Archive of Our Own

Sometimes, Branzy really, really wondered what he was doing with his life.

On paper, this was cool. A great way to spend his likely painfully few years. Sneaking around, doing what those spies in the movies did, only it was real. He got to do whatever he wanted, however he wanted, as long as it all came back to his mission.

In practice…

Long term deployment. They’d told him that much, and a lot of other stuff, but Branzy had done his own research. A mercenary partnership, ties to pretty much everything this side of the country, working for anyone with enough money and the balls to trade with them.

Scary stuff. Branzy was pretty sure this qualified as career-making. If he pulled it off. Life-ending, if he didn’t, and the look in his handler’s eyes had told him he probably had worse odds than a coin flip.

But life was for living, and fun was for having, and Branzy had said yes. Yes to all of it, the new name, the new passport, the new life that let him be some nobody graduate willing to work as house staff deep in the backwoods of nowhere. Yes to lasting as long as it took, with a single contact and a single goal to get however much information he could out of these two.

Again, this sounded cool as hell, in an office with Rek across the desk from him, and all the danger and fear compressed into a file a good five inches thick. A bit like a holiday, to be honest. Branzy would have to keep his cover, but apart from that, the mission was simple. Just listen, and gain trust, and get whatever he could. His higher-ups were pretty sure that any information would be good information, so he had free rein over how to spend his time.

That had been two months ago. He’d had a fortnight, to get his affairs in order, for Rek to put all the paperwork through. Then they’d taken him across the country, where no one knew his name anyway, and handed him a verification number for a taxi that took him out to the middle of an estate in the middle of nowhere, then dropped him outside the door of a country mansion.

Branzy had met Clown first. Clown, who told him they didn’t normally employ staff, but he seemed an interesting exception. Clown, who’d taken his bags immediately, and Branzy had never been more glad for Rek’s paranoia. There was nothing at all to give him away, except a single phone number he had memorised and an emergency call button disguised as a keychain. This was a minimalist mission, he liked to think.

It had taken a solid week for Branzy to work out he really was the only one in this house. Clown hadn’t been kidding. It was just the two of them, and him, and the food delivery and single cleaner they had every few weeks.

After that, he’d met Ferre for the first time, and Branzy had begun to really appreciate how dangerous these two were. It wasn’t even that they hid their lifestyle, no, they seemed more than happy to leave almost anything lying around, probably secure in their isolation. They had tidied up a bit, since he’d arrived, but Branzy still struggled to pretend to miss the packages that arrived every few days, the things Clown packed before heading out.

He’d worked out their routine, at least. One of them was home, almost always, although Branzy had a feeling that was only so he wasn’t left unsupervised. Apart from that, at least one of them was on a job, details of which arrived in letters with no return address, and were hashed out over calls Branzy listened to while he was pretending to sleep.

Each job lasted no longer than a week, and they didn’t bring home souvenirs. That made it hard to work out exactly where they went at all, but Branzy was making baby steps. They just came home, unpacked, and life seemed to carry on as normal. Which it was, given they seemed to have been doing this for the best part of a decade.

It was good intel. Branzy had sent exactly one correspondence to his contact so far, a text in the dead of night which he’d spent the next hour erasing from his hidden phone entirely. He didn’t want to risk too much.

These two may not be too paranoid, but they were careful, and Clown seemed to have some kind of gut feeling about him. Branzy didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to push it, either. It was natural, for people in their position to distrust anyone new. It didn’t mean they knew anything about him.

Besides, Clown seemed to be warming to him, a little. He still treated Branzy almost like a child, cutting off conversation with Ferre whenever he entered the room, making sure Branzy went to bed at the same hour each night. Branzy was pretty sure he’d been drugged, too, at least once, but he was also pretty sure it had been by Ferre.

But- progress! There was progress happening, inch by inch. Truthfully, Branzy hadn’t even been trying for the information he’d found so far. He’d committed his first few months to gaining their trust, to playing as Luci, to being innocent and trustworthy and not someone worth killing at all.

Those few months were almost up. On any other mission, Branzy would have been impatient by now, pushing for his intel so he could get out as quickly as possible. But he’d known this would be a long time from the start, Rek had dropped years with a significance that made it seem serious. He’d been more worried than Branzy, about this. The longest he’d gone before this was ten months, and he’d almost been ratted out, towards the end.

This job was different. To everything Branzy had done before. Not least because, and this scared him, more than anything Clown or Ferre had done to him, he liked this. Sue him! He might just be a servant, or a spy disguised as a servant, but there was something pleasing about the domestic routine of cleaning, tidying, cooking and running errands.

Even better, when it really did feel like a game. Branzy kept his true cards close to his chest, but even without that, they always seemed to be playing with him. Did Branzy pretend not to notice the gun they’d left lying on the table, and let Ferre needle him for it for the next week? Or did he play saccharinely innocent, presenting their stack of illegal mail with a sweet enough smile Clown would know what he knew, and maybe deal him in?

Judgement calls and judgement calls, and Branzy hadn’t gone wrong so far, and, honestly? He was having the time of his life. Ferre was funny, and Clown was fascinating, and Branzy had the terrifying feeling they liked having him around as much as he was starting to like them.

Which was bad. Very bad. Rek had told him, his greatest risk here—after all the other, massive, risks—was himself. Branzy had to get their guards down, while keeping his own up. He couldn’t get too comfortable with them, and he definitely couldn’t assume that they weren’t playing him as much as he was playing them.

Fun times. Doubting everything he saw, everything he heard or was told, wondering if they’d known who he was from the start. Then forgetting all of it, when Clown invited him to play games with them, and Branzy got to look Ferre in the eye and lie to him, like nothing mattered at all.

A month and a half. Coming up on two months. Branzy had no idea when this mission would end, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. Not when his bed was beginning to feel like home, even with a lock on either side of the door. Not when life here started to feel normal. Not when everything felt just right, and less like a mission every day, and like Branzy actually enjoyed being here, a lot more than he’d like.

That was ok. He was here for years, maybe. He might as well get comfortable.

——————

“Morning, Clown!”

Clown made a vague noise of appreciation, sitting down at the table at least an hour earlier than he was normally awake.

Branzy was sure he knew what was going on. That was why he had breakfast ready already, a new sort of pancakes he’d been weirdly invested in. It had taken a while, to find a new recipe, but Ferre had mentioned he liked chocolate in the morning, and Branzy had run with that.

Anyway, Clown was awake early, which never happened. Unless he had something important to do, which he probably did, because both he and Ferre had been home for the last few days, so one of them would probably head out soon.

He was getting good at this. Branzy knew the two of them better every day. Of course, this came with the unnerving awareness that they were getting to know him better and better, but Branzy was sure he was keeping his composure better than two professional mercenaries.

Setting the plate in front of Clown, Branzy received a small nod in return, and the happy glow of pride in his chest as he skipped back to the stove. He wouldn’t have called himself the household chores type before this, but it was oddly pleasing, when he knew he had no other responsibilities. His life was just keep order, improve efficiency, spy on the only two other people he’d seen in the last two months, and lie.

Ferre wasn’t down much later. He was more variable, in when he got up. Normally around the same time as Clown, and it had taken Branzy a while to work out that while he kept two separate bedrooms tidy, they normally slept in one. It had been on his mind a lot, recently. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much.

“Good morning, Luci.” Ferre appeared behind him, collecting his plate from where Branzy had left it at the end of the kitchen counter. On his way past, he patted Branzy’s shoulder, nodding in greeting. “Sleep well?”

Clown grumbled, like he always did, when Ferre was more awake than him to ask questions. Branzy had begun to realise that, the state of their partnership or not, they acted like a married couple, and bickered like one too.

That didn’t stop him joining in, from time to time. Branzy smiled, going back to washing up as Ferre sat across from Clown, and received a scathing glance.

“Pretty- pretty good, yeah. Getting warmer, and all. You?”

Honestly, the temperature didn’t both him that much. It was cold here, sometimes, especially in the rooms nether Clown nor Ferre used very often, but Branzy could cope. Neither of them seemed to mind a bit of a chill, so Branzy kept his shivering to himself.

“Is your room too cold?”

“No, it- it’s fine.” Branzy bit back his smile, as he washed out a bowl of pancake mix. They had a dishwasher, but honestly, there was so little to really do to keep everything in order that sometimes Branzy ended up making more work for himself. “My- my body just thinks I’m in the middle of an ice age whenever it gets chilly.”

Clown hummed, in that half-pointed way he did when he wasn’t interested in talking, but was making it known he had an idea. Ferre snorted, and probably did something that would piss Clown off. Branzy knew them too well.

“Clown’s going to turn up the heating, y’know. Unless I’m allowed to?”

“No.” Clown’s voice was flat, scratchy from overnight disuse. “You think living in a sauna is invigorating.”

“It is! Oh- Luci, these are good.” Ferre sounded surprised, in an exaggerated sort of way, and made another noise of approval, probably as he chewed. “New recipe?”

Ferre was definitely trying to wind Clown up. Branzy had realised it was some sort of game between them, one he wasn’t about to interrupt. It drove Clown a little insane, Ferre beating him to every punch of showing interest and concern around Branzy. It was kind of cute, if he didn’t think about it too hard.

“Mhm. Th- thanks.”

Branzy was pretty sure this bowl was clean, but he wasn’t about to go sit with them, so he was just going to pretend to keep washing it for a while longer.

“It’s good.”

“You’ve said that.”

Well done Ferre, Clown sounded pissed. Branzy bit the inside of his cheek, feeling oddly happy inside. This felt nice. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to wash up measuring spoons, but hopefully they’d both be done soon, or he could excuse himself.

“So what? He deserves to know. Anyway, Clown, did you get-“

Clown shushed Ferre immediately, and Branzy felt his neck prickle. Mission. He had a mission. If they had secrets, that was his job to find out.

His back was still turned, but Branzy could hear them perfectly, and tried not to betray his sudden attentiveness in his body language.

“Oh… shit.” Ferre laughed nervously, and his chair scraped against the floor. “Yeah, I remember. When are we leaving, though?”

We. Branzy moved robotically to the cupboard, pulling out the smaller bowls to replace the one he’d just washed and dried. They were both leaving. His heart was racing, but he was sure he looked calm. This was such a good opportunity.

“As soon as you’re ready.”

Normally, Clown would have whispered, when discussing a job of theirs. But now he spoke almost at normal volume, if a little terse, and Branzy couldn’t help but feel hopeful. They were getting comfortable around him. Or something worse was happening. He didn’t want to rule out something worse.

It really caught him off guard, every time he remembered these two were wanted murderers. Branzy could have just turned the two of them in and done pretty well for himself. But Rek thought he could go bigger, get them both and everyone who’d ever worked with them. It was a lot of pressure, especially when Branzy kept forgetting how much danger he was in, every day.

“Cool, then. Thanks again, Luci, and fuck you, Clown.”

“Fuck off, Ferre.” Clown sounded positively goodnatured, as Ferre stood up, and walked off, passing Branzy’s eyeline and nodding cheerfully. “You should make these again, by the way.”

“Of- of course.” With one of them gone, Branzy found the courage to turn around, leaning on the counter and trying not to stare at Clown. “Are you two- are you two going somewhere?”

It helped he stuttered naturally. Branzy wasn’t sure he’d get through asking stuff like that if his voice didn’t naturally sound a little bit terrified.

“Just for a few days.” Clown picked up his and Ferre’s plate, bringing them over with a deadly sort of calm. “You’ll be alone. Don’t break anything.”

That sounded like just a normal tease, a genuine warning delivered lightheartedly enough to laugh over. But Branzy couldn’t help but hear danger, even when Clown met his eyes with the barest smile.

“Me? I- I’d never. Seriously, I- I wouldn’t. Won’t.”

“Good.”

Clown didn’t touch him, but Branzy almost felt like he did. Ferre wasn’t so shy. Clown just looked at him like he already knew what it would be like.

Branzy swallowed, hard, and looked away, reordering the measuring spoons into their drawer.

When he looked up, Clown had disappeared, and Branzy let out a low sigh of relief. Every time this felt like it was getting easier, it got harder again.

He just didn’t want to mess this up. For anyone. He knew, in the back of his mind, that this would end with him handing Clown and Ferre over to his handlers, and that would be that, and he’d probably have to retire, or go into witness protection. But there would be a moment, maybe longer, where he’d be standing the same room as them, and know that they knew who he was.

Branzy shut the drawer too hard, and squeezed his eyes shut. Rek said not to get attached. Keep himself out of this.

He probably wouldn’t make it to the end anyway. They’d catch on, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to Clown putting a bullet through his head, and no one would ever find his body. And maybe that would be better, easier, even. Maybe then he’d never have to stop pretending this was a life he almost wanted.

Branzy headed out of the kitchen, pushing it all down inside him. That wasn’t who he was right now. He was just Luci, who let Clown and Ferre fight over him, then kept their house in order when they went out for reasons he didn’t know.

But in a little while, he’d be Branzy again, and have the house to himself to text his handler and carry on poking around.

He needed to stay in control. This was just a waiting game. Either they’d slip up, and give him whatever he needed to end this, or Branzy would, and they’d end it for him.

——————

They’d both left. Branzy still couldn’t quite believe it. He hadn’t been truly alone in months, even in the dead of night, either Clown was awake for no good reason at all or he hadn’t the uncanny feeling he was being watched regardless.

But he’d seen them both leave, had Ferre write out physical instructions for the alleged two whole days they’d be gone, after Clown prompted him to not leave Branzy entirely alone with their house. It was simple stuff. Get some dusting done, organise a few closets, do some gardening. Busy work, like Clown was worried Branzy was lacking enrichment, or something.

Branzy could get it done in a day, easy. Then, once he had that handled, he could look for some of the stuff his handler was interested in. Bank records. The barest hint of a return address. Anything, anything concrete, anything they’d never let him near normally.

Plus, while he was working through his little errand list, he could check for cameras. Branzy somewhat doubted it—this was their house, the one they seemed to keep so separate from the rest of their work—but they might have installed some specially with his arrival.

Better safe than sorry. Branzy was normally pretty good at telling when he was being observed, and right now, he still had that telltale tingling on his neck.

He went through the main living spaces first. Somewhat apprehensively, after Branzy found his first camera while dusting the mantelpiece of the dining room. This was why he was thorough, and why it had saved his skin more than once before.

Not fool enough to actually move it, Branzy pretended not to notice entirely, and did the same with the one he found while organising the games room. He should have seen these already. Unless they’d only been installed recently, which was a whole other type of worrying.

Or maybe Clown just didn’t like having basically a stranger alone in his house. After all, he’d only known Branzy for a couple of months, and he had no way of knowing he wasn’t a plant.

Which he was. Of course he was. Even if it made Branzy uncomfortable, for the first time, lying to them like this.

Branzy kept a level head, trying to distract himself as he worked through the house. Normal cleaning. No need to cook, he didn’t eat anything complicated when he was on his own, so that was one less job.

In any other situation, it would have been weird, his employers leaving for a few days and leaving him alone in a house with no expectation of him going anywhere and no prior warning. It would have scared Branzy, even, knowing they’d probably be angry if he did leave. He hadn’t stepped foot off this estate since he first arrived.

As it was, the thought barely occurred. Or, it did, and lasted long enough to make Branzy’s hands shake as he folded the laundry. They’d let him leave, if he asked to. Obviously. And he wasn’t going to ask to, because his job was here, but it wasn’t like he was trapped. They were even paying him. Not much, but enough to qualify him as an employee rather than an indentured servant.

Branzy finished separating their clothes—Clown wore hoodies, Ferre wore t-shirts, and somehow there was no overlap—and took a deep, calming breath. He was getting in his own head. This was a complicated, delicate situation, and he was meant to be qualified to handle it.

Way too late, Branzy wondered if being left here was some sort of test. Maybe when they came back, they’d expect him to have found something, and if he didn’t comment on it, they’d know he already knew.

That seemed pretty likely, actually. And it made it easier. Branzy wouldn’t have to hide from the cameras so much, even if he would have to fake more innocence, to make sure his cover was airtight. It shouldn’t be surprising, to them, for him to find something about their lives. As he’d said, they hid it, but in the same manner you’d hide graphic books from a child. Just out of reach, out of curiosity’s range, but not with any real attempt to conceal.

He could do that. Play their game and his, hope he didn’t show the wrong hand in the wrong one.

Branzy slipped into Ferre’s room, the one he rarely slept in, and placed the folded pile of clothes on his bed. Bedrooms would be a good place, to transition from real chores to snooping.

Once he’d put the clothes into the built-in wardrobe, Branzy made the bed, hands wandering under the pillows and mattress and finding exactly what he’d been looking for. He was fairly sure there weren’t even any cameras in here, so there was nothing stopping him pulling out the gun, and freezing in calculation.

Branzy nodded to himself. He was alone, this would be safe. He needed proof, after all. Rek said his testimony wouldn’t be enough, for something on this scale.

Branzy ran down the corridor, all the way to his own room, a marked distance from Clown and Ferre’s, but not in the actual, disused servants’ quarters.

He’d spent a while exploring, in the first few weeks, to Clown’s endearment. Apparently, it was sweet, watching him make his hesitant way down old-fashioned corridors, one hand on the dark wood dado rail, feet padding along thick rugs down the centre of the wooden floor. The walls upstairs were cream, with flowers painted on the top half, but no pictures. There were side tables everywhere, littered with newspapers or conspicuously empty, like they’d been tidied in a hurry before Branzy could see them.

Downstairs, the floors were all old wood or tile, with panelled walls and elegant furniture in the various sitting rooms. The conservatory was one of Branzy’s favourite rooms, with embroidered window seats and perfectly clear glass, looking out over the sprawling grounds.

He’d spent a few afternoons there, after Clown had noticed how little he had to do, and offered him use of the library. Branzy normally didn’t read much, but he’d been getting into it. It was hard not to, when he could pass hours, only seeing Ferre pass by and ruffle his hair, or feel Clown watching him from the next room.

His room was the same, antique style as the rest of the house, and specifically the rest of the bedrooms. Branzy had a feeling it had been a child’s room, or at least designed as one. Something about the ledge under the window, where he could theoretically perch and lean out to wave down at the patio below. Or the soft edges of the cornicing, and the small door in the wall at the end of his bed, leading to a tiny nook that Branzy had deemed an appropriate hiding place for his secret phone.

At least, they hadn’t found it yet. How would they? Branzy tidied, the cleaner… cleaned, Clown and Ferre just went about their business. They had no reason to go through his room.

Still, every time, Branzy couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, when he pulled out the innocuous device and switched it on. There were electrical hookups, but only a few, in Ferre’s room and the kitchen. As far as they knew, Branzy didn’t have a phone.

He should charge it now, actually, before he had to worry about the battery dying on him. But that was a job for after he hurried back to Ferre’s room, feeling like a puppy with something he shouldn’t be eating with his phone in his hands.

Branzy took a photo of the gun, and of Ferre’s room, then sent them to himself and immediately deleted them. Honestly, if they found this phone, he might be screwed anyway, but it would be easier to lie his way out if there was anything incriminating on it was hidden.

Branzy didn’t know who he was kidding. If they found out anything, anything, he was dead. Right now, he was cute, interesting and useful to them, and he was hoping he could spin that into some genuine affection. But they could kill him, they really could, or worse. They wouldn’t even need to have a reason. Branzy hadn’t messed up yet, but when he did, he wasn’t sure how surprised he’d be if the consequences were worse than he feared.

Then again, they hadn’t hit him yet, and they were so genuinely kind, sometimes, that Branzy forgot what he’d seen in their files. Like they weren’t the same people, the Clown that beckoned him over with that small head tilt, and the Clown that had a kill list Rek hadn’t bothered to scroll to the bottom of.

Branzy shoved his phone in his pocket, and finished making Ferre’s bed in a hurry. The feeling of being watched was back. He was getting twitchy. He was fine, he was so fine, he was a professional and everything was going exactly as expected.

Over fifty-percent odds of mission failure.

Branzy swallowed hard, and shook his head slightly, moving to Clown’s room as he tried to keep focus. They’d be so angry, if they found out. And then what? Rek was expecting him back, but no one else was. His handler had all but called this suicide. Branzy would die out here, and that would be that, and he’d have died for nothing.

Branzy liked his job. He loved his job. He got to fuck around and find out things no one was meant to know.

Until it killed him.

Fuck, Branzy didn’t want to die. Not when he was the happiest here he’d been in a long time. Maybe, if—when—they found out, he could persuade them to keep him alive. He could work for them for real, they could take his phone and everything, and he’d still be able to say he tried, even as he let himself fall into this fake life entirely.

A tear hit his hand, curled against sheets he was trying to make up, and Branzy shook his head again, trying to clear it. This was an emotional mission. Rek had said that too, Branzy had known it, this was everything he should expect to happen, and-

More than one in two that they worked out who he was. One in four, maybe six, they already knew.

Deep breath. Keep breathing. They wouldn’t find him out, not if he was careful. Fifty percent was loads, if he thought about it. Branzy needed to charge this phone. And he had his panic button. That would work, of course it would work, they wouldn’t just abandon him here to lull them into a false sense of security.

He finished in Clown’s room, and forgot to even search it, really. Branzy almost wanted them back already. It was so much easier, when he really was just Luci, and he could forget anything else mattered except the life he wasn’t pretending to want anymore.

On his way out, Branzy realised he’d forgotten to check for cameras. He doubted it would have helped the twisting in his gut anyway. He normally had such a good instinct for surveillance, but now, he was jumping at everything.

He’d seen people go insane, after missions like this. Branzy knew he might never recover, even if he made it out unharmed. This stuff got into your head.

He’d be fine. So fine. Branzy headed downstairs, intending to go through the recycling bins for any letters Ferre had forgotten to shred.

He nearly made it.

An arm slipped across his neck as soon as he touched the top of the stairs, and Branzy screamed on instinct, thrashing even as he was dragged backwards, and shoved face-first against a wall.

Then there was a gun against his head, and Branzy was hyperventilating, he didn’t know what had gone wrong, maybe someone had actually broken in and he didn’t even have Clown to protect him, and he was going to die, he was going to die and he didn’t want to die, not now, not-“

“Luci.”

Branzy felt his heart stop, and nearly threw up right there.

Clown’s voice was gentle against his ear, like this was a soft reprimand, not assault. Not that that really mattered, not when Branzy felt like he was falling apart inside, because Clown knew, he must know.

“Relax, Luci.”

As Clown’s free hand moved down his back, Branzy just about stopped breathing entirely, before he felt his phone being pulled out of his pocket, and calmed down a little, approaching hysteria for different reasons.

“You’ve never showed us this.”

Clown pulled him off the wall, then slammed his back against it again, dangling the phone in front of Branzy’s face like it was trash. But still, he was calm, entirely unaccusing. Maybe, maybe, Branzy could lie his way out of this.

“C- Clown, I- I didn’t realise-“ Think. What would a normal person say? “When- why are you- why are you back? Is- is Ferre-“

“Don’t make me ask you, Luci. Why didn’t you tell us you had a phone?”

Branzy died a little, inside, eyes flicking from Clown’s deadly eyes to possible escape routes, then back again, stomach twisting at the lack of real anger being so much worse, somehow.

“I- I- my- my parents.” Branzy wasn’t sure what he was saying, he couldn’t think, as long as his words were still coherent, anything would have to be good enough. “They- they wanted me to- to keep in- in touch, but-“

But his parents were dead. Branzy’s parents were dead. Luci’s weren’t, though, and he had to hope Clown would believe him.

“But I- I don’t- I don’t really-“ Branzy fought to breathe normally, trying to turn the tears in his eyes from guilty terror to a child’s nervous fright. “Want to- you- you know? I- I was going to-“

Look at his eyes. If Clown believed him, Branzy would see it in his eyes first. And there wasn’t disbelief, just like there wasn’t anger, wasn’t surprise. He was unreadable, expressionless, still pinning Branzy to the wall.

“I- I was going to- going to call them. Tell them I- I’m alright, here, and- and I really like it, so-“ So please don’t kill me. “I- I’m sorry, I- I should have told you-“

Branzy was hopeful. Stupidly so, as he stared at Clown, begging for this to work. He couldn’t cope with this being over so soon. He wanted more time, more of this, he’d do anything for it.

Clown let go. Between one moment and the next, Branzy was stumbling forward, almost falling to his knees, gasping and panting and sobbing softly as his shoulders shook.

“Call your parents, Luci.”

Branzy looked up at Clown, dumb, eyes shining and throat tightening. He was an idiot. He was so stupid, he’d gotten himself into this, and maybe he should beg for mercy now, before he made it any worse for himself.

“R- right-“

“Right now.” Clown nodded, holding out his phone with the suggestion of a smirk in the corner of his lips. “I won’t keep you from them.”

Branzy took his phone, failing to even form a thanks, and considered collapsing right there. His heart was pounding like he’d just run a marathon, his eyes stinging worse than ever, and he tried one last, desperate get-out, before Clown killed him for good.

“M- mhm. Th- thanks. I- I’ll go-“

“No, Luci. Here. Now.”

Clown knew. He must know. But as Branzy stared at him, trying to control his own expression, he found nothing but the same emotions he’d seen for the last two months. Cold amusement, radiating calm, interest like how a wolf had an interest in a rabbit. No mercy. Not even a chance for Branzy to admit now, and save himself his dignity, at least.

Like he wanted Branzy to humiliate himself, and prove it all. Branzy focused on his phone screen, schooling his breathing, pulling himself enough back into order to tap his clumsy way to a keypad, and stare at it like an idiot.

Clown didn’t say anything. Didn’t mock him, didn’t threaten him, didn’t even prompt him, as Branzy stared at a phone like he’d never seen it before. He was just waiting.

Branzy dialled the only number had had memorised. His handler usually let him talk first. This would be fine.

“Speaker.”

Clown knew. Branzy couldn’t quite breathe, was sure his cheeks were blotchy and red, tried to remind himself that he was a a professional, he had experience, but he really, really didn’t want Clown to be angry at him for lying.

His phone rung once in his hand, and Branzy held onto it like he could strangle the person on the other end.

”Br-“

“Hi, mum!” Branzy tried not to let his voice catch, eyes carefully fixed on his screen, betraying no more than the standard amount of apprehension. “Sorry for- for not calling about the- the new job.”

Silence. Come on, these people weren’t stupid. Branzy could hear his own heartbeat, couldn’t hear anything from Clown, and that was scarier than anything else, to be honest.

“My- my boss is here too! Say- say hi, Clown.”

Trying for a nervous grin, Branzy held his phone out, taking the opportunity to study Clown’s face like he’d never see it again. He might not, because Clown’s eyes were the exact same, even as he smiled a little more, and spoke softly.

“Hello. Luci’s been wonderful company.”

Branzy definitely tuned red. Clown hadn’t needed to say that. They were all acting, here, and they all knew it. It was the strangest charade, one only made worse by Clown meeting his eyes, and nodding, like Branzy had passed a test.

”Well, that’s-“

With an accidental slip of his thumb, Branzy ended the call, and tried not to pass out. He’d done high pressure before, but that was something else.

Still, when he looked up, Clown was smiling for real, and Branzy felt dizzy for different reasons.

“Good work.”

Clown nodded, and walked away without another word, leaving Branzy to slide down the wall, feeling like he was crumbling from the inside out.

Good work. What did that mean? Branzy had succeeded? Clown believed him? But if he was getting praised for it, Clown must still know he’d been lying, and- and-

Why was Clown even here?

Branzy felt like crying. He probably was crying. He was trying to avoid it, from every possible angle, but Clown must have figured it out. This had all been a trap, and he’d walked into it like an idiot, and now he really was never going to leave.

After a minute, breathless, head empty and chest aching like someone had been physical twisting his throat, Branzy managed to pull himself to his feet, almost halfway to steady.

So, Clown knew who he was. That was fine, that was so fine, Branzy needed to get past that. He wasn’t dead yet. Not yet.

Maybe they’d kill him tonight. Or they’d torture him. Or they’d wait to catch him again, and somehow that felt like the worst option.

A text from his handler appeared on screen, and Branzy felt the vibration go straight through his bones to his heart, with how hard he was clutching the phone.

Status update?

Idiot. Branzy blinked, almost despairing at how the people meant to be keeping him alive could be so stupid. He might not be safe, Clown might still be here, and he’d just been asked an extremity compromising question.

Still, he typed, sniffing and wiping his nose and erasing every word he misspelt.

encountering problems. cover might be blown

A second. Two. Dread built in Branzy’s gut, as the typing bubble remained. There shouldn’t be anything to say to that.

No backup available, in your current location. Extract yourself if necessary.

Fuck. Branzy made a nose like a wounded puppy, whining softly as he leaned back against the wall, and buried his face in his hands.

They were going to let him die. They’d sent him here, knowing he was the only one stupid enough to do this. They’d killed him, but Clown hadn’t yet, and this was so, so stupid because none of it had ever made sense, and Branzy was caught in the middle, doomed either way.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. What was the point? Branzy didn’t even wipe his eyes, before carrying on downstairs, feeling a fresh wave of anxious despair at seeing Ferre’s coat in the hall. They were both back. They’d never left.

But when he got downstairs, Ferre just waved from the sofa, on his laptop, and Clown was nowhere to be seen. Branzy stood, dumbly, wondering if he’d hallucinated the last hour.

“F- Ferre-“

Branzy hated how it sounded like he was whining. How it had only been a few months, but he seriously thought Ferre, of all people, could be some comfort.

Ferre looked up, and smirked. He was always so much less guarded than Clown. Always so much more willing to play games.

“Give him a few days. Run if you want to.” Ferre’s eyes returned to his screen, and he tilted his head, as if in thought, voice dropping to a murmur. “Won’t do much, but it might hurt more…”

That helped. A little. In a not-at-all sort of way.

Still, Branzy nodded, because he wasn’t ungrateful, and somehow made his way across the room, to the door, and froze. He could feel Ferre watching him, taunting, amused by the mere sight of him feeling like a cornered animal.

“Can- can I go outside?”

“Best not. Clown’s pretty angry, y’know…”

Branzy bit his tongue, trying not to cry as he stepped away from the door.

“Kidding.” Ferre laughed, soft as a snake in the undergrowth, and closed his laptop. “We knew. Or- I did. It’s in your eyes, Luci. Can’t hide your eyes.”

So it had all been for nothing. Or maybe Ferre hadn’t know at all, and he was just winding him up now. Branzy didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help it.

Ferre was trying to distract him.

Branzy stiffened, when he realised, and felt his heartbeat speed up, a little. He’d been told not to run, like running was an option. His eyes darted, like a cornered rabbit, and found Ferre, still sitting down.

“Luci, I really wouldn’t-“

He wasn’t Luci.

Branzy yanked the door open, and bolted, making straight for the small road that the cars that picked Clown and Ferre up came down. It wasn’t that far. Half a mile, at most. He could run. He could run. He needed to be able to run.

He needed to run, when his eyes were stinging, and his whole body felt like he was shaking, and he was dead, he was already dead, he’d been dead from the start but he’d wanted this to work, wanted this to work out and he hadn’t even made it half a year. He hadn’t made it anywhere at all.

Branzy almost didn’t feel the stab of pain in his thigh. Almost, as in he absolutely fucking did, but it was almost secondary to everything else.

He still stumbled. Nearly hit the ground, wrenching the dart out of his leg and staring at it in horror.

Who the fuck used tranquilliser darts on actual humans?

It really didn’t bode well for his immediate future, but Branzy knew a bit about poisons. He had a few minutes. A few minutes, with his mind going grey from panic, and the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel drive behind him.

“Luci…” Ferre sighed, then chuckled, still getting closer. “You’re lucky I hunt. Clown would have killed me if I’d shot you.”

Where was Clown? Branzy was spinning, and the world was spinning with him, and he knew, he knew the drugs were barely in his veins but they felt like they were, everything was slipping and Ferre was still getting closer.

He needed to run. It was animalistic, instinctive, but Branzy couldn’t shake himself out of it. Ferre felt like something he knew, and he needed to run now, before he lost track of who he was meant to be entirely.

His knees hit gravel. Branzy wasn’t sure how much he weighed, but he was hating however much it was for not being a little bit more, as he tried to focus on Ferre, just a few steps away from him.

“Your name’s not Luci, is it?” Ferre tilted his head, crouching down enough to be on Branzy’s eye level. “How much did you lie about?”

He couldn’t breathe. He could feel a weakness, spreading through him, even as Branzy yelled at himself to get up and run.

“P- please… I- I didn’t-“

“Hey, it’s ok. Whoever you are.” Laughing, Ferre ran a hand through his hair. “You did good, ok, Luci? Really good. I wouldn’t have guessed, but your guys gave you a bad deal.”

Branzy was way too cold. He’d said it was getting warmer, but it was too cold to be outside. He was shivering, and Ferre was warm, and he didn’t know where Clown was and he was trying not to care.

His body was turning to static. Branzy could hear himself breathing, panicked little breaths that made Ferre laugh, and that was almost enough to stop him panicking, if anything had been able to.

“You’re gonna be fine, Luci. So fine.”

Yeah. That did it. Nearly.

——————

His wrists hurt.

Branzy was pretty sure he was sitting down—or up, depending on how he thought about it—and his wrists hurt.

The rest wasn’t too difficult to work out.

The handcuffs were warm, and digging in just enough to help Branzy back to consciousness. His ankles weren’t tied, and he wasn’t otherwise attached to the chair. That was ok. He was ok with that.

Branzy forced himself to open his eyes, quite a lot before he was fully ready to, and groaned softly.

He was officially no longer ok with this.

“Your name isn’t Luci.” Clown leaned forward, sitting way, way too close for Branzy to be able to concentrate on anything, in a room he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen before. “And your backup isn’t coming.”

There was a question, buried in there, insomuch as Clown ever asked questions. Branzy tried to focus on it, pin it down, when the cement was still draining from his head.

“…B- Branzy. ‘M- name’s Branzy.”

His own name felt odd in his mouth, after so long going by another. It was the final collision of the two sides of his life, an irreparable harm Branzy couldn’t take back.

“Branzy.” Clown said it slowly, like he was considering, then nodded. “Well, hello, Branzy. Nice to finally meet you.”

“I- I wasn’t lying.” Branzy’s eyes drifted shut again, and he tugged weakly at the handcuffs. “Don’t- don’t kill me. Please. I- I like being alive.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Branzy didn’t like how that sounded. He didn’t like it enough to raise his head, and stare at Clown in terror, as he produced something from somewhere.

Branzy wasn’t feeing very coherent. He heard himself whimper, a little, as Clown leaned closer, one hand petting his cheek gently.

“Ferre wanted to be here. For what it’s worth, Branzy, we’re not going to kill you.”

Fabric pressed over his eyes, and Branzy immediately froze, like a rabbit in headlights, feeling his throat tighten as foam pressed tightly over his ears.

There was nothing. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t even move, even as he was sure his breathing picked up.

Branzy tried to speak, but had no idea if Clown could even hear him. If Clown was still there at all, or if he was alone, really alone.

He didn’t like this. Branzy was sure he could feel tears soaking into the blindfold already, and he nearly shrieked in relief when he felt Clown’s hand on his shoulder, so close, and that was something, at least.

Then there was a knife against his neck. It was way too much, Branzy could feel very burning cold touch of the metal as it traced a line from one side of his neck to another. The message was clear, and Branzy kept begging, louder and louder until he could feel it in his throat, until Clown pressed a hand over his mouth.

That left Branzy entirely helpless. He could kick, but then the knife sitting against his throat might slip.

Not that it wasn’t slipping already, drawing thin, scalding lines across his shoulders, and Branzy was frozen, he wasn’t sure where he was at all anymore. He only knew Clown was carving into his flesh now, and it hurt, and he was definitely crying. Everything Rek had taught him, hoped for him, and Branzy had come down on the wrong side of a coin flip.

Apologies. He’d switched to that. Branzy was apologising, or trying to, because there was still silk pressing against his lips, and a blade getting deeper into his shoulder. Too deep. Way too deep. Branzy thrashed, weakly, and only got the knife scraping against bone for his troubles, and Clown digging his fingers into his cheek.

The knife levered. Branzy was sure he shrieked, mostly in horror as he realised what was happening, and burning tore through him, like the tearing on his shoulder as metal pressed up and through his flesh. It felt like a fist-sized chunk, that Clown was carving out, even if it couldn’t be deeper than a centimetre at most.

It was more his flesh, Branzy was worried about, as Clown readjusted his knife. Everything was white-hot, nothing in his mind but pain and more pain and silk and terror, sheer terror of knowing this wasn’t going to end, that he was alone and trapped and cornered and helpless and-

The knife plunged down, through his shoulder, and twisted.

Branzy was fairly sure he was screaming like his handler might hear him, from across the country. He wasn’t built for pain. Not this sort of pain, not the violent, agonising throbbing from his tortured nerves, the horrible, jarring sensation of his arm disconnected from his chest. It felt wrong, and awful, and Branzy would give anything for Clown to stop now, five minutes ago, as soon as humanly possible.

There was a line, a nerve, maybe, running from his shoulder to his elbow, on the inside of his upper arm. It felt like it was on fire.

Clown’s hand slipped off his mouth. It moved behind him, silk slipping between Branzy’s twitching fingers, holding on as the blade went deeper.

Branzy could feel himself crying, tears hotter than his blood, and there was no way he was recovering from this. Clown might as well kill him. Ferre had better not be having a turn after this, because they were about to severely overestimate how much Branzy’s body could take before it just gave out.

Suddenly, the knife vanished. Yanking out in an instant, making Branzy gasp, throwing himself forward like he could escape the pulsing sensation of his blood pumping out of his painfully out of place joint.

Clown’s hand was on his jaw again, circling around, and Branzy wished it was still holding his. He might not even be making noises now, might just sound like a dying animal, really hoping that he wasn’t actually dying. He felt like he might be.

Then there was nothing. Nothing except the feeling that his left arm was more connected to his body through the handcuffs than through his shoulder.

Branzy didn’t feel like he was being watched anymore. He just felt alone.

——————

He had no idea how long it had been. Days, probably. A day? Maybe it didn’t matter.

They were professional, Branzy could give them that. Of course they were professional. They were professionals, that was why he was here, that was why he’d been sent here to die in the same house as two of the only people he’d ever liked spending time with.

One of them had always been with him. Branzy had worked it out, after a while, when he’d started screaming for no reason in the midst of one of the long periods of inaction, and received Ferre showering him in gentle, soothing touches after he didn’t shut up for a good few minutes.

After that, Branzy had been more uneasy, if anything. It was bad enough, sitting vulnerable and unaware in enemy territory. Even worse, when he could feel their eyes on him, every time they glanced away another moment he thought he was truly alone.

However long it had been, he’d spent it miserable. It was awful, trapped in his own head, nowhere to run except exactly where he was, where he couldn’t leave.

Branzy had tried to get the headphones off, at least. Scraping his head against the back of the chair, the thick, tight foam covering his ears proving surprisingly difficult to get off. He’d given up, after a while. There didn’t seem much point, when he’d probably just regret trying to make this any better for himself.

He’d given up on a lot of things. It was oddly painful, knowing he was being observed, being unable to do anything but chase where they might be, and kick his feet at the ground nervously.

The blood had dried on his shoulder. After the first instance with Clown, they hadn’t touched him. Not to hurt him, at least. It was scaring him. These were killers, psychopaths, and they weren’t touching him. Branzy didn’t like it.

He tried saying Ferre’s name, taking a gamble on who was supervising him at the moment. Someone, definitely. Branzy didn’t want to know how he sounded right now. Terrified. Probably a little broken. Definitely hungry, they hadn’t fed him this whole time, and it was messing with his head. On the upside, he hadn’t needed to use the bathroom.

No response. How would there be a response? Branzy tried to breathe, tried to tell himself this was better than Clown continuing to dismantle his joints like a doll.

But he hated this, so much, for reasons he couldn’t even describe. He felt like he was drowning, no sensation except aching pain and gnawing hunger and bone-deep fear of the anger of the only other two people for miles around.

Branzy had tried apologising for most of the last few hours. He could feel his voice getting scratchier, had been so dehydrated for a while that he couldn’t talk at all, and it was definitely contributing to his dizziness. But no amount of begging seemed to be getting their attention.

Now, he just made a small, miserable noise, trying to keep his mind simultaneously on and off the pulsing in his throat and shoulder and stomach and heart. Branzy didn’t even know what his feet were doing anymore. Kicking at the floor, at the legs of this chair, he’d stopped paying attention. It was all he could do to keep himself conscious.

He tried saying sorry again. Branzy was a little surprised they hadn’t gagged him. Maybe one or both of them wanted to hear him pleading, to effectively an empty room, in the hopeless sort of way he got that Rek said was when he was most dangerous.

Branzy didn’t feel very dangerous. He felt tired, and he felt scared, and he felt stupidly worried that they’d kill him without even letting him talk to them again.

Must have been nearly a day now. Must have been. How long would it take him to starve to death? Maybe that was the game here. It wasn’t very fun.

Branzy felt it, when Ferre got closer. Through the floorboards, maybe. He perked up like a dog, holding his breath with the stupid hope that he might get to actually feel something, after hours with nothing but dark and his own thoughts.

Without hesitation, Ferre pulled off the headphones, and Branzy nearly started crying all over. Quiet was so much better than silence. Silence felt like it was angry at him, like he was missing something outside it. Quiet was just calm, broken by Ferre’s soft laugh, and a hand running through his hair.

Finally, Branzy could hear his own voice, hear how pathetic and ragged his own words sounded as he leaned into the touch, fresh tears soaking the blindfold.

“Th- thank you, god, F- Ferre-“

“Chill, Luci.” Ferre’s voice was smooth, accented and rough at the edges, and Branzy just cried harder. “It’s been a day. You’re good.”

A day. Just one day. A whole day he’d been sat here, starving and lonely and waiting for something he didn’t want to come.

“Now I get to have fun. That bit was Clown’s idea, by the way, don’t blame me.” Ferre moved, not taking his hands off Branzy, growing steadily more amused. “Tell me, Luci, how attached are you to your fingers?”

This wasn’t happening. Branzy really thought Ferre would be nice, that Clown was the one who’d really want to hurt him. It had been stupid to hope, he knew that, but he really had, and now he was crying even harder and struggling to force himself to pull away.

“Oh, Luci, Luci, it’s okay.” Ferre’s voice got lower in front of him, a thumb brushing over his blindfold carefully. “Don’t worry, ok? I’m only hurting you because I enjoy it. Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re gonna be ok.”

Ferre called Clown that. It was something for Branzy to hold on to, the idea that Ferre might actually care about him, in some way.

Then Ferre’s hand drifted from his face to behind him, to his cuffed hands, and Branzy whimpered as Ferre pried his thumb away from his weakly clenched fist, and bent it backwards slowly.

“You know I like you, don’t you, Luci?”

“It- it’s Branzy…”

“I know, sweetheart. I think Luci suits you.”

Branzy nodded weakly, trying to keep his mind off what Ferre was doing. His thumb was beginning to hurt, his tendons screaming in protest as Ferre held the rest of his hand in place.

In a single motion, it snapped. And Branzy shrieked, voice breaking from dehydration and disuse, feeling like Ferre must have torn through his skin too, maybe torn it off entirely, because he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this type of pain before.

It made it more real, without the headphones. Branzy wasn’t stuck in some limbo where Clown was hurting him and nothing else mattered. Now he could hear Ferre, hear the ambient quote of pure isolation in this house, and know no one was coming even if he screamed.

A gun pressed to his wrist. Branzy could feel it, the cool metal against his veins, and he bit his tongue, trying not to move, not to provoke Ferre, he should be trained for this. But they weren’t even asking him for anything.

“F- Ferre- Ferre, please, I- I’ll do- I’ll do anything, please-“

The gun trailed up his arm, almost lazily, and Branzy could picture Ferre, maybe sitting on the floor beside him, relaxed and grinning as Branzy felt like every tendon in his body was about to snap. With his broken thumb, his shoulder had started aching again, and he couldn’t breathe right, could barely even move with how hungry he was.

“You’re cute, Luci.”

The muzzle of the gun found the same spot on his wrist, and Branzy could feel his blood pumping underneath, feel Ferre’s fingers against his pulse as he positioned his hand just right.

When Ferre pulled the trigger, Branzy almost didn’t feel it. It was like his head had gone white with pain, with metal tearing through half a dozen bones and splintering them to pieces. Blood. There was a lot of blood. Way too much blood. Branzy could feel it, dripping down his limp fingers, but he might be hallucinating, and the pain was so intense he couldn’t hear if Ferre was even talking, amplified by the darkness and sharpened by hunger.

Ferre’s fingers brushed through the ragged hole in his wrist, and Branzy felt something warm, smeared across his cheek, tracing the lines of his tears that had soaked through his blindfold.

“You’re gonna be ok, sweetheart. You’ve got us.”

Branzy tasted his own blood, and Ferre’s laughter, and the bitter feeling of pure misery as pain washed over him in agonising waves.

He almost didn’t notice, when his vision went entirely black, like a computer shutting off after too many wires had been ripped out.

——————

“You took the phone, right?”

“Of course, Ferre, do I look like an idiot?”

Everything was soft, and warm. Comfortably warm. Branzy couldn’t remember sleeping somewhere this warm for months.

“Maybe. Is it gone?”

“Yes. And the beacon.”

“Nothing else?”

He knew those voices. Those meant safe. Or- something else, something he knew. He needed safe. His whole body hurt. Mostly his left arm, but it was hurting enough for all of him.

“Ferre, imply I haven’t swept this whole house one more time.”

“Jeez, Clown, chill. You’re the one who convinced yourself he was legit.”

“He is. He is now.” A gentle, gloved hand found Branzy’s temple, rubbing small circles on his cheek. “I knew he wasn’t a threat.”

“You did not. You needed me to stop him running.”

“Could you- Ferre, could you shut up? You shot him, I’m still not happy about that.”

“Oh, woe, I shot the fucking secret agent sent to kill us. Should have gone for his head, honestly.”

Branzy whimpered, just softly. Everything was pain, and soft, and loud. He didn’t want to die.

“You’d have never.” A low laugh, a mocking pause. “You like him more than me.”

“Now that’s more unbelievable than some idiot wanting to work for us out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He does want to work for us. Don’t you, BranzyCraft?”

They knew his name. That was nice. Made Branzy feel a little more at home, in this place that was his home anyway.

Branzy nodded, smiling a little as he shifted, and felt thick fabric wrapped around his arm. That was why it wasn’t hurting as much as it should be. That didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting though, and his small noise of pain was silenced by Clown pressing two fingers against his lips, and shushing him gently.

“You’re babying him.” Ferre sounded disgusted, probably annoyed about Clown getting the upper hand on him. They were always fighting like that. “He’s not stupid.”

“If he was, Ferre, we wouldn’t be keeping him.”

“Yeah, like- wait, you agreed with me?”

Clown sighed, and adjusted something on Branzy’s shoulder. A sling? Or just bandages? If was hard to tell. This wasn’t his bed.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Aw… Clown, that’s-“

“Shut up.”

Branzy lifted his uninjured hand, pawing weakly at Clown’s arm until he felt silk fingers slip between his, intertwining until it felt alright. Clown laughed, just softly, but Branzy had never cared less about being the one they were laughing at.

Everything was fuzzy, and aching, but he was warm, and Clown was holding his hand.

Branzy felt like this could go on forever.

——————

“Morning, Clown!”

Humming, Clown wandered over, and hugged Branzy gently, leaning on his shoulder for just long it enough it almost seemed like he’d fallen asleep.

“You… you taste nice, Branzy.”

Branzy laughed, nervously, feeling Clown nuzzle against the base of his neck. His heart had started fluttering, like it always did, when either of them touched him like this. Normally Clown. So casually, like he was making sure Branzy still existed and reminding him where he was at the same time.

“Is- is that good? I- I feel like that’s good.”

As he pulled away, Clown nodded, and yawned. From behind them, Ferre snorted, having been sitting at the breakfast table on his phone for the last hour or so.

“You two married yet, or do I still have to drag a priest out here?”

Branzy rolled his eyes, giving Ferre a half-exasperated look as Clown hissed. He’d gotten more confident, in teasing them back, over the last month.

It helped that he wasn’t scared anymore. They wouldn’t kick him out, he’d never lose any of this. Not with the weight of a tracker around his ankle, and his left arm still resting in a sling as his wrist healed.

“Not married yet, and- and we can work it out ourselves.”

“Tch. Leave me out of it.” Ferre scoffed, giving them both an affectionate sort of look as Clown dragged Branzy over to the table. “Although I’m coming on your honeymoon.”

“That- that’s probably alright. Clown?”

Clown was attacking a piece of toast like a starved dog. Branzy still felt a little guilty about not cooking as much as he used to, but he’d been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t allowed near the oven until his arm was healed. And knives might be out of the question for a good while longer.

He didn’t blame them, for not trusting him. Branzy couldn’t even remember why he’d bee so attached to the idea that he had to betray them, not now he’d let go of that little irregularity, and let himself enjoy his life. It was so much easier, and they’d never really blamed him, hardly even mentioned why he’d ever really been here. It was just an accepted fact that he was, now, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, sweetheart…” Ferre grinned, sharklike, as Branzy felt himself turn an impressive shade of red. “Any plans for today?”

“Shut up, Ferre.” Clown swallowed hard, and gestured threateningly with his toast. “We’re gardening.”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet.”

“Adorable. Now shut up.”

Branzy smiled, only a little dreamily. This all felt like a dream, sometimes. Like he’d gotten lucky, so lucky, so many times over. Rek would say this sort of thing was impossible.

But it was happening. And he didn’t even have to pretend, he was just one person, head in his hands as he watched the only other two people he’d seen in months.

He had time. He’d be here for years, at least.