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Marc and Steven aren’t at all concerned that they’re in a psych ward. If anything, they seem relieved, if a little exasperated.
“We were here after Harrow shot us,” Steven explains, gesturing at the blank doors and empty halls. “It’s where I learned about—” He waves absently at Marc “—everything.”
Everything as in Marc’s past. What brought them to be. How Marc became Moon Knight. Their mother’s (Jake grits his teeth at the mere thought of her) death. Everything that Marc kept hidden from Steven over the years and that Jake simply knew.
They mentioned it, but to actually see it is something else. It’s not a part of the headspace Jake’s familiar with. There’s no color anywhere. No faded hues, warm light, or cold shadows. He had assumed it was more house than institution, but it’s obviously not.
Jake crosses his arms and peers into a room to find a familiar scene. A memory. One of his. It isn’t a particularly pleasant one, so he shoulders on after Steven. “So, how do we get out?”
“What, you mean back to the living?”
He tears his eyes off the strange doors to search Marc for deception. There’s no reason for Marc to trick him, especially about that.
“You mean we’re…?”
“Dead? Yup. For good, this time around.”
Don’t say that. They didn’t die. They lost, maybe, but they’re still— At least, their mind is still… No. They can’t be dead. Jake wouldn’t let them die.
“What happened?”
Marc rolls his eyes and nods to Steven, who rubs his neck sheepishly. “Well, I might have, um, pushed a kid out of the way of a truck? She’s safe now, but…”
He trails off, and since Marc isn’t finishing the sentence, Jake can’t help but assume the worst. “You didn’t make it.”
No one corrects him.
He chokes out a laugh. “We didn’t make it.”
Unlike Harrow, there’s no one to blame. No one shot them. Someone ran them over. God, that’s a pathetic way to die. Lose, he wants to say, but really, what’s the difference? They died.
He laughs again. They died. Wow. Died. Dead. So this is death.
“You’re not… Are you mad?”
He wants to throttle something, but unfortunately for him, there’s no one around but Marc and Steven. He does punch a hole in the too-white wall, though. “Mad? Heh, yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Marc stands in between him and Steven, and Jake tries not to think about the implication of that.
“You said you’ve been here before, right? How’d you get back?”
“We, uh,” Steven’s mouth hangs. Marc isn’t stepping down, so Jake doesn’t move. “We had help. Taweret got us to Osiris’s gate, and Khonshu healed us when we—”
“We don’t work for Khonshu anymore. You two made sure of it.” Despite Jake’s own desire to continue. It took about half a year, but they did it. All three were free from Khonshu.
“Exactly,” Marc says, his voice kept painfully neutral. It took a long time for Jake to gain his full trust, and he’s lost it again. “We’re not going back. Not this time.”
Jake snarls and bites his expression back when they both flinch. For fuck’s sake, he isn’t going to attack them. He’s spent his entire existence protecting them.
“So what, you’re just giving up? What about Layla? Or Jean-Paul? Or everyone else up there who loves and cares about you two?”
Before either could answer, the door bursts open. There’s a hippo. A tall, bipedal, dressed up hippo.
“What the fu—”
“Taweret!”
He blinks at them. They failed to mention that Tower Edit is a fucking hippo. A very emotive fucking hippo. Jesus. And he thought Khonshu was weird.
“Oh! Welcome back, Marc and Steven and… whoever you are.”
“Jake.”
She smiles. That’s not natural. “Jake. I didn’t expect to see you two again so soon!”
“Well, we didn’t plan on it,” Marc says. “But there’s no plot to unleash Ammit, so we’re here officially this time.”
The hippo simply nods and beckons them after her. Marc and Steven follow without hesitation. Is Jake the only one who wants to go back?
“I think I know why the scales were so unbalanced last time. I judged you two—” she points at Marc and Steven, and Jake wonders if he can get past the thick layer of skin with a knife. They can make a break for it. “—together, when really there’s three of you!”
She reaches into their chests—they don’t do a fucking thing to stop her—and takes out two pale hearts. She just. Took out their hearts. And they didn’t bat an eye?
“And although you all share the same soul, you are also quite unique.”
She plops one of the hearts on the scale and a feather on the other side. There’s no way that scale works, because the feather is heavier than the heart.
“Ah, congratulations, Steven. You get to go to the Field of Reeds!”
He fist pumps excitedly, and at Jake’s confused expression, says, “Egyptian paradise after death. If your heart is lighter than the feather of truth and justice, then you gain passage!”
“And what happens if it’s heavier?”
The hippo takes Steven’s heart off the scale and puts Marc’s on. “Then your soul will be forever lost to the sands.”
The scales balance perfectly.
“Lucky you,” she says to Marc as she passes the hearts back. “Now, there’s just one more—”
Jake steps back, gripping the fabric over his chest. “Hold on, we still have work to do. We can’t… They can’t die yet.”
He nods to Steven, “You just got that tour guide job you’ve always wanted.”
Then to Marc, “And you promised Layla you weren’t gonna abandon her again.”
He refuses to say anything about himself, because what the fuck did he accomplish?
“You can’t just give up now that you finally get your happy endings.”
The hippo has the gall to pout. Those scales shouldn’t be too heavy to lift, and it looks sturdy enough to use as a bat. Alright, so there’s a potential weapon in case Jake needs it.
“Even if you do go back, you’ll return to a broken body. Without Khonshu, you won’t be able to heal.”
“Then we’ll make another—” he stops himself. The other two would hate working for that old bird again, and Khonshu won’t let go of something he already lost once.
Jake looks at Marc. He can see the resignation in his stance. The exhaustion on his shoulders. He’s tired, and this field of wheat sounds like a great place to rest. Marc doesn’t want to go back if it takes too much, even if it means leaving Layla alone for years. She’ll join them eventually.
Steven isn’t much better. He seems happy, but his smile is lacking something. He has that look that Layla gives Jake when he mentions Khonshu. It’s that stupid worried look, as if Steven wants to say something but knows Jake won’t listen.
He sighs. “Fine.”
If they’re done with life, then there’s no point. Jake can admit he’s tired too. If neither Steven nor Marc want to go back, then he’ll respect that. It just means they don’t…
They don’t need him anymore.
He’s run out of purpose.
The hippo claps. “Excellent! Now, if I could just…”
Oh. That’s weird. His body is suddenly cold, and everything he is is compacted into that tiny organ. The hippo holds it up and hums.
“Your hearts are all identical,” she notes as she walks to the scales. “But they don’t weigh the same. Fancy that!”
She drops it onto the pan, and it plummets all the way.
It’s silent.
No one says a word.
Steven’s smile has faded completely. Marc is suddenly alert. Tower Edit is frozen in place.
The hippo said that if his heart is heavier, then his soul— their soul—is forever lost to the sands. He can’t be the reason they perish out here. He can’t—
This isn’t fair. Jake’s the one who did all those horrible things. Marc and Steven don’t know half of it. They can’t— They can’t be punished for something he did.
He can’t be why they’re going to die—
“You’ve all been judged separately,” the hippo rushes out. “This doesn’t affect Marc or Steven, but…”
Jake stares at the scales, mouth open, about to object. After a moment of consideration, he nods at her.
It’s not going to affect where Marc and Steven end up. That’s all he needed to hear.
“Seems about right.”
Marc marches over to him, gripping his shirt and yanking him up. “What do you mean by that? What did you do?!”
Steven, bless him, runs over to stop Marc. As if Jake wasn’t just proven guilty beyond saving. “Hold on. Maybe we can—”
“I’m a killer, Marc. What did you expect? I killed men, women, and children. Even a dog once,” he smiles.
He knows he’s pushing it. In fact, he’s counting on it.
“I enjoyed it too.”
“You—!”
Steven punches Jake before Marc can. “Don’t you dare say that!”
That punch was weak, Jake thinks. If Steven really wanted to do damage, he should have twisted his body along with it.
He turns his head back and licks the split on his lip. “Or what? I’m already damned. Nothing you do is gonna matter.”
“Tell me that’s not true.”
“You want me to lie?”
Marc pushes him, and Jake stumbles back two steps. Steven doesn’t stop him this time. “What did you do? ”
“A lot. Some for Khonshu, some before,” he answers, his tone hardening into a neutral drawl. Keep pushing. “It pays to be a winner.”
“Before? What could you have possibly done be—” Marc mouths the last few words to himself in realization. It’s just a little something their old CO used to say. “Layla’s dad. You —”
“You know what happened that night,” Jake shrugs, dodging another punch, egging him on. His attitude is flippant and dismissive. “I wasn’t there.”
Marc snarls. “Yeah, but you were the one Bushman wanted. That’s why he told me to shoot them. He thought I was you.”
Jake smiles. A little more.
“Tell me you didn’t.”
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Steven.”
His laugh is borderline delirious. “But you’ll keep it secret, yeah? God, what else did you keep from us?”
“A lot. Things you can’t even—”
He tastes sand. Shit.
“It-It’s been fun,” he spits out, ignoring the sudden dryness in his throat. “But you were right. I’m a bloodthirsty killer who worked with Khonshu ‘cause it worked out for me. You hated it. I lived it.”
“You. sick. fuck. ”
Jake chances a glance at the hippo. She’s standing off to the side, hands twirling around each other. Right.
“It’s all over anyway. You guys go to heaven. I go to hell. Everyone’s happy.”
Steven seems shaken at that. He messed up, didn’t he? “Jake, mate, we don’t… We don’t want you to go to hell. And you— There’s no hell here. You won’t exist. ”
Even better.
“You need to tell us what you did,” Marc says. He’s standing close enough that Jake can see himself in his eyes. Huh. So that’s what he looks like. The mustache is nice. And he’s wearing his hat. “What. did. you. do?”
His leg goes stiff and he wobbles to keep his balance.
Marc doesn’t notice.
Steven does.
“Why do you want to know? Wouldn’t it be better to not associate yourself with it?”
“We can find a way,” Steven says, grabbing his sleeve. “We’ll talk it out, rebalance your scales. You’ll come with us and we can just—”
“Steven.”
“No, Marc. We can’t leave him here. I can tell he was lying. He didn’t enjoy it. He’s just—”
“Get off me, Steven,” Jake warns. He can’t feel his hands.
“You’re saying this so we won’t miss you.”
Marc snaps his mouth shut and stares at Jake, his eyes wide.
Of course Steven figures it out. He’s too nice to think Jake meant all that. He opens his mouth to deny it. To laugh. To call Steven a fool or something worse.
He doesn’t say anything, and to them, it’s a confirmation.
“Jake—”
“Stop. I don’t care what happens.”
"Marc saved me when I turned to sand—"
"You went overboard. That was reversible, though dangerous," the hippo says, quietly. Carefully. "You can't save him the same way."
"Then! Then..."
Jake scoffs and shoves them back. "You heard her. I'm unfixable. Just stop caring for once in your goddamn lives."
It’s easier to die knowing they hate him than miss him. It’ll be easier to feel like he’s not a burden.
“Then please don’t make our last memory of you like this," Marc says instead. "I shouldn't have yelled. I shouldn't have—"
“Let’s talk about something else. We can talk about your car. The cab. You like driving, yeah?”
“Stop it, Steven.”
“O-Or that time you had bacon and loved it so much you bought three packs.”
“And you had to eat it all because I’m Jewish and he’s vegan.”
Jake shuts his eyes. Damn it.
“Please, stop.”
“Or when Marc drank so much, you fronted and threw up, but drove him home anyway.”
“Or when Steven got lost so you gave him directions to his favorite restaurant.”
“Farmacy, remember that? You kept calling it ‘a pharmacy.’”
He can’t move, but it feels like he’s shaking.
“I killed people.”
His throat is closing. He can hardly breathe.
“I did too.”
“They were innocent.”
Marc doesn’t reply immediately.
“You regret it, though,” Steven says for him. “Yeah?”
Yeah. Now he does. He didn’t bother thinking about it before. “I’m sorry.”
Someone hugs him. He doesn’t know who. He can’t hug back, so he just stares at the dark sky and thinks… Nothing, actually. There’s nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. Maybe. He isn’t sure. His mouth might have turned to stone.
I’m sorry.
The world fades away, and then—
There’s nothing.
The rest is silence.