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The bustle of the kitchen was loud and chaotic. Clown barely noticed when Ash called out to him, saying something about having to work on the roof. Kantje was hurrying somewhere, presumably he forgot to dust an area again, Div and Bit were commanding the kitchen easily in Ash’s temporary absence. It seemed to be a normal morning. His movements were robotic; the main thing occupying his mind being the obvious sabotage on the boiler. Too many questions revolved in Clown’s mind, only being broken out of the trance when Ivory brushed past Clown in the hallway. Her footsteps are loud on the polished, wooden floors. Clown shouted, “Ivory, what—”
Ivory shouted back, “Kantje, Kantje, he broke the boiler.”
She hurried off in the direction the mousy man had headed only seconds before.
Clown’s blood ran cold, he turned back to where the young woman had come from. The familiar, haunting smell of smoke reaching his nose, passing through his polished mask. His voice was distant, his mind was twenty years back, watching the horrors of war unfold, the same rotten smell of smoke present.
“Div, get everyone out of the house.”
Div paused, the movements of the kitchen continuing around him,
“What? Why?”
The choked black smoke pouring out of the basement was enough to help Div process.
“Oh sh—”
He cut himself off and turned around,
“EVERYONE OUT! FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.”
The business paused, quickly replaced with the urgency and nervousness needed to hopefully get everyone out. Clown was still staring at the open door. The fire was spreading quickly. It’s fingers reaching for the stairs.
The smoke poured into the sky. The flickers of destructive flames covered the town. Red was sitting next to him, wheezing from exhaustion. Blood was pouring into Clown’s eyes. Numbness.
They were all dead. They were all dead. He couldn’t save anyone. Red would’ve gotten out anyway. It was useless. He was useless. He couldn’t save anyone.
The painfully familiar sound of an explosion echoed through the house.
Ash. Ash was on the roof. Too far away. The steps blurred together, he was just putting one foot in front of another. The flames were reaching for him. His sleeve had caught on fire a floor ago.
A piece of lumber dropped from the feeling, nailing him on the shoulder. That’s when he noticed something; he could see the sky.
Clown exited the stairwell as soon as he could. The hallways were falling apart in front of his eyes. The smoke was thick enough to chew. The grey sky, choked with smoke, was visible from this floor. The roof was almost gone. Ash wasn’t there. He couldn’t see the familiar face anywhere. His eyes were watering from something other than the smoke. His mask melted from the incredible heat. He didn’t care if mad it out. He just had to know Ash did. A familiar voice called out, raspy from the poor air.
“Clown, I’m here.” There was a wet cough.
“I can’t lose you now, man.”
Ash was leaning against a wall. His leg was bloodied and clearly broken. His face was in a perpetual grimace, but he was alive. Clown rushed to him. The panic he was feeling internally was clearly showing through his horrible, scarred face. The air in here was becoming near unbearable as Clown reached for the fellow dying man.
Together they limped towards the stairs. The roof was falling apart and flames were licking at their feet. Ash was practically limp in Clown’s arms. The man was clearly barely hanging on.
Clown’s arm wrapped around his waist, steadying him as they began to walk down the stairs.
The stairs that were actively crumbling around them. They barely managed a flight before Clown’s shoulder gave up on them. The smoke was getting too much, both of the men could barely breathe in the hazy clouds.
Ash practically collapsed against the wall. Clown reached for him, years of longing bleeding into the movement. If Ash noticed, he didn’t say anything. He averted his eyes.
“You should go, you can make it. I hate to say it, but it’s my time.”
Clown paused,
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“But…”
“I’m not leaving you. I’m not… I can’t-” Clown’s voice broke. The calm demeanor breaking, the mask slipping, revealing the traumatized veteran who had seen too many die. He coughed and Ash winced at the sound, limping over to him.
“Then we have to move.”
He could barely walk, but he had a look of utter determination on his face.
They continued down the stairs.
The sound of different footsteps became louder. Voices. Firefighters.
Clown’s eyes rolled back in his head before promptly collapsing.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The cheap sterile lights are what he woke up to. His head hurt, his vision felt foggy, and… He didn’t have a mask. The soft tapping of a foot reminded him of the other presence in the room.
Red. Who else could it be? The brown-haired man was staring at Clown’s face.
The thing filled with scars, even more now. “You almost died, Clown.” Red’s voice sounded wrecked, like he hasn’t stopped crying in days.
But all Clown could think about was how he really wished to be having a different conversation.
“I didn’t though.”
His own voice surprised him, it was clearly unused and damaged from the copious amounts of smoke he had inhaled. He reached for Red, wincing as he lifted his arm. Red slowly grabbed his hand and lowered it back down, not letting go. His voice was a hushed whisper now.
“How many times have I told you about the nightmares? The ones where there is a fire and it’s only me leaving? That almost happened, Clown, except I wasn’t there at all. I can’t do that, Clown. My heart would still be beating, but I’d be dead.”
His voice dropped even lower,
“I can’t lose you, man. You’re the only one in this stupid fucking town that understands it.”
There was a heavy pause as the words registered. Clown finally answered, his throat somehow drier than before,
“I’m sorry.”
Red relaxed, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled at you for that. You wouldn’t be Clown without it.” He softly smiled, his dimples appearing.
“Is Ash…”
Red gripped his hand tighter.
“Yes. You two were the worst of it. Ash was conscious when the fire fighters found you; he’s a bit better off. When he fell through the roof, he landed in the attic and on his hands. The broken leg came from the floor collapsing under him twice. But, miraculously, he didn’t have a head injury.”
Clown could sense the glare Red was giving him, it was obvious even with the sunglasses.