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sillyvixy · 11 months ago

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AAAAA this chapter made me feel so many emotions, fabulous writing, as always.

In Love and War

Part 31 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here. Warning to readers: this is a very upsetting chapter. The villains are absolutely vile and written that way on purpose. Residential schools get mentioned. The plight of Chinese labourers gets mentioned. Racial inequality gets mentioned. Killing tinies gets mentioned. A tiny gets attacked in this. I made myself angry writing it, you'll likely get angry reading it, and all in all our boys have a very horrible time. Everything is going to be okay.

Joe knew nothing about Canada’s confederation in 1867, and he knew even less about Dominion Day for that matter. So far as he was concerned it was another pointless parade the giants held just for the sake of parading, a festival of pomp and circumstance with little underlying depth beyond that. The reality was that Dominion Day was a day of national pride, though only for certain kinds of people. It was a day for all the good, loyal subjects of the crown to look back on all they had achieved with great satisfaction as they patted themselves on the back and said,

“At least we’re not American.”

The Indigenous children buried in the nation’s churchyards were of little concern to these people; as were the thousands of Chinese labourers whose bodies lie buried along the tracks of the Canadian Pacific Railway, not to mention all the women who as of 1926 were not considered white enough to vote. If anyone should bring up those dark stains on the nation’s reputation, well, they were just being negative or unnecessarily critical. Spoiling the fun, if anything.

Joe did not know the meaning of Dominion Day, and he did not fully grasp how little Canada, nascent empire of blood that it was, thought about him. As he crawled onto Harry’s chest that first of July, he was blissfully unaware that today would be the day he would find out.

Joe wasn’t thinking about the day’s celebrations at all as he lay on Harry’s chest and moved along with the gentle rise and fall of the giant’s breathing. He was supposed to be waking Harry up extra early this morning, but he found he was much too happy to do so. He relaxed for a moment instead, pressed his ear to Harry’s chest and listened to the strange sounds of a being he never would have dreamed getting so close to. This was exactly where he wanted to be. The giant’s pulse was strong and stable and vibrantly alive, moving with the surety of ocean waves. Like waves, it drew him in. Carried him away to another world without politics or petdom, one where he could be human and happy with Harry. Anyone who saw the way Joe was lying on Harry in that moment would think he was a pet, he knew – or something worse than that. Yet, the more time went on, the less he cared.

Then the moment passed, sunlight spilled in through the window and he started to feel foolish. Knowing Harry could wake at any moment, he sat up and looked ahead at the sleeping giant’s chin, admiring how it arched up like a hillside. There was still so much mystery to Harry. He knew the giant was still scared of opening up, and like a puzzle Joe was determined to find out why. He was close to Harry’s heart in more ways than one, but still the man eluded him.

As the giant’s breath rushed in and out of his mighty lungs, Joe steadied himself and crept closer to Harry’s face. How to wake a sleeping giant, he wondered. He tiptoed up to Harry’s neck, lost his footing, then fell onto the man’s Adam’s apple, causing him to cough and paw at his throat. This knocked Joe clean off, and he fell onto the mattress below. Right when he was about to get up Harry rolled over, shifting the mattress with all the tectonic force of an earthquake. The dip in the bed from the giant’s weight nearly sucked Joe into it, and had he not scrambled as frantically as he did he would have found himself trapped between Harry and the bed. Instead he managed to clamber over to Harry’s face, easily accessible now that the giant lay on his side.

Seeing the giant’s closed eyes, with long eyelashes begging for tiny hands to tug them, Joe knew what he had to do. He drew in closer, gripped at Harry’s left eyelid – the one closest to the mattress – and pried it open.

“Harry?” He shouted. “Harry, it’s time to wake up!”

Joe watched in fascination as the giant’s eyeball, once glassy and distant, sparked back to life. The membranes and the bands of colour in Harry’s retina shifted and moved as his pupil dilated in confusion, as though they were the sands of some faraway desert planet. It was alien, bizarre, what some might consider to be not at all romantic, but even at his most uncanny Joe still found Harry oddly beautiful.

Then the eyelid Joe had been holding open slid clean out of his hands and snapped shut. Once again the giant’s hand reached for him, and Harry let out a sound that Joe thought only a barn animal could make. Joe was undeterred.

“Joe? What are you doing here?” Harry mumbled.

“You told me to wake you up, remember!?” Joe shouted even louder.

Joe stumbled back and watched as the giant let out a miserable mm-hmm. The hot air of a sigh rushed over him and finally the giant rubbed his eyes open. He reached out to Joe next, curiously prodding at him as he had done back at the hospital.

“You should go to the nightstand.” Harry croaked.

“I’d rather go to breakfast.” Joe said.

Harry looked confused at first, adorably so, until he seemed to remember that breakfast was indeed something people did during mornings. Carefully he sat up, shook himself awake, and took the smitten Joe downstairs.

“My aunt and father are coming for tea this afternoon, then we’ll be attending the parade.” Harry said as he brought in the newspaper that would soon be Joe’s undoing and set it down on the coffee table in the parlour. “I’ll take those two appointments in the morning, but nothing after that.”

“So what am I doing!?” Joe called from the dining room. “Am I going with you, or manning the phone, or…”

Joe trailed off as Harry stopped in the dining room doorway and gave him a long, hard look. Joe couldn’t read the expression on Harry’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit. Harry looked downcast, almost pained for some reason.

“I have to think about that a little bit more.” Harry said.

“Think about what?” Asked Joe.

Harry didn’t answer. He sat down and puffed on his cigarette as Joe went back to enjoying his warm slice of egg, both too afraid to press the issue. All Joe could do was sit and hope that Harry wouldn't force him to hide. If Harry wouldn’t tell him anything about himself then the least Joe could do was meet the man’s father and learn that way. Besides, this was his house Harry was bringing his family into. Surely Joe ought to have some involvement in the visit!

As it was, he continued his duties for the day once breakfast was over, though calls were slow that day. This gave Joe plenty of time to study Harry, who was in the process of covering the parlour’s coffee table with a table cloth and setting it with the tea set that usually sat uselessly in the kitchen china cabinet. From his place at the phone table, Joe could just make out the crack on the teacup he had made months ago, which Harry had since done his best to repair.

Then came a plate of cucumber sandwiches, another of pastries, a sugar bowl here, a bottle of sherry there. Joe watched in fascination as back and forth Harry went from the kitchen to the parlour, until his best attempt at afternoon tea had been made. Joe was starting to get oddly excited about the visit. Even if he did have to put up with strange giants in his home, at least he would be able to enjoy some good food throughout, he reasoned. It was a bounty few borrowers got to enjoy in their lives.

Then Harry turned to Joe.

“Joe… could you do me a favour?” Harry asked.

He still had that sad look on his face.

“…what?” Joe replied, and Harry merely extended his hand and beckoned for him to climb on in response.

Joe did so, and Harry carried him from the telephone table all the way into the kitchen, then bent down for good measure over the hole where the floorboards had been removed.

“I need you to hide down here for a little while. Not for long! Just a little while.” Said Harry.

Joe blinked at the darkness that surrounded him from where he stood on Harry’s lowered hand and found himself disappointed, but oddly unsurprised.

Of course. Of course Joe wouldn’t be allowed to attend the giants’ fancy tea party. He had known it all along deep down, though he hadn’t wanted it to be true. He wanted to protest, or to yell, or to fight, but that respect that had embedded itself deep within Joe after the night of the storm had hooked itself deeply inside of him. He realized, as he stared into that darkness, that he would do anything for Harry, even if it meant compromising his own dignity.

So he stepped off of Harry’s hand while his blood boiled and said,

“Okay, Harry. I’ll do that. I’ll wait. Just save something for me when the party’s over.”

Harry looked downright relieved as he towered above Joe.

“Thank you.” He said. “It won’t be long. An hour or two at best. Then you can hop right out and keep watching the phone while we’re gone.”

Of course Joe wouldn’t be allowed to go to the parade either, he realized.

Joe ran his hand over the sleeve of the nice borrowing gear he had worn that day, still nicer in his mind than the suit he had bought. Then the light disappeared as Harry returned the missing floorboards to their place, and Harry disappeared with it.

Of course Harry would seal him back underneath the floor. That was where he belonged, wasn’t it?

“I’ll save you a cinnamon scone, how does that sound?” Said Harry’s muffled voice from above.

Joe didn’t answer. He didn’t stay put, either. He sat there in the dark for all of two seconds before immediately making a bee-line towards one of the many secret exits the ailing Stinson House still had to offer.

Joe might not be able to participate, but he could at least observe, and he could think of no better place to do that from than the porch overhang.

They may as well have been an alien species.

Joe had seen others like them before around the city, of course: men in tall hats and capes, women in corseted gowns and feathery hats, each looking just as out of place as the other. He watched them emerge from the sleek automobile that read De Luxe Cabs Ltd. on the side, fascinated by their age, their dress, how out of their time the both of them seemed to be. Nonetheless, they carried themselves with a strange air of authority, and when the man in the tall hat knocked on Harry’s door, Joe could feel it all the way up in the eavestrough he was observing them from. The shock caused him to scramble, and the movement of his feet made a clanking noise that the woman in the feathery hat immediately took note of, for when Joe craned his neck down to check if the giants had seen him he nearly locked eyes with her. Impulsively he threw himself back and crouched down inside the gutter, hoping the old lady hadn’t noticed him.

“Did you hear that, Richard? What was that noise?” She hissed.

Harry’s aunt did indeed care about what was in the eavestroughs, Joe noted.

“Nothing to get up in arms about, Emily.” Richard, the man in the tall hat, remarked.

Richard and Emily both spoke with strange accents Joe had never heard before.

“It sounded alive.” Emily protested. “And this home is in such a sorry state. You don’t suspect it could be squirrels, or mice, or miniatures, do you?”

Joe immediately bristled at the way Harry’s aunt Emily said the word miniatures.

“Now now, Emily…”

“He spent all that money his dear mother left him on a down payment for this?” Emily continued.

Harry came to the door before Richard could answer her, and aunt Emily instantly changed her tune.

“Why Herman, how lovely to see you darling!” She cooed. “What a wonderful home you have.”

Joe rose from inside the gutter and went for another look at the porch below. He watched as the three exchanged greetings and disappeared inside. Now floored with curiosity, Joe raced along to the edge of the eavestrough and into the hole that led back into the walls, not wanting to miss a second of their conversation... especially not if the topic of miniatures came up.

“Herman… do you care to explain to me what happened to your mother’s teacup?”

Richard Avery’s muffled voice grew louder as Joe ventured through the walls. His blood froze at the sound of those words, and briefly Joe had to resist the urge to jump out from his hiding place, if not to confront his unwelcome guests then to, at the very least, exonerate poor Harry.

“Wh-what happened…?” He heard Harry repeat.

Creeping along the beam, Joe drew closer still until he reached a space in the wall that was right between where Harry’s guests sat on the parlour couch.

“Yes. This crack here, do you see it?” Said Harry’s father.

“I uh… I don’t remember…” Harry lied.

From his place in the darkness, Joe noted the fear in Harry’s voice. The giant sounded as afraid as he had been during the incident with the record player or the night of the storm, and Joe was astounded by just how small Harry managed to sound in comparison to the pompous voice of his denigrator.

“Come, now. You’re a doctor, aren’t you? I would have thought you would be able to handle a teacup with a little more care than that...” Said Richard.

Harry replied with a simple,

“I’m sorry, father.” Joe pressed his ear against the back of the wall and listened as Harry changed the subject. “How are the sandwiches?”

“Lovely, darling.” Aunt Emily chimed in.

“Good! Good…” Harry said, and when the teapot whistled he added, “Tea’s ready. Excuse me.”

Straining his ears as Harry’s footsteps grew and then faded, Joe could just make out the voices of Joe’s aunt and father.

“They’re awfully dry, these sandwiches, aren’t they?” Said Emily to Richard.

“Quite.” Richard agreed. "Let me see if I can get a peek at the kitchen..." Richard's footsteps followed the same path as Harry's, then quickly returned. "...still never scrubs his bloody tiles." Richard concluded.

Joe, once again, seethed in the darkness. Already there was something so deeply unpalatable about these strange giants. How could they talk so badly about someone as kind as Harry behind his back and then lie to his face as though it were nothing? He kept shuffling ahead along the beam as Harry brought the tea, his ear firmly pressed to the drywall.

“There you are, aunt Emily… and some for you, father.” Said Harry as he returned with the tea.

“Tell me, Herman, how are you enjoying being a doctor?” Asked Richard.

Harry laughed, nervous as usual, and replied,

“It’s… busy, certainly.”

“Wouldn't you like an office? Running a home clinic is a little old fashioned, wouldn’t you say? I thought you were going to rent a space downtown.” Richard continued.

Joe’s skin prickled and his fingertips clawed into the drywall. Everything Harry’s father said to him sounded as if it were cloaked in judgment.

“That’s the plan eventually, once I have enough patients.” Harry said.

“You ought to get yourself an assistant.” Aunt Emily piped up. “Running a clinic all alone, without a wife no less! It must be rather tiring.”

“Oh, I have an assistant.” Harry said, causing Joe’s heart to plunge straight into his stomach.

“Oh, how lovely. What’s her name?” Asked aunt Emily.

A nerve-wracking pause followed. Joe kept on creeping along the beam, trying to get as close as he possibly could to the voices.

“…his name is Joe.” Harry said.

“Joe who, darling?” Aunt Emily pressed.

“…Piccoli.” Confessed Harry, pronouncing Piccoli perfectly. “Joe Piccoli.”

Richard Avery let out a deeply unpleasant grunt at the sound of Joe’s name.

“Piccoli? So he’s an Italian, then?” He said.

With those words, Joe saw red. Harry’s father had said Italian the exact same way Mr. Dawson and O’Grady had said it: with no small amount of scorn and contempt.

“I haven’t asked him.” Harry stammered, more than a little defensively. “It doesn’t matter much to me where he’s from. He works hard. He’s good with the patients. Speaks English perfectly well.”

Richard’s response was a single, judgment-laden,

“I see.”

“Well, it will only be temporary anyways, won’t it dear? Once you’ve found yourself a wife you’ll have no need to hire anyone.” Said aunt Emily.

A wife. Joe was so engrossed by the conversation and so enraged by what he was hearing that for a split second he forgot the layout of the inner wall he was traversing. Along with it he forgot about the nail that jutted out from the wall in the middle of his path, the one that held up the parlour clock, which he promptly walked into and bumped his head on. Reflexively he recoiled and reeled, then scrambled to keep his footing on the beam, but the damage had been done. He toppled over and soon he was left clinging for dear life.

Little did he know he was right behind aunt Emily’s right ear.

“What was that!?” The old woman exclaimed.

Joe’s heart raced as he gripped the beam and stayed deathly still.

“What was what?” Was Harry’s uneasy response.

“That noise in the walls. I heard it outside, too. You don’t think it’s an infestation, do you? It would be dreadful news for a doctor’s office.” Aunt Emily nattered on.

Joe held on for dear life as one of the two giants thumped on the walls right above where he hung.

“Aunt Emily, please! There’s nothing in the walls.” Harry assured her.

To Joe’s relief the thumping slowed and then stopped.

“We had a horrid infestation of miniatures in the house I grew up in.” Aunt Emily continued. “A little bit of rat poison in a brick of chocolate made short work of them.”

“Rat poison…” Harry echoed, sounding utterly stricken at the idea.

With the strength rapidly draining from his upper body, Joe had no choice but to let himself drop. He could only hope as he hit the floor that aunt Emily wouldn’t hear his landing.

“Yes, or honey. They’re filthy little vermin, those miniatures.” Said aunt Emily.

Aunt Emily’s voice grew distant as Joe hit the floor. Luckily for him, she seemed too interested in discussing the finer points of murdering him and people like him to notice his impact.

“Another thing you could do is set a glue trap…” Emily continued.

“That’s lovely, auntie, but perhaps some other time.” Harry goaded her.

“Ah, yes, how rude of me. Not over tea.” Harry’s aunt agreed. “Any interesting news, Richard?”

The newspaper rustled from Richard's end of the couch.

“It says here they’re proposing a new residential school. Perhaps there’s some hope for this nation after all.” Richard Avery mused.

Joe had not attended a formal school of any kind, but from his understanding school was supposed to be a good thing, something thought highly of and venerated by the giants. After listening in on Emily and Richard, however, there was one thing Joe was certain of: anything they lauded as good, just, or right in the world was sure to be just as poisonous as the chocolate.

The paper kept rustling.

“Oh, never mind that.” Richard continued. “There’s bloody miniatures in the news now. Danny Smalls here is going to court over human rights, as if a tiny should have any.” The senior Avery scoffed.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. Joe, meanwhile, was swiftly losing all capacity to think.

“So uh… aunt Emily, you wouldn’t happen to have any dating tips, would you?” Harry’s voice was eggshell-thin and laden with disturbance.

“Dating?” Aunt Emily laughed. “Why, you ought not to bother dating. Call at her father’s house like a proper gentleman, my dear. That is how you find a good wife.”

“I see. I was just thinking that maybe I should get to know her first. Make friends with her. That’s why I’ve been taking so long.” Harry said.

“Now now, boy!” Richard Avery rasped. “All’s fair in love and war. You don’t have to be friends, you just have to tolerate one another. You’re a doctor, not a bloody freak of nature.”

There was that word again: freak. As Joe shook with anger from his place in the walls, he once again wondered what such a word was supposed to mean. Then it dawned on him that perhaps the word itself didn’t have any real meaning; perhaps, like poison or glue traps, it was yet another weapon in the arsenal of the giants. A word used to vilify and demonize anything and anyone they didn’t understand or care to understand. A tool, one of many, used to justify their violence.

Joe was a freak by their standards, and he knew without a doubt that Harry would be considered one too. It was then that Joe understood why it was that Harry hid so much of himself from Joe. These were the people he had grown up with and the messages he had absorbed from a very young age: a never-ending deluge of bitterness and scorn for everything he was.

“Besides, I only have so much time left in this world. I want to meet my grandchildren, Herman. All you need to do is put your mind to it.” Richard added.

The paper rustled again as Richard, presumably, set it down and crossed the room.

“…and stop wasting all your time on this.”

Joe’s face grew hot as he heard the lid of the piano slam down. The silent room echoed with the sound of a single, discordant note. He was in autopilot now. He wasn’t thinking, he was feeling. How dare they! How dare they come into his home and treat his friend so cruelly? How could they say such wretched things and get away with it? As he made a beeline for the nearest exit to the parlour floor, Joe realized just how proud he was to be a miniature, to be Italian, to be living among the giants, to be human. Certainly, some may call him freak. Some may call him pet. Some may call him degenerate, or vile, or vermin, but he didn’t care.

The only thing that made someone truly inhuman, Joe decided then and there, was engaging in the act of dehumanizing another.

He exited the walls from a crack in the parlour corner, tearing straight through the new wallpaper Harry had put in some months ago, then darted out towards the coffee table, crossing the floor in record time. Faster than a giant could blink, he scrambled up a loose tassle on the tablecloth Harry had hastily put in place until he was right in the middle of the tea and cakes. He scanned the room and saw that no giant had caught sight of him yet, not even Harry. Richard was on his way back to where he had been sitting on the parlour couch, and Emily was nose deep in her tea. As he laid eyes on poor Harry he was heartbroken to see just how small he looked as he sat next to his aunt and father. Harry could easily dwarf the both of them if he stood at his full height from what Joe could tell, yet he sat with his head bowed as he wrung his hands, sick with shame for the beautiful music he had made the other day, no doubt.

Joe studied his enemies, too. He cared little for whether someone was conventionally beautiful or not, so when he looked upon them all he saw was ugliness in both of their faces: in aunt Emily’s straight, white teeth and immaculate clothing, and in Richard’s sharp, hawk-like cheekbones and icy blue eyes. Age had not made these people ugly to Joe, Emily’s greying strands and Richard’s thinning white hair meant little to him. Their very hearts were ugly, and it was an ugliness Joe was determined to purge from his house and home.

All was fair in love and war, after all.

There was a tiered dish that Harry had set out for the sandwiches, the top of which was now empty. Joe climbed up a spoon and onto the sugar bowl, then leapt from the lid to the top of the stand.

He stood there for one terrifying moment, then let out a piercing whistle.

Every pair of eyes in the room fell upon him.

“You two need to leave. Now.” He ordered in the same voice he had addressed the circus manager with. Both giants stared at him in utter disbelief, just as Davidson Sr. had.

“I beg your pardon?” Was Richard Avery’s response.

Aunt Emily’s response was to let out a devastating, ear-destroying scream.

“MINIATURES! I TOLD YOU! KILL IT, RICHIE! KILL IT!”

Before Joe could so much as think another thought, Richard Avery snatched the newspaper from the table and rolled it up. Joe shrank back as the armed giant towered over him. Sweat ran from his temples and neck all the way to his back as he realized to his horror that he hadn’t thought this far. At the circus Harry had been there to back him up. Now, as he glanced over at the giant, he could see that Harry was frozen in shock. He turned his head back to face the severe-looking old man who was poised to strike him, and that was when the newspaper landed. It struck the entire front of Joe’s body with a dreadful sting and sent him flying backwards across the parlour.

His senses of gravity, space and time all left him, and for a moment Joe was suspended completely in thin air before hitting the ground with nauseating force. That was the moment Harry finally sprung to life. Through the tears in his eyes Joe could see two burry masses pass above him, which he swore were the soles of Harry’s shoes. There was the sound of ripping paper, and Joe could only guess it was Harry confiscating the newspaper from his father.

“Sit down.” Harry ordered the old man.

“Excuse me?” Richard snarled.

Aunt Emily’s screaming gave way to sobbing.

“It was in our food! Right there in our food, did you see it?” She heaved.

“SIT DOWN.” Harry thundered again.

Joe tried to sit up as pain wracked the entirety of his neck, but he found it much too difficult to do so. Once again he feared for his life as a shadow fell over him. Something touched his righthand side and he thrashed and struck out at the unidentified object until he heard Harry breathe a soft, shhhhh.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he crawled in the direction of Harry’s fingers. Two powerful hands cupped him and held him safely. Then Harry turned back to the guests.

“If you two don’t leave immediately, I’m going to call the police.” Harry’s voice, taught as an overstretched elastic band, had all the frightening energy of a good man going to war, the sort that was enough to make demons run.

Run the demons did. As if by magic, aunt Emily was snapped out of her tears. Richard, Joe could see through the spaces in Harry’s fingers, was looking at Harry in pure awe, his mouth agape.

“I don’t understand. What have we done wrong? Is he your bloody pet or something?” Richard was the one who was stammering now.

Harry clutched the injured Joe in one hand and pointed to the door with another.

“Out.” He reiterated.

Richard and Emily both got up and left without another word, save for what Richard said at the door. Joe's heart hammered so hard it threatened to burst when the man stopped dead for one more nerve-wracking moment and lingered in the doorway, not even bothering to turn and face his son.

“...I was proud when you finally became a doctor and made something of yourself, but that pride only goes so far. Don’t bother coming to Christmas. If this is how you’re going to treat your own family, well… it's little wonder you didn’t bother to say farewell to your dear mother.” Harry’s father spat.

The sound of Harry unceremoniously shutting the door behind his guests echoed in Joe’s head like a gunshot. Now safe, the last of his adrenaline left him and his head spun as blackness filled his vision.

“Hold still.” Harry instructed.

Joe sat shirtless on the soap dish and tried desperately to keep his aching neck straight as Harry gently pressed a cool rag to his upper back and held it there. It didn’t fully purge the pain, but Joe was grateful for it nonetheless.

“That was a very stupid and dangerous thing you did.” Added Harry.

“I know.” Joe breathed. “I just… I couldn’t let them treat you like that.”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh.

“I told you to hide.” He said. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve gotten me into?” The tension still hadn’t left Harry’s voice, and Joe’s stomach twisted into knots at the sound of it. “All you had to do was mind your own business for two hours.”

When Harry lifted the rag, Joe stretched his neck and tried to pop it back into place.

“They were talking about killing tinies, Harry. Your dad tried to kill me. Is that really the kind of people you want to bring into our house?”

Harry stepped away as Joe tossed his head this way and that, still trying to crack his neck. He said nothing.

“I get that they’re your family, Harry, but you don’t deserve to be treated like that, and I didn’t either. You understand that, don’t you?” Joe continued.

“…right.” Was Harry’s curt response.

He set the cool rag down on the edge of the soap dish for Joe to rest on, then crossed the room and started to fiddle with the radio.

“You rest up.” Harry said. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”

Disappointment cut through Joe like a knife. He watched as Harry rubbed his face and jammed his hands into his pockets, looking about as pained as Joe was by the situation. As Joe watched him, he wondered if the giant had any right to be.

If there was one thing that was true to Joe’s borrower nature, it was that when you cared for someone, you fought tooth and nail for them. Now, here Joe was, shaken and injured by a man who had done nothing but treat Harry himself as though he were vermin in his own right, and Harry was saying nothing to condemn any of it. Just like the circus, Joe felt lost on his own in this world that hated him, and the only person who he thought would understand him suddenly didn’t.

He eased himself onto the cool towel and stared at the ceiling as the voice of Henry Burr sang softly through the radio:

“I care not what the world may say, or if it mock and jeer. I'd care not for its smiles or frowns, if you were always near…”

How Joe wished that Harry could be near. Right now it felt as though he were a million miles away, and all Joe could do was orbit him helplessly like a satellite as he fell into an uneasy sleep, hoping that tomorrow would be better.

Dominion Day. What a vile holiday it was.

Read the next part here!

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sillyvixy · 1 year ago

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Wow. This was such a heartbreaking chapter.

I haven’t been able to put this story down for the last day and it is so much more than anything I could’ve ever imaged. The beautiful storytelling and character development is amazing, this is honestly probably my favorite g/t material out of everything that I’ve watched and read. <3

Mutters the Clown

Part 20 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here. It's a nice long one this time! Warning to readers: this chapter takes place at a circus. The cruel and exploitative nature of the circus towards animals and people alike is addressed directly in this chapter. The word "freak" appears in this chapter, and its usage is duly criticized. S/o to @remordsposthume for helping Joe unleash some fine Venetian swears. ✌️

Harry Avery could not solve all of Joe's problems, but that didn’t stop him from trying as he puffed away on his cigarette that morning. He knew that last night’s news about Tiny Town had troubled Joe, and he was dead set on finding some way to cheer his friend up. The problem at hand was that words were never Harry’s forte. Half the time, whenever Joe was sad, he could never be sure if what he was saying was the right thing or remotely helpful at all. Instead of facing that uncertainty he stuck to simple gestures, to favours, to touch, because in an odd way it kept the both of them safe. Harry’s emotional world was the equivalent of standing on the shore of a placid lake: although the mirror surface was pristine, the depths of those waters held untold pain that even he was afraid to face. He dared not disturb the surface above for fear of what lurked underneath, and instead he settled for an existence ruled by gentle clinicism, one where everyone was carefully kept an arm’s length away from the truth of Harry's nature.

Because of all that, it was not what to say but rather what to do that was on Harry’s mind as he brainstormed ways to lift Joe’s spirits. Perhaps they could go somewhere. It was a nice enough day, he reasoned. The late May sky was already a beautiful azure blue, and the breeze was soft and gentle. Birdsong filled the air as the elephants paraded down Danforth on their journey to Bloor Street. The flowers were starting to bloom as if to announce that spring was now in full swing…

Elephants? Harry’s cigarette fell from his fingers as he did a double-take. There were three of them marching down the street, each of which bore a white banner with words scrawled in black paint. The first one read, J. J. DAVIDSON JR.’S, the second read, ALL-AMERICAN – though as they were now in Canada, the word ALL had been crossed out in red and replaced with NOT – and the third one simply read, CIRCUS. The elephants were followed by a brightly coloured procession of clowns and acrobats who cartwheeled and bounced this way and that.

Harry raced inside to awaken Joe. With barely any time to explain, he beckoned the groggy tiny to crawl into his hand and carried his half-asleep friend to the windowsill in the parlour. He watched in delight as Joe sat up, rubbed his eyes, ran a hand through his messy hair, then froze when his eyes fell on the parade outside of the window.

Joe leapt to his feet and pressed his nose against the glass. He looked to Harry in wonder, then back to the parade.

“Do I wanna know what that’s about?” He finally said when words came to him.

Harry chuckled at the sight of him. Joe already looked much happier than he had been last night.

“I think you might.” Harry said.

“Seer-cuss…” Joe read, mispronouncing the word circus. “Harry, what’s a seer-cuss?”

“Sir-cuss.” Harry corrected him. “It’s a place where giants go to have fun. Those fine folks are on their way to pitch up a tent it looks like.”

“Oh. A giant thing, huh?” He could sense the disappointment in Joe’s voice. “I suppose that means I couldn’t go with 'em, huh?”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling down at Joe. He knew what he was about to propose was a bad idea, yet he simply couldn’t resist the urge to do it. Joe, after all, had survived a trip to the hospital, a thunderstorm, and a ride on a motorcycle. Besides, Harry reasoned, he had learned a thing or two since their ill-fated trip to the picture show. Though Harry himself had not been to a single circus in his entire life, he figured all he had to do was take the proper precautions and maybe, just maybe, the two could have a fun outing together.

“If you want to go, I’ll take you. Just promise me you’ll be careful.” Harry said.

He could tell by the way Joe’s face lit up that the tiny had forgotten all about last night’s news.

“Harry? Are we in yet!? What’s going on?” Shouted Joe from Harry’s front pocket.

Harry himself was standing in the gridlocked line to get into the circus grounds. The line was inching along in tedious fashion, but fortunately he was nearing the gate. It wasn’t a moment too soon, for he could sense from the way Joe was struggling inside of his pocket that the tiny was getting impatient.

“It’s so stuffy in here!” Joe complained.

Harry single-handedly shuffled through his wallet to hand the carnie at the booth his admission fare. When he looked up, he could see that the ticket taker’s curious gaze was locked onto his front pocket, which Joe had picked a bad time to poke his head out of. With a shaking hand, Harry pressed a handful of coins that was well over the admission price into the carnie’s palm and hurried through the gate as a sinking feeling came over him. All Harry could do was hope that whatever security this circus had wouldn’t chase him down for bringing a miniature onto the grounds.

Joe wasn’t the only one who was feeling stuffy. Harry had worn a scarf this time around, in the hopes that Joe would be able to sit on his shoulder without being seen. He veered off to the side and took Joe out of his pocket, then carefully placed him into the folds of the scarf.

“Hang on tight.” He said.

Now the two were free to explore the circus grounds, which were divided up into a series of streets. There was Animal Alley, where the menagerie was, Daring Drive, where the stunt performers resided, and Freak Street, where the sideshow was held.

None of these options appealed to Harry, who had much too doctorly things to do than go to the circus. He decided to let Joe choose instead.

“Where do you want to go? They have elephants, high divers, medical curiosities…”

“The hell’s an elephant?” Joe asked, and Harry knew what he had to do.

Soon the two were in line to see the star of animal alley: Totsy the baby elephant. Mothers and children swarmed the gilded cage where the animal stood with a pretty red bow around its neck, waving with its trunk to the passers-by.

This part of the circus was the one Harry was least fond of, a trait he had picked up from his mother who had been a fervent believer that no creature ought to be caged. Now, as he laid eyes on this sad little elephant that waved its sad little trunk at an army of children who were all grasping for it, Harry understood why she had never allowed him to set foot in a circus. Joe seemed to sense the unpleasantness of it all as well.

“What’s wrong with its leg!?” He yelled into Harry’s left ear over the sound of the crowd.

Harry looked down to see that, on top of being caged, the baby elephant was also chained. The metal was digging into the creature’s ankle and causing scar tissue to form around it.

“Why is it locked up like that?” Was Joe's follow-up question. "It looks so sad."

“It’s what people do to wild animals, I suppose. So it doesn’t run off or... go on a rampage.” Harry’s answer was unsatisfactory even to himself, and he was already beginning to regret his trip to the circus. “Come on. Let’s go see something else.”

A horse and rider perched atop an incredibly tall ladder down Daring Drive was the next attraction. Lining the shores of the nearby lake were rows of makeshift bleachers where a crowd waited in anticipation for the horse diving act to commence. Harry couldn’t grab a seat in time, so he slowed his pace and the two watched from afar as the rider prepared to make a death-defying leap.

“What the hell is this?” Joe’s voice was growing more irritable. “Look how high up they are! That thing’s gonna get hurt.”

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the act. He stood and gawked along with everyone else as the horse plunged into the water with a great splash. Although the crowd cheered as the horse and rider emerged from the water safely, Joe was none too impressed.

“What the hell was that, Harry?” He said.

“A stunt man.” Harry explained. “A… thing giants do for a thrill.”

“That was stupid.” Joe spat. “This place isn’t fun, it’s scary and weird.”

“Well, this is just the sideshow.” Harry argued as he turned towards Freak Street. “We haven’t seen the circus yet.”

“I don’t even wanna see whatever this is. Freak Street? What’s a freak, Harry? I don’t get it.” Joe said.

Harry stopped in his tracks as he searched for an answer. He couldn’t think of a proper definition – at least, not one that didn’t sound downright wretched.

“You see Joe, a freak is… it’s…”

What was a freak? Was it someone physically different from the norm? Someone mentally different from the norm? Someone whose lifestyle or proclivities were strange or unusual compared to average people? Which people bore the burden of such a label, and which ones were safe from its reach? As he really, truly thought about the definition of the word freak and to whom it could be extended to, he realized to his great unease that it was a label that could apply not only to Joe, but also to Harry himself.

"Normal" boys did not kiss other boys, after all.

The more he thought about the word and its usage, the more sickened and enraged he felt towards those who had the power to wield it. Then the crowd forced Harry out of his rumination as it shoved him along, and he found himself sandwiched among a group of people that had gathered outside the tent of one particular attraction along the side show. Craning his neck and peering inside, he could vaguely make out something in the shape of a box on a table.

SEE THE WONDROUS TINY TROUPE, a sign by the tent promised the two.

“Do you want to-” He began.

“No, I don’t want to.” Joe hissed. “It’s just gonna be sad and screwed up like everything else in this place.”

Harry’s heart sank. Joe was right; this place wasn’t fun at all. The longer he stayed, the more depressing and alienating it became. Still, as the barker emerged from the big top to announce the beginning of the afternoon show, Harry wanted to give it one more chance - he had accidentally overpaid on his way in, after all. Maybe the circus show itself would be fine, he reasoned. Maybe he and Joe still had a chance to sit there and feel normal like everyone else. And so Harry shuffled his way inside the big top, all but clutching Joe to his neck. The tiny was so light that half the time Harry couldn't tell whether or not Joe was even there, and it left him in a state of perennial unease as he sat down in the bleachers, until a little pair of hands tugged at his earlobe. He tilted his head closer towards Joe.

"I don't know about this, Harry." Said Joe into his ear.

"Relax! You're hidden this time. Nothing bad is going to happen." Harry whispered.

"That's not what I mean and you know it-"

Joe's voice was cut off by the bellowing of the ringmaster.

"LAAAAADIES AND GENTLEMAAAAN, WE HERE AT J. J. DAVIDSON JR.'S NOT AMERICAN CIRCUS HOPE YOU ENJOY OUR SHOW!" Hollered the crusty voice of the ringmaster, who Harry could only assume was J. J. Davidson Jr., into a cardboard megaphone. The man, complete with a top hat and well-oiled mustache, was hastily dressed in a garish crimson costume and perched upon a tall ladder that swayed with his movements. "HOW ARE YOU FINE PEOPLE DOING TO-"

The ladder, which appeared to have one leg slightly shorter than the other, tipped over as the ringmaster was surveying the audience and sent him flying. Harry flinched as the man hit the ground and the crowd hooted and hollered in delight. From where he sat front and center in the second row, he could just hear the disgraced ringleader say,

"Ah, screw it. Send in the clowns."

He couldn’t tell if the accident was part of the act or not. In the clowns were sent regardless, handspringing and cartwheeling, juggling and tricycling, as J. J. Davidson Jr. regained his composure. Harry could feel Joe shuffling around in the scarf, no doubt peeking his head out from underneath it to see. Dutifully the clowns began to form a human pyramid at the blow of the recovering ringmaster's whistle.

"What are they doing?" Asked Joe.

Harry had to resist the urge to shrug.

"Clowning... I suppose. Don't miniatures have clowns?"

Harry didn’t get a chance to hear Joe’s answer before the ringmaster piped up again.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" He shouted, as his sharp-heeled boots stepped on clown after clown on his climb to the top of the human pyramid.

"We have a very special occasion today. Our friend Mutters-" the ringmaster pointed to a spot on the ground in front of the pyramid "-is getting married. Do you see him, ladies and gentlemen? He's one of our freaks!"

Harry could see Mutters, though just barely. Mutters the clown was a miniature, and he stood before the audience like a colourful speck in a sea of sawdust. The more sentimental types in the audience began to clap for him, and ringmaster Davidson urged them on. "That's right, ladies and gentlemen, give him a hand!"

Once the sound of the applause died down, Harry could faintly make out Joe's voice in his ear.

"Harry, I don't like this." He said. "Look at him! He's scared!"

The noise of the circus cut Joe off again.

"Our job, ladies and gentlemen, is to get this little sad sack ready for his wedding!" J. J. Davidson Jr. announced, as he stepped on each and every clown again on his way to the bottom of the human pyramid. "All right, boys! Let's go!"

Davidson Jr. clapped his hands and whistled at the clowns. A few of them scattered, but three of them stood behind Mutters and waved to the audience: one tall, one round, and one wide.

"Our pal Mutters has some groomsmen here!" The ringmaster explained. "Let's see, fellas! What does he need?"

The clowns pantomimed a state of being deep in thought for a moment, then one of them appeared to have an idea. The tall clown ran out of the ring, and came back with a long firehose.

"There's a thought!" The ringmaster exclaimed. "Let's give the poor guy a bath. God knows those tinies need it."

Harry recoiled at the ringmaster's words as the rest of the audience howled in delight. Ever since Joe had access to warm water, he was bathing sometimes as much as twice a day. Mutters, as far as Harry was concerned, needed accessible infrastructure with running water, not a firehose.

"Harry, can we go? I can't watch this. It's dangerous. Water’s really sticky at our size. We drown easy." Joe said.

Hearing that, Harry winced as the wide clown turned on the hose and blasted poor Mutters with it. The tiny clown was sent flying while the crowd kept on laughing. Harry wanted to leave in that moment, he truly did, but some morbid curiosity bid him to stay and watch. It was the same effect a train wreck or a house fire had: try as he might, Harry Avery could not avert his eyes from the clown's suffering. He was still standing on the shores of that imaginary lake, and no matter what horrors happened before him they were ones Harry observed distantly from where he stood safely on the shore.

As the tiny circus clown was flung across the ring by the water pressure, the round clown pulled out an umbrella and with enviable precision bounced Mutters off of it and into a sack the wide clown was holding. Harry could feel Joe writhing in discomfort as the wide clown shook the sack with all his might and unceremoniously tossed Mutters out of it. The once colourful speck of the clown was now all black - presumably dressed in his evening finest.

"Nice work!" The ringmaster praised the clowns. "Now he's looking somewhat civilized."

The crowd clapped along.

"Harry." Joe hissed.

"What else are we missing?" Asked the ringmaster.

The round clown stepped forward and showed off a gold wedding band that was much too big for any miniature to wear to the audience.

"Ah, of course! A ring for his beloved!" Shouted Davidson Jr. through the megaphone.

The crowd watched in amazement as the round clown tossed the wedding band some six feet up in the air. It glinted in the afternoon light as it flipped and spun, then landed perfectly around Mutters - pinning both of the tiny's arms to his sides. The crowd cheered as the tall clown picked Mutters up and held him up to the audience.

"Mutters the clown is all ready for his wedding, everyone!" The ringmaster crowed. “Got anything to say to the lovely people here, Mutters?”

The ringmaster lowered the megaphone to Mutters, who remained quiet as the dead. Straightening up again, the ringmaster went back to shouting through the tube.

“Aww, see that? Looks like he’s getting cold feet. Let’s give him some encouragement!”

J. J. Davidson Jr. bid the audience to clap again. As they did so, the calliope tooted out the notes to an archetypal bridal march.

“Would you look at that!? HERE COMES THE BRIDE!” The ringmaster announced.

Harry’s heart sank into his stomach as the silhouette of a giant-sized figure appeared behind the curtain leading into the ring. From the curtain emerged a woman who was easily as tall as he was and about as broad as he was as well. She was dressed in a white gown and carrying a shotgun. The whole crowd howled with laughter as she stood next to Mutters’ minuscule form. The whole crowd except Harry, that is, who sat there feeling slighted in an odd way for reasons he couldn’t articulate to himself. This woman and this clown were like him in some intangible way, but he didn't know how.

It was that laughter, that jeering, that inhumanity of the crowd and the circus that emboldened it that finally cut through the surface of Harry’s placid emotions like a stone. Down it sank, all the way to the depths of his psyche, right to the place where all the rest of his pain was buried.

On an unconscious and implicit level, it struck Harry that this crowd was actually laughing at him and Joe.

“Wait a minute, is this even legal?” Said the ringmaster over the sickening sound of the crowd.

Harry grasped at his shoulder as he began to stand up.

“You’re right. I can’t watch this either.” Harry whispered. “…Joe?”

Harry turned away from the ring as the tall woman stuffed the miniature clown into the barrel of a shotgun.

“We call this a SHOTGUN WEDDING!” J. J. Davidson Jr. cried.

Frantically Harry searched his person for any sign of Joe. He froze in absolute horror as he realized that his friend was no longer there and scanned the afternoon crowd in cold-blooded terror. As the gun went off behind him, he couldn’t bear to turn around again and look at whatever had just happened to poor Mutters in the ring.

“Ah, tinies…” the ringmaster mused “…don’t you just love ‘em? Like a chef loves a roach infestation!”

The crowd’s hysteria hit Harry like a thousand cuts as he made his way through the bleachers and out of the tent in a desperate search for Joe. He was lucky that the afternoon show had drawn most of the giants into the tent, but the circus grounds were a maze nonetheless. He tried to think the way someone Joe’s size would think. Joe, in all likelihood, would be drawn to certain landmarks, and Harry decided to retrace his steps in search of them.

He checked the sideshow first, wandering back through the rows of pickled punks and peep-shows until he got to the tent where the Tiny Troupe was. The crowd that had once been so fascinated with them had since disbursed, and finally Harry was able to see what all the fuss was about. He was greeted with a small-scale replica of the circus grounds he was currently in, all contained in a large, glass aquarium with an open top. Inside of the aquarium languished a group of miniatures, all of whom were dressed up as clowns. Naively Harry approached the miniatures and began to ask them for assistance.

“Excuse me…” He began, in the same gentle voice he occasionally used with Joe.

The tallest of the bunch, a woman with curly red hair, shot him an icy glare.

“I… uh… I’m looking for my friend. He’s a miniature like you. Have you seen him?” Harry continued.

The woman in the aquarium did not break her stare. She didn’t answer him either. As he stood there, bewildered as to what to say next, he remembered what professor Hill had told him about the taboo miniatures had against speaking to the giants.

Knowing everything he knew now, Harry couldn’t blame them for having it.

“…I’ll stop bothering you. Good-bye!” He said.

Feeling foolish, Harry left the tent and set his sights on the horse diver’s stand on Daring Drive. The show was on hiatus until 4:00 p.m., and with the bleachers now deserted he reasoned it might be the perfect place for Joe to sit and hide. He checked under the benches and around the ladder and came up with nothing.

“Looking for something?” A gruff voice asked him.

Harry looked up from the grass he was combing over to see the carnie from the gate, the one who had given him a bad feeling earlier. He still harboured that feeling now, and tempting as it was to get another pair of eyes on the lookout for Joe, he knew better than to trust his fellow giant with this sort of problem. Listening to his instincts, he shook his head no and race-walked in the direction of Animal Alley.

It was the last place Harry could think of where Joe might want to go. The lions, tigers and bears, though in cages, were still hardly the sort of thing he could imagine Joe enjoying the company of. Then his mind landed on Totsy. If there was one thing that Harry knew about Joe, it was that Joe was the sentimental type. Maybe he would pay the sad little elephant a visit, he reasoned, as he moved through the row of gilded cages. To his disappointment, when he reached the baby elephant's prison he saw that she was now waving her trunk at nobody in particular.

Or so Harry had initially thought. By simple chance he turned around to face the signpost that bore the elephant’s name, and movement from down below caught his eye. To his immense relief he saw that it was Joe sitting at the bottom of the post, waving up at the caged animal before him. When Harry crept towards him, Joe’s waving stopped and he buried his head in his knees. Joe was so upset he didn't even look up at him as he neared; he just kept sitting there, curled into a ball.

"Wanna go home?" Harry asked.

He waited patiently as Joe processed the question. When Joe finally looked up and gave him an answer, it wasn't the one Harry was expecting.

"You know what I want, Harry?" Joe began, and Harry could sense a rant coming. "I want to be able to go outside without being reminded of how awful the world is, that's what I want! I hate this, Harry. I hate the way you people treat things. I hate the way you treat each other. I hate the way you treat us! Like we don't matter. Like we're not even human to you. Like I'm some... freak."

If there was one thing Harry found oddly endearing about Joe, it was how easily the little man came to tears. He couldn't tell if this was a quality true of all miniatures or something unique to Joe; either way, Harry could see that his face was misty-eyed now, with a deep anger burning behind the sadness. He could tell by looking at him that Joe was hell-bent on not letting those tears fall, and as he watched Joe wrestle with his feelings Harry prayed that his dear friend would never end up as emotionally hollowed out as he was.

"...I'm tired, Harry." Joe concluded. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm nothing."

Harry's heart broke for Joe as he knelt before him on the grass. Hollowed out as Harry was, that clown act had cut him deeply, and he couldn't stop himself from saying something to make Joe feel better. Stirred by everything he had encountered that day and oblivious to the person who was listening in on their exchange, his words spilled out pure and from the heart.

"You are not and never will be nothing, Joe. You're not a freak, you're courageous, you're smart, you're talented, you're human. Of course you're human! You laugh and cry and create just like everybody else, and maybe nobody else sees that right now, but they will. I promise you - someday they will."

Immediately Harry felt embarrassed with himself for saying what he said. He watched fearfully as Joe raised a quivering hand and wiped away a stray tear that, in spite of his best efforts, had decided to roll down his cheek. To his surprise, his words seemed to help somewhat. Joe’s expression lightened up a little bit, and he replied with a shaky,

“Thanks.”

Sensing their cue to leave, the giant human reached out a hand and beckoned to the tiny human, and Joe climbed into it without hesitation. Gingerly he placed Joe into his pocket and stood up with the aid of the signpost.

That was the moment when a heavy hand fell on Harry's shoulder. He turned around to see the face of the carnie at the gates.

"Boss wants to have a word with you." The rough-looking man said.

That sinking feeling came over Harry again when he noticed the other two carnies closing in behind him, and it became clear that the shady man's words were not a suggestion so much as an order. Harry, who had only one arm to fight with, found he had no other option but to comply.

Soon the two were ushered out of Animal Alley, past Daring Drive and Freak Street, beyond even the big top, off to a small white tent that looked deceptively innocent as it billowed in the mild May wind, well out of the way of the festivities. There was a table inside of it where a lanky man with well-oiled silver hair sat and shuffled through papers. Harry sat down in the folding chair across from him at the carnies’ bidding as the stranger barely looked up from the documents he was reading through. He felt Joe squirm in his pocket as the carnie from the gate whispered in the man’s ear and caused him to light up with interest. Suddenly this man’s eyes were now locked onto Harry, and he dropped the papers and reached across the table to shake the doctor’s one, good hand.

“Hello, hello, how are you today sir?” Asked the stranger in a voice that was a little too performatively genial for Harry’s liking.

“Fine, thank you.” Said Harry, as he gripped the man’s hand a little too tightly and delighted in the grimace he was able to squeeze out of him. “Doctor Harry Avery. It’s nice to meet you. May I ask what this is about?”

The man pulled his hand away and shook the pain out of it.

“Ahh, a doctor, are you?” The stranger said in wonder. “My apologies,” he laughed, “I should’ve given you a more formal uh-welcome committee.” The stranger said as he side-eyed the carnies that now stood around the exit of the tent like bouncers. “My name’s J. J. Davidson Sr., circus manager, and you have something I’m very interested in.” He added, talking a mile a minute.

Through an obnoxious act of sleight-of-hand magic trick, the circus manager produced a card from thin air and slipped it into Harry’s hand. Harry scowled at Davidson Sr. when he was done admiring the shoddy design of the business card. He could guess what was coming next. Senior leaned in over the table with his chin in his hands and a devilish glint in his eye.

“…how much for the talking tiny?” He asked.

Harry looked at the man with utter contempt.

“He’s not mine, and he’s not for sale.” Harry said.

The circus manager sat back and studied Harry.

“One hundred dollars.” Was Davidson Sr.’s starting offer.

“He’s not for sale.” Harry repeated. “He’s a person, not some curio you can buy and sell.”

Joe was kicking and fighting inside of Harry’s pocket now. Harry's hand migrated to his chest.

“Two hundred dollars.” Davidson Sr. continued.

Harry had to resist the urge not to clock the snake who sat before him right then and there while Joe kept on fighting.

“No deal.” Harry spat.

Davidson Sr. slowly rolled his eyes.

“Three hundred? I could do this all day.” The manager said.

“What’s so special about him anyways?” Asked Harry.

“He’s a talking tiny, doctor. Do you know how hard those are to come by? Most tinies are wallflowers. They keep their heads down and their mouths shut, but yours is something really special. He’d be a huge hit with the kids! Why, he could be quite rich and famous if he toured with us!”

“He’s not mine to sell you!” Harry snapped.

Harry could sense that the manager’s frustration was only growing as Davidson Sr.’s eyes darkened. As Harry returned the look, Joe went spilling out of his pocket and onto the table.

“I don’t need you to speak for me, Harry. Let me do it. I’m sick of this.” Joe stood, tense and rigid before the massive stranger with his face all red and his hands curled into fists. Harry’s arm hovered between Joe and Davidson Sr. for fear the man might snatch him clean off the table if given half a chance.

Davidson Sr. leaned in with keen interest.

"Okay, tiny. What do you think?" The circus manager asked Joe in the world's most cloying baby-talk. "Do you want to join the circus and make lots of money?"

Harry watched as Joe seared at the man a hundred times his size and shook with blind rage. Then he let out a bitter chuckle.

"Why are you talking to me like that, giant?" Joe said to the manager, in baby-talk that was just as, if not more, patronizing in tone than Davidson Sr.’s was.

The manager turned to Harry in delight.

"Oh, he’s funny, too! See? He's a born entertainer." The manager insisted.

That was the final straw.

“Shut up and look at me.” Joe ordered, in a voice so loud and authoritative he sounded like an entirely different person.

Davidson Sr. was thrown by the sound of it, as was Harry, and the giants did as they were told. Harry could do nothing but watch as Joe stood at his full height on the circus manager's makeshift table.

"Listen up, magnasbora." Joe held up his fingers as he listed his grievances one by one. "Firstly: don’t call me a tiny if you’re not a tiny yourself. You don’t get to use that word for me anymore. Secondly: I’m my own damn person and I don’t need your stupid circus, thank you very much! Thirdly: there is no amount of money in the world that will make me join you after what I saw you do to that poor clown.” Joe jabbed his finger at the giant with his teeth bared like a wild animal as Davidson Sr.’s eyes continued to darken. “You like that I can talk? Well what if I tell you to go fuck yourself, huh!? What then!? Chei cani dei to morti, you son of a bitch." Joe snarled, in a voice so malicious it gave Harry goosebumps.

The circus manager rose from his seat, and Harry's adrenaline rose along with him.

"Don't you speak to me like that, you lousy little-"

Harry could tell from the look in the manager's eyes and the man's uncurling fingers what was about to happen next. As the man's shadow fell over the table, all the bravado left Joe and the miniature drew all the way back until he was standing at the edge. Immediately Harry's brain went into autopilot and his army training took over as the manager scrambled to grab Joe. With a single sweep of his right hand he pulled Joe into the safety of his pocket before his assailant could so much as touch him, then Harry grabbed the manager's neck in a single-handed chokehold and flung him back with all his might, throwing the man so hard he went ass-over-teakettle in his folding chair. Anticipating the carnies closing in, he fled at full speed – not for the tent exit but around the table and then straight through the tarp – as the shouts and footsteps of the aggravated circus security kept close pace behind him.

An intermission at the circus tent was a blessing in disguise for Harry and Joe. Timing his movements carefully, Harry powered across the emptier parts of the circus grounds with the carnies hot on his heels, taking care to weave through areas that the crowd would soon start spilling into: the popcorn vendor, the hotdog stand, the cotton candy booth. Soon the moving bodies created enough of a barrier that Davidson Sr.’s lackeys fell far behind.

Harry didn’t stop running. He kept moving until he was well past the gates and only stopped once he was a solid block away from the circus grounds. He braced his one, good arm against an electrical pole as he huffed and puffed on the street corner, then took Joe out of his pocket.

“You were right.” Harry said between breaths. “We should’ve left earlier. We should’ve just gone home. The clown act… wasn’t good anyways.”

Harry didn’t know what he expected from Joe in that moment. Would his friend be angry with him? Would he tell Harry off? Would he rub it in?

Joe, to Harry’s surprise did none of those things.

“Yeah, well... you still got me outta there. I guess I should say thanks for that. For not selling me to the circus, I mean.”

Harry could have sworn he heard Joe’s voice crack as he was speaking. He could sense that Joe was brushing the experience off, but he didn't want to press further.

“Don’t thank me, Joe. Nobody should sell anyone to the circus. It’s basic human decency!” Harry said.

“Human decency... I could get used to that.” Joe said.

Harry walked along with Joe as he caught his breath.

“What was that thing you said, anyways?” Asked Harry.

“What thing?” Said Joe.

“Cani to morta or… something? What does that mean?”

Joe only cackled in response.

“Chei cani dei to morti. It’s Casa, Harry. My mom's language. You don’t need to know what it means. You're too innocent for that stuff.” Joe said.

Harry wasn’t about to argue. If anything, Joe keeping his secrets made Harry appreciate him all the more.

Back in the safety of the house and with their harrowing excursion finally over, Harry reached into his front pocket and held still as Joe clambered into his hand. Holding him carefully, he tilted his palm so that it sat flat and prepared to place Joe back inside the floorboards when a curious thing happened. Instead of disembarking as he usually did, Joe scrambled back up and clung to Harry's sleeve.

"Harry I don't--don't put me there." Joe stammered.

Harry slowly lifted his arm back up again. Joe let go of his sleeve and Harry caught him when he fell back into the giant's palm.

"Where do you want to go?" Asked Harry.

Joe, it seemed, hadn't thought that far ahead. He sat in Harry's palm with his head bowed and his arms wrapped around himself. Harry gently brought his thumb towards Joe's face and lifted his chin, and as he did so he could see now that Joe was crying - really, truly crying, not fighting tears back as he usually did. When Harry went to remove his thumb, Joe lunged for it and threw his arms around it the way he would throw his arms around another person, then buried his face into it as he wept. Joe was squeezing so hard that Harry could feel the swift beating of the little man’s heart through his ribs.

Harry hadn't seen Joe this shaken before; even the night of the storm couldn't compare to the no-holds-barred vulnerability on display at that very moment. He thought back to that night, and to the hospital and the movie theatre. He wondered if every other adventure Joe had gone on had been as emotionally taxing as this one was. For all he knew Joe had simply been hiding that fact from him! The longer Harry knelt there, the less he knew what to do. He wanted to comfort Joe somehow, to connect with him in that moment, but that old bewilderment came over him again. For Joe's sake he put his best foot forward when he said,

"I'm really proud of you."

Joe's quiet sobbing slowed to a stop at those words, and he looked up at Harry with eyes full of tears and disbelief in equal measure.

"Really?" Joe said.

"Really." Harry replied. "Do you have any idea how-"

"-scared I made you?" Joe cut in.

"-how brave you were to stand up to someone like that? Without even stuttering once? Joe, the things you do astound me sometimes." Harry's statement hung in the air as he watched Joe's face light up in surprise.

Joe let go of Harry's thumb, still shaken but smiling now as he eased himself back into the giant's palm.

"Yeah, well... I only did it 'cause of that stuff you said. If you hadn't been there with me, I don't know what I would've done. Joined the circus, probably." Joe fidgeted as he confessed to Harry.

"Maybe so, but I wasn't the one who told J. J. Davidson Sr. to go fuck himself, was I?" Harry reminded him.

A timid smile spread across Joe's face.

"Yeah... I guess not." He said.

A moment of silence passed before Harry found the courage to say what he really wanted to say.

"You shouldn't have had to experience any of that. The next time we go somewhere I'll make sure you never have to again. I wasn't on your side today and I apologize for that. I was trying too hard to be normal." Said Harry.

"Well... maybe instead of that you could try being happy." Joe offered, his voice gentle and sincere. "You don't have to be normal. I don't care about that."

For the second time that day, something shook Harry to his emotional core - though this time it was for the better. He couldn't help but love Joe in that moment, the way he would love a brother or a dear friend. All the world was a warzone to the human who sat before him. Harry might not be able to fix all of Joe's problems, but he could offer Joe his support, his presence, his encouragement. He could pick Joe up whenever the rest of the world beat him down, and although it wasn't much, Harry hoped with all his heart that it would be enough.

Read the next chapter here!

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