There were a number of sounds that were forever soured for Blitzo. The tinkling sounds of bells was up there... it always reminded him of--
Fizz.
What the fuck? Blitzo did a double take, standing up from the bench he'd been sulking on - forget the fifth botched job interview, was he hallucinating things right now?? Without thinking about it a second more, the imp ran across the road, jumping and sliding over the hood of an oncoming car and reaching the other curb to intercept the jester imp.
Fizz reels backwards a couple of steps, eyes widening as if Blitzo is the ghost risen from the grave. Which he might as well be given how long it's been since they saw each other, and-- He looks different, a splotch of white scarring over his own face, and is that his mother's neck brooch?
"Good observation," his voice is a harsh rasp, fury igniting in his belly. "What the fuck do you want?"
He's speechless, for a moment, hands suspended in the air as his eyes darted, taking in every little detail. Prosthetic arms and legs, a covering cap - but it was him. It was Fizz.
"You're alive. You're actually-- t-they said you were dead, I was so scared I didn't g-get help in time, and-- oh Satan," Blitzo took in an uneasy breath, stepping back and wiping his face as he started crying. "Fuck. Fizz-- I am so, so sorry, it was an accident, I fucked up so bad and I'm so, SO sorry..."
No no no no no NO... he can't do this, he can't confront this here and now in the middle of the fucking street. He doesn't even like allusions to what happened from people disengaged from the topic like doctors, this-- this is a thousand times worse and all he can do is stare out of ever widening eyes.
Blitzo's words hit like solid punches to drive all of the air out of his body, compounded by the tears. Since when did Blitzo cry?
"...stop."
It's a softer sound, half angry and half afraid.
"Just... fuckin' stop, you're-- you left me, you don't get to..."
"I ran for help!! I promise, I ran for help-- p-people that knew what to do, just-- anything. Fuck, I didn't know you made it, I-- I should've been there in the hospital with you, fuck, Fizz--"
Blitzo is completely oblivious to the scene he's causing - all he can even handle is the overwhelming everything cascading down on him, still fresh and painful like a wound.
"You-- you fucking made it, you aren't dead, fuck, I'm so... I'm so happy," he choked out, clutching his chest like it would stop the burning heartache. Yeah - amidst everything else, even if Fizz hated him and blamed him - it WAS his fault. But Fizz didn't die.
He can feel bile touching the back of his throat and his whole body is shaking so hard that tiny electronic buzzing noises are coming from his limbs as they contract and expand in small amounts.
There's no way this is true.
"Shut UP!" It's a desperate shout, his own tears brimming at the edge. "You s-started the fire, you did this, why-- You didn't... It wasn't..."
He can't have been going for help, it can't have been an accident, or all the lonely nights at the hospital become even worse somehow, knowing he could have had somewhere there to support him through it.
"I did, I did start it-- I didn't realize-- I was just running out of there and hit the guy, and the candle, and-- f-fuck..."
Fuck it. Blitzo stepped closer, pulling Fizz into a hug, trying not to squeeze too hard in case his burns still hurt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."
Even if he could twist away given how gently Blitzo is holding him, Fizz freezes for all the world as if he's paralysed. He can't hold him back, but neither can he punch him and run, he can't do... anything.
"...they-- told you I was dead?"
His head is whirling and he thinks he might honestly pass the fuck out any second. An accident? He had never understood why Blitzo would try and hurt him so much, even out of jealousy, but those broken apologies are impossible to ignore, the pain in them too real to be faked.
He just nodded into Fizz' shoulder. He couldn't say anything else - even with what else had happened, Blitzo felt like a fuckup for not trying harder than that to find out what happened to Fizz. He really was-- the worst friend.
It shatters something inside him, but he believes Blitzo. The fury and injustice of what happened had kept him going, been a huge motivator in surviving and figuring out how to live again, because anger was easier to focus on than hurt. But now the source of that anger has been taken away from him, and all this time... all this fucking time, he could've had someone by his side?
His breath is coming too fast and too shallow, and the weight of Blitzo's head on his shoulder where the prosthetic meets flesh feels like it burns with the emotion of it.
Fizz opens his mouth to say something-- fuck knows what, an apology of his own, a plea, a further tirade?-- but nothing comes out other than a raspy sort of sigh before he just folds sideways in a dead faint.
Wha-- oh, shit!! Blitzo hugged Fizz around his waist to keep him from collapsing - oh fuck, oh shit, what does he do right now??
"The FUCK are you looking at?" he barked at the people he finally noticed staring at them before he turned and ran off, carrying Fizz - fuuuuck, he didn't even live around here, what was he gonna do?? He just had to get somewhere away from prying eyes and he'd figure out what the fuck comes next after that.
It's not like he's out for long, just long enough to get scooped up into Blitzo's arms and carried off, before he's giving a little grumbling moan and starting to come round again.
A dream, right? It was just a weird fucking dream, and now--
--oh. Not a dream. That sure is Blitzo's face above him.
"...shit. Fuck, I mean... fine, I'm fine. Put me down!"
He knew that their Mom had died-- Barbie had told him in a shaking voice when he had been released from the hospital, before she disappeared on whatever drug bender she had decided to fuck her life with.
But that it was an accident, it...
"...that's why nobody came?"
Everyone thought he was dead, that's why he had to suffer alone? Fuck. Fuck.
Dying alone... that shit is... the scariest thing that Blitzo can think of. And... and no one had come to see Fizz. All because no one double checked, no one doubted, too struck with their own grief and confusion from the whole fucking thing.
Sorry shouldn't mean shit in a situation like this, and especially not from him. But, Satan help him, it does. It does because he believes those horrible heartbroken words, and that means he has to believe all the rest of this awful crap is true.
It makes him so fucking angry at the injustice of it. He had spent over a year in that hospital, and the first few months had been the most terrifying and painful ones of his life. How many nights had he sobbed in vain for just one comforting hand to take his own?
Taking a half step back and away from Blitzo, he shakes his head with tears filling his eyes.
"I can't do this, Blitzo. Not in the fucking street, not-- today. Fuck, I have work to do."
"Shit," Blitzo cusses, but he shifts on his feet, tail swishing anxiously. "I-- can I walk you to work? I'll walk you there. We don't-- have to talk anymore," he rambled. He'd shut the fuck up, just... he didn't want to leave, now that he knew Fizz was alive. And... and that he was here.
Torn, he glances left and right rapidly as if looking for an escape, unable to look at Blitzo in the face because if he does... fuck knows he won't be able to keep his resolve.
"No. I can't-- just stop."
He turns on his heel and starts to stalk away, but-- Fuck. Fuckshitfuck! He can't fucking do it, not now he knows, not when he has the echoes of their friendship walking these streets with him. So he pauses, not looking back.
"I get off at midnight. Dollar House in Ransom, apartment 16."
Is he going to regret giving Blitzo his address later? Fucking maybe, maybe he already regrets it. But he's going to walk away before he can second guess it, and he'll worry about if Blitzo will be in the shitty rat-infested apartment building later.
An address. Holy fuck-- right. He has a whole day, he can-- he can scrounge together everything possible to make tonight not absolutely shitty.
Flowers. A card. Everything he should've given Fizz in the hospital as well as his time and presence. And-- it's so fucking late, no way he's getting anything good for dinner. He-- he was gonna blow his last twenty on something else, but fuck that!
Midnight. Right. So Fizz is getting home a bit after midnight. Blitzo doesn't think twice about breaking in or waiting to be invited - he just gets in with a little old-fashioned lock-picking and sets up in the kitchenz. So once Fizz actually gets home, tonight, he'll be treated to some hashbrowns and eggs, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut in the shape of a horse. And, of course, Blitzo in his kitchen trying to hurriedly wash the pan and dishes he used before Fizz opens that door.
Fizz's apartment is easy to break into because it's a pile of shit. Basically one medium size room with a kitchenette along one wall, a bed on the opposite wall, and a tiny boxroom of a bathroom. It's pretty empty, there's no sofa or TV or anything like that, instead there's some juggling equipment and a couple of large colourful balancing balls.
He's spent the whole of his shift thinking about what happened, so much that he'd made some really stupid mistakes and taken an earful from Mammon about it. Rightly so. He already owes so much to the King of Greed, he can't let him down by being less than perfect.
Stiff and aching, in pain all over from using the shitty prosthetics all day (he swears he'll commission good ones from Asmodeus' factory if he wins the pageant), he stumbles in the door and--
--right. Of course Blitzo is already in there, why the fuck wouldn't he be?
"Hi! Hey! Was, uh, was work okay? Oh, I made you dinner! Or, breakfast, or whatever--" Blitzo rambled, hastily drying off his hands to scurry to the plate he'd made for Fizz, picking it up and presenting it with all the energy of a dog that knew it'd messed up already.
It makes his heart hurt a little to see how eager Blitzo is, how clearly desperate he is for Fizz's forgiveness... or maybe even just his presence. It's uncomfortable.
"...right. Thanks."
He puts his hand out to take the plate, which turns out to be a mistake. He's pushed these shitty prosthetics too far today already, and the metal fingers fumble it, sending sandwich and plate tumbling to the ground.
Blitzo's reaction time is still pretty good - even if his coordination is still ass. He can catch the plate, but all the food gets everywhere-- that's fine. He glances at the fussy prosthetics briefly, but only just before he hurries to the sink and grabs the roll of paper towels he'd gotten.
"I got it! You can eat mine, I'll make more," he assured before using paper towels to clean up the mess.
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Fizz.
What the fuck? Blitzo did a double take, standing up from the bench he'd been sulking on - forget the fifth botched job interview, was he hallucinating things right now?? Without thinking about it a second more, the imp ran across the road, jumping and sliding over the hood of an oncoming car and reaching the other curb to intercept the jester imp.
That face-- it was burned, but he knew that face.
"Satan - Fizz, is that you? You're alive?"
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Fizz reels backwards a couple of steps, eyes widening as if Blitzo is the ghost risen from the grave. Which he might as well be given how long it's been since they saw each other, and-- He looks different, a splotch of white scarring over his own face, and is that his mother's neck brooch?
"Good observation," his voice is a harsh rasp, fury igniting in his belly. "What the fuck do you want?"
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"You're alive. You're actually-- t-they said you were dead, I was so scared I didn't g-get help in time, and-- oh Satan," Blitzo took in an uneasy breath, stepping back and wiping his face as he started crying. "Fuck. Fizz-- I am so, so sorry, it was an accident, I fucked up so bad and I'm so, SO sorry..."
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No no no no no NO... he can't do this, he can't confront this here and now in the middle of the fucking street. He doesn't even like allusions to what happened from people disengaged from the topic like doctors, this-- this is a thousand times worse and all he can do is stare out of ever widening eyes.
Blitzo's words hit like solid punches to drive all of the air out of his body, compounded by the tears. Since when did Blitzo cry?
"...stop."
It's a softer sound, half angry and half afraid.
"Just... fuckin' stop, you're-- you left me, you don't get to..."
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Blitzo is completely oblivious to the scene he's causing - all he can even handle is the overwhelming everything cascading down on him, still fresh and painful like a wound.
"You-- you fucking made it, you aren't dead, fuck, I'm so... I'm so happy," he choked out, clutching his chest like it would stop the burning heartache. Yeah - amidst everything else, even if Fizz hated him and blamed him - it WAS his fault. But Fizz didn't die.
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There's no way this is true.
"Shut UP!" It's a desperate shout, his own tears brimming at the edge. "You s-started the fire, you did this, why-- You didn't... It wasn't..."
He can't have been going for help, it can't have been an accident, or all the lonely nights at the hospital become even worse somehow, knowing he could have had somewhere there to support him through it.
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Fuck it. Blitzo stepped closer, pulling Fizz into a hug, trying not to squeeze too hard in case his burns still hurt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."
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"...they-- told you I was dead?"
His head is whirling and he thinks he might honestly pass the fuck out any second. An accident? He had never understood why Blitzo would try and hurt him so much, even out of jealousy, but those broken apologies are impossible to ignore, the pain in them too real to be faked.
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It shatters something inside him, but he believes Blitzo. The fury and injustice of what happened had kept him going, been a huge motivator in surviving and figuring out how to live again, because anger was easier to focus on than hurt. But now the source of that anger has been taken away from him, and all this time... all this fucking time, he could've had someone by his side?
His breath is coming too fast and too shallow, and the weight of Blitzo's head on his shoulder where the prosthetic meets flesh feels like it burns with the emotion of it.
Fizz opens his mouth to say something-- fuck knows what, an apology of his own, a plea, a further tirade?-- but nothing comes out other than a raspy sort of sigh before he just folds sideways in a dead faint.
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"The FUCK are you looking at?" he barked at the people he finally noticed staring at them before he turned and ran off, carrying Fizz - fuuuuck, he didn't even live around here, what was he gonna do?? He just had to get somewhere away from prying eyes and he'd figure out what the fuck comes next after that.
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A dream, right? It was just a weird fucking dream, and now--
--oh. Not a dream. That sure is Blitzo's face above him.
"...shit. Fuck, I mean... fine, I'm fine. Put me down!"
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"Just-- back up."
He needs space.
"...you're really saying you didn't know I was alive?"
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There was no way he could have chosen.
"E-everyone at the circus said you were... and dad said you were gone, and... I didn't... w-we had to bury mom, and..."
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But that it was an accident, it...
"...that's why nobody came?"
Everyone thought he was dead, that's why he had to suffer alone? Fuck. Fuck.
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"I'm so sorry..."
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It makes him so fucking angry at the injustice of it. He had spent over a year in that hospital, and the first few months had been the most terrifying and painful ones of his life. How many nights had he sobbed in vain for just one comforting hand to take his own?
Taking a half step back and away from Blitzo, he shakes his head with tears filling his eyes.
"I can't do this, Blitzo. Not in the fucking street, not-- today. Fuck, I have work to do."
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"No. I can't-- just stop."
He turns on his heel and starts to stalk away, but-- Fuck. Fuckshitfuck! He can't fucking do it, not now he knows, not when he has the echoes of their friendship walking these streets with him. So he pauses, not looking back.
"I get off at midnight. Dollar House in Ransom, apartment 16."
Is he going to regret giving Blitzo his address later? Fucking maybe, maybe he already regrets it. But he's going to walk away before he can second guess it, and he'll worry about if Blitzo will be in the shitty rat-infested apartment building later.
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Flowers. A card. Everything he should've given Fizz in the hospital as well as his time and presence. And-- it's so fucking late, no way he's getting anything good for dinner. He-- he was gonna blow his last twenty on something else, but fuck that!
Midnight. Right. So Fizz is getting home a bit after midnight. Blitzo doesn't think twice about breaking in or waiting to be invited - he just gets in with a little old-fashioned lock-picking and sets up in the kitchenz. So once Fizz actually gets home, tonight, he'll be treated to some hashbrowns and eggs, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut in the shape of a horse. And, of course, Blitzo in his kitchen trying to hurriedly wash the pan and dishes he used before Fizz opens that door.
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He's spent the whole of his shift thinking about what happened, so much that he'd made some really stupid mistakes and taken an earful from Mammon about it. Rightly so. He already owes so much to the King of Greed, he can't let him down by being less than perfect.
Stiff and aching, in pain all over from using the shitty prosthetics all day (he swears he'll commission good ones from Asmodeus' factory if he wins the pageant), he stumbles in the door and--
--right. Of course Blitzo is already in there, why the fuck wouldn't he be?
"Sure, make yourself at home."
Jerk.
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"...right. Thanks."
He puts his hand out to take the plate, which turns out to be a mistake. He's pushed these shitty prosthetics too far today already, and the metal fingers fumble it, sending sandwich and plate tumbling to the ground.
"Shit."
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"I got it! You can eat mine, I'll make more," he assured before using paper towels to clean up the mess.
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