Work Text:
Branzy was, admittedly, still working on parts of the casino, even though a certain killer clown told him to get rest.
Listen, it’s not his fault! He just noticed some of the redstone in one of the games could have, y’know, been done better?.. and it’s his job to fix that! Even if the casino was opened for a while now, it doesn’t hurt to have a deep-night, redstone-filled, calming..
Branzy doesn’t know where he was going with that.
Distantly, he remembers that the last time he took a look at any form of a clock, it read 2:14 A.M, which happened to be nearly 3 hours after Clown tried to lure him to sleep. In his defense, he had —over the course of a few days— gained the undefeated need to do something, and it just so happened that a game was acting off.
A boom of thunder jerks Branzy out of his little mental monologue. ‘Right, back to work you go, you!’ He hurriedly reminds himself as he brings out a pair of scissors, cutting some fried wiring.
Later in the night, where Branzy can hear the dull sound of rain hammering on the shell of the casino’s tent, his communicator pings (no, he did not jump out of his skin, and no, whoever said he did is lying). Gingerly, with redstone-stained fingers, he brings his communicator out of a pocket and-
The world buzzes, everything shifting roughly with a haze. But, to Branzy’s fortune, the ‘world reset’ (he thinks that’s what Spoke called it, at least) only lasts a few moments. However, to Branzy’s misfortune, the reset seemed to have..
..completely..
..shut off the lights in the casino.
(He supposes it was to be expected. The world reset does what it’s called: a reset. So code, that would be normally out of place, would reset back to its original or stationary position. He once heard from someone —Branzy thinks it was Mapicc— that the reset healed an injury that wouldn’t be possible to undo naturally.)
“Oh, this isn’t good.” In the dark, he mutters to himself.
He, with great care, stands up and somehow avoids the tools littered hazardously around the flooring.
Its pitch black, Branzy notes with a frown, not even his snow-white hair stands out.
He guesses this is the universes way of telling him to ‘hurry off to bed’, he fathoms, since being told by a pretty boy didn’t work out.
…
Branzy remembers a time when he would be embarrassed by even thinking that, but now he feels a sense of happiness whenever he thinks things similar to it. The feeling to get to call Clown his own? Best thing he’s ever felt. (A small, merry smile makes its way onto Branzy’s face, and he can’t seem to get rid of it.)
He yawns as he methodically makes small steps around where he can dimly see his tools, the need to sleep suddenly hitting him head on. Unfortunately, he has to either: a) first fix the generator, or b) turn on the smaller-manual-backup-generator-which-should-only-be-used-for-emergencies. Branzy counts this as an emergency, and seeing that the backup generator is closer, he counts this as a win.
The only possible con would be that, if he were to turn it on, the machinery powered by it would make an annoying, constant buzz. However, the bigger, and much nicer looking pro of the situation is that he gets to sleep. And, there’d be a dim red light, so he could at least see something with a little less effort.
Branzy goes to activate the backup generator.
~~~~~~~~~~
The hum of machinery is heard throughout the casino— the chronic buzzing echoing. Branzy dusts off his hands and ventures to their bedroom.
He isn’t aware of a now-awake Clown, who is very irritated.
~~~~~~~~~~
The sound of something cracking and breaking makes Branzy stumble, and stop. He turns to look behind him, deep into the hallway he’s in, where the noise seemed to have come from.
“..Hello?” Branzy asks out, only hesitating slightly. His voice wasn’t very audible over the machines’ groaning. He asks again, louder. “Clown?”
It’s a few moments of heavy silence before he heard a high trill. This confused Branzy, for both the reasons that the sound was behind him again (how did it change locations so fast?), and for-
Clown’s making bird noises?
This itself was weird. Clown told him he hadn’t had any urges to do that since he lost his wings, which was a few years ag-
There was a footstep behind him.
A creak in the wooden flooring.
The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped several degrees, goosebumps raising and prominent all over his arms. Everything in his being was telling him predator, predator, hide, run, so what does he do?
He slowly turns around like a comical horror movie character. Branzy would be giggling at that joke on any normal day, however, his ability to do anything of the sort has left his body (like his soul) the moment he saw the vague black outline of Clown leaning on the side of the archway. The only light even on him is just two, glowing-red eyes staring right at him —pupils slits.
Something tells him that this isn’t ‘Clown’ Clown. He chooses to trust that gut feeling.
Branzy, face pale-white and hands shaking, slowly puts one leg behind him. Even slower, he transfers his weight onto said leg, entire body tense and ready to spring. Filled to the brim on the human instinct that he is the prey in this situation, Branzy notices that Clown’s piercing (hah) stare has not moved. Neither has his entire body.
But something on his back moved, ever slightly. Branzy isn’t even sure how he noticed that-
A shrill, a very, very, sharp shrill engulfs the area and that’s when he knows it’s his cue to get out of there.
Branzy sprints out of there, another pair of footsteps —way too close to him for comfort— tell him so is Clown.
Branzy doesn’t think he’s been this terrified in a while- Branzy doesn’t think he’s been this terrified of Clown in a while. ‘Oh, this is so going to haunt me in my dreams, isn’t it?’ He ponders.
…
‘Okay, this is gonna haunt my dreams if I make it out of here alive.’ Branzy corrects himself.
~~~~~~~~~~
The two have been switching pathways and rooms like it’s their lives on the line (it probably is for him), objects cluttering around and stools falling in the midst. Branzy already feels the physical pain —which in retrospect might be because of the near heart attack caused by someone he cares about very much— from the future cleaning he’ll have to do.
He’s gasping for air, sheer adrenaline fueling him. Branzy doesn’t see this ending well for him, if Clown is hunting him. (He is, right?)
The main room is coming up —the one filled with the more basic games and bars. Lots of potential hiding spots for him to take cover and, potentially, not die from a heart attack.
“Clo-wn!” Branzy yells out, yelping as he nearly stumbled to his doom. ‘Darn that vase!’ He mentally hates. Branzy keeps on running, the vase audibly rolling around, the rapid footsteps receding-
Wait. The footsteps receding?
Branzy practically throws himself behind the bar, heart hammering out of his chest. He pushes himself against the wall, using a hand to muffle his hasty breathing. For a few moments, Branzy collects himself, and then, although regretting it dearly, he slowly lifts himself to see with an eye about what’s happening.
He was not expecting Clown to have forgotten about him, attention now solely on the vase Branzy stumbled into a few moments ago. Branzy took this moment to rethink everything because ‘what is actually happening?’, he nervously giggled to himself.
After some careful, quality assessing of the situation, Branzy can confidently say he has no idea about what is happening. He knows, he knows, please, keep the applause to yourself, he’s flattered.
…Wait. Branzy squints his eyes at a back-turned-Clown, taking in his shaded form. There it is again! There’s something underneath Clown’s baggy sleep shirt. (In a far away land, Branzy thanks whatever is out there for the gift of the vase. “Thank you vase”, we say in unison.)
‘Okay, Branzy, put your detective hat on.’ What has he noticed so far?
No.1, Clown has made bird noises, that will probably haunt his nightmares.
No.2, he got quite easily distracted by the shiny vase he nearly died to.
No.3, there’s something moving underneath his shirt.
He thinks to himself. What could this all tie up into? Maybe it was something earlier in the day? Uh, he was updating a machine, world reset, lights out, annoying machinery humming.
Branzy can feel the answer on the tip of his tongue, at the edge of his fingertips, it’s right. There! Just think, just think harder, Branzy Craft.
His hair slightly stuck to his face, so he ducked back down behind the table to fix it, before coming up to spy upon Clown once more.
Haha.
Branzy can’t find Clown anywhere.
With sagging yet tensing shoulders, Branzy is seriously debating getting none-existant health insurance for the emotional rollercoaster this entire situation has put him through.
Hesitantly, Branzy leaves the safety of the bar and hops over the bar table. He keeps his footsteps light (or as light as they can be) and tiptoes further into the room- when it hits him. Oh, oh, oh my god, Clown’s-
Then something, or someone, actually hits him and the next thing he knows he’s tackled onto the floor and after some tumbling his back hits the wall. This is it. Branzy’s losing a heart, and Clown knows where his respawn point is (for Patches’s sake, they share a bed!). He’s doomed, so as any average person with the desperation to live, he accepts his fate and shuts his eyes tight.
And nothing happens.
N-Nothing happens?
It’s been a good few moments of silence —minus the machinery in the background and his labored breaths—, but nothing happens. Even through his closed eyes he can see the blur of red coming from Clown’s own, and with confidence he does in no way have, Branzy peaks an eye open.
It’s just- Clown is just staring at him, and Branzy feels his soul being thoroughly inspected. He opens both eyes and dares to stare back.
So he stares.
So does Clown.
Next thing he knows, there’s a low warble and Clown is leaning closer and snuggling his face in the crook of Branzy’s neck. His body is slightly leaning on Branzy’s left side —from his perspective—, his arms lay limp, legs half on half off of Branzy.
Branzy isn’t made for this whiplash, he’s too old for this.
But he’d take this over being killed brutally any day, so he can’t complain. Now that he knows he isn’t in immediate danger, Branzy collects his thoughts before he had gotten tackled.
Right. His current assumption is that the world reset somehow reset a part of Clown’s code, which would explain the behavior. Just one thing to check before he knows he’s a hundred percent correct.
Slowly, as to not startle Clown and accidentally agro him, Branzy lifts his hands and brings them to Clown’s back where, as expected, he feels the sensation of two, very there and very alive, feathery wings under his shirt.
Okay, so the world reset did do as he theorized, and now Clown has wings and everything that probably would come with it. And after years of not having any of it, too. So most likely, he’s just not used to regulating everything and that’s why he’s like this.
Isn’t code reset meant to be taxing on the body, as well?
He’s pulled out of his thoughts when the person draped across him shuffles, head tilted up enough for Branzy to see lidded eyes and dilated pupils.
“W’y d’ ‘u’ le’v’?” Asks a very-out-of-it Clown, words slurred.
Branzy responds with a very intelligent quip: “Huh?”
“I c’ul’n fin’ ‘ou.” Clown leans harder into his shoulder, a very quiet, sad-sounding chirp audible in his ear. “W’y ‘id ‘ou run?”
Branzy was quick to answer, to reassure. “No, no, Clown, I’m sorry, I just- I misread the situation. I, uh, thought you were tryna hurt me,” He breathed out the few last words.
In Branzy’s peripheral view, he can see Clowns brow furrow, and he felt his head lol to the side. His soft, voidesque black hair tickling the exposed part of Branzy’s neck and shoulder.
Clown shoke his head lightly, repeating the action a few times. “No, I w’u’d ne’v’r hurt y’u.” He muffled.
And if Branzy hadn’t had his heart attacked before, he definitely had now. He feels as if someone took his heart (please don’t), popped it on a stove and watched it melt.
‘Awh, Clown!’ Branzy thought, face alight with merry.
They stayed like that, cuddled up on the floor (though it wasn’t very comfortable for Branzy, and he bets it wasn’t much different for Clown).
Clown abruptly leaned away from him, head turning to look over his own shoulder. His face was irritated, the back of his shirt wildly moving around, and Branzy wanted to fix the annoyance —Clown deserved a better first experience with his newfound wings and attributes. He wants him to be comfortable, not irritated.
Idea! He has scissors from earlier, he could probably cut holes in Clown’s shirt and fit his wings through. (He hopes Clown won’t mind, when he comes to his normal self.)
“Clown?” His head snaps to look at Branzy, pupils slightly enlarging. Branzy barely kept down a chuckle of affection. “I’m gonna turn you around, alright?”
Clown did nothing but watch as Branzy gently made it so that his back was towards him.
He took out the scissors and, using his other hand, lifted the shirt away from anything he wouldn’t want to cut. With great care, Branzy snips two ovals in his shirt —roughly the size of his hand. Then he gently finds Clown’s left wing (a beautiful, jet-black wing, if he does say so himself (maybe he just likes complimenting Clown, even in his head)) and guides the tip of it through the slit. He repeats the process for the right, and watches as Clown finishes pushing them through.
Branzy takes his hands away and just admires. Clown’s wings, they’re beautiful (like the owner- aha), and large. Clown takes the opportunity of newfound freedom to shake and stretch his wings. They shake, and he expands them high above his head, and then back to an open limp on the floor. If he had to guess, he’d say the total length of a single wing would span a meter, maybe even a little more.
The wings flap once, twice, puff up and calm down, and then next Clown turns his head to curiously look at them, and- Branzy has never seen Clown look cute. Well, okay, he has, but not with the wings! They add a lot.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s takes them a while to actually get to their bedroom, since a very-birdy Clown was just playing with his wings, and also that he realized the machinery in the background was actually aggravating ClownChirp (yes, he had to make a pun, thank you for asking), so he went to turn it off and just used Clown’s eyes as light themselves.
At the current moment, they’re in bed, with Branzy having a pair of arms holding him and a body half laying on him. Yeah, so apparently, Clown’s clingy. Clown never-… okay, sometimes he likes to be around Branzy more than usual, but this is a whole new level. It’s even physical- physical! But back to his point, Clown is a clingy bird. He even has one wing shielding Branzy like he’s a precious diamond and needs to be protected.
Clown has his head resting on Branzy’s chest, and Branzy has a hand playing with his hair and scratching at his scalp. He assumes Clown enjoys it, because of the content coos. He’s long asleep, but Branzy’s taking his time to admire him.
A yawn signals that it’s time for him to join Clown in the land of slumbers.
Branzy lays a small kiss to Clown’s forehead. (Which has the bird curling up even closer to Branzy.)
And, ‘I love him,’ is the last thing Branzy thinks before snoring off.