Chapter Text
“So drink up and be merry! Life is for the living! And who knows? I could be dead tomorrow.”
~
When Mark’s eyes open, he’s met with a cold, unfeeling darkness. It takes him a few moments to adjust to his strange surroundings, squinting into the distance to try to make out anything that could tell him where he was, but there was simply… nothing. His heart beating, he tries to turn around, only to find he couldn’t - or at least, not easily. Mark’s body moves sluggishly, casting what looked like… bubbles, in his wake. It’s when he tries to speak his confusion out loud, only to be met with a mouthful of water, that he realises that something was severely wrong.
Eyes widening, he looks up and down and around as best he can, looking for something, anything, that would tell him what happened. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he registers the inky blackness beneath him, and the light far above. He… must have fallen in or something, surely that was the right answer, surely that made sense.
Urgency filling his mind, Mark starts to swim, trying to climb towards what he thought was the surface while knowing that his breath wouldn’t hold out for very long - especially when his heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest if he didn’t breach the surface quick enough. No matter how hard he tried, it didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere. No matter how hard he tried, it just felt like he was getting dragged deeper and deeper into darkness.
The feeling of his hand hitting something startles him, enough for him to let out part of the breath he was trying so hard to hold in. For a moment, he thinks it’s the surface of the water, reaching out again, only to realise… it was solid. It was then that Mark realised just how cold it was, how it wasn’t just the atmosphere of the place that sent shivers down his back, how futile his attempts at escape had been from the beginning. His hands claw against the ice keeping him beneath the surface, trying to break through with everything he had, even if that was steadily beginning to dwindle. Chest burning, limbs feeling heavy, his desperation slowly leaving his blurring mind. This was it. He’d die down here. No goodbyes, no grand send off, no place among other fallen stars. Mark sucks in a breath full of water, and he prepares to accept his fate.
As his eyes begin to close, a shadow forms over the ice above him. In this state, he barely registers it, nor does he even realise that the dull pounding he could hear was the sound of the ice being hit rather than his heart’s feeble attempts to keep beating. Something grabs him, and instead of dragging him down into the pits of the ocean, it pulls him out towards the surface.
The first feeling he regains is pain, exploding from his chest and throat as he’s thrown face-first onto the ice, water being pushed up out of his lungs and surging out of his mouth. Mark barely has time to gulp down a breath before something hits him hard in the ribs, turning him over onto his back. The silhouette of whoever it was that saved him stood above him, and for a moment he hoped it was someone he knew, until his blurred vision cleared up enough to see the gently curving horns sprouting from the figure’s head, adorned in silver. A clawed hand grabs Mark by his shirt, pulling him up towards the figure’s face, watching it’s mouth split apart into rows and rows of sharp teeth, bared delightfully as it speaks just one sentence:
“You’d better wake up, little avatar, before you forget how to.”
~
When Mark’s eyes open this time, his body completely tenses, suppressing any urge to sit up or cry out until he was sure that he was no longer dreaming. Breath stuck in his throat and stomach churning, he stares up at the ceiling, and slowly turns his head to the left, blinking at the nightstand. The clock read two in the morning, the minute flicking over and making Mark flinch. He glances to the windows, to the desk in the corner of the room, to the wall opposite, and finally, back to the ceiling above.
Finally, he lets out the breath he was holding, forcing it to escape slowly in some attempt to still the heart rattling in his chest.
This wasn’t the first time he’d had a nightmare like this. They would recur every now and again, usually after a particularly bold move that no normal man would have recovered from so quickly. But… what would have caused it? Mark ponders the events from the past few days, and realises with a familiar chill that he’s turned down a minor acting role the other day, where the story would take place on a sinking ship. Was this what he got for turning down the very thing he sold himself for? A chance, any chance , to climb into the limelight?
Swallowing his fear, Mark sits up, peeling the covers back from his body and swinging his legs out of bed, his hair standing on end as his feet make contact with the cold, bare floor instead of his fluffy slippers. His head droops, falling into his hands as they rub over his face and rake through his hair, as gentle as he cared to be.
He was fine. This was fine. He just needed to go clear his head, and he’ll be fine. Though as he prepares to stand up, something touches his lower back, making him jump and clamp a hand over his mouth as he turns to see whatever the hell it was that, surely, had just crawled out of his nightmares to haunt him in his waking moments.
“...Mark?” Celine’s voice was small, tired, and yet carried a painful amount of worry. Her arm was draped over the space where Mark was just laying, blinking at him blearily from under the covers. “Are you okay?”
All the tension in Mark’s body drains out of him, relief gently settling his heart back in his chest instead of rattling around in his throat. Slowly, he manages a smile, reaching back to gently slip his hand into hers.
“I’m alright, kitten. Just got too many thoughts flying around, you know me. Don’t let me keep you up, I’ll just run along to the study to write my ideas down, then I’ll come right back, okay?” The lie comes to him easily as he gently rubs his thumb across the back of his wife’s hand, lifting it up and leaning in to press a kiss to her knuckles. It makes her exhale a soft laugh, brightening Mark’s smile.
“Okay, you workaholic. Hurry back though, it gets cold when you’re not here.” She squeezes his hand before pulling away, tucking herself back into the covers, seemingly buying his lie. Or at least, too tired to dispute it.
Mark gets up, though not without leaning over to help tuck Celine in and gently smooth her hair out of her face. His chest was starting to ache again, and he could feel something watching him. As carefully and as normally as he could manage, he exits their bedroom as quickly, thoughts of what it might do if he stayed there too long instead of running to wallow in his misery already starting to plague him.
The hallways were dark, but he could see just fine. Something about the moonlight shining through the windows, combined with how much his wretched body had changed ever since making his deal, made darkness less of a problem. But that wasn’t what he was focused on right now.
Mark takes himself into the study, closing and almost locking the door behind him before thinking better of it, and collapses into the chair behind his desk with a hefty sigh. Seeing all the paperwork and letters and scripts on his desk made him feel sick, though it wasn’t as if he could just look away. If he did, he knew his eyes would drift towards the liquor cabinet behind him, and while it would certainly help to drown his feelings out, Celine would clock him the moment he got back into bed and ask him about it.
… Fuck it.
The bottles clink gently as he opens the cabinet, even more so when he starts rifling through them, searching for the right thing that would make him forget the quickest. His hand lands on a half-drank bottle of whiskey, vaguely remembering the poker night where he ended up passing out long before he’d even finished his game with Damien and William, thanks to that very bottle. It’s barely a comfort to think about as he twists off the cap and throws a mouthful back, trying to suppress a cough as that familiar burn fills his chest.
Everything begins to hit Mark all at once. His chest burning, throat tight, heart rattling in his ribcage as if it’s trying to claw its way out, his mind spinning, all just like his nightmare. Just like every time he’d stepped out of line. It wasn’t the first time he’d nearly drowned in a dream, let alone nearly die in general, and he doubted that it would be the last time either. At least he’ll probably never have to suffer it in life, he hoped. He’s sure that after the terror of such close encounters, even if they were never truly real, he’d hate to keep living after dying in the worst ways possible.
Mark takes another swig of the whiskey, leaning against his desk, before deciding that since he can’t bear to look at all his paperwork he’ll just sit on the floor instead. Already a little disoriented, it takes him a few moments to push his chair out of the way and crawl under his desk, curling up with his knees against his chest. He shudders against the hard, cold surfaces, but it was comfortable.
It was supposed to feel comfortable.
It was going to be comfortable, whether he liked it or not.
His mind begins to wander, to swim dangerously close to the edge, his entire chest tightening more and more. Fuck. Fuck. How long had it been since the last time he’d done this? He couldn’t remember. He was supposed to be good, to follow his contract down to the very letter. There was no time for frivalties, such as picking and choosing his roles, or even spending too much time away from his work. Maybe he should ask for a slight change. Maybe. But he’d have to pay his debt first, and he didn’t feel like going to prison for murder and ruin his whole reputation just yet. He had to plan it first. He couldn’t do this with just the intention in mind, unlike how he’d started this whole mess in the first place.
…Just unlike how he had started this whole mess in the first place.
God, if only he’d listened to Celine, back when they were all in college. His breath catches in his throat as her words echo through his mind. Don’t go to that meeting, Mark, I’ve got a bad feeling about it. Are you sure that you don’t want me to put a protection spell on your dorm? Well… if you’re telling the truth about not dabbling in such dangerous forces, then… fine. I trust you.
It made him feel sick, the idea that if he’d just come clean about it all instead of making stupid, stubborn, selfish decisions, none of this would’ve happened. Even if he said anything about it now, the guilt would destroy him, and he knew that it would destroy not only Celine, but Damien and William too, not to mention their other close friends.
He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, turning into a quiet sob as his mind twists his heart in place. How much longer would he be able to hold out? How much longer would he be able to keep his family safe? How much longer would he be able to keep everyone from finding out? Mark clutches at his chest, half convinced that he was either having a heart attack or going to make himself throw up from all the terror, guilt and anxiety. He hadn’t noticed that tears had been welling up in his eyes, and he wasn’t about to care about the hot, frustrated tears falling down his cheeks now. Someone like him, crying in the privacy of his own home, with no one but his wife’s eyes on him? Unheard of. Impossible. He’d just break down in the small hours of the morning like this, hiding away from anything the world had to shatter him with, just himself and a bottle until he could suck it up and carry on again.
Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock chimes three times, startling Mark out of his thoughts. Sniffling, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, trying to figure out how long it had been. Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? Longer? He didn’t know. He couldn’t have kept track. If he didn’t get up soon, Celine would come looking for him, and find him like this, and he couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know what it would do to her, or what it’d make him do.
Slowly and steadily, he gets out from his hiding place, trying to put the bottle of whiskey back without making too much noise. He forgot to recap it, but that didn’t matter right now. At least he didn’t lock the door, otherwise he’d end up spending way too long trying to unlock it, and then he’d be caught. Mark shoulders through the door, having to lean against the wall just to get his bearings before trying to walk down the hallway, though he hesitates halfway.
Right, the whiskey. Celine would clock him the moment he got back into bed. He thought about that before, right? He’ll just go brush his teeth again and wash it down with water, that’ll be fine, right?
It was a struggle in his inebriated state, but he struggled through well. He’d just clean up all the spilled water in the morning, since it was all just on the counter. Besides, he could just cover it all up by saying that he didn’t want to turn the light on in case it disturbed her, if Celine asked. Sucking in a deep breath to try to calm his newer nerves, Mark quietly crosses the hallway back into their shared bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Now, all he had to do was silently step around to his side of the bed and get in without disturbing his wife too much, and everything would be–
“Mark? You’ve… been gone for ages.”
Fuck.
“Ah… I’m sorry. I got a little carried away.” He smiles sheepishly as Celine props herself up on a forearm to look at Mark better, her expression worried and her eyes narrowed. All he can do now is scurry over, delicately kick off his slippers and clamber into bed, all with Celine watching him carefully.
“Uh huh. Okay.” She stays facing him, settling down back onto her side and offering the covers she’d taken to bundle herself up with back to Mark, who takes it gratefully, shuffling closer. Once he seemed comfortable, Celine reached out and gently put her hand against his cheek, frowning lightly at how warm and slightly damp his face seemed to be. “Honey… are you sure that you’re okay?”
It was the only question he didn’t want to hear. Mark could tell by the look on her face that his expression had wavered, if only for a moment, into something that showed how he truly felt. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he places his hand over hers, holding it as he turns his head to press a small kiss into her palm. “I… it’s just a little stress. I’ll be okay. I promise.”
Celine gently runs her thumb over Mark’s cheek, staying quiet for a moment. Then, she shuffles closer, putting her arms around him and pulling him closer, gently tucking his head under her chin. It was enough to momentarily break the facade, and he lets a small sniffle escape him as he returns the embrace, hiding his face in her shoulder. It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, and he knew that, but it was all he could do. The kiss she gently delivers to his forehead as he begins to settle only makes his heart ache more, but… he wouldn’t miss out on this for the world.
It almost gave him hope. That maybe, just maybe, if he confessed all his sins he could still be saved. He could still make everything right. The future could still be bright.
But we all know, that’s not how this story of heartbreak and murder and Heroes and Villains ended, did it?