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Clown had to admit that, as starts to a season went, this was… a rough one.
For starters, he’d somehow mined up into a tundra. And was now lost. Which was… stressing him out. A little. Just a bit.
He’d gotten a few diamonds, at least. It might have been better to spend them on a pickaxe, really, but him being him, he’d made a sword.
Which he was now holding defensively, creeping through the snowstorm that seemed to go on forever. At least he had something. Admittedly, he had no armour, and levels of stress that were far higher than he was used to, but it was fine. He was so fine.
He blamed… everything, actually. His skin had been itchy all day, and he’d be mining right now if the stone hadn’t felt wrong, and really, he just wasn’t in the mindset for being the world’s deadliest player right now. Which was a problem.
Clown breathed carefully, feeling icy air sting at his lungs, and tears in his eyes. Just survive the day. People would be building their bases, and that was fine, he’d just… be a bit behind, this season.
Who was he kidding? He’d messed up his start, he’d gotten lost, and now he was getting overwhelmed by the goddamn snow.
He was tired. Everyone else, they had allies to crash with, if they wanted a slow start, or someone to watch their back while they slept. He had no one. No one trusted him enough, and fair play, he didn’t trust them, and it all added up to him being alone and them being happy.
His legs were starting to give out. Frostbite would be a terrible way to go. Casting around, he saw an igloo a little way off, and stumbled towards it, trying to cling onto his sword with increasingly frozen fingers.
A gust of wind bit at his neck and arms, and Clown flinched, sword dropping from his hand. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t, when every breath felt like it was tearing his body apart from the inside, cold air going into his lungs and coming out just as cold.
He was going to die here. And respawn back at the centre of the world, and do this all over again, and again, until he pulled himself together.
Sword forgotten, Clown pushed himself on, fighting back tears only because he couldn’t stomach them freezing to ice on his cheeks.
Then he was inside, falling to the floor as his muscles gave out, not even a shred of armour to break his fall. This felt like his worst moment. Maybe it would be better to just die, lose the heart, spawn back in a warmer biome.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t show weakness, not now, not when everyone thought he was gearing up. And he would be, he really would, just as soon as his ears stopped ringing and the world didn’t feel wrong against his skin and his body stopped wanting to wrench away from his mind.
Clown flinched, curled into a fetal position, feeling frostbite gnaw away at his health as he cried silently. He didn’t want to die here. But he was going to, he could feel it, and maybe no one would even really know how.
“Clown?”
Clown sat bolt upright, even as his vision spun, focusing as best he could on the voice. He recognised that voice. Were they coming to kill him? Probably.
But still, he heard himself call out in return, voice hoarse and unfiltered as his mind focused on merely keeping his heart beating and lungs full of icy air.
“Yeah?”
That was stupid. But he was so cold, and so miserable, and maybe they’d kill him quickly, quicker than the cold. He was so cold. The shivering almost felt good, because at least it wasn’t a texture, just pain radiating through his brittle feeling bones.
“Clown?”
He managed to look up, just about, and blinked.
“Branzy?”
For half a second, Clown wondered if he was hallucinating. Backlit by moonlight, with pure white hair and wings and a violet suit that almost looked like it was glowing, Branzy looked decently ethereal.
At least, until he shut the door behind him, and suddenly he just looked scared, and Clown felt pathetic, but Branzy hardly had any more gear than him.
“What- are you ok?”
Clown sniffed. Smiled, even if Branzy couldn’t see. There wasn’t much else to do.
“Nope. Got lost.”
“Yeah, I- I guessed, I found your sword, and- and a hole- Jesus, Clown, I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet.”
Well, at least Branzy probably wouldn’t kill him. Then again, Clown was pretty sure anyone could, right now, even the weakest member of the server.
Except- Branzy wasn’t that weak, not really, as Clown was reminded as he took a few, deep breaths, ruffled his wings, and dropped to his knees beside him, braced like Clown was about to kill him with some non-existent weaponry.
When Clown didn’t kill him, didn’t move at all, really, Branzy dared to relax a little, letting out a breathy, terrified laugh.
“Hi. Uh- what’s up?”
“My stress levels.”
Even now, every muscle in his body was screaming to find a weapon, not to let anyone else have the first strike, but there were no weapons to be had aside from the axe in Branzy’s hand, and Clown didn’t entirely trust his own body not to betray him right now.
“…right.” Branzy laughed again, and reached for something in his inventory. Clown flinched away, visibly shivering with even that small motion. “Hey, I- I’m not going to hurt you. Jesus, that’s a weird thing to say. Ok.”
Clown just watched, apprehensive beyond belief but also the most helpless he’d ever felt, as Branzy pulled out what meagre supplies he seemed to have gathered, including a golden apple and a few loaves of bread.
There was a strange feeling, to being let down by his own body. He was used to being trapped, even outmatched, from time to time. But as Clown stared at the floor, not trusting his own desperation not to show, he felt more vulnerable than any trap had rendered him.
“Clown? Are- are you hungry?”
Poor, sweet, well-meaning Branzy. Clown almost laughed, if that wouldn’t have taken energy he didn’t have, because he’d always dismissed him for it. But now, when that same kindness was offered to him, it felt like the most selfless, wonderful gesture imaginable.
Wordlessly, he nodded, a lump in his throat as Branzy pressed the golden apple into his hand.
“I, uh- I only have one, but- you don’t look like you should be having more than one anyway, so I guess it works out! Wow, you’re- really cold.” Branzy touched his exposed hand again, and Clown just gritted his teeth, trying not to latch onto the warmth even Branzy’s strangely cold hands held. “Are you- god, you really don’t look good.”
Clown just raised his hand silently, trying to keep all his limbs as tucked into his core as he could as he pushed his mask slightly onto his forehead.
Branzy gasped beside him, but he just bit into the golden apple, trying not to cry. It tasted- like every other golden apple he’d ever eaten. Only it was far warmer than he was right now, and it tasted a bit of kindness, and Clown just was feeling pretty fragile at the moment, and Branzy wasn’t exactly stabilising him.
He ate it silently, crunching noises echoing through the small igloo. He knew Branzy was still there, in the same way he knew frostbite was still lingering in the peripherals of threats to his life, but Clown really couldn’t care less. Branzy could stay here, he could kill him, he could lie down and die with him in this shitty tundra, it didn’t seem to matter.
Feathers brushed against his shoulder. Clown froze, halfway through the apple, tension spreading across his shoulders as Branzy shuffled closer, wrapping his wing around him.
It was- really warm. Like a blanket, if a blanket had internal body heat, and adjusted itself to try to cover him as much as possible.
“…what… are you doing?”
“Keeping you warm.” Branzy sounded like he was grinning, and rested his head on Clown’s shoulder, much to his bewilderment. “I’m not passing up the chance to say I saved your life.”
That… almost made sense. In a way. But Clown would have accepted pretty much anything right now, so after a moment, he relaxed as much as he could, and carried on eating the apple, trying his hardest to ignore the feeling of Branzy’s body so close to his.
It felt strange. The two of them, probably miles away from civilisation, both pathetic in their own ways, sitting on the floor of an igloo. One of them eating an apple.
Clown finished the apple, and still didn’t move, mind not quite processing just how close Branzy was. It didn’t feel… bad. Not exactly. The warmth was very welcome, and his wing alone would have been enough. But it was the fact that he was right there, snuggling against Clown like a cub to a polar bear, that was making something in his brain lag a little.
“Should probably make a fire…” Branzy mumbled in his ear, shifting slightly. “If we’re gonna be here all night.”
Clown nodded. He should make a fire. He should check the perimeter. He should kill Branzy.
He didn’t do any of those things. Just waited, or maybe died slowly, feeling the golden apple settle in his empty stomach like a weight in his heart.
Sighing, Branzy pulled his wing away, and Clown tried not to cry at the loss of the warmth. He just bit his lip, and wrapped his arms around his knees, replaying the feeling of human touch until it hurt.
Movement caught his eye, and Clown stared numbly as Branzy crouched down, fumbling with a flint and steel after arranging a few sticks in a rough campfire.
“Hold the- the steel still.” Clown’s voice was barely audible, even to him, the smallest whisper that was all he could manage. Still hoarse, but mostly just sounding weak. “Angle it towards the wood.”
Branzy paused, then did as he’d said, creating a few showers of sparks that caught within minutes. He made a small, chirping sound of triumph, and sat back, watching the campfire ignite in satisfaction.
Without thinking, Clown shuffled forward, ducking under his wing and tucking himself against Branzy’s shoulder.
“Oh- ok. Cool. Yeah.”
“Sh. Y’re comfy.”
His voice was rough, catching in his throat, so Clown decided to just stop talking, and nuzzle into Branzy’s wings.
Branzy, to his credit, recovered from the shock far quicker than Clown had, and giggled softly, fully wrapping Clown in his wing and pulling him closer.
“Ok, this is- pretty cute. For a deadly assassin.”
“Shut.”
“Okie. You’re cute.”
Clown growled, only it came out as almost a purring noise, which wasn’t helping his case. Giving up, and giving into the general lack of dignity he seemed to have embraced, he just leaned entirely against Branzy, soaking up his warmth and the heat of the fire.
Before he had time to think about strategy, or escape routes, or even the pressing question of what Branzy was going to want from him, Clown felt himself drifting off, exhaustion finally overwhelming him as his body finally gave in.
The last thing he felt was Branzy stroking his hair gently, murmuring something that sounded kind.