Work Text:
The ship isn’t stopping. Steven is in the sands, and the ship isn’t stopping. Where the hell is the hippo? Why isn’t she doing anything? Steven is going to die and they aren’t turning around. They aren’t going back. He can’t just leave him, he can’t lose him. He can’t go through this again.
“Stop! Stop the damn boat! Steven!”
He’s staggering. He’s slowing down. He’s not gonna make it.
Marc looks around him for anything he can grab, but the deck is empty. No rope, no lifeboat, no spare planks. Steven is out there, dying, and Marc can’t— He can’t do a thing to stop it.
“Come on!”
The winds are too strong and too fast. The ship groans as it sails through the desert. His heart—he doesn’t have one, not anymore—beats loud in his ears, and all he can do is watch as Steven loses his footing.
“Steven!”
Marc sees him reach out, his palm tilted up in a way that’s all too familiar.
Help me! Marc! Mom!
No. No noNoNO please! Not Steven, not this time, not again!
“Stop the boat, stop the— Steven! STE—”
Silence.
He chokes on the word as he stares at the expanse of reeds. The sounds are muted, pleasant, peaceful, and he can’t remember if he’d been here forever or… Well, there’s only one answer, isn’t there?
He brushes his lip with his thumb, mouthing the rest of whatever he was going to say.
Ven. Ven what? Venture, vendor, vengeance?
It’s important, that much he knows. He presses a hand to his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. It’s dangerously quick, but he can’t actually feel anything. He should, though, right?
He turns around. More reeds greet him.
Something isn’t right.
Oh my days, he expects to hear. We’re here. We’re in the Field of Reeds.
But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t know why he would.
“Marc!”
Who?
A boy runs up to him, tackling him around the waist. When he pulls back, they’re almost at eye level. “RoRo?” His voice is light. Was it always? Yes, it must be. He’s young, only two years older than his brother.
His brother— brother? Hold on, he doesn’t have a… No, he does. He did. Still does? He—
“Are you okay, Marc?”
Marc had a brother. He did, he does. RoRo is— was his brother. He’s gone, so why is he here? “You died.”
RoRo stares at him, and Marc realizes how mean that must sound.
“Sorry, I—”
“No. I mean yeah, I am dead. No, it’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize.”
You were supposed to protect him. This is all your fault!
“Marc?”
I shouldn’t have brought him in that cave. I shouldn’t have brought him—
“Marc!”
You’ve always been jealous of him. Since he was born. You wanted him gone, and look what you did.
Small hands grip his shoulders and shake him so suddenly, his first reaction is to shove RoRo away. He shoves hard, and given that he’s always been bigger, RoRo falls on the ground, wincing and holding his ankle. Marc just hurt him.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—”
“You said the ‘s’ word.”
Marc blinks. RoRo does too, almost owlishly. He grins and climbs back to his feet, closing the distance again without a smidgen of fear.
“What’s it like being all grown up? Do you go on any adventures?”
He’s kneeling now, but he’s still at eye level. Was he smaller before? No, he was always like this. He must have grown up. He is a grown up, and RoRo… Randall isn’t.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low again. “Yeah, I did.”
“Cool.” Randall traces Marc’s stomach and chest, frowning when he comes across a scar— wounds.
They’re still open. There’s two of them. There always is. Why are there two? How did he get them?
“Was it hard?”
Marc laughs. It comes out dry. “Yeah, cus you weren’t there, Rosser.”
“And I would follow you anywhere, Dr. Grant,” Randall shrugs. “But, ah… It’s not your time yet, you know.”
He’s young again. The wounds are gone. “What do you mean?”
Randall— RoRo’s smile looks far older than it should be. “Steven needs you.”
“But, I’m—”
“Not Dr. Grant. Steven. Remember?”
No. Yes. Ven, STEven. He remembers calling out, he remembers nothing. RoRo is all he sees, all he knows. The reeds are all he knows, right? No.
“I’ll be here when you come back. Steven needs you now.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“I can wait.”
All the questions ground to a halt. Everything becomes clear for a single moment. He moves to hug him. He stops from doing so.
“I left you last time.”
“You had to.”
“I took too long.”
RoRo nods. “You won’t this time.”
“You died because of me.”
“That’s okay. I forgive you.”
Why doesn’t he get it? It was Marc’s fault RoRo died a needless death, his future cut short by the selfishness of his protector. If Marc hadn’t insisted, hadn’t pushed for it, hadn’t led them too far in, then RoRo wouldn’t be dead.
RoRo died because of him. There’s no forgiving that.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Marc…”
The fields dim. The sun—there is no sun. There’s just light and grain and paradise—goes out and they are shrouded in darkness. The warmth seeps out into cold sand as the reeds fall away around them.
“You need to forgive yourself.”
“How can I?” His voice breaks at the end. RoRo doesn’t mention it because he is everything that Marc isn’t. He’s good, he’s light, he’s worth protecting. Marc isn’t. Just look at his past, and wow, there’s a lot of it.
Almost thirty years of death and destruction wherever Marc goes. For a blissful moment, the field made him forget.
“Stop blaming yourself,” RoRo says, grabbing Marc’s hands despite the cold of the desert freezing his fingers. “That’s a good start, right?”
“It’s my fault.”
“You didn’t mean to.”
“I still did.”
RoRo sighs. “Marc.”
He looks up. He’s kneeling again.
Randall smiles and bumps his fist against Marc’s arm. “You’re an amazing brother. You were to me, and you are to Steven. I don’t blame you for what happened. You shouldn’t either.”
“Steven hates me.”
“No he doesn’t.”
“How would you know?”
It comes out venomous, but Randall shrugs it off. “I just do. If I had to choose a brother in the whole wide world, I would choose you.”
He scoffs. “In the whole world?”
“In the whole wide world.”
The cold loosens enough for Marc to move forward, stopping just before he can pat Randall on the shoulder. Randall takes the last step and throws his weight at Marc. He doesn’t let go this time.
“I love you, Marc.”
“I…”
“I know. You don’t have to say it.”
He sucks in a breath and brings his arms up, slowly wrapping them around his little brother’s back. “I love you too.”
When he opens his eyes, he sees Steven in the sand. Randall is nowhere to be found. Behind him is the field, peace, and the promise of rest. If he holds out his hand, he knows he can return and never hurt again. No blame, no curse, no pain.
His feet start moving, and he goes deeper in the desert. Steven needs him. He’s not going to leave him behind.
“Lookin’ pretty rough, man.”