Chapter Text
Marc was locked within the depths of his room, the darkened room hiding his shaking form as he bundled up in the comforting blankets; trying to shake off the invading memories.
The mercenary hadn’t emerged from the room in weeks, barricading himself inside the mindscape due to a seemingly coincidental incident.
Marc found himself relaxing as the breeze teased his hair, the bustling of London was a frequent stability within his life that he found himself surprisingly embracing.
Taking a turn, he reached the park, the choruses of laughter and screams of joy floated within the air and the American found a soft smile twisting at his lips, walking past the bubbling giggles and child-like fighting.
The sound of a slap had frozen him in place, reverberating in his ears and he turned, his cocoa eyes narrowing at the wailing child, the mother scolding him at the dropped food.
“Look at what you’ve done.” The mother’s face pulled into a frown, annoyance in her tone as the child continued to tremble. weeping and drawing more stares and hushed whispers of judgement.
“This is all your fault.” The mother snapped, growling at the child’s incompetence.
And Marc found it difficult to breathe as those words choked him, throttled him, while mercilessly mocking him.
This is all your fault.
This is all your fault.
This is all your fault.
Randall…
Marc gasped, trying to force his breaths to even out, despite the agonising lump in his throat, his writhing nausea that continued to build.
The memories that he yearned to keep at bay were collapsing on him and he couldn’t…
He just couldn’t function…
He couldn’t breathe as each rasping breath shook his body with cold chills, as tears gathered within in vision.
Mum, screaming viciously. Snarling.
The pain erupting, the scorching pain that brought a whimper as the red mark upon his cheek shocked him beyond words.
Marc forced himself from the body, barely stumbling to his room and shutting it with a sob, burying his face between his arms with a muffled sob.
Steven blinked, a look of pure confusion at suddenly being thrust to the front, his cheeks were wet and the Brit immediately twisted around, trying to locate what had hurt whoever was in control, so much so that Steven, the emotional protector, was forced to the front.
“This is all your fault!” The lady screamed again, the child was full on bawling now, pulling away from the furious mother, in the hopes to avoid the obvious reason for their fear.
Oh.
Steven finally understood and he watched relieved as another mother stalked up to the mother and shoved her away, her determined gaze unwavering as she lifted the boy away from danger.
Marc…
“Jake?”
There was no answer, so it seemed that the New Yorker was unaware of what was occurring. Instead, Steven hoisted himself up, glad that the body’s breathing had finally evened out and steeling himself, he forced his stiff limbs back home.
Back to safety.
Steven and Jake had desperately tried everything to communicate with him, begging him through the door with cracked pleadings of ‘we can work this out together, please kid’ and ‘Marc, you’re not alone. Please let us in.’
To no avail, the days morphed into weeks and Jake finally reluctantly told the Brit that perhaps Marc needed some space, needed time to collect his thoughts.
The two alters tried to resume life as normal as best they could, although lingering gazes of concern continually floated back to Marc’s locked room, the flaring concern that consumed them was unable to be stomped out.
Steven occasionally snuck little notes below his brother’s door, in the hope that the American would read them and would ask for their help.
It was all for naught.
Jake would gently knock at the door, whispering that they were here for him and would always be there for him.
His protective instincts swarmed him, screaming at him to help his brother and yet, there was nothing he could do.
How could the New Yorker help Marc if he didn’t want it…
.
.
.
It seemed a simple night as Steven hummed a tune to himself, gathering his groceries as he scoured the aisles.
Tonight, Jake had retired to his room early, leaving Steven alone with his favourite task.
The high-pitched screams pierced the air, the fear thick as Steven felt his heart drop at the sight of two armed robbers.
The Brit gritted his teeth together in the hopes to muffle his whimpers of alarm, his body quivered with terror, a cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he regarded the threat.
Jake knew, he always knew when his kids were in danger, flinging the blanket off of his bed, he sprinted to the front, his instincts to protectprotectprotect spurring him on, faster.
“Kid.” Steven immediately relinquished control, scrambling up in the mindscape he forced himself to the locked door.
“Marc! Marc please.” The Brit begged, rapidly knocking at the door, his heart thudding in his chest, hoping, praying.
.
.
Jake instantly lowered himself, out of sight, his eyes flashing in a furious rage in response to the barked orders of the robber, snarling at the lady to hurry up and give up the cash before I blow your fucking brains out.
Creeping forwards, soundlessly, he grasped an easy makeshift weapon. The wooden rolling pin was spun in his hand as the New Yorker adjusted to the weight and when he was satisfied, the protector lunged at the first man.
The unsuspecting robber stumbled, trying to regain his footing as the pain blossomed in his head and in a sudden movement, the man collapsed as the baking utensil was shoved into his throat. The guttural groan finally drew the attention of the other robber, to which Jake dived behind the shelf as the bullets ricochet, too close for the cab-driver’s liking.
The horrified whimpers of fear from the other ordinary people spurred him to act, unwilling for ordinary people to get hurt.
The metallic ring of his pocket knife rang was drowned by the robber’s insistent growls for the money and Jake was lucky enough to twist from his hiding place and fling the knife at the man clad in black.
The knife buried itself within his leg and immediately the man howled in pain, clutching his bleeding leg, hobbling in an almost comical way.
The New Yorker steeled himself, while the man’s attention was completely focused on his agony of the wound, Jake tackled him to the ground.
Punches rained down on the male, a vice-like grip attempted to keep the man’s wrist in place and in a position where he was unable to use the deadly gun.
Jake, of course, was holding back. But he had to force himself too, he for one couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt, nor could he let Marc bear the brunt of his actions, with the law.
The man spat at him and Jake curled his lip disgusted as he narrowly avoided the spit, but that was all he needed to rip Jake’s grip off, twisting his arm so the gun was dangerously between the two as they wrestled desperately for control.
The shot rung out.
The gun had fired.
Jake had to rip himself out of his pain-filled haze, the adrenaline allowing him to yank the gun from his feeble grip and bring it down on his head, a cut splitting open, the man’s eyes rolling up.
The New Yorker felt himself meet the ground, sagging as his energy sapped, his blood staining his clothes crimson, leaking through his calloused fingers.
Fuck.
A groan stole from his throat, heaving breaths as his coughs rattled wetly.
That…wasn’t good…
“Jake?” Steven’s voice was a feeble mutter. Terrified , his eyes wide in fear, filled with tears.
“Hey kid.” He murmured back, blinking back the dark spots that were dancing in his vision.
“You’ll be alright, just…hang on.” Steven seemed to try and convince himself more than the other, forcing himself to try and remain calm, despite the severity of the situation.
Despite the growing obviousness that he had no idea what he was doing…
Twisting to glance behind him, Steven regarded the locked door with sheer distress.
“Marc!” Steven screamed, his voice echoing in the hallways, carrying itself through the mindscape.
“Marc! Please. Jake’s dying !”
The lack of answer didn’t surprise Steven and yet, it stole his hope and Steven found his hands lacing in his hair, trying to force himself to the present.
“Kid.” HIs voice wasn’t responding properly and the words were deeply slurred.
“Jake, you’re going to be fine. Just fine, don’t fall asleep.”
The New Yorker knew death, it had become a constant within his life, a swirling dance that always left him in fear.
It never made anything easier.
It never made this easier and the stray tear traced down his cheek at the realisation.
There was an accumulating crowd of onlookers surrounding him . Jake noted numbly, unable to bring himself to care. People calling out orders about medics and urgency.
No hospitals . Jake’s tongue felt akin to lead, but he managed to gasp it out. They ignored him and continued as if he had said nothing.
“Keep pressure on it.” Steven said firmly, pacing the room with the sheer powerlessness he was faced with.
“Kid listen to me.”
“No.” Steven shook his head, refusing to listen to his brother’s calls. “Jake, bloody hell. You are not dying.”
“Steven. Please .”
The sheer vulnerability halted Steven’s flurry of words and Jake tried to collect his frayed thoughts, forcing himself to keep breathing.
It never got easier, the feeling of your body shutting down painfully slowly. Agonisingly.
“Listen, if we get through this, we’ll probably end up in hospital. I need you to promise me that you won’t take control of the body. Neither of you can.”
Steven was immediately taken aback by the request, speechless. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to wrap his mind around what Jake was thinking.
“Wha…why?”
A silent cry emitted from his throat and it was with a deep startling realisation that the bullet was still inside him.
“Kid please. They’ll want to drug us , lock us up. Please let me protect us.”
Steven rapidly nodded his head, his emotions running high; despite the dawning relief at the sound of sirens drawing closer.
Jake breathed out, a sigh of relief.
He would never let his kids go through the horrors of another therapist, ever again.
And his eyes fluttered shut, despite the growing insistence and alarm from Steven, which seemed to fade into silence.