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The shot shook Steven’s entire body.
Well, it had technically been under Marc’s control as the bullet had made contact. But that didn’t change the fact that it was still very much Steven’s body. That was something he refused to relinquish. Although as the bullet dug through his chest he was starting to seriously reconsider.
Searing pain radiated through his torso. Steven’s mind screamed. So did Marc’s. Or had one of them really let out a scream at some point? Breathing hurt. Static danced across their visions.
The second shot was barely audible and felt only vaguely numb. Everything was going fuzzy at the edges. They couldn’t feel their limbs anymore. Were they still standing? There had been another impact. Was that a third shot or had they hit the ground?
There was a tepid wetness lapping at their back. Steven felt feverish. Everything was fading fast. There was an unbearable ringing going on in his ears. Or was it his mind?
And just as suddenly as the sound had begun, it vanished. It was quiet. Somehow too quiet.
Steven had finally gotten what he had wished for these past couple of days. He was completely alone.
He had never felt this terrified in his life before.
There was nothing but darkness and silence. Steven screamed and struggled. It felt like he couldn’t properly move. As if he was surrounded on all sides. Entombed. Buried alive. Nothingness engulfed him.
Steven’s screams transitioned into begging, then loud cries. Soon he could only manage heavy hitched sobs. The darkness didn’t care. No one did. He was utterly alone and no one was coming to rescue him.
After what felt like hours, his weeping finally calmed somewhat. He was still utterly terrified and panicked, don’t get him wrong, but his tears garnered no sympathy. Maybe if he calmed himself a little and thought things through, he could do something about this all.
That however was easier said than done.
Steven spent another hour trying to calm his breathing. It was interrupted by ever-rising fear and tears over and over again. Dread was a monstrous opponent to take down.
Teardrops wet his cheeks, dried almost fully, and then returned once again as he was overtaken by a series of whimpers. Seemingly on an unbreakable loop. The worst part was that he couldn’t even move his arms to wipe them away. There was no space to curl in on yourself. Hug yourself close. Find any comfort at all. He could only lay in darkness. Hoping, praying, anything would change.
It didn't.
Steven had slowly come to the realisation that he was dead. There was no other explanation for what this was. None that he could think of at least.
The scholars had argued for millennia what the afterlife was like, yet when he had imagined Sheol, this wasn’t what had come to mind.
Steven Grant had hoped for some sort of bliss. Potential emptiness, yes, but one that brought ignorance and rest. Or if there was something physical, that it be more than a tight hole he had been shoved into, fully aware. To stew in his own thoughts and feelings. For potentially forever.
Weren’t the gates of the afterlife supposed to be open to all? At least to those who had been righteous. He was no apostate and had done what he deemed right in life. Had the blood spilled by Marc and Konshu really seeped so deep as to soak into him as well?
He was reminded of angry street preachers. Fanatics who sometimes found their way into the museum to preach to a larger audience before being removed by security. They spoke of fire and brimstone and brutal torture. However, if there truly was a hell, this had to be it.
Being abandoned forever, with nothing but yourself as company. Fully aware. All alone.
Dread boiled over again as Steven felt his face being watered by his own tears again.
And then there was a thud. Muffled, but still.
The previous pitying disquiet quickly switched to a fervorous panic.
He began yelling and struggling once again. Pleading for someone, anyone to hear him.
To save him.
Stone scraped against heavy stone. The darkness sealing him was choked out by light as the lid of his prison was pushed open.
Steven quickly found his footing and hastily fumbled his way out of the now open sarcophagus. He was blinded by the overwhelming amount of light he found himself in.
“Steven?” came a quiet question in an oh-so-familiar voice.
He blinked a few times trying to make his eyes adjust to the surroundings. A blurry figure was quickly coming into focus.
“Marc?” he finally hesitantly tried as a response.
“Steven!” the other man replied. It was indeed Marc.
On impulse the meeker man rushed over to him. Desperate for any comfort. Any closeness. Just anything at all to feel even slightly ok.
“Marc!” he fully bellowed out as he finally crashed into the other man. He desperately clung to him, as if his life depended on it. His reaction was replied to in kind with strong arms wrapping around him.
Steven was pulled close and he buried his face in a warm shoulder. He was laughing. He was crying. His mind was racing a million miles a minute. He didn’t know what to say or feel.
The strangeness of it all was catching up to him. They were in separate bodies. He was now in some sterile tiled room. He wanted to pull away. Ask a million questions. Yet his body refused. His breaths grew concerningly fast. Pulling himself deeper and more desperately into the comforting embrace.
“Steven, what’s the last thing yo-”
Marc was cut off by a quiet whimper.
“H-Hey! You ok?” he tried instead. He gently tried to push Steven away to examine if the man was hurt. The other only clung more desperately. His breaths were quick and shallow. He was visibly shaking.
He finally managed to push the man far enough away to give him a quick once over. The other was clearly horribly distressed by something. He didn’t seem physically hurt, however.
The sight of Steven this upset stung Marc deep to his core. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was never supposed to find out. They didn’t have time for this. This was all his fault.
He pulled the man back into a warm embrace, hoping desperately that it helped even a little.
“It’s ok. I’m here. Just take deep breaths, ok? Everything will be ok now.”
Everything was most definitely not going to be ok. He was in a mental facility, being chased by workers. The place was littered with wrong things and artefacts. Pieces of fractured memories. Objects that should not exist or be here. Steven and he had separate bodies. He’d been shot. They’d been shot. Twice.
That didn’t matter at the moment, however.
Steven had managed to calm his breathing to a shaky but steady rhythm now. He’d pulled himself away just enough to look at Marc with his sad eyes. They were puffy and red. His face was wet. His bottom lip quivered slightly unconsciously.
“I… I was s-so scared… I-I’m.. Sorry…”
Fuck. Steven was pulling away from him now. Still in an awful state. It was all Marc’s fault. He needed to make this better in some way. In any way. His mind went into overdrive and he did the first thing he could think of.
Marc Spector strongly yet softly gripped the back of Steven’s head and pulled him into a frantic kiss.
The kiss was heavy and a lot more violent than he had intended. It also involved a lot more teeth than he’d planned for. Not that he had planned much. Steven completely froze for a second, before seemingly giving in and even replying in kind. The moment was quickly turning hot and needy. They really didn’t have time for this.
Marc pulled away, breaking the kiss but not their contact.
One of Marc’s hands was still gripping dark curls while the other had landed on the small of the other man’s back. Steven’s hands had clasped around his neck. He was looking at him with a stunned expression. His breaths were still a bit short and shallow, but at least he wasn’t actively crying anymore. That was progress, right?
“Marc… W-what?” was all he could stutter out.
Marc’s head was drawing a complete blank.
“That’s for kissing my wife, asshole,” he finally replied, before pulling away completely.
“Oh, yeah, alright?” Steven answered, surprise still reflecting from every aspect of his being.
“Look, we’re in a hurry. We really need to get out of here. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Steven replied.
Now Marc was the one taken aback. He could reflect on it all later.
“Do you trust me?” he asked. It didn’t actually matter he supposed, but the question had slipped out there.
Steven nodded.
“Ok, good. Let’s get out of here then. I can explain everything later.”
He was already halfway out the door, scoping out the corridor when a hand tugging at his sleeve stopped him.
Dark eyes peered into a pair of identical ones in answer.
“Promise?”
The question had sounded innocent enough, but Marc knew it carried more weight than that. He really didn’t want to deal with any of this. Just take it one step at a time and never look back. But Steven wasn’t one to drop a subject, he knew that all too well. If they somehow made it out of here, it’s not like he had much of a choice anyway.
“I promise,” Marc replied after the heavy second of silence that had hung between them.
Satisfied, Steven finally joined Marc’s side, peering anxiously into the corridor.
And then they were off. Leaving behind nothing but an empty sarcophagus. Travelling towards an uncertain future, secure only in the knowledge that at least they had each other.