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Branzy’s head snapped up, as Clown walked in, a body limp in his arms.
He knew well enough to hold his tongue, as his partner dumped the unconscious figure on his operating table, jet black skin stark against Branzy’s clinically white lab. Their hand flopped over the edge, and Clown hummed, pushing it back.
“Got you another one.”
“Ooh.” With permission to speak, Branzy got to his feet, leaving his tablet on the table he’d been sitting by as he circled over. “What did this one do to- to you?”
“Be an annoyance. Tried to get in my way, thought he could be a better villain. He’s already paid for it, but…”
“You want me to have- to have a go?”
“If you would. Standard routine should be fine.”
Clown stepped back, unbuckling his bloodstained mask as Branzy grinned, and crossed his lab to grab his coat and wash his hands.
It was a smooth routine. He lazed around here most days, particularly days Clown was active. No chance he’d be allowed out, not if the whole city was hunting for his villain partner. Sometimes, he went out, did some vigilante work of his own, but mostly he ran Clown’s operations, from behind the scenes.
Like now, when Clown dragged some poor hero, vigilante or minor villain back with him. It was a power play, apparently. He had a reputation for snatching newbies, just for a few days at a time, and returning them just shaken enough to send a message.
Meanwhile, Branzy got a bit of practice in. It kept both of them entertained.
Wandering back over, hands washed and rubber gloves snapping over his wrists, Branzy glanced over at his partner.
“So… tell me about it. How’d you- you get this one?”
Clown shrugged, leaning on the cabinets beside the table, arms crossed as he stared down at his latest prey. He looked casual, as casual as one of the top villains could, the top layers of his costume shed and looking halfway to domestic.
“This one was me. He started it, but I took an interest. Check he’s all the way out, before you start.”
That got Branzy’s attention. He smirked, glancing up with one eyebrow raised.
“You like this one, Clown?”
Another shrug, but his partner was smiling back, just a little.
“Call it professional interest.”
“Mhm… totally… I’m totally not- not jealous right now.” Laughing, Branzy slid one hand behind their head, positioning their body better to align with the straps. “Might- might wake them up, actually… just to- to check.”
Clown normally dragged them in half-conscious. Sometimes they knew what was going on, sometimes they didn’t. Branzy remembered one weirdly eager villain, one dressed up as a cat who could shapeshift, apparently.
He’d introduced himself as Pili, waved a friendly hello to Branzy, who’d exchanged an incredulous look with a bemused Clown.
They’d knocked him out, anyway. Branzy had a feeling he’d enjoyed it. He must have, to be honest, because either Clown had felt sorry for him or had been well and truly intrigued, and had started accompanying Pili on his little destructive rampages.
Branzy thought it was cute. His partner was allowed pets, from time to time. As long as he got his turn with them.
This one didn’t seem as cooperative as Pili had been. They groaned, softly, as Branzy positioned his hands on either side of their head, and let his eyes fall shut.
It was trickier, to mess with an addled mind. Branzy had to sort through more, when they weren’t conscious and lucid, when dreams and fears muddled together until he didn’t know what he was even trying to change.
This mind just felt like fear. Branzy winced, a little, at the ink-black spikes that jabbed at him, as he tried to pull the mess of pain and panic back to consciousness, just for a little while.
“Careful.” Clown interrupted him, which he should know better than to do, but Branzy’s discomfort must have been showing. “He’s dangerous.”
“Yeah, no- no shit… wh- what did you do to him?”
“Took out his base. And his gear. And nearly killed him.”
“He- he doesn’t have powers…”
“That, too. Interesting?”
“Oh, yes.” Branzy grinned, eyes still shut. “Frick, Clown, he- he’s really scared. You might- might need to hold him down.”
He was nearly there. There was something clawing at him, something that felt like a scared child, and Branzy’s heart ached, for the first time in a while. Like his subconscious knew something he didn’t. Like for the first time, Clown’s prey had something that would have him actually feeling sorry for them.
There.
Everything clicked, and Branzy jumped back, letting Clown pin the villain’s shoulders down as black eyes flew open, and they started hyperventilating, not screaming, frozen in place.
“Welcome back, Mugm.” Clown grinned, and Branzy went for the straps, getting the ankle and wrist ones on just as a small, choked sound slipped out, and he flinched back again, expecting some kind of power about to be thrown at him. “I wouldn’t recommend fighting.”
So Clown had told him nothing. Branzy liked that, to be honest. There was something addictive about the terror in the eyes of an animal that didn’t know if they’d live or die.
“F- Fuck, fuck, no, please-“
Mugm’s voice trailed off into a soft, plaintive whine, and Branzy looked up.
Clown was still. Unnervingly so, because Branzy had been ready to carry on, but now he was very, very scared.
“Clown? Is- is something wrong?”
“He… doesn’t normally sound like that.”
Beside him, Branzy saw Mugm trying to move, twisting desperately against the straps, moving his hips like it was going to get him anywhere. Every time, there was another small, sharp noise, like he was trying to bite back sobs.
It seemed normal, but Clown seemed baffled.
“He shouldn’t be… this scared.”
“Hey, we- we do scary stuff.”
“No. This is- Mugm.” Clown moved, turning the villain’s head to face him, voice sharp. “We’re not going to kill you.”
Branzy always found it weird, how much Clown cared about his rivals. He’d seen his partner stay up all night before, on call with Minute, just because the vigilante had missed his usual route a few too many days in a row.
Or Pili, because of course there was a reason he’d been so into this, no one could like their company and be mentally stable. Branzy still remembered when he’d noticed the tracking chip they’d put in him on a bridge in the dead of night. Clown had seemed worried about it, had headed out without another word, and Branzy hadn’t seen him until the following afternoon, when he’d just said Pili was staying with someone he knew, for a while.
Clown always seemed to care. He took note, kept track, caused as much pain as he intended to, never less, never more.
So, Branzy backed off, when his partner spoke to the villain he’d just kidnapped like a soothing parent, voice low and sharp and gentle.
“Mugm. Talk to me. This is Neutron, he’s my partner. He’s not going to kill you.”
“I- I’m going to hurt him, though. Can he- can he know that?”
Clown shot him a disgustingly fond look, and rolled his eyes.
“Yes. He’s going to hurt you. But not much.”
Branzy grumbled, just a little. He could do not much. Or he could do a real experiment, which he was pretty interested in doing, actually, with Mugm’s eerily featureless skin and lack of powers.
“Wh- why am I- what’s going on?” Mugm sounded on the verge of tears, voice a little hoarse and so quiet Branzy could barely hear. “Why am I-?”
“Operating table. My partner’s going to spend some time on you, give you a chip, so we know where you are. Then you can go.”
It was strange, how Clown could make their routine sound almost reassuring. Branzy wouldn’t have bothered. He’d have said he was going to cut Mugm open, see if there was anything inside him worth fiddling with, then patch him up mostly the same and leave a few presents buried under his skin.
Sounded more fun, like that.
Mugm whimpered, softly, but weirdly, seemed to relax.
“Just- that’s it?” He still spoke a little plaintively, but it was calming down, the rise and fall of his chest slowing to something steady. “You’re not- just-“
“What else would we do, Mugm?”
Branzy caught the villain trying to pull away from Clown, eyes closing again, and he’d have been fascinated to know if he was blushing right now. It was impossible to tell, with how his skin seemed to absorb all light.
“No. That… that’s fine. As long as- as long as… yeah. That’s fine.”
Branzy shot Clown a look. He wanted to know, what Mugm dreaded more than conscious vivisection. And Clown seemed to too, although for maybe more altruistic reasons than the vigilante.
“Mugm.”
“Just- hurry up, I- I have better things to do than this…”
Branzy laughed, grinning, and patted Mugm’s leg, the nearest part of the villain he could reach.
“Ok, Clown, you- you have-“
He’d been going to say Clown had good taste, but Mugm had whimpered again, and Branzy felt a prickling on his spine.
Clown must have heard it too. It was creepy, how in sync they were, sometimes.
“Don’t touch him. Mugm, nothing’s happening until you tell us what this is.”
Mugm shook his head, and Branzy felt a little sorry for him, in a sadistically amused sort of way. Clown didn’t take no for an answer, not when he was determined to know something.
Sometime, Branzy wondered how his partner could be a villain. Pretty shortly after, he remembered Clown’s wanton murderous and equally sadistic tendencies, and remembered that he himself was probably just inured to the most part.
But, for things like this. When Clown spoke softly, and stood like he was shielding Mugm from the world, and Branzy couldn’t have touched him if he tried, because Clown would protect someone he was worried about to the end of the world, even if he’d put a sword through them the second after he got an answer, and knew it was a fair fight.
It was sweet. Branzy thought so, at least. No one seemed to appreciate how gentle Clown was. They’d know, if he wasn’t. There’d be no one left to say anything otherwise.
“Look, bro, I just- don’t try to touch me. I-“ Mugm was murmuring, but it wasn’t helping him, not when Branzy was listening so attentively from his end of the operating table. “I’ve been through some shit. Do… whatever you want, I don’t care. Just waking up tied down, it- brings back some stuff. Y’know?”
Branzy had guessed correctly.
No way was Clown going to let him hurt this guy, no worse than was absolutely necessary. It was one of the more annoying little moralities his partner kept around. If someone had suffered enough, he wouldn’t carry on someone else’s work.
Gods, this was going to go the way of Pili. Clown was way too weak, to a sob story and someone who’d cry for him, let him take care of them.
Then again, Branzy could hardly talk.
He could be impatient though, because sexual trauma or no, he had one job around here, and it was cutting people open.
“Oh…” Clown was a few seconds behind, but didn’t let it on, just nodding gently, and letting go of Mugm, taking a small step back. “Ok. I get it, Mugm. B- Neutron-“
“Yeah, yeah. You’re safe, Mugm.” Branzy made sure to sound a little bitter about it, even if he didn’t mind, really. Clown could have his hang ups, they could be kind, sometimes. “Want me to- to chip him anyway, Clown?”
“…Yes. You can hear me, Mugm? We’re not- trying to do anything like that. Neutron can knock you out again, and he’s going to put a tracker in you. Just… something we like to do.”
It was their little social experiment. Branzy had his application, the one he’d coded himself, the one that showed him at a glance where a good half of the heroes, vigilantes and villains of their city were. All of the ones Clown had been interested enough in to dump in his lab. And a few of Branzy’s requests. Rek had gotten over it, although he was still snarky, sometimes.
“Don’t- I can be awake. Please.”
“You- you sure?” Branzy grinned, a little, because sue him, anyone who wanted to be cut open fully conscious was his kind of person. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”
“That’s fine-“
“You can numb it.” Clown’s voice was firm, interrupting both of them. “One masochist at a time, and it’s not either of you today.”
Branzy pouted, rapidly readjusting back into normal running. Mugm would be fine, he’d be really gentle, and just go nowhere near his dick or whatever he had down there. The scientific part of him wanted to know. The self-preservation part of him simultaneously didn’t really want to see that shit, and valued his life in Clown’s presence.
“Yeah, fine, I- I can numb it. Don’t bite me.”
It seemed unnecessary, but Clown dragged some feral idiots back with him, from time to time.
Mugm, however, was obedient. He held still, as Branzy’s fingers found his temple again, running mental touches down his nerves until he found his shoulder, and cut off the feeling. Mugm made a small sound, but it wasn’t panic, just surprise, and Clown didn’t seem to hear anything wrong.
“Should- should be good.”
“Sweet. Go for it, then. I’ll… stay to watch.”
Of course he would. Branzy returned a look of his own, judging and teasing and superior and affectionate all in one, grabbing his scalpel from a nearby tray.
Clown was so protective, sometimes.
——————
They hadn’t lied.
Shit, they hadn’t lied.
Mugm could have cried about that alone, the shock of it all, if he hadn’t been overwhelmed about other things.
He hadn’t meant to tell ClownPierce that. Any of it. It was meant to be his pain, buried decades deep and a lifetime ago, when he’d been a stupid child who didn’t know any better than to trust.
But he had. And he hadn’t had a choice, and he hadn’t paid for it.
Mugm rubbed his shoulder, the invisible line where Neutron had cut into him, where something now sat buried in his flesh, there without his full knowledge or understanding, and staying there.
It felt like a collar. Neutron had called it as much, delighted with himself, in roughly the same breath he’d said Clown collected stray dogs.
Mugm didn’t like that. He was beginning to understand, how Clown kept such a tight hold on his status. If half the other players in this game had been in the same position as this, carried the same tag under their skin, it made sense, how everyone kept a wide distance.
It felt a little like ownership. A trophy, maybe, proof that Clown could get away with stuff like this.
Mugm didn’t like it, at all.
But he couldn’t deny that he didn’t mind. There seemed such a separation, between ClownPierce, the masked villain who hunted those less than him like prey, dragging them home for his mad partner to dissect and cut up like an animal, and Clown, who Neutron had erased the face of from Mugm’s mind, who held his hand when he’d started crying again, who’d stopped and waited until he’d known why the villain who should mean nothing to him was so scared.
It felt almost respectful. Or affectionate, at least. Mugm might mean nothing to him, to ClownPierce, but he got the same kindness as one of many stray dogs in a shelter.
Clown was fucked up, for this.
It got in his head too easily, the urge to be grateful. Even as he was walking home, fiercely ignoring the presence of ClownPierce himself beside him, posture straight and walking calmly as Mugm tried not to stagger, he needed to remember that this wasn’t a kindness.
He’d been kidnapped, restrained, drugged and operated on without his consent. Clown didn’t deserve any credit for taking the care not to rape him.
But he almost felt a comforting presence, beside Mugm. Even if tomorrow, they’d be back at it, he’d be just an insect in ClownPierce’s world of cat and mouse, Mugm had this right now. Clown, walking him home, looking over at him every few seconds, tangible even through that mask.
Mugm was staring at the ground. Clutching his shoulder, hugging himself as subtly as possible, staring at the ground like it could owe him back everything the world had taken from him, everything that made him look at Clown’s twisted kindnesses like a blessing.
Clown didn’t seem to be talking. Mugm was aware, bitterly, that there seemed no way to avoid showing him where he lived. But they had a tracker in him now, anyway, tagged and marked like an animal, so he didn’t matter.
He didn’t matter, to them. Another face in the ground, another mutt under Neutron’s scalpel and Clown’s disturbingly fond gaze.
Mugm missed a step, and Clown steadied him before his breath could catch.
He fought the urge to bite his tongue clean off.
Instead, Mugm fought just as hard to keep his breathing steady, to not start crying over nothing, and to nod, as bitterly as he could manage, to an apartment block.
“That’s me. I’ll be fine.”
“I can go to your door.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Mugm wasn’t scared, anymore. If Clown was going to hurt him, he’d have done so already. He was just angry, snapping like a rabid dog at the villain that felt nothing like his owner.
“I’m coming to your door.”
“What, you want to tuck me into bed too?”
“Not particularly.”
Mugm nearly bared his teeth, nearly hissed, but it wouldn’t change anything. Nothing would change how Clown saw him, the painful reminder of how insignificant he was.
Instead, he dug out his keys, pushing open the door and heading up the stairs, aware and furious about the villain at his shoulder.
Anyone else would kill for this. People had been killed, for not having ClownPierce’s protection, and Mugm couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t say he was an idiot for not enjoying it while he had it.
But he hated it. For a thousand reasons, all of them boiling down to how bitter kindness tasted, when it was soaked in his own blood.
Mugm grabbed his door handle with a shaking hand, missing the lock the first few times before his key slotted in.
Clown leaned on the wall beside him, mask on and every inch the top villain, as Mugm stood facing his unlocked door, breathing too hard, and not moving an inch.
“I’ll check in. In a week.”
No question of if that was alright with him. Just procedure, routine, in his twisted game of trophy taking and leaving people who meant nothing marked for the rest of their lives.
Mugm’s knuckles hurt, with how hard he was gripping the handle.
“Fine.”
“Talk to me, if you ever need to. I know people.”
“Fine.”
“If it matters, Mugm, you were good. I’ll keep you in mind.”
“Don’t bother. Just forget about me.” Mugm wasn’t looking at him. He was clinging onto some dignity, despite everything. “Don’t come after me, for fuck’s sake. You’ve done enough.”
“…Alright. A week, then.”
“Fine.”
Clown hummed, moving away from the wall, standing and watching as Mugm opened his door.
He didn’t look back.