Warnings: Typical yandere stuff, mentions of violence, forced labor (it's an old timey circus), presumed ableism, cruelty, blood, general mob panic, mention of harm to reader.
A/N: Happy early Halloween guys and ghouls! Decided to make a spooky frankenstein inspired oc. Simon is a certified sweetie, he's... probably nothing to worry about. Probably. Simon, as with all new oc's, is now avaliable for asks!
He's big. Terrifyingly slow, giant. But not... intimidating, not in the sense you feel afraid because of how he acts. It's not his fault.
Rough skin, scarred and with a grayish-purple hue, like that of a corpse freshly passed. Always behind the thick metal bars of his caravan cage or with thick metal cuffs around his wrists.
When the circus and its side show act had come to town, you saw no reason to avoid it. You didn't agree with the way people there treated the sideshow acts, but the allure of the dancers and acrobats was too much. In all fairness though, if you didn't spend money on the show, only the performers would suffer.
"A monster- or a man? Step right up, see the man reborn, reanimated! The living dead!" The sound had drawn you in, something not unlike a hulking, monstrous corpse stood beside the man in changes, with ripped thatch pants clearly made from old tent fabrics to fit him. "See Simon, the sinful, sick, surviving corpse!" The beast, or perhaps man, huffs, flinching a bit at the sound and flash of the tintype cameras of various locals. To others, his sneer would look like that of some sort of wicked glare, but you recognize it. You grew up on a farm, this was no hate, at least normal hate born from someone's nature. This was anger born from fear. An animal caged.
As you step closer from the crowd, face and brows drawn down in sadness, the man calls out once more. "Which among you will be brave, and step against this beast?" It seemed your internal curiosity which drew you closer catches the announcers gaze. "Ah, how about you, miss? A tale as old as time, a beauty and a beast!" The crowd claps, with a few shocked and worries murmurs.
"No- I really don't-" Before you can finish your protestation, the man has pushed you forwards, before Simon, and extended your hand up, not unlike one would when calming a steed.
"I assure you, madam. Despite his beastly nature, we have him chained. Under control, he's not going to harm you, you have my word. He's a brainless thing, but even he understands consequences." Simon huffs lowly at the tightening of the man's grip on the chains. "Go on."
"Ah-" Nervously, you lower your hand, going for his hand rather than to paw his face. "Hello, Simon. It is- good to meet you." You have no idea what to say, but you get the sense this... Simon, understands more of speech and his predicament than he's giving credit for. He allows your hand to slot over his, though its barely big enough to cover the back of his enormous palm. Quietly, he closes his hand around yours.
"Mm..." He grumbles, his cold, pale eyes looking at you with the sadness of a stray dog begging for a night of shelter, respite from the rain. It fills you with an unmistakable sadness.
As you go to speak once again, to ask Simon a question, you're cut off by the announcer. "See? No harm at all. Who else wishes to gaze into this beasts dead stare?" As hands go up, the man grins. He holds up your free hand. "A round of applause for our lady volunteer-" he goes to try and pull you from the stage, but you're held back slightly. Simon will not release your hand.
"Simon..." You try to pull it away, more concerned due to his brute strength than unwilling to accept his hold.
"Bloody beast. Let go-" The man yanks you, but Simon grunts, yanking back just as hard. The crowd gasps, as the man goes to hit Simon with his cane, clear across the head. Before he can, Simon is pulling, tearing at his chains, their anchors being ripped from the wooden poles which tether him.
"L-let go! Help me!" You cry, panicked. You aren't sure if you're yelling at Simon or the announcers. "Please- don't hurt me, let me go!" Several nearby circus workers come to try and help, to restrain Simon. They wrestle your wrist from his hand, but as they do, with one final grunt of fury and a pull, one chain fully loses its tether and flies through the air, the thick metal bashing into your forehead, drawing blood with sickening crunch.
Despite the sudden shouting in the crowd and your exclamation of pain, only this seems to bring Simon to a state of calm, of stillness. He freezes, letting our a pathetic sort of moan, and just as he tries to reach your crumpled form, he's held still long enough for the chain anchor to be grasped by a strong-man.
"Back- back!" The announcer jumps forward as if to shield you, though he was clearly cowering moments ago while Simon was handled by others. "A firm hand is needed with a brute like him. We assure you, this was a freak accident cause by a freak! All shows will resume, and this young lady will be cared foe and compensated. Thank you, I have been the Amazing Abe and his sideshow of freaks!" He takes a bow to mixed applause, and the sound seems to lure you to sleep as the pain numbs and unconsciousness takes over.
Awakening later, you're given some soup by some apologetic tightrope walker, in silky leotard and jeweled tights. She explains someone will come along soon to offer you some compensation (hush money) and that a doctor will see to your head. Your head continues to throb, bruise purple and ugly. What's worse, outside you can hear what you are sure is the cracking of a whip, and a low, pained moan raspy enough it can belong only to Simon.
'This place is a madhouse, anyone would be a monster here.' You think to yourself, trying to cool the soup with a slow breath. About an hour or so later, you're a couple hundred coins richer, and as you try to find your way out, you pass a caravan. Much like the ones exotic creatures are kept in, three sides are enclosed, with one open side lined with thick, steel bars.
Inside, a limp form looks almost dead, still as a statue except for the occasional twitch. As you squint, in the growing evening darkness, you can see bloody, dark lash marks marring grey skin. Simon. He flinches instinctually when you step closer; a twig snapping beneath your foot and alerting him. He sits up, eyes still low, but sinking when he sees its you. He looks... guilty? Like a child scolded.
"Hello again, S-Simon." You swallow your fear, stepping near the bars. Approach slowly, like a wild animal. Without the announcer around, you get the feeling he might remain calmer. "It's okay, I'm okay. I'm not hurt, not too bad." He looks up a bit at your confirmation of health. "You didn't mean to hurt me, did you?"
"Mmmmnnnn... no." The sound makes your head snap up, fear replaced with sudden shock. He doesn't break his gaze, he meant it.
"You can speak?"
He moves his mouth a few times, much like a baby eating baby food, as if he has to chew his words before his speak. "Yyyess. Don't s-speak many."
"Much." You correct gently. He nods. "I am very sorry you're being kept here. I'm sorry they hurt you." You whisper. "You didn't mean too."
"Didn't." He repeats. He flinches, then shakes his head rapidly when you out your hand through the cage bars. He won't touch you. Not again. "Mm no!" He exclaims. "Hurt- hurt lady!"
You recoil your hand slowly, with a frown. "I... okay, no touch. I want you to know, it wasn't your fault. And I'm sorry. You're no beast, you don't deserve-" you look around the once life filled circus, which now looks dark and eerie. "This." Turning to look at him again, you smile sadly. "Goodbye, Simon." He let's out a grunt, though it could be a lowly spoken word, you can't tell.
You return to your home, hobbling on cobblestone before entering the house and crashing onto your bed, exhaustion and sorrow in your veins. However, that is replaced by fear, whispers in the streets. The circus flees town quickly, after rumors that the beast escaped, tore out of his cage in the evening. Cows go missing from nearby farms, posters go up with warnings. A curfew is instilled.
One night, when you hear a scurrying outside, you grab your lantern, wanting to check on your chickens. They don't usually make a fuss, so the fear of a fox or weasel grips your heart. However, the hulking shadow you can make out before you, causes you to freeze. Raising your lantern, huddled with a wagon covering over his body and his head against the coop, is Simon.
He flinches under the light, but makes no move to run. He knows its you. He's here, for you. On his lap, shoulder, and hands, are your chickens, huddling as if keeping him warm. He's petting Clara, your favorite. It'd be a sweet sight if not so tragic.
"So it's true." You whisper quietly. "You escaped."
"S-s-simon free." He groans. "And wet." He huffs, large forms shivering so violently you're suprised the ground isn't trembling. "You said Cirrrrcus baaad. Cirrrcus hurt. Simon break out- Simon- Simon punch bars!" He holds out a hand, and one of your chickens flutters off as his bloodied knuckles are revealed. "Get out, they try to stop Simon. Simon not let!" The sound of his knuckles cracking as he grows angrier makes you put your hands out, trying to calm him.
"Okay, okay, you escaped, but now what? You're-you're wanted!'
He tilts his head no. "Mm, no? Man say, say 'Simon, no one want you'." Simon mimics a higher, louder voice. The announcer.
"No, wanted. Like- like hunted." His eyes widen at your words. "Do you know hunt?" You ask.
"Simon know hunt." He whispers, looking conflicted. "What do?"
"Hide, I guess." You sigh. "Otherwise, they might try and take you back, or worse." You shake your head at the thought. Your stream of consciousness is broken by the sound of shuffling fabric. You look up, to see he's moved the fabric so it now covers his front as well. He looks like a covered wagon. "Simon, what are you doing?" You ask.
"Hide." He repeats, shuffling under the cloth as to tuck in his feet. You'd laugh if the sight wasn't so pathetic. Slowly, you lift the tarp so you can see his face. He's still holding the remaining chickens close. They seem content.
"Why did you come here? After you got out?"
"Lady... kind. And- and not angry. Even when Simon hurt." He explains. "Needed to make sure, sure really not hurt." It's clear you hadn't left his mind when you departed, as he hadn't left yours.
"Oh, Simon..." You can't turn him in, you won't. But your home isn't big enough, you bought it forever ago from a lonely old town doctor, you wouldn't know where to keep him. Then is hits you. The old ice shed; where refrigerated medicines had to be kept. That would do. You'd need to decorate it and get essentials, but it was solid. A large enough ceiling to just barely let him stand, and a barn door for when the doctor got deliveries. "Simon, come on out. I can find a place for you." He nods, but pauses. "What's wrong?"
"What if hurt? What if, if Simon angry and hurt lady?" He mumbles; shaking his head rapidly as if on the verge of an attack.
"You would never-"
"Simon would! D-did! Man grab lady, a-and Simon get angry! Then lady on ground and bad people on Simon-" You bring a hand forward to grab his, like you did that day. He freezes, and in those milky eyes, you see tears the size of raindrops.
"It won't be like that. I promise." You need to get him inside before someone hears his panicking, or the deputy comes to check homes for curfew obedience. "Don't you want to make lady- er- me, happy?"
He nods quickly, eyes wide. "Yes, very."
You smile. "Then come." He hesitates again, looking down. "Birds." He's clearly torn.
You tilt your head, before understanding his meaning. Standing would disturb the resting chickens, like cats from a lap. You laugh. "See the little shelter next to you? That's there home, the chickens home. It's warm and safe in there, they will be just fine." You assure. The chicken eventually get off with some prodding, and shuffle into the coop one by one as you take him to the shed.
After moving some spare hay for the coop and promising you'd get him a real mattress soon, the pale man is laid on the hay, tarp over him not unlike some sort of fairytale giant. But he looks calmer. For the first time you think you can see a dopey smile on his face.
"Now, remember, hiding. Don't come out, I'll come in. And don't answer for anyone, okay?" He nods, and you go towards the barn door. "I'll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Simon."
"Goodnight, lady." He sighs, watching as you leave. As you go, his thoughts turn to the events from days ago. He remembers how kind you seemed, how he couldn't understand the feeling in his heart when your hand was in his. But her understood the feeling he felt when his captor tried to take you. 'Putting hands on lady,' He thinks. 'Taking!'. He tries to clear his mind of the thoughts. He had been in a blind fury, much like when the circus found him. Before they beat him into submission. You made him feel again, sparked his dead heart back to life.
He remembers sobbing, scared and unsure why he seemed to be leaking from his eyes after he hurt you. You were laying still, so very still. He remembers the whip, he barely felt its sting, not in comparison to the aching of guilt in his gut.
Lastly, he remembers the end of the night. Simon hadn't meant to escape. Not really. He had been punishing himself, bashing his hands against the bars while the troupe ate. Punishment for hurting the good lady who saw him as more than a creature. But then, a crack. A loose bar. Again, again, until blood dripped from his knuckles and his path was clear. Simon felt confused, his own Punishment had led to something good. Freedom. But surely, he could do more good by punishing someone else. He hurt you, but so did his captor.
So, leaving a trail of blood mixed with wet, muddy footprints, he'd set off for the announcers tent. It wouldn't be hard, if Simon could break the bars, what was a weasels spine?
But now, he was safe. He and lady were safe, and warm, and no one could get him. More importantly, no one could get lady.
