Archive of Our Own ^beta

He threw himself out of bed and took off running.

Steven wasn’t even sure why. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but the what escaped him. Didn’t matter. He had to get away. He had to...

He hit the end of a tether. The ground quickly followed.

Well, that was a familiar feeling.

Steven groaned quietly as he lifted his head.

Then froze.

This wasn’t his flat.

It was a plain white room, featureless aside from the bed and the disturbed circle of sand around it. He’d been in this place before. He knew it.

Oh, no.

His hands shook as he undid the ankle restraint. Why was he back here? Why couldn’t he remember? Whenever he tried, the memories were hazy. He’d been afraid. Something had been wrong. But the details weren’t clear. It must have been bad for them to be back here.

I have to find Marc.

Steven got the restraint loose enough to pull off and ran for the door. The hallway on the other side was immediately familiar. The Duat...their version of it, anyway. Oh, this is bad. “Marc?” Steven called, his voice cracking. “Marc?! ”

Please, please, I can’t handle this alone, I can’t...

One of the doors flung open. Marc stepped out, hair a mess, eyes wide. He practically jumped out of his skin when he saw Steven. "Shit! ”

“Yeah, agreed!” Steven called back. His gut twisted in a queasy mixture of relief and dread when Marc ran over to hug him. Relief because he wasn’t alone. Dread because last time they’d been able to hug, he’d almost spent an eternity in the sands of the Duat. “What happened? Why are we back here?”

Marc pulled away from the hug. His face had gone from concerned to furious. “Have you seen anyone else?”

“What? No, just you, why?”

Marc grabbed his wrist, dragging Steven along as he started checking the other rooms. The doors were all locked, but they looked empty. “Hey! ” Marc yelled. “Where are you, asshole?!”

What? “Marc, who are you looking for?”

“Dickhead that got us into this situation!”

Steven suddenly felt cold. “You mean...”

“Yeah, the stabby one.” Marc tried one last side door before heading towards the double doors at the end of the hall. “I’m gonna wring his neck.”

“Don’t think it works that way.”

“I’ll figure it out! ” 

They burst through the door. A cafeteria was on the other side, completely abandoned, except for...

“Oye, cálmate !” The figure at the table raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to shout.”

The figure, the third one, was dressed in a red sweater, grey sweatpants a lot like Steven’s, and a brown hat (flat cap, Steven was pretty sure). He also had a moustache for some reason. He had his feet propped up on the table and was snacking on a bag of...were those Cheetos? Where’d he gotten Cheetos from? “Hope you’re happy,” the third one said as he popped another Cheeto into his mouth.

“Hope I’m happy? Hope I’m happy?” Marc stalked closer, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. “You got us into this mess!”

“I had it under control. You tried to butt in and threw me off.” The third one pointed at Cheeto at Marc accusingly. “I’d have gotten us out of here if you hadn’t stopped me.”

Marc knocked the bag of Cheetos out of the third one’s hands. It seemed so loud in the otherwise quiet space. Steven tensed. Do I step in? Will Marc actually hurt him? Can he? The third one looked from the scattered Cheetos and back to Marc. “Mocoso, ” he said coldly.

Marc inhaled sharply. Steven blurted the question out without thinking: “Hey, uhm. Sorry. Is it...is your name actually Jake?”

They still didn’t know. They’d always just called him the other one, the third one, the stabby one. Steven wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the name Jake from; their third hadn’t made an effort to communicate, and all Steven’s attempts so far had been ignored. Gut feeling, maybe? Or something he couldn’t quite remember yet? The question did defuse that cold look in the third one’s eyes, so there was that. “...yeah,” he said. “Jake Lockley.”

Okay. That was a start. “Jake. Hi. Steven.”

“I know who you are, pollito.” Steven didn’t know what that meant, but Jake said it like it was a good thing. And he was smiling a bit behind that moustache, almost...fond, maybe? Weird, with how standoffish he’d been. “And he’s Marc, and I’m guessing we’re in hell?”

“Ah...Duat, actually...”

“It’s hell now. Someone threw my snack across the room.” Jake glared at Marc as he sat up, feet hitting the ground with a heavy thud. “Thought I was supposed to be the violent one.”

Marc laughed, harsh and angry. “Yeah. Explains why you’d go crawling back to Khonshu behind our backs.”

Steven froze. “Hold on, he what?!”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I just woke up here.”

Marc looked worried. So did Jake. Definitely better that than them glaring daggers eat each other. “We had another blackout,” Marc said. “Woke up in New York. We were trying to figure out what was going on? And then...” Marc gestured towards Jake. “... this one had control, and a knife, doing whatever the hell it was Khonshu wanted him to do this time...”

“You tried to fight him,” Steven filled in. “And...oh.” He wasn’t exactly an expert, but a few seconds of confusion in a fight was more than enough time for them to be seriously injured. “Please tell me we’re not about to die in bloody New York .”

“Relax ,” Jake said. “It wasn’t that bad. Layla’s there. We just need a little CPR...”

“A little CPR?! ”

“...and once she gets the heart started, the suit will heal us. If you can just keep Marc from killing me before then...”

“You’re being a bit too calm about this, mate!” Not even Marc’s hand on Steven’s shoulder, grip tight enough to hurt a bit, was enough to calm him down. “It was bad enough the first time!”

“I wouldn’t know. Someone left me locked up.”

“Yeah, and you should’ve stayed there,” Marc snapped. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“My decision, Spector. Just calm down and wait this out. We...”

The intercom suddenly crackled to life. Steven flinched closer to Marc as a voice came through: “Not going to be that simple, I’m afraid. ”

The voice wasn’t familiar. If it had been Taweret, Steven would’ve felt a lot better about the situation. “...hello?” he called hesitantly.

“Hello, Steven Grant. Jake Lockely. Marc Spector. I believe we’ve met before.”

We have? Wait. Not Taweret, is a god associated with death, presumably, someone we’ve met...the Ennead? From the trial? Oh... “Osiris?” Steven guessed.

“Correct.”

Steven couldn’t help giving a little victory jump. Marc and Jake, meanwhile, rolled their eyes in near-unison. “Estupendo! Ahora hay dos idiotas ,” Jake sighed. 

“There’s no need to be rude ,” Osiris said testily.

“Yeah, sure. Hey, how’s your avatar doing? Just curious.”

“Oi! ” Steven hissed.

“What? Just saying, if someone had listened, maybe I wouldn’t have to ask.”

Steven shared a quick glance with Marc, who looked torn. Steven understood. On the one hand, sassing a god when you were technically in his territory was probably a bad idea, and Osiris had helped them out last time. On the other hand...yeah, Jake had a point. The Ennead not believing them bit did still sting a little.

Still, can’t hurt to be polite. “All that aside,” Steven said, staying close to Marc but trying, at least, to stand up straight, “What do you mean not that simple? ”

“Look for yourself. ”

Steven scanned the room and froze.

When’d they pop those out?

There were those scales again. Creaking back and forth. A feather on one side. Three hearts on the other. Strange; this time they seemed visibly, immediately different to him. Maybe the shock wasn’t so bad this time around. One he knew, instinctively, was his: same white crystal as before, bit dinged in places, but overall intact. The one nestled next to it he knew was Marc’s. It had more fault lines, cracked that had scarred over with a clearer crystal. It was familiar, soothing despite the damage. The third one must have been Jake, by process of elimination. It was cracked, too, but didn’t have the same reformation Marc’s did. It just stayed covered in open wounds. Somehow, seeing it, Steven knew what Osiris was going to say.

"Chaos has returned to your mind. I would be remiss to send you back before the matter is corrected. I will not see another one of Khonshu's avatars unravel."

Jake had been standing near them, looking curiously at the hearts on the scale. At those words, though, he looked up with an annoyed sigh. "Bit of an overreaction," he said. "Trust me, jefe, we’re only a threat to ourselves. We’re not going to do anything Harrow-stupid."

“And why is that not worth correcting? " Osiris asked. “Who said you need to be ‘Harrow stupid’ to warrant intervention?”

“Intervention? What are you, a cop? Am I being committed, officer?”

Osiris sighed heavily. "You should focus on figuring this out,” he said. “This place exists outside of time, but there are limits. I cannot stay judgment more than once. Besides, I doubt you want to be here longer than you have to. "

That was an understatement. Something about the space seemed to be making Marc testier than usual. (Well, that and Jake being. Jake.) It probably would be a good idea to get this sorted out.

That'd be a bit hard when Marc and Jake were back to glaring daggers at each other. Steven could already hear the argument forming: This is your fault, no this is your fault, something something stop stabbing people. Definitely not a productive kind of argument.

Steven decided to try a different route. He walked to the tossed bag of Cheetos. There was still a decent amount in the bag, so he picked it up, walked back, and held it out to Jake as a peace offering. "Well," he said, trying for a smile and a joke, "guess you can't avoid us now, eh?"

Jake looked at the Cheetos, then up to Steven. Up close, it was much easier to see the smile. "Guess not," he said, accepting the bag. "Lucky me."

That was a start. Marc was still glaring, though. That's fine. We can work on that. We'll figure something out. “Real quick, though,” Steven said, just to keep the conversation light, “why’ve you got a moustache and we don’t?”

"This place is a reflection of our minds, right? I wanted a moustache.” Jake shrugged and kept munching away as if nothing were wrong. “So, how do we do this? I was a bit locked up last time. Missed all the fun parts.”

"We just sort of…walked around, I guess. Anything you want to tell us now? Might save us some trouble?"

Jake's eyes narrowed slightly. "Would you listen to me if I did ?" he asked.

"Depends," Marc said. "How full of shit are you about to be?"

" Guys! " Steven said. He hoped he didn't sound too much like the whiny kid brother just then, but they really were being unreasonable. "I get that there's some… tension. "

"Don't tell me you're not pissed at him for this."

"...yeah, a little , but I want to listen. I do. I'm sure he…" Steven deflated slightly the more he spoke. "...had his reasons…"

But what possible good reason could he have for going back to Khonshu? After everything that stupid bird had put them through?

“I did,” Jake said. He tossed the last few Cheetos into his mouth, and crumpled up the packet. "All right, come on. Might as well get this over with." He stopped at the scales long enough to pluck his heart off, shoving it into his pocket as if that were a normal thing to do. The scales balanced out instantly. Jake’s jaw went tense for a second, a gesture Steven was used to seeing from Marc, but he pressed on. "Probably doesn't matter where we go, does it? Just pick a door and…" 

The door in question was to the kitchen. It didn't take long for Steven to wish that Jake had picked any other door. Sure, if this worked the way he thought he did, it might not have mattered which door Jake picked. But something about seeing all those bodies strewn around the kitchen like the aftermath of a horror film massacre made it much worse. 

"Fuck ," Marc said. He sounded like he might be sick, but he still went into the room. "These were you?! "

Steven didn't recognize them, but Marc seemed to. Must've been overlap from his dead body room. "What, you thought they were you?" Jake said, a bit too calmly considering the scene in front of them. "You really thought you were capable of all that?"

Marc didn't say anything. It looked like he was counting. Steven stepped closer to offer some moral support, but stopped when he realized a body on the floor looked familiar. “Oh, no,” he breathed.

Arthur Harrow. Lying half-propped up against the prep table with three bullet wounds in his chest and a piece of paper sticking out of his pocket. Dead, presumably at Jake’s hand, and after everything Marc had said to Khonshu about not wanting to kill him. Marc saw, too, and looked away. “Fuck ,” he repeated.

Steven carefully pulled the paper out of Harrow’s pocket. There was writing on both sides. One half labeled Arthur Harrow , the other half Ammit. Underneath in tidy, incredibly readable handwriting were two lists. Death tolls. Things like betraying the gods and running a cult with active members remaining, chances they may do something high. At the bottom of the Harrow side was a separate list:

Personal Reasons:

• Threatened Steven

• Threatened Marc

• Shot us
• Not taking the chance Ammit won’t want revenge

...oh. Steven hadn’t thought of that.

“Do they all have these?” he asked.

“I like to think it through. Give some input. I haven’t killed all of them, you know,” Jake added with a pointed stare at Marc. “Just scared them a bit.”

“Scared them how? ” Marc said.

“Do you actually want to know-”

“Yes.”

“...Depends. Roughed some up. Made some phone calls. Standing outside at night with a gun does wonders. Never directly threatened or hurt anyone who wasn’t involved, I promise.”

“And we’re supposed to just trust that?” Marc said.

“Check the bodies. If there were innocent ones, you’d know.”

Sure enough, every corpse Steven saw had a list somewhere. He picked one at random, saw the words human trafficking and decided he didn’t want to read any further. “How long have you been doing this?” he asked.

"A while? Time's a bit hard when you're in the background most of the time." Jake shrugged, stopped to toss away the crumpled up Cheetos packet, and kicked one of the bodies on the floor. "I know what you're thinking. How could you, he was a life, Jake, you monster." Jake rolled his eyes. "Don't go projecting your guilt onto me. You don’t like doing this, I respect that, but...”

“But what? You do?! ” Marc didn’t sound angry, not entirely. He sounded scared. “What, you, you like this? ”

Jake sighed heavily. He didn’t look angry when he met Marc’s eyes. More...sad? “And you’re worried that if I like this, that means you like it too?” he said quietly. “And I’m the outlet for it, so you can feel better about yourself? Steven gets to be his own person, but I’m just your dark half?”

Marc didn’t say anything. The way he looked at the bodies around said a lot. Jake stopped to examine one, too, a man laid out across a food prep table with a belt wrapped around his neck. Jake carefully removed the belt and tossed it away. “I don’t enjoy the process,” Jake said finally. “I enjoy the results. The real results, not all of this. So you can stop projecting whatever it is you’re projecting onto me.”

 “What real results?” Steven asked. Partially because he wanted to know, partially because finding out might get them away from the dead bodies room.

The sound of footsteps behind them caught Jake’s attention. “Thinking it’s right back where we came,” he said. He dodged around Marc as he walked back to the door to the cafeteria, but stopped to give Steven a quick pat on the shoulder before opening the door. “See? Results.”

The cafeteria wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of people, sitting at the tables, talking, eating. Some sat in clusters. Some sat alone. Most of them had faded injuries of some kind, lots of bruises.

Lot of them were kids.

“Atlanta,” Jake said, gesturing to a cluster of young girls, “human trafficking. Managed to get them out same night, don’t know how many more the FBI found when they cleaned up after us. Those two...” Now at a woman and what looked like her daughter. “Toronto, nearly had a hitman take them out because Mr. Jones Next Door didn’t want a messy divorce. New York...all right, el Temerario chased me off before I could finish the job. But I did most of the leg work, so..”

“El who now?” Steven said.

Jake waved him off. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, we’ve saved a lot of people with Khonshu’s help. And I get it, I respect that you can’t handle the methods. That’s fine. But I can. So why should I stop?”

Marc wrapped his arms around himself. He had a distant look in his eyes, the kind of look Steven saw in a mirror right before he found himself in control of their body. He braced himself for the shift before he remembered where they were. “...there’s...” Marc shook his head and closed his eyes. “...people who can handle this, Jake, other people...”

“Other people? ” Steven jumped. Jake’s voice had turned harsh, angry. “Right, because that sure as shit worked out for us, didn’t it? Where were the cops when Mom was beating us, huh? CPS? Where were the mandatory reporters when we showed up to school with bruises?”

“I showed up to school with bruises.”

“No, Marc, we did.” There was so much pain in those words—an angry kind of hurt, but hurt. Steven wondered if Marc could hear it, too, or if his mind was too stuck on his panic. “I’ve been around longer than you think and I remember all of it. No one did anything for us and they weren’t gonna do anything for these people. So I did. End of story.” 

Jake stalked away and sat at one of the tables, muttering to himself in Spanish. The table was technically occupied. Two little boys, curly dark hair, dark eyes, identical faces. One in white, one in blue. The boy in white had bruises on his forearms and a haunted expression. The other one clung to his arm.

Identical...

Steven carefully moved to the table and sat down next to Jake. The boy in white kept his eyes fixed on his plate; the boy in blue looked at Steven, just long enough to confirm his suspicion.

Like looking into a mirror .

“...Jake?”

“Hmm?”

“Were you...before me? Or after?”

Jake didn’t look up. He’d taken his hat off. His hands clenched at his hair like he was trying to ground himself. “After,” he said. “A year? Just over a year?”

“And you knew about me.”

“Of course I knew. Everyone asked about you. Marc, can you tell us more about this imaginary friend of yours?” Jake finally looked up, a pained smile on his face. “They thought he was way too into that movie. Only one guy suggested a dissociative disorder, but no one wanted to hear that .”

Footsteps approached them hesitantly. “You remember that?” Marc asked. “The doctors, the...all of it?”

“You didn’t think it was weird that you don’t remember all of it ? ” Jake straightened up and carefully smoothed down his hair. “You hated the doctors, so, I, uh...”

In a moment, his entire posture changed. Shoulders tense, jaw tense, sitting rigidly upright. His voice changed, too. Steven hadn’t noticed it until it was gone, but Jake had an accent, soft, almost musical. Subtle enough that you might miss it until it suddenly wasn’t there.

“I got pretty good at being you.”

He sounded exactly like Marc.

The moment passed. The more casual posture returned, along with Jake’s accent. “One of those shrinks would probably have a field day with that.”

Marc hugged himself more tightly and looked at the two boys at the table. He seemed to come to the same realization Steven had. Steven glanced at them one last time before speaking: “So can you...can you do me, too?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, you’re easy.” Again, Jake’s posture changed, his accent with it to match Steven’s: “Steven. With a V. Not that it stopped me from wearing the wrong name tag for a month...”

Steven felt his face go hot. “Shut up! ” Without thinking, he grabbed Jake’s stupid hat and smacked him with it. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

Jake laughed, his real voice returning. “They spelled your name wrong. How is that not that big a deal?”

“It wasn’t. And I do not sound like that.”

“Yeah, you do. Don’t worry, I didn’t involve you in anything. You have the good sense to stay out of trouble. Or...you used to.”

“Didn’t really get a choice in the matter, did I?”

“Guess not.” Jake snatched his hat back and tapped it, very gently against Steven’s shoulder. Not even a payback smack. “You did good, though. Really.”

Funny. The praise actually felt kind of nice. Marc interjected before Steven could feel too happy about himself. “How does Khonshu play into you protecting us? He ruined my life, you know that.”

Jake’s smile immediately vanished. “And he won’t ruin it again. He said he’d leave you alone, he meant it. This is between me and him.”

“I don’t want it to be between him and anyone in his body. I don’t want him near me. ”

“He’s not-“

“He is, Jake! He’s near me, and he’s near Steven, and Layla...”

“And I have it under control. Why you can’t you trust that?”

“Why can’t I trust the guy who takes control and does shit I don’t know about? Do you hear yourself?”

Uh oh. Jake had a look, Marc looked fit to burst, and Steven knew this was not helping their situation any. He stood up, managing to push Jake back into his seat as he did. “That’s not fair,” he said.

He meant it, too, but that didn’t make the confused and betrayed look on Marc’s face any easier to see. “You’re defending him?”

“Not exactly, no...” Steven stepped closer to Marc and lowered his voice. “...’cause stopping in, doing something the other person doesn’t know about, for the greater good? To protect them, and other people? Yeah, mate, I know how frustrating that can feel on the receiving end.”

Marc hesitated. “That wasn’t...” Then paused. Then looked guilty. “Okay, maybe it was, and you were right to be pissed at me.”

“Yeah, I was. And you can be pissed at him, too.  But I heard you out eventually, didn’t I?” He raised his voice a bit, enough that Jake could hear, too. “ That’s what fixed this last time. Actually listening. Not throwing accusations at each other and shouting and assuming that you’re just extensions of each other that should act a certain way. That’s the trade off we have to make now. Jake’s honest. We try to understand. Meet each other halfway, yeah?” He glanced between them. “Can we at least try?”

Jake wouldn’t look directly at them, but he nodded. Marc sat down at a nearby table. “Okay. Fine. Fuck .” He took a deep breath. “Why’d it have to be the psych ward twice?”

The uncomfortable realization of exactly how much of their childhood Steven didn’t remember settled in. There was a reason Marc didn’t like this setting, and something told him it was more than just the bad memories of last time. Jake’s entire demeanor shifted seeing Marc like that. “Maybe we can try another door?” he said as he put his hat back on. “Might get us out of this...can’t promise it’ll be any nicer . Besides, I think you got the point.”

Steven knew he did. Or some of the point, at least. He held onto that as he followed Jake to the nearest door, stopping long enough to grab Marc’s arm. “It’ll be fine,” he said as they walked towards the door. “We figured this out once, yeah? How much worse can his mess be?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For...the gaps. For everything. It doesn’t feel good.”

There was a time when Steven might’ve been smug about the apology. Rubbed it in Marc’s face, how not nice it was to have chunks of your life gone. But he understood now. He really did. “It’s okay,” Steven said softly. “Sorry I was such a git about it last time.”

“It’s fine.” Marc paused. “I’m scared.”

“Yeah, me, too. We can be scared together, right?” They were almost at the door. No telling what would be on the other side. “All right, here we...”

They stepped through. 

The other side was a strange mishmash: the rough shape of the white hallways they’d left, same doors as before, but a lot of the materials were different. Now it was all brick and concrete, like the walls were building exteriors. He could even hear cars and sirens somewhere behind him, but when he turned around, it was still the cafeteria door. “Huh,” Jake said. “Smells like...”

“Chicago,” Marc filled in. “Is this you?”

“Must be.” Jake shrugged and looked around. “Can’t tell if this is better or worse.”

Steven started examining the doorways. Some settings he thought he recognized. Cairo rooftops. His job back at the museum. Marc only glanced quickly, but froze in front of one door in particular. “What’s this doing here?”

Steven didn’t recognize the memory. It looked like the cramped flat, nothing like the one he lived in. There was music playing, someone moving around. Jake huffed noisily as he joined them at the door. “Oh. Yeah, that one.”

“Why is this here?” Marc repeated.

“Well...you wanted to know how long I’ve been doing this?” Jake pushed the door open, holding it for them to enter first. “Here’s your answer.”

Marc didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside, dragging Steven after him. The sound of the door closing as Jake joined them felt a bit too final. Like they’d be trapped inside. It’s fine, it’s just a memory, nothing can actually hurt you...

“New York,” Jake supplied. “This was early days. Steven, you’d remember this as your first major sleepwalking incident. Right? You came to at the bus station when Marc was getting you back home, couldn’t remember the weekend clearly?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do remember that...we were in New York? ”

“I was in New York,” Marc corrected quietly. He looked at one of the doors. “Right there...”

There was a sound like a window opening, then the soft creak of the door. That was Marc, all right, all dressed up in the suit. He moved carefully, almost nervously. “Theo McCain,” Jake said “He was working with the remnants of some crime ring. Their boss went missing during the Blip, he thought he could take over, and everyone was too busy dealing with other shit to stop him. So Khonshu sent you.”

“Khonshu sent me.” Marc pulled his wrist free and grabbed Steven’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “And I...”

Something broke in the apartment. “Do you ever watch where you’re going?! ” bellowed a voice. Steven thought he heard a second, weaker voice try to respond, to no avail. “How many times have I told you... ”

The other Marc, past Marc, moved out of the doorway. He made it two steps down the hall before...

“...if you’re not fucking careful with my things...”

A figure walked across the doorway at the end of the hall. Tall, male, furious. Taking off...

Past Marc froze. Current Marc did, too. Steven’s mouth went dry, because even if those memories weren’t his, he knew now, he knew what that sound was doing to Marc. “We should go,” Steven said. Marc was shaking. “Marc, let’s just...”

In front of them, Past Marc’s hood fell away, taking the mask with it. His face had started to go blank, lips parted as he breathed in sharp bursts. Something slapped against skin in the apartment, drawing a frightened cry.

The suit fell away. Past Marc took off down the hall.

Current Marc took off after him. Steven barely kept up. “Marc...we don’t have to see this, Marc...!”

They entered the space at the end of the hall. Small living room to the left, kitchen off to the right. A figure holding a looped belt in one hand loomed over a child, a boy, maybe ten. Past Marc slammed into the adult, driving his head against the wall, once, twice...

The adult, Theo McCain, went down. Now it was Past Marc’s turn to loom...except now that Steven could see his face, he knew. That wasn’t Marc.

It was Jake who brought his foot down on the man’s jaw, slamming it back into the floor. Who stood there, breathing heavily, a wild look in his eyes. That look softened as he looked up at the child still cowering on the ground. “...shit,” Past Jake breathed. “Shit. Okay. Hey, hey, you’re all right.” He stepped over the body and crouched down in front of the child. “I’m not gonna hurt you. C’mere. Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

The child hesitated. Hearing McCain groan slightly made him dart right to Jake, who scooped him up and walked him out of the kitchen. “What’s your name?” Past Jake asked.

“T-teddy...”

“Okay, Teddy. Is there anyone in the building you know?”

“Mrs. Vasquez. Upstairs. She watches me sometimes.”

“And you can get to her apartment?” Teddy nodded. “All right. I need you to go to her, tell her to call 911, and stay with her until they get here. Okay?”

“B-but what do I say? They don’t help. She already tried.”

“They will this time. Tell them...tell them your daddy was up to something and it made the wrong people angry, okay?” Past Jake opened the apartment door and set Teddy down in the hallway. “I promise you, that man will never touch you again. Ever. But you’ve got to get somewhere safe until the cops get here.”

Teddy hesitated. Nodded, but didn’t move. “Who are you?”

Past Jake smiled. “Guess I’m like the boogeyman,” he said, “but only for bad people. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

Teddy sniffed. Nodded. Took a few hesitant steps, then ran down the hall towards the stairs. Past Jake watched him go before shutting the door and locking it.

Then he walked back to the kitchen.

He started whistling once he was closer. McCain—still alive, but barely conscious—heard the sound and started crawling for the window. Past Jake didn’t say anything. Just scooped up the belt as he went. Calmly walked to McCain. Nudged him over. 

Looped the belt into a noose.

Oh. Oh, that was where Steven had seen that face. In the kitchen. On the prep table. Belt around his neck.

Oh, dear.

Steven turned away and covered his ears. He saw Current Jake out of the corner of his eyes, watching the scene with an impassive look. Marc had his eyes closed, hands clenched into fists. It looked like he was whispering something.

That wasn’t me. It was never me.

Eventually, the struggle in the kitchen stopped. Footsteps walked past Steven—Past Jake, still holding the belt, pausing to wipe off the doorknob with a dish towel. He took that and the belt out the same window Marc had come in, being careful not to touch any surfaces as he went.

And suddenly they were in an alley. Past Jake stared up at the window he’d just come out of. It felt quiet, especially for a city.

“THAT SEEMED PERSONAL.”

Steven nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. So did Past Jake. Khonshu perched on top of a dumpster (exactly where he belonged, Steven thought), head tilted as he examined Past Jake. “BUT NICELY DONE. I WAS WORRIED FOR A MOMENT MARC WOULDN’T GO THROUGH WITH IT. ”

“...he didn’t,” Past Jake said. “Technically. ”

“TECHNICALLY. HE DIDN’T MENTION YOU. ”

“He doesn’t know.” Past Jake tilted his head back. “El demonio, eh?”

“I AM KHONSHU, NOT...”

“Yeah, whatever.” Past Jake glanced back up to the window. “You have him do this a lot?”

“IT WAS A PART OF OUR BARGAIN. PROTECT THE TRAVELERS OF THE NIGHT. BE MY FIST OF JUSTICE. ”

“By killing people.” 

“PEOPLE WHO DESERVE JUDGMENT. ”

“Fair enough.” Past Jake peered out of the alley, down the street. “Hey, I know I wasn’t part of this, technically, but the cops are gonna be here any second...”

Khonshu chuckled. “ DON’T WORRY.” He held out his hand. “THE NIGHT IS MY DOMAIN. I WOULD NOT LET THIS BODY BE ARRESTED.”

“I’ll take that.”

Past Jake took Khonshu’s hand. In a whoosh, the scene shifted. They were on a rooftop. Police sirens blared not too far away. Past Jake stumbled a bit as he let go of Khonshu’s hand. “Mierda... ”

Khonshu chuckled. “YOU’RE TAKING THIS VERY WELL. ”

“You’re not the worst thing I’ve lived through, demonio. ” Past Jake paused to take a deep breath. “Did you know?”

“DID I KNOW WHAT? ”

“That whoever that was beat his kid.”

“I WAS NOT AWARE OF THAT PART, NO .”

“Well, you should try to be. Guys like that...” Past Jake shook his head. “Don’t think you want your fist of justice freezing up again.”

“WILL YOU ASSUME CONTROL IF HE DOES? ”

Past Jake tilted his head. “Probably. Are all of them like that?”

“OH, SOME ARE FAR WORSE. ” Khonshu examined Past Jake carefully, like a hawk about to snatch up a mouse. “ MARC AGREED TO HELP PROTECT THE WORLD FROM SUCH FILTH. IF THE PROSPECT IS APPEALING TO YOU, PERHAPS...WE COULD MAKE OUR OWN ARRANGEMENT. ”

Past Jake looked back towards where they came. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the night. “So. What, Marc can’t handle it, I do?” he asked. “Sounds like what I was already doing.”

“BUT YOU’D HAVE MY HELP. SOME...BONUSES. ” As Khonshu started circling Jake, bandages began sprouting around his ankles, wrapping around his body. “YOU WOULD BE UNSTOPPABLE. LEAVE BEHIND NO TRACE. EXIST BEYOND THE LAWS OF MAN. ” They settled into place, but the armor looked nothing like Marc’s, or Steven’s. It hadn’t fully formed, so no cape or mask. The bandages clung closer to the skin, and were a darker color–shifting blacks and greys and deep blues, like the night sky. The armor still white, but sleeker. “NO HARM WOULD COME TO YOU OR THE BODY. ”

Past Jake examined the armor carefully. “Neat trick."

“IF YOU NEED SOME TIME TO THINK ON IT... ”

“Marc can’t know about me,” Past Jake interrupted. “We do this, I’m the ace in the hole. You get me when he can't or doesn't want to.” He turned to face Khonshu, his eyes glowing faintly as he did. “Okay?”

“THIS IS AGREEABLE. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? ”

“Jake Lockley.”

“JAKE LOCKLEY. PER THESE TERMS, DO YOU SWEAR TO PROTECT THE TRAVELERS OF THE NIGHT AND BRING MY VENGEANCE TO THOSE WHO WOULD DO THEM HARM? ”

Past Jake hesitated. Looked back at the alarms.

“...our vengeance,” he said. “Yeah. Ours.”

The glow in his eyes grew brighter. The bandages crept up his neck, forming a tattered cape and a mask along with it. This wasn’t like the one Marc or Steven had worn: it was something solid, featureless, like the blank face of a doll.

He really did look like the boogeyman.

“Marc’s gonna wake up soon,” Past Jake said. He even sounded like the boogeyman; the mask made his voice echo strangely, like he was standing just behind them. “Just...let him think he blacked out.”

“AND IF HE EVER WORKS IT OUT?”

“ Then I’ll handle that.” Past Jake looked at the items in his hands. “Think you can get us to a river? I’ve got to dump this.”

The memory froze there suddenly. Past Jake, clad in that nightmarish version of the suit, looking like a ghost in the moonlight. Khonshu, looming behind him. Current Jake looked at the scene with a calm acceptance. Marc still looked sick. Steven felt sick. “You strangled that man?” he asked.

Current Jake shrugged. “Demonio wasn’t wrong. It was a bit personal,” he said, as if that were a normal thing to say. “I wanted to protect you, Marc. If he could turn to me, he'd leave you alone when you couldn't handle it. That was part of it.”

“And the rest...” Marc swallowed. “Our vengeance.”

“Yeah.”

“You agree with him.”

“So did you, once.”

It was quiet. The scene stayed frozen. Marc suddenly shook his head and started walking for the roof access. Steven rushed to catch up. “You all right?”

“No,” Marc said through gritted teeth. They went through the door, back in the hallway, thankfully. “I didn’t want it. I don’t want your help.”

“Maybe, but you need it,” Jake said. He stepped through the door. “No shame in admitting that.”

“You weren’t helping! ” Marc yelled. He whipped around, eyes frantic. “Not telling me about you, fine , but you let me think I was some kind of...of bloodthirsty freak, for how long?! Do you know what it felt like, waking up after that night?! The belt was still in my hands, Jake! ”

A memory bobbed into Steven’s head: coming to in the mountains, dislocated jaw, taste of blood in his mouth. Later, with more blood on his hands, not sure what he’d done. Learning it hadn't been him had been a relief , but the loss of control…even now, the thought made him feel itchy. And for Marc…it must have been worse for Marc, the one who still saw himself as some kind of twisted death-bringer.

Jake must not have realized that part. "You didn't do anything,” Jake said impatiently. “I stopped that. I…"

“I didn't know! I thought it was me, Jake! Every time, I thought…I thought I was getting worse." Marc sounded like he might cry. “You know, at least I tried to talk to Steven when things got bad. You, you just leave us to pick up your mess. So you can play hero without the consequences.”

Jake flinched. Steven thought, for a second, that maybe what Marc was trying to say had sunk in, but Jake's gaze grew hostile again. Defensive. “I’ve had plenty of consequences,” he snapped. “And don’t talk to me about mess.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Because...” Jake’s eyes darted to Steven. He looked, suddenly, guilty. “We shouldn’t do this in front of him.”

Now it was Steven’s turn to be offended. “No, no, hey, we’re in this together now,” Steven protested. “No secrets. If something happened, I deserve to know, too.”

“Even if it’s bad?”

“Especially if it’s bad! I can’t help if you keep me in the dark!” Steven glanced back at Marc. “I’m not going to judge him if that’s what you’re worried about. I already saw the worst of it.”

“...no, actually. You haven’t.”

The statement settled over them like a fog. Marc straightened up, the worry in his eyes becoming clear. “What’d I do?” he asked. “What did you stop?”

Jake grimaced. “If you really-“

“Which door?”

Another pause. Jake relented, pointing to a door to Steven’s left. “Over there, I think.”

The view through that door seemed...calm. Blue sky. Birds flying past. A few  clouds. Looked like a rooftop view. Steven had expected worse, from the way Jake reacted to it. It wasn’t until they stepped through that Steven realized.

It was a rooftop. And Marc was standing on the edge of it.

It didn’t feel right. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun warmed Steven’s face, even though it was a memory. It wasn’t the right time for something like this. His foot hit something as he stepped forward: a discarded cell phone. The screen was cracked, like he’d dropped it. “Elias’s birthday,” Jake said quietly. “This was what...two years before Wendy died?”

Elias... “Mum and Dad?” Steven asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I tried to call Dad,” Marc said—current Marc, their Marc. “Except...she picked up. Recognized me. I don’t...”

His face crumpled instantly. That same look he’d worn outside Mum’s shiva. Steven wrapped an arm around Marc’s shoulders immediately. “She told me never to call them again,” Marc whispered. “I don’t know why I thought...maybe she’d gotten better, maybe things were different, but she still hated me. She never stopped hating me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just wanted to talk to Dad, I wanted to tell him I was sorry for leaving like that...”

Current Marc broke down quietly. So did Past Marc. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

There was nothing Steven could do to fix the memory, so he just hugged his Marc tightly. Tried to keep it together. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

“I just wanted it to stop. I’m sorry, I put us both up there...I put all of us up there...”

I survived because I knew I wasn’t alone. That’s what Marc had said the last time. Steven probably should have felt terrible that it hadn’t been enough this time, but...

How could it be, in the face of that much pain? It was never going to be enough every time. He’d known that, deep down.

It still hurt to see how right he was.

“I’m sorry. I’m...”

Past Marc gasped suddenly. “Fuck,” he said—no, Jake said. Steven could spot the difference now. “Fuck .”

He stepped back from the ledge, kept moving until he hit the roof access door. Past Jake was trembling violently, face pale, tears still streaking his face. “No,” he breathed. “No, no, no. Don’t do this. She doesn’t get to win. Not like this, mijo, not like this.” 

He sunk down to the ground, arms wrapped around himself. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re not gonna let her...I won’t. I won’t. Not this time.” 

It was quiet. The sun kept shining. Birds sang.

Jake wept.

Maybe that was Marc crying still, too. All that pain, bleeding together.

But he got it together, eventually. Sat up straight, cleared his throat. Got up for the cell phone. “Caray, niño, ten más cuidado ,” he said as he tapped at the screen. He called someone, paced around the roof as he waited for them to pick up. When he spoke, it was that perfect imitation of Marc’s voice: “Hey. Hey, baby, sorry I...sorry I missed your call. I just, uhm...”

The pain on his face was real, though. It bled through, almost breaking the act. “...called home. My mom picked up,” he said.

Steven could just barely hear the voice on the other end, one he recognized instantly. Layla . “Oh...Marc, I’m sorry. Was it bad? ”

“Oh, no, it was great. We really caught up. Lot of progress.” Jake-as-Marc laughed tearfully. “Shit.”

“Where are you? I’ll come get you, okay? ”

“I’m at, uh...I’m back at the apartment. I’m on the roof. I needed some air.” 

“Okay. I’m almost home. I’ll come right up. ”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too, Marc. ”

The call ended. Past Jake sat back down. His hands kept clenching and unclenching into fists as he took a deep breath. “Just hold on,” he breathed. “Layla’s coming. It’s okay.” 

Eventually, footsteps came from the steps. “Marc?” called Layla from the steps. Past Jake closed his eyes, relaxed. When the eyes opened again, it was Marc. He looked confused, even more so when Layla stepped out of the door. “Hey, sorry, there was an accident a few blocks up...”

“...Layla?”

“Yeah.” She crouched in front of Past Marc, the look on her face growing more concerned. “I’m sorry. I would’ve stayed with you if I knew you were calling home.”

“I...” Past Marc’s eyes darted back and forth, as if trying to figure out where he was. Layla resting a hand against his cheek stilled them. “...I should’ve told you...I thought she wasn’t home. I...”

Then, he did the last thing Steven would ever expect to see Marc do in front of Layla.

He started crying.

Layla hugged him immediately. Past Marc clung to her desperately. Steven almost felt like he shouldn’t be watching this part. Marc rarely opened up like that. It felt invasive, seeing something only meant for the two of them. “You called her?” their Marc whispered.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I knew she’d do a better job getting you off that roof than I could. It was always easier when I could get someone else involved.”

“...what do you mean, always? ”

Jake didn’t say anything. He watched Past Marc cry in Layla’s arms. He looked relieved. Sad.

“Jake, how many times? ”

“He’s made his point,” Steven said. “You don’t have to do this to yourself. Please...”

“No, I want to know.”

There was silence.

In a blink, the scene shifted.

Steven wasn’t sure where they were—a hotel, perhaps? Marc...no, Jake. Jake was pacing around the room, muttering to himself in Spanish and disassembling a pistol. He put the parts out of easy reach on top of a wardrobe, along with a wicked looking knife, before standing in the middle of the room, scanning it carefully. Checking for anything else dangerous, if Steven had to guess. “...Romania,” Marc said. “Right? I wasn’t going to...I didn’t think I was.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to risk it,” their Jake said. “It was Randall’s birthday. You’ve never been good around then.”

Past Jake abruptly turned around and snatched a bottle of alcohol off a bedside table. “Frenchie!” he shouted as he burst out of the room. There was a shared living space on the other side with a kitchenette. A man was sitting in one of the chairs, half-asleep. JeanPaul Duchamp. Marc's friend. Steven hadn't known him very long, but he liked him already. “Wake up, mon ami.”

“Hmm?” Frenchie opened one eye. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“Changed my mind.” Past Jake dangled the bottle in front of the other man’s face. “I didn’t steal this out of that asshole’s desk to drink it alone. You in?”

Frenchie looked at the bottle, then, Past Jake. Then he grinned.

The memory shifted again. It looked like most of the bottle was gone. “...just saying, I’m glad to see you in a good mood,” Frenchie said. “Assuming that’s what this is?”

“What else would it be?” Past Jake was slouching, nearly falling out of the chair. There was something sad in his eyes, despite the smile on his face, and he wasn’t doing the best job keeping up Marc’s accent anymore. “I’m great.”

“Sure.” Frenchie shook his head. “You can talk to me.”

“I know.”

“You’re my friend, Marc.”

“Yeah, I know that, too.”

“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours...”

Past Jake laughed and pushed himself more upright. “Oh, trust me, you don’t wanna go there.”

“What else are friends for?”

Past Jake sighed. Looked past Frenchie and out the window. The stars were starting to come out; Steven could see the moon, freshly full, hovering just above the skyline.

“Marc?”

Past Jake shook his head. “Ask me again tomorrow,” he said as he reached for the bottle. “I’m too drunk for that now. Here, last call...”

Alcohol filled the glass.

“What the hell do they want you to do in Chicago? ”

This was a new voice, a new setting. “It’s not work, it’s...family bullshit,” Jake-as-Marc said in the past. His hair was shorter, his face younger. He was sitting on the floor in a small kitchen, pouring himself a glass of something less nice-looking. Some of the drawers had been pulled out. The knife block was empty. He was on the phone; the voice on the other end sounded like a woman, but not one Steven recognized. “I’m trying to get out of it but just in case I can’t...might need a reality check a few times, if you’re not busy?”

“Nah, man, they’ve got me twiddling my thumbs. Just let me know when you’re there.”

“Walker, I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t be fraternizing.”

The woman, Walker, laughed. “Gross. What would your jarhead buddies think?”

“You know you’re my only friend.”

“C’mon, that can’t be true.”

“Regrettably. You’re stuck with me forever.”

“Well, that fucking sucks for both of us. See you around?”

“Yeah. See you.”

Past Jake hung up. Tossed the phone off to the side. Took a deep breath. Reached for the glass, and dropped it...

Crash.

Steven jumped, both at the sound of breaking glass and the realization that he knew exactly where they were. “Wait, this one’s...”

And there he was, speed-walking towards the bus stop. Shoulders hunched, eyes darting back and forth. He looked exhausted. He remembered how that felt. He was fumbling with his phone, trying to make a call to a mother who wasn’t answering. “...geez, I look awful,” Steven said.

“Sorry,” Marc said. The first thing he’d said since the roof. “I think...yeah, Khonshu was being extra dickish that week. I felt as shitty as you did, if that’s any consolation.”

“Not really.”

Suddenly, hand reached out of an alley, grabbing Steven’s backpack. The intent had probably been to just grab the bag, but the attacker ended up dragging Past Steven with him. “ Shit! ” Past Steven flailed against the sudden attack, then froze at the sight of a knife. “Please...”

There were two of them. Dark clothes, knives, very standard mugger look about them. “Give me the bag,” said one.

“Please, I don’t..”

“Just give me the bag!”

Steven suddenly remembered this, vividly. Knees turned to jelly, body freezing, wanting to give them the stupid bag but too petrified to make his arms work. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Give me the -“

In his memories, this was the part where the panic had gotten to him. Turned his memories into mush. He knew he’d gotten away, he just didn’t know how. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out in the present. Still made him jump a bit to see his face suddenly go cold and harsh.

This being Jake, both muggers were down in seconds. Not dead, thank goodness, but definitely regretting their decision to go for the gift shop worker. Past Jake ran out of the alley and got a good distance down the street before slowing. “Sorry,” he whispered.

That was when Steven’s memories unfuzzed. In the vision, he slowed, looked around, then kept running at the sight of the bus. It hadn’t even been his bus. He’d just been desperate to get off the street.

“...we can skip the number of times I stopped you from walking into traffic,” Jake said.

“Very funny.” Steven glanced Jake’s way, then did a double-take. “You are joking, right?”

“No, I believe him,” Marc said. “I’ve done it at least twice.”

“What? ” 

Jake chuckled. “You’ve really got to stop reading and walking, pollito.”

That even got a small smile out of Marc. Steven rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, gang up on me. That’ll get those scales balanced in no time. Next you’ll be telling me that you’re the one who asked out Dylan from work.” Steven paused. “Bloody hell, that was you too, wasn’t it?”

“For the record, I wouldn’t have done it if Marc weren’t filing for divorce.”

Steven started laughing. He wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t even that funny. Maybe it was the heady relief of talking about something inconsequential, after three absolutely nightmarish scenes. “You couldn’t have at least asked someone I actually had a chance with.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

“No, you overestimate me.”

“Marc, back me up on this.”

“No, no, no, you two quit it. No more ganging up on Steven. Not even being nice. I don’t want to hear it.” Steven stared at the frozen image of himself scrambling onto the bus. “You could’ve said something.”

That wiped the smile off Jake’s face. Suddenly, he couldn’t make eye contact. Or wouldn’t. Hard to tell. “Said what?”

“I dunno. Anything? I tried to talk to you. You can’t have missed that.”

The scene shifted again. Back in his flat. Past Steven was sticking another post-it on the mirror. Left you juice in the fridge. Don’t know what kind of juice you like. Write down what kind of juice you like maybe? He’d been getting a bit desperate by that point. Anxious for any word. He never would’ve guessed at the time that Jake was working for Khonshu, but something felt wrong. Even if it was just the baseline not being familiar with the mates in his head.

“I wanted to know who you were. I really did. Didn't seem right, just…living without you there.” Jake stayed quiet. When Steven glanced his way, Jake’s hands were clenched into fists, his head bowed. “What did you do with the notes, anyway? They went missing, but I never found them in the trash.”

“...I kept them,” Jake said softly.

That caught Steven off-guard. “Wait, all of them?”

“Yeah.”

Steven imagined the post-its carefully folded up and put in Jake’s pockets. Maybe in a little box or a notebook. Did he ever re-read them? Or was just having them enough for him? "So…why not talk to me?"

Jake’s fists trembled. Steven stepped closer and carefully rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hey...”

“Freak! ” 

Steven jerked back at the sudden shout. Not from Jake. The figure that walked towards them was much younger, but familiar after a few seconds. It was one of them as a child. He was being pursued by two bigger, older boys. “Do the accent, Marc!” one of them shouted.

“Yeah, do the accent Dock-tah Grahnt!” The other laughed cruelly. “Come on!”

“What are we doing here?” Their Marc, at least, didn’t seem so traumatized by this. Just resigned. “Yeah,  I know, I was bullied in school, we don’t have to...”

One of the boys pushed Past Marc. He sprawled out on the ground, barely catching himself. Steven still winced; he could feel the gravel digging into their palms. “Stop,” Past Marc whispered.

“Weirdo.”

“Leave me alone.”

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” The boy who’d pushed him gave Marc a harsh nudge with his foot—not quite a kick, but enough to knock Marc back down. “Make me, freak!”

“Please-“

Something settled over the memory, like the scene was being overlapped with other moments. Pain. Open handed slaps and objects thrown and the snap of leather. Months and months of pain. And a single-minded rage growing alongside it.

No more. No more, not again, not again...

Marc lashed out, landing a kick on one boy’s shins.

Not Marc. The eyes that glared up at the bullies as he scrambled to his feet couldn’t be Marc.

“Asshole,” Jake snarled.

The bullies stared. Confusion turned to anger.

Jake took off running. 

It wasn’t a retreat. Steven realized that quickly. It seemed like Jake knew exactly where he was going. Over a fence, down a road, towards a cluster of trees. Steven recognized that patch of undeveloped land. He walked past it on his way to and from school as a child. He always walked faster, his mind filling with pictures of some monster living among the overgrown trees. Jake ran right into it. The bullies followed.

“Where’d you go, freak?!” one shouted.

The other one seemed to have a bit more common sense: “C’mon, it’s not worth it. He’s probably hiding-“

That, of course, was when a branch came flying out of the shadows and struck him in the head.

That bully went down.

Jake launched himself out of the trees and tackled the other bully. The other boy might have been taller, but Jake had the benefit of surprise, and sheer blind anger. There was no technique this time. He just kept hitting, only stopping when the bully stopped resisting. “You even look at me again, I’ll kill you ,” he snapped. “Understand?!”

The bully whimpered.

“Say it! ”

“Okay, okay, I understand...!”

Jake stood up, spit on the bully’s face, and stopped to give the one who’d been hit in the head one last kick. The other boy groaned. It looked like his nose was bleeding, but he’d live, Steven was sure.

“I don’t remember this,” Steven whispered.

“I do,” Marc said. “I woke up back home. My hands hurt, but I didn't…I couldn't remember." He glanced at Jake. "How'd you get cleaned up without Mom or Dad…?"

"Neighbor's hose. They were never home around then." Jake shrugged. "And I got lucky. Mom was passed out drunk again." He stared after his retreating figure, disappearing into the trees and back onto the street. “I always tried to clean my mess up. I did, from the start. I promise. I just…” He shook his head. "I couldn't always be lucky."

“...what do you mean?”

Jake’s hands were back into fists again. The tremor traveled up his arms. “Jake,” Steven said. “It’s okay. You can show us.”

When Jake finally looked up, it was to meet Marc’s eyes. His were full of tears. “I’m sorry.”

The scene shifted.

Marc, now in his early teens, sat in a chair in a hallway. Steven faintly recognized this. Their school. Outside the principal’s office. There were voices coming from inside. One of them was Mum. He reached for Marc instinctively. Tried to reach for Jake, too, but Jake stood too far away, watching with his hands still clenched into fists. “What happened?” Steven asked.

“I was falling asleep in class,” Marc said. “Mouthed off to a teacher. Grades dropping, you know, all the classic signs something is up, so they call home...” His voice trembled. “Mom was the one who picked up.”

“And they blamed you,” Jake said quietly. “Who else was left? Elias wouldn’t have done anything to us. Everyone knew that. And it couldn’t be Wendy. Mothers don’t do that, not to their babies.” A few tears slipped free. “So Marc must be the problem.”

The door to the principal’s office opened. There was Mum, a bit more put together than the last memory Steven had seen of her, but with that harsh look in her eyes. Marc cringed in his seat, clutching his backpack, trying to put on a brave face. “Come on,” Mum said, grabbing Marc’s arm. “Let’s go.” 

Marc was compliant at first. Almost limp for the first few steps, like a doll being dragged to the next room. But suddenly, he tensed.

“Let go of me,” he said.

Mum pulled him closer. “Young man, you’re already in serious trouble. Don’t make this worse.”

Marc’s eyes locked onto hers. No; Jake’s eyes. He leaned closer, gaze brimming with hate. “What, you going to hit me in public?” he hissed.

Mum froze. “What did you just say?”

“I said, if you want to beat me again, do it now.” That part he said in a raised voice—loud enough that the people in the office heard. All eyes on them now. “It’s what I deserve, right, so why wait?! ”

“How dare you?!”

Jake jerked his arm away, practically tripping over his own feet as he scrambled back. That was when Steven caught it. Jake wasn’t just angry, he was desperate. Afraid. Practically shaking with it, past and present. “I’m not going home with you."

"Marc Spector…"

"We're not going back there."

“Marc!”

“You lay a finger on him and I swear I’ll kill you!”

It felt like the floor dropped out from under him. The younger Jake’s face went pale, as if he were realizing what he’d said. Spoke in the third tense. Threatened to kill his mother, with witnesses.

“Marc,” said the principal carefully. “Marc, why don’t you calm down...”

Jake bolted for the door. Behind them, Steven heard someone say they were calling the police. He gripped Marc’s hand so tightly it ached. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” Jake said. “I was just so angry, I couldn’t...I couldn’t let her take us back there. I couldn't let her keep hurting you.” When Steven looked Jake’s way, the other man was desperately rubbing his eyes, as if that could make the tears stop. “And all I did was make it worse.”

“Hey...”

“They put him in the psych ward, said he’d had a breakdown...delayed reaction to Randall or some shit. I couldn’t...” He smacked the heel of his palm against his temple, hard, like a reprimand. “I tried. I tried to get back out so he wouldn’t have to be there, but they had us so drugged up I couldn’t...” He hit himself again. “Estupido...”

“Hey, no, no, no, don’t do that.” Steven let go of Marc and ran to Jake, grabbing both his hands and holding them tightly. “Don’t do that. You didn’t know. How could you have known?”

“I’m trying, all right?! I know I don’t help, but I’m trying, I just don’t know what else to do... ”

He seemed so much smaller then. Not the boogeyman, not Khonshu’s fist of justice, not the shadowy figure who had dragged them out to New York to do who-knew-what. Just...a frightened, desperate boy who wanted to be safe. Who wanted other people to be safe. Who only knew one way to do that and didn’t care if it left blood under his fingernails, so long as it made the pain stop.

Can you really blame him for that?

“...hey,” Marc said quietly.

He was at their side suddenly, carefully nudging Steven aside. Jake wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “I know I fucked up, you don’t have to rub it in...”

Marc hugged him tightly.

Jake tensed, as if he’d never been hugged before in his life. “I don’t blame you for it,” Marc said. “I don’t. You were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault.”

Jake’s reaction came in waves. Confusion. Disbelief. Pain.

Relief.

He practically crumpled against Marc, clutching at his shirt tightly. Steven took that as he cue to move in, hugging the both of them as best he could. Jake didn’t make a sound, but Steven could feel him shaking. Marc, too.

The only thing Steven could do was get them somewhere else. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to picture the flat. Not a specific time there, just the location. When he opened his eyes again, there they were. Safe. For now.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “We’re all right. We’re all right.”

Eventually, as if in silent agreement, they broke apart. Jake flopped back onto the bed; Steven grabbed a pillow and lay next to him, hugging the pillow tightly to his chest. How could he feel so drained when he was technically incorporeal? “We’ve really got to stop having these conversations like this,” he said.

Jake laughed weakly. “We really don't know how to make things easy for ourselves, huh?” Then, after a pause. "I'm sorry, Marc. For the parts that were my fault. I didn't mean to make it worse for you." He sighed and pulled his hat over his face. "I really didn't."

"I know. I know you didn't mean it." Marc hesitated before sitting down. Steven had to move his legs out of the way to give him space. "And…I get it. I do get where you were coming from. But…you know Khonshu’s using you, right? He doesn’t give a shit about you and he won’t let you go, even if it hurts. Maybe you can handle it now, but when it's day in, day out, you don't get a say or anything outside of being his avatar…it wears you down eventually. That's what he wants. He wants to break you. And I'm not okay with that."

Jake moved the hat just enough to uncover one eye and glanced at Steven. Steven shrugged. “I’m with Marc on this one,” he admitted. “I trust that bloody pigeon far as I can throw him.”

Jake sighed and pulled the hat back. “Does it help if I say he’s a means to an end?” he said. “I’m not gonna let him...”

“It’s not a matter of let ,” Marc interrupted. There was a slight tremor in his voce. “He scares the shit out of me, Jake. And even if you can keep him from getting to us, that doesn't mean you deserve it.”

Jake didn’t move the hat, but Steven could see the set of his jaw. It was hard to tell if he saw Marc’s point, but he definitely wasn’t ready to let go yet. Steven might not understand fully, but after everything he’d seen, he understood enough. Jake had watched Marc suffer for years, been unable to stop it…but now, he could . Khonshu had given him that power, all while knowing full well that Jake's wounds would make the price seem worth it.

Fucking bastard, Steven thought.

He sat up abruptly. "So…Marc and I are completely out, yeah? If we've got the body, he can't make us do anything?"

"That's the idea," Jake said.

Marc seemed more skeptical. "I mean, you never know what he might try to talk you into, but…yeah, that's supposed to be it. Why?"

"Easy solution, then. If Jake can't handle it, he gets me, and I walk. Simple."

Marc's skepticism turned to worry. Jake sat up, too, a similarly worried look on his face. "He's not going to like that," Jake said.

"But can he do anything about it? He can't hurt me. And if he knows you well enough to push your buttons, he'll know asking you to do something about it would backfire." Steven shrugged. "He doesn't have anything on me the way he does on you two and frankly, I don't give a fuck what he thinks. So let me handle the bird."

"That's not your job, Steven."

"Agreed," Marc said.

Steven rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, don't start with the that's not the point of me. You two have gotten so wrapped up in keeping us all safe that you stop thinking maybe we can keep each other safe. All three of us, working together. Yeah?" He looked between the two of them. "Balance ."

The room fell silent as the others thought about it. "Are you sure?" Marc asked.

"Yeah," Steven said. He was surprised he didn't have to lie. Khonshu was still frightening, reprehensible, but after everything they'd been through, he felt more like a Donna and less like some unstoppable monstrosity. Besides, it was about time those two had a break. "I can always sic Layla on him if he's being extra bratty."

"...yeah, good point." Marc turned to Jake. "What do you think?"

Jake was staring at Steven. His face was hard to read at first. Something like…fear, disbelief, maybe gratitude. Like he was having a hard time believing Steven would do that for him. It broke Steven's heart a bit. He went through so much…him and Marc both. Everything Steven had been shielded from. 

Now it was his turn to return the favor.

Jake finally smiled. “Yeah, yeah, all right...so long as you start sharing the brains for a change.”

“Hey," Steven said, sternly but gently. "Don’t call yourself stupid."

“I’m calling myself and Marc stupid. There’s a difference.”

Marc laughed. That caught Steven off-guard, though he was glad to hear it. "As long as I get to be the looks…"

"No, I'm the pretty one. Everyone knows that."

"It's the same face! " Steven interjected, laughing despite himself.

"Yeah? And where was that energy when you called me handsome?" Marc asked.

Steven threw the pillow at him. He caught a glimpse of something on the dining room table as he did. The scales were back. He’d actually forgotten about them for a moment. “...think that's for us,” he said, gently nudging Jake. “Give it a go?”

Jake still looked hesitant. Steven couldn’t blame him; if he were the odd one one, he’d be petrified of ruining the equilibrium, too. But with another gentle nudge, Jake sat up and pulled the heart out of his pocket. It was still damaged, but starting to heal over. Just like Marc’s.

“If this doesn’t work, Osiris is going to have to start giving hints,” Jake said as he got up. “I can’t think of anything else...okay, one thing." He grinned over his shoulder at them. "I’m not in love with Layla. Just to clear the air on that.”

Steven grabbed another pillow to throw at Jake. “Just try the bloody heart.”

Jake’s smile didn’t last. The nerves in his eyes didn’t stop him from carefully placing down the heart on the scale. They drifted up. Down.

Level...

Their eyes opened, a pained gasp tearing past their lips.

The confusion settled quickly, unspoken but agreed upon pragmatism settling in. Jake had the suit. They probably needed the suit. So it was Jake who cursed aloud— hijo de puta —as the suit settled into place. You’d think the suit’s healing abilities would make it hurt less, but apparently not. Not if he’d been injured outside the suit. Thanks, demonio!

“... not Marc,” said Layla. She was quick to scramble off him after realizing. Good thing, too. This whole my wife, our wife situation was awkward enough as it was. They might have dragged him into the open, but that nonsense was none of his business. “Are you okay?”

“¡Oh, magnífico! ” he said sarcastically. "Just give me a second...”

He sat up slowly. The healing was fast, at least. He stood up and popped his neck before taking the mask off. “I can explain...”

“Not here,” Layla said. She grabbed his arm and started dragging him along. “I don’t know if they called for backup and I’m not sticking around to find out.”

Jake couldn’t help grinning as he let himself be manhandled out of the building. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t in love with her, but he did like her. Marc, you’d better not be divorcing her still...

“So, who am I talking to right now?” Layla asked as they walked to a car.

“Jake Lockley. The others are okay.”

"Are they really?"

"We just had a bit of a chat, prima. I'm sure Steven will tell you all about it." He could see the moon out of the corner of his eye. A figure stood silhouetted against it. Khonsu had no eyes to narrow, and there was no way of indicating from that distance that he knew something had changed. Maybe he didn’t know. Jake wasn’t even entirely sure what all of this meant. But...

We can figure it out.

Layla beat him to the driver’s seat, but he tried not to complain. As they pulled away, Jake felt the impression of someone... there. Pushing against the boundaries. Marc, worried about his wife. So, he did something he hadn’t thought himself capable of doing mere hours ago.

He let go.

 Marc took a deep breath. The suit fell away. Nothing hurt, not anymore.

Thank you, he thought. Thank you.

He hadn’t felt relief like this since Cairo. That bone-deep feeling that something had finally changed for the better. There was still work to do-honestly, the thought that Khonsu was watching him now made his skin crawl. But they could figure it out.

"It's me," he said. "Sorry…sorry about that. It's…" He breathed a sigh of relief. "...had a weird evening."

“Sounds like it. Are you okay?” Layla asked.

Marc smiled, shaky but genuine.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I think we are.”  

They would figure it out.