Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The eerie quiet of the deep dark was interrupted by the shrill scream of a shrieker, and an even shriller Tango. "He's here! He's here! He's here!" he shouted in a panic that Clown all but ignored. He was carefully picking away at a shrieker of his own in a chamber on the other side of the ancient city and he needed to concentrate, lest he summon another Warden onto their party. Someone had to remain professional. By the sound of things—a second Warden bursting out of the rubble somewhere to his three o'clock, to be precise—he couldn't count on that professional being Sneeg, either. They had what they had come here for, though, so it was fine. He'd break this shrieker to make a safe path out and direct his teammates to follow him. That was his plan, anyway.

What happened instead felt like a ball of slime in Clown's mind, slipping between his fingers the harder he grasped onto it looking for something solid to hold. 

There was a thok at his feet. He registered it as an enderic arrow pitting the deepslate with enough time to realize there was nothing he could do about what would come next. Next was Tango very suddenly occupying the same space as Clown, knocking both of them over in a tangle of flailing limbs. He felt the air being squeezed out of his lungs as he hit the ground for only a moment before the burning of his lungs was replaced by a searing, white hot pain in his leg. He couldn't place the origin of it, but the hard knee into his gut that followed as Tango scrambled to his feet he could. The shrieker he'd failed to break wailed. Another cacophonous explosion from somewhere to his right signaled the arrival of a third Warden, and pelted him with chunks of deepslate and stone brick. One struck him square in the face, cracking his mask and possibly his nose along with it. He laid there in a bed of deepslate and skulk gaping like a fish, praying that the nearby Warden wouldn't hear him. Maybe Tango made enough of a racket in his fleeing that it'd draw the damned thing from him until he'd managed to catch his breath again. 

He heard a drawn out sniffing to his left, and knew he shouldn't have expected to be so lucky. Tango may have taken the third Warden with him, but that still left the first behind as Clown's problem. He still couldn't manage more than short, sharp breaths in without his lungs stinging, but he had to move now, before the Warden honed in on him. He rolled onto his side and another wave of nausea-inducing pain washed over him. His whole body seized in protest. A soft wheeze eked out of him. The Warden behind him grunted in recognition. He was out of time. 

Clown pushed himself to his feet against every fiber of his being begging him to just lay down and die as quickly as possible. Put his abused and broken body out of its misery. It should know by now that he wouldn't go down without a fight. 

As soon as he put weight on his right leg, he nearly collapsed back to his knees. The little vision he still had after the Warden's blindness had blacked out his surroundings was lost in a fog of static. He stumbled down the chamber's stairs, another gasp stabbing in his lungs at the jolt it sent shooting up his leg. He could hear the Warden's steps cracking against the ground, closer and closer. 

He couldn't afford to panic now, despite the adrenaline telling him otherwise. Clown pulled his bow from his inventory, then dropped it before he could even nock an arrow. His morningstar slipped from his stiff and shaking fingers much the same way. He forced himself forward, gritting his teeth against the grinding ache when he dragged his lame leg along after. But he wasn't fast enough. The Warden was upon him in seconds, swatting him away like he was nothing more than a fly, some common pest to be dispensed of. He had enough presence of mind to direct his fall onto his left side instead of his right. 

His head cracked against the ground where he landed, some several yards from the Warden, and his mask shattered upon impact; his hands already grasped in his inventory for something to save him, heedless of the way his head spun or the blood that choked him with every ragged breath. Stacks of oak wood were tossed aside. Gunpowder poured in a growing pile on his lap. A bushel of golden apples fell in a cascade around him, bouncing away in every direction. He grabbed one before it could roll off with the rest, and took a desperate bite out of it. The cool sweetness of it eased his pain ever so slightly, and gave him the clarity he needed to find what he was looking for. His fingers squeezed around an enderic arrow, grip aching to keep it from slipping between them like his bow and morningstar and every other item he'd accidentally dumped on the ground in his search. The Warden was distracted by the apples, turning about itself as it decided which tumbling thunk to follow. Clown pushed himself up on one elbow and, with all the waning strength he could muster, threw the arrow as far as he could. 

Moments later Clown found himself crashing into a heap on a pile of soft wool. He'd landed on the second story balcony of a roofed building. Out of reach of the Warden, as long as he didn't give it a reason to look for him here. The thick film of blood in the back of his throat was threatening to do it for him, though, and he wasted no further time dragging himself through the doorway to an inner chamber of the building. Propped against a wall, sheltered and safe as far as an ancient city went, Clown finally allowed himself to collapse, legs stretched out before him and arms limp at his sides. His head knocked against the deepslate tile behind him, and a dull sort of ache radiated from it. Down his neck and shoulders. In his back. His ribs. His leg.

Clown was accustomed to pain, but he was sure that the cumulative effect of what he was experiencing right now was usually reserved for the kind of thing that killed a person. Not something he could shake off so easily. 

"Fuck," he rasped to himself. 

He coughed, low in his throat and chest, and that simple action nearly blacked out his vision. Probably a broken rib or two. He spit a wad of blood onto the floor and coughed again as more blood took its place. Broken nose. He turned his attention to his leg, now that he had a moment's reprieve to assess it. It looked fine, but the sharp and excruciating pain he'd felt standing on it earlier said otherwise. He probed at his thigh with a clumsy hand and felt nothing out of the ordinary. When his fingers approached his knee, however, another stab of pain shot up his spine and made him tense involuntarily. Dislocated kneecap. That alone couldn't account for all of it, though. Clown grimaced. He had to remove his boot if he wanted to get an idea of what he was working with, see if it was something that could be healed with a potion or if it'd require medical intervention to repair. Just great.

With a heavy sigh Clown tugged one of his gloves off. The chill air of the deep dark against his withered fingers added an immediate new ache to his growing collection of pains, but at least this one he was well acquainted with. He ignored it and folded his glove in half, then folded it again to make a thick, leather square. He brought the glove up to his mouth and bit down on it, firmly enough to keep it in place but not so hard that he would do any permanent damage to the leather. At least not yet. 

He took as deep a breath as his cracked ribs would allow, then bent double to grab his boot. The leather creaked between his teeth as he pulled his leg in closer, and the electric hot pain from before returned. With one hand he struggled to pull the zipper on the back of his calf down, and the other he used to force his foot into a point. The action made the pain increase sevenfold, and there was no adrenaline left in him to dull it. The animal of him begged him to let go, was utterly convinced the boot was the only thing keeping his leg from tearing apart completely, but a more stubborn part of him continued onward with his mission. There were two ways to approach this. Slow and steady, prolong the pain but minimize any additional injury; or quick, like ripping off a bandage. He knew the way he preferred to do things. Clown took another shaking breath. Then he yanked the boot off his foot. 

The pain was paralyzing this time, every inch of him seized by it so that he couldn't move a muscle. The tension held in his body awoke every other injury he'd sustained—his ribs, his back, his nose, his head. All of it screamed at him in such cacophonous agony that Clown was sure he would have screamed along with it if he hadn't stuffed his glove in his mouth. Even still he felt a groan in his throat. Felt tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. Felt the ache in his jaw beneath all the other pains vying for his attention. Felt his heart pounding in his chest and bile clawing its way up his esophagus. He should have let the Warden kill him. 

Clown came back to himself with a shiver, lying on his side on the hard, stone floor. He felt cold and clammy. 

No, hot and sweaty. 

Or was he right the first time? 

His fingers tingled, and it took him a sluggish moment to determine that it was not related to the withering. It was probably the rapid beating of his heart against his bruised sternum doing that. He imagined the damned thing puncturing itself on a sharp and broken rib bone and another shiver raked through him. He felt suffocated—and he knew, logically, that it was those same ribs digging into his lungs doing that too—but his throat constricted in spite of his attempts to keep his breathing even, and soon he found himself tearing off his jester's hood and jabot until his neck was bare. 

He was definitely cold and clammy.

It took a concerted effort for Clown to push himself upright again. His arms were trembling and gelatinous. His heart was stuttering an irregular rhythm in his chest and his lungs spasmed on each quick inhale he took. His head swam and swayed. It felt as if no part of him was under his control anymore. His eyes slipped closed and he leaned against the wall to catch his breath, as if he'd just run a marathon and not simply sat up off the ground. Either way he deserved a fucking medal.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to increase his breathing rate from a two count to a three. Good enough. He opened his eyes to the dimly lit deepslate room surrounding him. 

Right. He was in an ancient city. Hunting for... something. A peek at his inventory revealed a handful of arrows, enderic and copper tipped; a great axe; a boat; a single potion of healing; a quarter stack of crafting tables; and a bundle full of useless miscellany. So. He was definitely missing some things, and he could remember no more of what he was doing down here than he did before. 

He'd come with others, that much he recalled. Looting with Rekrap and Loony and Brock.

No, that wasn't right... 

There were no great axes on that server, nor any uniquely tipped arrows. He couldn't wear armor there, either. He had died.

Fuck.

There were three people with him, then and now. He was sure of it. Who, though?

Forget it. That wasn't important right now. 

Clown's head dropped to his chest and an immediate pounding pulsed in his temple. He had been knocked from his pillar onto a Warden.

Nope. That still wasn't it.

There was a Warden. Someone summoned it. Him? No, not this time. One of his companions. They had run away and left it with him. Why didn't he run? His eyes flick up to his legs. One looked entirely ordinary. The other was stripped of its boot, which had snagged on his foot in whatever attempt to remove it had occurred. His lower leg was exposed, though, and he could see his calf was swollen and bruised. Almost certainly broken. 

That would do it. 

He leaned over to probe at the wound, whole body swaying as he did, and he overcorrected for it with a clumsy slap against his shin.

He gasped against a seizing in his chest. Every slippery memory came rushing back along with every pain that had quieted in his unconsciousness.

The Kingdom of Fools. The echo shards. Ros and Tango and Sneeg.

Tango had teleported into him, left him for dead after breaking his leg and probably a rib or two, that rat bastard. Ros and Sneeg had probably made it out by now, too. He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he'd dragged himself half dead into this godforsaken building to hide. No way of knowing if they were aware he was missing. If they were coming back for him.

Once his heart returned to its regular irregular rhythm, Clown carefully groped at the swelling in his leg. Sharp little stabs of pain accompanied the action, but at a manageable level this time. Still, he took carefully measured breaths until he sat back up and slumped against the wall.

His tibia and fibula were most likely displaced or impacted. Just a transverse or oblique fracture, if he was lucky. Comminuted if he wasn't. Regardless of which one it was, drinking the potion now would risk the break healing incorrectly. The last thing he needed was a permanent limp. He couldn't hide that nearly as easily as he could his stiff and decaying hands.

Clown let his eyes slip back closed again with a sigh. There wasn't much he could do at this point. Only wait and see whether any of his companions would return for him. He pulled one of the copper tipped arrows from his inventory, on the occasion that they didn't.

Chapter Text

The sky had gone from a light and clear early afternoon blue to the deep wine red of evening by the time Ros's shovel broke through the final block of dirt between her meandering tunnel and the surface. She heaved herself out of the hole she'd dug and flopped onto the ground with a dramatic exhale, dropping her shovel beside herself with little thought for its condition. The thin sheen of sweat that had built up as she dug her way out of the deep dark wasn't enough to bead on her skin, but her shirt still clung to her with the kind of uncomfortable dampness she usually associated with only her most impassioned of building sessions. Exhausted didn't even begin to scratch the surface of how she felt. 

Of course she knew the risks of going on this expedition, in theory. Even Clown was apprehensive about the mission, and he was the strongest person she knew. He wasn't afraid of anything. She hoped he would be proud to hear how well she had kept her composure down there while Tango and Sneeg fled in utter panic. She had to have been the last to the surface, but that was okay. She might not be the fastest in their group, but she hadn't summoned any additional Warden on their tails, and that was maybe just as important as making it out alive. It was at least something to tease the other two about when they all met back up.

Ros pulled her comm device out of a pouch on her belt and sent a simple Coords? over the Kingdom's channel. A moment later and Sneeg had responded. They were close by, almost within shouting distance, if she felt at all like shouting. She very much did not. Ros took a deep breath and grabbed her shovel, using it to steady herself as she pulled herself back up to her feet, aching as they were from their trek across all of creation to find the ancient city below. 

The smokey smell of a campfire led Ros to her companions in a small clearing, mutton lining the logs as Tango tended the fire. Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled at the sight. Sneeg was setting up a tent for them to shelter in for the night across from Tango. Their beds were crafted from the softest fleece the royal flock produced, and she couldn't wait to be cocooned in their warm embrace. Clown was nowhere to be seen. That made Ros frown.

"Guys," she said by way of greeting. "Where's Clown?"

"Um," Sneeg said, tone as flat as ever. "Not here?"

"We haven't seen him," Tango elaborated, poking at one of the cuts of mutton impatiently. "Or heard from him. We thought maybe he was with you."

"He's not," Ros said, which was almost as obvious as what Sneeg had said, with a tone of anxious concern rather than sarcasm. 

"Yeah, we can see that," Sneeg said, then muttered under his breath. "Fuckin' deadbeat..."

"And he hasn't DMed either of you?"

"Nope." Tango said.

Ros nearly gaped at the casual indifference of her companions. "Shouldn't we do something?"

Sneeg turned to give her a flat look. "Clown's a big boy, he'll be fine."

"But-But what if he's not?!" She said.

"I mean," Tango sighed. "Realistically, if Clown is in trouble, what can we do to help him?"

"I-I don't know!" Ros cried. Tango had a point, but she didn't like it. "Something!"

Both her companions gave her pitying looks at that. All at once her concern for Clown turned into fury. She pulled her spear from her inventory and brandished it at them. Tango leapt to his feet, eyes wide, and Sneeg put his hands up placatingly. "Whoa, hey!"

"Fine!" she shouted, for once her voice raising above her usual near-whispering cadence. That almost seemed to jar the other two more than threatening them with a spear had. "If you won't go I'll do it by myself."

"Whoa, whoa, wait," Sneeg said, stepping around the spear. "Slow down, Ros. We barely made it out alive the first time."

"No, you barely made it out alive," Ros slammed the butt of her spear on the ground and put her hand on her hip. The effect wasn't as dramatic as she hoped, with the soft dirt easily yielding under it. Still, Sneeg stopped in his tracks, hands back up defensively. "I'll have you know I didn't summon a single Warden. If Clown is still down there and he needs our help, then we have a duty to go back. He's part of the Kingdom, too."

Tango groaned and hung his head. "Fuuuuck. Alright... fine. Fine. I'll come too."

"What?!" Sneeg said, whipping around to give Tango an incredulous look.

"Well..." Tango started, a guilty look on his face. "It might, maybe, kind of, sort of be my fault, if Clown didn't make it out."

"What." Sneeg said, his incredulity turning to obvious irritation.

Tango cringed. "Well I might have.... Teleported into him. A little bit. And summoned another Warden."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Sneed growled, irritation falling into exasperation. He donkey-kicked the fence post holding up the tent, and it collapsed onto the beds underneath it. "Fine. Whatever. Let's go."

Ros lit up. "You mean it, Sneeg?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sneeg said, already walking back in the direction of the ancient city. "I'm a saint. No need to thank me."

"We're so dead," Tango sighed as he stomped out the fire. 

"C'mon, guys, it'll be okay," Ros said, following after Sneeg once Tango was ready.

"To be clear," Sneeg said. "Clown does need to thank me for this. I'm thinking a stack of netherite will do it."

"Oof, harsh," Tango said.

It wasn't as long of a trek back to the deep dark now that their tunnels were already dug, but every second listening to Sneeg and Tango's complaining was excruciating. Ros gave up on defending Clown before they even hit deepslate. The silence that engulfed them as they passed into skulk filled caverns was palpable. When they reached the ruins of the ancient city, it was downright oppressive.

"Should we split up?" Ros asked, her soft voice unmodulated. 

"No," Sneeg whispered, already scanning the dim vault for a lead. "We'll be able to get him out faster if we're already together when we find him."

"And what'll we do if we summon another Warden?" Tango asked, eyeing the crumbling columns and walls nearby for shriekers. Ros began to look around as well, though she had no idea what in particular she should be looking for.  

"Don't panic, for one thing," Sneeg said. A glint of gold caught Ros's eye some ways off.

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Guys," She pointed in its direction. "That wasn't there before, was it?"

Sneeg hummed and stepped out of the tunnel entrance towards the golden object. Another sparkle of gold was revealed from behind the rubble as they approached, then another, then a dozen more. They were golden apples. One among them shone brighter than the rest, a purplish hue reflecting off its surface in the torchlight. 

Sneeg nudged one of the apples with his boot, then gestured ahead of them. "Look." It took a moment for Ros's eyes to pick up what he was pointing out: a scattering of logs resting in a pile of gunpowder, surrounded by various tools and weapons. In the midst of them were the echo shards Clown had collected. It chilled Ros to the bone more than even the stale cave air. 

"Well that's not a good sign," Tango remarked. He pulled out his comm, face glowing a ghostly shade in its pale light. "There's no death messages in chat. He's gotta be alive down here somewhere."

"What do you suppose happened?" Ros breathed, her heart still aching with the fear that had briefly gripped it. 

"Who knows," Tango said. "Found some loot?"

"Yeah. I'm sure there must've been something over here worth dropping the one item we were down here to get over." Sneeg deadpanned. "Screw the quest, am I right?"

"Alright, maybe not that."

Ros catalogued the items found around the gunpowder pile as her companions continued their banter: a shield, broken in half; a chipped netherite axe and a pristine diamond one; two enchantment books, face down and open to a random page; a spilled bucket of water; a tangled wad of cobwebs; the remains of several crafting tables and ender chests; the echo shards. Ros didn't know what all Clown carried on him, but something about the list felt off. She ran through it a handful more times, trying to figure out what. All at once it clicked.

"Guys," she interrupted once more. "There's no bow or arrows here."

Both Sneeg and Tango stopped to look at her, then turned back to the items, then back to her. She waited a beat for a response, but the two continued to stare.

"He probably used it to teleport away from the Warden," she said. 

"Oooooooh," Sneeg said. "Right. Good catch."

Ros beamed at the praise.

"But where to?" Sneeg put a hand to his chin as he looked past the items at the wider cavern. 

"I'd bet he went for the city center," Tango said, motioning in its direction. "It's the most secure location in an ancient city. That'd be a good place to hide out."

"What if he didn't make it that far?" Ros said. "Maybe we should check all the buildings closer by first..."

"That's probably not a bad idea..." Sneeg conceded. If they had to backtrack because he wasn't at the city center, it would just waste more time. A peek at her comm told Ros that Clown still hadn't responded to anyone's messages. She was worried what it meant that he was being so silent. If he had made it to safety, what reason would he have to ignore them? That didn't seem like him. Sneeg pointed at the nearest structure, a two story building with an enclosed chamber in the center. "Let's start here. We'll hit all the ones like that on the way to the city center. If he's not there, we'll come back."

Once they were in agreement, the three picked carefully through the rubble of Clown's lost inventory. Tango grabbed the echo shards and enchantment books as they passed. Sneeg took the lost tools. Ros picked up a handful of the golden apples, including the enchanted one. Between the three of them, they recovered a majority of Clown's items. Or at least the important things. 

They moved quietly up the stairs of the structure, though there didn't appear to be any shriekers nearby to pick up any sounds from them. A little caution never hurt, though. They'd learned that the hard way. 

When they reached the inner walls of the structure, Ros's intuition was proven correct. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sight of a dark figure splayed awkwardly against the far wall, head lolled against his chest like a rag doll. He was missing some key components of his usual attire—his hood, his mask, and, curiously, one glove—but she would recognize the puffy red and black striped sleeves of his waistcoat and the matching pumpkin pants anywhere. 

"Clown!" she exclaimed, elbowing past Tango and Sneeg to his side. To her immediate alarm, he didn’t react. She hesitated to touch him, afraid she might somehow hurt him further. Sneeg knelt on his other side and showed no such hesitance, reaching out to cup his jaw, lifting his chin up to examine his face. Tango held a torch aloft to light the room and illuminate their fallen friend.

Clown gave a short gasp at Sneeg's touch, his eyes fluttering open weak and unfocused. It was impossible to tell where the blood caking his face and neck all originated from with the number of cuts and scrapes he had. His arm jerked for a second, and Ros's eyes flicked down to see his grip momentarily tighten around a copper tipped arrow. His hand was black and withered. 

"Ngh..." he moaned in lieu of words. Ros wasn't entirely sure he was lucid. He certainly didn't look it. This was, in fact, the first time she was seeing his face at all. What was beneath his mask was the subject of speculation both inside and out of the Kingdom. She couldn't pretend she wasn't curious too. What did he look like? Was he human? Was he monstrous? 

It turned out he was... normal. His features were sharp, and would be handsome if not for the blood they were hidden behind. His nose was crooked though and that, she thought, must be relatively new. She's fairly certain he must be pale usually, but maybe not as pale as he currently was. Right now he was worryingly pale. Bloodlessly pale.

"Hey buddy," Sneeg said evenly, turning Clown's face slightly to examine him. "You're looking rough."

Clown coughed against some lump in his throat, then croaked, "Feelin' rough..."

Ros was surprised he was cognizant enough to form words—To process the ones being said to him. He seemed barely conscious. She placed a hand on his shoulder, but she wasn't sure if it was to comfort him, or herself. It didn't seem that Clown had noticed either way. 

"So, what happened?" Sneeg asked, eyes scanning over Clown, taking in his injuries. He picked up Clown's limp, ungloved and withered hand as he said that. 

"'Mm... Don't remember..." Clown said. He seemed to be following Sneeg's train of thought as he eyeballed Clown's hand, because he added, "'s unrelated."

"Cool," Sneeg said. "You just have a withered hand for no reason."

"Two of 'em, actually..."

"That's not concerning at all." Despite this, Sneeg set Clown's hand down again, moving on to assess the rest of him. "Where's it hurt?"

"Where doesn't it hurt..." Clown mumbled. Ros knew realistically that Clown felt pain, but he never showed it. He was always so strong and unaffected. It unsettled her to hear him admit to his pain so freely. How terrible must it be, that even Clown was no longer trying to hide it?

He hissed when Sneeg pressed against his lower ribs. Sneeg wasted no time unbuttoning his waistcoat to take a closer look. Clown gave him a weak swat in response. "Knock it off, you big baby. I'm just checking how bad it is before we try and move you."

"Just let him work, Clown," Ros said softly, squeezing his shoulder as she did. She wasn't actually sure what exactly it was Sneeg was doing, but she assumed it wasn't anything malicious. "He's helping."

"He's torturing me," Clown whined. Ros and Sneeg met each other's gaze, and Sneeg rolled his eyes. Can you believe this guy?

"We come all this way to save your ass and this is the thanks we get?" Sneeg said. Clown grunted wordlessly. 

Sneeg pulled open Clown's shirt to reveal extensive bruising across his abdomen, red already bleeding into a shade of midnight violet. He prodded at Clown's ribs again, and Clown flinched when he did. "Ow..."

"Well it's definitely fractured, but I don't think you're about to puncture a lung or anything," Sneeg sighed. 

"That's good! Right?" Ros said.

"Could be better, could be worse," Tango said. "So... are we all just ignoring the obvious problem here?"

"I'm getting to it!" Sneeg said. The obvious, in this case, being the boot hanging off of Clown's foot, exposing more bruised and swollen flesh on his lower leg. Even Ros understood that that was really bad. "It probably goes without saying that he's not putting any weight on that thing."

Despite having his attention drawn to Clown's broken leg, Sneeg continued where he left off, hands pressing along Clown's belly for any other hidden injuries. Clown was unresponsive to his touch. Sneeg snapped his fingers in front of his face, to no avail. "Hey, hey, hey, don't go nodding off on me now."

Clown moaned low in his throat, the way one does when they've been rudely awakened from a cozy nap. There was nothing cozy about this situation.  Sneeg grabbed Clown by the chin again and lifted his face until his eyes fluttered open. "Mm... 'm fine..."

"Like hell you are," Sneeg said, and every ounce of lightheartedness in his voice was absent when he did. It sent a shiver of dread down Ros's spine. She'd almost thought maybe Clown's injuries weren't that bad from their banter, even if Clown was hardly engaging back. Now, though, it occurred to her that Sneeg's quips had just been another part of his assessment. "If you were fine you'd be bawling your eyes out by now. Throwing a hissy fit that we're coddling you. Whining about me touching you inappropriately or some shit." 

Clown said nothing to dispute this, a silent confirmation that Sneeg's words were correct. Then, he mumbled, "Ros, he's being mean to me..."

"Oh, no. No, he's not Clown..." Ros said weakly. Now that she was thinking about it, Clown's behavior was strikingly out of character. His stillness was always a deliberate thing, a focused effort reserved for threats and strangers. Whenever he wasn't on guard he was fidgety: pacing about and touching things he shouldn't, chirping with silly comments that irritated Sneeg and Tango and made her laugh. 

Nothing about him now was deliberate. He was slumped against the wall because he couldn't muster the will to do anything else. He couldn't keep his head up without help from Sneeg, and he could barely be bothered to protect himself against Sneeg's touch. His clever mind moved too sluggishly for him to return his banter. He couldn't even maintain consciousness for more than a few minutes at a time. "He's helping, I promise."

"You see what I'm saying?" Sneeg said softly, his words directed at Ros this time. "When he's being a loudmouth he's probably going to be fine. It's when he gets quiet that you need to worry."

"Don't... talk about me like I'm not here," Clown said, a fraction of the usual petulance in his tone. Ros smiled tightly in spite of herself. She felt so helpless watching Clown's struggle, but medical expertise was never a skill she brought to the team. She could build them a hospital, but she couldn't help populate it. 

"Yeah, yeah, tough guy," Sneeg said. "How's that concussion working out for you?"

"Bad," Clown admitted. 

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Mm..." Clown closed his eyes in thought, and for a moment Ros was afraid he might have slipped back into unconsciousness already. "Hard to say... keep getting things mixed up... don't even remember why we're here in the first place, to be honest..."

"We were getting echo shards. For the faction quest." Ros supplied. As they talked, Sneeg sat back to examine Clown's leg.

"Right, right... and then someone... teleported into me, I think."

"Guilty as charged," Tango said with a sheepish smile. Clown's eyes flicked up in Tango's direction, though they still seemed glassy and unfocused.

"Oh yeah... that was you, wasn't it?" Clown's voice was emotionless, but the cold irritation was implied. Tango held up his free hand defensively.

"My bad, mate! I couldn't exactly see where I was shooting."

Tango's lame excuse did nothing to ease the grumpy look on Clown's face. Sneeg's hands turning his swollen leg, however, did. All at once Clown tensed and his breathing became harsh and shallow. She swore she could feel him trembling through the layers of clothing that separated her hand from his skin. She squeezed his shoulder again as if she might distract him from the way Sneeg was handling him. "It's okay, Clown, just look at me."

To her surprise, Clown did. His eyes were too dark for her to see his pupils, but she could imagine them turning to little pinpricks of adrenaline. He furrowed his brow, as if he was noticing her presence for the first time. Everything up until now had been too soupy for him to pick out the details of his predicament, but having his leg touched seemed to bring it all into stark clarity.

"Ros... why're you still down here?" He asked her, voice soft with concern. Ros couldn't help a strained little giggle in response. Of course Clown could be lying in a broken heap and still be more worried about her than himself. She shouldn't have expected anything less.

"I wasn't just going to leave you, Clown," she said. "It's my sworn duty to protect the kingdom. That includes you, you know."

Clown hummed at that. "...I didn't think anyone was going to come."

Ros considered the arrow Clown had clutched in his hand when they arrived here. It was clear he was in no condition to escape without assistance. In the absence of such, there was only one other way out.

"Of course we came," she said. 

"You can thank Ros for that," Tango said. He motioned to himself and Sneeg as he continued. "We'd've left your ass if she let us."

"Wow... You really know how to make a guy feel like a valued member of the team..."

"Can you blame us?" Sneeg said. "I mean, if we made it out..." He cleared his throat. "Your leg is totally fucked, by the way. You got a health potion on you?"

"No potions," Clown argued. "It'll heal wrong."

"You don't have to drink the whole thing, dude," Sneeg said. "You just need to be able to make it home without passing the fuck out."

"I'm not gonna pass out," Clown said.

"You were unconscious when we got here. You were unconscious like, a minute ago."

"...I'm not gonna pass out," Clown said again, but in a quiet, defeated tone.

"Clown, can I have the potion, please?" Ros asked, because she knew he couldn't say no to her. It might be manipulative, but it was for his own good. Clown pouted at her, and it took every ounce of her will to remain stern. Their standoff lasted less than a minute before, much to Ros's relief, Clown finally relented. With a sigh, he produced the potion from his inventory. It slipped from his fingers onto the floor with a clatter. Thankfully, it was a small enough distance that the thick glass of the bottle didn't break.

"Sabotage," Sneeg muttered.

"Was an accident," Clown responded.

"Here, I'll get it," Ros cut in hastily. She grabbed up the bottle and started tugging on the cork.

"Sure it was," Sneeg said, completely ignoring Ros's interjection.

"I'm literally disabled, Sneeg," Clown said with a huff. "You're being so problematic right now."

A dark part of Ros wished that Clown was still too delirious to argue.

"Jesus Christ you two, get a room already," Tango said. Sneeg and Clown both responded with disgruntled grumbles. At least they were in agreement on that. 

They fell into uncomfortable silence following Tango's declaration. Ros continued to struggle with uncorking the bottle. After several false starts, she finally managed to pull it out with a Pop! that reverberated around the room. Tango and Sneeg flinched. Without the stimulation of argument to occupy him, Clown had already started to nod off again.

"Clown?" Ros prompted. It took him a moment to react, opening his eyes with a resigned sigh. He made no effort to take the potion from her. She couldn't tell if that was because of his recent fumble or because he was just being stubborn. She was always eager to help, though, and brought the bottle up to his lips for him. He parted them, and she tipped the bottle up, letting just a sip into his mouth before recorking the potion.

"...Thanks, Ros," Clown said. 

"Of course!" Ros smiled. "You can always count on me, Clown."

Clown's lips twitched upward, not quite a smile, but enough to satisfy Ros. Sneeg patted him on the less swollen side of his leg, and instead of sharp gasp, Clown responded with something akin to an annoyed grunt.

"That still hurts, you know..."

"Just checking," Sneeg chirped with far too much cheer. "C'mon, let's get the fuck out of here already."

Clown looked around himself in a daze. "Where's my... glove... hood... my boot..."

"Here, I've got them," Ros said, leaning over him to gather up his discarded costume pieces. 

Clown's gaze slid down to his bare leg next, and Sneeg added, "I'm gonna say putting the boot back on right now is a bad idea. I'll just hold onto it until we're back at the castle, alright?"

"Thanks..." Clown said. There was a meek quality to his voice when he spoke that had been absent up until now. Ros couldn't quite decipher what it meant, but it made her want to comfort him somehow.

"Where's your mask at, by the way?" Tango asked. Clown cringed at the reminder that he was without it. It was still unusual to see his face, to see the way his expression changed as he reacted to things. Ros never really imagined he would be particularly emotive beneath his mask—and he wasn't. For some reason, though, she felt in her heart it was because he had neither the energy nor the presence of mind to be right now. She longed to see what he looked like when he really smiled, to know whether it'd brighten a room the way his laugh did.

"I dunno," Clown said. "Broke it, I think..."

"That and everything else, huh?" Sneeg slung one of Clown's arms over his shoulder, and Ros hurried to pull the other over hers. Tango would have been a better choice for the job, as she was several inches shorter than either of them, but she was determined to do everything in her power to help. Taking on even the slightest bit of Clown's weight was the least she could do. 

The journey back out of the ancient city turned out to be much less of a fuss than any of them feared it would be. There were no shriekers between the chamber Clown had been hiding in and the crack in the cavern wall they had emerged from, and the tunnels back to the surface were well lit enough to keep the path clear of mobs. 

Whatever energy Clown had gathered for their trek indeed left him halfway to the surface, and in the end Sneeg had to carry him the rest of the way to their camp. Ros imagined how Clown would react if he was conscious to see Sneeg cradling him in his arms like a princess, and it was nearly enough to laugh. The fact that he wasn't conscious enough to pitch a fit, though, sobered any mirth she might have felt. 

When they finally emerged at the surface once more, the red wine of evening had turned to night, illuminated by a full moon bright enough to keep the mobs at bay. Together they worked to get the tent set back up and Clown settled into a bed. They only had a few hours left before dawn, but what little rest they could get until then was better than none.

Ros didn't miss the look Tango and Sneeg shared as they silently ate their cold mutton. For all that they pretended otherwise, they were just as worried as she was about their friend. It was scary to see someone larger than life forced into such a vulnerable position. To have the one everyone depended on depending on you. Ros swore that she wouldn't let him down.

Chapter Text

Sneeg met the pink light of dawn with relief, the silent vigil he'd taken up over his companions finally coming to an end. He knew as soon as they had settled back into camp that he would find sleep an impossibility. Someone had to make sure Clown kept breathing all night, and the guilt twisting in his gut made him the perfect candidate to do so. Truthfully he had no idea what it would take to atone for his callous doubt. Following Ros against his better judgment hadn't done it, nor did carrying Clown's limp body out of the deep dark, nor interrupting his scant few hours of sleep periodically to check on him. 

Sneeg had learned many things about ClownPierce in their time together. He was competent. Obstinate. Prideful. Everything the Clown they found in the deep dark was not. It had been unnerving to see Clown slumped in the ruins of the ancient city like another of the forgotten dead, to hear the way he struggled past a fog in his mind to snipe back at Sneeg, to feel his unmitigated trembling as Sneeg examined his wounds; it was concerning when he let Sneeg pick him up bridal style without complaint and allowed Ros to wash his face of blood before tucking him into bed. He grumbled each time Sneeg woke him during the night, but otherwise put up no fight whatsoever. 

Sneeg knew the Warden was a monster without peer, but it still blindsided him that Clown could succumb to such a thing. He had told Sneeg prior to their expedition about another disaster of an encounter he'd had with one on a different server, but somehow he hadn't connected the story with Clown's hesitance over the mission. In retrospect, he felt like a jerk for so easily dismissing Ros's concern. 

Sneeg reignited the smoldering coals of the evening's fire to warm breakfast for everyone, and for the last time that night he shook ClownPierce awake. "Good morning, starshine. The earth says hello."

Clown snorted and grabbed at the air for one of his missing weapons, then relaxed with an irritated sigh when his brain caught up with his body. "You hate me."

"Yeah man, I hate you so much I'm only keeping you from falling into a coma or dying in your sleep or something." Sneeg slid a hand between Clown's shoulder blades and helped him sit up. "Feeling any more lucid this morning?"

"No." Clown yawned wide, bearing his teeth like an animal and then wincing at the way it wrinkled his broken nose. "Ow."

"Great. That's going to make today a breeze, I'm sure," Sneeg sighed. "Do you at least think you can keep food down?"

Clown groaned in a way that read as a negative. Sneeg decided to take it as a maybe. He produced a loaf of bread and pressed it into Clown's hands. It would be the easiest thing on his stomach so long as he felt nauseated. Sneeg turned back to the fire to tend it while Clown nibbled on his bread like the world's pickiest rat. He could hear Ros and Tango stirring behind him, probably awoken by Clown and Sneeg's voices or the smoke of the fire in their noses.

"Good morning, Clown," Ros said. "How're you feeling?"

"Not great, Ros," Clown said. "Not great."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for. I'd be a lot worse without you."

"Would you, though?" Tango said. "I mean, if we'd left you down there to die you could be back at the castle by now, good as new."

"I'd really rather not."

"Suit yourself, mate."

As the pink of dawn bled into baby blue, Ros and Tango set about dismantling their camp. The woolen canopy of their tent was taken down by the oak posts holding it aloft, beds were banished into inventories, and as they worked they took up a light banter. Periodically Clown would chime in with an ill-advised offer to help, which was swiftly denied every time. Sneeg couldn't help a snicker at the way Clown pouted each time, even if he was sympathetic. None of them were the type to sit back and let others do all the work. He could imagine the guilt gnawing at Clown, confined to the one bed still out with a nearly untouched loaf of bread in his lap while everyone else labored away. If their positions were reversed he was sure he would be doing the same thing. 

They settled around the fire once they were finished to eat a breakfast of mutton and carrots and bread; Ros at the foot of Clown's bed while Sneeg had plopped an oak stair down for a chair. Tango had simply planted his ass directly on the ground, unconcerned with the morning dew soaking the seat of his pants. As they ate, Sneeg contemplated their return trip. 

"Our best bet, I think, will be to boat as much of the way back as possible," Sneeg said. "Going by land risks aggravating your injuries further, which obviously would not be ideal."

"That sounds smart to me," Clown agreed in a tone that suggested he was only half paying attention. Focus was something he often reserved for battle or for his studies of enchantment, but Sneeg was fairly certain that his wandering mind was currently a result of his concussion more than an inherent quality of his person. He was more present than he had been in the deep dark, but it was clear that the few hours of sleep he'd managed to get had done little to help him.

"Cool," Sneeg said. "Ros and Tango, if you two want to go on ahead and get things ready for Clown, that'd be great."

"Wait, we aren't sticking together?" Ros asked. Sneeg had suspected she might not be thrilled by the idea of splitting up; she was quite attached to Clown, and doubtlessly wanted to stay close by until she was sure he was safe. 

"It'd be a more efficient use of time to have you at the castle already when we get there. Only one of us needs to stay with Clown for the trip back and I mean. Let's be real, I'm the best option for that."

"Well, I'm not complaining," Tango said. "Boating the entire way back? Blegh. That'll take forever."

Sneeg sighed. "Yeah. I know."

"Did anyone get my bow?" Clown asked. "I have enderic arrows—"

"No," Sneeg said. "Are you kidding me? Do you want more broken limbs? No."

"Fine," Clown huffed.

And that was that. They doused the fire and packed up the remainder of camp. Ros and Tango helped Sneeg to walk Clown to the water's edge, where gentle waves lapped at the shore as Sneeg placed an oak boat down. He did a double take as Clown pulled a boat from his own inventory. "Uh, dude?"

"What?" Clown said, a note of genuine confusion in his voice.

"Really? You dropped the echo shards but not the boat?" Tango laughed. "Why do you even have a boat, dude?"

"Hey, I didn't choose what I dropped, it just happened," Clown said defensively. 

"Okay... Well, regardless, you aren't boating back alone." Sneeg said.

"What?!" Clown sounded more indignant that time.

"I'm not fishing your ass out of the water when you inevitably pass out again, man," Sneeg said. "Now get in the boat."

Clown narrowed his eyes at Sneeg. Then he dropped his boat into the water. "Ros, help me into my boat."

"Ros, do not help him into his boat," Sneeg said. "Sit his ass down in mine."

"Don't listen to him, Ros!"

Ros, traitor that she was, helped Clown into his boat. He gave Sneeg a smug little smile as she did. "Just let him have this one, Sneeg, please?"

"I'll remember this," Sneeg said as he climbed in behind Clown. The two of them shuffled awkwardly in the small space afforded to them by the boat's interior, trying to accommodate both their combined size as well as the room needed for Clown's leg. After another round of bickering—helpfully commentated by Tango on the sidelines—they ended up pressed together, Clown's back to Sneeg's chest. Ros broke down the second boat, and as she did she apologized profusely to Sneeg for her show of favoritism, all of which Sneeg brushed off as unnecessary. It really wasn't that deep.

Once they were settled, Sneeg said, "We'll see you back at the castle." with finality, cutting off any chance of getting roped into a midwestern goodbye. 

Clown offered Ros a small wave as Sneeg pushed off from the shore, setting their course out to open waters. Their companions shrank away into specks and once they were out of sight, Clown deflated completely. He lay bonelessly against Sneeg, heaving out a wheezing sigh as he did.

"No more putting on a brave face?" Sneeg asked. 

"Didn't need Ros worrying more than she already is," Clown said. 

"Yeah, I don't think she's worrying any less."

Clown hummed, but offered no argument. Not the kind of response that inspired much confidence.  

"So, what's the deal with your hands?" Sneeg asked instead. There was no point rehashing his injuries. Clown was never one for self-pity, so his sulky demeanor told Sneeg everything he needed to know about his condition. 

"Feel like it's kind of self-explanatory," Clown said, flexing his fingers as he did. Both of his hands were gloved now, but Sneeg could still picture the ombré of withering that blackened his arms with rot from his fingertips to his elbows.

"Explain it to me like I'm an idiot."

"So like yourself?"

"Ha ha. Hilarious." Sneeg couldn't help but smile at Clown's little nip of humor. As long as he still had a bit of bite to him, Sneeg could be assured he was mostly alright. It wasn't as if Clown could see it from this angle, anyway. He was too busy alternating between flexing and clenching his fingers as he considered his words.

"It was seasons ago on Lifesteal. Withers. A thousand of them, all at spawn. I tried to stop them. Kill them." Clown said. Sneeg tried to wrap his head around the image of one thousand withers. One was destructive enough. One hundred could leave a swath of chunks razed down to bedrock. One thousand, though? There couldn't have been a server left to save. "I didn't end up killing them all. There were still hundreds left by the time everyone else had evacuated, and nothing left to salvage. I never died so the damage never went away."

"...Shit, man. That sucks." Sneeg said, inadequate words for something that had left Clown permanently altered; disabled in a way that most affected the deadly fighter's very being. His purpose. It made all the more sense why he was so concerned about his leg healing properly. "I'm sorry that happened."

"It is what it is," Clown said, melancholy.

"...Does it hurt?" Sneeg asked against his better judgment. Tact was never his strong suit. 

"All the time," Clown said. "Some days worse than others. You just learn to live with it."

The answer did nothing to assuage Sneeg's concern, instead exacerbating the little he had managed to ward off. If Clown's baseline level of pain was already elevated, how bad did it have to get for him to admit to it? What was the threshold at which he no longer hid his vulnerability? His labored breaths alone were enough to betray him. The slight trembling Sneeg could feel every time Clown adjusted himself, and the effort it took for him to do so, another. The fact that he let slip every grunt and groan he might normally have swallowed down was just the icing on the cake. 

"Well, there's not much we can do about that," Sneeg said softly. "But we'll get the rest of you fixed up, alright? I promise."

"Aww, you're not going soft on me, are you, Sneegsnag?" Clown teased.

Sneeg smiled and rolled his eyes. "Fuck off, dude, I'm trying to be nice."

"...I appreciate it," Clown said, the same small quality to his voice that he'd had when he thanked Sneeg in the deep dark. At the time he'd thought it was simply a result of Clown's waning grasp on consciousness. To hear it now, though, after another rare moment of sincerity, it struck Sneeg that sincerity was something Clown only ever seemed to get from Ros. 

Great. As if he didn't feel enough like a jerk.

"Hey," Sneeg said. "I'm sorry. That we almost left you behind."

Clown hummed. "You didn't, though."

They didn't, and it was all thanks to Ros. He owed her an apology too. She'd been right and he doubted her. As far as Sneeg was concerned, Ros could count on him to back her plays for the rest of time. He was inclined to cynicism; perhaps letting a little idealism in too wouldn't hurt.

They rode in silence following that, the rhythm of the rowing lulling Clown back into a fitful sleep against Sneeg's shoulder. An impressive testament to his exhaustion. They stopped for a break at a forested shore when the sun reached its apex in the sky. This time Clown managed to keep a whole baked potato down when Sneeg offered him food. He complained about an ache in his neck amongst the rest of his body pains as they ate, and Sneeg took great pleasure in pretending he had no idea where it may have come from.

The second leg of the journey went much as the first did. Light banter marked the periods that Clown was awake, and soft snoring those where he slept. It was mid-afternoon when the spires of the cathedral came into view, followed thereafter by the gleaming, golden roof of the castle. Sneeg nudged Clown, and Clown poked him back, utterly unenthusiastic. 

 "How's the leg?" Sneeg asked as he brought their boat to berth alongside the hostile faction's ship. 

"Is amputation still on the table?" Clown said. 

"Nope," Sneeg said. "Last call for amputation was a few chunks back. You missed your window."

"Damn."

"You're back!" Ros exclaimed as she ran to greet them. She wasted no time grabbing ahold of Clown and hoisting him out of the boat onto shore. "Oh, I'm so glad you made it!"

"Hi Ros," Sneeg said, stretching now that he no longer had to share the space with Clown. Several of his vertebrae popped when he did. "Did you and Tango get things ready?"

"Yes! I'm not very good at alchemy, so I asked Aimsey to make potions for us to use." Ros said. "And I finished putting Clown's room together so he'll have somewhere cozy to recover in the castle."

"Great," Sneeg said, stepping out of the boat onto shore beside Ros and Clown. He slung Clown's arm over his shoulders and began walking him towards the bridge. "Nice work."

Ros beamed as she scurried alongside them to the castle, leading them to Clown's bedroom. The decor was gaudy and gothic, exactly what Sneeg imagined Clown would enjoy if he wasn't busy focused on taking measured breaths as he was dragged across the room to the bed. The long sigh Clown let out as he sank back into the downy pillows stacked at the headboard spoke volumes. 

"Don't get too comfortable," Sneeg warned. "We've still gotta set your broken leg." He turned to Ros. "Can you grab the potions?"

"Yes, they're right here!" Ros pulled an armful of bottles from a nearby barrel, and Sneeg plucked one containing turtle master and another filled with weakness from the bunch. A pain killer and a muscle relaxant. He popped the cork out of the first and handed the bottle over to Clown.

"You're trying to poison me," Clown said as he sipped from the potion.

"Trust me," Sneeg said, pulling the cork from the second bottle. "If I wanted you dead there were a thousand ways I could have done it already, starting with leaving you in the deep dark."

"It's some kind of long con, I know it is," Clown said as he took the second potion. "Weakness? That's a little overkill, don't you think?"

"I'm not a fuckin' surgeon, man," Sneeg said. "I'm not taking any chances."

Truthfully, Sneeg wasn't entirely confident in his ability to properly set a broken bone. He knew enough field medicine for a nose and a kneecap, sure, but the fracture to Clown's lower leg should really have been seen by a proper physician. There was a dire lack to be found within the Kingdom, however, and Sneeg wasn't about to ask outside of it either. Aimsey's potions were already treading a line he wasn't sure he was comfortable walking.

Clown hummed and slammed the second potion without comment. Perhaps picking up on Sneeg's nervousness, or perhaps spurred by his own. If he were in Clown's position, he wouldn't be thrilled to have Sneeg as his bone-setter either. Sneeg discarded the empty bottles once Clown was done and put his hands on his hips as he considered his task.

"Well. How do you want to do this?" He asked. "Easiest first, or hardest first?"

"Easy for you to rank them when they aren't your broken bones," Clown grumbled. "Start with the nose."

"Easiest it is," Sneeg said, rolling up his sleeves and kneeling beside the bed to get a closer look at Clown's face. Clown's dark eyes followed the movement, a slight furrow to his brow as he watched Sneeg. He seemed more alert than he had been the previous evening, more alert than he had the entire journey back. Just in time for him to really appreciate the pain Sneeg was about to inflict on him. Wasn't that nice?

The swelling in Clown's face had gone down considerably, leaving him with  bruising under his eyes and only a slight crook in the bridge of his nose. A quick tug would have it back in place, and with any luck there wouldn't be any further bleeding. Sneeg reached out to cup Clown's face with one hand and his nose with the other, his movements carefully telegraphed for the sharp eyes full of animal fear watching him. 

"Ready?" Sneeg asked.

"Uh huh," Clown responded in the most trepidatious, I am not ready tone Sneeg had ever heard.

With a snap of his wrist, Sneeg tugged Clown's nose back into place. Clown's shoulders jumped when he did and his eyes filled with involuntary tears.

"Ow."

One down. Sneeg scooted down to Clown's leg next, and Ros moved to take over the space Sneeg had just occupied. She held Clown's hand between her own, a kind gesture that almost certainly was for her more than it was for Clown. He gave her a reassuring squeeze back, because if there was one thing they could count on it was Clown putting Ros's feelings ahead of his own wellbeing.

Next was Clown's knee. The misshapen lump of his dislocated patella was, if nothing else, easy to identify. It sat on the outer part of his leg, roughly parallel to the trochlear groove it had pulled from. With enough pressure, it should slip right back into the groove, and from there a potion of healing would take care of the rest. It was still going to hurt like hell in the meantime.

Sneeg positioned his hands with both thumbs against the kneecap. Clown watched with tear filled eyes. He hadn't bothered wiping them after the last one. He might have been doing his best to pretend the tears weren't there at all. It was difficult to interpret the minutia of what the miserable frown on his face meant. Sneeg opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Clown interrupted him.

"Don't ask me if I'm ready," he said. "Just get it o— OW-ver with—!"

Clown's voice raised an octave as Sneeg jabbed his thumbs into his patella. The bone slid beneath his flesh over his femur and tibia, slotting back into the trochlear groove between the two as if it had never been dislocated in the first place. Clown gasped and shook, would've shook apart if not for his grip on Ros's hand. She grimaced, but made no effort to extricate herself from his hold. They were birds of a feather, the way they sacrificed themselves for each other. Sneeg just prayed that grip wasn't so tight that he would have additional bones to mend once he was done with Clown.

Two down. One to go. The big one. Sneeg waited for Clown's stuttered breath to even out, for the tension to leave his shoulders. There were no longer tears filling his eyes, squeezed shut as they were. Instead they trailed wet tracks down his bruised cheeks. Slowly, he relaxed his hold on Ros's hand. 

"You want a warning next time?"

Clown nodded wordlessly, and Sneeg felt just the slightest ache of guilt for it. Sneeg slid his hands down to the swollen mid-shin of Clown's leg, and felt a shiver under his touch. 

"This one's gonna hurt the most," Sneeg said.

"I know," Clown responded hoarsely. 

He gave the fracture a small squeeze to gauge how badly displaced the bones were. Clown huffed hard out his nose as his tibia and fibula bent to the pressure. To Clown, the bones probably felt as if they were ready to tear through muscle and flesh and rip out the side of his leg. To Sneeg, they felt like they couldn't be more than a half an inch out of place. 

"Ros," he said. "I'm gonna need two sticks, string, and some leather for a splint. Can you grab that for me?"

"Yes, of course!" Reluctantly, Clown released her hand to allow her to fetch the requested items from a barrel beside the one that had contained the potions. Sneeg took the leather and carefully arranged it into strips beneath Clown's leg. He returned his hands to the break while Ros held onto the sticks.

"Brace yourself," he said. And Clown did. His hands twisted into the blankets below him while Sneeg pressed onto his fractured bones, grinding them against each other as they were forced back into alignment. 

"Aaah... Fuck—" Clown hissed, which was still a milder response than Sneeg would've given if their positions were reversed. He was as concerned by Clown's commitment to stoicism as he was impressed by it. There was still plenty in his body language to give him away, though; the renewed trembling, the clenched jaw, the stiff fists. The amount of tension he could hold in his body in spite of a potion of weakness loosening his muscles was perhaps the most impressive part of all, in an annoying, troublesome way.

"Ros, I need you to hold the sticks on either side of his leg for me," Sneeg said. "Tight. It's going to hurt, but for it to heal right it has to be, alright?"

Ros leaned over Sneeg and did as she was directed. He adjusted her hold until it was firm, and he was sure they would keep Clown's leg still while it healed. Clown let out a long breath as his shaking subsided once more. Sneeg wrapped the leather around his leg and the sticks, securing it tightly with the string once he was sure the bones hadn't jostled back out of alignment. He sat back with a sigh, as did Ros. When Clown realized they no longer had their hands on him he did as well, sinking back into his pillows with a kind of finality that Sneeg was, for once, happy not to ruin.

"Look at that," he said. "And we didn't even have to amputate."

"Amputate?!" Ros exclaimed, eyes wide with concern.

"Joking, Ros," Clown said, his energy for any further banter having depleted entirely. Sneeg snorted and picked up a red and a magenta potion from the collection sitting beside the bed. 

"One last thing before you can sleep," he said, uncorking the healing potion as he did. Clown sighed—not the theatrical sigh of a man hiding his pain under layers of irony, but the soft sincerity of one whose utter exhaustion had finally caught up to him. He'd put up a valiant effort against it, but no one could draw from an empty well. Sneeg helped him lift his head enough to sip from the bottle that he held to Clown's lips. Clown did so obediently, and Sneeg bit his tongue against another quip. 

Just this once, he would give his friend a break. He needed it.