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Strictly speaking, it had been irresponsible, to ever let Branzy go.
Clown had sure as hell gotten shit from it. From Redd, from Zam, from everyone he cared about and a few people he didn’t. Even Spoke had looked at him warily, even if he should know better than anyone that an omega was perfectly capable of existing independently.
But, perhaps because Spoke did exactly that, he knew why it was a bad idea. Why Branzy might not be suited to it.
Well, Clown had done the best he could. Branzy was mated, so he’d be safe in that much, and Clown was known enough underground that if Branzy got himself in real trouble, he’d just be delivered back to Clown’s doorstep with apologies.
Which hadn’t happened. Touché, Branzy, and congratulations. Clown wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t proud. Branzy had walked the line carefully, clearly, since Clown had heard nothing, and neither had Branzy turned up in any detection centres. He hadn’t strayed too far, too close or distant from the law.
Hence why Clown had trusted him. Proven retroactively, admittedly, but he was proven right nonetheless. Even Redd had dropped it, after Branzy hadn’t appeared back in their reports dead or kidnapped.
Besides, as Clown would politely and mildly maintain to anyone who sought to speak against his decisions, that it hadn’t been. Branzy had left, entirely without Clown’s approval. Anything that happened after that was, to any reasonable mind, the work of a hysterical and errant omega, no refection on him.
And how nice it would be, if Clown actually fucking believed a word of that.
No, of course he blamed himself. He’d been doing damage control, more Etna anything, and everything else had been luck.
Of all the alphas baying for his flesh, for letting his omega go running off without a trace, Clown found himself the most inclined to drag claws through his own flesh, or simply to tangle his fingers in his own hair and stare, hard, at his own desktop, not at their nest, wondering what he’d done wrong. There had to be something. Branzy had been happy, at some point, or they’d never have gotten this far.
Maybe it would have been better, if Branzy had fought him from the start. That way, Clown would have been more careful with him already, had ways to stop him running away before the fact. Branzy might have been playing the long game, and he’d played it well, and Clown was determined, now.
When he got Branzy back, he wouldn’t be leaving again. Clown felt like that was a reasonable expectation. Branzy wanted to play runaway, and Clown could treat him like a fugitive. He’d been getting better than he deserved, anyway, a sentiment Clown would only express with utmost fondness, in contrast to Redd’s incessant grumbling and slanted threats.
Until then, though…
Waiting.
Clown was patient. Branzy would be safe, he had Clown’s marks all over him, hell, he’d run away wearing Clown’s clothes, stumbling directly into Clown’s territory and probably frightening himself immediately out of going too far. No one would touch him.
And he was smart. Smart enough to find something for himself, out there, even if Clown was confident it would never be good enough. He was the sort of alpha to make sure his omega wanted to stay, and it appealed, in some masochistic way, that clearly he hadn’t done enough. It was the right sort of challenge, to fuel into and bounce off the growling protectiveness that wouldn’t leave him alone, even when he made it patently clear he wasn’t actually worried about Branzy.
He wasn’t worried about Branzy.
It was just his omega, somewhere out there, having run away scared or angry or plain upset, somehow still hiding, a month later, and Clown hated himself twice as hard as Kaboodle was annoyed at him, for ever daring to let Branzy be anything less than happy.
Maybe he’d give it another week. Then he’d send out dogs—human ones, probably, although it would depend where his anxiety had lead him. Clown had the entire power of his business and enforcers at his disposal. They’d find one omega, easy, as soon as he said the word.
He just hadn’t, yet. Because he trusted Branzy. Because he was patient.
Because it would be better, to make his own point abundantly clear and correct, when he’d said Branzy would never find a better life than at his side.
——————
In the end, Branzy had turned up exactly where Clown hadn’t bothered to look for him.
And promptly bolted, as soon as Clown had slipped into their bedroom, fully intending to find a pair of Branzy’s earrings and ask Zam to make some more in his style for when he got back. He’d been considering gifts, recently, after Kab had gotten him a new set of show ribbons, and-
Well, he hadn’t expected to find Branzy napping, curled up and face down like he always slept.
So surprised, in fact, that Branzy had managed to squeak something that was entirely distinct from human words, and make it out the window before Clown had gotten past his instinct to pull his gun, viciously quashed by his inner alpha, in equal turmoil to his rationale.
That hesitancy was what he was currently cursing himself for, as he called in a lockdown on the compound, and pulled the same gun as before, checking to unload it fully of bullets. He could smell blood. Not a usual talent of his, but when it was his omega’s, and his adrenaline had risen to almost cover his ears Clown found himself in possession of previously unconsidered talents.
Branzy was bleeding. Branzy was alive. Branzy was here, and Clown had dealt with far more difficult intruders than an omega that belonged to him.
“Ferre?”
His phone was pressed between his shoulder and his ear, his voice wonky through his mask, but he couldn’t adjust it, not when he was stashing bullets in the pockets beneath his ribbon belt. Thanks, Kab. She knew how to give a gift.
”Awake and reporting, against my better judgement.”
“Get the exits.”
”Attaboy. Finally got your puppy back?”
“No, I’ve just decided to hunt you for sport. Get Pili up.”
The line went dead, without so much as an affirmation from Ferre, but Clown chose his men well. Ferre had probably already enacted lockdown procedure, as had his guards, poor bastards, who might have been trying to sleep.
They worked for him. This whole world, or his slice of it, answered to him. Clown would be damned if he didn’t get what he wanted out of tonight.
Pili was the next to call, as Clown was shoving open the nearest window, and vaulting onto the thin overhang and down onto the courtyard in the centre of the compound.
“ClownPierce speaking.”
”Uh- yeah, hey boss. Someone wants to talk to you. There is…”
Clown could hear Pili breathing, ragged and measured, near and far simultaneously to the speaker. He paused, eyeing the fountain gleaming in the moonlight, and tried futilely to match the sound to something he could hear from part of the surrounding buildings.
“Pili?”
”A gun. O- ok, I- I’m talking to him! Oh- and- they have a knife, too. That is- not near my head right now now- don’t kill me, I’m trying here!”
“Put him on.”
A few steps forward, and Clown could prop his elbows on the stone rim of the basin, gazing into the ink-black waters lying still beneath. The fountain turned off, during the night. It gave his pace, now, to think, and to level his heartbeat.
Clown was a creature of self-restraint. Of patience. He’d waited a month. He could wait the few more seconds it took Pili to fumble with his phone.
”Just- take it, please, I-“
“Yeah. Thanks.”
It wasn’t fair, really, for that to be the first thing Clown hear from his omega, after a whole month. It wasn’t nice. It was ragged, and hoarse, and that battle-weariness Branzy got when he’d worked hard, normally to the bone, because Clown could measure his effort, but Branzy worked best when he was looking absolutely no further than the end of his current tool.
He fought so hard, and hurt so much.
Maybe Clown had missed this, after all, even if it wasn’t the traditional soft-spoken, whimpering omega an abandoned alpha could hope for.
“Hello.”
”Hi.”
Was Branzy waiting for him? Clown hardly wanted to call it deference, but of the two of them, he probably had more air in his lungs. Even if Branzy was trying to triangulate him by making him talk, just a glance out of any of the windows would reveal a jester’s silhouette against the darkened courtyard. Clown wasn’t the one hiding.
“Don’t kill any of my people.”
Branzy’s laugh, another thing he’d missed. The water rippled, and Clown’s hand slipped off the edge it had been gripping, and dipped momentarily into the ink. It came out unstained, but dripping slightly, and Clown cursed his own instinct’s tension.
”Wouldn’t dream of it. Oh- am- am I a part of that?”
“Meet me outside and find out.”
Clown listened patiently, drawing his fingertips through the water to cast more ripples chasing after his moment of emotional outburst, as Branzy’s hysterical giggle lapsed into a sigh. Then another one, more pointed, and Clown wondered if Pili still had a gun to his head, or if Branzy hadn’t bothered to remove it.
”You- you’re going to kill me, right?”
“If you ask nicely.”
”Outside means… not really outside
“If I were you? I wouldn’t be considering that.”
”W- wonderful…”
“Stupid games, stupid prizes, BranzyCraft. Pili can take you.”
”I know my way around.” Branzy sounded so cute, when he was petulant. Another item of the list of things that would make another alpha faint, Clown liked his omega complaining at him. Branzy always had something to be upset about, it was like a life sim, except Clown got the full dopamine of caring for a full person, instead of digital replicas. ”And how do- do you know he’s even still alive? I have a knife.”
“I’m aware.”
Clown was going to use it to cut Branzy’s hair. He wouldn’t have bothered to have it done himself, and it would be just the right thing. Then, Clown could decide if he’d give it back. It might look like an objectively stupid idea, to let an irresponsible omega go wandering around with a sharpened knife, but it had been an anniversary gift, and Clown wasn’t that cruel.
”So- he could be dead. I- I could be a murderer, Clown, did you think about-“
Branzy was distracting himself, in the process of trying to distract Clown. It was in the way his voice was rising, pleading to be believed, and it was such an ineffective way to lie, but most people were stupid.
“Outside, Branzy. Bring Pili.”
Clown wasn’t stupid. He knew Branzy better than Branzy knew himself, he could map Branzy’s organs with one hand, he could map everywhere Branzy had been and he’d burn them all down if it proved to Branzy that he belonged here, where of course he didn’t need to guide, but Clown wanted him to feel homesick from the place he really belonged.
”Rude.”
“Outside. I know you’re bleeding.”
”M- mhm…”
That was more like it. Clown hung up, this time, because Branzy wouldn’t, and looked back down into the water. He could hardly see his own reflection. Branzy had picked a hell of a time of night to turn up again.
Movement flickered, passing over the moonlight, and Clown’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing directly at Ferre.
“What now?”
“What do you mean what now?” Ferre rolled his eyes, detaching his own mask with brusque efficiency. “You should be happy.”
Ferre had every right to be furious at him, actually, for endangering Pili. True, it hadn’t been Clown’s fault, but it had been his omega, and he had responsibilities.
The same responsibilities that should have told him to chain Branzy to their nest, as soon as his instincts had given warning. The ones that were meant to make him a good alpha, and he hadn’t exactly been delivering on that, not in any way anyone or his instincts accepted.
Clown was waiting, for a long time, for Ferre to start yelling at him. It would make it feel right. Make something feel correct, when it felt a little like he’d done everything wrong.
“Yell.”
It was a bit of a command. Clown didn’t know how long Branzy would take, he only knew he wasn’t here yet, because he could still hear his own heartbeat louder than his omega’s.
“For what? I think you’ve finally proven, Clown, that you really do know better than everyone else.”
“I fucked up. This is just… the shit that I get out of it.”
“He came back.”
“A month.”
“You did fine.” Ferre shrugged, circling the fountain, not getting close enough to make Clown bite him, as he abruptly realised he was liable to. “Not mad about Pili, either. He was the one who insisted on chasing your puppy down.”
“Thought he’d get through to him?”
“Yup. Yours is a different kind of breed.”
That…
Yeah.
Pili was no match for Branzy. They both looked like spun sugar and mania, but when Branzy’s woven shell cracked, it was ash and hellfire underneath. Pili just pivoted, laughing out of the way.
Branzy probably would have shot, if Pili hadn’t given him the phone.
Clown was smiling, when Ferre dipped his mask into the water, washing out what looked vaguely like crusted blood with a low hum. It was like nothing was wrong at all, in their world, and Clown couldn’t even muster a sniping comment about security duties clearly being left unfulfilled.
The smile froze, when Clown caught a hint of gunmetal and lavender.
Branzy was staring at the floor, as he held a gun awkwardly to Pili’s temple, finger resting capably on the trigger. His feet scuffed at the stone of the courtyard, his hair ragged, and uncut, and what looked like decently unwashed. He was wearing new clothes, but they were torn, and Clown wasn’t very fond of any of it.
“Pili. Heel.”
Thank fuck Ferre spoke first. Clown had still been working up to something, working around the boulder sinking down his throat that he put have inhaled alongside Branzy’s scent. He wasn’t sure he’d have gotten there for a little while longer.
With one, nervous look back at Branzy, who nudged him gently with the muzzle of the gun that left a smear of grease across his forehead, Pili scampered off, rounding behind Ferre, who hardly acknowledged him.
It was the evening, it seemed, for their omegas running away from dangerous things.
Clown stepped into the empty space left, head tilted and posture careful, formal, relaxed. He was patient. He was a paragon of restraint, he trusted Branzy, to make the right choice, to think what he was meant to think, to learn when a lesson was offered.
With a small, sad, shaky sigh, Branzy tossed the gun onto the ground, and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the elbow that had bent to do so, clinging to his own torn skin like a comfort. “Hi.”
“You did that bit already.”
“I- I need a doctor.”
“Hm.”
“Do you- want me to beg?” Branzy’s eyes shone with moonlight, with tears, as his voice threatened to shatter, as it did when he was more than merely tired. “I will. I- I really will, I- I came back.”
“He did do that. Clown, we-“
“Yeah. Go.”
Clown didn’t bother to look back, at whatever sardonic salute Ferre gave him, or how he decided to drag a probably terrified Pili away with him. He heard the footsteps going, and his territorial instincts unwound a little, and that was more than enough. He’d see Ferre again, sometime, but for now, he had better priorities.
Like watching Branzy, who physically shivered, as they were left alone. Now Clown was looking, his clothing was sufficient, but far beneath what would keep him warm. Branzy always forgot that a constant chill wasn’t how most people existed.
He’d get some comfort, soon. But not quite for free.
“S- so-“
“Beg.”
Something flickered. Branzy’s eyes narrowed, for just a heartbeat, and there was an idea of irritation, buried somewhere in the blood dried low on his cheek. It was barely visible. It made Clown’s blood rush.
Particularly when it vanished, and Branzy nodded, murmuring to himself in a steady stream of self-soothing. To Clown’s mild admiration, he got as far as his knees, before he stalled again, and looked up. His hands rested on his lap, but he was shivering properly, now, and the blood soaked most of the way across his right arm glistened a little.
“I’m- so sorry. I shouldn’t have run, or- or- not trusted you, a- and-“
“I don’t give a fuck, BranzyCraft.” Clown crouched, settling with one shin on the ground, leaning on the other knee. It put them back on level footing. “If that had been the problem, you’d have been back here already.”
Branzy still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Maybe because there were tears in his, running down his face until he wiped them away, and scowled. Just at himself, apparently, because his voice was back to wavering, when it rose to address Clown again.
“I should have… stayed. L- listened. Sorry. Sorry. Please, c- can-“ Branzy’s hand twitched, climbing back up blood-soaked fabric, which stuck to and deformed under his fingers like only a semi-congealed liquid could. “Clown, p- please-“
And Clown felt sick, as he went still, his other knee nearly hitting the ground to mirror Branzy. He was a terrible alpha.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re good, Branzy. Get up.”
“‘M gonna die…”
“You are not.”
Branzy whined, and…
Clown should have seen the play coming, when his omega slumped into him, because Branzy giggled. He’d survived worse than blood loss, but apparently, faking an injury to be worse than it was was a worthy price to pay for some physical contact.
Clown, for all his many, many failings, wouldn’t deny his omega this. Not when Branzy was shivering, violently, and his laughter turned to smaller sounds, something akin to sobs, and he was clinging on like Clown letting go would hurt worse than anything that might have happened to him while he’d been gone.
It very well might. Hurt both of them, that was. Clown couldn’t hear his own heart any more, because Branzy’s was a patter against the other Sid of his skin, and it was right. His head found the place his mating bite scarred, and Branzy nuzzled into his neck just the same, and everything smelled of sugar.
“Th- thank you…”
Clown moved his knee, the one he’d been leaning on, pinning Branzy in place with his ankle and a hold that let him feel his spine. To get away, Branzy would have had to push him off in every direction, and even then, Clown could have grabbed him and yanked him back down before he got off his knees.
“You’re good. I’m not angry. You did well.”
“Mhm?”
Branzy was going to be the death of him. Clown was glad he’d bitten straight through his skin, because otherwise, he might still have no idea how many masks his omega had to wear. But it didn’t matter, not if every part of Branzy was still his, and the space between them would only ever be the space Branzy needed to make himself brilliant.
“Needy.” Clown scoffed, pulling Branzy closer, closer, trying to find a fresh way beneath his skin. “Smart omega. Mine.”
There was a point of desperate need at which making sense stopped making sense. If he was taking the time to form logical sentences, that was time he wasn’t thinking about his omega, his mate, his everything, who Clown had missed, more than he had words for, and Branzy wasn’t the only one crying.
“Mh- I- I am bleedng…”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
With a happy sort of noise, Branzy melted into him, and Clown ran his fingers over his omega’s scent glands, again and again, because Branzy was vibrating. Maybe they both were. This was good, and something must have been right, even if Clown had done everything wrong.
This felt too right, for him to have made that many mistakes.