Chapter Text
The air backstage was warm, and full of dust. Voices chattered excitedly from down the hall. Orange lights flickered above. There was a buzz in the air that prickled at one's skin, fluttering with anticipation. People wearing sequins and tutus and all kinds of strange and colourful outfits were rushing about, leaving the smell of perfume and hairspray in their wake.
Spamton sneezed.
He liked it back here. He hadn't been backstage since he was a big shot, and it was oddly nostalgic. Although, part of him ached at the thought that he wouldn’t be the one in the spotlight this time. This place wasn't too much like being backstage for TV, though. It was more chaotic, wilder, and he enjoyed that. These days, he appreciated a little safe uncertainty.
A jingling of bells from behind him caught his attention.
"Spammy! How do I look, look?"
Jevil was there. Dim yellow light shone from the doorway behind him, making the dust particles in the air shimmer around his head like stars. It was like he was glowing.
He was wearing a different version of his usual jester's outfit. A white ruff was affixed around his neck, puffing up around his chin like the feathers of some exotic bird. His shirt was much the same, except for the golden buttons this one had, which glinted softly. His trousers were velvety and striped with purple and black, his shoes sported tiny bells. Peeking out from underneath Jevil's soft black cloak, that tail of his was adorned with a ribbon and a row of yet more bells, which merrily rang as it wagged back and forth.
Upon Jevil's head, his usual hat had been replaced with a tricornered one, which featured (even more) tiny bells on each end.
One of these ends was hanging over Jevil's face, but it didn't obscure his smile. His eyes were twinkling, crinkled up at the corners, round cheeks pushed upwards to accommodate that wide yellow grin.
"Y-YOU… YOU LOOK [Like A Million Bucks]!" Spamton looked away, tugging nervously at his shirt collar. Jevil was… Well, he was beautiful. Despite the jester’s namesake, for a moment Spamton could have almost mistaken the jester for an angel, standing there smiling, illuminated by that soft golden light… That sure wasn’t a thought he would’ve ever anticipated having...
Jevil just chuckled, a teasing edge to it. "I'm glad we've found something to agree on!" He moved closer, brushing a velvety gloved hand against Spamton's cheek. His voice dropped an octave, softening. "... And I'm glad you're here to watch me perform, Spammy. I hope you'll enjoy the show, show."
Spamton looked up to find Jevil's eyes fixed on him. Once again Spamton was reminded of a night sky, Jevil's aurulent pupils like the moon, the reflection of the ceiling lights like stars against the sky of his dark sclera. Oh, it was so hard to find his voice with those eyes watching him. Panic filled him for a moment, his poor mechanical heart beating so hard he thought he might explode then and there. Desperately, he focused his gaze just beneath Jevil’s eyes, not wanting to seem like he was avoiding eye contact, but not sure he could stand that gaze much longer.
It was then that he noticed Jevil's cheeks were flushed dark purple, something he'd initially attributed to makeup but now realised was the actual colour of his skin. Jevil had covered his face in glitter (Spamton cringed reflexively at this; didn’t he know that stuff got everywhere!), but even beneath that his skin looked shiny, damp with tiny droplets of sweat.
"ARE YOU A-OK? YOU [look, look!] SWEATY…"
Jevil pulled away. For a moment he seemed surprised, but quickly his grin found its way onto his face again. Never off guard for long. He laughed, wiping his face, the bells on his hat jingling. "Oh, I do, I do? It must be nerves. It's been many years since I was last upon a stage, a stage!"
“O. I UNDERSTAND. I’M SURE YOU WILL BE [Award Winning Performances of The ]!” Spamton flashed his best charming smile. “IF YOU”RE NOT, I’LL BE ASKING FOR A [refund]!”
Jevil winked, and his heart skipped a beat again. “I won’t let you down, puppet boy.”
-
It struck Spamton later, as he was making his way to his seat, and Jevil wasn't the type to ever get nervous, or sweaty, about anything. But by then it was too late to say anything about it, because the show was about to begin. He decided he’d bring it up later if it still felt relevant. For now, he was here to enjoy himself.
The theatre was full of hushed conversation and laughter. He'd made sure to get a seat in the front row, right in the middle. Anywhere else and he wouldn't be able to see over the crowd. After what seemed like hours of shifting around in his seat and checking his watch, the lights finally dimmed. Thank the Angel. It already felt stuffy in there. Two actors, a short stubby rudinn and a rather pimply virovirokun, stumbled onto the stage clumsily, both looking ready to disappear despite the (in Spamton’s opinion, undeservedly) raucous applause they were greeted with.
The show was a Shakespearean play, twelfth night. Spamton didn't pay much attention to the plot. He found the archaic flowery speech difficult to wrap his head around, and many of the actors were blatantly nervous, stammering over their lines, the glaring stage lights laying all their anxieties unflatteringly bare. He found himself tense with anticipation, foot tapping irritably. Although he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he was really only here for one thing. For one person.
When Jevil finally appeared, he could’ve almost cheered in relief. The jester bounced onto the stage, grin wide as ever. For just a second he seemed to stumble over his own feet, but he was back up so quickly Spamton barely even noticed, waving and making funny faces in response to other character’s lines.
Jevil was beautiful. Every line swirled out of his mouth with ease, like he was speaking rather than reciting, eliciting laughs and gasps and delighted clapping from the audience. Once in a while he would dance, cartwheel, spin, adding his own flourishes to the script. Jevil seemed so at home in his own body, like it was a tool he was deftly wielding, like it would be harder for him to stay still than dance and twirl as he was. It seemed to come so naturally to him, it was hardly like he was playing a character at all. He filled the stage with his presence, with his laughter. He had Spamton captivated for every minute he spent onstage. Especially when he sang.
Spamton hadn't ever heard Jevil sing before, and frankly hadn't considered that he was capable of it. So, when the first song began, it startled him. What startled him more was that Jevil seemed to intentionally look for him in the audience, eyes roaming the front rows until they found him. Jevil grinned wider, winking so quickly anyone else would have missed it, and began to sing, keeping Spamton's gaze all the while. Spamton tugged at his collar, smiling back involuntarily, feeling mildly paralysed.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! Your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man`s son doth know.
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter.
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
The air rang with the remnants of Jevil's song, even when his mouth had closed. His voice was strange, otherworldly. A wild keening that rose up into the rafters, that went all the way through Spamton's ears down to his toes, shaking him, almost urging him forward. It was hypnotic, spiralling around and around. Sometimes it felt like Jevil was right next to him, singing in his ear. He shivered, the sound tickling at his skin and leaving an electric buzz in the air around him long after it was gone.
It was hard to tell if Jevil had this siren-like effect on everyone, or just Spamton. The crowd began to clap and cheer, and Spamton realised it was probably, unfortunately for him, the latter. He tried his best not to think about the implications of that.
Still transfixed on Jevil, he watched as the jester bowed, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He rose from the bow slowly. A strange look crossed his face, and he wobbled on his feet again. Spamton wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been so fixated. It almost seemed like Jevil would fall over, but he didn’t, catching himself and rising into a merry little hop.
-
The play continued, but the spell Jevil had previously put over Spamton was broken. He enjoyed the performance, sure, but he couldn't help but feel something was wrong. With each minute, Jevil's movements were becoming slower, more considered. Cartwheels and twirling were replaced with shorter, less strenuous movements. If Spamton hadn't known Jevil so well he wouldn't have even noticed, but he did. Something was different. Something was wrong. Jevil was evidently aware of it too, every slight stumble followed by a barely perceptible frown.
When the curtain fell, the audience rose off their feet, bursting into applause. Spamton was on his feet too, but he didn’t stay to watch the encore. He pushed his way through the crowd to find his way backstage. There was a strange feeling in his stomach, a tightness that he couldn’t explain. He needed to find Jevil.
It was like a labyrinth backstage, a maze of twists and turns and innumerable dressing rooms, steadily filling with tired and gossiping actors removing makeup and outlandish outfits, making the metamorphosis into their everyday selves. After a few long minutes of increasingly panicked searching, he found Jevil. The jester was still standing in the wings, as if he'd just stayed there once his last scene had finished. His rounded shape barely visible in the dark. Spamton waved to him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was still, more still than Jevil normally was.
It was hot back here. Stuffy. Spamton tugged at his collar again and squinted into the darkness.
Something was definitely wrong. Even in the dim lighting, he could see it. Jevil was panting, his eyes closed, leaning heavily on the wall as if he needed it to stay upright. He looked so tired, more so than Spamton had ever seen him before. He didn't seem to even know Spamton was there, which was odd considering how aware of his surroundings he normally was.
"JEVIL?"
In an instant that exhausted, vulnerable Jevil was gone, and the jester was bolt upright, grinning again, removing his hat with a flourish and bowing with a hint of ironic theatricality.
"Ah, Spammy, Spammy! Did you enjoy my performance? I was watching you, watching me."
"I DID! YOU WERE [genuine high quality !]! B-BUT. BUT. JEVIL. ARE YOU [medically fit]? JUST NOW. YOU LOOKED-"
"Oh, I'm fine, fine!" Jevil's grin got wider. Almost unnaturally wide. Forced. "The lights on-stage were just a little bit too hot for my taste. Why do you ask, Spammy? Wishful thinking? Waiting on my timely death?" He was teasing him, but Spamton could tell there was no real mischief behind it. His smile was crooked at the edges, straining against his cheeks. Sweat glistened on his forehead. And he was still close to the wall, backed up against it, like he was frightened to move. Spamton frowned.
"IF YOU [wanna say so]. EITHER WAY, I WANTED TO [congratulation ] YOU ON A [excellent performance]... LET'S GET OUT OF HERE, THOUGH. YOU'RE [rite] ABOUT THOSE LIGHTS. IT'S LIKE A [relaxing sauna experience] IN HERE!"
Jevil simply nodded, and took a step forward.
As he did, something happened. For a minute, those eyes of his went completely black, the lights inside flickering out like a candle in the wind.
And then Jevil fell. First his legs crumpled beneath him, and he pitched forwards. Without thinking, Spamton rushed to catch him, yelping as Jevil's sudden weight on top of him brought them both crashing to the floor.
Once he'd overcome the feeling of being winded, Spamton opened his eyes, pulling Jevil towards him in a panic. Jevil's eyes were closed, mouth half open. The springs at the base of his head and legs had come loose slightly, making him bounce like a bobblehead. Now Spamton could see that the jester's skin was completely soaked with sweat, his cheeks flushed dark burgundy. Spamton pressed a hand to his forehead, cursing and flinching at the heat that burned under Jevil's skin. That definitely wasn't just the stage lights…
It only took a few seconds for Jevil to wake up, but it still brought Spamton great relief to see his eyes flicker into life. Jevil blinked. When he realised where he was he attempted to sit up, pushing himself away from Spamton, but soon falling back towards him again, groaning.
"Spammy, what are you… What happened?"
"I THINK YOU [fainting spells?]. JEVIL. I THINK YOU MIGHT BE [10 common illnesses and ailments]."
Jevil scoffed, but there was none of his usual wit behind it. His voice was so much quieter than usual, like even the act of speaking was a struggle.
"Nonsense, nonsense! I'm quite fine! It's just the stage lights! If I-" He attempted to struggle to his feet but failed again, panting and glowering in frustration. "Oh! This is ridiculous! This is… Argh..." All at once the fight seemed to go out of him, and he slumped forward dejectedly. One of his hands came unscrewed completely, bouncing morosely on its spring across the floor.
"... Alright, I am feeling a little dizzy, dizzy. Nothing that one shouldn't expect when the world is spinning, spinning, revolving all the time! I don't see any reason to make a fuss. But…" He looked up at Spamton sheepishly. "... I may need your help, Spammy."
Spamton nodded. Jevil wasn't the type to ask for help, so that admission was a sign of how bad he must be feeling… It worried him. He pushed Jevil's runaway hand back into place as best as he could, and then helped him to his feet.
Quickly it became obvious that Jevil couldn't really walk without leaning on him. It was lucky that the clown wasn’t as heavy as he looked, and Spamton found it quite easy to support him. Up close like this, he could feel that he was shaking, shivering as if he was freezing cold, despite the heat of his skin. The bells which had once jingled happily were now a trembling and discordant chorus. The ruff around his neck which has once been so puffy now seemed deflated, the shine gone from his buttons. Spamton had never seen Jevil look so utterly devoid of energy. It was unnerving.
Jevil would periodically try to pull away from Spamton and walk on his own, but could only do so for a few steps. Spamton steadfastly led him through the labyrinth that was backstage and out into the cool night air, hoping that the breeze would perk him up. However, once outside Jevil pushed him away weakly, stumbling.
"Alright, Spammy, thanks for the help! I'm feeling much better, better now! Walking home should do me some good. I'll see you the next day!" There was that strained smile again.
Spamton squawked, indignant. "HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY! YOU'RE IN NO [terms and conditions] TO WALK HOME!" He reached out to grab Jevil's hand. "C'MON. I'LL TAKE YO U HOME [In My Specil Cungadero]."
Jevil shook his head, making the bells on his hat ring mournfully in the night air. "Since when were you the kind to worry, Spammy?” He sighed ruefully. “I’ll be right as rain, I promise, I promise!”
Spamton responded with the most imploring look he could muster, not letting go of his hand even when the jester tried to tug it away. Eventually Jevil sighed.
"Alright, if you insist. But this is for your benefit, not mine!"
Spamton nodded. Whatever Jevil had to tell himself to allow him to help, it was fine with him. He just didn't want to think about him trying to walk home by himself in his current state…
-
Jevil was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride back to his house, slumped over in his seat with his eyes closed. Every once in a while he would cough, but do it quietly and cover his mouth with his glove, obviously hoping Spamton wouldn't notice.
He looked so tired and deflated, and it made Spamton feel slightly panicked, wanting to hold Jevil in his arms and fuss over him, an urge that he was NOT familiar with at all. He suppressed that feeling, although when he pulled up outside Jevil's place he couldn't help but race around the other side of the car to hold the door open for him.
Jevil chuckled, although the end of the chuckle became more of a wheeze. "Oh, such a gentleman! I must be such a lucky fellow to get this kind of treatment from the big-shot himself." His smile softened from teasing to more genuine. "... Thanks, Spammy. For coming to see me tonight, and for driving me home. I promise, promise I'll return the favour soon."
"NO [knead] TO THANK ME!" Spamton smiled back, although his stomach was churning with anxiety. "... JEVIL. ARE YOU [gonna] BE O. K.? I CAN. I CAN. I CAN STAY HERE. WITH YOU. [2nite]. IF YOU NEED ME."
Jevil shook his head slowly, the bells on his hat jingling half-heartedly. "No, I'll be fine. I promise. I'll let you know how I'm doing tomorrow, if you'd like."
"I WOULD [like it like that]. ILL SEE YOU TOMORROW, JEVIL."
"Goodnight, Spammy."
Spamton reluctantly turned to leave, a heavy feeling in his chest. But before he could take more than a few steps, something tugged him to a stop.
He turned to see Jevil behind him, gloved hand pulling at his sleeve. Jevil's face was contorted, obviously mortified. Once again, embarrassment wasn't an emotion Spamton was used to Jevil wearing.
He waited for Jevil to speak. To ask him to stay. But despite the desperation in those eyes, the jester's jaw stayed stubbornly shut. Spamton reached up cautiously with his other hand and placed it on top of Jevil's. He hoped the intent behind the gesture was clear.
After a moment that felt like hours, Jevil turned and unlocked his door, keeping Spamton's sleeve firmly grasped in his other hand. Spamton didn't protest as the jester led him inside. He didn't say anything, knowing that speaking might break the delicate moment, and Jevil might turn him away again.
The house was lit solely by moonlight dancing through the window panes, dusting the room with a pale yellow glow. Even in the dark, Spamton quickly became conscious of the fact that there were hundreds of eyes watching him, glinting in the dim light. Before he could cry out, he realised that they were the glassy eyes of rows upon rows of dolls, seeming to watch him from their various perches. Many were slumped over each other haphazardly, some seemingly worn and old, others almost brand new. Spamton felt discomforted under their collective stare, reflexively reaching to paw at one of his own stitches nervously. He couldn't see much else in the dark, but he was conscious of cushions strewn all about the place, the entire area having a plush, padded sense about it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a chest-rattling cough from Jevil, which led to a painful sounding coughing fit. Spamton tutted worriedly. "... THAT DOESN'T SOUND [get gud]. I'LL GET YOU A [glass of sparkling fresh H2O]! GO [rest and relax]."
Jevil turned to look at him, his cheeks flushed, and flashed him a bemused grin. "If you say so, boss, boss."
Spamton watched Jevil shuffle off into the darkness before deciding he'd try to find the kitchen. Along the way he tripped over multiple plush toys in the dark, cursing to himself with every bump and squeak. There didn't even seem to be any light switches in here. Eventually he found the kitchen, and was able to make his way to the sink, almost tipping a pile of unwashed dishes over as he filled up a glass with water. This place really needed to be tidied up…
Spamton himself knew it was hard to keep things tidy under certain circumstances, he'd lived amongst literal garbage himself for a long time. But he still didn't like seeing Jevil living like this. On the treacherous journey back to Jevil's room, trying his best to navigate his way through the darkness without spilling the cup of water, he made a mental note to himself that he'd ask Jevil if he could help him clean up sometime. Why he was feeling so altruistic towards this clown lately, he had no idea. He decided he’d try to ask Jevil about that, too. He wouldn’t put it past him to put some kind of weird clown mind control spell on him.
Jevil was already asleep when Spamton reached his room. His jester outfit was strewn about in a pile on the floor. It was strange to see him like this. He was only wearing a singlet and boxers now. The jester hat was gone from his head, revealing a bald, mildly fuzzy scalp, with two short stubby horns poking out the top. Spamton came to the abrupt realisation he'd never seen him without his hat on before. He set the glass of water down, gently removing a small clown doll from the bedside table to make room for it.
Moonlight twinkled hesitantly through the window pane, illuminating Jevil in its soft glow. Glittery makeup still shimmered on his flushed cheeks, catching the light. His eyes were closed tightly. It was strange to see him like this... In a way, he barely even looked like himself. This was a Jevil who Spamton hadn't met before. A new kind of Jevil. Spamton sat down on the bed next to him. The bed was bouncy, and set up high enough that his feet didn't quite touch the floor when he sat on the edge. Spamton sighed and reached over, touching Jevil's forehead. It was hot, as expected.
Before he could pull away, Jevil grumbled and nuzzled into his hand.
Spamton froze. He stayed like that for a long time, listening to Jevil's raspy breathing. His skin was soft, softer than he expected, and oddly fuzzy. Jevil was smiling, a sharp yellow tooth poking out from under his lip. Ohh, this wasn't good… He couldn't exactly move now. Maybe in the past he would've yanked his hand away. He wanted to. He wanted to scoff in disgust, to be selfish, to leave and go do something productive with himself, something that didn’t involve mooning over a pathetic ailing murder-clown who would probably murder him if given the chance.
He didn’t leave, though. Jevil looked exhausted, and, well… For some reason, he didn't want to wake him up. So he stayed still.
Jevil was warm, and the bed was soft underneath him. It was dark, calm and quiet. Despite himself, Spamton started to doze off.