Birthday Candles

by oQuirky

Summary:

Oh hell, Fizz realised, horrified, staring down a vat of fireworks as their fuses burned quickly to nubs, he'd seen what even one of these could do to someone, he was dead for sure, his life was over, he wasn’t even a proper adult and he was about to fucking die.

Shock was messing with his priorities, he supposed, because his last thought before everything flashed green was how unfair it was that this would happen of all days, on his birthday.

Or: A series of birthdays documenting Fizzarolli's life before, during and after the incident.

Notes:

Chapter content warnings! Unreliable child perspective, poverty, manipulation/kidnapping, implied neglect

Chapter 1: Six

When you are six years old and it's your first birthday without your parents, your first birthday since they sold you to the circus, you take attention where you can get it.

It was a relatively common sort of occurrence in Greed, hellhound or imp families so stripped of cash they'd throw their kids at anyone who'd give them a chance at stability.

And, as most children in Greed tended to, Fizz had understood poverty even before he fully understood money.

Mommy, Daddy and Fizz had lived in one room. Mommy and Daddy worked all day to keep the loan sharks away and Fizz didn't have toys to occupy himself with inside, so, they let him out on the streets to play instead, only allowed to come home for dinner.

He found ways to entertain himself, his favourite was watching and emulating the buskers and street performers.

Fizz discovered early that if he sang or showed his tricks to the grown ups passing by that sometimes they'd throw him some coins. The more he practiced, the better he got, the better he got, the more coins. Coins let him try the extortionately priced snacks from the corner shop, let him use the machines in the arcade, they let him feel full and entertained and happy and all he had to do was make sure people liked him.

To be liked was a powerful thing, a necessary thing.

People liked a cute child, he discovered, so he observed what made them giggle and played it up, asked silly questions he already knew the answers to, kept his eyes wide, gave all the right compliments.

Usually the adults passing through town were different every day but there was one man who walked by regularly, seemingly just to watch Fizz show off. He called himself Mr.Buckzo. He never payed for the performances but Fizz didn't mind because he always clapped extra loud.

One time Mr.Buckzo had come up to talk to Fizz after he'd seen him complete the one handed handstand he'd finally figured out how to do without falling.

'Bravo kid! That was some cool shit! You hungry? I'll get you something nice.' Mr.Buckzo had said, gesturing towards a run down fast food shack down the road.

Mommy had told Fizz all about stranger danger, how following people you didn't know places got you snatched away, but, Mr.Buckzo liked him, he was so impressed by his tricks, he'd told Fizz he was really good for his age, so, he didn't really count as a stranger, did he?

Besides, Fizz was hungry.

They sat across from each other in a bright red diner booth, Fizz swinging his legs as he looked over the menu, choosing carefully, he couldn't read the words but there were shiny pictures under each. This was an important decision, he might not get to go here again.

'I'll have this!' He exclaimed, pointing out a stacked burger to Mr.Buckzo.

'Woah there, that's a little pricey buddy, you trying to bankrupt me? How about this one instead?' He'd asked, jabbing a finger at a much smaller, kids meal deal option.

'Sure, I guess.' Pouted Fizz, crossing his arms, disappointed.

'Not like you need that much anyway, you're only- how old are you?'

'Five nearly six.' Fizz spat out, putting extra emphasis on the 'nearly six'.

'Nearly six huh?' Mr.Buckzo said as he placed the order. 'Impressive, I know what an average six year old can do, performance wise. My twins are six, Blitzo and Barbie, they can't do half the things you showed me out there though, incompetent little fuckers, and I've been teaching them since they were babies.'

Fizz beamed at the praise, forgetting all about his downgraded food order.

'Your parents teach you all those tricks Fizzarolli?'

Fizz laughed a little at the silly elongated version of his name Mr.Buckzo had come up with.

'I taught myself!' He professed proudly.

'Really now?' Said Mr.Buckzo, raising an eyebrow. 'So you want to be a performer when you grow up huh?'

'That would be sooo much fun!' Fizz replied, picturing the dancers, singers, jugglers and contortionists he'd seen around town, they were always smiling as they carried out their acts, it seemed to Fizz like they were getting payed to play.

'What if I told you there was a magical place full of pretty horseys and nice kids where you could perform every day?'

'There is?' Questioned Fizz, eyes glittering with wonder.

'Course there is! Have you ever been to the circus kiddo?'

'Yeah!' He'd snuck into a tent once, had been totally enthralled by the cool props and bright colours.

'It's so much fun there! Isn't it? Did you know I own a super fantastic circus? How would you like to live there and show your cool tricks my audience hm? They'll love you.'

'That would be amazing!!' Squealed Fizz, before he realised what 'living there' entailed and added. 'Well- I dunno I might have to ask my Mommy and Daddy, can they live there too?'

'We'll have to see about that, won't we? I'm sure they wouldn't want to hold you back from fulfilling your potential! How about you take me to them after we eat and we can have a nice, little chat.'

'Okay...' Said Fizz, he wasn't quite such why but he was apprehensive that Mommy would be mad at him for having talked to Mr.Buckzo, even more so for bringing him home.

Just as Fizz was about to ask more questions a grumpy waitress sauntered up and dropped the tray of food on the table, immediately sticking out her clawed hand to collect the bill.

'You haven't even let us eat woman!' Trilled Mr.Buckzo. 'Satan on a stick, Fuck off until we finish our burgers alright?!'

The waitress rolled her eyes placing the bill pointedly beside Mr.Buckzo's hand before heading back to the kitchen.

'Mammon run franchises am I right? Tryna infringe on my hellborn right to dine and dash!' Mr.Buckzo grumbled as soon as she was out of earshot.

'My Mommy told me stealing is wrong.'

'Well, maybe that's why your Mommy's broke and I own my very own circus, hm?' Mr.Buckzo spat, raising an eyebrow.

Fizz bit his tongue and said nothing to that, like he knew he needed to if he wanted Mr.Buckzo to still like him enough to let him go to his magical circus.

All of his resentment disappeared when he picked up his burger and tried fast food for the first time.

'Woah...' He said, eyes wide.

'Fucking delicious right?' Mr.Buckzo said, nodding in satisfaction. 'They put enough salt in these bitches to kill a baby Quieve.'

Poor puppies... Thought Fizz, upset by the concept, although, if he were a Quieve and he died eating this, it might just be worth it.

It took him less than thirty seconds to polish off the plate, when he finished he looked up at Mr.Buckzo with the biggest, saddest eyes he could manage.

'Can I have another one?' He asked, prepared to make a scene if he didn't.

'Damn kid, you might be more expensive than you're worth.' Mr.Buckzo told him, eyebrows furrowed. 'How about this, if you come live in the circus and bring in enough wonga, I'll take you back here every week, sound like a deal?'

'Deal!' Exclaimed Fizz.

'Wonderful, how about we go talk to your parents then, yeah?' Asked Mr.Buckzo, standing up from his seat.

Fizz followed him out, only now noticing that, despite the waitresses efforts, he still hadn't payed.

It was nice to walk home with an adult, the whole world was a little less scary when you had a big person who knew what they were doing by your side.

A hellhound woman pushing a baby in a stroller eyed them wearily as they passed by.

'You know him?' She mouthed at Fizz, gesturing towards Mr.Buckzo.

She looked concerned. She must've thought he was getting taken. She mustn't have known that he was just going to the magical circus, thought Fizz.

Fizz just nodded enthusiastically and grinned, watching the woman deflate in relief. She reminded him of Mommy.

When they arrived at the door to the shoddy apartment block Mr.Buckzo said:

'I think it's best for the adults to talk alone, you sit here and wait for me, I'll go in and ask them.'

Fizz was happy with this outcome, if Mr.Buckzo went in and talked to Mommy and Daddy instead of Fizz that meant that Fizz wouldn't have to get in trouble with Mommy and Daddy for ignoring stranger danger. So he said:

'Okay!' And handed over his keys.

Mr.Buckzo, Mommy and Daddy must have been talking for a while because Fizz had managed to draw five pretty pictures in the dirt with a stick before Mr.Buckzo emerged from the apartment.

'They said you can come! They're so excited for you Fizz!' He'd said, sounding as delighted as Fizz should've felt.

Except Fizz hadn't felt happy he'd felt scared and it was confusing because there were other little details to this memory that his brain wouldn't let him recall, a sound, a colour, something he drew.

He was scared but he'd stood up from where he'd been crouched, held Mr.Buckzo's hand and followed him to his magical circus, because there was nothing else to do.

That had been last week.

And now he was lying in a bed, under a tented roof, with a kid who hadn't wanted to share a room with him and he was six today, he'd been keeping track of the days with his fingers, but he hadn't told anyone.

'Blitzo.' He whispered. 'You can't call me a baby anymore, because, now I'm six and you're six too so if you do, you're basically calling yourself a baby.'

''You can't just choose to be older, you baby!' Blitzo giggled. 'You'll only be six on your birthday!'

'But it is my birthday!'

'Since when?'

'Since this morning.'

'But its bed time now, you're supposed to say when it's your birthday before your birthday so my Mom can make a cake and get a present and put up balloons and stuff.'

'I never had to tell my Mommy and Daddy.' Said Fizz, lip wobbling. 'I thought maybe they'd come visit, maybe come watch our show, as a birthday present...'

'Don't take it personal Fizz, grown ups just get like that, they're really forgetful cus they drink beer and their brains are all old and wrinkly so if you aren't in front of them all the time they're sometimes too stupid to remember you.'

The idea of his parents forgetting him forever and the gross image of shrivelled, old brains made Fizz cry.

Oh no, hey, um, don't cry!' Says Blitzo, clearly panicking about what to do. 'I heard its like, illegal to cry on your birthday.'

That only makes Fizz cry more.

'I don't wanna go to jail!' He sniffs. 'I want my Mommy and Daddy!'

'Uhhh, don't worry!' Amends Blitzo. 'It's not the birthday kid that has to go to jail, it's whoever made them cry! And right now I guess that's me.' He adds, crawling off the bed, grabbing onto the metal bars of their bedframe and peering through them like he's trapped in a prison cell, pulling exaggerated, distraught faces.

Fizz giggled tearily. Blitzo tilted his head, thinking.

'What if we just pretended your birthday was tomorrow and threw the coolest most awesomest party ever?' He'd said.

'You'd want to?'

'Duh! There'll be cake! Besides, what else are friends for?'

'We're friends?'

'Of course! I said we're friends so we're totally friends now. We can be friends when we're grown ups too if you want.'

'What if we forget to be friends because our brains get too old and gross?' Asks Fizz, concerned.

'Don't worry. That won't be for like, a bazillion years.' Says Blitzo. 'We're only six.'

Notes:

This chapter was spawned from my wondering how Cash just had a troupe made up primarily of little kids, with seemingly no parents, performing for him in the ‘The Circus’ episode.

Chapter 2: Eight

Notes:

Warnings! Child labour, child abuse mentions.

I love writing circus shenanigans (with upsetting undertones) :D

The day started off just like Fizz had hoped it would, with himself and Blitzo waking up much too early to watch overplayed reruns of Mammon’s shows on Mr.Buckzo's flickery, old, voxtech projector.

Fizz had this fantasy where Mammon was his super fun dad and Fizz was his superstar son and they lived in a huge mansion and Fizz went to school on weekdays and had a walk in wardrobe and only performed on weekends and never, ever worried about anything.

He’d drawn loads of pictures of it with the pack of crayons some kid in the audience had thrown to him during a show last month.

Blitzo only drew pictures of horsies with silly names and scary, angry pirates with red teeth, Fizz didn't like pirates, they were bad.

'But Fizz! Sometimes bad people are only bad because they're so much cooler than everyone else!' Blitzo had told him, with a desperate sort of look in his eyes that told Fizz he didn't really believe it.

Pirates were bad because they took things that should have belonged to other people, which, Fizz thought, was not cool at all.

Sometimes Fizz worried that he was bad too.

He worried he was bad as Mr.Buckzo clapped him on the back and loaded a brightly wrapped present, tied with a bow, into his arms.

In the corner of his eye Fizz could see Blitzo bite the inside of his cheek. Could see Barbie scuff the toes of her untied boots against the ground.

Only two months ago, Mr.Buckzo hadn't remembered their birthday at all, he hadn't spared them a glance.

There was an uneasy sort of guilt that accompanied the warmth of being doted on by a man who's two biological children were sitting dejectedly to the side.

A certain stiffness in reciprocating a loving hug he knew they'd never receive.

Fizz loved his present, he really did, it was a bright, colourful costume that he only could've dreamed of when he was little, sneaking into tech shops, weaving through a sea of adult legs to catch a glimpse of Mammon's troupe on the commercial televisions, but, it felt all wrong to accept it, knowing that Blitzo's shoes were a size too small and Barbie's only dress was more patches than fabric.

Still, he didn't end the hug first, didn't ask Mr.Buckzo to take the costume back to where he got it and buy something for his twins instead.

He never corrected any of Mr.Buckzo's favouritism because, as much as he hated, it he loved it too. The praise, the attention, the knowledge that someone could like him best. It felt like ever since he'd been separated from his parents he'd needed adult validation more than he needed oxygen.

They were sitting around a table now, everyone was singing happy birthday, they sang it well, there was a tall, messily decorated cake in front of him, someone had written something on it in icing but Fizz couldn't read well enough yet to know what it said.

The candle flames flickered green, like envy, as he blew them out, Fizz watched the colour reflect in Blitzo's eyes where he sat across from him at the table.

'Happy Birthday.' Mumbled Blitzo but didn't look at him.

'Do you like it?' Asked Barbie, eyes wide with hope as Fizz took the first bite of his slice of florescent pink cake. He did like it and he said so, it may have looked ugly but it tasted delicious.

Barbie had baked it. He didn't know how she'd afforded the ingredients, maybe she stole them. Barbie cooked everything. With a step stool and all the determination of an eight year old she kept them all fed.

It probably wasn’t safe for a little kid to work with a gas stove and sharp kitchen implements but, Mr.Buckzo's circus had never been big on health and safety.

Fizz didn't help with cooking because he was too scared to go near the knives, Barbie wasn't scared of knives. She looked scary when she held them, like one of Blitzo's pirates with their big machetes. A singed fingertip or a sliced palm were nothing to her compared to the lack of safety netting installed beneath her during tightrope shows.

(Which in turn was nothing, he'd learn in due time, compared to the highly flammable paraffin wax and gasoline used to waterproof the tenting.)

‘It’s the parents job.’ The older performers would tell them when they stayed over, watching Barbie, tail held out for balance, teeter on her toes to reach the countertops and climb shelves to reach the upper compartments of the fridge, but, wondered Fizz, how could it possibly be the parents job?

Mr.Buckzo was almost always too busy, too hungover or too drunk to cook and Mrs.Buckzo was almost always in bed, something was the matter with, her but Fizz didn’t quite know what. He’d see Barbie and Blitzo going into her tent to hug her, and sometimes, when he missed his mommy, or more so the idea of her, given he'd forgotten her face, he’d want to join them, but he didn’t, he didn't know her like they did, she wasn't his mother, it wasn’t his place.

When the cake was finished and by extension Fizzarolli's party, everyone dispersed, Mrs.Buckzo to her bed, Mr.Buckzo to his bottle and the children to the rehearsal tent.

They had a show today, business didn't care about birthdays Mr.Buckzo had said, but, in the midst of the sugar rush the biggest slice of cake had given him, Fizz found he didn't much mind.

Fizz liked the audience and the audience liked him back. In the two years he'd been here the circus's audience had grown exponentially.

It hadn't been his goal, at first, but Fizz was, undeniably, better than his friends, it wasn't, like, an ego thing, like Blitzo told him it was whenever he brought it up, it was just a fact.

It wasn't his fault that he was a child prodigy and everybody liked him more.

People expected a lot. He had to keep improving faster than everyone else while retaining all of the skills he'd already learned, on top of that Mr.Buckzo had him in almost every show and competition going so there wasn't a lot of play time.

Sometimes it was hard to juggle it all, but it was okay, Fizz had always been good at juggling.

'Isn't he so naturally talented?' The grown ups would coo when he'd land a trick flawlessly, and, in his head, Fizz would vow never to let them know how long he'd practiced backstage to get it just right, to make totally sure he didn't mess up.

He couldn't mess up because then people wouldn't like him anymore, wouldn't think he was special anymore, and, if he wasn't special, people would treat him like how they treated Blitzo, Fizz didn't have the confidence to cope with that.

Mr.Buckzo only hit Blitzo. He only hit Blitzo because Barbie was a girl and Fizz was special, and because, unlike Blitzo, Fizz didn't do anything that warranted getting hit, and when he did, he could talk his way out of it, Blitzo hadn't quite figured out yet that Mr.Buckzo didn't want an apology, he just wanted a song and a dance.

In the rehearsal tent Fizz and Blitzo were chalking their hands in preparation for trapeze practice while Barbie pulled herself upside down into a knee hang on the aerial hoop to rehearse her acrobatic routine.

Fizz carefully rubbed the chalk into the scabbed over cracks where his fingers met his hands, Blitzo scooped up a handful of the powder and rubbed it on his face until it was completely white.

'Oo I'm a ghost!!' He babbled, bumping into props in his efforts to look 'spooky' without getting chalk in his eyes.

'Stop Blitzo! You're wasting it!' Whined Fizz but giggled anyways, he took off the flower shaped water prop pinned to the front of his new costume and use it to spray Blitzo with water until his face was it's natural red colour again.

'Nooo.' Blitzo squealed, holding his hands up in front of him in self defence, spitting out water.

Barbie shifted her weight in the hoop until she was dangling above them, she rolled her eyes and said:

'You guys are acting more like clowns than you do on stage!'

It was difficult to draw the distinction sometimes, Fizz thought, between acting like a clown and just acting like a kid.

Barbie cemented her grip on the hoop with the backs of her knees and reached a hand down for each of them to swing them on to their respective trapeze sets.

The three children practiced until their palms stung and cheery, disjointed music signalled it was time to head backstage.

Backstage was just as chaotic as it always was, the children wove their way through hooves, stilts and masked men as they made their way to Mr.Buckzo, dressed in his ringmaster suit now, chugging from a flask as he shoved them into the ring.

The show went well, there were no falls and few slip ups.

Barbie contorted beautifully in the hoop, flexible in a way that could only be achieved by children and trained contortionists.

Blitzo kept up with Fizz well, he didn't try anything new, sticking to catch manoeuvres on trapeze and later, while Fizz was on the balance ball, the diabolo, perhaps it was easier to accept his role as Fizz's supporting act when it was the latter's birthday.

As their trapeze act came to a close Fizz executed a backflip dismount almost perfectly, breath catching a little as he almost landed too close to a nearby fire breather, he kept smiling.

And, by the time the curtain call came Fizz had forgotten it had been his birthday at all.

Notes:

Cash Buckzo when you tell him you're supposed to raise children into well adjusted, functional adults not just use them for free labour: 0:

Chapter 3: Thirteen

Notes:

Warnings! Previous ones still apply. Underage drinking, alcohol abuse and addiction, implied people being creepy towards a child.

Fizz shot Blitzo a look over Mr.Buckzo's shoulder as he came to the end of his routine, hoping he'd get the hint and crawl out from under the tenting in time, preferably without letting the stolen bottles in his bag make a complete racket.

It was scary to be involved in doing something so disobedient, this sort of thing always had his breath coming a little bit short, it wasn't so much the threat of punishment but the fear that he'd be looked at differently.

It was scary but he'd done it, and it had been fun, it made Fizz feel like the real teenager that as of today, he was now. He'd learned long ago during some of his scarier trapeze stunts that sometimes you could trick your brain into mistaking fear for excitement.

Barbie had suggested it, nicking the alcohol from the tent that functioned as Mr.Buckzo's office for Fizz's birthday. She reckoned it would stop Mr.Buckzo from being such a drunken mess for the day with the added bonus of scoring the booze for themselves.

It hadn't quite worked out that way, evidently Mr.Buckzo was even more of an ass sober than when he was off his head. When he'd noticed the missing stash he'd thrown a hissy fit, firing nonsensical accusations at anyone in the vicinity.

Fortunately, he never found out it was them, Barbie was suspiciously good at hiding things. She knew the perfect place to stash it, for some reason she knew that the Merry Go Round had a conspicuous sliding panel in its ceiling where no one would ever look.

And now it was seven o'clock, it was already dark out and the circus had closed early for 'maintenance' which probably actually meant Mr.Buckzo was on a trip to the liquor store to blow everything they'd earned this week.

Fizz, Blitzo and Barbie were sitting on the floor of a stationary carousel in the middle of the empty fairground, lounging against an assortment of colourful, fibreglass horses, gathered around an unopened pack of beer and two bottles of vodka.

'Soo...How do will we know how much of this is gonna fucking kill us as opposed to just getting us plastered?' Questioned Fizz.

'Oh don't you worry, we'll have no problems there.' Replied Barbie, smirking. 'I know my way around this shit, I'll stop you vodka virgins when you've had enough.'

'Barb you alcho! The hell do you mean?! You've been drunk before?!' Accused Blitzo.

'Mad I have a social life and you don't?'

'What? No! I'm mad you got drunk without us! How is it fair that you've been wasted before me? I'm literally two minutes older!'

'You thought I was gonna bring my loser family on a night out with my friends? Dream on.' She punctuated with an eye roll.

Fizz smiled a little, happy she thought of him as being part of her family, even if she had also just called him a loser.

Blitzo opened his mouth to argue more but Barbie cut him off.

'Ugh just open them already, I need to drink something or I'm gonna fall asleep. It's not even night yet and I'm already exhausted, an insufferable morning person woke me up at six am by doodling all over my fucking face.' She said, looking pointedly at Fizz.

'Hey, its my birthday, I get to do whatever I want!' Fizz countered, grinning, picking at his messy nail polish.

'Yeah Barb!' Added Blitzo. 'Besides, the drawings were really good, you should be a makeup artist Fizz.'

'Thanks!'

'Don't encourage him!' Scolded Barbie, unscrewing a bottle of vodka. 'He used permanent markers! Do you know how long it took me to wash that crap off? I was worried I'd be walking around with a multicoloured, anatomically correct penis on my face all day!'

Blitzo and Fizz dissolved into manic giggles as Barbie shook her head in disappointment and handed them each a generous shot.

'Here.' She grumbled. 'Hopefully it'll make you idiots more normal.'

They all took the glasses, clinking them together as Barbie instructed but before they could down the shots she paused and pulled a little lighter out of her pocket.

'Did you know alcohol's flammable? Vodka goes a really cool colour when you light it, hand over yours Fizz, it'll be like a birthday candle.' She said, flicking the green flame on and off.

Intrigued, he handed over his shot, as she held the flame to it the drink was quickly engulfed in blue fire, like that in lust rather than greed.

'Woah.'

'I know right, now blow it out before we burn something down.'

Once he had Barbie held up her glass again and they brought them together again before drinking.

She swallowed hers with a practiced ease that suggested she'd done it more than once. Fizz immediately pulled a disgusted face.

'Don't be a pussy Fizz that was easier than drinking water.' Blitzo choked out, as if he didn't also look like he was about to be sick.

'Don't lie! That was disgusting!' Sputtered Fizz. 'Barb did you replace the vodka with cat piss or something? I'm sorry about the face dick if that's what this is about?'

'Nope!' She said, popping the p. 'It just tastes like that! You guys are just wimps, seeing your faces was revenge enough! Who's ready for another?'

They both looked at her in exasperation but thirty minutes and two shots later the three children were giggling and cheering, climbing all over the brightly coloured merry go round horses.

'I fucking love horses.' Said Blitzo, contentedly petting the unmoving face of the one he was lying across.

'We know Blitzo.' Fizz and Barbie said in tandem, wearing matching expressions of frustration, knowing that Blitzo was probably about to go on yet another long, boring horse fact tangent.

'Hey Fizz!' Coaxed Blitzo instead. 'I dare you to drink a beer, upside down, on a horse.'

'Bet!' Chirped Fizz, eager to show off, clambering onto the closest one, manoeuvring the glass bottle carefully as he pulled himself into a handstand before uncapping the beer with the pointy end of his tail, but, just as he was about to bring the drink to his mouth a hand slipped on the shiny fibreglass surface and Fizz fell, spilling the beer all over himself in the process.

'Oh shit! Are you alright? Sorry I didn't know that would happen, I'm an idiot, sorry.' Blitzo said quickly, offering a hand.

'Yeah I'm fine, just spilled gross beer all over myself...' Said Fizz, taking the hand, shifting in discomfort at the feeling of wet clothes.

'Ah ha!' Said Blitzo, recovering quickly from his guilt. 'Good thing we got you a birthday present that might help then, right Barb?'

'Right!' She added, reaching back up into the carousel's hidden compartment where she'd previously hidden the beer and pulling out a little package, brightly wrapped in paper scraps.

Fizz felt himself tear up a little as he ran his hands over it, he never expected anything like this from Blitzo and Barbie, they were only thirteen too, it was dangerous to spend time shopping in greed and it wasn't like any of them were getting payed.

This meant more than any of Mr.Buckzo's presents. Fancy objects in place of attention, bribes to keep him complacent, worth only a fraction of what Fizz made him in a single show.

Fizz had been sent presents from fans this year, this meant so much more then those too, with fans it was never personal, always new circus equipment, slightly too revealing outfits in the wrong sizes, stuffed animals with creepy notes attached to the ears detailing some weird adult's weird, adult fantasy.

The unsolicited comments got worse as he got older. The ‘You are so cute!’ Fans would yell at him when he was little had very different connotations to the ‘You’re soo cute.’ They’d catcall now. They didn't see him as a kid anymore, sometimes he wished he could shrink as small as they made him feel.

Fizz carefully tore the wrapping paper in a way that meant he'd be able to put in in the little cardboard box of mementos he kept under his bed to remember happy moments like these. He lifted the lid of the box and saw a bright green, Mammon brand crop top, it was such a thoughtful present, taking into account both his interests and personal style.

‘Thank you so much guys! This is amazing!' Fizz said leaning over to awkwardly hug Blitzo and Barbie in a way that wouldn't get any beer on them. They grinned.

'Seriously, you're the greatest! I've always wanted something like this, Mammon merch isn’t cheap, I know that. Did you steal it or something?’ Fizz asked, tilting his head, then paled when they didn't answer, realizing a more sinister possibility. ‘Did you guys suck off an old dude for my birthday present?!’

‘Ew Fizz, no!' Yelps Blitzo. 'Satan, you're so dirty minded! Why does everyone always think you’re the innocent one?! You don’t see me running around accusing people of ungodly acts!’

Barbie and Fizz exchanged a sceptical glance. It seemed like nearly everything Blitzo said was ungodly sometimes.

‘Well what am I supposed to assume?’ Fizz elaborated. ‘You’re still not telling me where you got it.’

‘Okay fine! It’s a dupe you nosy bitch, it cost me five bucks from some dodgy car boot sale, satisfied?’

‘Very.’ He’d replied, raising his eyebrows, Fizz didn't mind, it didn't change the sentimental value one bit, he took off his gross, soggy shirt in one smooth motion to change into the new one, Blitzo choked on his own beer, Barbie rolled her eyes and poured them all another drink.

The children didn't return to the tents for another five hours, they climbed up the side of the Merry Go Round and lay on it's roof, staring up at the dark green, smog polluted sky, talking about everything and nothing until the alcohol lulled them to sleep.

Tomorrow they'd wake up with pounding heads and nauseous stomachs, to the smell of candy floss and stale beer, to fairground music and angry shouts, but for tonight it was just three children, a carousel and the sky.

None of the bad in the world mattered because it couldn't pull them apart.

At least not today.

Notes:

Thank you all so much for reading! Comments or corrections mean the world and keep me writing!

Chapter 4: Eighteen.

Notes:

Warnings! Major character injury, really graphic descriptions of blood/injury, suicidal thoughts.

Blitzo hadn’t showed up to Fizz's party this time. He'd been awake even before Fizz, holed up in his tent with a phonetics book and a piece of paper, it was so out of character, they were all almost illiterate but he didn't even know Blitzo could read.

'I'm working on something', he'd said and Fizz had just shrugged and went off to watch reruns of Mammon's pageant, the one they'd gone to together three years ago, by himself.

Maybe this was just how it was, to be an adult.

Not that he'd really wanted to be one in the first place, between the longer work hours and the countdowns he knew his biggest creeps kept on their phones to mark the fact that he was legal.

After the morning, Fizz hadn't expected Blitzo to show up to the party, it had been a long time coming, the resentment, twelve forgotten birthdays for Blitzo and Barbie followed each time, while the bitterness was still fresh, by twelve increasingly extravagant parties for Fizz.

So it would've been okay if Blitzo didn't want to come anymore. Fizz would've understood.

He would've understood, if Blitzo hadn't, instead, shot Fizz a look and disappeared behind a burning curtain, for all Fizz knew, having intentionally dropped a match inside the highly flammable tent in an effort to ruin his birthday, all because he hated that Fizz was better than him.

Mr Buckzo, who he saw as a father, who had just given him a heartfelt card detailing how he ‘wished he was his son’ had pushed Fizz to the floor as he fled the flames, like he was nothing, in selfish desperation to escape. When had he ever done anything that wasn’t selfish?

No one looked back as Fizz's world turned green, moments ago they’d all been at his party, singing for him, about to eat his cake and now, when push came to shove, no one actually gave a shit about him.

It wasn’t fair. They were all horrible people. All of his co-workers, his sort of family, the whole of hell. Everyone was awful and no one ever cared. Fizz tried his best to be nice. What was the point? Why did everyone else always have to so fucking mean?

The bitter taste of betrayal and ash made it hard to breathe. Fizz was hyperventilating, would that, he wondered, make the smoke kill him faster or slower?

It was too late to reach the exit. Green flames towered. He crawled away from them, hoping to escape under the tenting behind him.

Then he saw it.

Oh satan, he realised, horrified, as he stared down a vat of explosive fireworks, wicks shortening, in the moments before they went off, he'd seen what even one of these could do to someone, the guy Mr.Buckzo hired to set up the displays was missing fingers, Fizz was dead for sure, his life was fucking over, he wasn’t even an adult and he was going to die.

There was no time to run, in turning the wrong way trying to escape the fire he'd essentially sealed his fate, all he could do, in a final desperate attempt at self defence was throw his arms out in front of himself and tuck his head into his knees, screwing his eyes shut as the world turned green.

And that was it.

Except that it wasn't, because half a minute later he woke up outside, where the explosion had thrown him.

Shock was messing with his priorities, he supposed, because his first thought, as he watched a little piece of the banner that had been hanging outside the tent catch alight as it floated down, was how unfair it was that this would happen, of all days, on his birthday. He knew he should be thinking about the pain instead.

Or, well, the not pain, it wasn't pain, not really, not yet, it was a wash of cold, a hysterical signal sent from the brain that told him that this was serious, that he was mortally wounded, that he wouldn't be able to come back from this.

How disconcerting it was to feel so freezing cold while actively on fire.

Fizz knew, logically, that he should be writhing in agony right now, he knew that something was terribly wrong with him even though he could hardly feel anything at all. The only sensations registering past the haze of adrenaline, severed nerves and hypovolemic shock were the deafening ringing sound echoing in his skull and a nauseating feeling that parts of himself were out of place.

He opened his mouth, to moan, to gasp, to spit out all of the blood, there was so much blood. The movement felt wrong on his face, pulling at open wounds. The warmth of the blood he breathed out was immediately replaced by the searing heat of ash, he needed to scream, he couldn't make a sound.

He was still on fire, he noticed in horror as he reached out in a futile effort to push himself up, to do something, anything. 'Stop, drop and roll' he'd heard once, in relation to fire safety but he couldn't seem to make himself move.

There was an arm in front of him. He watched in muted horror as green flames licked at what was left of it, as charred flesh peeled away and melted off the bone, like over cooked meat, but it wasn't, that was his arm, that was part of his body, his brain supplied.

Thick chunks of flesh peeled away and fell by the second. A blackened finger fell from it's melted socket to the ground. The sections of himself he could still feel felt wet, sticky with fluids that should be inside of him.

He needed someone to put the fire out before more of him fell apart, he needed someone to make the pain stop, he needed to go to the hospital or he was going to die.

He had to get help.

Fizz looked up, reached out, straining to see past the fire and the engorged black spots that had gathered in his vision.

Blitzo.

Blitzo was staring down at him. He couldn’t make out his expression, everything looked further away than it should through his failing eyes, but he knew it was him. He hoped the face didn't hold the same contempt that they it had moments before the curtains closed and the flames rose. He wouldn't mind dying now, if the last thing he saw was his best friend's smile.

Help me, he thought. Please help. I’m dying Blitzo. Help. You're my best friend. Just hold my hand. I don’t want to die alone.

Blitzo turned away.

No no no no no no.

Fizz was surprised he could cry, given the puddle of liquid already outside of his body, steadily growing. The salty tears aggravated his flayed face. It stung.

Adrenaline started to wear off. He could feel it all now.

Fizz wished for a moment that the fire crawling up his arm would just fry the rest of his nerves already so he didn't have to feel so bad anymore. That the green would lick at his second degree burns until they were as deadened as the third and fourth degree ones on his numb limbs. That the flames, his only source of warmth now that everyone else had abandoned him, would kiss it all better.

If that meant death maybe he was okay with it.

It was getting hard to think coherently, the black vignette taking over the edges of Fizz's vision expanded. He welcomed it. What was there to live for anyway?

-

Fizz could hear a voice, a woman crying, a man yelling, all muffled behind a thin wall.

Then two explosions, boom, boom. Fizz lived in hell, he knew what a gun sounded like.

After that he heard nothing.

He dragged a stick through his doodle, turned the smiley faces sad. Scribbled out Mr.Buckzo then scribbled out himself for having taken him here.

The door swung open.

There was a black splatter on Mr.Buckzo's red face. Fizz knew what blood looked like too.

It was okay, he told himself. They were just going to the magical circus, with horsies and children and fun. Nothing bad had ever happened.

Mr.Buckzo opened his mouth but all that came out was ringing.

Suddenly Fizz's eyes rolled open and Mr.Buckzo was replaced by a tall succubus with a serious face wearing a paramedic's uniform.

Suddenly he was in some sort of moving vehicle and every bump in the road made him want to scream.

The succubus spoke but the ringing drowned out her voice, Fizz read her lips, desperately, hoping for answers, some confirmation that this pain had an end.

'Oh fuck! He’s awake! Jenny, get the sedative, quick.’

Then.

'Quickly I said!'

And then nothing.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Sorry that this chapter was so brutal D: I gets happier eventually, I promise! Any comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!!

Chapter 5: Nineteen

Notes:

Warnings! Disability, chronic pain, feeling useless, suicidal ideation, addiction

The day Fizz turned nineteen, having read his date of birth on his charts, a nurse brought him a cupcake from the hospital cafeteria, a single green candle impaling its stale frosting. She sang happy birthday as she brought it in.

It was a lovely gesture.

It gave him an hour long panic attack.

He didn't do birthdays anymore.

-

Fizz had never been an idle sort of person. There'd always been a nagging in the back of his head that didn't let him sit still, that berated him when he wasn't doing something he deemed productive, a voice that reminded him that he only had so long to achieve his goals.

It had been the reason he had been such a successful performer.

It was the reason he was so distressed now.

Now that he couldn't do anything productive at all.

He'd had to spend a lot of time reflecting, now that there was nothing else to do, and, looking back, he realised that he hadn't actually enjoyed his childhood, he'd wasted his only able bodied years aggressively people pleasing, overworking, turning down opportunities to just be a kid, and for what?

For nothing.

Mr.Buckzo would probably just throw him in a cage as some pathetic freakshow act if he ever got the circus re-established, if Fizz was ever discharged from this hospital, his prison.

He could see the headlines now: 'Come throw rotten tomatoes at the most useless, broken imp in hell! What's he gonna do about it?!'

Fuck.

Maybe it all wouldn't have been quite so bad if he could complain about it, but:

Trying to communicate, Fizz had quickly realized, was difficult as hell when you didn’t have limbs, proper hearing or a voice.

The nurses had suggested speech therapy for the laryngeal burns and cochlear implants to compensate for the hearing loss his broken horns and the damage the sound of the fireworks had done to his inner ears.

But between the rest of the medical debt, the loss of the circus and the fact that he'd given up on him Mr.Buckzo wasn't willing to pay for any of it.

Fine. Thought Fizz, and resolved himself to figuring it out by himself.

He was a quick learner and only a few months after he'd gotten out of the coma had managed to get to a point where he could read lips correctly about seventy percent of the time, but, no matter how expressive he made his face or how clearly he tried to enunciate, other people seemed to have a much harder time interpreting his noiseless words.

He'd tried making people write on a white board but literacy was dogshit among his friends, all members of the undereducated circus troupe, so. it took a really long time for them to write and for Fizz to decipher their awful writing. Fizz couldn’t use the whiteboard to talk to them either as it took too long when he held the marker between his teeth and he couldn’t grip it properly with his tail.

Barbie was the biggest help, she came up with certain gestures that he could make with his tail in order to be understood more quickly. It was their own secret language.

He wished Blitzo, that asshole, would show up just so that they could talk behind his back.

(...And maybe teach him too.)

Barbie also borrowed a massive book on sign language from the library, which, Fizz was kind of offended by, at first, given that, y'know, sign language requires actually having hands, but, she told him that she had a plan and to bear with her, so he did, because what else was there for him to do?

She’d open the book in front of his face, show him the picture of the movement and the associated word then copy it with her own hands, saying it aloud as she did until she’d remembered it, he’d nod when he was sure that he had too and they'd move on to the next page.

They started with just letters but every day they’d add more sign to their vocabulary until Barbie was able to talk to Fizz in a way that was quicker and easier for him to understand.

All the reading helped with spelling too, he noticed, they'd basically given themselves the literary and language education they'd never received through schooling by memorising that one book.

After that, Fizz’s main problem was with him talking back to her, he couldn’t sign back without hands after all, or so he thought.

One dull, Tuesday afternoon Barbie showed up to the hospital with a poseable mannequin hand she’d found in some dumpster outside an art studio. Fizz had given her an incredulous look, tilting his head as she taped it to a side table where he could comfortably reach it with his tail.

‘Try it out.’ She signed, enthusiasm evident on her face.

He used his tail to flick a couple of fingers into the sign for ‘H’ then ‘I’.

Barbie clapped and squealed in excitement at their success. Fizz grinned.

While the process was slow and wouldn’t allow for signs that required 2 hands or complicated movements it would allow him to finger spell words that Barbie wasn’t able to lip read.

They talked all day sometimes, about meaningless trivial things. Never about the accident, never about Blitzo and never, ever about Ms.Buckzo.

Fizz bitched to Barbie about whatever boring, mundane thing had happened in his boring, mundane life, whether it be that one care worker who took forever to find a vein for his PCA line or the awful plotlines of that one soap opera that kept playing on the little tv opposite his bed.

On the other hand, Barbie told Fizz about stuff going on in real life, her exciting, real life, Fizz hid his jealously well, he knew how it felt to be on the receiving end.

Most of Barbie's stories were about her new, shiny, exciting, career as a minor celebrity and all of the cocaine and partying that came with it.

'Wow Barb, sometimes it seems like you're doing more drugs than I am!' He'd said in jest, gesturing to the wires in his skin.

Looking back, it hadn't been funny, maybe that joke had given her the idea.

-

Everything hurt but it would be okay.

Thank satan, Fizz thought, for the little green button on the side of his bed that, when pressed, delivered a shot of morphine into the line in his neck.

He hit the button with his tail once, twice but the instant alleviation he’d expected never came.

He hit it again, more forcefully this time, teeth clenched as the pain intensified. Still nothing. He started to panic.

His breath was coming short, he was never able to tell how much of that was remnants of smoke inhalation and how much was just the anxiety disorder.

In the visitor seat beside him, Barbie was half asleep, zoning out, oblivious.

‘Barb.’ Mouthed Fizz, moving closer to get her attention, he didn’t have the energy to try to use the mannequin hand. ‘Get a nurse, it hurts, there’s something wrong.’

She slumped over a little, eyelids flickering.

‘Barbie?’ He tried again, eyebrows furrowed, tapping her with his tail.

Her eyes rolled up lazily to look at him. Her pupils were pin pricks.

‘Did you- did you take my pain medicine Barbie?’ He enunciated carefully.

‘No…’ She signed sloppily, finally responding to him, he could tell she’d slurred it from the wrong way her mouth had moved.

‘Fucking hell! You did! You bitch!’ He tried to rasp. He would’ve killed to be able to yell right now.

His sort of sister had just stolen his morphine and the nurses weren’t going to give him any more until tomorrow evening. He hadn't been off it for longer than a few hours since he'd woken up. This was only going to get worse. He was just going to have to bite his tongue through the feeling of being burned alive again.

He expended the last of his energy folding the mannequin’s middle finger up so that it flipped Barbie off as she nodded off, completely upright in a drug induced haze.

He didn't let her back in the room again after that.

-

Barbie's crash didn't come out of nowhere, it was going to happen eventually, whatever manic state of denial had kept her so focused on Fizzarolli’s recovery and away from her own new reality without her mother, without her family, dissipated and gave way to someone who couldn’t cope.

Fizz understood it though, he did.

During the first few weeks after they'd taken him out of the medically induced coma he'd thought about nothing except for the pain.

He didn't process what had happened, he didn't mourn the life he wasn't going to lead anymore, he definitely didn't think about the other people who'd been hurt that day.

He'd been reduced to nothing but a dying insect, incapable of anything except writhing and buzzing, willing to do anything to be put out of it's misery but unable to voice it.

All he did when he managed to flit into consciousness was wordlessly beg, beg the doctors to fix him, to up the painkillers, to just kill him already.

That's the state Barbie was in now, now that everything had hit her, mental pain could be just as debilitating. He knew that too.

-

Fizz was lonely.

He'd never been lonely as a kid, back when there'd been three of them: Fizz, Barb and Blitzo.

Where was Blitzo?

It took too much out of him to miss someone who didn't try so Fizz stopped missing Blitzo and chose to hate him instead, to resent him for all of it.

Hadn't that been what their childhoods had been built on? Resentment?

He hoped not.

Notes:

D:

Notes:

Thank you all for reading! I have big plans for this fic! Every comment motivates me to write more so any feedback or constructive criticism means the world!