Chapter Text
The air is thick with something in the dining hall. Nero would hesitate to call it grief, the giddiness of the ringmaster ensuring any sombre mood is ruined. The grief hangs between the remaining clowns, at least, as they pick at their meal. Claude and Caligula are huddled together, as usual, no words passing between them lest they get in more trouble than they undoubtedly already are, but they seem to be having some kind of silent conversation in the way that only twins can.
They don't need to worry that much anyway. Nero will take the fall. It always does.
It doesn't know when it happened, but these people have become its family, coming close to filling some indiscernible ache that resides in its heart. It will do anything for them.
Although it's failed at that already.
The empty chair beside it serves as a reminder of its failure.
And in some sick parody of normalcy, the utensils are arranged, plate of food sitting there as it would any other night. Untouched.
Nero wonders, idly, if the unseen hands that make things run around the house will take the wasted food away at the end of their meal and bring new food tomorrow, or if it will simply sit there and rot like the corpse in the ground .
There was no body to bury.
It's not sure if that's a good thing or not.
The Ringmaster is unbothered as always, cheery air emanating from his permanently happy looking mask. He's not eating. He never does. Nero doesn't think he even has a mouth, but he sits there cutting up his food into bite sized morsels with the demeanour of a king or a duke, someone in power who has not a care in the world.
He is in power.
And he knows this.
The food Nero has eaten sits heavy in its stomach, but it forces another bite, distracting itself with thoughts of the etiquette lessons Titus had given them all at the beginning, much to the Ringmaster's delight.
It knows punishment is coming.
It's sure of it.
Not for Titus' death, never that. The Ringmaster couldn't care less about them outside of their entertainment value, and death sure is entertaining.
Not for Titus' death, but for stepping out of line. Going out of order.
It should've been Nero.
It should have been Nero giving the life to Saint.
Instead it was Titus.
-
They'd discussed it, a brief stolen moment between the hours, while the Ringmaster was too busy fussing over the cameras.
Caligula had brought it up, being the one Dwynwen had initially proposed it to.
"I can't," he had said, looking only at Claude. "I can't leave you."
"We don't have to do it at all," Claude had responded, but they all knew their fate was sealed either way.
The ringmaster demanded a good show.
What was more entertaining than death?
"It's my turn next," Nero had responded. "I'll do it. For Saint."
Claude looked puzzled. "You barely know him."
Nero had no rebuttal to that. It was the truth.
"No."
They all looked to Titus. Her usually soft features were set with grim determination.
"I'll do it. You all have someone waiting at home for you, someone who loves you. I don't. If there is even a tiny chance that this takes you one step closer to going home, then I will do it."
"You don't know that!" It was Claude who spoke up. "We don't know anything!"
Titus smiled something sweet and sorrowful. "But you feel it, don't you. All of you. There is something missing from you, someone. I have felt nothing but whole after coming here, despite the circumstances. There is no one waiting for me."
"You understand the consequences?" Nero spoke through the twins' protests. Titus looked at it, really looked. Nero felt that the two of them were cut from the same cloth.
"Do you?" She responded, playful smirk twisting her lips.
"You are going to die."
"A painless death, all things considered. It is you who will suffer. All three of you, but particularly you."
Her voice caught as their eyes met. Claude was glued to her side already, making his usual pathetic sobbing noises.
It's justified, at least.
Caligula placed her hand on Titus' shoulder, squeezing gentle reassurance.
Still, Titus only looked to Nero.
She had tears in her eyes.
So did Nero, but it choked them down. It needed to stay strong, for its friends.
For its family.
"No punishment could hurt more than losing you, Titus. but you have made up your mind."
"I have."
It reached out, taking her hand.
"Then I will hope only to have a fraction of your bravery in the conflict that follows."
"You are already the bravest person I know."
Nero laughed softly, shaking its head.
"No, it is you. May God guide your soul home."
Titus just nodded, shifting her hand to link their fingers together. It felt final.
"I love you all."
-
It's startled from its thoughts by the clattering of cutlery on china. Caligula shoots it a concerned look at its barely concealed flinch, but it shakes its head almost imperceptibly and he drops it.
The clatter came from the Ringmaster, who has now clasped his hands together beneath his chin, and Nero realises with steadily growing dread that the Ringmaster is looking at it .
"Nero," the Ringmaster speaks, something performative and condescending in his unearthly voice. "Why do you look so sad? It was your idea, was it not?"
Nero freezes, blood running cold. In its peripheral it sees Caligula's head snap up, and Claude cowers slightly. It prays they stay silent.
"Yes, it was my idea," Nero responds, keeping its tone neutral. The Ringmaster has no face, but it can imagine a cheshire grin splitting his features.
"How sweet, big scary Nero trying to protect its friends. And you did such a good job! putting on such an entertaining show in the process too, I'm amazed!"
The Ringmaster's voice is sickening. Nero suppresses a shudder.
"In fact," the ringmaster continues, "I'm so amazed that I could almost forgive you for disobeying the rules!"
Almost .
Nero feels sick.
The Ringmaster moves smoothly, pulling on the plain white gloves that are so familiar.
It almost expects them to be stained red, but they never are.
Maybe the Ringmaster has one thousand pairs of white silk gloves, maybe he throws them away each time they get soiled with blood, replacing them with a new pair every time. The thought is so absurd Nero nearly laughs, but it holds its tongue.
"Almost," the Ringmaster repeats, not at all thrown off by Nero's silence. "Almost, but not quite."
There's a pause, the three clown's waiting for orders.
"You know," he instead continues. "This hurts me as much as it hurts you. Titus was dear to me, to us all. and it's your fault she's dead."
Nero wants to vomit.
"Oh well. What's done is done. You will still have to repent for your sins, of course. Think of it as bargaining. You accept your punishment, and in return Titus gets a happy ending."
"You're sick," Nero finds itself hissing. Claude's fearful gaze is painful.
The Ringmaster just laughs.
"You're in trouble now."
—
Nero is an idiot.
A stupid, selfless idiot who pretends it doesn’t feel anything even when its emotions are written all over its face.
Caligula loves it like a brother, files it (and Titus) into the same category as Claude.
They’re all in this fucked up situation together. And they’re family now.
Which is why it hurts so much to return from dinner (three empty seats at the table, but still a heavy blanket of silence) to find Nero on Claude’s bed, waiting for them to patch it up.
The Ringmaster is a bitch, but he’s smart. Why would he exert any extra energy to torture all of them when he can just torture one of them and make the rest them deal with the aftermath?
Caligula hates this fucking place.
But there’s no time to stew in their hatred when Nero is actively bleeding out.
It’s laying face down, head pillowed on its arms. Its shirt is shredded, barely clinging to its bloodied form, but most of the wounds seem to be contained to its back. Its breathing is carefully steady, hitching every now and then with concealed pain.
While Claude goes to retrieve the first aid kit, Caligula sits on the edge of the bed by the pillow, gently brushing Nero’s hair away from its face. Its hair is greasy, and slightly matted with blood, but he doesn’t shy away, providing comfort where he can. Nero makes a small, pained noise, but leans into the touch.
“You’re an idiot,” Caligula states, because he can’t keep his damn mouth shut.
Nero’s lips twitch slightly in a smile. “But you love me?”
Its voice is rough, presumably from screaming. Caligula doesn’t mention it.
“Of course I love you. But you’re still an idiot.”
Nero laughs softly, although it sounds a little winded. “I love you too.”
“We know,” Claude enters the room, and Caligula startles at their sudden appearance. He sticks his tongue out at them, and they return the gesture before approaching. They place the first aid kit on the bed, along with a cloth, and on the floor they place a bucket of water.
“That’s why we’ll always patch you up.”
“You’ve protected us enough, now it’s our turn to protect you.”
Caligula carefully cuts the remains of Nero’s shirt off, tossing it straight in the bin, and Claude wets the cloth, leaning over to start gently cleaning the wounds. From the depth and length of the slashes, Caligula guesses the damage was done by a whip. The ringmaster seems awfully fond of that weapon.
Treating us like circus animals .
He nearly scoffs aloud at that, but instead focuses on the task at hand. Nero has a white-knuckle grip on the pillow, trying to stifle its cries, so he takes its hand, linking their fingers together and using his other hand to go back to brushing through its hair, making an actual effort to start detangling the strands, as well as he can with one hand occupied and trying not to hurt Nero even more.
This isn’t the first time Nero has taken the fall for them, and it definitely won’t be the last. But Caligula and Claude will always be there to patch it up again.
He doesn’t want to think about how one of them will be dead soon, and how the others will probably follow.