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“He’s… gonna be ok, right?”
“…I don’t know.”
“He’s gonna be ok. We- we’ll get him back.”
“I don’t know, Rekrap.”
“They said-“
“I don’t know.”
“They said we’d get him back. They- they wouldn’t have lied. We’ve given them- not quite everything they- but- we’ll get him back, right?”
“I… really don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Clown?”
——————
A pale hand smoothed over the white bedsheets beside his cheek. A flinch rose up his spinal cord, but his body was heavy, and comfortable, and burningly warm all over in a way that made him shiver.
The weight beside him shifted, the mattress compressing and redistributing their joint weight. A little more of the light filtered through, real sunlight, yellow and sparkling and warm. Coming in through a real window, not truncated by bars, but the body sitting quietly beside him.
“…please wake up.”
He was awake. Awake, and almost but not quite aware, his senses cloudy through the layer of ice melting off him in burns. He breathed in, and tasted plastic, and the strange chill of his own breath, and exhaled to feel something tug at his shoulder, when it dropped a little with the movement of his chest.
“Please.”
There was definitely something tugging at his arm. Panic, vaguely, but lessened, something smothering it. He was warm, he was so warm, and it was a bliss he couldn’t cast his mind back far enough to remember further. When he tried to throw the line out, it skittered across ice, and found no way to get beneath the surface. His mind was frozen, thawing, slowly, with the gentle touch to his cheek, skimming over whatever was strapped over his mouth.
“It’s… Rek. You- might have forgotten some things. Or- nothing. We don’t… really know. But it’s Rek, if- if you can’t tell.”
Rek brushed his hair out of his face. It went easily, long enough to catch on his ears and strange plastic mask, but softer than his skin expected. Washed. But longer.
Everything felt clean. His arms, torso, the tops of his legs, everything felt carefully cleaned, and now wrapped in softness and warmth. It was heaven, some kind of reward he could never deserve.
Outside of that, though, there was nothing. His fingers were wrapped in something else, a similar softness, but closer, so much closer. Between each one, rendering him almost unable to move his hand, if he could bring himself to move anything. The same seemed to go for his feet, not that he could feel anything, below his shins.
The softness pressed a little closer around his shoulders, as Rek tucked the blanket a little more under him, a tenderness like he was worried the bare skin under his fingertips would shatter if he so much as breathed on it.
“You’re ok, Branzy. You can wake up, please.”
The thing in his arm seemed to pulse, his blood wending its way through his limbs in an endless loop, only it felt wrong. Some things felt wrong, but it had been so long since he’d felt right.
“Please. Please wake up.”
——————
In those old cinemas, the ones he and Rek had snuck into, when they were stupid children, and marvelled at the antiques they found inside of, they had played films made of pictures. Countless pictures, one after the other, flickering forwards and forwards and faster and faster until they formed something that passed for a coherent story.
Those pictures were playing, now, in Branzy’s mind. Backwards, forward, the tape was spinning to his unsteady heartbeats, as his fingers tightened around the metal pole the needle in his arm was tied to.
It got faster. It got slower. More Rek. More childhood. Now darkness, cold, no sunlight, the same not-blue walls. Rek, pushing the pancakes he’d pretended o buy for himself across the table. His own voice, daring Rek to chase him. Rek, laughing as he barrelled both of them into the side of a hill after less than half a mile. Cold, pain, metal in his mouth and to his throat.
More pain. School cancelled, teachers changing, tasks and tasks and routines mounting up until Rek was at his window, asking to come in, telling Branzy he could do it different, and it wouldn’t kill him. Rek, holding his hand as he went to sleep without his routines, showing him his own head was the only thing keeping him awake and afraid.
Real fear, a metal wall against his back, the path he had to pace half a dozen times a day or they would kill him, they would tear his flesh from bone and leave his body somewhere Rek would never find. The thousand, thousand, hundred things that felt like they kept him alive. It all getting worse, every good thing Rek had taught him crumbling in the face of his absolute, all-consuming need to control his own mortality.
Wooden floor under his feet. His eyes cut through, the tape cutting out, before it all started rushing again. He and Rek had sat in that cinema. They’d shared a chocolate bar they’d stolen earlier that day, and his own voice played like a recording again, mapping out stories onto the torn projector screen.
Branzy’s eyes found walls, and a ceiling, and a door, just a few steps in front of him, before Rek’s laughter was back. Saying they could be those superheroes. Saying that together, they could be more. They could be something.
The metal pole shifted, and the world lurched. Clown, now. A name to a face he didn’t see for years, a name he didn’t dare believe he could say for half that time. Clown’s writing on the note under his door. Clown, looking over his shoulder, across the abandoned multi-store, beckoning Branzy closer. Clown, asking him. Clown, offering his hand.
Clown, reintroducing Branzy to Rek. Introducing him to Minute. Introducing him to Leo. Introducing him to Parrot. Introducing him to Hannah. Introducing him to Derapchu. Clown, standing with his arms spread in the base he’d made for the three of them, the first three, the two who’d ever wanted Branzy anywhere, let alone in their lives. Clown, dragging Rek into bed, smothering him until he agreed, laughing, to finally sleep.
Clown, holding Branzy’s hands, telling him very seriously that he wasn’t okay, that he needed something, help, real kindness for loving the way he did. Clown, always replying to his messages, always leaving the base how Branzy needed it. Clown, indulging him, indulging him over and over and even when Ash murmured that Branzy seemed more effort than he was worth, just to keep him from itching his own skin off.
Everything was bad again, now. It took effort, to find his feet, because there were things he had to do. Routines. Rituals, maybe, that would be better. There were ways Branzy had kept him alive, kept his head thinking that he was alive, because his thoughts would consume themselves if he didn’t indulge the endless compulsions.
And he hadn’t even had Clown. Hadn’t even had Rek. Hadn’t had anyone, and that, that was why he needed to do so much. They balanced it out, for him. If he knew them, knew every waking moment of their lives, it would take up enough of his thoughts that he’d forget to obsess over other, stupider things. His people weren’t stupid. They were his, and it had hurt almost more than the ache that jolted up his leg every time he took a step, to have to be apart form them for so long.
More steps. The slideshow was slowing down, and Branzy could almost, not quite, breathe. He’d taken the mask off. It had been bad plastic, and a strap that had been easy to detangle from his hair, not like the gags Clown offered him the choice of, or the buckles that his fingers always slipped off, if he tried to get them off his neck. Not that he did.
But the mask had needed to come off, his eyes had skimmed over the terrifying machine it was attached to, and now, it was harder to breathe. Easier, without the plastic, but his lungs weren’t taking to it. Branzy was struggling, difficult breath after difficult breath, but he needed to walk.
The needle hadn’t been coming out. His memories felt like they were being buried under layers of snow, but Branzy remembered Rek, adjusting it, with small movement, finding the spot under his arm. If Rek had put it in, it shouldn’t come out. He owed Rek that, after so long not being there to keep him safe and worry and ask him the right questions and make him feel adored.
Rek was here. Rek was somewhere, here. Sense of place, time, reality were all fuzzy, but Rek had been near him, he’d touched Branzy’s skin.
Nothing made sense. His mind was frozen, even if his body felt almost warm. Almost human.
Branzy closed his eyes, and stumbled a few steps, reworking his routine to accommodate his own failing. Five more steps, then he could turn, and he’d have to go back. There should be a window, too, that he could tap against. No bars, in this new place, that didn’t even feel familiar. But glass should work. He’d see if his thoughts accepted it.
Turn. Back again. Branzy stuttered his own breaths, timing them to his steps, but the picture movie wouldn’t quit. He kept seeing things, and he felt cold, cold, his body was failing under him, and he was walking so slowly. Something was wrong with him. Maybe Rek had given up on him, maybe Clown had finally gotten tired.
It was icy maybes, and stuttering steps, until Rek’s hand clasped around the bandages on his, forcing him to a stop.
Rek.
Branzy was a puppy in disbelief, staring at one of his two favourite people in the whole entire world in awe, delight, and deep, coursing fear, like a river under an iceberg that was about to bring his whole idea of happiness crashing down.
Rek was looking back at him, smiling, but there was fear in his eyes, too, the endless well of concern, but happy, but scared, but Rek, and Rek was her, in front of him again.
“You… need to be in bed. Not- not that- oh, god, Branzy, it- it is so good to see you awake.”
More staring, tears gathering, freezing and stinging at his eyes, even if it was warm in here.
Rek shook his head, quickly, as Branzy tried his greatest hardest not to cry, and launched onto him, careful not to knock his grip off the pole. Or off his feet, numb and barely balancing himself. He just held on, a small bundle of summer warmth and blanket forts they made together, and happiness, and tears of his own, pressed into Branzy’s shoulder.
“You’re awake. You’re- alive.”
“Mhm. G- good- good morning to you too.”
That was what he always said. That was why it came at all, even if it didn’t come easy. Nothing came easy. Branzy had to fight, to unlatch one hand from the pole, just so he could nearly hug Rek back like a functional person.
Which he wasn’t. Which had been frozen and knocked out of him, and even the pure ecstasy of seeing his favourite person wouldn’t wipe out the itching building under his skin.
“Frick, Branzy…”
Rek had missed him. Branzy was crying harder, nearly collapsing as his energy drained into staying functional and presentable, but crying was ok. He’d been alone, for so long. And Rek had thought about him, and sometimes, so often, he thought he didn’t exist. That he had to reprove his worth in existence every time he saw someone again.
And Rek had missed him, and everything was ok in the world.
“Ok. Are- are you good? You shouldn’t be walking, you will not be walking, but- did you take anything off?”
That mask. None of the bandages had, but that hadn’t been by Branzy’s effort. And Rek was already upset at him, and he was pouting without thinking, slumping on the pole he was gripping with all his meagre strength and doing his best puppy eyes in search of more of that euphoric approval at the sight of him.
“…Branzy.”
“N- nothing. I promise. I- I’m good.”
He was. He’d been thinking of them, constantly, and now he was seeing Rek again, it felt like stakes he hadn’t even realised had sunk inside him were being removed, the pain of being apart from his people eased long after he’d become accustomed to the agony. That felt like he was good. He loved Rek, that much.
“If… you’re sure. Let’s get you back to bed.”
He probably looked a little psychotic. Even if Rek was one of the few people who knew him, who knew the way he needed to do some things, Branzy had been gone for so long. He’d understand, if his best friend had forgotten him.
Branzy just nodded, small and chastened, and let Rek lead him by the hand back into the room he still hadn’t seen properly, the room with windows that let in real sunlight and a soft bed and a chair beside it. The room with a laptop on the sofa, cushions on the floor, snacks and books on the table, looking like a half-constructed campsite indoors. Like Rek or someone else had been living here, crossing the threshold as minimally as possible.
Someone else.
“C- Clown.”
“He’s here.” Rek knew him, knew that was a question, even if Branzy felt dumb, sitting down on the mattress and shivering, slightly. It wasn’t cold in here, not at all, but it was instinct. “He’s just… a little busy. Minute’s the one who did your IV, and got us all of this stuff.”
Rek nudged the machine Branzy had deliberately ignored with his foot, guiding him to lie back down at the same time. Branzy stared at it, struggling to read, but nodded. Minute was nice.
“Also not here right now. But he can be. If- anything goes wrong with you.”
Branzy hadn’t been looking gat Rek, but at that, his head snapped up, and he felt like an idiot, for the suggestion scaring him so deeply.
“N- no. I’m fine. Th- thank you, Rek. Seriously.”
They must believe that. This IV was probably just while he’d been asleep, but he was awake now, and Branzy couldn’t imagine whatever had happened to him could still be bad enough to bother them, if he was up and walking.
Rek just stared at him, and shook his head, wordlessly. Something close to panic welled in Branzy’s throat, as he picked up the mask again, turning it over in his hands, and careful not to touch the inside.
“I- I’m fine. I was- I was walking, Rek-“
“You’ve had frostbite. For… the past four days. That we’ve had you. Before then…” Rek trailed off, swallowed, and shook his head. “You couldn’t have been in the snow for more than an hour. But that’s… a really long time. And- and you’re not ok. I don’t care if you think you are. I’m telling you, Branzy. You’re not ok.”
“…Rek. Wh- where… where have I- I been?”
Soft hazel eyes found his, and Branzy couldn’t find it in himself to swallow, feeling like every part of him wrapped in bandages, and the IV in his arm, and where the oxygen mask had pressed into his face, and the gauze and antiseptics and soothing creams were all tingling against his skin. He was fine. He had to be.
“Somewhere we couldn’t find you. For- a long time. We think… some mountains in Antarctica, but that… was just where we found you. Where they left you.”
“How- how long?”
Rek hesitated. Branzy saw it, and his stomach dropped, and he felt like he might be about to pass out. He felt like gusts of pure ice crystals were raking over this body, and he was shivering again, even if it wasn’t cold, not at all. He was cold. He was the one making the room cold, he was the one making Rek look so tired.
“…just a few weeks. Not- too long.”
“How- how many? How many is a few, R-Rek?”
It had felt longer. Relief was like ice in his veins, the idea that he hadn’t left his team so long, that they wouldn’t have had time to forget him.
“Two.”
“Two weeks?”
“Just two. Clown- was the one who found you.”
“…oh.”
So Clown was here. Branzy felt like he should be lighting up inside, but the fear of Clown was so much sharper than that of Rek. Rek, he could win back. Clown would hurt so much more, if he so much as glanced at Branzy in disappointment.
“He’s okay too.” Rek’s hand found his, holding on tight, tight in the way they did when they were stupid kids and Branzy had still thought it was ok to hold onto everything like he could stop it going away. “Just busy.”
Too busy for him. Branzy had always been the weak link, and now he just didn’t matter to them. That was fair, but it still hurt worse than a kick to the gut, and he had very good experience of both to compare currently.
“Can- can I see him?”
They’d told him it was ok to ask for things. Branzy had never learnt not to, with Rek. He’d taught himself, that and a thousand other ways to pretend to be normal, but with Rek, he just wanted everything and it felt like it was ok, what he had to offer in return.
“…maybe. Branzy, he- he just… doesn’t like seeing you hurt.”
So it was his fault.
“…it- its my fault.”
“No.” Rek’s firmness caught Branzy off guard, and he froze, almost prepared to bolt, if there hadn’t been an IV drip in his arm and a distinct weakness in his limbs. “Not your fault. None of this is- is any of our faults. It was- idiots, who thought they could get at us with you, who wanted to stop us- doing what we do, and- they got you, but that’s not your fault, or anyone’s. You do not, Branzy, you are not going to blame yourself.”
The spiel seemed to leave both of them speechless. Rek was breathing hard by the end, that exhausted, corned rabbit look of fierce desperation in his eyes, glaring down at Branzy, who wasn’t sure what to feel. Not upset. Not upset, because he normally felt roughly what Rek felt, and what Rek was feeling was indescribable. Anger, and weary determination, and a frustration that refused to find its home anywhere.
“…yessir.”
Branzy giggled, terrified, and Rek relaxed. It was a sudden thing, like he’d remembered how he was meant to operate, slumping back in the chair with a sigh.
“Good. The IV only has to stay in until Minute comes to take it out, now you’re conscious. We can… talk about the bandages later, n- neither of us are ready for that yet. And… we want to psych assess you.”
“For- for what? They can’t have- done that much to me, in two weeks. Right?”
“…yeah. Suppose they can’t have. But- better safe the sorry, right?”
“…Right."