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It felt like home.
Branzy pulled back from the kiss, emotion welling up in his chest and catching in a tangle in his throat. He moved his thumbs back and forth over Clown’s cheeks, feeling the slightly different texture of the scar under his blue eye, trying to share some sense of the comfort Clown had brought him.
Clown’s eyelids drooped, and the weight of his head shifted more firmly into Branzy’s hands as he stopped holding it up himself. There was a small smile playing on his lips, but the sheer exhaustion radiating from his slumped form drowned it out in Branzy’s attention.
Distantly, through the haze of pain and the overwhelming feeling of safety, a thought crossed Branzy’s muddled mind. Clown suddenly looked so, so tired. How long had it been since he’d rested? His mind flooded with guilt that Clown would tell him to ignore.
He remembered this, he knew this well, the way Clown wouldn’t sleep, the way he wouldn’t tend to himself if Branzy was in a deadly situation. He knew the way it got so much worse when Clown perceived the situation as his fault, which he surely would this time, because Branzy had been targeted for information on the man. Even when it was over, he would sit and watch Branzy, making sure no one appeared, making sure Branzy would wake up.
Despite Clown having already moved them to a secure location, despite Branzy’s wounds having been tended to, he got too in his head to rest. There was a saying about pots and kettles that might be currently applicable, but Branzy would be ignoring questions about his own sleep habits at this time.
Branzy drew one of his hands away from Clown’s face to hold on to the hand cupping his own cheek, lacing their fingers together. Clown’s eyes flicked upwards momentarily, but Branzy took their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
“Charmer,” Clown muttered.
He grinned weakly. “Always for you.”
Branzy stayed like that for a few long seconds, the haze of mind causing him to momentarily forget his goal in the face of this beautiful comfort. But he remembered, and, moving slowly as to not aggravate his bruised body, Branzy lay down. His other hand slipped from Clown’s face to hold onto their joined hands as well, holding Clown’s hand between both of his.
Clown made a soft noise of protest, looking down at him with bleary eyes.
Branzy tugged lightly at his hand, the bells on his wrist jingling with the movement. Lie down with me, he asked with his eyes, because if he could just get Clown to lie down, he was sure the man’s own body would force him to sleep. Branzy didn’t know how long he had been in that— that place, but it was surely long enough Clown’s habits would have rendered him truly exhausted.
“Branzy, I have to—” His voice broke, and Branzy watched his eyes flick around the room, settling on the exit.
He was too high-strung to rest voluntarily, Branzy knew, but he persisted, tugging a little more instantly, the bells jingling a little louder.
“Please?” Branzy asked, lacing the word with a small dose of desperation. Quieter, he whispered, “You can stay awake, I just, I n— I need you to hold me right now.”
It was easy to see the war inside Clown with his face bare, even though he held the rest of himself perfectly still. His eyes glanced between the sword on the bedside table, the exit, and Branzy, he worried his lower lip between his teeth, his emotions bled out easily from his eyes and furrowed brow. Branzy clung to his hand with force, and he could see the exact moment the assassin folded, eyes closing briefly as he carded his free hand through Branzy’s hair.
Clown lay down as carefully as he had, avoiding jostling Branzy’s injuries. He positioned them so Branzy’s head rested in the hollow of his neck, so that he could look out over his hair to continue watching the exit, Branzy knew. Branzy continued holding onto his hand with one of his own, and moved the other arm over Clown’s side. Clown moved his free arm to hold Branzy too, and drew him in close, their joined hands cocooned between their chests.
Branzy took as deep a breath as his pain would allow, and let it out slowly. Consciously or unconsciously, Clown mirrored his breathing, and Branzy kept them both breathing slow and steady. Maybe this would let Clown’s body know it was safe now, that it was time to stop giving in to his mind’s desperation and sleep.
It’s okay, he thought, knowing Clown wouldn’t heed the words if they were said aloud, you can rest. You were already so strong for me.
Branzy wiggled their interlaced hands from where they were pressed between their bodies, moving Clown’s to his neck. Silently, Clown found his pulse point with two fingers, and Branzy held his wrist and rubbed a soothing thumb over the skin.
His mind drifted off, and he tried to keep it away from his recent torment with thoughts of chickens and observers and pressure plates, but the darkness crept in as he mentally mapped a web of redstone. Usually, attempting to recall exactly how he’d set up the circuits for each build in his killer amusement park could keep his thoughts distracted, but the bitter cold and burning sensation of the potions wouldn’t leave, flooding the careful wiring with memories of his torture.
Clinging to Clown, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, with the dark memories so fresh behind his eyes. All Branzy could do is hope at that least Clown would sleep.
Maybe it was minutes later, maybe it was hours later, but Branzy became aware after a time that Clown truly was asleep, caught between Branzy’s efforts and his body’s relentless demands. He could feel himself smile, even as the false feeling of biting cold threatened to overwhelm Clown’s gentle warmth.
He pressed a kiss to Clown's collarbone. Branzy was here. This was real. Clown had saved him.
It was warm, not cold.