Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1:
This ground was very warm. Almost welcoming in its midsummer warmth. Footsteps and voices thundered around you as your conscience begin to fade. How had you even gotten here? You've never been too badly sick before, so why now? In the midst of a circus? Just had to make a scene, didn't you.....
"Oh dear...another one for the pink tent, Jester?" A deep voice, yet quiet. Tentative.
"Perhaps. Get the fools to escort them to the tent, then. This one doesn't seem like they'll last long."
A more bold voice. Slightly higher, drawling on slightly with a theatrical cadence. Self-entitled.
All of a sudden, as if an interesting bug under a rock, you're lifted into stiff arms, moving mechanically towards what might be certain death. What did you do to deserve this? Was it that popcorn you ate? You knew something was off, but chose to believe it was just the circus unsettling you. But maybe you were wrong.....
Abruptly, the mechanical bobbing of the Fools' footsteps stops, as a voice calls out, slowly approaching.
"I'll handle this one Jester." And then, speaking through his teeth, with an almost irritated tone: "Do not make a scene in public, or we're–"
It was at that point that your sense slipped fully as you were forcibly drowned in the depths of unconsciousness. Damn popcorn ruining your outing.
~~~~~
Jester stood stiff as a board, slightly confused by the outburst of the typically pleasant Ticket Taker. The Fools stopped still with you still held roughly under the arms, not caring to check on the comfort of the limp body between them.
"Pardon, Bil? The circus is closed for the night. This one was simply being escorted out of the main walking path–" Jester started, before being interrupted by a stern statement.
"I will handle this one, we will not kill them. We have enough meat. Anymore bodies and missing persons reports and we'll be discovered."
As if sensing the tension, the deep-voiced Pierrot slunk away behind the unassuming Black Tent, leaving the situation entirely.
As your shivering, dead weight was deposited into the cradled arms of the smaller man, you could only make out faint slivers of the conversation overhead as you tried to fight for your consciousness. This doesn't make sense...
~~~~~
Sunlight streamed through the canvas of the walls of the Cyan Tent, where you now lay almost lifeless. Yet even still, you begin to stir. How you got here, you may never—
"Ah, Doctor. Good timing. They're almost ready to join the land of the living again. Took long enough..." That voice. The stern voice. It's him again. What did they call him? Bil?
Your eyes snap open, bewildered and terrified, until...a dropping of your stomach. Oh god. What now? You hate people seeing you weak and sick like this, but you keep shaking, and may actually lose your lunch if you open your mouth.
As if sensing your turmoil (or perhaps simply observing your pale, green-tinted complexion), the stern-voiced man kicked a heavy steel bucket in your direction with a tall, black boot.
Just, it was a second too late.....
You couldn't control it if you tried. Tears, hot and thick, ran down your flushed cheeks like a torrential downpour. Up came, well, everything and the kitchen sink. Okay, maybe not THAT much, but enough that the stern-voiced, blue-coated man on the other side of the room took a startled step back in disgust, his face (if you can even call that mask a "face") flashing with a mixture of distain and repulsed concern.
After what seemed like forever, you shakily raised your head, still dripping with tears and other fluids, unable to make eye contact with anyone else in the room due to sheer embarrassment.
"I-I'm sorry....I couldn't– sorry." You stumble and stutter over your words, still not fully coherent after your collapse and vomiting episode.
"It's...quite alright, visitor. These things happen," replied the stern-voiced man in blue.
"Interesting. Don't worry, sweetie, I've seen it all. This is nothing new."
Well THAT was a new voice. Where was it coming from? Your eyes dart around the room like scared, cornered prey searching for escape, before landing on the blood-red and black figure who detached from the shadows before you. That accent, though, combined with the plague mask covering his face, and your own incoherence, meant that he wasn't the easiest to understand.
"I am your humble Doctor. Do you remember how you got here, patient? You collapsed on the walkway during closing time. Heatstroke. You should not try to move so much so quickly, or you'll make yourself dizzier," he stated bluntly before turning to the man in the corner, who still seems shocked and disgusted by your earlier display of bodily fluid. "Ticket Taker. Since you're here, please fetch the antibacterial chemicals from the shelf with the medical charcoal."
Begrudgingly, the man seemed to comply, despite being plagues by lingering shaken-ness.
~~~~~
He soon slunk back over towards you, dropping into a low squat a safe distance from the mess and haphazardly tossed a handful of antibacterial wipes towards you, throwing a bucket of dirt and sand over the puddle to absorb it.
"Humans and their messes...and I'm always the one keeping the customer service smile," Ticket Taker grumbled through gritted teeth, his gaze entirely locked on the floor, before being interrupted by a small, muffled sound.
"...my apologies, s-sir. I was irresponsible and made myself sick. This shouldn't have to be the responsibility of the performers before you even open," you squeak from the medical cot above him, hiding all but your eyes in the thin, threadbare pillow.
"You're scared," he observed, a slight glimmer of something crossing over his face before he quickly covered it and continued, "Dear visitor, if I or we were to hurt you, do you not think we would've done it before you woke up?"
Without giving you opportunity to answer, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his arms locked tight behind his back as he tore up the ground between you.
The masked Doctor turned back to you after watching the display with an air of confusion and even a slight, dark amusement.
"Are you alright, sweetie? You really shouldn't go home alone in this state. I would typically suggest keeping you here for observation, but..." he looked away for a moment without moving his head, his eyes landing on a faint green glow in the corner, before he spoke up, "Harlequin. There is nothing here for you. Leave. Or I will inform Jester of your breach of doctor-patient privacy."
The green glow faded out slowly as the figure turned to leave. Doctor turned back to you with a muffled, rattling sigh masking a gravelly growl, which vibrated through your teeth like bass.
"Anyway, as i was saying, my dear patient...i would typically keep you here to observe, but I unfortunately am rather occupied at the moment. Ticket Taker will escort you back to your apartment."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, the blue-suited man peered back into the tent with a glare, which swept between you and the large man currently checking your pulse with stained, gloved hands.
~~~~~
As Doctor's huge, clawed hands reached to steady you as you left his tent, he slipped silently to Ticket Taker's side and whispered something incoherent and inaudible into his ear, causing no more reaction that a curt nod and a throat-clearing cough from the smaller man.
"Now then. Let us go. Before you make any more mes." His voice seemed ever so slightly less cold as his white-gloved hand hovered near your elbow to steady you if you were to stumble, "You're the guide. I don't know where I'm going, after all. Come along."
As you dragged your feet over to his side, he placed his hand sharply between your shoulder blades to guide you out, casting a single, hard glare over his shoulder.
Exiting the gates of the circus, Ticket Taker seemed to relax ever so slightly, as if stepping away from his responsibility, his shoulders dropping slightly with a slow, long sigh. Tossing quick glances in both directions, he stepped out into the road without looking back, perhaps forgetting for a second that you were his responsibility. As you stumbled out to follow him, you tripped slightly as your knees gave out, causing you to slump into a pile in the middle of the early morning road. Suddenly, roaring down the lane, a large blue pick-up truck thundered towards you; there was no way you could move fast enough to evade it. You could hardly move at all. You were truly exhausted. Luckily, this cacophany alerted the man ahead, as Ticket Taker turned back with genuine panic frosting over his expression. Before the truck - and it's driver, blinded by the morning glare - could inflict any life-threatening damage, he dashed out into the road, practically tackling you onto the sidewalk, pinning you underneath him as he frantically checked over your body with shaking hands and an even more shaken demeanor. A broken arm. Not on you, but him. He hissed in agony as a white-hot searing pain shot through the mangled bone. Despite that, he still clambered his working hand against your neck and then your wrist, with escalating terror and dread. "Come on come on come on don't die on me now, you foolish human", he thought, before calming down slightly as he felt your strong, thumping pulse, but still being rather flustered as he realised his current position as his chest heaved panicked breaths against yours, his forehead slumping against the cold stone beside you, "this is why i don't leave the circus."
Slowly, you came back to reality. You were stuck between rock and a hard place. Wait. That's not hard......but it is heavy. And warm. And.....wet? Your bleary eyes crept open, unfocused, as if trapped in a hypnotic daze. However, above you, the situation was far from peaceful. You knew you felt warm dripping onto your face, but you never would've guessed what it truly was. Blood. Thick, dark, weeping from a million scrapes and one bad, deep gash: deep enough that the bone stuck out entirely. Blood. Mixed with tears. After a moment, you realised who was actually above you, pinning you to the ground. Ticket Taker. Had he saved your life? You slumped onto the ground in the middle of the road, and–
"–gah!! Jesus fuck, STOP MOVING!!" his voice croaked from above you, through teeth clenched so hard that they audibly creaked.
"Sir! What– I‐ We need to get you back to the circus. To that Doctor guy. I‐I am so sorry, I–" You didn't even recognise your own voice at first. You don't remember the last time you were this freaked out. You're typically not susceptible to gore, but bone impaling and spearing directly through skin, the blood trailing down your face? That was a whole other level. With a deep grunt of effort that you wish hadn't actually been audible, you shoved yourself from under him, pulling his working arm over your shoulders as your hand fell naturally to his waist to keep him propped up as you shuffled back. Despite knowing your intention of aid, he still continued to struggle and shove against you, before gasping as the motion pulled on his mangled limb.
"God...damn it. You humans and your...stubbornness..."
"Yeah, well, look who's talking– woah, sir, you good!?" Your arm tightened rapidly around his waist as his knees buckled slightly, his painted mask seeming to dim slightly as his one, bright white eye rolled back from the agony. Out cold.
"Damn...you're heavy", you grunt as you attempt to prop him up against you further, taking almost all of his dead weight against you, "Heavier than you look like you should be, anyway. What the hell are you made of, steel!?"
~~~~~
What should've been a 10 minute walk at most, ended up taking over half an hour. By the time you and the injured Ticket Taker had reached the gates of the circus, a man clad in purple was stood staring at his own (nails? Claws?) through his gloves with a smug grin, before looking up. You could see the exact moment he registered what he was looking at from the way his violet eyes sharpened against the black mask.
"I knew that Bil had taken that human from me and chose to get them medical attention," he growled, inching closer with coiled rage, like a viper preparing to strike. You recognised this voice from your blackout. Jester. It seems that he's the leader of this troupe....
"What did you do to him?" He demanded, clutching the collar of your shirt with rapid violence. His rage was almost palpable, you could taste it in the air. "Answer my question, human, or I'll break you so badly that not even the Doctor will be able to fix you!"
"I–I almost got hit by a truck on the road, and....and...." you squeaked out timidly as fear consumed your ability to form cohesive sentences.
"Speak up!" He roared, lifting you higher as his hand shifted from your collar to your throat. Your feel left the floor. He had Ticket Taker slumped against a concession stand a few feet away, but his focus was not on the injured man. He began to squeeze, causing you to squirm and claw at his hand, but to no avail. It was hopeless. Useless. The light began to drain from your eyes as your hands dropped simply to your sides. His other hand snaked out to your left wrist, twisting it painfully enough that it clicked and crunched slightly. "You forget how easy you sre to break, visitor. We don't take kindly to those who seek to hurt us."
"JESTER. Drop. My. Patient. Now."
That voice. The heavy, Russian cadence. The depth. Thank god, Doctor couldn't have had better timing.....
The hand around your neck pulled back rapidly, leaving you to fall and crumple to the ground, gasping deep and greedy lungfuls of oxygen.
The Doctor darted over to Ticket Taker's side in an instant, scooping the smaller man into a secure cradle carry (how he carries that guy, you may never know. Then again, this Doctor guy is HUGE), before gently pulling you up by your non-injured wrist and practically dragging you towards his Cyan Tent.
"...it's not broken, but it will be heavily bruised and tender for a few days," Doctor stated after sitting you down in the examination chair, with Ticket Taker draped on the medical cot where you had been situated not even 2 hours prior, "As for Ticket Taker...it's a good thing you got him here when you did. I'll have to re-align the bone and probably stitch that gash back together. You'll be my assistant."
Before you had a chance to protest, he tossed a heavily stained set of scrubs towards you without looking.
"Put those on. They may be too big. But it's better than your mud-and-blood-stained attire, no?"
Scrambling to drag on the ensemble behind a medical curtain, you joined him back in the main room.
First slice.
Despite his heart-rate being slowed to an almost sluggish pace by a heavy dose of chemicals, the blood still seeped into the crevice around the bone like a flood of syrup. Doctor seemed to have this all handled, but you can't say it didn't pique your curiosity a little.
~~~~~
After 2 hours of intrigued questioning, handing over tools, and pinching arteries closed while he stitched them together, the two of you managed to seal up the wound and bandage his arm into a makeshift, heavily splinted sling. Despite all this, despite the mottled bruises rapidly blooming over your throat and wrist, you still felt that this was your fault. If you hadn't passed out during closing time in the first place, if you had just stuck to the shade to avoid the heatstroke, if you had just kept walking across the road instead of stopping, he wouldn't be hurt...right?
Abruptly, a heavy handed settled atop your head, ruffling your hair slightly.
"You did a good job bringing him here, you know? I won't congratulate you, but I will thank you for looking out for him. He may be stubborn, but he means well and is typically rather polite. In fact, i couldn't tell you what has gotten into him. Get some ice for your throat and wrist. There's some wet, ice-cold bandages kept in a special medical cooler in the corner. Wrap yourself up."
"...yes, sir."
And so, you waited by Ticket Taker's bedside, for any chance that your escort would stir soon, and go back to the backhanded comments.
~~~~~
After what felt like an eternity, his breathing hitched, just slightly. You leaned in eagerly, perhaps a little too eagerly, as you stumbled off your chair, before snickering and pretending it never happened. You seized his unharmed hand in yours, your thumb rubbing along his knuckle in a subtly affectionate rhythm, before you checked your newly cracked watch. 9:27am. Okay, that's fi— 9:27AM!?
"SHIT!! Doctor. I'm sorry, I'm gonna be late for work. I gotta go! Give him my condolences and apologies when he wakes up!!" You called out, darting out of the tent flap like a scared lizard after tearing off the scrubs and grabbing your regular clothes to pull on, despite the blood stains, practically marathon-running 2 miles to work, before slamming the café door behind you as if barricading it from a zombie onslaught.
A few regulars fell silent as they watched you slink behind the counter like a kicked puppy, before whispering under their breaths about the bandaged, bedraggled, half-awake employee looking like they just escaped a slaughterhouse.
"We're closing earlier today. Around 3pm," a recognisable voice called out. It was your Boss. You two got on well, despite not knowing eachother all too well, "I have an...unexpected appointment later, and don't want to leave you to cover the shift alone. So just head home around that time, and I'll handle lock up time."
Apart from that, your shift went fairly smoothly. Bar one other thing...
Some time just before closing, a figure clad in green and heart motifs strolled in through the doors and directly to the counter, leaning over it to pin you to your spot with a smug grin.
"Well, hello there, my dear. I believe we've never met formally. I am the–"
"The Harlequin. I know. Don't think I didn't hear Doctor berating you when you were spying on me earlier," you interrupted with a heavy sigh, turning away to prepare another order, "Anyway, either order something or get out. Boss doesn't want you lot flyering and promoting and causing a ruckus in here."
With a slightly wounded, mock-offended look, the Harlequin glanced to the menu for a long second before drawling on.
"An iced coffee, please. Anyway, that's not why I'm here.....what have you been doing with our Ticket man? Jester said you'd attacked him and broke his arm– and that would explain the bandages on your neck and wrist. Yknow if you wanted to be held that tightly that badly, you could always just come to m–"
"Pipe it, green bean, I have paying customers waiting in line," you droned with clear annoyance, "I'm not here to be harrassed."
"...yknow he woke up earlier, right? First thing he did was ask after you. Sent Doc to try find you. Failed miserably, of course, but now that I've found you.....he'd kill me if I didn't take you back. Serve these customers, then lets go," he mumbled, seeming strangely sincere.
"Bet," you reply, slamming his drink onto the counter with a glimmer of defiance in your eyes, before they unfocused slightly as the heatstroke sent a wave of prickling heat and dizziness through you, causing you to grab at the counter so you didn't collapse again.
"Woah, okay, sleeping beauty. We're not going back to bed just yet. Cmon. You're too sick to work. I'll put word in with your bossman. Wait here."
He sauntered off into the backroom, stayed for a few seconds during which you could hear the hum of mumbling voices and a concerned acceptance from your Boss, and then Harlequin was back out and taking you by the arm.
"After you, my dear. Lets go see your knight in shining armour."
"Don't you mean my Prince Philip?"
"Qué?"
"Sleeping Beauty. The prince is called Prince Phili–" You stopped yourself suddenly, as if finally realising what you're doing correcting the romantic lineage of a prince and princess, and promptly shut up, flushing slightly warmer, though you're not sure if it's the fever or...the new feeling in your chest. "Shut up".
When the two of you finally reached the gates again, who could be waiting but the 6ft Ticket Taker, his arm secure in a sling of bandages and cloth, and his face a mask of polite, stern exasperation. However, you noticed the slight softening of his one visible white eye as his shoulders dropped slightly. He shuffled up to meet you, his hand reaching out subtly towards yours, yet he pulled back, settling for a glare and backhanded statement:
"You're an idiot for collapsing on the road, but..." he looked away slightly as he said it, swallowing the lump in his throat, "thank you. For not just leaving me to die. I owe you one..."
And with that, he shuffled away back through the gate and to Doctor, wincing slightly but audibly as he went.