He's starting to spiral guys... >:) But who's that on the hill guys...? :D

Excitiiiing! I was dumb and lifted heavy stuff around like an idiot a while ago, so my wrists were angry with me, but I was really excited about writing this so I couldn't put it off. They're better now though :)

I'll get on that drawing soon, see you next week!