Chapter Text
Every start of autumn, ClownPierce goes on his annual vacation to his residence at the edge of Emberton for two weeks. No one amongst the family, not even Mr. Zombie Hemlocke truly knows what he does during this time. It was one of the strictest conditions in his contract with the Hemlocke family.
At the foyer leading to the main door of the manor, Zombie Hemlocke personally waited for his head house manager to come up. When he saw ClownPierce come out from a hallway, carrying a large rucksack over his shoulder, and a long coat on his arm, he motioned for Serapter to open the door.
“Enjoy your leave, Mr. Pierce,” Zombie said.
“You know you don’t have to always see me off, Mr. Zombie,” Clown answered in reply.
Zombie chuckled, “I’ve made a habit of it. I am a respectful master.”
Clown bowed briefly, and exited the door.
As he made his way towards the gate, someone else was also waiting for him.
“Ash,” Clown greeted his oldest friend.
“Clown,” Ash acknowledged. “Off to your little sanctuary again?”
“Yes, it’s almost…” Clown paused, “... that time of the year again.”
“Are you sure you’ll be fine on your own this time?” Ash asked. “You know I could also ask for a leave from Mr. Zombie as well, even if it’s just for a few days.”
“I will be fine, Ash,” Clown reassured his friend. “You have to deal with my relapses for most of the year. You need a break from me as well.”
Ash sighed. His self-declared brother can be truly stubborn. “Do not hesitate to call us here at Whitepine for help. You got it?”
“Yes, I got it. Thank you, Ash.”
With the gates closed behind him, ClownPierce made his way towards the city. He always enjoyed walking more than driving the family car. The exercise gave him headspace, and the scenery had always been peaceful.
In between his peace, he was in a personal war against the demons of his past.
Clown had lost track of time since the war had begun years ago. He could only recall bits and pieces from his days starting with the enlistment and drafting into the battalions. Fleeting memories of undergoing grueling training beside Ashswag, even lying about their origins just to get in, to quietly competing for best marksmanship against Reddoons.
Everything just to be able to survive this war.
In the latest deployment under the command of Major Leowook, they were able to rout the enemy and cut off offensive supplies, but not without incurring damage from their own ranks. A stray cannon had struck one of their gunpowder stockpiles, sending an outpost into blazes. ClownPierce remembered that he and Reddoons had to carry to safety Ashswag who had caught a flashburn on the left side of his face.
The Leowook Battalion had successfully retreated to a nearby supply camp by the Gristle. It was at this time that ClownPierce crossed paths with the very being who will change the rest of his life.
After successfully handing off Ash to the lead surgeons to treat his wounds, Clown and Reddoons were triaged off according to the severity of their injuries. They were given instructions by the nurse who handed them colored sticks indicating their assigned cubicles.
“I’ll see you later, Clown,” Reddoons said. “Let’s see if we can visit Ash later.”
“See you later, Red,” Clown replied with a nod.
He made his way towards his assigned cubicle. He pushed through the curtain and found a silvery-white haired man bent over a cart, muttering a gibberish of words that Clown’s not familiar with. He quietly moved towards the edge of the cot, and waited to see if the physician would turn around. After almost five minutes of standing still, Clown grew impatient.
“Uh, hello?” Clown spoke. His voice was loud enough to catch the other man off-guard, nearly knocking over a tray of medical tools over to the floor.
“Geez, you scared me there!” the man yelped, turning around to face Clown. “How long have you been standing there? Don’t I get some respect around here, soldier?”
Clown was silent and looked down. He was not sure how to respond to the man’s comedic outburst. He looked through the eye slits of his mask, observing the situation.
“Apologies, for scaring you, sir,” he said.
“That’s Captain BranzyCraft of the Army Medical Corps, mind you,” the smaller man snapped back at him. “You’re in my camp, and as the busiest surgeon… Well at least until my better skilled comrades come back… You better be grateful that I’m the one assigned to you. Now sit on the bed.”
Clown obliged. He quietly registered the man’s features and etched it to his mind. There was something strangely attractive with the man in front of him. He was slim framed, but he could appreciate some muscle bulk through the shoulders. Behind the intelligent glimmer in his deep purple eyes, there seemed to hide a sardonic view against the horrors of the ongoing war. He was sort of grateful that he kept his mask on, so that this man called BranzyCraft wouldn’t be able to dissect his thoughts on the spot.
“So, Mister Scary Mask Guy,” Branzy’s voice cutting Clown’s thoughts. “You got a handle or something?”
“ClownPierce, first lieutenant of the fifth battalion under Major Leowook’s command, sir,” Clown answered quickly, complying with military etiquette.
“Oooh, what a deadly name you got there,” Branzy replied. He pulled up his tray of medical equipment beside him.
“Now, go ahead and take off your clothes so I can take a good look at what needs to be stitched.”
Clown complied with Branzy's instructions. He unbuttoned his jacket, and took off his undershirt. He could see that he had a lengthy wound on the side of his abdomen, but it was deep enough to need stitches. There were a few minor cuts and bruises, but none too lethal. He lied down at Branzy’s gesture.
“Okay Lieutenant Clown, or can I just call you Clown? I will perform a physical examination, check every single wound you have gathered, inquire where you got it, and patch it up,” said Branzy. “Don’t worry about the pain. I got some good whisky here, and some local anesthesia too.” “Understood.”
Branzy flashed a mischievous smile towards Clown. He exclaimed, “Well look at that, you’re actually the first soldier who’s not afraid of me!”
Clown clenched his hand around the edges of the cot as Branzy began touching his skin with gloved hands. He was used to getting treated by other physicians, and had quite the pain tolerance to needles. But, this was different.
Branzy was acting more than just being a physician, he was taking his time savoring Clown's physique, and touching every single line of healed scar. He could hear the silver-haired man mutter under his breath. “What a specimen, such perfect muscular hypertrophy. It seemed that the skin was so battle-hardened, that stitching wounds would be like going through thick leather.”
What Clown anticipated to be just another pain in and out of the stitching needle, he was surprised that Branzy was pretty light and quick with his hands. The physician applied an adequate amount of numbing on key areas that it was easy for Clown to remain still as instructed. He quietly observed the focus the surgeon had on him.
“I don't know what it is with my other colleagues in this camp, they can't seem to get stitching skin flaps right. “But don't you worry Mr. ClownPierce, I will make sure that the stitches are fine, it looks like you just had a happy accident along the road!” Despite yapping on and on to himself, Clown somehow found Branzy's voice soothing.
“And just a few more snips here and there,” Branzy said, and cut the last stitch. “And, we’re done with the first part!”
Branzy got up from his seat, turned around to look for a new set of bandages to secure the stitches.
Clown immediately sat up, and placed his military jacket over his crotch. He could feel the heat reach his cheeks, and was thankful that his mask had not yet fallen off to reveal his physiological mess.
“Are you doing okay there, Clown?” Branzy’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Clown looked up, the fear effectively disrupting his urges. He no longer flinched when Branzy touched him again to instruct him to move as Branzy completed bandaging the necessary areas of his body.
“There we go, all done!” Branzy announced.
The soldier pushed his legs off the cot and stood up. His tall frame clearly overshadows his benefactor.
“Thank you, Captain BranzyCraft,” said Clown.
The physician skipped a step at the sound of his name and title. “Since I am kind of expecting that you will be a regular customer for my stellar medical service, I will allow you to just call me Branzy,” he said. “And before I let you go, I want you to keep a secret for me.”
Clown asked, “What is it… Branzy?”
Branzy leaned close to Clown, and flashed a smirk.
“I know a closet when I see one,” Branzy teased. He opened the cubicle flap and pushed Clown out. “Now off you go.”
While Branzy was correct with his prediction that Clown and, sometimes, his friends were regular visitors to his medical camp; the surgeon seemed to find himself often being moved to medical camps near wherever Clown was. Not that he was mad about it, he was actually secretly brimming with pride every time he got to hear the adventures from his favorite band of misfits, how they earned victories and accolades. He didn’t even care that he was still stuck being Captain. Because rising through the medical ranks would mean he would be pulled further into the safer bases at the rear, and not where Clown would be.
And he wanted to be where Clown is.
Clown had changed his mask as he traversed further into town. He had shifted to a dark purple mask with an oddly imprinted smile. It was enough to keep people away, and to throw off people from knowing his identity. He stopped by a few shops, buying essential items such as food, and a few gardening tools. The last stop he made was at a jewelry shop that was owned by one of the regular patrons of the Hemlocke industry.
“Ah, Mr. Pierce, here for your usual order?” the shopkeeper said, recognizing the goofiest mask that visits him once a year. Clown nodded. He placed a jewelry box on the table.
“For cleaning, as usual.”
“Alright, give me half an hour and I will bring it back to you as if it’s newly forged.”
As war raged on, ClownPierce and his comrades rose through the ranks. His strong communication, strategic planning and near-perfect execution of missions, earned him the position of Squadron Commander of one of the army’s special strike units. With this position, it came with quite the responsibility. With the responsibility, followed great power that allowed him to request for a particular officer to join his ranks.
BranzyCraft.
It seemed like the logical choice to have the regular surgeon be pulled on board, knowing each medical history and whatnots. Unbeknownst to the higher ranks, it was meant to serve a different purpose as well. The latest mission assigned to Clown’s squadron was to stay at the border of Redhills, with instructions to be on standby should they need to be utilized for quick battles against their enemy.
To the soldiers, it simply meant, they have free time.
To Clown, it was the perfect window of opportunity.
As soon as Branzy had arrived at their outpost in Redhills, Clown wasted no second to take the man out for a ride along the beach. They had subtle outings before, often in short scouting missions with small detours. Always keeping things between them, that the higher ups would never figure out - except their closest friends. It was the best kept secret, this devoted love they had for each other.
The car slowed to a stop at the end of the paved road. Clown turned off the ignition, and alighted from the car. Branzy had followed suit. He took in a deep breath of salty sea air, and stretched his limbs from the ride. “It’s my second time going to the beach, but it’s my first time seeing a sunset here,” Branzy said. His purple eyes reflected the orange hue of the setting sun. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” was Clown's ever brief reply. He had reached out and took Branzy's hand into his.
“It is more beautiful, with you by my side.”
Branzy couldn't resist forming a smile. His heart fluttered with delight. He was here, on the beach, with the most important person in his entire world. The man who had grown beyond a few words, who had stood by him and protected him, and kept them safe from harm… The man who had subtly infiltrated the depths of his heart.
No amount of declarations of love would be enough to describe what they have. Societal perception and military rank would never acknowledge the possibility of their partnership. But, Branzy wasn't afraid, as long as Clown would always be there for him, he would do so for Clown. Branzy broke away from his thoughts when he felt Clown's hand let him go. He immediately searched for Clown and was astonished to find the masked man kneeling in front of him on one knee.
“Clown, what are you doing?” Branzy asked softly. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and ears.
Clown reached behind his head, and unclapsed his mask and let it fall down the grass. With his face bare, and his dark eyes connected with Branzy’s, he pushed forward with his plans with nothing else to hide. Still on one knee, and with Branzy’s left hand on top of Clown’s palm. The soldier used his free hand to bring out a golden band from his pocket and gingerly rested at the tip of Branzy’s ring finger.
“BranzyCraft, I kneel now before you,” Clown started. He gathered his strength to declare the lines he had practiced over and over again. “To profess my love, my devotion to you and to the promise of a future we will create, together.”
Branzy kept his patience, allowing Clown to shine with his words. He couldn’t help but stare lovingly into the deepest eyes.
“Will you honor your love for me by becoming my married partner for this lifetime?”
There was no need for second thoughts. Branzy knew from the moment the masked man stepped into his presence, their fates were forever intertwined.
“Yes, ClownPierce. I do,” Branzy replied. His heart swelled with joy and tenderness to the man before him. He nodded his head, and felt the gold band reach the base of his ringer. He pulled Clown back up to his feet, before tossing himself into the officer’s embrace. Their lips locked in, sealing their promise.
“About time we get married.”
The Redhills chaplain of the town at the time, who was indebted to Reddoons before, officiated the wedding. It was a small ceremony, with only those who do not fear societal norms present. As the ceremony commenced, Branzy walked down the aisle in real bridal wear - that shocked even the chaplain. Ash swore it was the first time he ever saw Clown shed true tears of happiness.
Branzy was his Silver Bride.
The reception then followed in a bar that was reserved just for them. The townspeople somehow managed to join in, but never did they suspect that Branzy was a man in a white wedding dress.
The shopkeeper returned to the counter with the jewelry box.
“Here you go Mr. Pierce, good as new.”
Clown opened the box and inspected the contents. Inside were two wedding bands, each embedded with three diamonds. He took the larger ring and inserted it onto his ring finger. The other ring has a silver necklace, since it had a smaller fit. He picked up the necklace and put it on. The ring rested right on his chest.
Contented with the service, Clown paid the shopkeeper and left.
It was a summer evening. The newlyweds had secretly rented a house near the beach, far away from the bustling town of Redhills where the wedding was just held. The cool sea air seeped through the windows, dissipating the heat that had accumulated in the bedroom. Clown laid on his back, with his arm outstretched, elbow bent around the crook of Branzy’s neck.
“Clown?” Branzy murmured, wondering if his beloved was awake.
“Yes, darling?” was the reply.
Branzy took a deep breath, and exhaled with a puff of warm breath against his lover’s bare chest.
“Do you think we’re winning this war?”
Clown’s heart stirred an anxiety he couldn’t place. It had been a few days since they had secretly tied the knot. While there were talks of a possible truce, it would only be a brief respite before the war would begin again.
“Ever thought of just, you know, disappearing for a while?”
Clown adjusted his position, allowing Branzy to lie on his stomach more comfortably. The smaller man was like a cat sometimes, after some passionate bouts. He was picky with their positions, but he always took Clown’s comfort into consideration.
“There’s this town down south, a bit far from the border, it’s called Emberton,” Branzy said idly, drawing an imaginary map on Clown’s chest. “My gramps used to live there. He had a nice house with a hill for a garden, and the land was transferred straight to my name after he died. But, I haven’t gone back there for quite some time.”
Clown could tell that Branzy was getting tired of the war as he was. However, he lauded Branzy’s tenacity and resistance against its horrors, despite going on a few runs with him at the frontlines. Who was he kidding when that’s what Branzy was trained to do? Treat the gore and blood with careful hands and draw a smiley face on bandaged amputations and fractured limbs. While he did his best to shield Branzy from the bullets, it was Branzy who shielded Clown from his personal nightmares from this war.
In one of their many quiet nights together, Clown would wake up from nightmares of death and despair, only for Branzy's tight embrace and soothing voice to calm his tormented mind. It worked for quite a while, the restful nights helped Clown focus on fighting and decision making.
“Do you want to retire there after everything’s over, Branzy?” Clown asked. “Grow senile together like a pair of old wives?”
He could see the purple eyes light up with renewed vigor.
“You bet we would,” Branzy answered.
Before Clown could react, Branzy had managed to crawl back on top of Clown, straddling the soldier’s waist between his legs. His back arched forward, his precise hands cupping Clown’s face, his lips drawing the other into another passionate night.
Clown arrived at his true residence late in the evening. He quietly entered through the gate with the old key. He made his way through the stone path, with fireflies guiding his way. He stopped in front of the door and fished another key from his pocket. He inserted the key and twisted the lock open. The door made a small creaking sound as it swung open inside and squawked when it closed. Clown entered the quaint living room, guided by the moonlight that peeked through the windows. The furniture was sparse, just enough to make the house livable.
Contrary to what many believed, he and Branzy were able to stay in this house for quite some time - during the truce. He fondly recalled lazy morning walks up the hill, spending their days quietly reading books that they would borrow from the town library. Branzy even started a flower garden along the stone path. There was even one occasion that their closest friends visited to celebrate a surprise birthday party for Clown. It was the happiest and most peaceful days of his life with Branzy. When the duration of the truce was fulfilled, war had resumed.
The generals had ClownPierce’s squadron reunited with his closest comrades, Ash, Reddoons, and included a rookie sniper named MinuteTech. Although it was against Clown’s wishes, his husband Branzy was re-enlisted to be their combat medic.
The mission assigned to them was to eliminate a key general who held a firm communication line amongst enemy lines. If they disrupt the line, it would disrupt enemy progress, which would turn the tide of war to their favor.
At the sendoff camp, it was almost time for the squadron to depart. Branzy was already up and about, fascinated with the new weapon in the hands of a rookie.
“So these things, called sniper rifles, pack a punch, don’t they?” Branzy asked the young MinuteTech. “You got pretty good eyes then.”
Minute nodded, “Yes sir.”
Branzy had gone off on another tirade of how speed, trajectory, and bullet caliber were so precisely computed to do the most damage at certain parts of the human body. His yapping only stopped when a firm hand rested on his shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Clown!” Branzy greeted cheerfully. “I seemed to have engrossed myself with something new.”
Minute imagined Clown had an amused smile behind that mask. There was mirth in the commander's voice when he spoke, “You never fail to share what you learn as well.” The playful aura shifted to a serious tone when the commander faced Minute.
“You must be MinuteTech.”
Minute straightened up and saluted, “Yes, sir. At your service, Commander Pierce.”
“Taking down the enemy snipers is your most important role, Minute. I put my full trust in your capabilities,” said Clown.
“Affirmative, sir,” Minute replied.
Clown nodded, “Let us move out.”
Branzy walked off with Clown. Side to side, the commander sneaked to wrap his pinky finger around Branzy's pinky finger, the latter didn't pull away. This caught Minute's eyes, puzzling the sniper.
Minute opened his mouth to make a comment of what he witnessed. However, he received a hard nudge on the ribs by Ash who simply shook his head.
The squadron arrived at their designated drop off point. Ash and Minute positioned themselves uphill, hidden amongst the tall grass. Reddoons led another team to another position, while Clown and Branzy coursed through the rubble of the ruined town. The sun had inadvertently peeked through the clouds, causing a quick reflection against the shiny steel of a hanging buckle on Branzy's pack.
Clown's eyes widened behind his mask. It was just a split second of their location revealed, but enough for their enemy to react.
“Branzy, get down!”
Just as Branzy was about to reach his next cover, a loud bang echoed from the distance. It was followed by a force so powerful, Branzy could feel something shattered through his chest. His eyes widened as a splatter of blood burst through him.
“BRANZY!”
Clown could feel his world slow down. He abandoned his position and took off to catch Branzy. Every step was agonizing, every breath that escaped his lips was choking the air out of him.
Three loud shots echoed above Clown’s head. He no longer cared who was firing who. He needed to get to Branzy. He was all that matters now. With arms outstretched, Clown caught Branzy, and pulled him close to his chest. In the momentum, he used his back to cushion their fall against the pavement.
“Branzy! Branzy! Branzy!” Clown cried aloud, shaking his beloved awake.
Branzy’s eyes flew open. He caught sight of his lover, and still managed to crack a toothy smile. His breathing was harsh, fast, bordering towards gasping. “Clown…!”
Clown had muted the noise around him. He had ripped strips of cloth from his sleeves, attempting to make a tamponade on the wound. He flinched when Branzy’s bloodied hand held on to his wrist.
“At least… you’re the one I get to see before I…” Branzy croaked, trying his hardest not to choke on blood that was gurgling from his lungs.
Clown frantically pressed a cloth against the entry wound with one hand, and another wrapped around Branzy’s back to cover the exit wound. However, it was futile. His beloved was bleeding too much.
“Just… stay with me, Clown, please?” Branzy gasped. The color was draining from his face.
“Branzy, please don’t. I… I will get you out of here… We’ll get help,” Clown found himself begging against Death. Tears erupted from his eyes. “I cannot lose you!”
Branzy mustered what remained of his strength to lift a hand and touch Clown’s exposed face. His purple eyes were so clear with intent, his bloodied lips curved to the sweetest smile.
“I love you forever, my dearest… ClownPierce.”
“Branzy, I -”
His voice had cut off from his words when he felt the hand that touched his face fell, and Clown felt his beloved’s body fall limp in his arms. Branzy’s head leaned against the curve of his neck, his eyes closed to sleep for eternity.
Clown could no longer hear the outside world beyond his own anguish, crying out the name of his love over and over.
The sun was gradually peeking through the east when he began his hike up the hill behind the house. The stone path was still there, with a mix of lavender and marigold bushes lining the path. The weather never seemed to go foul in the place, just as Branzy had always said. Maybe that's why he loved it here.
Atop the hill, a low set willow tree stood firm. Its weeping branches created a sort of curtain, guarding the bravest of hearts in its territory.
Clown pulled up a bucket of water and set it on the ground next to the gravestone. He dropped his rucksack beside the bucket, opened it, and pulled out a pair of shears. He got down to his knees and carefully cut away the weed and roots that wrapped around the stone. With a towel, he dipped it into the bucket of water, wrung it dry, and began to clean the gravestone.
It took him all morning to get the task done, as he had always done for the past years. Just in time for the sun to mark his midday meal. After completing the cleaning of the gravestone, he smiled beneath his porcelain mask, his eyes basking at the honorable memorabilia.
In loving memory of Branzy Pierce
Genius and a devoted husband
Deciding to take a break before a small meal, Clown placed a long blanket on the grass and laid his head on the rucksack like a pillow. He closed his eyes as he let out a long sigh of relaxation. His fingers wrapped around the ring on his necklace, letting his own golden band touch against the one resting on his chest. With his other hand, he unclasped the strap of his mask, letting it fall off to the side.
ClownPierce.
Clown opened his eyes, and found himself staring at deep, purple eyes. Wavy, silvery-white hair played against the wind. A wide, mischievous smile moved to mouth out three words that he longed to hear again. It could be his mind playing tricks again, but he would always swear to heaven and earth that he would never forget Branzy’s face, or his voice.
Tears began to well up, blurring the image of his lover leaning close to him. Clown tried to blink his tears away, only for them to flow continuously. He closed his eyes completely, surrendering to the mercy of his tragedy. A gentle, warm breeze brushed against his face, as if an ardent kiss rested long on his lips.
“Branzy, I’m home.”