Chapter Text
How did you manage to end your day with the worst scare of the day, and then with the worst scare of the week?
Not like you knew that the worst scare of the month was about to happen in a bit.
Normally evening shifts weren’t a problem, but that power outage had for some inexplicable reason really gotten to you.
The last time you’d seen monsters in the dark and shadows reaching out with inky tendrils, was when you were much smaller and also much weaker.
So why had you suddenly felt like something was moments away from grabbing you? Eyes staring at you as you stumbled around the dark cafe?
You even ended up grabbing a knife, as if to prepare to do what? Fight off the darkness? Cut up some fruits as a peace offering?
Most embarrassingly in the end it had been nothing, but that experience had probably shaved a few years of your life. For absolutely fucking nothing. 0/10 experience, would not do again.
Maybe it had been all the customers who’d put you on edge, talking about disappearances and sharing their wild theories as to the evil machinations behind them.
But life just can’t give you a break.
You hear the jingle of the doorbell, and you quickly turn around from the breaker. Damnit, should have locked the door.
The guy, a performer from the Circus you'd defended earlier in the day from some violent asshole, was standing at the counter. Smiling at you.
As if you weren’t already stressed enough.
Scare number two came from the violent slash of red blooming on his head.
Blood was slugglishly congealing from his hairline to his eyelid.
You get the impression he’s unaware of his own state of hurt, as he’s just standing there seeming to offer what you’re assuming is a sincere smile.
Guessing as it could also be a pained grimace for all you know.
The power of customer service left you after the little stunt with the breaker, meaning all your eloquence has also called it a day, as all you can bring out is a:
“You’re bleeding… fuck, are you alright?” Your voice is a bit shaky from the adrenaline still pumping through you.
He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead he suddenly holds a small paper flower towards you. It’s quite a pretty little thing, the petals still shining from being freshly painted. Did he make this himself?
“Because of the bandage?” Your fingers clench around nothing, still a bit too distracted by the blood.
You still take it with shaky fingers, he just throws a curious glance at the small knife in your hand, and you realise how hard you’ve been gripping the thing.
With a small sigh you unclench your hand, placing the knife under the counter. You’ll clean it up later.
Honestly, you would normally probably prefer he leaves quickly. But, right now there’s almost a bit of comfort in having another person here with you. You’re not sure why you feel like he’s harmless, maybe it’s the fact that you’ve only ever seen him hurt, and avoiding conflict.
Also, in case it hadn’t been mentioned. He’s actively bleeding from his head!
He nods with a smile, the bells softly jiggling, and you feel yourself relax.
Still worried about the frankly unhealthy amount of blood outside his body.
“Please don’t make me regret this. Sit at the counter, I’ll help with that.” You nod towards the blood, and the man nods as he seats himself.
Good thing you’d had first aid training… at some point in your life.
You place the paper flower to the side, careful to not bend the petals, grabbing a few napkins and the handily placed first aid kit under the counter. Now that you’re looking at him, there’s still a slow trickling from the wound.
You walk around the counter until you’re properly standing in front of him, making it easier to actually assess the damage.
Well, if bad goes to worst, there should be superglue somewhere around…
You carefully remove the worst of the blood with the napkins using only a bit of water, carefully turning his head this way and that under the dim light. It looks like there’s some dirt around the wound, there’s some shimmering. Did someone throw a bottle at him?
“Who the hell does that?” you blurt an angry little whisper. The guy twitches under your fingers. “Sorry.”
Looking at it now, you might really have to get the glue for real, because the wound is slightly deeper than anticipated, and as you clean around the wound the blood starts bubbling up again.
“This isn’t good… are you still feeling ok?” You feel him nod, so you continue.
“Hold still, this might sting a bit.” It’s a bit of a pointless request, since he’s barely moved since you first touched him. Indeed if you weren’t so close to him, feeling his breathing, you could have assumed you were trying to clean a statue.
You hold a wad of napkin under the wound as you try to wash out the dirt, once again he doesn’t really move much, though you feel a slight wobble as you dry off the water.
Still bleeding, but slowed.
You can’t see much dirt around the wound anymore. Satisfied with your wound assessment, you take a step back to pull out a bandaid from the first aid kit.
“I’ll put this on for now. You might have to switch it out later.”
Once again he nods, holding still as you give the guy his second bandaid of the day. This one a lot less cute, considering the more "professional" nature of it.
You take a step back, taking in your handiwork. It looks good enough, the white bandage blending into the white of his mask. He looks quite happy himself, despite not having the ability to see what you did.
“Better?”
He nods.
Hmmm, you quickly throw the napkins in the trash, and pack the first aid kit back under the counter. “You don’t talk… is that part of the performance? Or…”
He quickly glances around, before leaning in closer. “I cannot speak in public.”
“So it is part of your performance? Neat.” Both neat, and maybe a bit weird. Was this guy never off the clock? Even at night?
“Yes. Call it… part of the immersion. I sincerely appreciate all your help.” He stands up, placing a hand over his chest with a small bow; “I’m the Pierrot. Nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh! Nice to meet you, “The” Pierrot.” You say with a bit of cheek.
Pierrot smiles back, his face having gotten some of its colour back. “Just Pierrot.” He gives you a small wink.
“Yes yes of course, Pierrot. Well, I’m…” but you can’t even finish your own introduction.
Just in the very moment where Pierrot rights himself back up, he tilts to the side and in an attempt to avoid falling over, he instead collapses forward, the only thing stopping him from bashing his skull straight into the counter, is him grabbing onto a chair.
You quickly extend your arms, trying to catch him even if it probably wouldn’t help much, which you swiftly realise as he crumples down right on top of you. You let out a small yelp as you’re both brought to the floor, you slamming onto your knees.
Oh this guy is heavy.
“Hey… Hey, are you ok? Pierrot?
This time there’s no direct response, simply a pained huffing and then a breathless groan of pain.
“Hey, come on.” You try to move a bit of his hair to the side, wanting to see if he’s even still conscious.
Damnit, you wince as you see red seep through the bandage on Pierrot’s head.
“Get up, please. I’ll call an ambulance.” You try to lift him off you, and indeed it works, though mostly because Pierrot himself raises himself off you slowly.
“No need, I cannot…” another groan. “I have my doubts they would help…” another moan of pain.
Sure yeah maybe calling an ambulance would be weird with him looking like that, but he still had to get help from someone. Preferably someone with a medical license.
“I’ll be fine, I apologise for the inconvenience.” He hoists himself back up until he’s back on unsteady footing.
You highly doubt his words, especially since he can barely look at you. His gaze seeming to flicker in and out of focus.
“No no, it’s… fine.”
You grab him by the arm before he can wobble out.
If that wound was caused by the same sentiment as the attack in the morning, you’d really not want to know what might happen if some aggressive idiots saw Pierrot out there while he couldn’t even stand straight. Forget getting punched and yelled at, and getting away with some bruises or another punch to the face. Those would be probably be the best outcome for him. You really didn’t want to see the poor guy dead on cafe's doorstep in the morning because you didn’t step in.
“If you can walk, my boss's car is out the back door, he told me I can use it when I need to get home in the evenings… I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
That seems to snap him out of his daze, though not by much. He looks at you, gaze almost too intense for someone who was just moments away from falling back over. But then it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he just slumps forward with a nod. “The circus… we have a doctor…” he trails off, as if losing his train of thought in the middle of it, squinting for a moment.
You take that as your cue to offer your shoulder to him for stability. An offer he takes with a light sigh, and an almost wry smile. You'll just have to ask him when you're both in the car.
He’s still incredibly heavy, he is very tall afterall, but he seems to try and avoid putting too much of his weight on you, as you both make your way to the employee parking area.
It’s slow, especially since you need to let him take a quick break any time there’s nowhere else for him to lean against. But after a painful few minutes you finally manage to manoeuvre Pierrot into the passenger seat, helping him put on the seat belt and adjust the seat itself to fit his frame.
You watch him as you run around the car, his eyes following your half lidded in turn.
He seems to be out like a light the moment you sit down in the driver’s seat. The only thing preventing you from panicking is the even rise and fall of his chest, and the low snoring sounds. Though not by much, you know that a head injury pairs really poorly with unconsciousness.
You start the car, driving along the dark streets, it’s only when you’re rounding onto a familiar road that you realise he never actually told you the address of the circus where he asked to be brought. Instead you'd just automatically started the drive home, and taken him with you, to your place.
“Fuck… fuck, fuck fuck fuck. I concussion-napped a clown.”
Ok, how bad could it be to kidnap a concussed performer from the circus currently in town? Not too bad, right?
And if he was concussed he probably wouldn’t try to kill you either, at least not until he stopped bleeding.
You parked as close to the entrance as possible. Guess you’ll be having a sleepover tonight, and hope your guest doesn’t die. Hope he doesn’t try to stab you.
Maybe you should reconsider calling the hospital.
But you don’t even get that far as to even consider restarting the engine, Pierrot unbuckles himself and hauls himself out of the car, and stumbles towards the entrance.
Either the guy was just choosing a direction at random and luckily going the right way, or you had a stalker who for some reason was a bit too familiar with where to go.
Considering that the only place with the lights on on the outside was your place, you’d guess the former. The latter was just much too unrealistic. That, and he just ran face first into the wall next to the door. Definitely not stalker behaviour.
Wince, at this rate he’s going to finish himself off.
You quickly lock the car, and run after him as he leans against the wall, rubbing his head.
“Hey, ok, give me your arm. Can you still walk?”
He weakly nods.
He once again leans against you, and you do make note of his soft nod. Good enough.
“Ok, and heave ho!”
You almost topple over as he leans his weight on you, but miraculously manage to balance right as you’re about to flop over.
You desperately hope nobody is looking outside to see this.
And off you go, struggling to get the oversized children’s toy inside.