Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The apartment building you lived in had six floors total. You lived on the fifth floor. You swore the people above you stomped on purpose and the people below you hit their ceilings with their broomsticks and mop handles. The neighbors across the hall and next door liked to slam their door shut whenever they were entering or leaving their flat. But the worst neighbor lives three doors down the hall towards the elevator of the floor level. He yelled and screamed, a couple of times you heard him laughing about nightmares. You thought he was doing drugs and was having a bad trip but he never showed signs of drug use.

One time, you were in the elevator with him when he looked so frightened about something outside of the elevator doors. The terrified expression he wore really scared you because you didn’t see anything, it didn’t help that the lights were flickering in the hallway before the door closed and he continued to be frightened on the elevator ride. Even when you lived in New York up until you were fifteen, nothing scared you like that. Well, maybe the giant rats did and the mole people, but nothing was that terrifying until you were trapped in a small box with your weird as hell neighbor.

You needed change and moving over a thousand miles across the Atlantic ocean and new identity helped that. You are sixteen years old, although your travel documents and your forged birth certificate state that you are eighteen. You would have gone a couple years older than eighteen but you didn’t think you could properly pass as a twenty year old; and you still were working for your high-school diploma, even though you could absolutely bullshit your level of education on job applications, you’d rather be familiar with topics sixteen and eighteen year olds know so if someone were to question you, you would know.

You still kept your real name rather than a fake one. It was more of a convenience factor and reliability, so if someone were to say your real name you would respond to it. It was also a sign of respect for your parents. They were no longer in your life, they would never be again.

The neighbor to your right slams their door shut causing the picture frames on the wall to sway from side to side. You sigh as you watch the fake golden frames to see if today was going to be the day that they would fall. Part of you wanted the picture frames to fall, maybe if your neighbor heard the shatter of the glass they would feel bad and would finally stop slamming their doors after you asked them to. But alas, the frame slowed to a stop and sat precariously on the tack you shoved into the drywall. Maybe another day.

Sunlight shone through your windows, soon the sun would be setting and it would be too dark to go out and do the grocery shopping you’ve been procrastinating on. For the fourth time that afternoon you recount through the pile of money you’ve been saving for groceries. Forty one pounds, the equivalent of fifty United States dollars. It would have to be enough for the bus transportation of five pounds for the ride to the store and back and for the food you need- not the cake slice you’ve been wanting. With a sigh, you pocket the money into your jean jacket and zip up the pocket to make sure that the money doesn’t fall out. Grabbing your keys off of the kitchen counter before slipping on your sneakers, you exit your flat and lock the door behind you.

The hallway was dark as normal, the building was furnished to look nice for those who may want to live there after half of the population needed to rehome due to the blip. But, they of course overlooked the lighting. You began to slow to a stop in front of your weird neighbors door. The last time you saw him he was being carried out of his flat by two police officers, he’s been the talk of this building since nothing very interesting happens around here. Well, except for the vilangante dressed in white a white suit and cape. But, that wasn’t your neighbor, that was some weirdo fighting something that bystanders could only describe as the force from Star Wars.

Purple aliens exist and that bastard killed half of the population, at this point you wouldn’t be surprised if there were aliens that you couldn’t see. Now, you placed your ear against the wooden door and listened for any noise that would show that he was back. But all you heard was a noise of water filtering that sounded like a fish tank. Your eyes landed on the floor of the hallway, there was sand outside of his door. You scrunch your eyes and remove your ear from the door before continuing on your journey towards the elevator. Why was there sand outside of his door?

You pushed the elevator button and waited for it to arrive on your floor, your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth as you watched the numbers flash for each floor it was passing to reach yours. You looked over your shoulder and back to his apartment, part of you expected for him to open his door and chastise you about eavesdropping, it really was rude of you to do but you couldn’t help but be curious. Wasn’t there a rumor that he got arrested for destroying his workplace toilets? Maybe he really was using drugs and it was so early on that he did not develop any symptoms yet.

The elevator opens and you step into the metal box before pressing the number for the first floor. Your eyes flicker away from the button and to the hallway, your lips part and your eyes stare as you watch the lights flicker several times before the doors close and you begin your descent. It was weird and stupid of you to think there was any correlation between your frightened neighbor screaming his head off in the elevator, the vigilante in the white suit fighting invisible creatures, and now you being alone in the same elevator he was in, but still chills ran down your spine at the thought of creatures you couldn’t see were following you around.

—

The walk to the bus stop and the ride itself was uneventful, even the walk to the store was boring. Throughout your journey to get food for the week, your mind was consumed by your strange neighbor’s whereabouts, was he still in jail? Was it true that he wrecked his workplace toilets and if so, why? What was he screaming at? Your hand reaches for the bag of frozen mixed vegetables and you pause in your reach. You remembered the flickering of the hallway lights from earlier today, was something there that you couldn’t see? You shook your head at the thought, that’s ridiculous right? You nod to yourself as you place the bag into your basket and walk towards the bakery section of the store. The last thing you needed was bread, you already gathered bagged rice, frozen chicken, and vegetables. Last week you spent some money on peanut butter and jelly, which you still had leftovers for, but you ran out of bread this morning. You’ve been on a budget since moving to England, your parents had very little in savings to pass down to you and the little you saved for college you used for the deposit on the apartment and the first six months of rent.

You didn’t have much to spend on goodies. The money you earned from your job working at a sandwich shop went towards rent, bills, and groceries. You didn’t have much left over to spend, the little you did went towards your weekly transportation between work and home, and home and the store. You stopped in the bakery section, your eyes landed on the single slices of cake they put at the end of the aisles for easy selling to hungry customers. The price of the single chocolate cake slice costs half as much as the loaf of bread you needed. Your mouth watered at the treat you’ve been craving.

You haven’t had cake since your fifteenth birthday, your sixteenth you spent the day working and came home to an empty apartment. You unzipped your jacket pocket and counted the cash you budgeted for this week’s trip. It was still the same amount you counted when you left. Forty-one pounds. It was silly of you to think that more cash would have magically appeared in your pocket on the way to the store. With a sigh, you put the cash back into your pocket and zipped it shut. Your hands knit together, bringing the basket closer to your torso as your tongue darted out and wet your lips, your eyes never left the slice of cake.

Okay, it’s just one slice. You can eat peanut butter right out of the jar with a spoon, besides it’s just a little treat. You deserve a treat. With a bit of excitement, you grabbed the top container of chocolate cake and put it in the basket before walking to the self-checkout section. Respectfully paying for the items you selected, you leave the store with a small hop in your step. You were smiling to yourself, your stomach began growling as you thought about the treat you bought. Two years ago- with your timeline of events because it’s still hard to wrap your mind around that you lost five years of your life due to an alien with personal issues- you wouldn’t have thought that cake would become a treat that you would have to choose bread over the majority of the time. You wouldn’t have thought that your sixteen year old self would be moving to another continent and living by yourself, but here you are.

The setting sun glared into your eyes as you jogged to the bus stop, your fingers were wrapped around your grocery bags. The red hound bus was slowly approaching the stop and quickly you picked up your pace, by the time you got onto the bus and paid the fee, you were out of breath. One of your hands wrapped around the pole attached to the ceiling and floor of the vehicle as you prepared for the lurch of the bus before it continued on its daily route. You had roughly twenty minutes until your stop before it would be another ten minutes on foot before you reached your apartment.

The bus was crowded with evening travelers, there wasn’t a single spot open to sit down in any of the seats. Most of the passengers stared at their phones, while others looked out the window of the vehicle. You were one of the latter people. You watched the scenery as you passed by, the television shows you watched back when you were in Northern America that took place in London didn’t do it any justice. It was a beautiful city, everyday the sight of the same locations you saw always made you breathless. Especially during the times of the setting or rising sun and moon hit just right between buildings and through the crossing of branches from trees.

You wanted to record the everyday life of beautiful moments like this one and post them online for your friends and family who follow you on social media to see. But, you never did, they thought you were dead. One of the unlucky who was in the wrong place when being blipped back into existence. Just like your parents were. It was better for them to believe that you were dead anyways. Your hand tightened around the pole as the bus slowed to a stop before you released your grip and exited the bus, mumbling a thank you to the driver as you left.

The walk to your apartment was quiet, there weren’t a lot of people out at this time. Most of the population of London was eating dinner and beginning to unwind from the day. You switched the bag of food from your right and to your left to give the joint a break. You were just a few minutes away from your apartment, plans to relax for the evening began to flood your mind but, of course, life had other plans. You let out a yell of surprise as you were shoved into a nearby alley, your shoulder hit the brick wall and you grunted at the impact. Your eyes flickered to the person who shoved you.

The person wore dark blue jeans and a long sleeved black shirt along with a mask covering the lower half of their face. They wore a baseball cap, strands of brown hair poked out underneath as their brown eyes glared daggers at you.

“Give me your money,” the man hisses, flicking open his switchblade. You swallow as your eyes stare at the knife. Great, you were getting mugged. The money you did have was from the leftovers that you didn’t spend on bread, you were going to use that for next week’s trip to the store. Slowly, you dropped your grocery bag to the ground and unzipped your pocket and pulled out the single pound.

“Are you bloody joking?” He asks while he snatches the pound from your hand.

“No,” you say, “I don’t have much money.”

“Give me your phone,” he demands as he stuffs the pound into his jean pocket. You swallow, and despite the sharp blade glinting in the setting sun and the sight of it causing you to panic a bit, you shook your head. You have too many irreplaceable things on the device. Too many pictures of a time before that you have yet to download onto a flash drive or print out. He’s not getting the damn phone.

“Are you mad? I have a knife and you’re refusing to give me your phone?” He says, it didn’t sound like a question. He steps forward and presses the tip of the blade into your neck as his other hand reaches for your jacket pocket. You clench your hands into a fist as you try to remember the correct way that your dad taught you how to throw a punch. Was the thumb supposed to be on the inside of your hand or the outside to prevent a broken joint?

The mugger smelled like cigarettes as he patted your pockets for the phone. Fuck it, you thought. You breathed in as you prepared to throw hands for your phone but a voice stopped you and it didn’t belong to the mugger.

“Step away from them,” a British voice says. Carefully, you shifted your head towards the entrance of the alley, the mugger was already looking at the new person. You barely contained your surprise as you saw the familiar figure of your neighbor standing with confidence and a dark look in his brown eyes. Well, your neighbor is no longer arrested so that solves that question of his whereabouts.

But despite how confident he looked in his abilities to beat this guy’s ass, you didn’t feel very hopeful. Your neighbor looked like he hadn’t been in any fights before, and the screaming from whatever he saw in the elevator that day really diminished any confidence you had in his abilities. Maybe, you should throw that punch now. Your neighbor took a step forward, his posture straightened and his jaw clenched as he continued the strides towards the two of you. With a little hesitation, you turned your head back to the mugger, feeling the knife’s tip dig a little deeper into your skin and blood ran down your throat. You exhaled as you brought your right hand up and punched the mugger right the nose, he gasped and stumbled back as he clutched his nose. A string of swear words directed towards you left his mouth as your neighbor picked up him by the shoulder and pushed him into the brick wall.

Your hand stung, you spared a glance down at your fist to make sure that you didn’t break it, it didn’t feel like it at least thanks to the adrenaline coursing through you. You glared at the mugger as you noticed that the handle of your groceries were wrapped around his ankle and your neighbor was stepping directly on the bag. Fuck, there goes your cake and more importantly your food for the week.

“You do this to everyone?” Your neighbor asks, his British accent was gone and was replaced by an American one. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as you watch the scene play out. He adds, “or just to kids?” You frown as the mugger shakes his head, the knife was discarded to the pavement.

“No,” the mugger says, his hands are wrapped around the wrists of your neighbor. “I do this to everyone, it’s an equal opportunity for everyone.” Your stomach churned at his statement. It was obvious that he has done this before because of how confident he was to do it to you, but to state that it was “an equal opportunity” was what sickened you. It was possible that he did this to kids younger than you. You watch as your neighbor balled his hand into a fist and punched the mugger once, twice, three times until you finally had to look away when blood splattered on the brick wall and surrounding surfaces. You felt nauseated listening to the cracks on bones and groans coming from the mugger’s mouth.

It felt like ages before you finally heard the noise stop and the soft sound of footsteps approach you. You should have left, you could be in danger because of how deranged your neighbor seemed. But, you stayed and you weren’t sure why until your neighbor bent down a bit your height and carefully placed a hand onto your shoulder. You flinched before your head slowly turned to look at him, his eyes were filled with worry and so much care that it gave you whiplash from the man that saved you from mugging and anything else that could have happened and to him making sure that you were okay.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his accent was back to British. Your stomach churned and you shook your head a little before you quickly shoved him a bit to the side and threw up onto the pavement. A hand was placed gently onto your back and rubbed small circles into your spine. He says, “Come on, I’ll walk you back home.” You stand up after making sure that you weren’t going to throw up any more. You spared a glance at the unconscious body on the ground but just your eyes landed on it and your neighbor blocked your view with his body. Your eyes trailed up his torso before you looked at your neighbors face. Blood was smeared on his cheek and there were specks of it dotting across his skin.

“You live three doors down from me right?” He asks, back to the American accent. His jaw wasn’t as clenched as it was before and the crinkles around his eyes looked more relaxed. What the hell is going on? Is your hearing fucked or are you really hearing him switch accents?

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, but it didn’t sound like you. Did you speak or did you imagine that? You must have spoken because your neighbor nodded. He gently places a hand back onto your back before pushing you towards the entrance of the alley.

“I’ll walk you home and explain to your parents that you’re in shock and what happened, alright?” He says. You cross your arms over your chest and begin your walk home, his words still struck a chord in you though. Who is he going to explain what happened to? Your parents are dead, you have nobody to explain the events of today to. You have nobody to come home to.

“I live alone,” You say quietly. You still weren’t sure if you were speaking or not. He looks at you with a bit of surprise.

“Really, you look like you’re sixteen,” He states, you nod and pinch your fingers onto your arm. Pain surfaced from the area you pinched and you nod to yourself. Right, this isn’t a dream, this is real. Your neighbor beat up your mugger and you’re in shock. Right, okay.

“How do you feel about coming over to my place then, just to make sure that you’re going to be okay,” He speaks with a British accent. You bite the inside of your cheek and feel a sting from the flesh before the taste of metal fills your mouth. You should go with him, just to have someone look after you until the shock wears off. Although, you had half the mind to decline his offer because you really weren’t sure if he was a drug addict and he did just probably kill somebody. Still, despite this thought, you threw all caution out the window and decided to trust this man, he did just save your life. If he wanted you dead he could have killed you in the alley with that one guy. Think positive, what could go wrong?

“Okay,” you say.

Chapter Text

Whenever you were bored being cooped up in your flat, your mind wandered. You tried to stay away from reflecting on the past, on your old life and your dead parents, so you usually focused on thoughts of work and how to make extra cash without it being too sketchy. But, ever since the incident in the elevator with your neighbor, you got invested in the life of your odd neighbor. You imagined that he was a drug addict, and the familiarity of the D.A.R.E campaigns and the whole assemblies your high-school had for anti-drug use showed that these people had terrible lives and would do anything to get the drugs. So, with that background, you imagined that your strange neighbor lived in squalor. 

You thought that his apartment would be severely neglected and trashed, maybe infested with cockroaches. So, when your neighbor opened the door to his flat, you were a bit surprised when you saw the apartment wasn’t exactly what you imagined it to be. It was messy, but it was an organized mess. Stacks of Egyptology books and notes were strewn across any surface that wasn’t the floor. The dining table was cluttered on one end with more books and papers, a single spot was open for seating. In the center of the room was a huge fish tank, the bright illuminance caught your attention, a small orange fish swam in the center of the tank. Your neighbor held the door open for you as you entered his flat, and he shut it behind you. You walked the short distance to the tank and saw a single goldfish with two fins. 

“That’s Gus the Second,” your neighbor says in a British accent. You glance over your shoulder towards him, he was taking off his gray jacket and hanging it up on a hook near the door. Before he strode in your direction and stopped next to you, the two of you stared at the goldfish for a moment in silence before you ask, “What happened to the first?” 

“Went to the Field of Reeds I suppose,” he shrugs. 

“What?” 

“It’s like heaven or hell or whatever. The afterlife of eternal peace.”

“Oh,” was all you said. You didn’t know much about your neighbor but he didn’t strike you as a religious man. You walk towards the stacks of books on the table and bend down a bit to read the titles on the spine of the book. All of them were about Egyptian culture and history. The papers scattered across the surface of the table had neat handwriting. Briefly, your eyes scanned a page of notes about the god named Anubis. The god of death, on the right side of the page there was a well drawn sketch of the god, its head was of a dog and the rest of the body looked human. 

“You’re a historian?” you ask. Your neighbor crossed the room and looked down at the papers cluttered on his table.

“No, I just had an interest in the Egyptian gods,” he says, “I used to work in the gift shop at the museum downtown, but I got fired for breaking the toilets.” 

“You just had a bad trip?” 

“What?”

“I thought you were a drug addict but there’s no sign of drug use. Did you just have a bad trip and break the toilets?” You ask, your neighbor stares at you in near disbelief before shaking his head. 

“You thought I did drugs?”

“Well, yeah. You were screaming your head off in the elevator a couple weeks ago.” You say, you place your hand on your hip as you wait for him to respond. He stares at you and you don’t break eye contact. You add, “You also disappeared for a while, I saw you get carried out of your apartment in handcuffs. Did you go to rehab or something because I haven’t seen you since.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “The whole building must think I’m mental.” You shrug.

“You’d fit right at home in America.” You say as you squint at him, noticing for the first time today that he had a tan. He laughs at your statement, his hands clutching his head in embarrassment. You turn your head to your left and let your eyes wander his apartment before you felt satisfied enough that this wasn’t a place that an addict lived. 

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says before walking to the small kitchen nook and turning on the sink faucet. He runs his hands underneath the water for a minute before scrubbing his face with his hands. You assumed he was washing the blood off of him before he was going to make some tea to help settle both of your nerves. 

“Feel free to take a seat.” He adds, you shrug off your jacket and place it on the back of the chair before sitting down. You cross your legs as you watch him snatch the kettle off of the stove top and fill it with water from the sink faucet before placing it back onto the stove. He reaches into his cupboard and pulls out a box of tea bags and places it down onto the counter. He then leans against the counter, crossing his arms and looks at you. You both stare at each other, this time his stares feel like he’s observing you rather than thinking of what to say to fill the silence. 

For a moment, you thought that you insulted him with your questions and he’s trying to not be too upset with it but as soon as the question began to form in your mind, he asked with an American accent this time, “Do you feel better?” You did feel better, you felt more like yourself then you did during your mugging, your hand still kind of stings though. You glance down at your fist and notice some bruises forming on your knuckles. 

“I do,” you say and trail your gaze back to him, the question was on the tip of your tongue but you had a more important thought form in your mind. Was the mugger dead? You didn’t see him breathing but that was because your neighbor blocked your view. 

 “Did you kill him?” You ask quietly. Your heart pounded against your chest as you waited for his answer.

“No, just knocked him out.” He says, you hum. You suppose he wouldn’t have confirmed that he killed the guy because that would make him a murderer and he wouldn’t want to make you more upset. You don’t want to be associated with a murderer, the police would arrest you and they might look more into the life you created. They might realize that you are a teenager from America with dead parents. Everything that you built for yourself over the past year would be all for nothing. 

“I’m sorry if I insulted you with my questions,” you say. He blinks and nods slowly. 

“All is forgiven,” he simply says. You wait a moment to see if he will add anything but nothing comes out of his mouth. You both silently wait for the other to speak. The silence didn’t feel uncomfortable but you definitely felt a bit tense. You were sitting in your strange neighbors apartment, who happened to be at the right place and the right time to save you from the mugger, and who you never spoke to up until fifteen minutes ago. Your parents taught you to never go into strangers’ homes or cars and yet here you were going against exactly that. Did you have a death wish or did you just not care anymore?

“What’s your name, kid?” He asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You tell him your name and he introduces himself as Marc. It would have been nice to meet Marc underneath any other circumstance but unfortunately you didn’t have the opportunity for that. The kettle began to scream from the water being boiled and Marc turned his attention to that. He pours the liquid into two mugs and places one tea bag into each cup before carrying them to the table. 

“I don’t know how you like your tea,” he says with a British accent this time. His posture was slightly slouched and he looked more anxious than he was moments ago. You smile in thanks. You weren’t much of a tea drinker but you were raised to be respectful and kind to people who offered food that you didn’t care for. Don’t be picky, your parents told you. Marc pushes some papers and books to the side, clearing a spot for him to sit down. The two of you sat in silence for a few moments as you blew on your mug to help it cool down faster. The silence seemed to stretch on as you played with the string of the tea bag. You wrapped it around your index finger as questions about Marc flooded your mind. 

Finally, after some brief hesitation you ask, “What’s with the accent change?” He looked a little surprised at the question, his brown eyes were wide as he glanced from his drink to you. Your cheeks flushed as you rethought back to how you phrased the question, it did sound a bit rude didn’t it? 

“I’m sorry if I sounded rude,” you say, a sheepish smile beginning to spread across your face. “It’s just that I noticed that you speak with an American accent and a British one and I just was wondering why.” He sipped his tea which has steam still rising from it. You watched him quietly as his eyes went to the fishtank and he stared at it for a few moments. 

“I know that, Marc.” He says, you blink as he begins to have a conversation with himself. “Well, someone was bound to find out about it sooner or later.” 

Maybe you were right about the drugs, maybe he was using and this was the beginning of one of the drug trips. Your eyes shifted to the steaming tea that you have yet to drink. Did he put something in your drink while you were too busy with your own thoughts to notice? Your parents warned you not to take anything from strangers and yet, you accepted a cup of tea. His sigh and movement of him pinching his nose in your peripheral vision caught your attention. 

“I’m Steven Grant,” He says, he lifted his hand as a handshake and you hesitantly took it. His grip was loose and awkward, you thought that he would have a firmer handshake by the way that he carried himself but you were wrong. He lets go of your hand and shoots you a comforting smile, but you didn’t feel very comforted by it. You felt a bit anxious actually. 

“Not many people know this- just our wife, well ex-wife- I didn’t know I was married honestly,” He begins to ramble and you shift in your seat, your mind racing with excuses to tell him to get the hell out of his apartment. His face falters as he glares at the fish tank once more, was he glaring at the fish?

“I’m getting to it,” He says to the tank before taking a deep breath and continuing, “We have dissociative identity disorder and if you don’t mind we would like you to keep quiet about it. Y’know so, the whole bloody building doesn’t think we’re mental.” He looked nervous as he finished his statement. You knew a little about the disorder, mainly from YouTube recommendations of psychological disorders, but you were a bit educated on it. Honestly, this made a hell of a lot more sense about your strange neighbor and it comforted you a bit to have this knowledge about them. It made you feel a bit more comfortable knowing they weren’t under the influence of drugs. 

“Okay,” you say. He looked surprised at your calmness. You add, “I’m not going to tell anyone because it’s not my business to tell and besides I don’t have many friends. So, your secret is safe with me.” Steven looked a bit relieved and he let out a laugh. You ask, “So, when you talk to the fish tank you’re talking to Marc?” 

“Yeah, but it’s a reflective surface, really. Mirrors, hub caps, forks…” Steven trails off and you hum in response. He looks back to the tank and frowns, “Marc says that you look pretty young.”

“I should be flattered that you think I look younger than I actually am,” You joke. You felt way less anxious than you were moments ago. The switch between Steven and Marc was subtle. First the obvious was the accents, you were slowly realizing that Marc spoke with an American accent and Steven spoke in a British one. The second was the posture, Steven sat in a slouched position while Marc had a more straightened spine. And the third, was the expressions they wore on their face. Marc seemed more hardened while Steven was soft and kind of relaxed. Those were just three new things you noticed about your neighbor, you were nosey after all. 

“How old are you?” Marc asks, you unraveled the tea bag string from your finger and wrapped your hands around the mug instead. The metallic taste from biting your cheek earlier was still in your mouth and it didn’t taste pleasant. Marc and Steven trusted you enough to tell you their secret and they did beat up your mugger and saved you from anything else that could have happened. Maybe, you should return that trust and tell them your own secret. It would probably be smart to make sure someone else knew that you were a teenager anyways. 

“Papers say I’m eighteen.” You say without looking at him. In your perhevial, you see him give you a hard look. You lift the cup to your lips and take a sip of the tea. It tasted like lemon and raspberries even with it stinging your tongue from the heat. You add, “I’m sixteen, turning seventeen this year." 

"Jesus, kid.” Marc rubs his palm down his face. He was surprised that you were able to get away with acting like an adult for this long. He asks, “You’ve been living here for about six months, right?” You were a bit surprised that he noticed your existence over the last half of the year, you don’t think you told them about how long you’ve moved to London. 

"A year,” You correct him and he rubs his face with his hand. “You just moved in about six months ago.” It was his turn to show his surprise. 

“You’ve been keeping tabs on us, kid?” 

“There’s not much else to do. Besides, I only ever really began when you or Steven was screaming bloody murder at something I couldn’t see.” You admit sheepishly. You wanted to ask him about it but it felt like the wrong time to do so, maybe later. 

“You went through a lot of effort of forging documents and flying across the Atlantic sea to live in London,” Marc points out, “Why go through all that effort? What are you running from?”

“Who said I’m running?" 

“No teen goes through changing their birth date and flies over sea just to live in London.” 

“I’m not running from the law or anything,” You say. He gives you a skeptical look and you roll your eyes at it. What gives him the right to question you? He was a sketchy person, he definitely had something to hide. You feel yourself getting defensive the longer he stares at you as if you were some puzzle he was trying to solve. 

“I noticed that you were screaming your head off at something I couldn’t see, that same night you were out late and came back around two in the morning just to disappear for a week and come back here with a tan and sand outside your door.” You say, letting go of the mug and crossing your arms instead. His expression doesn’t change and for a moment you felt a little regretful of being defensive towards the man who saved you. But, you had to keep in mind that he was a stranger nonetheless. He had no right being in your business just like you had no right being in his. 

“Where are your parents?” Steven asks, the wrinkles on his forehead were smoothed out and his features were more relaxed. He gives you a smile and adds, “You’re a kid who just went through something traumatic and we just want to know that you’re going to be okay.” His eyes were soft and you felt a little guilty about what you said but you still felt like you were in the right. 

“I will be,” You say. He pursed his lips but didn’t push you for any more information and you were glad about it. He slouches a bit as he takes a sip of his tea and gestures to your cup. 

“Is it good?” He asks. You pick up your mug and take a drink of the liquid, it was cool enough that it didn’t burn your tongue.

“It does,” you say after swallowing, “Thank you, Steven.” The two of you sat in silence, neither of you quite knowing what to say. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you noticed that the time was nearing a quarter after nine, your time spent in your neighbors apartment was coming to an end. Soon, you’d be back in your apartment and your plan for dinner was to eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon since your groceries were ruined and lying next to the unconscious man in the alley. You swallow the rest of your drink and stand up from your chair, the wood scraping on the floor as your legs push it back. Steven stood up with you, immediately towering over you due to his height. He looked like he was struggling to come up with something to say so you beat him to it. 

“Thank you Steven and Marc for making sure I’m okay,” You say, the words fell out of your mouth awkwardly as you grabbed your coat from the back of the chair. You looked at the man as you hugged your coat to your chest, “I will see you around, I guess.” You walk towards the door and Steven calls your name which makes you pause in your steps and turn towards him. 

“Shut it, Marc,” Steven says before directing a kind look in your direction, “Feel free to visit anytime you’d like, yeah?” You nod slowly and thank him once again before exiting his apartment and walking down the hall to your own flat. The lights in the hallway were flickering, this time you noticed it was a bit more aggressive. Was there a storm brewing and it was going to cause a power outage? You wondered as your keys unlocked your door and you pushed it open to an empty home. 

Moonlight filtered through the window, it was a cloudless night, there wasn’t a sign for a storm in sight. You have yet to buy proper curtains, instead you bought blankets from the thrift store and tacked it to the wall as makeshift curtains. You flicked on the light and shut the door behind you, making sure it was bolted shut before you tossed your jacket onto the kitchen counter. Grabbing a spoon on top of the drying towel on the counter and opening the cabinet, you grabbed the jar of peanut butter before hopping onto the counter and unscrewing the lid. Your spoon dug into the creamy food before you began to eat it. 

The lights were flickering in your apartment, and if it wasn’t for seeing them flicker in the hallway you would have thought that you forgot to pay your electricity bill. You were on your third spoonful when your mind began to wander over the events of today. You were lucky that your neighbor saved you and nothing else happened to you. Even though some stuff about your neighbor made sense, you were still caught onto the incident in the elevator a couple weeks ago. What was Steven and Marc screaming at? Where did they go for the last week, somewhere obviously with sun and sand, and London doesn’t offer much of the first one. 

You struggled to swallow your dinner as it stuck to the roof of your mouth, it was just your luck that the power went out at that moment. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the darkness as you finally get the last of the peanut butter down your throat. Setting your spoon into the sink next to you, you hop off the counter. You needed a flashlight, lucky for you your phone has one and you knew it was in your jacket pocket. You patted the space next to you for your jacket, your fingers brushed against the jean fabric before you pulled it towards you and began to feel around for the pockets. The moonlight helped your search a little, you carefully walked closer to the window on the living room side of your apartment so the light from outside would be more helpful. You were still patting the fabric of your jacket when movement caught your eye, you paused and looked up towards the opposite side of the room where the door to the hallway was. 

Something was standing there that shouldn’t be there. You had nothing over by the door that could be making that figure. You weren’t sure what you were seeing, but with little moonlight flooding into your flat you could see that it was tall, its head nearly brushed against your ceiling. The shoulders of it were wide and it was holding onto something with a crescent shape at the top of it. You knew nothing could be there, that it was just your eyes tricking you into believing something was there. The mind was a dick that way, but still your heart skipped a beat as you stared at whatever was there. The pit in your stomach tightened and your hands began to shake from fear. 

Slowly, as if it would notice you if you were to move any quicker, your hand patted your jacket until you found your phone. Your fingers wrapped around the cold device and you carefully pulled it out. Just as soon as the lock screen of your phone lit up with the picture of your parents, the lights flickered back to life and your eyes shot to where you saw the figure. Your heart was still pounding against your chest as you took in the room you stood in. Nothing was there. Your mind was just playing tricks on you into believing something was there, you reassured yourself. Your hand clenched tightly around your phone as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took. You just had a bored and over active imagination, you’re safe, nothing is there. 

But despite the self-reassurances and triple checking your flat for any location that someone or something could be hiding in; and making sure the door was bolted shut four times that night. You laid wide awake on your couch, so sure that something was in your apartment with you.

Chapter Text

Work was boring and nothing worthwhile happened. The sandwich shop you worked at offered one free sub per working day, and since you got hired there you’ve been taking advantage of it. So, you didn’t have to worry about bringing the jar of peanut butter and spoon to work for lunch. Although you had the same meal for breakfast as you had for dinner last night. Still, you weren’t looking forward to returning to your flat despite the amount of time you spent trying to convince yourself your eyes were just tricking you. Too many weird things have been happening the past couple of weeks for you to be comfortable with. Over in Egypt, there was a fight between a giant bird skeleton and a dog. There were sightings of the same villagante person that was fighting some invisible force in London being spotted in Egypt. Also, people started dropping dead in the streets while all of this was going on. 

Ever since the Avengers disbanded, nothing has been the same. Captain America retired and the shield was passed over to the Falcon who now works alongside the Winter Soldier. Tony Stark died in the fight against Thanos, the Black Widow died too, and the last you heard was that Thor went into space with a group who called themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy. The only Earth protectors that stayed was Dr. Strange and someone named Spiderman, and there were rumors that Hawkeye went into retirement but that was unclear. Nothing has been the same and quite frankly you didn’t feel safe on this planet. Well, to be fair, you only felt safe before the snap and since the blip nothing was the same. 

You were pulling your keys out of your jacket pocket as you were about to pass Stevens and Marc’s apartment. You slowed to a stop and stared at the wooden door, part of you wanted to knock on their door and learn more about them. You didn’t want to go back to your apartment and be alone, especially with what your mind tricked you into seeing last night. But, you didn’t want to bother your neighbors, they had more important stuff to attend to rather than be bothered by a sixteen year old who’s pretending to be eighteen. Still, you leaned your head against your neighbors door and listened to hear if they’re inside. You heard nothing but the Gus the Seconds fish tank. 

With a sigh, you continued on to your apartment and unlocked the door. Entering your apartment and shutting the door behind you, your eyes scanned the room. The couch you bought from a yard sale around the third month you lived in London sat on the left side of the living room. You don’t have enough saved up to buy a mattress and a bed frame, so you’ve been sleeping on it since you got it. Your laptop you bought from the same yard sale was over ten years old, it was the only one you could afford since a new laptop was out of the question. The computer ran not so smoothly and the fan for the device was loud, but it worked and you were going to use it until you either got a new one or it one day stops working. The wooden table you thrifted from a local thrift store sat behind it, you haven’t bought any dining chairs yet but that was towards the bottom of your list of things to buy. 

The kitchen island countertop was near the doorway, it was mainly used as your coat rack and for mail to pile up on until you decide to clear the space. On the other side of the island was the kitchen, the fridge barely worked and the dishwasher was sometimes a game of random chance so you didn’t use it as much as you would have liked to. A short way away from the kitchen was the bedroom you used to store your clothes and next to that was the bathroom. It was a good priced flat for those who needed a home after they came back from the blip and their old homes were taken up residence by new people.

You tossed your jacket onto the counter before kicking off your shoes and taking off your work uniform of black jeans and a black shirt with the logo of the sandwich shop to change into more comfortable clothing. You didn’t bother to toss your clothes into the garbage sack you used to carry your dirty clothes to the washroom downstairs. Walking into the small kitchen you opened your cupboards to look to see if you had any snacks from previous trips to the store left over, but all that in your cabinets was clean cups, bowls, plates, and peanut butter. You didn’t bother to open the fridge because you knew how bare it was. You knew that being on your own as a teenager was going to be hard but on days like today when all you wanted was fruit snacks to snack on after a long day of work and your mom’s homemade chicken enchiladas made it much more difficult. 

You felt disheartened as you walked away from the kitchen and sat on the couch. You rubbed your eyes as you laid down on the surface of it and stared at the white ceiling for a few moments. Above you, you heard your upstairs neighbors stomping on their floor. Laying on the couch you could feel the vibrations of their stomps. Next door, your neighbor slammed their door shut and the picture frames swayed from side to side, you watched them to see if today was the day the frames would fall and you could finally make your neighbor feel bad. But once again the frames slowed to a stop, today was not that day. As your usual wind down routine, you thought about whether or not you had homework online to do, but you knew that you already were a couple weeks ahead of the course. So, homework wouldn’t be an issue for a while. 

You lifted your phone to your eyesight. The picture of your parents you took when you were fourteen flashed on the screen. Unlocking the phone, you began to scroll through Tiktok. Videos of cute animals played shortly on your screen before you scrolled to next video of a clip of a news reporter talking about the latest events of some mass casualty caused by war between countries. The next video was of more cute animals before the cycle repeats and you begin to mindlessly scroll through the social site. You didn’t realize how much time passed until a knock on your door startled you. Your eyes flickered to the time on your phone, it was a little after six-thirty in the evening and you weren’t expecting anybody. 

Pushing yourself off the couch, you walk to the door and push yourself up on your tiptoes to peek through the eyehole. On the other side of the door you saw Steven or Marc waiting outside of it, they were looking down the hall to their right as they waited for you to answer. Your brows scrunched together at the sight with a bit of confusion, why would they come see you? Maybe they want to clear the air from yesterday? You unbolted the lock and pulled open the door, their head turned to face you and almost immediately you could tell it was Steven by the nervous smile he had on his face. His hair was disheveled and his shirt was wrinkled as he stood in the hall with paper grocery sacks in his hand. Your name leaves his mouth as his eyes crinkle in the corners. 

“Good evening, I brought some food for you since you dropped your groceries in the alley last night,” He says as a greeting. He brought up the paper sacks to bring your attention to them.  Your lips part slightly in surprise at the gesture as he shifts from one foot to the other before he quietly asks if he could come inside. You pull the door open a bit wider for him to walk through the doorway and he passes you before you shut the door behind him. He sets the bags onto the table, his eyes trail around your flat, taking in the home you were slowly building for yourself. You glance down to your work clothes you took off earlier and you quickly pick it up before tossing it into the area that was supposed to be your bedroom. Steven looks down at your feet, seeing that your shoes were off. 

“Do you want me to take off my shoes?” He asks, you look down at your own sock covered feet before you return your attention back to him and shake your head. You felt a bit embarrassed that your flat was messy and a visitor was over. To be fair, you didn’t know Steven was going to knock on your door while carrying gifts, but still you felt a little ashamed that your place was messy and nearly bare. 

“You didn’t have to,” You say. Your cheeks were turning red as you gestured to the two sacks on the table. You felt your stomach begin to growl, you haven’t eaten since lunch and that was nearly seven hours ago. You felt a bit hesitant on accepting the groceries, you didn’t want to be a pity case, you were doing fine on your own; and you didn’t have enough money saved to do anything nice for your neighbor in return since you knew things like this usually had strings attached to them.

“We know,” Steven says, turning to face you directly. You wracked your brain for the things your parents taught you to do when you had guests over. You didn’t have any tea in the cabinets to serve but you did have water. Your eyes took in the jacket he was wearing, and began to jump into action to busy yourself. 

“I can take your coat,” You say, stepping forward and holding out your arms for the jacket. Your words seem to throw him off a bit, but still he peels the jacket off of his torso and hands the clothing over to you. You set it on top of your jacket on the counter and he purses his lips a bit. 

“I would hang it up but I don’t have a coat rack,” You say. He smiles nonetheless and gestures to the sacks on the table. 

“Do you mind if I help you put the stuff up?” He asks. You shake your head and carry one of the sacks into the kitchen, peeking into the bag as you set it on the counter. Red apples, oranges, lemons, fresh broccoli, carrots, and green cilantro sat in the sack. You felt your eyes widen at the treat of the fruits. He reaches into the other sack and begins to put the groceries away. Pork and chicken wrapped in parchment paper was put into the fridge and the bagged rice, boxed elbow noodles, boxed lemon and raspberry tea, and bread was put into the cabinets. But the one thing that caught your eye the most was the single slice of chocolate cake he set onto the counter before he began to unpack the second sack. 

You wanted to cry at the sight of the cake slice. Holy shit, this man paid attention to the things you lost last night. Your nose began to sting which was the first sign that you were about to tear up before the waterworks began. You folded the paper sacks carefully and placed them underneath the sink in case you needed to use them later before you slowly turned back around to Steven.

“You really didn’t have to,” You state, careful to keep your voice steady.

“It was Stevens’ idea,” Marc shrugged and leaned against the counter. 

“I’ll pay you back,” You promised. They had to spend at least seventy dollars on this trip alone and that’s not including the transportation fee for the bus ride there and back. 

“Don’t bother, we actually wanted to make a deal with you and you can pay us back by accepting it.” Marc says, his brown eyes stared at you as you raised an eyebrow at his statement.

“It depends on what it is,” You state, the words pushing past the lump forming in your throat. 

“Steven worries that you don’t have anyone checking in on you to make sure that you’re getting home safe,” He pauses and glares at the window behind you, “Steven, I’m speaking, I’ll get to it in a moment.” He shifts eyes to you, “He wants you to stop by the apartment to check in before heading to yours.” You press your lips together at the request, sure you were sixteen but you did okay on your own up until yesterday. It only became an issue when you revealed your age to these men. 

“And if I refuse?” 

“We’ll turn you into the police for forging documents that have your incorrect age. You’ll go to prison for it and pay a big fine since it’s considered fraud. Maybe you’ll be sent back to America to spend time in prison there instead of here.” The tears were no longer forming due to his words. You clenched your hands and grit your teeth. Son of a bitch. You knew you had to accept since it felt like he wasn’t bluffing. You knew he was doing it to make sure that you would be safe and taken care of, you figured some of that out by the groceries they brought you that they were rooting for you to accept their generous deal. 

Who would buy groceries that would probably be wasted if they thought you would decline their deal? Two- well, three- can play at that game, you had some stuff that you wanted answered and this seemed like the perfect leverage. It was obvious that they really didn’t want to get the police involved, Steven already got arrested for breaking his old workplace toilets. He already had some scuff on his record, he probably didn’t want the police knocking on his door. 

“I want some stuff answered first if I’m going to be going to a stranger’s home everyday,” You say. These two men were still strangers to you even if you knew their names, you didn’t know anything about them except the mental health disorder they shared. 

“Fair. We have some questions for you too,” Marc says. 

“Okay, what do you guys do for work?” You ask, Marc blinks at your question, he wasn’t expecting you to ask about his career first. 

“Steven worked at the gift shop in the museum downtown before he got fired for breaking the toilets.”

“What about you, Marc?”

“I’m unemployed currently. We’re living off of the money we saved over the years.” He says, you nod at his answer. 

“Why did Steven break the toilets?”

“He didn’t, I did.” He answers, you stare at him in disbelief. Marc broke the toilets and Steven lost his job over it, that was so unfair. 

“Why?” You ask and he purses his lips. 

“My turn, why did you fly over a thousand miles to live on your own in London?” He asks instead of answering. Fine, he wants to play twenty questions, you’ll play. 

“I wanted change, moving to a new continent brought it. I wanted to get away from everything after coming back from the blip and a change of scenery and lifestyle helped.” Marc looked a little satisfied with that answer, you suppose you would too if you were in his position. 

“Where are your parents?” Steven asks, you smile bitterly at the question. You didn’t want the pity the answer would bring you. 

“No, it’s my turn to ask the question.” You say instead, “Why did Marc break the toilets?”

“He was protecting us and the toilets were the surrounding surfaces that got destroyed in the process.” Steven says before repeating his question from moments ago. You had to tell them, they were going to find out sooner or later, anyways.

“Dead,” You answer. You don’t look at him as the word falls from your lips, “I didn’t kill them, if that’s your next question. I just..” You trail off, trying to gather the words you haven’t spoken out loud. “They died when everyone came back from the blip,” Your words were shaky and the tears that were forming earlier were coming back. “You know how chaotic it was when people were blipping back into the spots they were in when they vanished.” The day people came back was like a nightmare to you, but a miracle to others. People just appeared in crosswalks they were walking through five years prior, people were free falling through the sky from the plane ride they were on that was no longer there. People who blipped back into existence in locations that they used to live in and the new residents thought they were intruders. 

Your parents were one of the unlucky ones who came back from the blip only to die moments later by getting hit in the middle of the crosswalk they were walking through five years earlier. You felt Steven wrap his arms around you before you realized that it was him. You were crying, warm tears ran down your cheeks as you stood with Stevens arms wrapped around you, your head buried into his chest as he began to rub small circles into your back. 

“I’m sorry,” He says. You breathe in his scent of pine and rosemary as you take a deep, shaky breath.  

“Where were you five years ago?” You ask, your voice muffled by his t-shirt. You wanted to get this game over with so you could be left alone.

“Blipped,” Marc answers, letting go of you and taking a few steps back to widen the distance between the two of you. “Anyone who lives in this building and the rest of the block was on the unlucky side of that. The government was kind enough to support housing for those who lost their homes during the five years we were gone…” He pauses, “I was part of the unlucky, or maybe the lucky. The five years that half of the population vanished must have been hell for those who had to live.“ He swallows and glares at the window pane.

"It was unreal,” You laugh bitterly. “I remember being in my childhood bedroom packing my suitcase for a trip to Michigan’s Great Lakes one moment and suddenly my white walls were shades of yellow and a stranger was standing in my bedroom.” You cross your arms over your chest and trail your eyes over to Marc. At this moment, he looks older and worn down, the bags underneath his eyes seem darker and his features are a bit more soft than when you’ve seen him in the past day. Life was not kind to him. 

“So, why did you break the toilets?” You ask, he tenses at the question. 

“You really aren’t interested in anything other than that mistake?”

“It wasn’t a mistake if you were saving your lives.” You state, he leans back against the counter. 

“You wouldn’t believe me,” He says. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. 

“Yeah, right,” you scoff and roll your eyes at his statement, “and I wouldn’t have believed that a grape with not so great morals dusted half of the universe five years ago until it happened: You pause before adding, “If it makes you feel any better, we had a Hulk in New York, he’s now a half green guy and half human with balanced issues, really seems life he has his shit together now. We also had Thor’s, y’know the god of lightings, brother named Loki, try to take over the world with a scepter. I think whatever you have to say isn’t that far-fetched.” 

Apparently that was enough to make him crack and tell you about him and Steven being the avatar of Khonshu and being his fist of vengeance. He told you about the fight in the bathroom against the jackal. He told you about being the white suited villagante named Mr. Knight and the fight for humanity in Egypt. He didn’t go into plenty of detail about the things he did during his deal with Khonshu, but he seemed to feel a little guilty about whatever he did during that time. He finally ended his story by telling you that he was no longer Khonshus avatar and that he and Steven were free from the deal. 

“You broke the toilets because you were fighting a jackal?” You say, the two of you were now sitting on your couch. You rested your head on your arm as you watched him give you a disbelieving look.

“That’s what you’re caught on the most about?” Marc asks in an exasperated tone. You smile a bit at the question. You could see that it did seem crazy to any outsider who hasn’t lived in New York that your reaction was off, but you lived through some crazy shit.

“Well, yeah, like you were saving humanity from some pretty intense judgment and death, shit like that happens almost on a daily basis in New York. But a jackal?” You shake your head. You already realized that aliens existed when Loki opened the portal to space and let in an army of them back in 2012, but a jackal was a new one. 

“I know it was so cool, but also so terrifying.” Steven says, he looked excited to finally be able to talk about it. “It wasn’t bloody fun to be chased by it in the museum, but it was such a cool thing to look at.” A smile played on the corner of your lips as you pushed yourself up off the couch and walked into the kitchen, grabbing the container of the cake slice and two forks before returning back to the couch. Your stomach grumbles as you pop the seal off and hand Steven one of the forks. 

“Are you sure?” He asks. The metal fork was tiny in his hands, the sight of it made you giggle a bit; but perhaps that was also because you were giddy about the cake slice. You hum in response and stab your fork into the desert, cutting off a piece before popping it into your mouth. It was a rich taste, a lot more sweeter than you remembered it being. You chewed slowly as Steven cut a piece and ate it. 

Swallowing, you asked, “Wait, what were you screaming at in the elevator?” You cut another slice and savor it. Did this cake slice make everything seem like it was going to be okay? Not really, but did it feel like a reward for the crappy stuff you went through yesterday? Yes. Yes it did. 

“The big, old bird,” Steven says after a moment then he adds, “I thought I was going mad.” You cut your final slice, each of you got three fork-fulls and that seemed like it was fair enough. You chewed your final bite slowly, savoring the taste as you pondered Stevens’ statement. It must have been terrifying seeing that and not realizing that you were a gods avatar simply because your alter signed up for the job.

You swallowed before asking the obvious next question, “What does Khonshu look like?” Steven sets down the empty container and his fork onto the table behind the couch before he stands up. 

“Well, he was about ye big,” He starts, raising his hand above his head, “Well, he might have been taller. He wore old and gross bandages around his body and a crescent moon on his chest and a crescent moon shaped staff.” You set your fork on the table behind you as your mind wandered to the events of last night. You know you saw something in your apartment despite wanting to believe it was the trick of the light or some other bullshit; and with the crescent moon shape Steven mentioned to you moments ago it kind of confirmed what you suspected. Should you tell him? 

“What’s wrong, kid?” Marc asks. He was leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs as his hands knit together. “You got this look in your eyes right after Steven told you what Khonshu looks like.” You frowned at that, Marc was a bit too observant for your liking. With the history of being a gods avatar, you supposed he had to be observant for the job. 

“I saw the staff last night.” You admit. Marc tenses as you continue, “Thought I was seeing stuff- y’know how the eyes play tricks on you in the darkness- until you mentioned the crescent staff.” He was frowning as you finished, he looked at the watch he was wearing for a few moments before he nodded. Was it time to go or something? 

“He’s looking for a new avatar to be his vengeance. If he asks you to say no,” He gives you a serious look, “It’s a trap, he takes advantage of people who are vulnerable. It wasn’t pleasant doing his dirty work for him, kid.”

“Yeah, I figured by the guilty look in your eyes earlier.” You say. Silence settled between you as you stared at each other. Guess you both were too observant for either of your likings. 

“We’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing,” Marc says, He pushes himself up off of the couch. He adds, “Don’t forget about our deal,” He says your name in a warning tone. 

“It would be easier if we just exchanged numbers,” You say as you stand with him and hold out your hand for his phone. “That way, I don’t have to stop by the apartment everyday,” he gives you a look before you add with a roll of your eyes, “and if I’m in any serious trouble and I need help, I can get ahold of you and you can do your Mr. Knight stuff.” 

“We don’t do Mr. Knight anymore.” Marc huffs, “and you’re still stopping by the apartment everyday. You don’t have to linger for long, just enough that we know you made it to the apartment building.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have any fighting skills without being Mr. Knight?”

“I didn’t say that. I said we don’t associate with being Mr. Knight.” Marc says, “Do you agree to our terms?” You sigh. Fine, you just had to check in with them for at least a couple of minutes. 

“Yes,” You say. He looks satisfied as he begins to rattle off phone numbers. It took you a few minutes to get the contact number correct since Steven had to go through the settings for his phone to search for his number. But, finally the exchange was complete. 

“Only call my number if it’s absolutely necessary,” Marc says as you finish saving the contact on your phone. “Otherwise, call or text Stevens’ phone.” You raise an eyebrow at that. 

“Why?”

“My phone is a burner phone. Only those I trust get my number, kid. If I’m somewhere I’m hiding and you call and it rings, it kind of defeats the purpose of hiding.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t do Mr. Knight stuff anymore.” 

“We don’t. It’s a ‘just in case,’ thing.” Marc says as he walks to the counter and grabs Stevens’ coat and swings it over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow.” He pulls open the door and says over his shoulder, “Lock the door behind me.” before shutting it. You stood still for a few moments, a frown on your face. That seemed like an abrupt end to the conversation, it was a little rude of him if you’re being honest. Still, you closed the distance between you and the door before bolting it shut. Even though the flimsy bolt wouldn’t protect you from the god if he decides to visit you again. You just hoped that Steven and Marc ended the deal on a good note with the god of vengeance.

Chapter Text

You missed caramel frappuccinos and school mornings. You missed the walks to your high-school with a cold drink in hand on a chilly morning and your best friend scolding you for drinking and holding an iced frappe on a morning such as this one because she knew you were going to force her to hold your hand so you could steal her warmth. You missed her laugh when you told her some dumb joke or something funny that happened in biology. You missed the way that she would talk to you about her crush, she would get this twinkle in her eye and she always had a smile on her face whenever she mentioned him to you. You didn’t know if she snapped and came back five years later to realize what happened or if she mourned the death of her relationship with you for the last five years and expected you to reach out but you didn’t. 

You didn’t call, text, or reach out to her on social media because you didn’t know the life that she lived while you were gone. Five years passed, six now, the last time you saw her she was fifteen. She now could be twenty-one and living in the apartment she dreamed of renting with her future boyfriend. She could be married now, you wouldn’t put it past her because of all the trauma of seeing people suddenly vanish into thin air and the realization that life is precious and it isn’t forever. But, what if she was sixteen and was sitting in Physics alone? You missed her.

You shouldn’t reach out to her because she could easily go to the police and ask them to track you to your location through satellite. You weren’t going to throw away all the progress you have made for yourself just because you were feeling lonely and nostalgic, and the sight of two school girls giggling on the bus didn’t help much either. The walk to the apartment complex was solemn, part of you wanted to just go to your flat and curl up into a ball on the couch and cry in self-pity because of how shitty your life is; but the other part of you knew you had one last task to do today and that was checking in with your neighbor because they feel like they have to have some responsibility towards a sixteen year old. 

If you were in an elevator together, you knew they wouldn’t have blinked twice at you because they thought you were at least eighteen until you said otherwise. Knocking on your neighbors door, you waited for it to open. You heard a chair scrape back before footsteps walked towards the door. You stared directly at the peephole as you guessed that Steven or Marc was checking to see who was visiting. You heard the door unlock with a click before it swung open to reveal your neighbor with disheveled hair, lighter bags underneath his eyes, and a pen tucked behind his ear. He says your name in greeting and a smile spreads across his face, brown eyes twinkling and all.

“I’m alive and well,” You say as you bring your hands up to gesture to your very alive and breathing form. He opens the door a bit wider and asks, “Do you mind coming in?” Your hands fall to your sides as your brows pinch together. Oh boy, with the nervous expression Steven has on his face it seems like he wants to talk to you about something important, or you’re in trouble. Probably both to be fair. He glanced down the hall to your right and you followed his gaze, nothing was there but it seemed like he was anxious about something being there. Swallowing, you stepped into his flat as your mind raced with thoughts of what they wanted to chat about. Are they giving you up to the police? Or does this have to do with the Moonknight stuff you talked about last night?

The door shuts and locks behind you, you frown at the noise of the lock as you look over your shoulder. Steven steps from side to side nervously before he crosses the room and walks right past you. You stood still as you watched him shuffle his papers together and tap them on the surface of the table before he slowly turned towards you with the anxious expression still on his face. 

“How was your day?” He asks. You hated that whatever he was procrastinating on talking about was making you anxious. Screw pleasantries, you wanted to just jump into whatever it was that was on his mind.

“Cut the crap, Steven. What is that you truly want to talk about?” You ask, he holds out the papers towards you. You grasp the sheets between your fingers, fully expecting that you were going to be looking over something they filled out to report you. But instead, you were looking at neat handwriting and sketches of an Egyptian god. The same god you were chatting about last night. You skim the description of the god, briefly taking in the description of Khonshu before your eyes trail to the sketch of him. You could tell it was traced, probably from something Steven or Marc printed out or from an Egyptian book, but you didn’t care about that. You cared more about the small detail of the crescent staff and that’s what really confirmed the sighting the other night for you. It was one thing to listen to Steven’s and Marc’s description of the god, but it was a whole other thing to see the sketch of him. Khonshu was in your apartment at the same time the power went out. Lucky you. 

“This is Khonshu,” Steven begins, while he wrings his hands together nervously. “The big bird that Marc and I were talking to you about.” You remove your gaze from the sketch and hand the papers back to him. “Since he’s looking for a new avatar and he visited you…” He trails off as he begins to straighten out the edges of the paper. 

“He didn’t ask me to be his ‘fist of vengeance’ or anything.” You say as Steven places the papers back onto the table. Even though you told them that last night, he looked relieved to hear the same answer. His shoulders dropped into a relaxed position and he was back into his usual slouching stance. You stuff your hands into your jacket as you chuckled a bit at the idea of being an avatar. You couldn’t see yourself saving the world like the Avengers or killing another human being even if they were the enemy. You were fine with defending yourself but you couldn’t see yourself causing harm to somebody unless you absolutely had to. Steven gives you a questioning look at your chuckles.

“Believe me, I have no intention of becoming a gods avatar.” You say.

“Good.”

“Like, doing manual labor for free and having to listen to a psycho bird tell me to do his dirty work for him is not on my bucket list.” 

“Good,” Steven repeats, “keep it that way, will you?” You couldn’t even imagine yourself being an avatar, what would you get out of a deal like that? Trauma and maybe the chance to wield a cool sword. But, still, nothing seemed worth accepting that kind of deal. Although, you could see yourself considering the proposition if there was a way to bring back your parents but, there wasn’t. So, there was zero chance that you would accept the deal with the god if he were to ask you. 

With that train of thought, your next question was: what made Marc and Steven accept the deal? You asked exactly that. Steven frowned at your question and his eyes trailed to the fish tank. He looked like he was having a silent discussion with Gus the Second, you were a bit confused as to why the men do that, why do they talk to things with reflections on it? The switch between Steven and Marc was subtle, but you still noticed it. The posture, the tone, the wrinkles between Marc’s eyes as he furrowed his brow. It was obvious that the question bothered him just by his body language. Well, from the last few times you chatted with him he looked like he was a constipated baby. So, with that being said, it was rough telling his emotions just by his features alone. 

“It’s none of your business,” Marc says with a tone of finality. You gave him a fixed stare. Whatever he did in his past to become Khonshus avatar wasn’t good just by his tone alone. You wanted to press him for more information but didn’t want to push your luck in case he calls off the deal and decides to turn you into the police. So, you decide to drop it, figuring that you could probably get the information out of them down the road. Maybe, at some point, they would willingly tell you themselves without you having to ask or press them for the information. You could only hope that would be the case. Everything you’ve been told so far feels like you were pulling teeth for it. 

“Okay,” You say. Marc seems to wait for you to push for more info, but when you didn’t say anything more he relaxed a little. Your fingers rub against the warming metal of the key to your apartment in your pocket, the feeling reminded you that you should return to your flat if nothing else needed to be discussed. You take a step back to retreat to the front door, a goodbye forming on your lips but Steven opens his mouth to speak. 

“You work at City Subs downtown?” He asks and gestures to the work uniform you were still wearing. You glanced down at the black shirt with the logo of the restaurant and the black jeans. On the way over to Steven and Marcs flat, you debated on heading home first to change out of your uniform, just to get rid of the smell of mustard and salami. Obviously, you didn’t because you figured it was going to be just a few minutes of visiting anyways. 

“No, I stole it.” You answer, his eyes widen in surprise and his lips part to make the shape of an O. 

“Really?” He genuinely asks. 

You roll your eyes and chuckle a little before you say, “No, Steven, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Oh, that’s not very nice.” He says, sounding hurt. You blinked in surprise at the tone, you were not expecting him to be upset at your antics. 

“Sorry,” You mumble and step awkwardly from one foot to the other. You should go. The teeth of the key pressed into the flesh of your index finger as an excuse began to form in your mind. You didn’t want Steven to think you were fleeing because it got awkward, and that was the truth as to why you’re trying to get out. Out of the two men, Steven was the more caring and kind one, and you felt guilty about hurting his feelings. Especially, when Marc told you that it was Stevens’ idea to buy you groceries yesterday; and he bought you cake, which wasn’t a necessary food staple. You run through your list of excuses to tell him and hope that he buys it without question too much, but, just like earlier, he cuts you off before you’re able to ramble an excuse out.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks. You shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him ask that, yet you were. You haven’t eaten since lunch and that was almost six hours ago. You didn’t feel like cooking so you were probably going to eat toast for dinner.

“No,” You shake your head. His eyes seemed to sparkle at your answer and a small smile began to spread across his face. He knew that he had you, if you wanted to try to get out of socializing, you have to come up with the greatest excuse of all time. 

“How does stir-fry sound?” He asks. Any thought of trying to get out of this fled your mind at the question. Oh man, its been too long since you had that, you didn’t cook the meal very much because of how many ingredients it takes. 

“Amazing.” You answer, his smile turns into a grin. 

“It’s going to be without meat.” He adds as he walks backwards towards the kitchen. That was fine, you didn’t care as long as you got to eat something. You followed him to the small kitchen nook and watched as he pulled open the fridge and began to pull out ingredients for the recipe. 

“Is it because you don’t have any?” You ask, leaning against the counter top and eyeing the fresh vegetables he placed on the counter. You had chicken in your own fridge that you have yet to cook. You could bring it over to add to the meal and help pitch in, you didn’t want to eat all of Stevens’ food. 

“No, I’m vegan.” He says without looking at you. He placed a bottle of soy sauce on the counter before closing the fridge. 

“Oh,” You said. He grabbed a frying pan from one of the cabinets underneath the counter and placed it on the stove. He then reached into a cabinet above the stove and grabbed a bottle of cooking oil and poured a tiny bit into the metal saucer before screwing the lid back on and returning it moments later. You quietly watched him begin to wash and chop the broccoli and carrots, you felt awkward. Your neighbor was cooking dinner for you and you were just standing there taking up space. You should help, you should say something and help. 

“Uh, Steven?” You ask, he hums as he scoops up the broccoli and drops it into a bowl. “Is there anything I can help with?” He glances towards you, briefly taking in your awkward stance before he shakes his head.

“No, you’re our guest. You don’t need to help with anything.” He says as he begins to chop the cilantro. You bite your cheek and silently watch him prepare dinner. You did offer your help and he refused. He was such a stubborn, kind hearted man. Fine, if he was going to refuse your offer to help with dinner, you were going to wash the dishes afterwards. You decided on it, there’s no way to stop you. You nodded to yourself, awkwardly you stood still and watched Steven cook for a few minutes. You were startled when Steven let out a laugh at something. 

“What?” You ask, you know you didn’t say anything recently. 

“Nothing, it’s just something Marc said.” He answers, stirring the vegetables in the pan before placing the lid on it. He was smiling, you wanted to ask him about what the thing was that was making him giddy, but decided not to. Your thumb rubbed against the key in your pocket and you leaned your head against the cabinet, watching the man look at his reflection in the window. He let out another laugh, placing his hands on his hips and tried to give a stern look at the window pane. All you saw was the reflection of Steven’s expression and the blue sky. It was only near six-thirty in May, the sun won’t be setting until after nine pm soon.

“Do you see Marc in the reflection?” You ask. The question has been bothering you since you didn’t know how their disorder worked exactly. It seemed like it was easy for them to switch places if one of them wanted to speak or do something. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t look like a very handsome bloke.” Steven snorts and returns his attention to the food on the stovetop. You chortled at the statement. They both share the same body. 

“Go sit down and relax,” Steven says without looking at you, “Dinner will be ready soon.” You bite your lip before deciding to do exactly that. He wouldn’t let you help with anything else anyways. So, you sat uncomfortably in a wooden chair at the dining table as you listened to Steven chat to Marc. Your eyes dropped to the surface of the table which was littered with papers, and you couldn’t help but skim them with your eyes since you had nothing better to do. Some of the papers had a sketch of some kind of beetle labeled with “scribe” at the top, others had information on gods and goddesses with the bits of paper you could see. You didn’t move any of the papers because you didn’t want to seem like you were snooping. 

You jumped a bit as a bowl filled with delicious looking stir fry was placed in front of you. The smell of it wafted into your nostrils as Steven placed his bowl across from yours and two glasses of water. It smelled amazing. You thanked him while he took a seat and smiled at you. You blew on the bowl that had steam rising from it before you stabbed your fork into the stir-fry and placed the food on your tongue. It was hot, and it burned your tongue. But it tasted amazing nonetheless. You almost moaned at the taste, it’s been so long since you had this as a meal. 

“Holy shit this is so good,” You praise Steven and he looks proud of himself. 

“Language,” He says before thanking you and digging into his own bowl. You internally roll your eyes and hold yourself back from retorting due to him winning you over with this meal. You both chewed your dinner in peace, you couldn’t thank him enough. Oh man, this stir-fry was amazing, you would definitely give Steven an eight out of ten for the meal. You only subtracted two points in the experience part because you felt awkward watching him cook and he wouldn’t let you help. 

“How was your day?” You ask in between bites. 

“It was good, I got a lot of stuff done,” Steven said once he swallowed his food. “I organized the bookshelves and I wrote down some notes about the stupid bird. I got some laundry done and then Layla called around two and Marc took over.” 

“Who’s Layla?”

“Oh,” Steven chuckles a bit as his expression became a look of adoration. “She’s our ex-wife.”

“My wife.” Marc says, taking control. He reaches for the water glass on the table and takes a drink. His apple bobbing as he swallows. You stabbed a piece of broccoli with your fork before popping it into your mouth and chewed. 

“I thought you were divorced.” You say around the food in your mouth. 

Marc shoots you a look as he says, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He stabs his own utensil into his bowl and adds, “We are. We’re just…” He trails off and shakes his head a bit, “it’s none of your business.” You groaned at the statement. It really wasn’t your business but you were trying to get to know them, so it wouldn’t be weird coming over everyday. But with the trailing off and the passive look that became his expression for a moment, you were given a lot of context without words. 

“Marc, don’t tell me you’re trying to get back with your ex-wife.” You say. 

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Okay, Steven, don’t tell me that you’re trying to get back with your ex-wife.”

“We’re not. It’s complicated.” Steven says for a moment before Marc rolled his eyes and groaned. 

“Steven, Marc, you both got divorced for a reason.” 

“Marc divorced Layla because he wanted to protect her from Khonshu.” Steven says quickly, “But Layla doesn’t want anything to do with us because of some stuff Marc did before he became Moonknight.” 

“Son of a bitch, Steven.” Marc says, his brows furrowed. His brown eyes were angrily staring at his glass of water intently. The fork you brought halfway up to your mouth froze once you heard the rushed stuff Steven said. This was a suitcase full of stuff to unpack and with the anger Marc was expressing, you didn’t want to unpack it even though you were curious about what he did. Slowly, you brought the fork up to your mouth and wrapped your lips around the metal before chewing steadily.

You figured that Marc and Steven got themselves into a desperate situation to become an avatar, was whatever happened to cause Layla to not want to mend their relationship part of said situation? And Steven said it was Marc that did the stuff that caused Layla to be upset, does that mean that Marc is the original or the host of the system? That would make sense because Steven said last night during his ramblings that he didn’t know he was married. Your brain began to hurt at the questions, for now, you decided not to press for the information Marc withheld.

You swallowed before asking, “Was she pretty?” Marc’s gaze trailed to you, he still looked upset but not as much. Whatever Steven was saying to him cooled him off somewhat. Thank you Steven, you thought. 

“What?” Marc says. 

“Was she pretty?” You repeat as you popped another forkful into your mouth and chewed. He looked thrown off by your question, perhaps he expected that you would push for the history of his doings. 

“She’s beautiful,” Steven says, his eyes wide with love and pure smile of adoration spreading across his features. “She’s so lovely. She has these freckles scattered on her face and they look like stars in the night sky.” Your eyes flick down towards your bowl of food with a small smile spreading across your face as you listen to him ramble about his ex-wife that he was obviously still in love with. He talked about her as if she was the one who hung the moon just so he could bathe in the light. Steven Grant was endeared by Layla, and with the amount of love he had for her as he spoke, it seemed like he forever would be. By the time his ramblings began to slow, your bowl was empty and his was long forgotten. 

“I’m sorry,” Steven sheepishly says, placing a hand to the back of his neck. “Did I speak too much?” 

“No,” You say with a shake of your head, “No. I thought it was quite cute that you were talking about her with such fondness. The way that you talk about her makes me kind of want to meet her.” He looks down into his lap with embarrassment. 

“I think you would like her,” Steven says after half a minute. “She was the avatar of Taweret, she’s not anymore since the fight in Egypt a couple weeks ago.” 

“Why’s that?”

“She made a temporary deal with Taweret to save the world with us.” He says. You hum, Layla sounds like a badass. She was smart to make a deal to help save the world, and it was a temporary one. You stood up and grabbed your bowl, Steven gave you a look of confusion before you gestured to his own forgotten bowl and asked if he was done. 

“You don’t have to wash the dishes,” Steven said. You walked into the kitchen and turned on the sink, letting the water run as you waited for it to warm. 

“I know. You made dinner and bought me groceries, the least you could do is let me do the dishes.” You say without looking over your shoulder. Steven stood awkwardly for a few moments before he sighed and gently handed you a dish towel and pushed you to the side. “I’ll wash and you dry.” You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it as Steven ran a spoon underneath the water. The liquid splashed in all directions, it wetted your shirt and you gasped at the feeling of the water. A laugh leaves Steven at the look on your face.

“You did that on purpose,” You accuse, your gaze landing on Stevens face but Marc stared back.

“I did.” Marc says, as he began to wet a wash cloth and put dish soap on it. “That was a warning to not argue with us, you’re our guest.” He finishes. You pressed your lips together and watched soap bubbles in the sink. With a little hesitation, you scoop up a handful and wipe it onto the shirt Marc wore. His mouth parts at the feeling of the wetness and you stare with victory shining in your eyes. Without any hesitation, he drops the fork he held into the sink before he grabs the water nozzle and sprays you with it. You gasped at the water as he laughed at the look you wore. You looked like a drenched cat that just came inside from the rain. You grabbed the nozzle from his grasp and turned it on him, a laugh leaving your mouth as he stuck his hand out to block the water from hitting him in the face. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Marc says, laughing. “Truce!” He shouts and you let go of the nozzle, it retracts back into the faucet with a clink. Both of you were soaked, your shirt and pants clung to your skin and water droplets ran down your face and arms. The floor and countertops were wet, it was going to take a mop and plenty of towels to dry the kitchen, yet Marc and you were laughing at the little water war you just went through. His face was flushed red and tears ran down his cheeks from how hard he was laughing. It was a while before the two of you gathered yourselves enough to clean the kitchen. It was nearing seven by the time that you were back to the task of drying dishes as Steven washes. Claiming that it was to make sure Marc doesn’t attack you with the water nozzle again. You were sure it was because he didn’t want to get the kitchen wet and go through the process of recleaning it. 

You were drying the bowl you ate out for dinner when Steven proposed the question, “How about we do this every night? Without the water war.” He bumped his shoulder into yours and smiled down at you as he said, “There’s no reason for two people to eat alone.” You look away from the porcelain bowl and stare at your reflection in the window, your eyes slowly moved to Stevens and you couldn’t help but wonder if Marc was staring back. Was he hoping you said yes? Or was he wanting you just to stop by as a visitor for a few minutes each night? 

 Honestly, you had a great time tonight- despite the awkwardness of course. and even though you didn’t want to admit it, a small part of you missed having human connections. It was lonely, coming home from work and eating by yourself and being by yourself all the time. Sure you had coworkers, but they all had their own families to return to. For you, you had yourself and that was about it, but with your neighbors you had the potential for some friendship to form. You can’t make new friends if you’re hiding and avoiding people. Plus, as Steven said: there’s no reason for two people to eat alone. And maybe the free food- you have yet to pay back- helped push you towards the answer you were going to give him. You scrubbed the bowl until it was dry completely before you gave him your answer. 

“Okay,” You agree. He looked happy at the agreement you just made. You place the bowl carefully onto the countertop. The dishes were complete. You wondered for a moment if you should stay longer to make it feel like you weren’t just using him for dinner, but you decided against it. You’ve spent time with them for over an hour, your social battery was dying and you needed to recharge. Your plans for the evening consisted of taking a shower and watching Tiktok, going downstairs to do laundry, all before bedtime. 

Although Steven and Marc were blackmailing you for the fraud you committed, you knew they were only doing it to make sure you were safe. You were just a teenager pretending to have your shit together, it was understandable that they would be concerned for you because of your age and crap that goes on in the world. They had more experience in being Moonknight. The crap they must have seen during their time as the hero was scary to think about. What did they see or hear as the masked hero before saving someone or something? Since they were a god’s fist of vengeance, surely Khonshu targeted those who did horrible things, which means the people they attacked had to deserve it, right?

With that in mind, you smiled and said, “See you guys tomorrow.” Perhaps hanging out with your neighbors wasn’t too bad.

Chapter Text

It’s been three weeks since the first dinner with Marc and Steven. During those three weeks, you learned that Marc is Jewish because you noticed the Star of David necklace he wore. Previously you thought that neither of them were religious but it turns out you were wrong. You also learned that Marc was not vegan and that he likes his steak medium rare, although he prefers chicken over steak simply because it’s easier to cook. Steven on the other hand loves animals too much to cause harm to them let alone eat them, but he did admit to having steak at a fancy restaurant when he realized he had the days mixed up for a date and thought he got  stood up. He said it was because he felt too embarrassed and awkward to call off the reservation. The poor man.  

You noticed that Steven runs his hand through his hair twice as much as Marc does, and Steven forgets to brush his hair at least eighty percent of the time; so he relies on Marc, and sometimes you, to remind him. Today was Saturday and you had the weekend off. Typically, you would ask your manager for more hours, but your coworker already beat you to it and so no hours were available for you to fill in. You were bored and had reached the amount of stuff you were free to do. Scrolling through Tiktok became boring when the algorithm kept reshowing you videos you already watched. 

You already caught up on the people you’re subscribed to on Youtube, so there were no videos for you to be entertained by. You were done with your junior year of high-school and it was summer vacation. So, the option of doing homework to pass the time was not an option. Also, the idea of running an old laptop that already produced a lot of heat in the middle of a heat wave did not sound like it was a good one. 

That’s right, a heat wave had hit the city and the light fixture fan in your living room was out of commission. Your windows were wide open and a bag of frozen vegetables was placed on your chest to cool you down. You laid on the hardwood floor because your couch cushions will absorb your sweat and trap heat that you didn’t want to feel. Also, the thought of laying on a couch with sweat in its cushions grossed you out. You left your apartment door open in hope that air would circulate and it would get cooler, but all it seemed to do was give your neighbors an opportunity to peek into your apartment and give you a weird look as they saw you laying down on the floor.

That’s what exactly Steven gave you when he saw what you were doing as he knocked on your door. You lolled your head in his direction, his hair stuck to his forehead and his polo shirt had five buttons undone, that’s two more than usual, you noted. He wore khaki shorts that reached his knees and tennis shoes. He lifted a plastic sack in greeting before he walked into your apartment and peered down at you. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. Your tanktop and shorts clung to your skin and you could feel a large damp spot of sweat on your back. You felt gross and uncomfortable, a cold shower was absolutely on your list of things to do today; and the laundry needed to be done. You groaned at the idea of carrying the garbage sack of clothes down the hall and to the elevator and then all the way to the laundry room. All the sweat your body will produce from the amount of small physical exertion was not a pleasant thought. He gave you a look of concern and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. 

Another thing you learned over the last three weeks was that Steven Grant was an anxious man. He cared about what others thought of him and anything that you say or do, he typically overthinks. Hence, the groan that came out of your mouth at the idea of laundry, Steven is assuming that it was directed towards him. 

“I’m not groaning at you,” You say. You peel your arm away from the floorboard to help support the rest of your body to sit up. “I just don’t like the idea of doing laundry in this hot weather.” The look of Stevens eyes relaxes, his shoulders drop into a comfortable position and he opens the plastic sack for you to peek into. You lean forward a bit and look into it. There were two water bottles and two push pops. You swore that you felt your eyes light up in excitement at the treat, you haven’t had the ice cream since you were a kid. You think the last time that you had it was that it was from an ice cream truck selling to your neighborhood. It was rare for you to walk into convenience stores in America and find the ice cream in the frozen section and ice cream display cases.  

“Oh my god,” You say. Steven sits down on the floor next to you and hands you one of the bottles and ice cream. “This is why you’re my favorite,” You joke and unwrap the popsicle before tasting it with your tongue. The taste was just as you remembered, all sugar and not an ounce of nutrition. Summer days you spent as a child flooded your mind at the sense of taste. Riding bicycles with the kids in your neighborhood, playing tag at the park, the smell of freshly cut grass and the warm breeze that welcomed you to happy days. The ice pop made the day a bit more bearable.

“You hear that Marc?” Steven gazed at the reflection on the plastic bottle. He had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You hid your grin with the popsicle as Steven shook his head and rolled his eyes at whatever Marc said. For a few minutes you both sat in silence and enjoyed the cool treat. You had to admit that you were a bit behind on your game of repaying them for their generosity and kindness. You still tried to help with cooking, and at one point they did let you help, but that led to their kitchen almost being caught on fire last week. Since then, you were on dish duty. 

Returning their kindness was difficult without buying them stuff to show your thanks. It was easy giving stuff to people when you had the means to do so. Christmas gifts and birthday presents for your parents and friends were two of those ways, but during those times you lived rent free at your parents house and had zero bills to pay. Maybe you could make them something instead? It would still mean money would have to be spent for the supplies but it might be cheaper and more endearing to them if it was handcrafted rather than store bought.

Steven was the one to break the comfortable silence by asking, “You said you were sixteen? Are you still in secondary school?” Your brows furrowed at the question. What did he just ask?  

“Secondary school?” You ask with confusion. Your push pop was gone, you held onto the stained stick as you glanced around for the wrapper and set the wooden popsicle stick onto it. 

“Yeah?” Steven shares a look that expresses exactly how you feel before his eyes trail to the water bottle. His mouth makes an O shape as he says, “Marc says it’s high-school." 

"Oh yeah, I just finished my junior year. I’m going to be doing my senior year in the fall.  I do it online." 

"Junior year?”

“Yeah, it’s like eleventh grade. It’s the second one before the final grade and after that I graduate.”

“Oh okay.” He nods in understanding, “So you’re on track to graduate?”

“With B pluses and flying colors,” You smile. You’re sure you passed your finals with C’s and above so you weren’t too worried about failing your classes and needing to retake them later this year. You were going to graduate high-school without wearing a cap and gown and having the opportunity to switch the tassel from the right to the left. You were admittedly bummed about it since adults and older students always hyped you up since you were in elementary school; but you understood that it’s difficult to do that when you’re a thousand miles away from the school you’re enrolled in. Which is what you exactly told Marc. He finishes the popsicle as he listens to you ramble and occasionally nods along to show that he’s listening. 

“What are your plans afterwards?” Marc asks, he places the popsicle stick onto the paper wrapper. You shrug. To be honest, you weren’t sure. University is expensive, you may be able to attend the United Kingdom’s school programs but you might not succeed in that. It was easy moving across the pond because you were snapped, you were labeled officially dead and then you blipped back into existence. People died moments after coming back- just like your parents did- and you didn’t die, but the government and your friends and remaining family don’t know that. You were presumed dead because you tore up your old life to live a new one thousands of miles away. 

To attend university in the UK means that you have to be labeled as alive in the United States and although you didn’t change your name on paper, you did digitally for the schooling system. So, your high-school degree wouldn’t have your real name on it. You will have to be good at photoshopping once you receive a digital copy of it. To tie it all back to Marc’s question, university would be very difficult to apply for. You would need references and proof of life over in the United States to be considered an exchange student in the United Kingdom. Because that’s what you would be due your schooling being online in the United States, thanks to VPN. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Nothing really interests me.” 

“Not even college?” He asks, you shake your head. Your answer would have been different before the snap, back when you were fifteen. You wanted to go to community college and earn a transfer degree before transferring to some overly expensive university to gain a degree in astrophysics. Space amazed you, the meteors, the gasses, the planets and how everything worked, you wanted to learn everything about it. But now, you had to let go of that dream. 

“Did you go to college?” You ask him before he could press more about it.

“No, I went into the marines,” Marc answers with a shake of his head. “College wasn’t an option for me.” You hum. You absolutely understood. Your eyes met Marcs and for the first time since you met him, you felt like you had some level of mutual understanding even though he doesn’t know about the issue with university. 

“How was that?” You asked, he shakes his head. 

“It was something that kept me busy,” He answered without going into too much detail. You don’t press for more information, clearly he needed to be occupied from something and whatever it was wasn’t your business. That’s another thing you learned from these men over the last three weeks, don’t be nosey. They will crack and tell you anything you want to know within time, especially Steven. Steven loved to ramble about Layla and Egyptian gods and being Moonknight, he finally had someone to confide in who wasn’t Marc or his ex-wife. He told you about a crazed man named Harrow who tried to release Ammit. He then told you that Harrow mysteriously died a couple days after he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Neither Marc or Steven were completely sure who placed the bullet in Harrow’s skull, but they did think Khonshu was behind it until you saw his staff, after that they thought the god was looking for a new avatar. 

To all three of you, it doesn’t make sense that a god would take advantage of someone just to kill Harrow and toss them to the curb, unless the new avatar died. But, Marc said that it’s difficult- and maybe impossible- to be killed with the ceremonial armor Khonshu gives his avatar. 

“What are your plans for today?” Steven asks, snapping you out of your thoughts, “Besides laundry, of course.” He adds. You leaned back on your arms and crossed your legs as you thought about the very little that you had planned. It was too hot to do anything and you didn’t have much money to spend to go to the public pool or somewhere that would cool you off. Maybe sticking your head in the freezer for thirty minutes?

“Are we still up for dinner?” You ask. Maybe he had something else planned and he wanted to let you know that he’s not available tonight and that would be fine, you had your daily check in with the men. 

“We are.” Steven confirms, he pushes back his hair to keep it from sticking to his forehead. “I was wondering if you want to watch a Netflix film with me and Marc to pass the time…” He trails off and you purse your lips. Honestly, you had nothing better to do, yet it was still weird to watch a film with your neighbor you only began talking to three weeks ago. When you thought about it, you only knew a little about Marc and Steven. You didn’t know if they were serial killers in their freetime. But, with the summer heat and the lack of cool air flowing in your apartment, you didn’t care much about being their next victim but rather the air-flow in their flat. 

“Do you guys have fans or air conditioning?” You ask, you wracked your brain for the memory of fans at their place but nothing came to mind. Steven nods and that was enough of an answer for you. Fuck yeah, you were going to get cooler. You stood up, your skin peeling from the wooden floor causing you to wince from the feeling. You stuck out your hand to help Steven up. His brown eyes looked between your face and your hand as if this was the first time anybody offered to help him stand before he grasped it. Weakly, you pulled him up into a standing position, he did more of the work than you did due to his long-ass legs, but you both managed. You pick up the now slightly thawed bag of vegetables and your ice pop wrappers before walking into the kitchen to throw away the wrappers and return the vegetables to the freezer. 

Steven waited for you at your door as you grabbed your phone and keys from the counter your jacket laid on before you locked your flat and followed your neighbor down the hall. Steven’s and Marc’s flat was cool, much colder than yours thanks to the fans running. You placed your phone and keys onto the cluttered dining table before marching over to the fan turning side to side in the corner of the living room and sticking your face directly in front of it. A sigh of relief left you at the feeling of the fan blowing cooler air onto your skin. 

“Oh my god,” You breathe out. You hear Steven place his own keys into a glass bowl and make his way into the kitchen. You turn around to face the living room and let the fan cool your back. Your eyes trail over to Steven as he searches through his cupboards for something. 

“What are you looking for?” You ask. 

“Popcorn,” He states and lets out a cheer once he finds the small jar of popcorn kernels.

“You need help?” You ask. Honestly, you didn’t want to move from the fan, but you felt like you needed to at least offer. He gives you a look and shakes his head. 

“With you almost burning down the apartment building, I think we’re better off.” Steven says. You stick out your tongue at him and he rolls his eyes. 

“Very mature of you,” He says with your name trailing off at the end. It was your turn to roll your eyes. You made a mistake one time and they refuse to let you correct it, that was very mature of them. You didn’t tell them that though, mainly because you didn’t want to argue about it. Maybe at some point you could have a discussion with them about letting you try again. Once you heard the kernels popping and the smell of the popcorn forming, you decided to try and get comfortable on Stevens’ couch. You walked to the cushions and sat down, waiting for the popcorn to be finished. Your eyes trailed to the flat screen television in front of you, all you saw was the reflection of yourself, but that didn’t stop you from searching the screen for Marc; and of course, you didn’t see him.

The movie Steven invited you to watch was Whisky. You haven’t watched it before and Steven told you it was a comedy. He wasn’t sure what your favorite genre was so he chose a safe option for the both of you to enjoy.

“You don’t seem like an animation type of person or a documentary fan,” He told you as he sat a plastic bowl filled with popcorn between you. 

“Really?” You ask, picking up a piece and popping it into your mouth, “What do I look like I’m into?” He squints at you in thought. 

“I think you like those murder cases they play on the telly.” 

“True crime,” You say. 

“And maybe you like action and comedy. I think you would like the movie: We’re the Millers.” He finishes, you hum in answer as you tossed another few pieces into your mouth and chewed. You did like the movie, it was a funny one and you were a sucker for found family tropes so it was great in your book.

“What does Marc think?” You ask. Steven trailed his eyes to the black screen of the television with the Netflix intro paused. 

“He says he thinks you’re into thriller and adventure.” He pauses, listening to whatever Marc was saying, “He calls you a nerd for the Lord of The Rings trilogy.” You have watched the films and they were amazing for the early two thousands, but they weren’t your favorite series.

“Both of you have good guesses but you are both wrong. I like romance, comedy, and true crime documentaries.” You say, “Well, actually. you partly got it right, Steven.” He pumps his arm into the air as you add, “Also, you’re wrong about me not liking animation. I like Avatar the Last Airbender.”

“The one with the kids and the four elements?”

“Bingo.” 

“I’m not surprised, that show is good.” He says, you nod in agreement. 

“I think your favorite genre is animation although, I think you would watch a young adult show if someone recommended it to you or you read some great reviews about it.” You pause in thought. He does like history so maybe he would like documentaries or history shows; and you tell him exactly that. 

“I think that was too easy for you,” Steven laughs, “I already told you so much about me. Marc and I don’t know much about you.” Perhaps, all three of you felt the same way about each other then. Well, Marc and Steven don’t know much about you then they do about each other, you don’t know how far their relationship extends. You tossed another small handful of popcorn into your mouth as an excuse not to immediately reply. Slowly, you chewed as you thought about how Steven said you knew more about him, it was true. You knew that he was a nerd for Egyptian history, his extensive and deep love for Layla, his old job as a gift shoppist and how he wanted to be a tour guide just so he could properly teach the true history of the attractions in the museum. You knew that he loved being a hero but didn’t like to hurt people when he needed to. You knew very little of Marc Spector, he was a closed off human being; you knew that he went into the Marines and some of the items of food he liked. You knew he divorced his wife to keep her safe and that he was a hero who saved the world.

But, other than that, you don’t know anything about him. He was a closed book that didn’t want to be read. The only thing that you were really sure about was that he cared enough to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re taken care of. That simple gesture was enough to tell you that Marc Spector cared and was a kind man. 

You swallowed the popcorn and decided not to answer Stevens’ statement. You said, “I don’t think Marc likes horror movies or thrillers.” Whatever he went through before he met you was enough of a horror for him. You add, “I don’t think he likes animation either,” He seems too mature to enjoy a show with that style. “And I don’t think that his go-to genre is action.” You thought that he would be tired enough from his avatar job to enjoy an action film with angst and fighting scenes. 

You add, “I think romance makes him feel lonely, so he doesn’t watch it; and I think comedy gives him some relief from stress and whatever other factors there are in his life, but it’s not his favorite.” You pause and trail your eyes to Steven. He stared at the dark television screen, his eyes were a little wide and his lips parted. Whatever Marc looked like to Steven was enough to cause him to look like this, maybe you were hitting the nail on the head. 

“I don’t think he likes adventure that much too,” You continued, “I think he’s sick of traveling. He saw enough of the world while being Khonshus puppet.” You paused for a moment. Maybe he does like adventure but not like the geological travel channels, more like otherworldly adventures, you tell them this and say, “I think he’s a nerd for The Lord of the Rings.” You repeat Marc’s statement from earlier.

“Yep.” Marc says. He looks like he was having a hard time accepting that you hit bullseye with your genre theory about him. You watch him swallow and stare ahead at the television. Marc was a closed book and just by the cover and some of the description you were able to pinpoint one thing you guessed about him. You weren’t sure if you should cheer and pat yourself on the back or if you should try to change topics. But you didn’t know what to say and neither did Marc. So, instead you offer a way out by pressing the play button on the remote for him.

Chapter Text

The movie was okay. it was definitely the type of film you would watch just to pass the time. After the movie finished and the popcorn bowl between you and Steven had been empty for a while. Steven pushes himself up from the couch and chats to you about the film, quoting a couple of funny lines and scenes from it as he goes into the kitchen and begins prepping dinner. You laugh at whatever he was saying, to be honest, you weren’t really listening to the man. Your mind had been too preoccupied with the conversation you had prior to the movie. You were able to pinpoint what type of genre of films Marc and Steven liked simply from the little you knew about them; and it was obvious that Marc did not like that you pinned the tail on the donkey. 

Your mind has been rerunning the conversation since you pressed play on the remote. All Marc said was “Yep,” to your guess and that was the last of what you heard from him since then. “Yep” was short and straight to the point, from his tone it sounded like he wasn’t going to continue the conversation. You simply got underneath his skin and as much as you liked doing that to people, you don’t want to push Marc. What if he wakes up one day and decides to turn you in as he threatened to do before? 

Steven waves a hand up and down in front of your face, you blink and turn your face towards him. He wore an expression of concern, his lips pursed.

“Are you alright?” He asks as he hands you a bowl filled with spinach leaves, broccoli, shredded carrots, and tomatoes, “You haven’t been responding to me for a while.” You dryly chuckle at his concern. 

“Yeah,” You say as you follow him to the table you’ve been eating at for the last twenty-one days. He gives you a disbelieving look but he doesn’t push the subject. It seems like he’s learning from you. His eyes turn down to his own salad and he pushes the food around with a fork, you could tell that he was worrying again just as he did earlier today when you groaned about doing laundry in the hot weather. 

“Steven,” You begin, he looks up from his salad. “I’m not upset or anything with you. It’s just…” You trail off. It was a little hard opening up and telling him what was on your mind, especially with the knowledge that Marc was probably watching from somewhere. 

“If it’s the salad, I can make you something else.” He offers. You gave him a pitiful stare as you realized another thing about him. Steven Grant wants to fix any problem that he thinks is directed towards him, he wants to please people.

He continues, not noticing your stare, “It’s too hot to cook anything, cooking the popcorn earlier made me sweat and eating something warm will just make us hotter; but I’ll cook you something else if you’d like.”

“Steven,” You say his name softly. He finally notices the look on your face and the smile that he had fell. “It’s not the food or you. I just- I’m worried that I upset Marc.” 

“Why?”

“Neither of us knows each other well, and it was obvious that Marc didn’t like that I guessed some correct things about him.” You paused. Your fingers twirled the fork between your fingers as you thought carefully about your next words, “I don’t want anything to be weird between us.”

“Well, he’s just going to have to get used to that, isn’t he?” Steven says, he stabs a small tomato with his fork before popping it into his mouth and chewing. “With the guesses, I mean,” He adds, “It doesn’t seem fair that he’s uncomfortable with it especially when we’ve been guessing about you.” You figured they have been theorizing and wondering about you. It wasn’t surprising, it was natural to be curious. To you, they were like a rubix cube, a puzzle that had simple instructions but patience and time was needed. To them, you weren’t sure what you were like, you could only guess.

 You basically were a teen runaway who outsmarted the system through fraud at the correct time. You supposed you were worth enough to be curious about, you weren’t a normal kid. Well, you were normal because you didn’t have mutant powers or didn’t have the past of saving the world; the way that you weren’t normal was your trickery of the government. That was about it, honestly. 

“Go on, eat your dinner,” Steven points to your bowl of salad with his fork. You stab into your spinach leaves and begin to eat, chewing your dinner slowly. Unlike the last few weeks where your dinner hours with Steven and Marc were filled with conversation between the three of you, today was one sided. Steven rambled about a new project he was working on to pass the time now that he doesn’t have a job. He told you that he was making a scrapbook of all the Egyptian gods and that he needed to go get some glue at the store the next time he goes. He told you about a new recipe for vegan alfredo that he wants to try to make. He told you that he chatted with Layla this morning and she said that she was doing a new job, he didn’t go into much detail about what that job was. Steven nor Marc would go into detail about how she pays her bills, but with how Steven carefully works his way around the subject, you could guess that it was dangerous and probably illegal. 

You were finished with your meal shortly before Steven was. The sun had set and it was finally beginning to cool down. The heat was more bearable now that the sun was gone and the moon was rising. You knew that your flat would still be hot, the only air circulation you have was your open window and that wouldn’t be enough. It was going to be a rough night. You weren’t looking forward to returning to your apartment, as much as you wanted to get out of the awkward tension between you and Marc, you still wanted to be comfortable and cool and their apartment was exactly that. You were trying to think of ways to relieve the tension between you and your acquaintance. An apology was forming in your mind as you were washing the dishes, you were reaching for Stevens bowl on the counter next to the sink when you heard Marc say your name from behind you. 

You looked up in surprise. In the reflection of the window you saw Marc standing behind you and waiting for you to turn around. You turn your body, your hand grasping the green scrubby with soap as you look at him. Marc was holding two bottles of water in his hands. The apology was forming on your tongue, you didn’t want things to be weird between you. But before you could tell him how sorry you were he cuts you off by asking, “You want to go to the roof with me?” You gave him a look. You were a little stunned that he was inviting you to do something since you have yet to apologize. But as you stared at him with your lips parted and a crease in your brows, you realized that he was doing the same thing you have done earlier by pressing the play button. He was giving you a way out. Marc was giving you an opportunity to let it go and pretend that you didn’t upset him. Did Steven talk to him about it? Or was this his own choice? 

Your mouth makes a o shape as you came to another obvious conclusion as he waited for your answer: Marc did not like confrontation. Deciding not to speak your thoughts to him in fear that it would further upset him, you push away your thoughts and say, “Sure. Just let me finish these dishes.”

“It’s fine, Steven can do them.” Marc says, “Let’s go.” He gestures towards the door and you shut off the faucet before drying your hands on a nearby towel. Marc was willing to ignore everything that upset him just to keep whatever peace formed between the two of you. You followed him out of the apartment and he locked the door behind you before walking towards the elevators. Stepping into the metal box, you watch as he presses the sixth floor button and the doors close slowly. It felt awkward, or was that you feeling awkward and making yourself think that it was awkward between the two of you? Oh god, you should apologize. Go apologize, apologize now!

“I’m sorry,” You rush out, “I’m sorry that I upset you. I’ll try to-” 

“It’s fine, kid,” Marc cuts you off. He stares at the red glowing number above the elevator door that states the floor level you’re on. “Just forget about it, alright?” You blink and slowly nod. Your face turning red from the embarrassment. If he wants to let it go, then it’s fine by you. The number switches to six and the elevator door opens, he’s the first one to leave the metal box and you follow him. The two of you walked down the hallway that was similar to your own floor. He stuck his hand into the pockets on his shorts and pulled out a small object, beginning to unlock the door. You know that when you signed the renting agreement, you didn’t get a key to the roof, so where did he get it?

“I didn’t know that we had access to the roof,” You state as Marc pushes open the door and holds it open for you. 

“You legally don’t.” He says and stuffs the small object back into his shorts pocket. Your mouth gapes open and he gestures for you to walk through. The two of you were trespassing and yet, all you could do was laugh at his admission. You move your legs as you try to wrap your head around the concept that Marc Spector stole a key. It definitely wasn’t Steven who did it, that poor man wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly. Well, scratch that, Steven did admit to beating up cultists who released Ammit. Marc follows you out the door letting it close with a click behind you.

It was an unusually clear night for London. Your breath got caught in your throat at the sight above you. Hundreds of stars dotted the sky and the full-moon shined brightly down upon you as if it was a spotlight. You have never seen London from this angle. The apartment complexes you neighbored on the same street with were the same height as your own building, so you were able to see past them. The street below you was busy with traffic and people, the noises traveled up to where you were. The night air was cooler and more pleasant than the day you spent inside. You tear your eyes away from the sky as Marc pats a spot next to him. You sit down on the rough surface of the roof, heat was still rising but it wasn’t as hot as you expected it to be. Marc hands you a water bottle and you thank him. Twisting the cap off and taking a sip of the liquid, the cold water ran down your throat as you swallowed. 

 Your eyes scan the night sky, looking for your favorite constellation. Not only was it the easiest one to spot, but the story behind it was simple and the bittersweet out of the other constellation. 

“There,” You say once you find it and point up to the constellation of the Ursa Major, “You see that set of stars I’m pointing at, the one that looks like a big pan?” Marc scans the night sky in the area that you point in. 

“The Big Dipper?” He asks, you nod. 

“That’s the one,” You say and drop your arm to your side, your eyes stay on the constellation as you speak, “So, that’s the constellation of the Ursa Major, have you heard of it?” Marc hums in answer, anybody who went to public school in the United States at least had a section of the term that they learned Greek and Roman mythology in. 

You continue, “It’s known as the Great Bear. The story behind it is that the god Zeus fell in love with a woman named Callisto. Zeus was already married to Hera, the goddess of woman, and after Hera realized that her husband fell in love with someone else she began to plan her revenge for her heart break. During this time, Zeus and Callisto have a child together and soon Hera finds out about the kid. Out of jealousy and rage, Hera turned Callisto into a bear in hope that Zeus will no longer love her. Callisto spends the next fifteen years running and hiding from hunters and one day, her son encounters Callisto. Obviously, the son doesn’t recognize that his mother is the bear and so, he begins to hunt her down to kill her. Somehow, Zeus sees what is happening and he attempts to stop the killing of the woman that he still loves. Zeus ends up turning his child into the Ursa Minor and Callisto into the Ursa Major to protect them. Otherwise known as the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.” You finish.

It was a bittersweet story, even though you don’t support cheating. Zeus’ love for his son and his lover still existed after fifteen years and he protected them by putting them in the sky. It was a sweet gesture from the god despite getting them into this mess due to his infidelity. The moral of the story: don’t cheat on your spouse and you won’t get turned into a bear.

“Isn’t Zeus the fuckboy god?” Marc asks after a moment. It was such an unexpected question that it caused you to choke out a laugh. Your body shaking and tears springing from your eyes as you gasped for air. Marc looked to his right to hide the smile that began to spread across his face due to your contagious laughter. 

“Yeah,” You nod, finally catching your breath and wiping away the tears from the corners of your eyes. “You could say that.” Silence settles between you as your eyes land on the full moon in the night sky. It was glowing brightly down upon the two of you in all its glory. The planet was beautiful, but Marc seems to think otherwise. 

“I hate the moon,” Marc suddenly admits, “It reminds me so much of the bird bastard.” Your eyes lands on his face, he stares at the orb in the sky with loathing. You knew that Khonshu took advantage of his avatars and used them to do his dirty work, but Marc and Steven didn’t really expand on anything else about the god. 

“Why is that?” You ask, hugging your arms around your legs. 

“Khonshus avatars get the majority of their power during the time that the moon is out. Khonshu is the protector of the night,” He rolls his eyes at that last part. Your eyes trail back to the full moon. 

“Where was he when half the universe got blipped?” You ask, Marc shrugs. 

“Who knows, he was probably using someone else before me.” He says, “Maybe the Ennead voted against helping humanity.” You scrunch your eyebrows at that. 

“The Ennead?”

“They’re kind of like a council of gods who have been around for centuries. They vote on what to do and how to do it.” Marc says. 

“So, they saw what happened with Thanos and half of the universe being wiped out, and decided not to help?” You ask. Marc nods and you let out a disbelieving laugh. They were gods who decided not to step in and save humanity simply because they thought that it wasn’t their job or worth saving. They could have helped with Thanos and so many lives would have been saved. You wouldn’t have been blipped, your parents would be alive, but the Ennead decided not to help. Surely, they would have been worshiped by humanity throughout the years, maybe not as much recently, but they had to recognize that humans had to have some level of care and respect for them. But, for them to do absolutely nothing when half of the universe vanished was such a slap to the face.

“It was weird, y’know being blipped back and five years passed,” You suddenly say, “There was this boy I liked, Pierce Michael. He was only a few months older than me. He was the head of the basketball team- one of the best players on it.“ You remember how much of a young man he was beginning to look like when you were near the same age. He was tall, he just finished his growth spurt, and he had a dark brown beard growing. High School was around the time the boys you grew up with stopped wearing so much axe-body spray and began to brush their hair and teeth. While the girls began wearing more makeup and a more subtle smell of perfume. 

The kids who played sports were always given the title as the popular group, honestly you thought it was because sports costs money for families to sign their children up for which meant the kids felt like they came from an entitled household. Typically, the sporty teens acted like assholes just to fit into the dynamic the popular kids had. But, Pierce Michael wasn’t like that. He was kind and caring and he stood up for those who didn’t have the confidence to do so themselves. You liked Pierce and you were going to gather the courage to ask him out. What could go wrong? You thought, the worst he can say is no. But of course it went wrong because the blip happened. 

“And he wasn’t blipped,” You say, “He was sixteen when we disappeared and then we came back and he was twenty-one while I was still fifteen.” You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He was engaged to Amy Smith, the really smart girl in biology I used to sit by.”  You shake your head, “The last I heard of them, he and Amy are having a kid and like, congratulations to them. I’m happy for them, but…” You trail off for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Sometimes, I wonder if that would have been me and him. Y’know, engaged and starting a family either with actual humans, dogs, or cats if I didn’t get blipped or it just didn’t happen.” Marc nor Steven answer you, you’re not sure if it’s because they didn’t know what to say or if they were just letting you rant and get everything off your chest. 

“I don’t know if that’s selfish to think about,” You continue, “People died trying to get us back. The Black Widow and Tony Stark sacrificed themselves to get us back.” You’re sure there was more to their sacrifice than just doing it for the greater good, they had people that were blipped who they wanted- no, needed back. Tony had a wife and a daughter and he gave them up to get someone else back, whoever that was must be feeling guilty about Tony’s sacrifice.

“I saw the sucide awareness campaigns for the survivors of the blip and the flyers for support meetings; and the Reddit posts from people who felt guilty for living when people suddenly lost their lives.” You say, “And here I am, being selfish by wondering how things would have been if I wasn’t blipped.” The major difference would be that you wouldn’t be in London but rather New York if you and your parents weren’t one of the victims of the blip. 

After a few moments pass, Marc speaks, “You’re not being selfish. It’s normal to wonder how much would be different if something didn’t happen.” He reassures you. You swallow as you think about how much he thought things would be different if he didn’t go through whatever he went through before the two of you met, before he became Moonknight. But, that was his own secret, to each their own, right?

"It must have sucked for five years of your own life being gone too.” You say, he hums and nods a bit. He tilts back and looks at the twinkling stars above you.

“It did,” He answers. You’re not sure why, but you felt like you owed it to him to tell him the truth, maybe it was because of the solemn emotions you were going through and the feeling of it just being the two of you in the world despite the sound of traffic below you.

“I lied earlier,” You said, staring at the night sky above you. The stars stayed the same while you were gone for five years and they were the same after you came back, that was the only constant from before the blip. “When you asked if I was going to go to college. I did want to. I wanted to learn about space, but then… you know what happened. Everything got tangled.” 

“Why didn’t you say that?” Marc asks. You shrug. 

“I guess that it was just easier pretending the past doesn’t exist.” You say. You didn’t have to look at him to know that he understood where you were coming from. Another thing you learned over the past three weeks: you and Marc had more in common than you thought. Marc doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. Instead, in comfortable silence, you both gaze at the same constellation.

Chapter Text

It was the day you have been dreading the most: laundry day. Today was the day after you and Marc went up to the rooftop. It was Sunday, the last day of your weekend, which meant that it was the last day to get anything you needed to get done before your week is taken up by work. Even if that meant it was during a heat-wave. It was still hot, although the weather app on your phone states that it was cooler by a few degrees compared to yesterday. You’ve been sitting on the wooden floor of your apartment since you woke up this morning, it was near mid-afternoon now. You only had one thing to do today since you planned on going to the store for groceries after work tomorrow since it would be colder in the evening and you were already out of the apartment because of work, so you might as well just go, right?

The laundry room was located in the basement of the apartment complex. Heat rises so the basement would be colder than it was currently in your fifth floor apartment. The only problem was that it was difficult gathering some motivation to get your ass moving in this heat. The knowledge that the basement is colder was rewarding, but collecting your clothes into the garbage bag to carry to the elevator was the part that you didn’t care for. Also, the lack of service in the laundry room wasn’t the best; and since your apartment building does not offer free-wifi, you couldn’t watch any Tiktok to pass the time. 

Soon, you would have to go over to Marcs and Stevens for dinner. Which means that time was running out to get anything done. You knew that once you returned to your apartment after the dinner hour was up that you wouldn’t want to leave. So, with a sigh, you peeled yourself off of the wooden floor. You stretched your limbs and began to collect socks and other clothing you tossed around your apartment into the garbage bag you’ve been using to hold your dirty clothes. By the time you were done, the bag was a quarter full. You didn’t have a lot of clothes since most of your wardrobe was gone because the family that took residence in your childhood home donated or gave away your family’s stuff during the blip. You only had the clothes you wore when you were blipped and a few other items of clothing you thrifted, and of course, the uniform your work gave you when you got hired. You tossed the bag over your shoulder before you snagged your phone, keys, and a couple of pounds off of the counter. 

You locked your apartment door behind you before walking down the hall to the elevators and pressed the basement level button. You were sweating heavily as the elevator doors closed and you began your descent. You leaned against the mirrors behind you as you watched the numbers count down, the box shaking a little with every floor it passed. You half expected the doors to open on each floor for your neighbors to get on and do something for the remaining afternoon, but it didn’t. They’re probably in their apartments with air conditioning, you thought bitterly. 

The door opened to the laundry room and it was surprisingly empty for a Sunday. Usually, it was packed since the weekend was laundry day, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. The laundry room had five washers and five dryers back to back. The machines were generously donated by cleaning machine companies in the United Kingdom. You doubt a company in America would donate to a housing project unless they were somehow profiting from it, whether from positive influence from the public or money. Across from the washers and dryer on either side of the room was a row of chairs facing the machines. In the far right-hand corner of the room was a trashcan and a few feet from it, screwed into the wall was a vending machine for laundry detergent packets, stain remover sticks, and dryer sheets. On the other side of that, tucked into the left-hand corner of the room was a lost and found basket. 

You step out of the elevator and carry your bag to one of the washing machines. You were happy to find that it was much cooler here than above you. Opening the lid and dumping your clothes into the machine, you placed the bag onto the washing machine next to yours before heading over to the vending machines. You took out the pounds you placed in your pocket before you left and uncrumpled one of them, straightening the edges for the machine to hopefully take. You placed it in the slot and the machine began to take it before spitting it back out. 

“Dammit,” You grumbled as you took the pound back to straighten it out more. You tried to flatten it between your index and middle finger before putting it back into the machine only for it to spit it back out once more. 

“Oh my god, just take the fucking money.” You say as you snatched it back from the machine and tried to straighten it on the corner of the machine. If Steven were to hear how you were speaking, he would scold you for your colorful language. The thought almost made you smile especially when the machine finally took the pound. You raised your arms into the air and cheered before doing a little happy dance. Something metal slammed loudly behind you causing you to jump a couple of feet into the air and turn quickly on your heel. Nothing was there, your heart pounded against your chest as your eyes scanned the room for the source. Nothing was knocked over, the elevator doors were shut. The machines were fine- oh fuck, the lid you left open on your washing machine was shut. You stared at it, the blood pounding in your ears at the sight. 

There was no way that could have shut by itself. The vending machine beeped behind you and you turned your head to look at it. The stain remover stick slides into the receiver as the machine thanks you for your purchase. You eye the machine, it has never done that before. It should have kept your money rather than selecting something randomly. It was your luck that it selected the one time that you didn’t need. You pressed your lips together, you only had one pound left that you could use for either a laundry detergent packet or a single dryer sheet packet. 

Once again, you were back to straightening the pound against the corner of the vending machine. The only noise in the room was the sound of the paper being smoothed and the machine taking your money the first time. You hit the laundry detergent button and waited for it to slide into the receiver before grasping the two items and walking back to the washer you were using. You opened the lid and dumped the blue liquid onto your clothes. After the detergent was on your clothing, you tried to recreate the lid falling shut because you were convinced that it didn’t shut on its own. You tried blowing on it (stupid of you to try) and prodding it with the tip of your finger, but it didn’t fall closed. You checked the bolts attached to the lid and they were tight, so there was no way that it was faulty mechanics. 

 You pressed your lips together and shut the lid with your hands before turning the dials on the back of the machine to begin its maximum twenty minute cycle. Unfortunately, the machines had a limited use due to the water and electricity bill of the apartment complex that was included in your rent. The building automatically includes the washing, drying, and the use of the elevator into the tenants rent. Anything else that you use in your apartment such as the oven or the shower was included in an entirely different bill since only you use that for your apartment. 

If it was up to you, you would make the cycles longer on the machines for a through wash. You have transferred your washed clothes from one machine to the other before though to ensure that your clothes were clean. You would have done it for today’s wash since none of your neighbors were around to snitch on you, but with the washing machine lid slamming shut, you decided against it. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe it did slam shut on its own by gravity or because you didn’t push it open all the way.

You sat in one of the chairs lined up against the wall and leaned back into it as the sound of water began to come from the washing machine. Your hand was wrapped around the stain remover stick as your eyes trailed to it. You opened your hand and stared at the small white tube with a blue label. It had some yellow twinkling stars printed on it, you guessed that it was supposed to represent cleanliness and shine. You turned it over to the other side to read the instructions and the warning printed on the side to pass the time. 

“Do not consume this product. Do not stick this product into the eyes, mouth, nose, or lower regions of the body.” You read aloud, scoffing at the warning. What dumbass had to open the cap and poke it into their eyes to get this warning printed on? 

You kept your eyes on the small stick, your thumb slowly rubbed against the sticker on the back. It was odd that the vending machine randomly selected it, right after the lid slammed shut. You don’t know how much time passed until the washing machine beeped to signal that the cycle was complete. You pushed yourself off of the chair and opened the lid. You reached down into the machine, grasping your wet clothes and placed them into the dryer on the behind the washer. It took you a couple of minutes to get all your clothing items into the dryer before you finally began the twenty minute drying cycle. You grabbed the plastic bag you carried your clothes in and placed it on the dryer next to the one you’re using before you sat down in the chairs on the dryers side of the room. 

You stuffed the stain remover stick into your shorts pockets. Leaning back into the chair to get comfortable, you looked around the room and began to count the items in the room to pass the time. There were six spiderwebs, one in each corner and two decorating the upper wall across from you. There were three small rectangle windows towards the top of the wall with the vending machine. There were four light fixtures in the center of the room in two diagonal rows. 

Eventually, counting got boring so you got up and began to rifle through the lost and found basket. Not that you were going to take anything that didn’t belong to you, but you had nothing else to do. There were only a few items in the basket, a red shirt with the iconic: “I love New York,” and a picture of the Empire State building with the Avengers photoshopped in front of it. There was a kids toy of Iron Man, you were pretty sure that it was released as a positive reinforcement stunt after Tony announced to the world that he was Iron Man. You don’t remember much of that since you were too young, but you do remember that you got a set of Avenger toys for your twelfth birthday. The last two items in the basket were a single purple sock with rubber duckies and a self-help book titled, “How To Deal With Losing A Loved One.”

You stared at the book, you weren’t going to take it since it doesn’t belong to you. It just felt like the universe was calling you out just by the title of the book alone. Last year, about a month after you returned from the blip, you heard that Wanda was controlling a town called Westview. You haven’t heard any answer as to why and no other information was released about it since nobody could find Wanda and ask her why she did it. It was like she just disappeared off of the Earth. All you know is that in the fight against Thanos, her boyfriend died. You could guess that she went off the rails while grieving for him, but that wouldn’t be fair to say or think. You weren’t in the position to judge how others grieve when you straight up ghosted everyone in your old life and created a new one. Although, you must admit that yours was more harmless compared to Wandas. 

The dryer beeps as you are standing up from your crouched position. You walked to the dryer and opened the lid before stuffing all of your clothes into the plastic garbage sack. You closed the lid and swung it over your shoulder. The bottom of the bag was warm against your back, it’s a nice feeling during the winter but not so much during the summer. You groaned at the warmth, your back was already sweaty. The light fixtures above you began to flicker on and off causing you to frown. Not a moment afterwards, the washing machines and dryers began to shake violently, almost ripping themselves away from the pipes and outlets between them. You took a step back, your eyes were wide and heart pounding against your chest. 

The lights seemed to speed up with their flickering before the bulbs exploded and glass rained down onto you. You gasped as glass cut into your skin and you were plunged into a darker room. The only source of light was the sunlight filtering through the small rectangle windows and the red exit sign above the elevator. Your eyes adjusted to the room, nothing was in there with you but you could feel something was. It felt like a heavy presence was in the room with you. You could feel them waiting for your next move before they struck. You felt like a cornered animal as the feeling of anxiety and the looming presence watched you. 

Holy shit, you weren’t overreacting. Time to get the fuck out! 

Your heart constricted in your chest as you succumb to the need to run. You spun on your heel and held knuckle white tightly onto your garbage sack. You ran a few feet to the elevator and spammed the call button with your fingers. You look over your shoulders and up to the red numbers counting down above the elevator with fear. It was counting down from the fifth floor. 

“Come fucking on!” You yelled. Of course this was your luck, of course it couldn’t have been on level one. You prayed that none of the tenants needed to use the elevator as you looked over your shoulder. You didn’t know what you were looking for. Nothing was there but you could feel it. Something was there and you needed to get out. You whipped your head back to the numbers counting above you, it was on level two now. You screamed as you felt something begin to approach you. You needed to get out. You needed to get out. You needed to get out! The doors open and you rush inside, quickly slamming your hand onto whatever level got you the hell out of the basement. 

The doors were slow to shut as you backed up against the mirrors, your eyes wide. You half expected some being to stop the doors with their hands and tear you out of the elevator. But the doors shut and you began to ascend. Tears sprung to your eyes, the tightness in your chest lessened as the doors opened to the first floor. You looked up at the red numbers, hoping that the basement floor wouldn’t pop up as the next stop, but all it showed as a number one. Your shaking hand reached for the fifth floor button and you pressed it and once again the doors closed and began to go up. You patted your pockets for the key to your apartment while trying to contain the sobs building up in your chest until you at least got into your flat. 

You didn’t need to look at yourself in the mirror to know how red rimmed your eyes were. Your hand patted the pocket with the stain remover stick- the one that you didn’t need- and that made the tears you’ve been holding back fall. The doors opened to your floor and you pushed past your neighbors who were waiting for the elevator. Of course your neighbors happened to be there the one day you don’t want anyone to see how much of a wreck you were. You forced your jello-feeling legs to walk to your apartment door. The sobs were beginning to make their way out of your throat for anyone to hear the closer you got to your apartment. 

You dropped the garbage bag full of clothes as you patted your short pockets for the key to your apartment. Finally, you pulled out the stupid stain remover and found your key in the same pocket. You shakily tried to jam the key into the lock, missing the key hole several times. Each time you missed more tears ran down your cheeks and you got closer to losing every ounce of your sanity that you had left. Down the hall, you heard a door open and the familiar British voice of the neighbor you have been spending time with calls your name. 

You don’t look at him as you try to jam the key into your doorknob once more and fail. You lean your head against the wooden surface as Steven says your name again while he approaches. 

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes taking in your disheveled and trembling figure. You release a shaky breath, the question making more tears spring to your eyes and run down your cheeks. Steven places a gentle hand onto your shoulder and carefully turns you to look at him. He looked worried and scared, his brown eyes were filled with concern as he took in the expression of fear on your face. You swallowed around the lump in your throat and fought against the feeling to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest. 

“What happened?” He asks softly, your lip trembles. He says your name quietly causing you to reach out and grasp his hand with your own. The calluses on his palms are rough against your skin and the feeling grounds you. Steven and Marc are here. With you. They will protect you. 

“You have a minute?” You finally say, your voice cracking halfway through the question. “I got some shit to tell you guys.” He opens his mouth, probably to scold you for profanity but he slowly closes it and nods. 

“We do,” He says instead. You don’t let go of his hand as you turn your body towards the door of your apartment. You tried to unlock your apartment door a couple more times, missing the key lock each time, before Steven took the key from you and did it himself. He hands you your key back and picks up the laundry bag you dropped minutes ago. With a shaky exhale, you pulled him inside.

Chapter Text

Stevens’ eyes were wide as you recalled the events that happened moments ago. Your voice was shaky as you spoke and you were on the verge of dissociating. It began to feel like you weren’t the one speaking and your body wasn’t the person sitting on the couch with Steven. Feeling the roughness of Stevens hand against your own was the only thing that kept you grounded. Your fingers gently pinched the base of his ring finger as you took slow and deep breath to calm yourself from your anxiety. His skin was warm against your own and the coolness of his apartment was pleasant. Your story came to an end with stumbles over your sentences and your eyes rimmed red from your tears.

Steven opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish that just came out of the water before he asked, “Are you alright?” You nod and release a shaky breath. You pushed down the urge to cry at the question as you preoccupied your mind with your own. Why was this happening and why is it happening to you? Which is exactly what you ask Steven. He slowly shakes his head in answer and you could feel your heart wilt from the simple gesture. 

“Does Marc know why or have a suspicion as to why Khonshu is doing this shit?” You ask. Steven ignores your swearing and instead looks to the closest surface of reflection which  was the window to his right. 

“Well, do you?” Steven asks. A few moments pass as Steven rolls his eyes at whatever Marc is saying before he turns to face you. “No. He doesn’t know why Khonshu is doing this.” You let go of Stevens hand and push yourself off of your couch and begin to pace back and forth. Your legs still kind of felt like jello but you ignored the feeling as you began to wear a path into your floor. 

“Khonshu is looking for a new avatar,” You say as you continue to pace, “Does he usually stalk his avatars before he strikes?”

“No,” Marc answers, “He takes advantage of those already in a shitty situation.” You hum, they mentioned that not too long ago; and you were still left with the question about what caused Marc and Steven to say yes. 

“Why are you so scared of him?” Marc asks, “He can’t hurt you. You can’t even see him unless you’re his avatar. Layla couldn’t see him when I was his.” You stop in your tracks and give him a look. Is he serious? He watched you as he waited for your answer, his brown eyes staring into yours. 

“Khonshu is a god,” You state, “He has the power to do anything that he wants to do. He could kill me.”

“He’s a big old pigeon,“ Steven says, “kind of like- what was that yellow canary on that American television show?” Steven squints into the distance as he tries to remember what the name was. 

“Steven-” You start but he cuts you off.

“It was for children..”

“Steven-”

“Big Bird on Sesame Street!” He shouts, pointing at you and letting out a breathy laugh.

“Steven!” You raise your voice causing him to jump a bit and wilt underneath your incredulous stare, “Are you seriously comparing a god to a bird on a children’s show?”

“Might as well be. He acts like a child,” He says only half jokingly. You give him a look and slowly nod to yourself. You know that Steven is trying to make light of the situation you just went through and he’s trying to make it seem like Khonshu stalking isn’t a big deal, but to you it was. You had a god stalking you and it was scaring you. He could kill you, he could tell his avatar to kill you. What made it even worse was that you couldn’t see him but you could feel his presence, it wasn’t like the aliens that invaded New York back in 2012. You could see the aliens back then invading and killing citizens. This was something that you couldn’t see and that made it ten times more terrifying. 

“Besides,” Marc says, “Khonshu can’t lay a hand on you. It’s against the Enneads rules.” 

“What about his avatars?”

“He shouldn’t send someone after you unless you’re doing some horrible shit.” Marc shrugs, “and I doubt that you have some other life that we don’t know about. You’re too boring for that.” You gasp, acting offended and placing a hand over your chest. 

“Thank you,” You say sarcastically. Swallowing you state, “You said that only his avatars could see him, but I saw his staff and the outline of him,” You remembered the presence in front of your apartment door when the power went out briefly, “Why could I see his staff but not the rest of him?”

“Listen, kid,” Marc starts. You roll your eyes at his tone. You know that he’s trying to comfort you but you wanted answers that he may or may not have, and it was beginning to frustrate that you weren’t exactly receiving them. “Khonshu is a dick. He’s just messing with you and trying to rile you up.”

“Why?” You ask, “Why me?” What did Khonshu see in you that’s causing him to harass you? Marc shrugs and you press your lips together at the sight. He and Steven knew the god the best and they didn’t even have an answer for you- or they had an answer and they just weren’t willing to share it. You bite your lip at the thought. You haven’t known Marc and Steven for long, only a little over three weeks so you understood that they still have secrets and stuff the three of you decide to not talk about; but for this one topic everything needs to be open, you were terrified for your life. 

“You really don’t know?” You ask. 

“If I knew I would tell you,” Marc says. He seemed honest as he spoke. You stare at him for a few moments before nodding slowly. You’re just going to have to trust him then.

“Okay,” You say, “I want you to promise me that you really don’t know. Both of you.” You pause as you see Marc give you a questioning look, “You wouldn’t have an issue if you’re not lying.” You sigh, swallowing before you begin to admit how you felt, “Guys, I’m terrified. I just got chased out of the laundry room, you didn’t see how the washing machines and dryers shook. It was like a seven-point-nine earthquake. I’m being stalked by something that I can’t see because Khonshu just happens to find my terror humorous for him. So, excuse me that I’m asking for your word that you would tell me anything that has to do with me and boney Big Bird.”

Steven was the first to speak, “I promise.” His brown eyes were soft as the two words rolled off his tongue. You held out your hand and he placed his onto yours, you gripped his wrist and he copied your movement. Your fingers wrapped around his arm and his wrapped around your own as you shook it twice before letting go. 

“What about you, Marc?” You asked. You only knew they switched by how his spine straightened and his eyes were harder.

“What? No pinky promises?” He says in a mocking tone. But he still held up his right arm anyway and you did the same shake as you did with Steven. 

“I promise,” He says as you finish, instead of immediately letting go like you did with Steven, you hold on a moment longer. The two of you stare at each other, you weren’t sure if you were having silent conversation with your eyes or if you just needed an extra second of physical support. You’d like to think it was the second, but not a minute later you release your hand from around his wrist and let you go from his own grasp.

“I find out you’re lying to me and keeping shit from me that has to do with my life, I’ll break your kneecaps, Spector.” You say. You were only half joking. You honestly wouldn’t know what you would do if you found out that they were keeping important information from you that had to do with you and your safety.

“What about Steven?” 

You roll your eyes at the question, “Newsflash buddy, you’re both in the same body.”

“Fair enough.” He says. You walked the three steps back to the couch and sat down on the cushion on the furthest end away from him. You leaned back against the arm rail and began to play with a loose thread on your tank top. You brought your left leg up onto the cushion so you’re facing him as you ask one of the thousands of questions you had since they told you about their past: “What happened that caused Khonshu to let you walk free?” Marc trails his eyes to you and sighs. 

He leans back against the opposite armrest, copying your sitting position as he spoke, “We told him that we would become his avatar again to capture Ammit if he were to agree to freeing us once the deal was up.” You gave him a fixed stare, what does he mean by “again”? Knowing his track-record for answering questions, you doubt that he would answer your question if you were to ask, so you stored that tidbit of information in the back of your mind to ask later. 

“And that doesn’t seem weird?” You say, “This god used you to capture Ammit, only to free you with zero strings attached?” 

“It sounds like Khonshu used us for his own benefit and tossed us to the side once he no longer had use for me- us,” He corrects himself. 

“Then why is he lingering around the apartment building and scaring the shit out of me?” You say, he doesn’t bother to answer the question. Shouldn’t he be searching for a new avatar now that Steven and Marc are free? You ask, “Have you seen him or anything that could be him?” 

“No,” He answers and pauses for a moment in thought before adding, “It’s probably to get underneath our skin. Are you sure you saw the crescent staff a few weeks ago?” 

“I know what I saw.” You snap at him. You were sure that it was Khonshus staff and for Marc to begin to question you was making you a little upset. 

“I’m just asking because fear can cause the mind to see something different than what’s actually there.” He defends himself. You sigh and the two of you sit in silence. Nothing makes sense. Why was a god interested in harassing you and making your day fucked up? Why could you see his staff if only his avatars could see him? All you knew was that you are going to invest into a laundry basket with wheels. If it happens again, you’re going to zoom the fuck out of there. 

“Did you buy the couch yourself?” Steven asks. 

“Yeah,” You say. 

“Do you sleep on it?” He picks at a loose thread on the flattened pillow stuffed into the corner of the cushions. You nod. “You don’t have a bed?” 

“Steven, I budget my groceries each week and I ate out of a jar of peanut butter for breakfast and dinner not that long ago. You thinking I can afford a mattress is flattering.” 

“Where did you get the couch?”

“Yard sale. I bought the couch with the money I had saved back in America and earned with my first paycheck at City Subs,” You proudly said. “I also bought my laptop from a yard sale.”

“What about the table?” He asks, pointing his finger at the wooden surface behind him.

“I found it on the corner of the street down the road. I figured somebody put it there because they were no longer using it, so I took it. I was going to buy a table at some point anyway.”

“You know it’s illegal to dump rubbish on the side of the road,” Steven says. 

“Well, you know what they say, ‘another man’s junk is another man’s treasure.’” You say, Steven shakes his head. 

“That’s not what I meant.” He says, you give him a questioning look. “Nobody can put rubbish on the sidewalk and just leave it there. They’ll get fined for it.”

“But it was there.” You say in confusion. What was he getting at?

“Somebody put it there for a reason,” He says your name, “This isn’t America where you can dump anything you’re no longer using on the side of the road with a piece of paper that says ‘free’.” He air quotes with his fingers around the last word.

“So…”you start, you were still trying to wrap your mind around it, “you’re saying that somebody put the table on the side of the road because they were planning on doing something with it.”

“They were probably planning on doing a lemonade stand and you took their table. When did you take this?”

“About last spring…” You trail off. Your face began to flush red in embarrassment. Oh god, you stole a table. You stole a table that some kids were probably going to use to sell lemonade and earn money. You were so proud of finding the thing last year and only now are you realizing that you committed a crime.

“You upped and stole their table.” Steven states, “How did you even get it here?” 

“I walked and then some of our neighbors helped carry it upstairs and to here.”

“There weren’t any chairs around it when you found it?”

“If there was, I would have taken them too.” You say, you know that you would have gone back for them if you saw them. Steven glares at the window behind you.

“Stop laughing, Marc. This isn’t funny, it’s serious.” Steven says, “The poor kids probably went inside to get the chairs and came back out to a missing table.” That made you feel even worse. “You need to return it.” He says your name as you rubbed your temple. 

“I can’t just return it, Steven. I’ll get reported as a table thief and the police will arrest me.” 

“Besides,” Marc says, “They probably already have a new table by now and what are they going to do with two of them?”

“Use one as a lemonade stand and the other to eat dinner, I suppose.” You say, he chuckled at your answer. Without warning, your next door neighbor slammed their door shut causing you to jump. You turned your head to the picture frames and watched as they swayed precariously on the tacks you shoved into the drywall. Steven gasped as one of them finally dropped, glass shattered across the hardwood floor and you grinned. Fucking finally, you thought as you quickly stood up and made your way to the wall you shared with your neighbor. 

“Oh no!” You yelled, “The frame my dad bought me before he died!” You pressed your ear against the wall and heard muffled noises. 

“Oh my god,” Steven says, hand covering his mouth as you remove your ear and grin at the broken picture frame, “This was karma for the table.” 

“No,” You say, “This was the greatest thing that has happened to me today.” You spin on your heel and bounce on your feet, “They’re finally going to be more careful with slamming their doors. If anything, This was a sign from the universe for me to keep the table.” 

“You’re happy that your frame broke?” Steven asked. You bent down, carefully removing the picture within the frame before showing Steven. 

“The frame can be replaced, but this can not.” You say, he squints at the photo. 

“Who are they?”

“My parents. It’s one of the few pictures I printed off at the library.” 

“Don’t you have a SD card or something that you stored more photos on?”

“I do, but I don’t want to rely on a small chip in my phone. Phones break all the time, Steven. I nearly got mugged for my phone almost a month ago too.” You place the picture on the table you stole. You smiled as your eyes landed on the glass pile of rubbish.

“Guess one good thing happened today” You joke. You didn’t have a pan or broom to sweep up the mess, so you were planning on collecting it with paper sacks, but Steven offered to bring his broom and dustpan from his apartment. He made you sit on the couch while he cleaned the mess so you wouldn’t get any cuts from the glass.

 Once the mess was cleaned up, the two of you walked back to their apartment for dinner. The normal routine between the three of you was nice and reassuring. Marc wouldn’t tag in to help with dinner unless you accidentally caught something on fire- which was only once because after that they never let you help. So, conversation between you and Marc was less likely than between you and the other alter. Steven would cook or make something cold for the two of you to enjoy while you both chatted about your day, and over dinner he would talk about something funny that happened or some cool thing he learned. It was nice that the dinner felt normal after the events that happened in the laundry room. 

You were chewing on the ham and cheese sandwich Steven made you. Marc bought some lunch-meat for himself and Steven decided to use some of it with his permission, of course. Steven was talking about the ceremonial suit Marc had when he was Khonshus avatar. 

“It looked bloody brilliant,” Steven spoke in between bites of his vegan sandwich. Which just consisted of two slices of bread and lettuce leaves, tomatoes, avocado, and some veggie patty he bought from the store. 

“The cape was in a crescent shape and it was bullet proof; and in the chest was a crescent shaped dagger.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed before adding, “And mine was a suit like a tuxedo and I had batons for my weapon, I looked quite charming.” You already knew what the suits looked like due to the news coverage of it, but with the amazed expression on his face as he talked so animatedly about it, you didn’t want to interrupt him. 

He looks over to Gus the Second tank and frowns, “I did not look like a knob, Marc.” You hid your smile behind your sandwich. 

“So, if you’re an avatar you get a ceremonial suit?” You ask and Steven turns his attention to you. 

“Yeah, it’s cool isn’t it?” He asks, you nod. “Layla got one that made her look like a princess. She had wings and this amazing gold piece attached to her waist. She was so cool,” He gushed. Right, Layla was Taweret’s temporary avatar. 

“She’s no longer Taweret’s avatar, right?” You asked. You think you already touched bases on this not too long ago but you wanted to make sure. He shakes his head. You finished your sandwich as Steven rambles on about his day of continuing his scrapbook and trying to stay cool in this heat. He chats about finding a new vegan recipe he wants to try this week and that he needs to go to the store for some of the ingredients, he asks you if you need anything from there and you tell him no, thank you. 

Not too long afterwards, you were in the kitchen washing the dishes and trying to extend your time in the men’s apartment because you were terrified to be on your own. You know it’s inevitable that you’re going to be on your own the majority of the time and that you should get used to being harassed and stalked by the god, but that didn’t mean it was any less scary. You were scrubbing the last spatula for a couple of minutes to try to not go back to your apartment a moment sooner. 

You knew your terror was not something that made you weak, but you sure as hell felt like a child as your mind came up with the option of spending the night in their flat. You were a child, a teenager, but you weren’t the age that children typically come into their parents room after having a nightmare or claim that they saw the boogeyman in their closet. You were a sixteen year old who was considering asking your neighbor you only known for a little over three weeks to stay in their flat because you were scared of a god that they used to work for. They tried to reassure you that Khonshu wouldn’t do anything to you, but why else would he make his presence known by the event in the laundry room and showing his staff in your apartment not that long ago? Why would a god find interest in you enough to begin to make it a point that he’s trying to scare you? 

You scrubbed the spatula and ran it underneath the running water coming from the faucet before you placed it on the drying rack. The dishes were done, you had nothing to stop you from going back to your flat. You shut off the water and reached for the towel on the counter to dry your hands. Steven sat at the table, he wore a pair of reading glasses as he looked at some papers in front of him. You swallow, trying to work up the courage to ask. The worst they can say is no, and you would understand. They don’t know you that well.

“Steven?” You ask, he hums and holds up his finger as a signal to wait. 

“Just a moment,” He says your name as he puts his attention back to the papers in front of him. You walk across the room and peer over his shoulder, “Ah ha!” He exclaims and turns towards you, holding a piece of paper and smiling at you as he holds it out for you to grab. You reach out and gently take the paper, your eyes scanning the traced drawing of the God Horus. It had a falcon head and from the neck down was a male human body, a single eye was drawn in the upper right hand corner along with the name of the god. 

“Horus,” He says. Your eyes flicker up to him, he is giving you a soft grin, ”The God Horus is the protector of humans. The Eye of Horus is a symbol of protection. They used it often in ancient Egypt.” You hand him the paper back and he shakes his head, his curls bouncing as he did so, “That is for you to keep, as long as you have that you have a God looking over you at all times.” Although you knew that it didn’t actually guarantee your safety since it felt like how your parents used to check your closet and underneath your bed when you swore something was in it, Stevens’ gesture was sweet nonetheless. 

You smile at him as you say, “Thank you.” Your eyes cast to your feet as you gather the courage to ask. Just take a leap of faith, the worst they can say is no. 

“Is something else bothering you, kid?” Marc asks. You bite your lip and shake your head in answer before sighing. 

“Yeah,” You start, “I don’t know why I shook my head no, but I have something to ask you and it’s okay to say no- believe me I’ll understand and-”

Marc cuts your rambling off by saying, “Just spit it out.”

“Okay,” You take a deep breath to help calm your nerves, and maybe prolong the inevitable question from leaving your mouth, “Can I stay here?” You look away quickly. 

“What?” Marc asks. 

You sigh and repeat the question, “It’s okay if I can’t-” You rush out but Marc holds up a hand ultimately cutting you off from continuing. He glances down at his feet before trailing his eyes to the fish tank. He didn’t say anything to Steven, but instead he listened to whatever the man was saying. You awkwardly step from side to side as you wait for Marc’s answer. 

It began to feel like years passed but in reality it was minutes before he said, “I got the couch.” You felt your heart skip a beat at his answer. 

“No, I got it. I feel terrible taking your bed.” 

“It’s fine, you’re our guest. Take the bed.” He says, you stubbornly shake your head. “Take the bed or we’ll withdraw our yes.” He threatens and stands up, you swallow. You doubt that Marc would take away his permission to spend the night, but you don’t want to find out if that was true or not. You agree to take the bed and promise to be back so you could change into a cleaner pair of shorts and tank top in your apartment. Quickly, you brush your teeth and rinse your mouth with the running water coming from the faucet, you don’t want to stay alone for long. You empty your short pockets of the damn stain remover stick the vending machine spit out earlier today. You set the stick on the same counter you use as a coat rack and grab your phone charger before locking your apartment door and going back to your neighbors. 

By the time you arrived, Steven was dressed into his own pajamas which consisted of basketball shorts and a short sleeved white shirt. He was looking around the room as he talked aloud to himself or to Marc, “I fed Gus the Second dinner and I made sure that all the windows were locked. What else did I forget?” You shut the door behind you and turn to deadbolt it, “Ah that’s it,” He says, “I’m so used to locking the door.” 

You pat the lock and smile at him, “Well, the door is bolted.” You reassure him. For a couple of moments, you stood awkwardly, clutching your phone and charger in your hands before Steven gestured for you to follow him. His bed was a full size mattress with white sheets and matching pillow sets with a single blue pillow. His two nightstands were dark brown and had an alarm clock and a glass of water set onto the surface. Sleeping disorder themed books were stacked onto the opposite nightstand along with a Rubik cube and a couple of Egyptology books and a few highlighters were scattered along the surface.

“I set the glass of water on the nightstand in case you get thirsty. Oh, here I’ll plug that in for you,” He says and takes the charger from your hand, plugging it into the outlet behind the nightstand with the alarm clock. You approach the bed and notice something odd at the end of it. What is that? Wait, is that what you think it is?

“Is that…?” You trail off as you pick up an ankle restraint attached to the post of the bed. You stare at it for a few moments before turning your gaze to Steven. He looked horrified at the expression on your face. 

“It’s not- its not what you think it is,” He stammers out, “It was for my sleeping disorder- Marc dragged the body all over London and I thought I was sleepwalking. I would be so tired in the morning and covered in bruises that I didn’t know what happened-and did I tell you it’s for my sleeping disorder when I thought I had one? I tied myself to the bed because what if I got mugged and I was asleep and alone?”

“Right.” 

“I’m serious,” He says in a pleading tone, “Marc used to drag the body all over London and I thought I was sleepwalking.”

“Okay,” You say and drop the ankle restraint. You believed him and besides it wasn’t any of your business to question what he does in his free time. You feel something soft and small underneath your feet. Casting your eyes down, you don’t see anything but small grains of sand surrounding the bed, “Sleeping disorder, right?” You ask, lightly kicking the sand with your foot. 

“Yeah, I used it as a way to see my footprints if I left the bed.” He says, “There used to be a lot more but I vacuumed it up.” You plug your phone into your charger and set your morning alarm. You had work tomorrow and you weren’t looking forward to it, but hey, it pays the bills and keeps a roof over your head so you couldn’t complain much. Sitting on the edge of the bed you jump slightly as you hear a popping noise. 

“Don’t worry it’s the fan. It’s old and it’s been on for two days, I think it’s on its last legs.” Steven reassures you. You look around his flat warily, as if you could spot the god lingering in the corner, but as always you saw nothing. 

Steven watches you for a moment before asking, “What is it? Do you see him?” He cups his hands around his mouth, turns his body to the rest of the apartment and says loudly, “Go away you big egg, you are not welcome here.” It was a sweet gesture even though you couldn’t see Khonshu. Steven Grant was a sweetheart. He turns towards you with a smile. You lay down on the mattress, it was too hot to peel back the covers and sleep underneath them. The pillows were soft underneath your head, it smelled like Marc’s and Stevens deodorant or shampoo they use. 

Steven tells you goodnight and begins to leave but you call out to him, “Wait,” You say, biting your cheek nervously, “Can you stay here?” You felt like you were a child asking their parents to stay. But Steven nor Marc were your parents, they were your neighbors. “At least until I fall asleep,” You add quickly, your face turning red in embarrassment. Steven gives you a soft smile and nods in answer before walking around the bed and leaning against the headboard. 

“Thank you,” You say. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to yourself and Steven breathe. Moonlight filtered through the blinds casting you and Steven in a white glow.

“You gotta close your eyes, dove,” Steven says, “Otherwise you’ll never fall asleep.” 

“I know. I’m just…” You trail off.

“Scared?” Steven finishes for you and you nod. “It’s okay to be scared, I was terrified when I first saw Khonshu; but you can’t let him dictate your life.” He pauses, out of the corner of your eyes you see him looking at you, “Do you think that if I were to read to you, you would calm down?” You didn’t know but it was worth a shot so you tell him maybe. You didn’t want to lay awake all night worried that you’re going to get spooked. Steven reaches to the books on the nightstand next to him and sets a book in his lap. He opens up the book, flipping several pages before he begins to read to you about the God Horus. 

His voice was soft as he spoke. Although you guessed that he read this book several times cover to cover due to how yellowed and creased the papers are, he sounded enthused and interested in it as if he was learning all this information like it was the first time. His left hand supported the book in his lap while his right hand rested on the bed between you. You wanted to be comforted physically and Stevens presence next to you wasn’t enough. 

Slowly and hesitantly, you reach out and grasp his hand with your own. Your face heats red in embarrassment and you quickly shut your eyes so you don’t have to see his expression. His words faltered for a moment, and you thought that he was going to ask you to let go of his hand or perhaps kick you out because he felt uncomfortable. Your heart pounded against your chest with anxiety, but the calming voice of Steven continuing his reading slowed it. You laid on your back with your chest rising and falling as your neighbor read to you. Eventually, your body relaxed and your breathing slowed, the soft voice of Steven Grant lulled you to sleep.

Chapter Text

You settled into a routine with Marc and Steven. On the days that you worked, you would wake up in their bed while Marc slept on the couch. You only figured it was Marc because he always woke up when you were walking around their flat, getting ready to leave for the day. You would then go to your apartment and change into your work uniform and quickly make some toast before leaving and heading to work. You didn’t like staying on your own for too long since the laundry room incident. After spending the day at work, you would return to your apartment and change into your pajamas before having dinner with Steven and Marc. At bedtime, Steven would read out of his Egyptology books and lull you to sleep. 

On your days off, you would wake up to the smell of whatever Marc was cooking for breakfast. The two of you would find comfort in the mid morning sunlight filtering through the kitchen window as you ate in contented peace, the both of you still trying to wake up and you would try to convince him to let you have a cup of coffee. He always denies you and calls it an “adult beverage.” Whatever that means. After washing the breakfast dishes, you would try to give the men space by walking around the neighborhood. Although you hated spending time alone, you didn’t want them to get irritated by your almost twenty-four hour presence.

Sometimes you would walk along the road and browse in shops, you never bought anything. Although you found a cute shop with handcrafted glass blown figurines. They were hella expensive, once you saw the price tag on a pyramid shaped one you took careful steps out of that shop and haven’t been back since. You wished that you had enough money to buy the boys something materialistic as a thank you. 

You’ve been saving up for supplies to make them something, you’re not sure what yet. But, you do know that you’re not going to have enough for awhile, so you decided to begin to save for something a little cheaper that would show your thanks to the boys. You were going to buy them breakfast, not today but maybe in a few days. You learned that Steven and Marc shared a sweet tooth for strawberry waffles and you knew of a place near your work so you were going to get up early and buy them breakfast. That was your plan to do in a few days at least. You would surprise them with cooking the breakfast but, you didn’t want to risk burning the food or being alone for too long in your kitchen. Also, it was overall cheaper buying a single meal than it would be to buy the waffle mix, whipped cream, and strawberries for it at the store.

By dinner-time, you would go back to their apartment and repeat the same evening routine as the days you worked. It was nice and comfortable falling into similar patterns. There was one problem though, it’s been two weeks since the laundry room incident and you felt terrible about taking their bed while they’ve been sleeping on their couch. You had your own apartment and you only stepped foot into there for clothing changes and brief meals. You also felt terrible about being their personal raccoon and eating their food and not pitching in for it. You have offered but they always denied and stated that you’re their guest. You’ve been sleeping in their bed for half a month and you have not paid a single cent in their rent. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if you were the one sleeping on their couch. The discomfort you see on Stevens or Marcs face when they wake up was awful. You were used to sleeping on a couch, you were used to the cramped legroom and the awkward angles that you have to place your body into to feel comfortable; the boys were not. They were old men who woke up in pain simply because they laid wrong throughout the night. You were young and you would heal but the neck pain Steven began to complain of for the last two days made you feel guilty. You weren’t going to lie, sleeping on a mattress was heavenly and you sure as hell slept like a rock around the third night you spent in their apartment. But, you began to slowly accept that you can’t run from a God that is watching you for some damn reason. 

You’re just going to have to accept that Khonshu will always terrorize you and you looking for comfort in your neighbors by spending the majority of the time with them was just stroking his ego. You were showing him that you were terrified of him- and rightfully so- but, would you really want to show to your enemy that they were getting to you? That’s another thing since you had time to process the events and come to terms with it, was Khonshu your enemy? You know that he scared the shit out of you in the laundry room, but was he trying to get your attention by letting you know he was there? Did he know something was going to happen and scared you enough that you booked it out of there in the nick of time? Marc told you how he used his avatars and took advantage of them, so you know that Khonshu was terrible in that regard. But, Khonshu is the protector of travelers in the night and he used his avatars to do vengeful tasks for him to seek justice as long as it was done underneath his moon. If he was seeking justice for those who were wronged, did that make him a bad guy?

The way that he abused his avatars did make him terrible, especially with threatening to use Layla as his next avatar; but he did stop Ammit from causing mass genocide. You didn’t know what if he was a good or bad god, but you definitely came to the conclusion that Khonshu would do anything that benefits him the most. Khonshu only scared you, he didn’t harm you and that made him a bit less terrifying. Although you were still wary about the god and his intentions, he could kill you if he really wanted to. It wouldn’t make much sense since he was seeking vengeance for those who needed justice and you didn’t have any plans to cause anybody harm. Maybe if you became a supervillain in the future, but you highly doubt you would. 

Well, actually, you might become a villain just because you were absolutely positive that Khonshu was the one who fucked up your vending machine order and choose the stain remover stick which was the one thing you didn’t need. You were still salty about that. He wasted your damn pound and for what? Just to mess with you? Fuck off, dude. The stick has been sitting on your counter for the last two weeks and the last two times you did laundry with Steven you haven’t used it at all. It was an absolute waste of money and your clothes that week didn’t even smell its best because of the lack of dryer sheets. 

You stood in the canned food aisle, staring at the beans trying to decide on whether or not to choose kidney or black beans. Your mind kept on wandering to the thought of the damn psychopathic god as you shopped for your weekly food. Since you’ve begun having dinner with your neighbors you’ve begun having one less meal a night to prepare for, and in turn you’ve been saving a bit of money each week to put towards your breakfast or lunch food for the weekends. You also were saving the money for the strawberry waffle treat you were going to buy for the men. You were closer to your goal of treating them, you were going to have enough cash to buy them in a couple of days, probably the day after tomorrow depending on how well customers tip you at work tomorrow. 

Finally, you decide on the kidney beans before walking to the self-checkout with your basket of groceries. After scanning the items and putting them into a cloth bag, you reach into your shorts pocket for the cash to pay for your groceries and were a little surprised to feel a zip-lock baggie folded in your pocket. Without pulling it out, you already knew what it was. You’ve been carrying the Eye of Horus page since the day after Steven gave the page to you. It gave you an odd sense of comfort to have it on you. You read the page so many times that you completely memorized it and were able to recite it without looking at the page. Once you did that during dinner with Steven and he was awed that you could tell him facts about Horus. 

You paid for your groceries. You were glad that the machine didn’t spit out the pounds you fed it unlike your struggle with the vending machine in the laundry room. Your mind trailed back to Khonshu and the questions of whether or not he meant harm. He could kill you, but he hasn’t and it’s not like you’ve done anything to cause him to target you for vengeance. Sure, you killed a few dozen bugs in your life but it’s not like you’re killing people or abusing others. So, why is he lingering around the apartment complex that Marc and Steven live in? Does he really have attachment issues towards these men enough to keep a close eye on them or is there something more? Why is the god lingering? 

You were now on the bus and searching for a place to sit down. It was crowded like always and that made it difficult to find a spot on the benches. Luckily, you found one next to elderly woman you neighbored with. She was the other person in the elevator the day that Steven was screaming his head off. You remembered the frightened look the two of you shared as Steven came up with a dumb-ass excuse that he dropped his contact lense. You sat down next to her, squeezing in between her and some other man who you don’t recognize, and placed your bag of groceries in between your feet. Other passengers found their seats or handlebars to hold onto as the bus lurched forward and began to travel once again. You reached into your shorts pocket, feeling for your money and the Eye of Horus to make sure neither didn’t manage to somehow fall out or you to accidentally drop them as you were tucking it into your pocket. 

You then reached into your other pocket for your phone and was surprised to find it vibrating with Stevens name and red and green button waiting for you to slide on either one. You didn’t feel it vibrating in your pocket but with the notification of nine missed calls, you were even more surprised and concerned. You slide the green button and put it against your ear. Steven says your name with relief in his tone. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, you scrunch your eyebrows together at the question. 

“Yeah?” You answer. Why wouldn’t you be alright? Did something happen?

“Oh bloody hell,” Steven breathes out. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the wall behind you. Steven was beginning to stress you out, why was he acting like this? Did something happen to your apartment while you were out? You were sure that you turned off the stove burner before you left. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, he lets out a small scoff and you imagine him giving you the same look he always gives you when you ask stupid questions. 

“You didn’t answer our calls!” Steven loudly says, “We thought you were dead or worse.” Your heart drops to your stomach. You felt guilty not noticing the phone and picking up sooner, you were so wrapped up in your thoughts about Khonshu that you didn’t even feel your phone against your leg.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t feel my phone vibrating in my pocket.” You say, Steven lets out a small sigh.

“Where are you?”

“On the bus heading back to the apartment,” You answer. 

“We’ll meet with you at the bus stop, alright?” Steven says. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but we’re going anyway. What street are you on?” He asks, you bite the inside of your cheek before looking outside the windows, searching for a street name. Once you do find it, you tell him the name and he hums in answer. “About fifteen minutes then?” 

“Just about,” You reply. 

“We’ll see you then,” Steven says, “Cheers.” He hangs up and you’re left staring at the bright lock screen of your phone. The notification of the nine missed calls turns out to be seven from Steven and two from Marc’s emergency-only number. You were only a little hesitant to listen to the voicemails left by the men. You knew that you could delete them without putting your ear to your phone but with how relieved Steven seemed to be for you to pick up, you felt like you owed it to them. With that, you typed in your voicemail password and began listening to each one. 

It began with Steven calling you to ask about where you were because it was dinner time. You felt guilty that you forgot to tell the men that you would be late for dinner because you were out shopping and browsing. You decided that the best time to go was last minute because you procrastinated on it throughout the day and honestly, you didn’t want the day to end so you would have to go back to your apartment to put away the groceries. The next voicemail was Steven asking you once again where you were and that he’s about to go knock on your door if you don’t answer soon. The third one was of Steven beginning to sound panicked, he told you how he knocked on your door and didn’t answer and that he’s thinking of calling the police because he knows that you don’t have many friends so you being busy hanging out with someone wasn’t an option for your whereabouts. Rude but true. 

The next two voicemails were similar to the previous, except this time Steven was on the brink of hysteria and about to call the police to report you missing. He was threatening to call off the deal and report you for fraud if it meant that you would be found and safe. He stated that’s what he should have done in the first place when you admitted you were sixteen and living on your own. There was a brief pause and you listened to the one-side conversation of Steven arguing with Marc before the voicemail ended. The last voicemail from Steven was of him begging you to pick up just so they could know you were safe. You felt a pit form in your stomach at the sound of his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. 

He sounded guilty that something could have happened to you and he could have prevented it by turning you into the police sooner. They could have protected you but they didn’t even know where you were, you could be dead in a ditch or in some creeps basement. Some dude similar to Dennis Nilsen could have kidnapped you and could be holding you hostage in their home. They didn’t know because you simply forgot to mention to them that you would be out and late to dinner. You left them wondering if you were alive. It didn’t help your case that Khonshu was stalking you and none of you knew why. 

You were just a kid, although the legal age to live on your own is sixteen in the United Kingdom, you were still a child. In this day and age it was smart to let people know where you were going just in case something happened; and yeah, you got used to not telling people where you were because you had nobody to rely on until a month ago. The feeling of being cared for felt odd, if not a little foreign because somebody was looking after you after a year of nobody checking in. You wished that you noticed your phone vibrating sooner so you didn’t cause them to panic this much. 

The last two voicemails were from Marc’s emergency only number. You swallowed at the sight. The last time you had this anxious feeling caused by missed calls was before the blip. Your mother was panicked because you snuck out at two in the morning to go to a high-school party and you didn’t tell her about where you went. You didn’t ask for permission to go, you were fifteen and you knew they were going to say no because they figured there would be people drinking and smoking weed. You were scolded by your parents and grounded for three months as punishment and then not too long after your grounding ended, the blip happened. The feeling in your chest was tight as you came to the conclusion that you were going to be in deep shit when they saw you at the bus-stop. You should have been more careful, you should have told them you were going to be late so they wouldn’t worry and feel like they have to do something drastic to ensure that you were alive and safe. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you listened to Marc’s voice. 

“Call me whenever you get this,” He spoke, “Steven is worried about you- and-” He falters for a moment, “Yeah, Steven, don’t tell me that I’m not worried, I am- Listen, I’m worried too. Just call us back,” You imagine him cringing as he admits his feelings before he hangs up. Your phone’s voicemail told you that the next message was received about twenty minutes later. 

Marc spoke your name, his voice was shaky as he said, “I’m about to call the fucking police if you don’t pick up the next phone call. I am this close to turning your ass in. Answer the fucking phone.” He said your name again and paused, breathing a little heavily. “Please, kid. Just text us that you’re alright if you don’t want to talk, just-” He cuts himself off, “Please.” The message ended and you pulled your phone away from your ear. You felt guilty that you didn’t answer sooner, it would have saved the men a lot of time and saved them from a rollercoaster ride of emotions. 

The bus slowed down to a stop and you grabbed your grocery bag, pocketing your phone before exiting the bus. Marc stood a few feet away from the doors with his arms crossed over his chest. You could only tell that it was Marc because of the strict posture, the pouting lips, and the furrowed brows that matched his upset and angry attitude. His brown eyes glared at you as you clutched your bag a little tighter at the sight. Your dad was like that a long time ago, he would get the same angry look on his face whenever you did something that caused him to be upset. 

Once, you broke a glass cup by accident because you stacked the dishes incorrectly on the drying rack. He got upset because you could have hurt yourself or somebody else, of course he was relieved that you didn’t but he told you to be more careful. Another time, you lied to your parents that you were spending the night at your bestfriends house but in reality you were traveling across state lines into Connecticut to see the sunrise. They were upset that you could have gotten into a wreck and they would have thought you would be asleep at a sleepover. You were grounded for a while because of that, but it was worth it due to the memories you have of the road trip and the knowledge that you have caring parents. Well, had caring parents. 

You watched Marc’s eyes soften and the crease on his forehead become smooth as Steven stared at you with relief and a little bit of joy. He steps forward, closing the distance between you as he places his palms onto your shoulders as if he needed physical reassurance that you were in front of him.

“Oh, thank the gods that you’re okay,” Steven says and lightly squeezes your shoulders. “Don’t do that again,” he looks you up and down quickly. You guessed that he was looking for any signs of injuries or something that could hint that you were lying about grocery-shopping. So, you held up the cloth bag between you to catch his attention and Steven glanced at its contents. With the satisfied expression on his face, he must have decided that you really were okay. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t answer,” You tell him sheepishly, “I didn’t feel my phone vibrating in my pocket.” He takes the bag from you with one hand and removes his other hand from your shoulder.

“Just as long as you’re alright, it’s alright.” Steven says. “Come on now, let’s go eat dinner.” He grasped your hand and began to pull you along down the sidewalk and you had no choice but to move your legs to keep up with him. You peered at the side of Stevens face as you walked, he seemed a little frantic and anxious but that didn’t mean much because he always was an anxious human. 

“Are you alright?” You ask. You knew that you upset them because you didn’t pick up their calls, but with the frantic look on his face you felt like something else was wrong.

“I’m fine, dove,” Steven says, glancing at you before returning his attention to making a path around other people walking and pulling you with him. You were close to your apartment building, just a few minutes away and soon you would be eating dinner with the men and trying to find answers to questions that they will avoid. You wanted answers now, you deserved to know what’s got them to act this way. You ripped your hand out of Stevens grasp causing him to whip his body towards you from the sudden movement. 

“Did something happen?” You ask, “Like anything specific that’s causing you to act like this?”

“Like what?” Steven says, nervously chuckling a bit at your question. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Like this,” You gesture towards him with your hand, “Something made you nervous enough that you called me seven times and Marc called me twice.”

“You missed dinner,” Steven says, he wrings the straps of the grocery bag in his hands. “We have dinner at six-thirty every night and you missed dinner. You didn’t answer our calls and Marc thought-” He cuts himself off and looks away from you, tears began to well in his eyes as he spoke, “If you died or got hurt…we should have turned you into the police sooner. We should have kept you safe.” You swallow and it’s your turn to look away. There’s no way that you could make this up to the men for scaring them this badly. 

“I’m sorry,” You repeat your apology from earlier, “I know that my apology doesn’t mean much when I frightened you guys. I promise that I’ll be paying more attention to my phone and picking up any calls from you and Marc.” You hold out your hand for the promise-handshake you did with them not that long ago; but all Steven did was press his lips together and trail his eyes over to the glass pane door. You figured that Marc was telling him not to do the handshake. You lowered your hand and watched as Steven trail his eyes back to you. He looked like a kicked puppy with those sad brown eyes staring at you. 

“Let’s just go to my place,” Steven said and offered his hand for you to hold but just like he didn’t take yours, you didn’t take his. He lowered his hand awkwardly and clutched the straps of the cloth bag, stepping from foot to foot before he turned on his heel and continued the journey to the apartment building. You followed him, watching his back as you walked.

Why were they upset that you could have died? Yeah, you were aware that they felt like they had some responsibility towards you and your well-being, but was there anything else? Marc and Steven both tried to reassure you that Khonshu couldn’t touch a damn hair on your head because it’s against the Enneads rules; and that it’s unlikely for the Big Bird to send his avatar after you because you haven’t done anything terrible. You haven’t been paying attention to the local news as of late because you’ve been too busy with work and occupying yourself with other things. So, if something in London has been happening, you weren’t aware of it. Perhaps they thought you got mugged again and killed for whatever you had on you. They had to have a reason to think that you were hurt or killed, nobody jumps to that conclusion unless they were aware that something else was going on.

You could tell that the men switched, by the posture of the body. Marc stood straighter and removed one of his hands from the bag of groceries. He didn’t bother to glance in your direction as he continued to walk ahead of you. You knew he was pissed just from his movement and asking any questions would probably piss him off more; but the thought that there has to be a reason for the men to believe that something bad happened to you needed to be answered. 

“There’s nothing else that has you on edge?” You ask. Marc shoots you a glare over his shoulder as you follow him to the apartment building. “Any new vigilante or a certain god?” 

He ignores you for about half a minute before he says, “You scared the shit out of me, I thought you were dead.” You stop in your tracks and your mouth falls open. It felt like a train hit you suddenly and you were left cleaning up the mess. It was different hearing that Marc thought you died than Steven almost saying it. He keeps walking for a few feet before he looks over his shoulder to check if you are still following before he walks back towards you. 

“Deadass?” You say, once he was within earshot.

“What?”

“Like, you’re serious? You thought I was dead?” It’s one thing to think that you could have died and another thing to think that you are dead. Nobody jumps to that later conclusion unless they know more than they are letting on. What the fuck do they know?

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Why the hell would you think that I was dead if there’s no vigilante or Khonshu to worry about?” You say. Marc glares at you and closes his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers before looking back at you. “You said it yourself, Spector, Khonshu wouldn’t target me unless I’m doing some pretty fucked up things and we both know I’m not.” But, that still didn’t make the god any less terrifying to you. He could kill you if he wanted to, but he hasn’t. Why would a god target you if you’re a nobody?

“There’s another avatar, one of Khonshu’s.” Marc says quietly enough for you to hear but anyone nearby wouldn’t be able to register the conversation. You step a little closer to reassure yourself that nobody would be able to eavesdrop on you. You didn’t want anybody to believe that the two of you are crazy. 

“No shit?” You say in a quiet voice, “You said that he would be searching for a new avatar.” 

“This one is all over the news, they’re calling him Mr. Knight.”

“Your title?” You scrunch your brows together. “You’re upset that they didn’t come up with a new vigilante name?”

“No,” He starts before shaking his head slightly and continuing, “just come with us to the apartment and-”

“I’m not going with you until you tell me why you’re so upset about the new avatar,” You cut him off. “The new avatar is Khonshu fist of vengeance, You told me that Khonshu is the protector of the travelers of the night. You told me that as an avatar you took an oath to protect the travelers and that all you did as Khonshus avatar was whatever dirty work he wanted done.” You could feel panic beginning to bubble in your stomach. Oh man, were you right about Khonshu? Did they somehow find out that Khonshu was planning on killing you?

You shakily add, “So, unless there’s something else you’re not telling me or you’ve been hiding from me there shouldn’t be a problem.” 

He breathes out slowly and looks down at his feet for a moment before flickering his eyes back to you and saying, “This avatar doesn’t just harm the guys they’re going after, they brutally kill them.” You open your mouth and then close it. What the fuck are you supposed to say to that? Didn’t Marc say that he killed people as Khonshus avatar? Why does it matter how this new avatar kills people as long as they’re protecting the public? The new avatar is doing their job as Khonshus Moon Knight, so why does it matter how they kill people?

“You told me that you had to kill people to protect the public, that may not be word for word but that’s generally the gist of it.” You say as you watch Marc make a face, “What makes this so terrifying for you to be panicked enough that you freak out that I missed our usual dinner-time?” 

“A body was found,” He starts and breathes out a shaky breath, “A sixteen year old boy was found brutally murdered at the Tower Bridge.” Your heart drops to your stomach. A kid your age was found dead and the new avatar did it. 

“How-” you start, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “How do we know that it was Khonshus avatar? I thought you said that he was still looking for one.” Your brain was short circuiting as you were still processing the information that Marc just said moments ago. The new avatar killed a kid? A sixteen year-old who was the same age as you and they just killed them? 

“He found one,” Marc says. He sounded distant as he spoke, “Someone saw the Moon Knight suit at the same location the kid was killed in and then seen over at the London Eye.” 

“A sixteen year-old.” You say, you were shocked that Khonshu would tell his avatar to kill a child. What the hell would a child do to harm the damn people around them? There is no reason to kill a kid. Your heart pounded against your chest as you came across the next plausible question: what if this was a warning? A fellow sixteen year-old was killed and this was a warning to you and to Marc and Steven. Your eyes flickered to Marc and the question must have shown in your eyes because Marc gives you a sad look before switching with Steven. 

“Okay, let’s go to your apartment, drop off the groceries, and come back to our place for dinner, alright?” Steven says as he closes the distance between you and wraps his arm around your shoulder, hugging you to his side. The gesture itself brought some much needed comfort. You let him guide you back to the apartment complex in silence. 

Chapter Text

It was shocking to hear that a sixteen-year-old boy was murdered in London than it would be if it was taken place in Northern America. Children get shot almost every day just for simply going to school, children become the victims of hate crimes. You were desentized to seeing and hearing about the rising tally in The United States. You would hear news about the latest school shooting and you would feel bad for the victims before going on with your day. But since you moved to London, anything that has to do with murder surprised you. The Avengers existed in the States but it wasn’t possible for them to pop up for every school lockdown or mall shooting, sometimes they were on the other side of the country or saving the world from intergalactic doom. 

A teenager your age was just killed and it was caused by Khonshus new avatar. You were right about him being a terrible god. Still, a small part of you tried to reason that he must have had a reason to kill a child, but for fucksake there is no excuse for killing a child. 

Steven had his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he guided you to your apartment. Your hand was resting on top of his own as you reached your door which you numbly stared at. Steven says your name quietly and nudges you with his hip to help shake you out of your trance. You slide your hand off of his own and dig through the pockets of your shorts for the key to your apartment. You pull out your key and with it the Eye of Horus falls out and onto the ground. You both stare at it, you blinked as a red blush began to heat up your face due to the embarrassment that Steven and Marc now know you’ve been carrying the Eye of Horus around like a rosary necklace.

“What is this?” Steven asks as he removes his arm and bends down, picking up the ziplock baggie that contained the paper. You watch him scan the words that are visible on the outermost of the folded paper before his eyes flick up to you. 

“Is this the paper I gave you about the God Horus?” He asks. You swore that more blood flooded into your face and you were becoming a tomato. You hum in answer and snach the baggie from him before shoving your key into your door. Quickly, you move into your apartment and he follows you with your grocery bag in tow. He says your name as you stuff the stupid bag into your pocket. You stood still and took a deep breath of air to help calm yourself. It felt embarrassing that you carried around the paper like it was a stuffed animal that would protect you from the creatures of the night. It felt even more embarrassing that two grown adult men now know that you carry the paper around. 

Steven says your name again and you release the breath of air slowly before turning around and facing him. He gave you a small smile and held up your groceries between you. 

“You want me to put these away?” Steven asks. Your mouth parts a bit in surprise. You didn’t expect him to offer, you thought that he would mention the piece of paper and question you about it. You nod and he walks past you. You messed with your fingers as you listened to him open and close your fridge and the cabinet doors creak open and gently close. Your apartment felt warm but not unbearably hot like it was a while ago. 

You swallowed as you thought about how that fellow kid wouldn’t ever get to breathe another breath. The thought made you more aware of the air filling your lungs and the fabric of your shirt brushing against your stomach. The kid was dead and you weren’t sure if it was a warning or not. Six months ago you would have thought that it was a mugging gone wrong or the teen committed sucide; but, now you’re thinking that it could be a warning directed towards you and most definitely Marc and Steven. Why else would the god tell his avatar to kill a kid? There is absolutely no way that the teen could have been some huge problem that Khonshu needed vengeance for. 

“Hey?” Steven says, waving a hand in front of your face and giving you a worried look, “Are you okay? I’ve been calling your name for a bit.” You blink at him, feeling your eyes sting  from the lack of blinking you did for the last few moments. 

“Yeah,” You answer unconvincingly. Steven gives you a look before setting your empty cloth bag onto the table you stole. He places his hands on his hips and trails his eyes to something behind you. You guessed it was some reflective surface because he looked irritated for a moment at whatever Marc was saying before he relaxed his expression and shifted his eyes back to you. 

“Go on,” He says. “Go get into your PJ’s and meet me here.”

“Why?”

“We’re not letting you be here by your lonesome. Plus, we still have dinner to eat and some things to talk about.” He said, you let your shoulders relax in relief and nodded. You were thankful that Steven and Marc were not going to let you be by yourself even if it was just for a few minutes. You went into the bedroom to change quickly. You didn’t like to be alone for long, especially now that the fellow teenager was killed. It changed alot for you, was it a warning or was it a coincidence that the kid could have possibly been up to no good? There’s no way a kid could have been doing something horrible enough for a god to be vengeful for it.

You were pulling your short sleeved shirt down your torso as you came across the thought that what they were going to chat to you about was your safety in the United Kingdom. Marc and Steven were probably going to report you to the police and you’ll be investigated before being jailed and flied back to America where you would then have to contact one of your living relatives and announce to them that you have been alive for the past year and living in London. You would have to tell your mom’s sister that you ghosted them simply because you couldn’t deal with the loss of your parents and the life you had before the blip; and you couldn’t do that because it would ruin your remaining relatives, it would make them feel bad that you felt like they couldn’t support you during your time of grieving. Also, you couldn’t tell them that you ghosted them because it had the chance to ruin you too. 

All the progress you made for a new chance at life and creating somebody who you are trying to be would go down the drain. All the effort you put in over the last year would be worth nothing. Those late nights of searching for a job while living on one pack of noodles a day wouldn’t be worth it. The endless amount of saving for rent, bills, and groceries just to be sure you would have enough money to pay for those items would become nothing. Avoiding your personal accounts of social media just so your followers won’t realize that you were active and believe that you were alive and try to reach out to you, wouldn’t be worth it. Everything you sacrificed for this life would amount to nothing; and it can’t be that. It just can’t. You know how selfish that is to think about. You know how you would feel if your best friend did that to you, you would be rightfully pissed and maybe a little understanding. 

But, at the end of the day, you couldn’t risk letting it all go even if it meant you would be safer in the United States than you would be here. So, as you left your bedroom with a fresh shirt and pair of shorts on, you were determined to convince the men not to report you to the police. You held onto your apartment keys and phone as you locked the door behind you and followed Steven down the hall. A speech began to form in your mind, the words you were going to say that would sway them to your side. 

“You don’t have to turn me in,” You say as soon as Steven shuts the door behind him. He tilts his head down towards his feet and you dart your tongue out to wet your lips, “You turn me in and you’ll be arrested for long term knowledge and- and endangerment of a child.” You state. You felt yourself getting desperate, you didn’t want to get arrested and to go back to America. 

“Okay,” Marc breathes out and turns his body to face you, “Okay. We aren’t going to turn you in as long as you answer our questions.” That felt too easy. You stared at him with suspicion. 

“I thought we were over playing twenty-one questions.” 

“Oh, we will be. Just after ours are answered.” He walks over to the dining table and pulls out a chair and straddles it, leaning over the backrest as he rests his eyes on you. You slowly walk over to the seat near him and sit down with a little bit of hesitation. You weren’t sure what questions he had in mind since you think you already answered them a few weeks ago, but you supposed you hadn’t because they still had more.

“Go ahead. Shoot.” You say, he stares at you for a moment longer. You could tell he was trying to figure something out and whatever it was he was determined to get the answers today. 

“It’s clear that you don’t want to go back to America. Steven and I need to understand why. So, why did you move to London?”

“I already told you that.” You say with a roll of your eyes. Marc glares at you.

“Watch it,” He warns, “I don’t want an attitude from you.” 

“All I did was answer your question.” You state. 

“By rolling your eyes,” He says your name, “Steven and I are trying to help you and we need to understand the whole story for that. Is your family abusive?” 

“What? No.” You say, scrunching your brows together. You guess you could see how he may have come to that conclusion so you weren’t going to be upset with his question, “I already told you that my parents died and I left New York to live here.” You say, “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“The truth.” 

“I’ve been telling you the truth since day one,” You scoff. 

“Then what’s this?” He reaches onto the table top and slides a blue folder towards you. You stop it from sliding off the surface by your fingers as you give him a confused look. “Go ahead, open it.” You open the folder and the first thing you saw is a picture of your mothers sister. She had short graying hair and a bright smile on her face. The last time you saw her was when you were ten years-old and you traveled from New York to Wyoming for Christmas. You heard from your mother that she was getting divorced from her husband and that she was taking her two children into custody. Your mother and your aunt talked on the phone at least five times a month, but that was before the blip. 

You looked her up once when you moved to London. You remember sitting on the hardwood floor in your living room since you didn’t have the couch yet. You were having one of the many mental breakdowns you went through since you moved from continent to continent, you were thinking of logging into one of your old social media accounts and messaging her to tell her that you were alive and that you’re so sorry that you didn’t tell her sooner. But, of course you didn’t. You saw through her posts of the last five years that she didn’t blip and she was mourning the death of her sister, her brother-in-law, and you all over again because she received news that your parents died and you were presumed dead.

“You know, being a mercenary and a god’s previous avatar does have some perks,” Marc says, “I learned how to track people down and find information on them just simply by looking it up online.” You swallow and flick your eyes away from the paper and towards him. His brown eyes bore into you. You knew this information was online, you knew that it wouldn’t be difficult to find anything on you. You were sure that if you flickered through the stacks of printer paper tucked behind the picture of your aunt that you would find snapshots of your sophomore year of high-school 4.0 GPA that was printed in the school’s newspaper. Maybe even your birth certificate or old pictures of you and your cousins from when you were younger posted on your aunts Facebook page.

This didn’t feel like an invasion of privacy to you, because when you thought about being in Marc’s and Steven’s shoes, you probably would have searched yourself up a hell of a lot sooner. Honestly, you should have searched them up sooner instead of just blindly trusting them in the beginning, simply because they stopped your mugging and kept your secret quiet for this long. Silently, you vow to yourself to do that after work tomorrow or this coming weekend. The only reason the lump in your throat began to form and your nose began to sting- which was always one of your first hints that you were about to cry- was because of the picture of your living aunt. You took a small breath of air to help keep yourself calm. You wanted to come across as carefree to them, like seeing the picture of your smiling aunt wasn’t a big deal. 

“You act like it’s hard to find information on people. I could just type in your name on Google and find anything about you. You’re an old man, Spector.” You tease and close the folder, sliding it back towards Marc.

“You’re not going to look through the rest of the papers?”

“No,” You say, “I’m just going to assume that you have my other living relatives stacked behind that. Maybe even the address of my childhood home, the high-school I went to, or even the hospital I was born at. I think you thoroughly did your research.”

“That’s not far off,” He says and pauses while giving you a look. You could tell he was trying to figure something out just by reading you and with the folder between you, he had one last piece of the puzzle to put into place. He was almost done with Stevens rubik cube and then you were no longer going to be an enigma to them. 

“They held a funeral for you and your parents,” Marc says quietly, watching you for any reaction. You wince and shift your gaze away from him, “except it wasn’t really a funeral for you, was it? Why didn’t you contact your aunt? Or any other living relatives for that matter?” You knew this question was coming, you knew they were going to ask because eventually curiosity would be the better of them. But, that didn’t make answering the question any easier. You tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable question of why you didn’t call up your aunt or uncle or cousins. Why didn’t you tell them you were alive and that you needed to be picked up in New York to move in with them in Wyoming. Your answer was selfish in retrospect.

You swallow, “I, um-” You cut yourself off and take a deep shaky breath of air to help calm yourself before you began again, “When I came back from being gone for five years. I just- you know, it felt impossible. Five years passed while I just blinked. Because that’s what it was to me. I-I don’t remember being dusted like they said we did.” You pause to stop yourself from rambling and avoiding the question. This was a question they needed to understand your reasoning for. 

Your eyes trail over to the blue folder and didn’t leave it as you spoke, “If you did your research well enough, you’ll know that my aunt was previously married and got divorced. That happened a few years before the blip. But, when I came back and found out my parents died. I looked up my aunt on Facebook, I swear that I was going to tell her and let her know that I’m alive and I need her to come get me in New York. But…then I saw my aunt’s profile picture, it was one of her in a wedding dress smiling happily next to some guy I never met or heard of.” 

“I saw my cousin, Jay,” You continue, “he was fourteen when I was blipped and then he was nineteen when I came back- I think he’s twenty now. But, Jay graduated high-school and he used to be a short kid before he hit puberty, he was hell of a lot shorter than I was; and now he’s tall and looks like a man. I missed out on the years to make fun of his voice cracking and his scruff growing on his chin. I missed his prom pictures and his high-school graduation. I was supposed to be older than him until the day that I died, but now he’s always going to be older than me. His sister, Ameila, was twenty-four when the blip happened, and now I think she’s twenty-nine. She has a three-year-old and a one-year-old with her wife. She was in college and wasn’t dating her wife before the blip.” 

“I just saw the happy and smiling pictures and I didn’t want to bother them. I didn’t want to step into their lives and ruin what they built while half the universe was gone.” You say, “So, I spent about a week in a twenty-four hour cafe and the public library faking my age on documents. After that, I booked a one-way plane ticket to London and applied for this apartment complex.” You release a shaky breath, “I just- I don’t want my aunt to look at me and see her dead sister.” You’ve been told throughout your life that you looked a lot like your mom, especially as a kid. You don’t want your aunt waking each morning to see her dead sister’s kid standing in her kitchen and making breakfast. 

It just didn’t seem fair. None of it was, the best thing you thought of for yourself was living a new life without a past. So, that’s what you did. It still didn’t make it any easier though. You were still grieving for the loss of what you once thought would be your future. You thought that you would be twenty-one and partying and living at a university with people your age. You thought you were going to get your astrophysics degree and work with NASA or some other big shot corporation. You thought that you would be visiting your parents on holidays, summer break, and perhaps weekends during the appropriate time of the school year. But, that won’t ever happen. Your parents are dead and there’s nothing you can do to bring them back. 

You trail your eyes away from the folder and to the man sitting a couple feet away from you. He didn’t give away any emotion or whatever he was thinking through his body language. When your eyes met Marcs, you saw the softness in his eyes and the wrinkles that were usually in the corners smooth. It was a little shocking. For a moment, you thought Steven fronted because he was better at comforting and dealing with your emotions. But, you realized that Steven would absolutely reach out and try to comfort you as you spoke. Steven would have held your hand or placed his own on your shoulder. This was Marc, he was terrible at reassurance and comfort, even more so as the two of you stared at each other after you revealed your past and the shitty emotions you were left to deal with. 

You didn’t like that he wasn’t saying anything. His hand played with his ring finger as you waited for him to at least tell you how fucked up you are for being selfish. The entirety of your remaining living relatives believed that you were dead and you didn’t want to show your face to them simply because you didn’t want to see the look on your aunt’s face as she realized how much you looked like your mom. The past year is the most shittiest and selfish thing you have ever done. Marc didn’t say anything and you would rather him be upset with your action of ghosting your family than be silent like he is right now. You just wanted things to be back to normal between you. 

“I guess being Khonshus bitch really helped you after all, huh?” You joke. Marc’s eyes flicker to yours and you swallow. You hoped that he wasn’t going to go against you after you opened up to the men about your life. Marc releases a breath and glances at the folder and back to you before telling you his decision.

“Okay,” Marc breathes out, “Okay, I’ll think about it. Just be careful for now, alright?” You didn’t realize how tense you were until the statement made you drop your shoulders and your muscles relaxed. You were glad that they weren’t going to report you. You watch Marc as he pushes back his chair and stands up. He walks over to Stevens desk and  opens the drawer before carrying whatever he grasped back to you. 

“Here,” Marc hands you a stick that looks like a flashlight with two metal prongs where the light came from. 

“What is this?” You ask, taking it from him and staring at the object you held. 

“A taser.” He states. “Don’t tase yourself.”

“Got it,” You say and place it on the table. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it, kid.” He says and silence falls between you. 

“Quick question though,” You say and he lolls his head towards you, “Well, a couple actually. Isn’t this illegal to have in the United Kingdom? Also, do you just keep tasers in your desk drawer or do you have any cooler weapons?” 

He purses his lips for a moment before saying, “Yes, and I got a dagger that I used in the military.”

“They didn’t take that from you when you dipped out?”

“Kind of hard to take it from me when they weren’t aware of it.” He says, and you stare at him with furrowed brows. How did they not know? Surely the military had to keep track of what weapons each soldier had. Unless…he took it from somebody he killed. The thought kind of made you uncomfortable. Stealing from the dead would only be something that you would do for survival, and Marc absolutely had to do that to ensure his survival, right? For once, you don’t want to know the answer to the question. 

Silence falls between you once more and you were left with the thoughts of Khonshu and the sixteen-year-old kid and his murder. You wondered if you should ask Steven and Marc what they think about it. But, then again they would tell you that Khonshu probably had a reason and not to worry about it. Spoiler alert: you would still worry about it. It’s going to bother you until you find out why the new avatar killed a kid. 

“You want to help me cook dinner?” Marc asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was facing you as he walked backwards to the kitchen. You blink in surprise and shift your gaze towards him. 

“You’re letting me cook?” You ask skeptically. The men haven’t even let you cook popcorn in the microwave since the cooking incident not that long ago. Maybe Steven saw how you were struggling and he encouraged Marc to give you a chance.

“You’re not cooking, just helping. C’mon.” He gestures his head towards the kitchen as he decides you’re not going to get a say in it. Maybe you did look terrible enough to them that they decided to pity you by giving you a distraction. You eye him warily. Part of you expected him to laugh it off as a joke but, once he didn’t, you push yourself off of the chair and follow him into the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Dinner was as normal as it could have been after the news about the kid being murdered. You didn’t burn down the kitchen this time since Marc and Steven kept a close eye on you as you stirred the tomato sauce for the pasta. Marc and you mainly chatted about the ingredients for the pasta he decided to teach you how to make. During the meal, Steven talked about his day and the things he did. He was still working on that scrapbook and he needed to set a reminder on his phone to get supplies, which you helped him with after he pulled out his old man glasses. The subject of Khonshu and his new avatar was danced around and you didn’t try to bring it up since it was obvious that neither of them knew much about it besides the sight of the Moonknight suit at the crime scene.

You supposed that if you were a god’s previous avatar who abused you and you were no longer their avatar, you wouldn’t want anything to do with them either. After dinner and the dishes were done, you and Steven chatted at the table for a bit. 

“Since you’re going to be here for a while, I guess I should get to know you properly. What do you like to do for fun?” Steven asks, his glasses were resting on top of his hair. You studied your fingernails as you picked dirt out from underneath them while you thought about what to say. You and the men still don’t know each-other well, not as much as you knew your best friend back in America at least. You knew that you had to trust these men to be able to feel comfortable meeting them everyday for dinner and sleeping at their place since Khonshu still scares the shit out of you; and probably will continue to until you know his intentions.

You purse your lips as you think about what you did for fun before the blip. You mainly scrolled through social media to pass the time, sometimes you watched YouTube or Netflix since it was cheaper than going out in New York. But during the summer days, winter breaks, and weekends that you had money saved up to do something, you loved going out and doing something fun. One of your favorites was Coney Island Amusement Park. You spent a few days there every summer with your parents and your best friend, you loved the Cyclone Roller Coaster despite it being a wooden structure that would wobble in certain areas. You watched a few theater plays at the Broadway Theater. Hamilton was one of your favorites despite pretending it wasn’t as good as it really was while in high-school because you didn’t want to get bullied. You and your best friend both knew the songs by heart and you secretly read some fanfiction of the show. You pretended to hate the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree since it was just lighting a tree, but there were a few times you were caught staring at it with wide eyes by your best friend. You loved the lights, it was different from the digital screens of the advertisements in Times Square. 

You used to paint, although you determined that your paintings were terrible and any eyes that landed on your works were embarrassing and your paintings could never be shown to anyone. You still enjoyed the calmness of painting, it helped your anxiety. Maybe you should try painting again, it might help you now. You tried knitting and crocheting but you could never get it quite right and that frustrated you to the point that you dropped it and refused to pick up the knitting needles and crochet hooks again. You read some books, mainly the popular young adult books that were being made into movies such as The Hunger Games or The Fault in Our Stars just so you could compare the books to the films. The books were always better in your opinion. 

You liked to bake sweets, brownies and cookies were always your to-go for baking. You learned how to perfectly bake a cookie without burning it or overcooking by the tiniest bit. You used to sell them at school for extra cash but the teachers found out and told you couldn’t do that because of something along the lines of food regulation. Obviously, you continued to sell them but you were just more secretive about it. Sports were not for you, you weren’t the athletic type. Although, you did learn that you were competitive in an intense game of tag and you could sprint the length of a football field and launch yourself over the bleachers in order to tag your opponent. But, you never joined soccer or track despite the teams trying to recruit you after seeing you deadass sprint just to win a game.

Your favorite thing you liked to do the most was stargazing. With the air pollution and smog in New York and London, stargazing was rare. One of the things on your bucket list was to travel to the Arizona desert and stargaze. But, with the fraud you committed, going back to America would be a stupid idea. Perhaps there’s somewhere in the United Kingdom that has more clear nights and is away from the city. Maybe you could drag Steven and Marc along.

“I like to stargaze,” You say after a few moments of Steven waiting for your answer. He nods, his soft curls hitting lightly brushing against his forehead as he does so.

“Do you have anything else you like to do?” He asks. You gently bite your lip as you think about your interests. There wasn’t a lot to do in New York for the people who lived in it, the city was mainly for socialites and travelers. Tourists loved visiting the city just because of how it’s portrayed in films as the city of hope and dreams. They also went there so they could see the places that the Avengers fought at, the locations alone brought in millions of dollars each year just because of the hype around the heroes. It was kind of like lingering outside of Beverly Hills in California just to catch a glimpse of a celebrity or to get an autograph.

“I haven’t really had the opportunity to find out my interests.” You say, which wasn’t a complete lie. You just haven’t found something that has peaked your liking enough that you would come back to it. Besides, you were too busy with work to be able to find your interests and it’s not like you can afford buying anything to try out. 

“I used to paint though,” You admit, “I was terrible at it and I hid all of my paintings in my closet because I was embarrassed of them. I think the family that moved into my house during the blip burned them. Honestly, if they didn’t, they should have.” You chuckle and Steven frowns a little.

“I don’t think your paintings were that terrible,” He reassures you, “I’ll show you terrible artwork sometime. We can paint together if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” He says, smiling at your surprised look, “Only if you want to.”

“Okay.” You say, you could feel a small smile forming on your face at the idea. It’s been awhile since you did something mundane such as painting. You’ve been too worried about Khonshu and the risk of Steven and Marc reporting you to the police to be able to focus on one task for long.

You ask, “What about you? What do you like to do?” Steven sits quietly as he looks away from you in thought. He hums and scratches his chin. 

“You already know I like to study Egyptian culture and their gods…” He trails off, “Bollocks. I like any puzzle, although I really enjoy the crosswords the most. There’s nothing wrong with the three-thousand puzzle piece, it’s just that it’s too easy to lose the pieces and I tried gluing them onto a cardboard to hang it up but it’s difficult choosing what puzzles get to be shown off. Although, I must admit that it’s satisfying seeing the final outcome once it’s complete. Not exactly like the crossword in the daily newspaper or those crossword books, ain’t it? Besides, the newspaper is dying and everything is online now, it makes it quite difficult to do crosswords in the paper- oh, I’m rambling aren’t I? I’ll stop now.” He cuts himself off and gives you a sheepish look.

“No, no,” You rush out, giving him a reassuring smile, “I like listening to you talk.” You say honestly. “It’s nice to listen to you.”

“But, you haven’t talked as much.” Steven says, “You were quiet throughout dinner and you don’t really speak much…” He trails off and shifts his eyes to the fish tank. “Even Marc agrees.” He adds after a few seconds.

“I just-” You start and then stop. You swallow as you gather your thoughts to form into a coherent sentence, “I guess, I don’t think I have anything interesting to add. I’m a boring person, really.” You shoot him a grin and he frowns at you talking down on yourself.

“You shouldn’t say that about yourself.” He scolds you, “Anything you say is important because it makes up who you are.” You shift in your seat as you listen to him talk, “I-what is it Marc?” He turns his attention back to the fishtank and presses his lips together. “Fine.” He states, you watch the shift between them quietly as Marc sits up a little straighter. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” You ask before he gets the chance to mother-hen you like Steven did moments ago. 

“I like watching the Chicago Cubs play baseball,” Marc says. You hum as you wait for him to pick up where Steven left off, but he instead surprises you by asking, “What music do you listen to?”

“Taylor Swift.” You immediately answer. 

“You’re so sure of your favorite music but not of your hobbies.”

“I would sell my soul to go to one of her concerts.” You say in seriousness and Marc laughs. “I would do anything to listen to her live music. The last album she made was Reputation back in 2017 before she got blipped and I bet she has some bopping music stuffed in a drawer somewhere that she’s working on now.”

“You sound like a huge fan,” Marc says, and you nod before asking him about his music choices. “Eh. AC/DC, Jon Bovi, Tom Petty, Nickelback, and Guns and Roses are some of the bands I like.” 

“You should make me a playlist,” You say, “If Steven can hear me he can add the music he likes to it too.” 

Marc chuckles, “Steven and I have different tastes, he doesn’t care for rock that much. He’s more of an alternative or indie fan.” He pauses, “Also, he’s telling me to tell you that he doesn’t know technology that well, but he’ll try.” 

“Thanks,” You say. You cross your arms over your stomach and lean back in the wooden chair. 

“I should tell you before I forget that I’m meeting up with Layla for dinner tomorrow so we’re not going to eat together, alright?” Marc says, you blink at him. You’re not going to lie, that was a little surprising to hear. 

“You’re eating dinner with your ex-wife?” You ask, looking with curious eyes towards him, “The one you send divorce papers to? You’re going on a date?”

“It’s not a date,” Marc groans, and rubs his palms off on his shorts, “We’re just two friends meeting up for dinner to chat. I haven’t seen her since Cairo and we have a few things to talk about.”

“You’re leaving me alone after you clearly stated that Khonshus new avatar is out and whoever it is, is killing teenagers and you’re obviously somewhat stressed about that.”

“I am not-”

“Bullshit.” You cut him off, “You wouldn’t let me be by myself in my own apartment- which I am glad about by the way, don’t give me that look, Spector,” You pause and glare at him momentarily before continuing, “and you called me a dozen times, your voicemails sounded panicky and you were begging me to answer the damn phone. You and Steven are stressed about this new avatar and whatever Khonshu has up his sleeves; and you just don’t want to admit it.” 

“So, you don’t want me to meet up with Layla tomorrow?”

“No,” You breathe out and shake your head, “I do.” You wanted him to have a life and figure out where he and Layla stood even though you thought it was a little odd that an ex-husband and ex-wife were meeting up for dinner. Maybe they ended on good terms, who knows, it’s not your business and he’ll eventually cave anyway and tell you, it’s just a matter of time. Besides, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you needed to get used to being in your apartment or the laundry room alone. 

You couldn’t rely on the men forever, especially since you were going to be eighteen soon and that meant you would be considered an adult rather than a teenager. You were hell of a lot more hesitant now to be on your own but you couldn’t let the god and his puppet know how terrified you were to be. You couldn’t let them win.

“I want you to admit that you’re scared and that it’s okay to be.” You say. Marc stares at you as the sentence leaves your mouth. Maybe getting the men to admit that they’re terrified as much as you were this would make this easier for you. Logically, it should be the opposite if two grown ass men were terrified of a god and his avatar; but if Marc admits that it’s okay to be scared because he’s scared, maybe that would make it easier to accept. You can’t just put your life on hold because an avatar killed a teenager and a god is purposely scaring you and stalking you.  You and Marc make eye contact for a few seconds before you watch the switch happen between Marc and Steven. You groaned in frustration and rolled your eyes towards the ceiling.

“It’s bandages,” Steven says, “The bloody pigeon doesn’t have sleeves, he has dirty bandages wrapped around his body.” You give Steven a look and the smile on his face falls at your expression, “Did Marc say something?” 

“No, it’s what he didn’t say.” You state, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Steven sighs and leans forward in his chair and places a hand on your knee. 

“Marc doesn’t know how to express his feelings well,” Steven starts and you huff, “But, I speak for us both…here. We’re scared, we don’t know what’s going to happen and what the pigeon is planning.” You press your lips together as Steven rubs his thumb across your knee. “Seeing Khonshu for the first time was horrifying, I thought I was going mad,” He admits, “I thought I was going to be thrown into the loony bin until Marc cleared some stuff up for me. So, what I’m trying to say is, your terror is valid and ours is too.” You felt a bit more satisfied at hearing Steven say that than try to cover it up and distract you with something else. 

“Okay,” you say, “Thanks.” 

“It’s not a problem, mate.” He answers and silence settles between the two of you. “Let’s do something that would help us relax, yeah?” Steven smiles, “Something to wind down from the day, unless you want to go to bed now?” You purse your lips in thought. You weren’t ready to lie in bed and be alone with your thoughts as Steven waits for you to fall asleep before sneaking off to the couch. You didn’t want to make yourself more worried than you already are about the current situation. 

“What do you have in mind?” You ask and Steven grins at you. 

“You want to play a board game or something? I think I have Scrabble lying around somewhere…” He trails off as his eyes scan the crowded bookshelves. Sitting down and playing a board game sounded fun but you were too anxious to sit still for a long time. You need to move around and get rid of all this energy, tire yourself out enough that you’ll fall asleep before Steven heads to the couch.

“Do you have a Wii?” You ask, maybe you could play Wii Sports. 

“Wii?” Steven asks, his brows scrunched together at the question. You shake your head to dismiss it. You supposed that if he didn’t know how to make a playlist that he wouldn’t have any video game consoles.

“Do you have anything physical we could do, you know, like not just sitting?” You ask, Steven hums and looks around the room. 

“We could clean the flat…” He says, a frown tugged on his lips as he took in the organized mess. 

“Cleaning isn’t very fun,” You state as you turn in your chair to find something interesting to do. With the messy shelves lined with books and loose sheets of paper, it was clear that Steven and Marc didn’t own any board games- save for Scrabble which could be a single player game; but even as you scanned the shelves, you were unable to find the game. The corners of your lips tilted downwards, you couldn’t find any games. Not even card games like Uno or Blackjack, Marc and Steven were two grown men who didn’t even own games to play with other people; and if they did actually have them, they obviously put it somewhere for uneasy access. Did they not have any friends to play with? 

You shifted your eyes away from the shelves and glanced at Steven. He wasn’t looking in your direction, he was frowning at the mess that had formed over the last year that he lived here. Now that you were thinking about it, Marc and Steven only ever mentioned Layla, not another single other person in their lives; and even then, they don’t own any games to play with her, you guess that was reasonable because Layla and them were divorced so playing games with your ex-wife would be awkward. Unless it ended on good terms, which it kind of had to if Marc and Layla are meeting up for dinner, which is totally not a date. 

You trailed your eyes away from Steven and towards the television which showed the two of you reflection. Watching a film didn’t sound like the best thing to do, you wanted to move around, you should convince Steven or Marc to buy a Wii. They’re only fifty dollars at the cheapest now since the console is over ten years old. That’s like, forty-one pounds, honestly, not a bad deal. You move your eyes to the door and shake your head at the thought of walking. Going on an evening stroll would have been a decent idea if it wasn’t for the avatar so that was crossed out.

You came to the conclusion that there was nothing to do to calm your nerves. You breathed a sigh and shifted in your chair. Steven shot you a curious look and waited for you to speak. 

“There’s nothing to do,” You say, leaning forward and placing your elbow on the table to rest your chin on your palm. 

“There’s plenty to do,” Steven says and gestures to the mess that has begun to consume his life, “we could clean.” You groan at the suggestion. 

“That’s not very banging of you.” You say. 

He gives you a confused look, “What?”

“Banging. Y’know, like cool or fun or exciting.” You say, he slowly nods before bringing his attention back to the pile of books stacked on the floor and leaflets of papers scattered around his apartment. You could tell by his expression that it was going to bother him until something else distracted him or he decided to clean the mess. You bite the inside of your cheek as you think about what you could do to pass the time. One of the many things you did on rainy days when you were younger was building a fort; and at the moment that sounds pretty fun and relaxing. Although, you doubt Steven nor Marc would help you build it or allow you to move their furniture around. 

“What are you thinking about?” Steven asks, you look at him, “You got this look on your face that kind of looks sad.”

“I was just..” You start and trail off. “It’s going to sound stupid and childish, but I was thinking that we could build a fort. I miss building forts and hanging out in them.” You admit and watch as Steven slowly nods and rolls his eyes at the fish tank.

“Why don’t we build a fort right now?” Steven says. You blink in surprise. “C'mon, table thief, let’s build ourselves a fort, yeah?” You ignore his nickname for you.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, we can use the couch and the table as stands to help prop up the covers.” He pushes himself out of his chair and begins to walk towards the couch, “Come help me push the couch.” You stand up and walk to the opposite end of the sofa. You and Steven grip your fingers underneath the edge of the furniture and push it closer to Gus the Second tank. 

“I’ll get some chairs.” You say before you walk back to the dining table and grab yours and Stevens seat and head back to the couch. 

“I’m thinking that we could use the tank for the light since I don’t have any of those string lights,” Steven says. 

“And Marc would be able to join us,” You add and Steven rolls his eyes. 

“The git is calling us children for doing this,” Steven groans and directs towards the reflective surface of the fish tank, “bloody fun you are.” 

“He’s just missing out.” You shrug, “He can’t come into our fort if he keeps bullying us and doesn’t put any effort into it.” 

“You hear that, Marc?” Steven says, a few moments pass before he directs towards you, “he says he doesn’t care.”

“Not invited.” You hum, “I’m going to take the bedding off of the bed and we can use that as the cover.” You walk to the bed you’ve been sleeping in for the past couple of weeks and take the bedding off. It smelled like you and the men’s laundry detergent. You wanted to frown at the scent since it made you feel a bit guilty at taking their bed, but the smell kind of comforted you. 

“Here,” You say and place it on the couch. “We need something to help hold down the edges.” You scan the flat and Steven points to his thick Egyptology books. 

“We can balance them on the corners of Gus’ tank, we just have to be careful standing underneath the covers.” He says, you smile at the suggestion and the two of you begin collecting heavy books and placing them by the couch. Once you grab as many books as you thought you needed, you grab the comforter off of the couch and begin looking for one end of the blanket. You hand the edge to Steven and the two of you grab the edges with your hands.

“I’m going to place my end on the fish tank and-” 

“Well, what about the couch?” You cut him off, “Don’t you think it’s too short for my end? Maybe if we turn the couch outwards so the cushions are facing outside of the couch-”

“I was getting there,” Steven smiles and temporarily drops his end of the comforter before walking to one end of the couch. You mirror his actions and the two of you turn the couch outwards so the back is facing the inside of the soon-to-be fort. You pick up the Egyptology books and hand them to Steven who takes them and places them on the corner of the tank before doing the same to the other corner. You hold up your end of the blanket and drape the remaining over the couch before carefully placing Stevens books on either end to hold down the weight. 

“If we get more chairs from the table, we could place them on the outside and they could kind of be our walls.”

“Brilliant idea,” Steven says while beaming at you. You carry back the two remaining chairs from the table and place them opposite from the other two you carried over earlier. You turned the chairs outwards so the backs were facing into the fort and Steven tossed you your end of the sheet. Carefully, the two of you draped the sheet over the chairs, the fort was done being built, now all you had to do was fill it with comfort items. 

“I’m going to grab your pillows and if you have extra blankets somewhere, can you get them?” You ask as you walk backwards towards his bed. He nods, curls bouncing lightly on his forehead as he does so and you shoot him a grin before giving your complete attention to the task at hand. Grabbing the four pillows off of his mattress, you return to the fort and carefully slide each of the cushions into the fort between the fish tank and the chairs. You enter the fort the same way, taking your time to not knock over the blankets. For a moment, the brightness from Gus tank made it hard to see but not soon after your eyes adjusted to the light. You separate the pillows into two equal sections, Steven gets two pillows and you get two pillows. 

Not a few minutes later, Steven was returning with the extra blankets. Carefully, he placed the blankets into the fort before sliding in himself. Together, the two of you worked together at making the fort as comfortable as possible as it was sitting in a slightly cramped space on a wooden floor. As soon as it was complete, you and Steven shared a grin and a high-five. 

“Great job, Steven.” You say. You turned your face towards the tank and watched Gus swim around for a few moments as Steven laid down on his back.

“It was not a problem,” a certain someone says in an American accent. You whip your head towards him. Marc grinned at you as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Let Steven do all the work so you could enjoy the fort?” You ask and he hums, “I thought you were saying that building forts was childish and bullying us for it. I guess you had to stoop down to our level for you to be able to join us.” He reaches over to his side of the fort and grabs a small keychain flashlight before handing it to you. You ask, “What is this?” 

“Steven thought you would like it. He got it from the museum when he worked there.” Marc simply says with a small shrug. You stared at the silver flashlight with one black button. You press the button and watch as it projects seven small five point stars. 

“Woah,” You say, “that’s so cool. Thank you.”  You remove your finger from the button and the light turns off. “But this still isn’t an apology for bullying us.” 

“You want me to leave?” 

“No,” you say. You stare at him and wait for the simple five lettered word to leave his mouth. All he has to say is ‘sorry” and he would probably be forgiven. You might just drag it out longer just to see if he’ll apologize extra. 

“I could read one of Stevens’ history books for you.” Marc says, surprising you quite a bit.

“Now?”

“Or later,” Marc says, you nod slowly. This was probably the closest thing you were going to get as an apology from Marc. “We should buy you some Dr. Seuss books or something.” 

“Okay, but his books smack hard.” You say and Marc gives you a small smile.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You confirm and Marc lets out a small laugh causing you to smile. “Have you ever read Green Eggs and Ham?” 

“No,” Marc shakes his head.

“Not even as a kid?” You ask, “Not even at school or your parents reading bedtime stories to you?” Marc shakes his head again, his eyes turning sad and distant, “Wow. Well, that book is good- one of the greatest honestly. I’ll read the Dr. Seuss books to you so you could make up for some of your sad childhood.” 

“Yeah?” He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You stare at him and press your lips together, did you say something that caused him to be sad? 

“Yeah,” You breathe out. “Are you good, man?”

“Yeah,” He nods and clears his throat, “Tell me something about space.”

“Space?” 

“Yeah, you’re a nerd for it. So, you must have some pretty cool knowledge about it.”

“Okay well,” You start and then pause. He wanted you to get distracted from him and his reaction towards whatever you said. What were you talking about? Dr. Seuss and his lack of childhood bedtime stories. Maybe he didn’t have a good childhood. You should let it go, you wouldn’t want anyone pressing you for that information if the tables were turned. 

“Space is so vast that we only really explored our universe. We’re so tiny compared to the million-year-old planets, Y’know? We’re just a blink in time, here for one moment and gone for the next.” You say, occasionally turning on the projector flashlight and pointing it at the bedding above you. “Turtles can live over a hundred years old and some humans live over a hundred; but compared to the thousands-of-year-olds meteors that make up our constellations, that’s absolutely nothing. I mean, way to go for our bodies that have running organs compared to molten rock and lava. It’s an achievement to live past eighty. Humans and turtles, and any living creature really is extraordinary.” You didn’t talk about space completely, but the words that you said distracted Marc and that was your own secret achievement. 

“Steven and Khonshu turned back the night sky to get coordinates,” Marc says. You look at him with wide eyes. 

“I saw that on Tiktok, almost every news outlet and person was talking about it.” You say, “That must have been cool to see in person.” He hums in reply and silence settles between you. 

“I feel bad that you guys are sleeping on the couch,” You suddenly say. He turns his head towards you. “I know that you guys are trying to make sure that I’m comfortable and everything- which is really sweet of you guys. But, I’ve been taking your bed from you for like fourteen days and I feel terrible about it. I can take the couch or go back to my apartment even though I am terrified of everything that’s happening; but it’s not like I can avoid it, right? Weird shit happens almost every day in New York so this could be nothing more than Khonshu being a dick and just scaring me for fun.” 

Marc cut off your rambling, “Listen, kid. If you want to go back to your apartment and go back to just dinners and evening talk, that’s fine. You’re right that Khonshu could just be a dick like we told you; and we don’t know what he has planned, we could only give you the advice to say no if he asks you to be his avatar. Just know that our door is open to you.” 

“Is it stupid to go back to my apartment tonight after the teen was killed?” You ask quietly. You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay here another night just to prolong being alone but, you had to go back sometime and sleep on your own couch. If Marc allows you to spend another night here, you will but you don’t want him to think that you’re expecting to. Well, now that you thought about it, Marc probably does since you changed into your pajamas before coming over. 

“I don’t think he’s targeting you, because if he wanted you dead you already would be.” Marc says. He had a grimace on his face as he spoke. At least he was honest about it, you thought. 

“You don’t think he’s like winding up his punch before throwing it?” You ask and Marc gives you a look, “Like, everything so far is being slowly built up before he strikes. You don’t think he’s making us anxious and paranoid before he kills me or you?”

“I…” Marc breathes out, “I don’t know, but if he wanted us dead we would be.” He repeats, “Khonshu isn’t the type of god to play with his victims before killing them.” You purse your lips. You don’t know about that, Khonshu was in your apartment the first week you met the men and he had to be in the laundry room despite you being unable to see his staff you sure as hell felt his presence. 

You opened your mouth to press more about the subject but Marc cuts you off, “Don’t you have work tomorrow?” You close your mouth and nod slowly, “Okay, well it’s getting late and you don’t want to be grumpy in the morning, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be grumpy.” You deny and Marc smiles at you. “I stayed up until like two in the morning before and woke up at six am.”

“When was that?”

“Back when I was fifteen and living in New York.” You state, “I was reading and I couldn’t put down the story so I stayed up until I finished it; and then I had school and I didn’t regret a single bit of it.” You push yourself up and carefully slide back out before removing the stack of books on the corner of the tank and watching it as the blanket droops to the other side. Marc stands up and removes the other stack of books on the fish tank as you place your own on the floor. 

“Steven didn’t get to enjoy the fort.” You state. Marc wads up the comforter as glances at the reflection on the tank. 

“He says he did,” Marc shrugs. But he barely got to spend time with you in it? “He says that he liked building it and watching us bond.” Marc finishes with his back turned towards you. You stare at his shoulder blades as he walks to the bed. You guess that was true, usually you and Steven spend more time together than you and Marc, now that you were thinking about it. So, it must be nice for Steven to see you and Marc communicating and neither of you shoving the other out, especially him shoving you away. 

“Are you ready for bed?” Marc asks and you shake your head. 

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” You say and you walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind you. It looked like your own, small and cramped. A shower and bath combined was shoved into the far corner and the toilet sat next to it. On the opposite side was the sink which was slightly cleaner than the table-top out in the dining room. It had the men’s toothbrush and your own resting next to theirs in the toothbrush holder. You grab your own and borrow the men’s toothpaste before running it underneath the faucet and brushing your teeth. 

The first few days you spent the night here, you packed your toothbrush and toothpaste. Around the sixth or seventh day you stayed, Steven told you to place your toothbrush into the holder on the counter so you wouldn’t have to keep carrying it over. You were embarrassed of that, and quite frankly you still are. Spitting into the sink and rising off your toothbrush, you were done with your nightly routine. After using the toilet and washing your hands, you left the bathroom and walked over to the newly made bed. Steven sat against the headboard in his own plaid pajama bottoms and white t-shirt with a book on his lap. You crawled onto the bed and laid your head against the pillows as Steven smiles down at you. You guess that Marc wasn’t going to read to you tonight like he said he might. 

“Let’s pick off where we last left off, that alright, dove?” Steven says, his reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as he glances down at you. 

“Steven?” You say, you felt nervous asking him, but you didn’t want the men to spend another night on the couch. He turns his attention to you, brown eyes glittering with the nightstand lights. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you…do you mind if you stay here?” 

“I always stay here.” He says, his eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiles. 

“No, like…stay here all night.” You say, “I just feel bad that you guys are sleeping on the couch and I can see that your body hurts when you wake.” His lips pursed and you could see the thoughts that he was thinking just by his expression alone. He was going to tell you that he was happy that you cared and he would have to decline your plea because he was quite fine on the couch. You knew what card you had to play next to ensure that they would get a good night’s sleep for the first time in two weeks, so you say, “Also, I would feel a lot more comfortable having you closer to me because of…well, y’know.” 

“Dove, we told you that there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But, you also told me that you don’t know for sure, so what is it, Steven?” You say, and he nods slowly. 

You wonder if Marc was telling him what to say or to decline your plea, but before you could think further on that he admits, “I think I would feel better if I was closer to you too.” You internally pump your fists into the air in victory. You briefly revisited the concept that Steven was just as nervous as you were about the murder that happened today and that his acceptance for your question proves that he needs reassurance too. He flips open the book to the chapter he bookmarked last night. It was the chapter on the God Ra, the sun god. You listened to Stevens’ quiet voice as he spoke and slowly relaxed into the routine the two of you have been in for the past two weeks. 

You closed your eyes and allowed your breathing to slow. You forced all thoughts of the reflection of the day to be shoved aside. You’ll deal with them tomorrow, you decided, tonight you want to sleep as peacefully as possible. You were halfway asleep as you felt the bed dip and saw the flicker of the light turning off behind your eyelids. You felt Steven place his hand on your arm, you didn’t pull away, you were too tired to care; and honestly, it was nice. Not soon after, sleep took you.

Your eyes fluttered open as you felt the dip in the bed rise. You breathed in a sharp breath as you stirred, you rolled over onto your back and hugged the sheet to your chest. You closed your eyes with the intention of going back to sleep but the noise of socks shuffling on the wooden floor and the soft footsteps on the floorboards made you peek at the men to see what they were doing. With the little moonlight shining through the curtains and Gus the Second tank, you could see Marc or Steven walking quietly through their apartment.

You didn’t think much of it, you just thought that they were getting a glass of water or going to the bathroom, so you closed your eyes to go back to bed. You were on the edge of sleep when you heard the door unbolt and open before it shut and you heard it lock again. In your tired state, you didn’t think about why Marc or Steven left, but rather let yourself fall back into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

You woke to your alarm going off on the nightstand beside the bed you slept in. You rolled over and hit the snooze button, letting yourself float back into sleep before you woke again to the alarm warning you to get the fuck up. You groaned and hit snooze once more and the cycle repeated a couple of more times before you finally shut it off and forced your eyes to open. You blinked a few times, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes before you rolled over onto your right side and began to scroll through Tiktok to help wake yourself up more. The apartment was quiet like it usually was early in the morning. Sometimes you would hear Marc or Stevens snores drifting over from the couch but today was silent. 

You peeked over your shoulder to see if the men were asleep next to you but the space was empty. You stared at the tossed aside covers and wrinkles on the pillow from where they last placed their head. Maybe they were using the bathroom? You trailed your eyes to the cracked bathroom door. The lights were off and it was obvious that nobody was occupying it. You set your phone down onto the nightstand and pushed yourself up, the bedding falling to your hips as you looked around the flat and listened carefully for the noise of Marc or Steven cooking in the kitchen, but all you heard was the low humming from Gus’s tank. You peel back the covers and stand up, the wooden floor was cold underneath your feet as you walked further into the apartment in search for the men. 

Perhaps they moved to the couch? Maybe they got too hot or uncomfortable sleeping next to you. You bit your lip at the later thought, you didn’t want to make them uncomfortable in their own home. You moved your feet in the direction of the sofa, but it was visible that the couch was empty save for some of the books Marc placed on it last night. The dining chairs, sofa, and extra blankets were still closer to the fish tank because neither of you had put up any of the items from the previous night. You walked in the direction of the kitchen, hoping to find the men but as you approached it became clear that you were the only one in their apartment. 

You take a deep breath and call out for the men, “Marc? Steven?” It worried you a bit that you were alone in their apartment. They only knew you for about a month and they felt comfortable leaving you alone in their flat? That doesn’t seem right. Maybe they left for breakfast with Layla? Didn’t Marc say that dinner couldn’t happen tonight because of the not-a-date with Layla? So, where are they? You wrack your brain for answers as to where they could be, but nothing that they said came to mind. Wait, did they leave last night? You could have swore you they did unless your brain is just making it up through your sleep haziness. If they did leave that wouldn’t make much sense because they were scared of the new avatar and leaving you alone, so why would they leave their apartment in the middle of the night?

You breathe out a long breath of air as you try to relax the already building tension in your shoulders. Should you call them? They were adults with their own personal lives. You didn’t need to know everything they did. But you were still worried for them, it was unlike them to leave late at night. You pat your feet across the hardwood floor as you walk back to the nightstand to collect your phone. You had to get ready for work and at least grab a piece of toast for breakfast. Would you have time to call Steven since you already wasted so much waking up and wondering where they went? You chewed on your lip as you grabbed your apartment key, phone, and Eye of Horus paper before hesitantly walking across their apartment towards their door. 

You could call them on the way to work, you decided. You unlocked their door and opened it before relocking it and slamming it shut. You jiggled the knob to make sure that it was indeed locked. You huffed at the solid doorknob before walking to your apartment and getting ready for work. You popped a piece of bread into the toaster and walked into the bedroom to change into your work uniform. By the time you changed and put on deodorant, the toast was done and you placed peanut butter onto it and munched on it on your way out the door. You locked your apartment back up and patted your pockets for your phone and your comfort paper as you walked down the hall.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how strange it was for Marcs and Stevens’ disappearance. It was really worrying you. You reached into the pocket of your black jeans and pulled out your phone once you were done eating your breakfast. You scrolled through your contacts, ignoring the ping of sadness at the sight of your two emergency contacts being your parents numbers, until you landed on Stevens. It had a picture that you took without his knowledge. He was engrossed in an anime film named Hotarubi no Mori e, otherwise known as Into the Forest of Fireflies Light. Your best-friend introduced you to the film and you decided on one of the movie nights that you were going to show it to the men. Steven cried at the film and despite knowing how it ends, you cried too. 

You stared at the option to call or to text him. Would it be less invasive if you were to text him about their whereabouts and see why they left? You bit your lip, you didn’t want it to seem like you were some clingy kid, but you did want them to know they worried you. It was only yesterday when they called you so many times and you didn’t pick up because you didn’t feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. You worried them and here you are the next day being worried because of them. You decided to send him a text message as you boarded the bus and searched for a spot to sit. As always for the morning route, there wasn’t one so you ended up standing and wrapping your arm around the bar to help steady yourself. 

You opened his contact and began to carefully craft a message. You didn’t want to sound like a mother-hen or being too nosey, you just wanted to get the message across that you were concerned about their sudden disappearance and whereabouts. If anything, this isn’t the time to go missing without telling someone where you’re going, especially with a possible target on your back. You knew that Marc and Steven were anxious without them saying it aloud. They had to be because they were Khonshus previous avatar and the shit that the old god had been doing had to stir something in the men. 

You wrote: Hey, where are you? 

You stared at the message for a moment before deleting it and writing instead: Why did you leave last night?

You purse your lips at the question and decide to erase it and start over. There wasn’t a way to formally text your neighbor about his whereabouts without sounding like a confused and clingy human, was there? You slowly typed out a message and reread it several times before hitting send: My dude, where the fuck did you go?

You rather sound like a pesky human than to let them think that you aren’t concerned for them. You pocket your phone so you wouldn’t waste too much battery using it. You didn’t bring your charger with you mainly because you don’t use it much throughout the work day, but you still didn’t want the battery to drain quickly due to the apps you would be using. You looked out the window for a while, watching the scenery and people walking along the sidewalk. The sun was peeking through the clouds. The weather notification on your phone from this morning showed that it was supposed to be a warm day. The overhanging clouds meant that it was going to be a muggy kind of day and you weren’t looking forward to spending time behind a sandwich bar and toasting customers sandwiches near a warm oven. 

You trail your eyes away from the window and to your fellow passengers on the bus. There were several people with earbuds or headphones on and their eyes glued to their phone or tablet. Others stared out the window like you were doing moments ago and some were eyeing passengers like you are doing now. Morning rush for the buses were terrible and overcrowded, you were used to it by now. Although you always promised to yourself that you would get up a bit earlier to make it to the bus stop so you could be one of the lucky ones to get a seat. Of course, that never happened. Your feet are usually aching by the end of your shift anyways unless it’s a slow day and you could sit down and count the tiles on the ceiling. You always counted forty-one in the lobby of City Subs and seventeen in the backroom. 

Your eyes landed on a pale bald man, he wore a gray vest over a white sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants and dress shoes. The white sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. It was warm on the bus with the crowded humans, the man must have felt so miserable being dressed in a suit. You noticed something on his right arm that rested over the back seat, you tilt your head to the side to try and figure out what it was. It looked like a scale tattoo, honestly it looked pretty cool. You wanted a few tattoos yourself, a couple to represent your parents and one of an elephant because you like the species. You also wanted a dog paw print to symbolize your childhood dog, you didn’t know when you were going to get these but you knew you had quite a long time to think about these tattoos in further detail. 

Your eyes flicker to the man’s face and he caught you staring at him. His brown eyes bore in yours and you felt heat rise in your cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught. You quickly glanced away and you were extremely grateful that the bus slowed to a stop and it happened to be yours. You scrambled off the bus, trying to ignore the pit of humiliation in your stomach as you walked to your workplace. It was always awkward being caught staring at others, your nails dug into your palms as you scold yourself for the action. Your mother always told you not to stare at others and what did you do? The opposite, now you probably made that guy think that he had something on his outfit or face and he probably feels just as anxious and awkward as you are. 

He was probably going to some business meeting or a wedding and you made him feel terrible in that suit. Oh god, he looked quite nice and you just mucked it up for him, somebody should just hit you with a car or something. You took a deep breath to help calm your nerves as you entered your workplace and greeted your coworker, Lauren. She was a nice lady, she was turning thirty-five this year and she had a five-year-old girl, Molly, and a two-year-old boy, Jamie, with her wife, Krista. Around last Christmas, she brought you cookies she made, claiming that she had too many leftovers, but you were pretty sure she just made extra with you in mind. She also gifted you a hat she knitted as a present and that action made you cry once you got to your apartment that night. Lauren was a sweetheart who must be protected at all costs. 

Today, her brown hair was tied loosely in a bun on top of her head and a bandana wrapped around her skull to keep the loose strands out of her face. She looked like she had mascara on and a small amount of foundation covering her skin. She joked once that she couldn’t always complete her make-up routine because of her rowdy children; and you told her that she still looked beautiful with or without make-up.

“How was your night?” She asks over her shoulder as she scrubbed the dirty dishes in the sink. You walk to your locker and place your phone and flat key into it before grabbing your apron and shutting the door. 

“It was good,” You say as you tie your apron around your waist, “it was a relaxing evening.” 

“That sounds fantastic,” She groans, “Molly threw up on herself after dinner and I had to give her a bath and then she had explosive diarrhea in the bath so she had to be washed up twice.” You wince at the situation, that sounds awful. You were glad you were kid free at the moment. 

“Is she okay?” You ask and Lauren nods.

“She’s fine now, but Kris is staying home with both the kids for today, so the stomach bug won’t spread to Molly’s classmates and Jamie’s daycare.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” You say sincerely. 

Lauren shrugs, “It happens, part of raising two kids. One gets sick and the other is soon to follow. Soon the whole household will be.”

“Just don’t bring it to me and I’ll be happy.” You joke as you walk backwards to the large fridge door. You opened it to do your morning routine of taking inventory of your supplies for the day. Last winter, the first without your parents, you were sick and sniffling the majority of the season because you couldn’t afford medicine; and you were miserable at work because you didn’t want to take time off to let your body heal. Unlike the United States, the United Kingdom offers paid sick leave; and even with that knowledge you didn’t want to be alone for a long period of time because it reminded you that you didn’t have anybody in your life. 

You had Lauren, but at the time you only knew her for a few months and that wasn’t stable enough of a connection for you to consider her somebody to rely on. You’ve been coworkers for a little over a year and you haven’t spent time with her outside of work. You were work besties in your opinion, but you haven’t got to know her off the clock. The only times you texted each other was when she asked if you could take her shift since she forgot to schedule time off for a family event or her kids were sick and Kris couldn’t take time off to take care of them. You always said yes, mainly because you were free and needed the extra money. But, besides that, you never conversed with her outside of this building.

You heard the water shut off before you saw Lauren standing in the doorway of the fridge as she dried her hands with a paper towel. “Have you heard of the teen that was murdered at Tower Bridge?” Lauren asks, you spare her a glance.

“I have. It’s so sad for the kid, I hope his murderer gets caught.” You say. 

“The police haven’t released his identity since he’s considered a minor, but…” She trails off and bite her lip, “I hope that it wasn’t Daniel.” You give her a questioning look and she elaborates a bit further, “He’s a kid that lives in my building. He is a sweet kid, he helped us move some potting soil into our flat when Kris wanted to garden.” She gets a sad look on her face as she says, “Daniel was acting a bit strange for the past few months. He would leave randomly for days and come back with sunburns and dirt underneath his nails. Then he went missing about a week or so back, I just hope that it wasn’t him…is that selfish of me to hope?” You shake your head.

“No, I think I would hope too that it wasn’t somebody that I knew,” You reassure. You move your gaze back to the sliced tomatoes that Lauren must have cut this morning. You frown as you reflect on her words. Daniel went missing for a couple of weeks and he could be the one that the avatar killed. Could the same thing happen to Steven and Marc if they don’t come back? You shake your head. No, they probably went out for breakfast with Layla or something. Maybe you really are hallucinating that they left in the middle of the night and they just happened to leave a few minutes before you woke to your alarm. 

“Lord, Molly is turning six next month and all she keeps asking for is her own phone so she could be like all of the popular kids in her class.” Lauren says. She changed the subject swiftly. You could tell that Daniels disappearance and the possible link with the murder was hard on her. You let her change it as you push around the whole cucumbers to see how much you have for this week. 

“Oh man,” You breathe out a laugh, “She’s growing up!” 

“She says she’s ‘five-and-a-half’ and she wants to be like Megan in her class. She says Megan is one of the pretty popular girls and all the boys want to spend time around her. I think she mainly wants it to play games in class and gather the attention of boys.” You laugh a bit.

“She’s getting past the boys-have-cooties-stage too quickly for your liking,” You state with a smile. 

“She says she wants to marry Hunter, he’s been her crush since she began school,” Lauren says, “But Kris and I are considering buying her a phone.” You look at her in surprise, Lauren didn’t strike you as the type of mom to buy her five-year-old a phone, “We’re thinking of looking for flip-phones for emergency contact only, definitely no I-Phone or Android.”

“What? You don’t want her making Tiktoks?” You joke and she rolls her eyes. 

“Definitely not that,” she hums, the corner of her lips turning upwards, “Speaking of birthdays,” Lauren eyes you with a gleam, “You’re turning nineteen in…?”

“September.” You say. You were actually turning seventeen but she obviously doesn’t need to know that. 

“Lord, how time flies.” She chuckles. Lauren wasn’t blipped, she told you of how she met her wife through a support group for the survivors of the blip and the adoption process for Molly and Jamie who are biological siblings. Whenever you think about the story, you get a small ping of jealousy. Not because you want to be in her position, but because it reminds you of the “what ifs”. Sometimes she spoke of the blip like it was the good days. You know that it was hard for her dealing with survivor’s guilt, but she always found the meeting of her wife and the adoption of her children like it was the light during the time of darkness. Which is good, great even. She found the light at the end of the tunnel. While you were still in your own tunnel and that’s what you were mostly jealous of. You sometimes wonder how quickly those five years passed for her. 

“I know,” You say, despite that you really don’t know. The bell above the front door rings and Lauren glances at the small monitor that shows the live footage of the lobby. 

“First customer of the day,” She says and rolls her eyes. “Here’s to a fast and easy day and some good tips.” She places her hand on her hip and gives you a thumbs up, while she shoots you a smile and leaves you to attend to the customer. You never understood how she could be so cheerful in the morning. Maybe it’s the drugs she puts in her morning coffee. You snorted at the thought before you found yourself recounting the cucumbers in the paperbox several times. You couldn’t concentrate, you were too worried about the possibility that Marc and Steven could be the next avatar victims. You decided that as soon as you were done taking inventory that you would check to see if Steven responded and if he didn’t, you’ll send another message. Maybe you’ll call on your break or lunch. You were worried for your neighbors and you just needed to know that they were okay. 

Unfortunately, you were too slammed to be able to check your phone for messages. Lunch rush and early dinner rush was terrible. It was too steady throughout the day to be able to find time to do the one task you wanted to do. You had to keep up on dishes and you and your other coworkers found yourselves having to make more prep because you were running low on food. By the end of your shift, your feet were aching and you smelled like mustard and pepperoni. You wanted a shower and to rest your body on your sofa. It was a heaven sent message when Lauren told you that the store was closed tomorrow due to a staffing shortage on the schedule. The manager apparently fucked up the schedule and had only one person working tomorrow. You weren’t going to argue with that, you didn’t want two steady days back to back in the summer heat. 

You’ll just pick up extra shifts this weekend to make up for the lost day. You said your goodbyes to your coworkers and told Lauren that you hoped that Molly would feel better soon before you walked down the street to the bus stop. Your feet were aching in your tennis-shoes and you had plans to draw a bath to relax for the evening. The idea of standing longer even for a shower seemed exhausting. You didn’t have to wait long for the bus, your manager was kind enough to help revolve your schedule around the bus routes so you wouldn’t have to wait awfully long at the bus stop. You were lucky enough to be able to find a seat and you sighed. The muscles in your calves and feet relaxed within minutes and it felt like pure bliss. For the next thirty-ish minutes you had a seat and that was enough for you. You pull out your phone to see if Steven responded to your message or at least you had a voicemail from him, but all that was shown was a notification update for your device. 

You frowned at the sight, did you do something that made them upset enough to ignore you? You scrolled through your contacts and glanced at the time on the upper right-hand corner of your phone. They never told you what time Marc and Layla were supposed to meet up for their not-a-date-dinner but you had to assume that it was during the time you would normally have dinner with the men. That would be within the next half-hour to hour, so if anything they would be busy getting ready and traveling to the restaurant, but not busy enough to not pick up your call. You dialed Steven, bringing the phone up to your ear and you listened to it as you chewed on your lip and messed with a loose thread on your shirt. Your eyes trailed over your fellow passengers, most of them looked tired from their long days at work or out in the city. 

You smiled a little at the sight of a little boy leaning against his mother and nodding off on her arm. The phone was still calling his number and you knew from how long it was taking for Steven to answer that it was going to go to voicemail. You trailed your eyes away from the boy and to your left towards the back of the bus, there you saw the same bald guy from earlier. He was standing with his hand clutched around one of the support bars hanging from the ceiling. His eyes were already on you by the time you met his. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment and you thought he was going to snap his eyes away from you because he got caught staring, but instead he continued to gaze at you. 

You quickly looked away as the call went to voicemail and instructed you to leave a message after the beep. That fucker. How come they get to panic about your safety and whereabouts but the moment the table is reversed, you feel like you can’t leave a message without feeling like they would be uncomfortable with your care.

“Steven,” You say, “I’m worried about you and Marc. Just call me back.” You glanced at the man and he was still staring, you shifted in your seat as you hung up and pocketed your phone. God, the man was creepy. You patted your pockets for your apartment key and the Eye of Horus paper. Although you knew that it wasn’t going to protect you as much as the taser Marc gave you, it still brought you comfort. You widened your eyes as you realized that you left your taser in their apartment, oh fuck the god damn world. The one time that you might actually need your taser because of the weird bald guy and Khonshus avatar you left it. 

You were a dumbass today, weren’t you? You were so worried about Marc and Stevens sudden disappearance that you left the one weapon that would really help you the most in these troubling times. Honestly though, what were you going to do with the taser against an avatar that has powers given from a god? They would take the taser from you and use it against you or they would snap your neck like a tooth-pick, either way it’s a lose situation for yourself. Well, maybe a win-win situation because you wouldn’t have to continue living with anxiety and depression. You swore you felt the man’s eyes burning into the side of your head. You swallowed as you looked out the window to see how close you were to your stop.

You only had a few minutes remaining and soon you would be off the bus and walking down the street to your apartment. You just had to sit awkwardly and anxiously for a few minutes. Maybe the guy was spacing off and he just happened to be staring at you. You’ve done that quite a few times, especially when you’re tired. He was on the bus with you this morning and he’s still dressed in the same snazzy outfit. Maybe he was tired from being up all day at whatever wedding or business meeting he attended. He was probably just spacing off in your direction from the tiring day. 

Suddenly the collar of your shirt felt tight, you pulled it away from your neck as the bus slowed to a stop. Your eyes trailed to the people around you as you hooked your finger into your shirt and you became chilled. It felt like everyone was looking at you, but you could tell that only a couple of people were. Someone dressed in a similar fashion to the bald guy sat near the front door of the bus and was looking right at you. He was dressed in a black vest and slacks rather than the gray color the other man was dressed in. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and you clearly saw the same tattoo that the other guy had. Something didn’t feel right, maybe it was your anxiety from the situation causing it, but every fiber of your being was telling you to get off the bus. Luckily, this was your stop.

 You stood up and patted your pocket for the key to your apartment as you exited the bus. Your stomach formed a knot and you felt uneasy and nauseous from the feeling. You need to get home and get a hold of Marc and Steven, they would ground you and tell you that you were being paranoid and that you were just imagining it. You glanced over your shoulder while walking to your flat, your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the bald guy and the similarly dressed man exiting the bus and looking right at you. You quickly faced ahead and picked up your pace, you needed to get home. The knot in your stomach tightened and the air around you felt tense. It felt exactly like it did in the laundry room. 

You were terrified which caused your breathing to quicken, you force your legs to move faster. Khonshu was near and those men were following you, great. The clouds above you parted and the sun shined down upon you as you began to jog to your apartment rather than speed walk. You dug in your pocket for your phone, your fingers brushing against the ziplock bag that contained the paper Steven gave you and you pulled out your device. You glanced down at your phone and back to the path ahead of you as you weaved through strangers and let out breaths of air with apologies attached.

You didn’t need to look over your shoulder because you just knew that the men were following you. You tapped Stevens’ contacts and called. The knot in your stomach was painful and you were about to vomit from your anxiety. 

“Come on, Steven,” You plead, “Please pick up.” Your gut screamed at you as you made sure to stabilize your apartment key between your index and middle finger. You should have brought the taser. You should have remembered to bring the one weapon you ever been given especially after the mugging incident. You pleaded to the God Horus for protection as the call went to voicemail and you cursed underneath your breath.

Your lungs burned and calves screamed as you pleaded to Steven to pick up, “Please Steven, there’s two men following me and I was so stupid not to bring the damn taser Marc gave me and I’m scared. I can see the apartment.” You scrambled out the words, taking in a deep breath as you tried to keep your words clear enough for the man to understand, “You better be home, Steven.” With that you hung up and tightly grasped your phone until your knuckles turned white. You pushed open the doors to your apartment complex, sparing a glance over your shoulder and seeing the bald guy and his friend standing roughly twenty feet from your building. You gulped, the feeling in your stomach eased as you rushed to the elevator and spammed the button. 

The situation felt all too familiar as you waited for the elevator to descend from the fifth floor. You watched the numbers decrease above the elevator doors, you bounced on your heels and glanced back to the front doors. You expected the men to follow you in and try to kidnap you or something, that’s the vibe that you were getting from them, at least. You jumped as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. You quickly rushed in and spammed your floor level, you hoped that none of your neighbors would call the elevator to their floor and slow your frantic progress. The tension in the air around you relaxed and you tried to catch your breath. 

You haven’t exercised in years, you weren’t expecting to start jogging today after a long shift. Your face and armpits felt sticky from the sweat your body created, you were looking forward to a long and relaxing bath after you bang on Stevens and Marc’s door. Your chest rose and fell as you thought back to what the men possibly could have wanted. They were dressed similarly like they both went to the same wedding or business meeting and they had the same tattoo. We’re they close friends or something who decided to team up to try and scare you and kidnap you? You heard too many true crime cases on serial killers teaming up and torturing their victims before killing them. Would that have happened to you if you didn’t notice them?

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the fifth floor you requested. You stepped out of the metal box and walked down the hallway, your eyes focused on the dark brown door that belonged to the men’s flat. You stopped in front of it, you felt pissed and it was rightfully so. They were grown ass adults ignoring you even when you left voicemails on their phone. You could have been killed moments ago and they couldn’t even pick up the fucking phone. You raise your fist and hit the wooden surface of the door. You waited to hear the soft footsteps of the men trying to be quiet as they walked to the door to peek through the peephole, but you didn’t hear anything. 

“Steven Grant,” You said loudly, “Open this god-damn door right fucking now.” You heard your neighbors door down the hall crack open and you sent them a small wave and a forced smile as you waited for the sound of the door being unlocked. You banged your fist harder against the door causing it to shake. It was becoming increasingly more obvious that neither of them wanted to answer you. 

“Call me if you need anything.” You hiss underneath your breath, “My fucking ass I will.” You took a deep breath and brought your phone up to scroll through your contacts until you reached Stevens. You hit the call button and brought it up to your ear, this time you knew he wasn’t going to pick up. But, that didn’t stop you from being surprised when you heard a faint ringing from inside of their apartment. Your mouth dropped open as you realized that Steven and Marc were either in the apartment and blatantly ignoring you or Steven left his phone. 

You banged your fist harshly against the door, you were angry and worried for them. You knew that bruises were going to form on your hand throughout the night from it hitting against the door but you didn’t care. Your neighbor further poked their head out the door. Their black hair was tied into a ponytail and it nearly touched the floor. You never talked to them before, you have passed each other in the hallway a few times and perhaps rode in the lift together once or twice, but you never had a conversation before today. So, you were a bit surprised when they spoke, “Lovers quarrel?” They had a cheeky grin on their face as you faced them with a look of confusion. 

“What?”

“You and your man are having a fight.”

“My man?”

“It’s been cheeky of you spending the night with him and leaving in the morning,” She grins and you slowly let your expression turn into one of horror. Oh god, the whole building must be thinking that you’re fucking Steven. She must have not noticed your look because she still has that stupid grin. You gasp for something to say, it’s not like you can tell her that you’re sixteen, you’ll be investigated and found as a fraud. 

“Steven is my uncle,” You wince a little as the lie comes out of your mouth and you awkwardly watch the look of horror and embarrassment spread on her face. 

“Oh my god,” She breathes out, “I am so sorry.” You wave her words away and press your lips together. 

“It’s…fine.” You force out a laugh, “I didn’t know that I could be considered his… sugar-baby or girlfriend…” You gag as you listen to yourself speak and she quickly shakes her head, trying to defuse the garbage fire that this conversation was.  

“No, no, I-I should have known,” She starts and you nod along to her words, “You look like you’re sixteen or some shit.”

“Well, I’m glad that we cleared this up,” You truthfully say and she nods quickly. You could tell that she wanted to escape this conversation as much as you do.

“I do too. Uh, have a good night.” She says and shuts the door behind her. You step from one foot to the other awkwardly. You wished that you saved up enough money to buy yourself a drink because you absolutely needed one after that encounter. You thought your day literally couldn’t get any worse. You took a deep breath and decided to walk to your apartment. You were too embarrassed to continue standing in the hall despite all the anger and concern you felt for the men. You unlock the door and slip into your flat and shut the door behind you. You locked it before kicking off your shoes and emptying your pants pocket of the Eye of Horus paper and setting it on the counter with your jacket. You dropped your key next to the paper as you stared at your empty apartment. 

The sunlight filtered in through the window and casted a golden light across the hardwood floor as you contemplated calling Marc’s emergency number. You couldn’t get ahold of them through Stevens phone and they left in the middle of the night. Why weren’t they answering? Where did they go? There were people following you and you knew that they were because who the fuck watches you on the bus and follow you and stop twenty yards from your building? These people now know where you live and what route you took to work. Who knows, maybe they followed you to work and you just weren’t paying attention. They probably know where you work now. If anything, the men’s disappearance and the events taken place today was more than enough of a reason to call his emergency only number. 

You scroll to Marc’s contact, the picture was one that you took when he wasn’t paying attention to what you were doing. He had his focus on the pot of food he was cooking, his head tilted down and hair pushed out of his face. He looked calm and collected, perhaps a little happy, unlike the majority of the time when he had the expression of somebody with a stick up his ass and he was uncomfortable from it. You press the call button and bring the phone up to your ear. You listened to it ring and ring and ring some more. You should have known better that Marc wouldn’t pick up his-

“Who is this?” A man with a New York accent spoke into the phone. You blink in surprise, your heart skipped a beat in your chest at the relief that someone picked up.

“Hello?” You say into the device and you listen to his nostrils flare, “Marc?”

“I’m not Marc.” His tone sounded agitated. The corner of your lips tilted downwards. He doesn’t sound like Marc either. Marc spoke with more of a Chicago accent than a New York one. Maybe Marc gave you the wrong number or you put in the digits wrong. But, even then you and Marc went over their numbers several times to make sure it was correct. So, this had to be Marc’s number.

“Well, did you pick up his phone for him?” You ask as you bring your hand up to your mouth and begin to chew on your nails. It was a stupid anxious habit you had since you were young, you thought you got over it but apparently you were wrong. The man scoffs at your question. 

“No, no cogí su teléfono.” He says and you pull your hand away from your mouth. Your brows scrunch together at the sudden Spanish. You had taken some basic Spanish as a class requirement when you were in high-school but most of the language you forgot. The two words you knew out of that sentence were: no and phone. 

“Uh, no hablo español…” You tell him and he chuckles dryly. 

“I am very busy right now.” He says and with that he hangs up without so much as an apology or a goodbye. You pull the phone away from your ear and look at the two blinking words that signaled the call ended. Well, either Marc gave you the wrong number which was impossible because you both went over the digits multiple times; or his phone was out of service and his old number was given to a new customer. You groan and set your device onto the counter. Today was a long and rough day, you felt like you needed a glass of wine to help unwind you of the stress of today. You peel your shirt off of your body and kick off your pants before heading into the bathroom to draw yourself a much needed bath. 

The evening was uneventful, you figured that you would knock on the men’s door whenever they came back from the not-a-date since you realized you missed the opportunity to confront them when they would inevitably leave their apartment for the said not-a-date. You weren’t too upset with yourself for not thinking of harassing them when they left, you were too wrapped up in your own mind about the phone call with the stranger, the men with matching tattoos, and your neighbors disappearance. You hoped that Marc and Steven wouldn’t turn up like Lauren’s neighbor, Daniel, may have. You don’t want to wake up to news on your phone about their body being found below the Tower Bridge like the sixteen-year-old was found. 

Your dinner consisted of over-cooked scrambled eggs and sliced ham since you didn’t feel like standing at your stovetop for too long because your feet still ached. Currently, you were laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling soon after you realized that nothing would distract you from the ever increasing worry for the whereabouts of Steven and Marc. Your phone was clutched to your chest as you would occasionally check the time to see if it was close to nine in the evening, yet. You figured nine o’clock would be punctual enough for a grown ass man to come home from his meet up with his ex-wife. It was near eight-thirty and you huffed a breath out. 

Everything that came with today- well, over the past few months really- was bothering you. Khonshu just letting go of Marc and Steven without any strings attached, an abusive god just lets his avatars walk free? That doesn’t seem right. Marc trying to comfort you by telling you that Khonshu was just being a dick and fucking with you? Why is the god lingering around their apartment complex? Why show his damn staff to you but not the rest of him? Why would the god that claims to be the protector of the night make his avatar kill a kid? Why were two matching men following you home? Why did Marc and Steven leave in the middle of the night? Who picked up Marc’s phone?

Nothing made sense except for the sketchiness of the situation. You left New York to make a new life without your past, but it seems like all it did was drag you into a new mess. You pinched your nose and jumped a bit at the noise of something hitting something. You sat up and your eyes trailed to your door. It sounded like someone was banging someone’s door a couple of rooms over. 

“Marc, open the door,” someone called out for your neighbor and you perked up interest in it. Who would be knocking on your acquaintance’s door this late? You stood up and walked to your door and unbolted it before opening the wooden exit and peeking your head into the hall. You immediately understood your neighbor’s curiosity as you stared at a beautiful woman in a blue dress that reached her knees and fit her curves nicely. She looked so pretty with her curly hair down as purse clutched in her hand as she banged angrily on your neighbors door.

“Marc, Steven, open up.” She says. Your mouth falls open as she says the other alters name, so she knows them both enough to be aware of the alters. You doubt that Marc walks around and announces to the world that he has DID. She must have seen you out of her peripheral vision because she looks down the hall and at you. She raises her hand and waves a little awkwardly at you. 

“Who are you?” You ask and she narrows her brown eyes at you. 

“I’m Stevens’ friend,” She says, “I haven’t been able to get into contact with them all evening.” It was your turn to narrow your eyes at her. 

“I know for a fact that Steven doesn’t have any friends, so who are you really?” You say, and you both stare at each other. You look her up and down once more and realization dawns upon you so you say, “Marc didn’t meet up with you for the date, huh?” This was Layla, Marc’s and Stevens’ ex-wife.

She says your name and you felt a bit shocked that she knew it. It was a little interesting that Steven and Marc had to mention you to her. For some reason you thought that the existence of you wouldn’t pass their lips in conversation. “No, he was supposed to meet me for dinner but he hasn’t shown up.” She says bitterly. 

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of them all day,” you admit and she gives you a curious look. You bite your lip as you think about inviting her into your flat to tell her everything and see what she thinks about it. But, he was a stranger to you for all you knew was that she did dangerous jobs and had a sketchy past as much as Marc has. Although, Marc and Steven had to trust her enough to marry her and continue some form of relationship after their divorce. She did help defeat Ammit and she was a god’s temporary avatar which means she was worthy enough to be chosen. You might get more answers about the men if you were to ask her, maybe she knows more than she seemingly does now. 

You release a breath as you ask her, “Want to come inside?”

Chapter Text

As soon as Layla walked into your apartment, you shut and bolted the door behind her. The light from the moon shined through your windows and casted a glow across your wooden floor. You quickly swept past her and picked up your scattered work uniform you peeled off earlier this evening before shoving it into the bedroom and closing the door. You’ve been keeping your apartment tidy lately since you became somewhat friends with your neighbor, it just happened that one night you didn’t immediately toss your clothes into the garbage sack or into the bedroom when you had a guest come over. Layla clutches her handbag and looks around your apartment with curiosity. You wonder for a moment how much Marc and Steven spoke about you to her. 

Does she know that you’re sixteen and lost your parents in the aftermath of the blip? Or did Marc and Steven make up some lie as to why they’re hanging out with their neighbor all the time? Her gaze finds you as you were awkwardly stepping from one foot to another. Should you introduce yourself? You both already knew each other’s name and you already invited her inside so is that overkill?

“You live here by yourself?” She asks, her question snapping you out of your anxious thoughts. 

“I do,” You say and gesture to the couch. Her heels click against the floor as she strides to the sofa and you speed walk around her to move the blankets and pillows out of the way so she could sit directly on the cushions and not further flatten your already flattened pillow. You sit down on the sofa, keeping a cushion between the two of you as she sets her purse on the table behind the couch. There was an awkward pause of silence, at least on your end as she flickered her golden brown eyes to you and you couldn’t help but be amazed at how attractive she was. Marc absolutely fucked up in divorcing her even though he did it to protect her. 

“How did you meet Marc and Steven?” She asks. She crosses her legs and you lean against the arm cushion as you turn your body to face her. 

“They didn’t tell you how they met me?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. She smiles a little.

“No, they did. I just want to hear it from your side.”

“Long story short, they saved me from nearly getting mugged and since then we’ve been hanging out with each other.” You say and she nods. 

“That’s what Marc told me,” She hums. “He says you’re sixteen and living on your own, are you sixteen?” You scrunch your brows at her question. Why is she asking this? 

“I am.” You say. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you try to figure out why she’s asking questions she already knows the answer to. Should you just directly ask so you could directly get the answer? Would she even be willing to tell you why? You glance away from her to the remaining picture frames your neighbors have yet to knock off the wall. The remaining pictures were of old holidays spent with your family and some of you and your best friend at the beach and Coney Island. It’s been years since you felt as happy as you were in those photos. You trail your gaze back to Layla as you thought about how happy Marc and her were before he left.

Marc always seems angry, yet he has his sweet moments such as giving you the taser and projector flashlight; and making sure that you were taken care of and made it to the complex even though he claims it was all because Steven wanted to. You knew him a little better than that, but you let him carry on without pushing him about it. Marc could be a sweet and caring human, so why is his ex-wife second guessing what he told her? You doubt that she would tell you why so you let the question slide and store it in the back of your mind for now. Perhaps you’ll find out at a later date that’s causing her to be somewhat untrusting of Marc.

“What do you know about Marc leaving?” She asks. You shift in your seat as you think about the little that you knew. Honestly, you hoped that she would have more information than you did.

“They just left,” You shrug. “I called Steven and he didn’t pick up, it rang and went to voicemail. I called him outside of his apartment earlier and I heard his phone ringing. He just didn’t answer.” You pause to gather your thoughts on the knowledge of what you know so far, “I called Marc’s emergency only number and someone answered and they said they weren’t Marc. They spoke Spanish and had a New York accent. I think north-east…” Layla gives you her full attention as she listens to the words coming out of your mouth. The accent was definitely less  thicker than the ones you were used to, you were able to understand the person who answered hell a lot more clearly than the people you listened to back in New York.

“Was there anything else?” She asks. 

You shake your head after thinking about it before quickly taking it back and saying, “Wait. Marc and Steven mentioned that a kid my age was killed and the Moon Knight suit was seen at the crime. I don’t know how relevant that is but, they seemed upset about it and they didn’t want to leave me alone without knowing if I was comfortable and…safe.” You swallow, “I don’t get it. They just upped and left in the middle of the night without so much as a note and they won’t pick up.” They told you to visit them in the evenings and to pick up their calls, but now they just dip off the end of the Earth and don’t even give you a warning. 

That wasn’t very cool of them to do. You were absolutely going to have a word with them when they got back. You wouldn’t have cared if they told you what they were doing and going, but they worried you enough that their actions are causing you to be upset. Layla had a look on her face that you would best describe as epiphany. You meet her eyes and she opens and closes her mouth. 

“You looked like you just had some revelation,” You breathe out. “Care to share?” Layla shifts her eyes away from you and you watch as she lands her gaze on the remaining pictures on the wall. Her hand gently rubs her left ring finger as she stares at the frames. You wonder what she was thinking about, especially with the pictures of your old life. You just met Layla, and she was already as interesting as one of Stevens unsolved rubik’s cubes. You wanted to solve her as much as you wanted to solve Marc and Steven. 

“When we were in Cairo,” She started, her voice soft as she spoke, “In the fight against Harrow, Marc just…went berserk. He killed every single one of Harrow’s cult members in the area and had a hatchet to Harrow’s throat.” The blood drains out of your face as you listen to her story. Your heart beats harshly against your chest. You knew that Marc had to kill people as part of his end of the deal for Khonshu and you absolutely get killing people who tried to release a god with cruel views for justice especially when innocent lives are at stake. But, hearing it from someone who didn’t completely water down the story like the men would was…different. More brutal to listen to.

“Marc woke up and he didn’t know what happened, Steven didn’t know either and I think we both know that he wouldn’t hurt a fly unless he absolutely had to. I was there and I didn’t even know.” She admits. You open your mouth. How could a person not know what the hell happened if they were there? 

“Did you get knocked out or something?” You ask and she gently shakes her head. You purse your lips, none of it made sense unless she was twisting her words and not telling the truth directly. You twirl a loose thread on your shirt between your fingers as you think about what she told you. She said that she didn’t know what happened. You guess you would too if you watched your ex-husband just snap and kill everyone. You replayed her words several times before you finally gave her your own look of revelation. 

“You said that you ‘didn’t’ know,” You caught on and gave her a curious look. “What do you mean by that?”Layla didn’t strike you as the type of person to reveal everything, especially to a stranger she just met. So, you knew that there were most likely things she was leaving out as she told you. 

“I’ve been thinking about how Marc snapped and killed those people, he did everything to protect himself and me. He threw a dagger and pinned my wing to the car. I thought he was going to kill me until I realized that he made sure I stayed out of the fight.” She says, her eyes were trained on the wall behind you. “He didn’t speak to me at all even when I was screaming at him for stopping me. When he realized that he had a hatchet to Harrow’s throat, he seemed so genuinely confused and he even thought that it was Steven who did it, and Steven believed that he was the one who did it.” 

You gave her a look, you weren’t sure what expression you were showing and didn’t care. None of this made sense. You barely could wrap your mind around the concept of blacking out and waking up doing something that you didn’t know you could do. It must have been terrible for Steven to believe that he was sleepwalking all over London and coming to the realization that he was an altar of Marc Spector. Marc and Layla had to be married and Steven said he didn’t even know that he was, so Marc had to be in the driver’s seat of the brain for years or months depending on how long Marc and Layla were married. Was Layla aware of Steven during those years? 

“What?” Layla asks, her head lolling towards you. You probably had some puzzled expression on your face for her to be curious enough to ask that.

“Did you know about Steven during your marriage with Marc?” 

“No,” She says with a shake of her head. “I met Steven in the beginning of the mission to save the world from Harrow and Ammit.” 

“So, Marc didn’t mention Stevens’ existence to you at all?”

“He said that he had it under control until a few months ago.” She says. You waited for her to add more but nothing else came out of her mouth and you weren’t going to push her about it. You weren’t sure if she knew what happened that caused Steven to front and take control of the driver’s seat; and even if she did, you doubt that she would willingly tell you. She had to have some loyalty left to Marc since she helped save the world and decided to meet up  with him for dinner. 

“He had Steven under control until a few months ago…” You ponder, “you weren’t aware of Stevens’ existence until a little over a month ago, right?” 

“Correct.” Layla confirms. You look down onto your lap as you piece together the information that you received and know about. You knew that all systems of DID are different and never the same, you knew that DID happens with severe trauma and you didn’t even want to question the men about it. But, the thing that you were stumbling over the most and coming back to during your thought process was the concept that Marc knew about Steven and Steven didn’t know about Marc. You weren’t sure what Stevens’ role was in Marc’s life, but as Layla stated Marc had Steven under control for a while. 

What if Marc had another alter under control? Well, that wouldn’t make sense because Layla said that he and Steven seemed genuinely confused when they came to. The only part that did make sense was Marc and Steven being unaware of another alter, one that was violent and strong enough to kill several cult members and have a hatchet to Harrow’s throat.

“Do you think…” You start and trail off. She gives you an expectant look and you prepare yourself for the look of absolute ridiculousness and denial heading your way. “Okay, so hear me out.” You begin and you tell her about everything you’ve been thinking about for the past few minutes. By the end of it she looked like she was slowly coming to the same realization.  

“Marc was aware of Steven.” She says. 

“But, Steven wasn’t aware of Marc.” You say, “Why can’t Marc and Steven not know of another alter?” 

“Because Marc owns the body and…” She trails off. 

“The body doesn’t matter. That was proven because Marc’s brain made Steven for some reason, what if their brain made a bonus alter? A three-in-one special.” You joke and Layla cracks a smile. 

“It would make a lot of things make sense.” She says and you nod in agreement. 

“What if that alter was the one who left last night and picked up Marc’s phone this evening?” You say. What if the alter has been leaving every night before you met Marc and Steven and you just caught on because they woke you up by accident?

“I doubt that Marc would give you a fake number.” She says and sigh’s, “It’s getting late.” You glance to the time in the upper right hand corner of your phone and frown. It was nearing eleven pm, hours seemed to pass during your conversation with Layla. 

“I would have loved to meet you underneath any other circumstance.” Layla says with a smile. 

“Do you think we would have met?” You weren’t sure if Marc and Steven would introduce you to Layla. It was just by pure chance that you were too wound up to relax and open the door to find her knocking on their apartment door. Maybe Marc and Steven didn’t want you to meet up with Layla because she still lived a tense life and that could bring unwanted things back to them if the wrong person found out.

“Absolutely. Marc and Steven talk about you all the time. It was just due time that we would be introduced to each other.”

“I hope they told you good things about me.”

“Terrible things, actually.” She joked and you chuckled. “I’ll give you my number,” she holds out her hand for your phone. “That way when the boys come home you can call me and tell me and I can beat them up for worrying us.” You laugh a bit and hand over your device. She taps in her number and hands you your phone back. 

“Layla El-Faouly.” You read her contact name and smile. 

“I put in two phone numbers, one for emergencies and the other for anything else.” She says and you look at her.

“Steven mentioned that you did dangerous jobs. He always seemed a little worried whenever he talked about it.” It was her turn to be a little surprised that the men chatted to you about her.

“Steven talks about me?”

“Oh yeah, he absolutely adores you.” You say and she glances away with a small smile on her features. “He won’t shut up about how gorgeous you are and how badass you were as Tawerets’ avatar. I don’t mind listening to him because it’s honestly cool to listen to his stories about you and he gets this twinkle in his eyes and this expression like you were the one who hung all the stars in the night sky.” You watch as her cheeks blush a bit and she bites her lip before chuckling. 

“Steven talks about you almost exactly the same. He talks about his dinner with you and the movies you guys watch and how you almost burnt down the flat.”

“That was only once.” You defend yourself and giggle at the memory. 

“He talks about the things you’re doing at work and how you make sandwiches and afford your own apartment just by hard work and saving. He talks about how smart you are about anything with space; and he gets this sparkle in his eyes as if you were the one who hung the stars.” You gulp as you listen to her speak, your own cheeks becoming heated from the praise and care your neighbor has for you. “Steven adores you.” She says your name and gives you a grin as you glance away from her. You weren’t sure what to say to that. You thought that Marc and Steven would at least mention your name and age and perhaps the situation you’re in to Layla but not how you spend your time with them. What seemed to astonish you a bit more than that was the praise that Steven Grant had for you. 

“So does Marc,” She adds and gently punches your arm. “He won’t admit it; but I can tell he does too. Don’t tell him I told you that.” She pushes herself off of the couch and you follow her as she picks up her purse from the table and turns to you. 

“I think we’ll get along quite well.” She says, “Call me when the boys come home or… if you need anything…” She trails off. You felt awkward as you were back to shuffling your feet. 

“Yeah,” You say, “I will.” You would call her when the men came back but you absolutely wouldn’t call her if you really needed something. You always took peoples offers like that with a grain of salt, you figured that when people say something similar that it’s more of a ‘I’m here to make you feel supported but please do not call me’ type of thing. Besides, you felt too bad at the idea of asking for help, if you felt this terrible at the idea, then asking would feel ten times worse. 

“Good night,” Layla says with a smile directed towards you. 

“Do you have pepper spray or a taser?” You ask. If she doesn’t have one, you could convince her to break into the men’s apartment and take yours. You’re sure that they wouldn’t mind, it would be considered a bit as revenge for scaring you today. 

“Nah, I have a gun.” She says nonchalantly. You blink as she walks backwards and opens your apartment door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You reply and she shuts the door behind her with a click. You deadbolt it and lean against the door as you slowly process what she just said. Having a gun in the United Kingdom is illegal. How the hell did she obtain a gun? You know what? That doesn’t matter, you decided, it probably has to do with her dangerous job that you don’t know the complete facts on. It’s for the best. 

It didn’t take you long to get ready for bed, you were lucky that you had a spare charger at your apartment since you left the other one plugged in on the nightstand by Stevens and Marc’s bed. You laid awake and stared at the ceiling, your mind would not shut off the worry you had for the men. You were glad that you didn’t have work tomorrow, otherwise you would be very tired throughout your shift and you didn’t like to work long hours after you slept badly. You did a few times after moving into this apartment and sleeping on the floor because you haven’t bought the couch yet. 

It was terrible living in a new country and being so anxious and sad that you were unable to get any shuteye for a while. You never lived on your own until after your parents died. You were too anxious because of being on your own and you weren’t sure if you were going to make it on your own. You obviously are making it on your own, but with a little bit of support from your neighbors. You’ve been spending time with them for a little over a month now and they are your neighbors but perhaps you’re a little closer than that? Dare you say, friends? Although it’s a bit odd being friends with your thirty-something-year-old neighbor. You guess that it’s not much different than being acquaintances and co-workers with Lauren. It’s just spending a bit extra time with Steven and Marc outside of work, really.

 It was nearing two in the morning and you’ve been glancing at the time on your phone since Layla left. You were far beyond being tired, you were exhausted yet you were too anxious to fall asleep. You only knocked on Stevens and Marcs door twice over the past few hours, you didn’t think that they would be coming back anytime soon since whoever answered Marc’s phone told you they were busy. Busy taking the body out for a spin and doing who the hell knows. You just hoped that they came back in one piece. You’ve been replaying the conversation you had with Layla nearly all night. You’re one hundred percent positive that the alter who had a hatchet to Harrow’s throat was the one who left last night. 

You don’t know why they left and you’re not sure if you want to know why, especially since they were able to kill several cult members and get their leader to his knees. But, from the track record of this alter over the past twenty four hours, you had to at least tell Marc and Steven about the other alter they were suspicious of having. It was the right thing to do, if you were in their shoes you wouldn’t want your body going all over London without your knowledge. For a moment, you found yourself searching for the noise of Gus fish-tank before you remembered that you weren’t in the men’s flat. You were ready to go to sleep. You made sure your phone was plugged in before closing your eyes and trying to let yourself fall into the grasp of sleep. But, your brain still would not shut the fuck up about the men. 

A groan left your mouth as you placed your arm over your eyes as if that would help force you to sleep. You should have invested your strawberry waffle money towards melatonin pills and sleepy tea, maybe a tranquilizer if it meant that your anxiety would calm down and you would be able to sleep. If the men didn’t disappear last night, you would have considered waking up a bit early and surprising them with the special breakfast. But, since you didn’t know when they were coming back, or if they were at all- and that thought alone gave you more anxiety than you would like to admit- you weren’t going to buy them breakfast. 

The noise from the jiggling of your doorknob was what made you remove your arm and sit up. Your eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering through the window as you stared at the handle of the entrance to your flat. You dumbly looked at it as you watched the doorknob turn a couple of times before a bit of realization settled into your sleepy brain. Someone was turning your handle and trying to break in. You felt the blood rush out of your face as you threw the blanket to the side and swung your legs off of the edge of the couch. 

Oh god, someone was breaking in. What if it was those two men from the bus? Oh fuck. You fumbled with your phone, shakily trying to turn on the flashlight mode on the device so you could look for some weapon to use. You mentally cursed yourself at leaving your goddamn taser in Marcs and Stevens apartment. You frantically toss your blanket and pillow aside, panic making your brain fuzzy and short circuit. You needed a weapon to defend yourself from the men. How the fuck did they find your apartment number?

Quickly, you snap your head up and eyed the kitchen. You knew that you had a drawer with a few utensils that could easily cause some damage. The butter knives were in the drawer closest to the sink and you needed to get to that drawer, grab a knife and hide. You didn’t know if you should bother calling Steven and Marc because clearly their alter was busy. Maybe you should call nine-nine-nine. But that could lead to trouble with the authorities and maybe an investigation into your age and then an eventual arrest.  Whatever happens after the police arrive shouldn’t matter as long as you are alive and safe. Just as you were about to run to the kitchen, the jiggling doorknob suddenly stopped and the door slowly creaked open. Like a deer in headlights, you stared at the door with wide eyes as the overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety became a pool in your stomach. Your breath gets caught in your throat as you stare at the outline of someone standing in your doorway while the lights in the hall rapidly flicker behind them. If it wasn’t for the flashlight on your phone becoming like a beacon of light for the source of where you were in your apartment, you thought you would have had a better chance at hiding if you crouched by your sofa. 

You watched them turn their head a bit in your direction, your mouth parts as you feel their eyes bore into your skin. They step into your flat and you take a step back, your heel brushing against the edge of the couch as you watch them shut the door. You clutched on tightly onto your phone as the blankets you pinned up as makeshift curtains blew harshly in a sudden breeze. You knew the window was closed, the traffic was one of the things keeping you up and you shut it in hopes of falling asleep. The lights in your apartment flickered rapidly, with each strike of light you caught a glimpse of the person walking menacingly towards you. The breath caught in your throat left your mouth and you nearly relaxed your shoulders as you saw the person was Marc or Steven. 

But, with the intense expression they wore and the dark look in their brown eyes, you knew that it wasn’t either of the men you were familiar with. They wore a flat cap, a pair of black gloves, and a black collared jacket as they approached you. You took a step backwards with every step they took towards you. Your eyes never left their face, you panicked as you thought about whether or not to call out for Marc or Steven, surely they had to see what was happening, right? Your back pressed into the wall and you jumped as the bulbs in the kitchen shattered and the blanket pinned into the wall flew off. The pictures of your parents floated off of the table and scattered around the living-room. Moonlight filtered into your flat much more clearly and the lights stopped their flickering. 

You let out a whimper as you felt the man burn his gaze into you. You had to ask, you had to know if they were in there right now. Marc and Steven would stop this, they saved you from your mugging, they would stop their alter from scaring you further. The flashlight on your phone flickered out leaving the two of you standing in your apartment with only the light of the moon as your only source. 

You let out a shaky breath before you ask, “Marc? Steven?” It was terrifying staring into your neighbors face and not recognizing the person standing before you. The man scoffs and  reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a dagger with a golden handle and the phases of the moon decorated on the blade. The hand wrapped around the handle had matching phases of the moon on the knuckles of the glove. The moonlight glints off of the silver metal and you feel yourself tear up at the sight of the weapon. Holy shit, you were going to get shanked, weren’t you? Your body trembled as you looked away from the weapon and to the stranger before you. You were only an arms length apart from him, the smell of their familiar cologne wafted into your nose and you almost cried. 

You tried again, this time your tone was pleading, “Marc…? Steven…please.” He stared at you with zero emotion and instead slowly brought the tip of the blade up to your neck and pressed it gently into your skin until you could feel that it broke the surface. A thin trail of blood ran down your neck and sprinkled the tip of the blade. You were terrified, you thought getting stalked by a god who just wanted to fuck with you was bad, this was ten times worse. The knot in your stomach tightened and you inhaled a sharp breath causing the tip to press a bit deeper into your neck and more blood to trail down your skin and onto the blade. 

The tears began to run down your cheeks and drip onto the wooden floor. Despite telling the universe to kill you or to let you die in your darkest moments, especially after your parents passed, you didn’t want to die. You were only sixteen, you didn’t even graduate high-school yet, you were just a kid playing adult.

The person before you gaze never left you as he spoke, “Cierra la boca, pichón. No voy a romperles el cuello.” You let out a whimper as you realize that this was the man you spoke to on the phone earlier. You didn’t know what he said, but with the tense tone he spoke with, you figured that it wasn’t good. Well, nothing about this situation wasn’t good. You were scared but you didn’t want him to be completely aware of that. He could use your fear to his advantage and drag your death out. He could also become angry at your sass too and drag your death out so either way, you would lose. 

“Mr. Busy, right?” You ask, your voice cracking halfway through the question. He stares at you blankly. Your fingers pressed hard into the screen of your phone and you were sure that the screen was going to crack underneath the pressure. The knot in your stomach tightened more and you felt like you were going to throw up. Sweat beads formed on your forehead as you glanced towards the sight of a familiar crescent shaped staff a few feet away but you saw nothing. You swore the knife dug deeper into your skin causing you to give the man your full attention as you add, “You look awfully busy with a knife digging into my sixteen-year-old throat.” You hoped the jab that he was threatening a kid would hit him hard but he didn’t seem to react to it.

“You’re going to listen to me,” He says, his accent sounded like he was from the northeast side of New York. It didn’t bring you any comfort as you once thought that hearing New York accents would. “You will not speak to Marc and Steven about me. You will not mention my existence and that includes our conversation right now.”

“Conversation?” You scoff, “This doesn’t seem like one.”

“Oh trust me, it is the most decent conversation I’ve had this week. You don’t want to see how the other people ended up.” He leans forward a bit and whispers in your ear, “They’re in the Thames River.” He leans back and you stare at him with wide eyes.

“So, you’re going to kill me?” You say and he acts like he’s giving thought to it before he simply shrugs. 

“I won’t have to if you keep your mouth shut and move cities or countries. Go back to America and live with your aunt.” He says. Your mouth parts as you repeat his words a few times in your mind. He’s been listening to your conversation with Marc and Steven, how long has he been listening? How much does he know about you? He adds, “Leave Marc and Stevens’ lives and never talk to them again.” 

“Why don’t you want me around them?”

“You’re going to hurt them and we’ll bring pain to you.” He simply says. You still feel the metal tip digging into your throat. Well whoever this alter is, is doing a pretty good job at bringing you pain. 

“I’m not going to hurt them,” You defend yourself. “Not on purpose at least.”

“No, not yet.” He says, “But you will. You’re going to get them in danger.” You breathlessly chuckle at that, none of this was right, if anything- “They’ll bring you danger too.” He says what you were exactly thinking. This was dangerous right here, right now. You knew that Marc had some sketchy past and you were sure that would probably catch up to him at some point. But, right now, this was the danger. Neither of the men knew about this alter and he just threatened to put your body into the Thames River. They wouldn’t even know where you went if you were killed by this alter. 

He adds, “They’ll bring the remaining members of Harrow’s cult right to your front door and then you’ll put them in danger because they’ll try to protect you.” Your breath falters for a moment and you clutch even tighter onto your phone. This was a lot of information to process. Layla did mention the cult members to you but for some reason you thought they were disbanded like some teenage band that broke up. But this, the confirmation of the remaining cult members being together, means they’re probably going to go after Moon Knight for revenge and raise Ammit- if it’s even possible. Another thing that was also a hard pill to swallow, Marc and Steven trying to protect you from the cult. You don’t want them to sacrifice their life for you.

You shove aside your shock as you stare bull-headily into your neighbors eyes, “They’re suspicious of you already. How do you think they’re going to react when Marc realizes that he missed the date with Layla? Or when they wake up to several voice messages from me? Layla is suspicious too, what will you do if she brings up the possibility of another alter to them?” He narrows his eyes at you, that’s the most emotion that he has shown since he broke into your apartment. 

“Marc will blame Steven and Steven will blame Marc for taking the body and losing track of time. I’ll just delete your voicemails and any messages you sent to the phones. As for Layla…I’ll have a conversation with her too.” He answers. You swallow, your throat gently moving the tip of the dagger a bit. You felt terrible sending this alter her way, but she could deal with them much more than you can. 

“What do you want me to do when Steven or Marc try to talk to me about their missing days?” You ask, he gives it some thought as you both stare directly into each-others eyes.

“Ignore them or I’ll slash your vocal cords out and make you ignore them.” He pauses and tilts his head a bit to the side, “Or I’ll snap your neck like the pigeon is begging me to do.” You scrunch your brows together in confusion before realization settles in and your eyes widen. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Khonshu was lingering because this alter was still his avatar. Marc and Steven got out of the deal but the body was still in it because of the third alter. A gust of wind nearly knocks you off of your feet and the dreadful feeling in your stomach increases. Khonshu was in your apartment and he wanted you dead. You fucking knew it that Khonshu wasn’t just messing with you to scare you but was stalking you to try to kill you. 

“I can’t just ignore them,” You say and he glares at you. 

“You can and you will,” He says with a tone of finality. “Stay away from them or you’ll end up like the niño at Towers Bridge.” You didn’t think your face could flush its color even further but it managed to. The sixteen year-old boy that was found dead was at Towers Bridge. The Moon Knight suit was seen at the crime and this alter is Khonshus avatar. 

“You killed him?” You whisper. 

He scoffs and says in a offended voice, “I’m not a child-murderer. Harrow’s cult killed him.” You take his words with a grain of salt, mainly because of the dagger digging into your throat and the threats of killing you. 

“Sure you didn’t,” You reply and he rolls his eyes before removing the dagger from your throat. You watch as it retracts into the handle before he places it in his pocket. You rub your throat gently, feeling a drop of blood smear across your index finger. 

“Stay away from them,” He warns once more and he backs up slowly towards the door. “It’s for their safety…and yours.” With that, he walks across the living room, stepping over the blanket and pictures of your parents before opening the door and closing it behind him. You stared at the door, fully expecting him to come back and go through with the threats but he didn’t. The feeling of dread slowly vanished as a few minutes passed and quietly, you closed the distance between you and the door and bolted it shut. You stood in the moonlit room, your nose beginning to sting and your lip wobbling before you quickly turned on the overhead light switch. 

Slowly, you put back together your apartment after the god and his avatar left. You picked up the pictures of your parents and placed them onto the table before picking up the blanket and pinning it back into the drywall. You felt a little satisfied that you weren’t letting the moonlight filter into your apartment. It was kind of like a ‘fuck you’ to Khonshu. Carefully, you began to clean up the glass from the bulb in the kitchen. You didn’t have a dustpan or broom, so you pushed it onto a ripped up side of a cardboard box with another piece of cardboard. You only let yourself begin to cry when the glass cuts your hands and bare feet.

Chapter Text

You didn’t get a single ounce of shuteye until hours after the sun had risen and the crows were warning each other to not touch their food. You didn’t sleep well, you were too anxious that whoever the alter was would come back and go through with his words. Or their words. Fuck, you didn’t even know their name, you just assumed the alter was a male because the body was a male. You spent most of the late morning and afternoon sleeping, you didn’t have any dreams but did find yourself waking up at every little sound and looking worriedly around your apartment for an intruder. Whoever that alter was scared you a little more than Khonshu did. 

Throughout the remaining time you were awake until you inevitably had to go to bed because you had work tomorrow, you noticed that you waited anxiously for a phone call specifically from Stevens number; or a knock on the door with Marc standing on the other side. But, nothing happened. By your usual dinner time with your neighbors you were back to eating peanut butter out of the jar. You didn’t feel like cooking and you didn’t have much in your fridge and cabinets to cook with. It was weird thinking of going to work tomorrow like it was a normal day after you just had a dagger to your throat and an altar threaten your life. You were used to the odd feelings of school lockdowns after a nearby school got shot up and the knowledge that could have been your school, but this was a much heavier feeling. 

This felt like a personal brush with death that you know you’re going to bury the memory of in the back of your mind since you couldn’t even comprehend dealing with it. Ah, into the trauma closet it goes to never properly deal with again. You snorted at the thought, honestly it was probably for the best because your solution to dealing with the loss of five years of your life and the death of your parents was to fly to Europe and create a new life. The new alter wants you to pack up your things and ghost Marc and Steven. You didn’t know what you were going to do about that. You couldn’t just ghost them, could you? The idea of packing up and moving cities felt impossible, especially after building one in London. 

It felt like you owed Marc and Steven for saving you from whatever else could have happened in that alley and for buying you a week’s worth of groceries; and feeding you dinner every night…and stealing their bed for a couple of weeks. They sacrificed through their generosity and kindness towards you and they wouldn’t allow you to repay it. Straight up ghosting the men didn’t feel right, well neither did your remaining family but you ignored the anxiety that the idea caused and did it anyway. But, the alter did warn you of the danger that comes with being near these men.

You left New York to be away from your old life and that included the danger of living in the city with Avengers protecting the world from threats. You thought London was the best place to live because of the lack of villains and heroes, everything seemed to happen in New York, and a calming life was what you needed. But, of course you were wrong. So, if you did move without telling the men, you were sure that Marc would easily track you down, and would you be safer somewhere else? Obviously being away from Marc, Steven, the new alter, and Khonshu would bring you more safety, but you’re thinking of the possibility that there’s more danger elsewhere than London. 

Steven and Marc mentioned the Ennead, surely there’s other avatars who could target you? But there shouldn’t be a reason to target you, you haven’t done anything wrong. Well, Khonshu seems to think otherwise but truly, you haven’t done anything awful. Also, the alter stated that Harrow’s cult was the one who killed that kid? Although you find yourself being wishy-washy on that, especially because you had a dagger to your throat while they were telling you that. What if the cult finds you after you move and kill you just to spite Marc and Steven? You watched too many mafia movies to come to that conclusion. 

Are you actually safer being in Stevens and Marcs life despite the alter who thinks otherwise? Maybe you were wrong to think that. Actually you had to be at least seventy-five percent wrong to think that because of the new alter and their threats. You didn’t know what to do, you just needed to take a break from your neighbors. Which is exactly what you have been doing. You’ve been avoiding phone calls and giving excuses on why you couldn’t go over the past four days. The first day was the worst. Steven called while you were at work, he was confused and concerned about what happened and he told you all about how Marc took the body for the night and he doesn’t remember anything and how Marc denies it all and accuses Steven of taking the body. Exactly as the alter predicted would happen. You told him that you were busy and that you couldn’t make it over dinner. 

The next day, you came up with some stupid excuse that your boss asked you to come in late so you could stay longer to help with closing; and Steven told you that he would put your dinner in the oven so it wouldn’t get too cold. You didn’t stop by to pick it up, or to visit the men. You felt a bit guilty at the waste of food that Steven prepared for you. You ended up asking your boss if you could do double shifts the next day so you wouldn’t feel bad in lying and avoiding your neighbors. That third day you went home after a long shift and purposely let Stevens phone calls go to voicemail so you could claim that you just didn’t notice your phone vibrating and the missed calls notifications; you saw that there was a container full of food sitting outside of your apartment’s door. 

A sticky note was attached to the container and you read: Please call us- or visit us. -Steven/Marc. You kept the note but didn’t do either of the requests, and as a repetitive theme throughout the last couple of days you felt guilty, although you were a bit spiteful about the actions of the new alter. The fourth day was similar to the first three. You went to work, avoided phone calls and pretended you weren’t home when Marc and Steven began to knock on your door. It was another long shift and you knew that you couldn’t avoid the men forever. You knew that they were getting increasingly more suspicious and worried the more time went by and soon they would force you to speak to them; and question you about what happened and why you’re ignoring them. Your weekend was beginning after your shift ended and you didn’t have much planned for your two days off besides wandering the city or hiding in your apartment.

So, when you told Lauren that your plans for the weekend were basically nothing, she was excited to invite you to her house and spend Saturday meeting her wife and children. You, of course, took advantage of the invite just so you would have an excuse to tell Steven if he were to call you again. Marc hasn’t spoken to you since you built the fort with Steven and that feels like ages ago. You wonder how much they have put together and whether or not the new alter talked to Layla like they promised to do; and if so, has Layla spoken to Marc and Steven about the new alter? Or has she been avoiding them just as much as you were?

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a woman with dark brown hair and twinkling brown eyes stepping into your view. 

Your coworker says your name gently with a smile on her face as she introduces you to the woman before you. “This is Kris.” You bring up your hand and shake her own awkwardly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” You say as you let go of her hand. “Lauren talks about you and your kids a lot.” Kris beams at that and glances at her wife who looks away bashfully.

“I hope the bus ride wasn’t long for you…” Lauren says, her cheeks tinted red in slight embarrassment. 

“It wasn’t.” You confirm and Lauren opens the door wider for you to come into her apartment. It was a small flat with a cute kitchen to your right as you entered the home and a hallway directly in front of you that led down to several other doors. The living room was the first room you stepped into, there was a miscellaneous amount of items decorating the space. The Hindu elephant sat on a bookshelf with various genres of books. Some being young adult novels, Stephen King’s horror, self-help books, and children stories. A tapestry with a boho peacock pattern was tacked to the wall opposite of the bookshelf.

 Beneath it was a small garden full of green and vibrant plants, a large bag of potting soil leaned against the wooden exterior of the garden. It was a little over halfway empty. The coffee table was littered with crayons and coloring pages of princesses and Transformers. Molly sat crisscrossed on the carpet as she filled the page of the Bumblebee Transformer with a red crayon. Her brown hair was tucked softly behind her ear with the help of a plastic hair band. She looked up at you with curiosity, her mouth slightly open enough to show the gap between her front teeth. A couple feet away from her, Jamie, played with a toy dumpster truck by pushing it off the edge of the coffee table and picking it back up just to repeat the process all over again.

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable.” Lauren said as she shut the door behind you. Sunlight shines through the window, softly making the room be brighter as the white clouds move out of the way. Your eyes land on the couch that Kris was now sitting down on. The couch was a short brown color with sofa risers underneath to increase the height. You walk around the couch and sit down on the far cushion away from Kris. She leaned back into the sofa, her eyes trained on the television with a children’s show playing, you recognized the show mainly because of the memes but it was Cocomelon. 

The apartment smelled of rosemary and lavender, it was a comforting scent. You found the source of the smell when you glanced at the window and saw the incense sticks resting on a small plate on the windowsill. Lauren carefully walked past Kris legs and sat between the two of you. 

“Molly, Jamie,” Lauren says gently. The five-year-old and two-year-old look away from their toys and to their mother. Jamie almost immediately goes back to playing with the toy truck causing you to nearly laugh. “This is my friend who I was talking about last night. Do you remember their name?” You felt a bit flattered at being called Laurens friend even though she probably told her children that because it was easier than explaining that you were coworkers. Molly’s gaze trailed to you and she quickly looked away bashfully when she noticed that you noticed her. But, she nodded fervently and said your name, stumbling over the syllables and it coming out incorrect. It was cute anyways and it caused you to smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” You say in a soft tone. You never were the best with kids, mainly because you didn’t interact often with children. But, you did want to try to be okay with Lauren’s and Krista’s children. “Your mommy talks about you guys all the time.” Molly’s eyes flicker between you and Lauren before trailing her gaze back to her coloring book.

“How do you like school?” You ask. You were trying to keep conversation going so it felt like you could build some foundation of a relationship.

“I like it,” Molly shrugs before she suddenly gets excited. Her twinkling brown eyes landing on you. “I’m going to be in year two.” She holds up her first two digits of her fingers and you find yourself grinning at the sight. You didn’t know much about the United Kingdom’s education system, but you figured that was the equivalent to second grade. 

“You’re turning six, aren’t you?” You’re sure that Lauren told you she was but you wanted to be sure. 

“Yeah! I’m five-and-a-half!” She exclaims, causing you to chuckle.

“Do you think your mommys are going to get you that phone you wanted?” You ask and you could see Lauren glancing at you out of the corner of your eye. 

“I want them to! I want to be cool at school.” Molly admits. You remember being in elementary school and wanting a phone just because some of your popular classmates had one. You wanted to be popular too until you finally grew out of that phase and adapted to who you were in middle-school and high-school. You didn’t have many friends, just one really. You miss her.

“You know, when I was in school all the cool kids only got popular because they were cute; and I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re pretty dang adorable.”  Well, that was part of the reason. Another was how rich their parents were or the family ties the students had to the teachers or principal. The social hierarchy of children deeming other children popular solely based on their attractiveness was weird to think about. But, when you compared it to celebrities being more rich and famous simply on their looks like the Kardashian’s you understood it. Society does the same thing that social media and magazines do to celebrities. It’s your status in life with money and looks that chooses the game of life level for you to play.

“Mummy told me that…” Molly huffs out. She sounded tired of hearing it, you guessed you would too if you wanted to be popular just because of a phone. 

“That’s how you know it’s true.” You say, “When both of your mommies tell you that you’re cute and, of course, me.” You bring your hand to gesture to yourself and it causes the five-year-old to giggle a bit. The noise caused you to feel like you did something right, a feeling of success surged through you as you shifted in your seat to get more comfortable. You ask, “What do you like to do for fun?”

“I like watching cartoons,” Molly hums in thought. “And I like making dresses.” You raise an eyebrow at that and glance at Lauren. 

“Go show them your drawings.” Lauren encourages. Molly stands up and walks past you. You stare at her as she walks down a small hallway and turns left into the second to last door. 

“Molly draws her outfits.” Lauren says, causing you to turn your attention to her. “She draws dresses and suits and costumes.” 

“Do you think she’s going to want to be a clothing designer?” You ask and Lauren looks out the window in thought before shaking her head. 

“I think she’s just being creative.” 

“She once had a phase for being a doctor for animals.” Kris speaks up. You nearly jump in surprise since you forgot she was in the room with you due to how quiet she has been. “She wanted to take care of animals. She tried to convince us to get a dog and claimed that she would take care of its boo-boos.” You and Kris share a chuckle at that. “We can’t get any animals because we rent this place.” You understood, you lived in rented apartment complexes your whole life and you desperately wanted a dog or a cat when you were younger. Even now honestly, having a companion to share your flat with doesn’t sound half-bad. Maybe once you get more financially stable and you move out of the current one you live in, you’ll begin to look into getting one of the animals.

Molly walked back from what you assumed must have been her bedroom. She was holding onto a red binder filled with dozens of papers. She stood quietly next to you, glancing between you and Lauren with a nervous gaze. You gently smiled at her to get her to relax a bit as Lauren nodded at her child.

“Go on,” Lauren encouraged. Molly held out the binder towards you and you took it from her carefully before opening it up. There were several drawings of dresses with triangle shaped skirts and rectangle tops with circles as the puffy sleeves all in various colors. You could tell that the outfits princesses wore inspired some of her creations. You turned the page, glancing at the back of it to see if she sketched some on the back but it was blank. On the next page over, there were similar drawings with notes written in crayon and misspelt words that covered half the page. Some of it was barely legible so you didn’t bother reading it. Turning the page you saw a confusing mess of orange and black suit.

“That’s my costume from last Halloween.” Molly says, she was staring at the page with the drawing. “I was Tigger.”

“From Winnie the Pooh?” You ask and she nods quickly. 

“He’s my favorite!” She exclaims and giggles. You can’t remember the last time you watched the show or movies, but you’re sure you were younger than eleven. One year for Halloween you dressed up as Ash Williams from the Evil Dead 1981 film. It’s safe to say that you and Molly have two completely different childhoods. You flip to the next page and there’s a drawing of a suit, it was colored black with two rectangles spaced about half an inch apart. You think it’s supposed to be a tuxedo. Each following page had different colors and outfits, most of them were princess outfits but they were cute nonetheless. Molly’s drawings were good for a five-year-old. She definitely had some spirit in the creative department.

“Wow! These are really good!” You enthusiastically say. Molly looked a bit more confident with your praise and she was beaming with pride. 

“Really?” She asks as you hand back the drawings. 

“Heck yeah. If you keep working on your skills you’ll only get better.” You grin. She takes the binder back and holds it to her chest. Jamie walked around the coffee table towards Kris and handed her the dumpster truck toy he was previously playing with before picking up a doll and moving its legs. Molly frowned for a moment at the sight. You didn’t grow up with any siblings but you knew the look of jealousy and anger simmering in her eyes. Jamie was playing with one of her toys and it was obvious that she didn’t like that. Lauren gave her one of those looks, silently telling her to let it go and Molly huffed out a breath. 

“Why don’t you ask them what they like to do for fun?” Lauren said gently. Molly placed the binder onto the surface of the table before sitting down in her previous spot. Molly glared at Jamie. You had to give kudos to Lauren for dealing with a jealous five-year old by trying to redirect their attention. You don’t think you could handle that role well. 

“Mummy, Jamie is playing with one of my toys,” Molly says instead. Krista leans forward a bit to peek around Lauren. 

“What did we talk about sharing?” Kris says. You sat a little tensely. This wasn’t as awkward as going to your best friend’s house and their parents scolding them while you were at the dinner table, but it was still awkward. You shifted in your seat as Molly continued to glare at her brother. Kris says her daughter’s name causing her to look away from the two-year-old. 

“You said that we share things.” Molly says. “But, those are my toys. I got those from Santa.” Jamie looks at his sister, his small hands still wrapped around the doll as he lets out a giggle. You know he doesn’t know any better, but it sounded like he was mocking her. Molly glares harshly at her brother before pleading with her mom to make him drop the doll; and to which, Kris doesn’t do anything about it because sharing is caring. The whole situation reminded you of a time when you were in first grade and you watched one of your classmates simply hit another student for playing with the toys they brought to school. 

You can’t remember what happened after that, although you figure that the teacher and principal talked to the parents of the two children involved. For a moment, you thought Molly would do exactly that to her brother, but instead she angrily turns her attention away. She had a lot more willpower than your first grade classmate did. 

“Why don’t you ask them what they do for fun?” Kris says. Molly breathes out heavily through her nostrils before she asks you that. 

“I do boring adult stuff,” You say. “I work too much to have fun most of the time. But, I used to paint and I was thinking of getting back into that.” You shrug.

“I want to be an adult.” Molly whines. “I’ll get to do all the fun adult stuff like driving and choosing where to go on holiday.” You chuckle. “I want to go to Disneyland and meet Minnie and Mickey and Pluto and Tinkerbell.” 

“That sounds like a lot of fun.” You say. You never really had an interest in going to the attraction park, but you did want to travel. You wanted to go to Rome, Egypt, the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Ireland, and Norway. Specifically, during the time when the sun doesn’t set for the latter. Unfortunately, that would probably never happen. 

“And I’ll get to have my own toys that I won’t have to share.” She adds. You hold back a laugh, ah there’s the real reason she wants to be an adult.

“Well, don’t grow up too fast.” You say. “You still have quite a few years of young life left and if you grow up too quickly your mommies will be sad.” 

She looks a little upset at the state that her parents would be in but she soon asks, “Why do you say it like that?’ You look at her in confusion.

“Say what?”

“Mo-mmies?” She sounds out the words.

“Mommies…?”

“Yeah, their mummies.” She says. “You say it’s weird.” You laugh and Lauren gives her scolding look.

“Don’t say that!” Lauren says, “That’s mean to say.” She gives you an apologetic look but you’re still giggling from Molly’s directness. Molly was smiling despite her mothers upset expression. 

“No it’s fine,” You smile. “I say it like that because I learned it like that.” Lauren lets out a string of apologies before standing up and excusing herself to the bathroom. You sat a little awkwardly as Molly stood up and snatched her binder off of the table before sneaking off to her room. 

“You look young.” Kris says after a moment of silence between the two of you. Jamie babbled with the toy doll and soon dropped the toy before picking up a rubber ball. “Much younger than I pictured you.”

“It’s weird how that would become a compliment when I’m forty and someone told me that.”

“I don’t mean to insult you.” Kris says sheepishly.

“Nah, you’re fine.” You say, “I get it. My baby fat hasn’t quite disappeared yet. I was always a late bloomer.” The lie was easy to roll off your tongue. You didn’t feel guilty lying to her about your age as you would have in the beginning. “I’m in my prime age. I should go out partying and return home at like two in the morning and get up for work at six just to do it all over again the next night. Just to take advantage of my youth.” 

“I don’t even remember the last time I partied like that.” Kris says, “The idea of it makes my back hurt.” Honestly, you weren’t one to go out and party that hard, to be fair you are sixteen, but before the blip happened you were fifteen and the craziest thing you ever did was go to homecoming. So, you found it a little irritatingly sad that you probably were never going to go out to bars or clubs until you were well above your actual age of twenty-one. You’ll probably be thirty and going to the bar for the first time since nothing seemed to be in the cards for you besides stress and bills. Isn’t that adult life anyways? Work until you die just so you could survive.

“It sounds tiring,” You state and Kris hums in agreement. 

“So, how long have you been working at City Subs?” She asks. Your eyes trail to the window as the room slightly darkens before getting brighter once more. The clouds were floating past the sun. 

“A little over a year, I think.” You say. You know for a fact that it’s been a long time since you moved from America to London, and it wasn’t long after that that you got hired at the sandwich shop. 

“And I’m just now meeting you?” Kris says and you nod. “You didn’t go to the Christmas party?” You shift your eyes back to her and shake your head. You didn’t go to the party because you didn’t have any bus money to make it there and back. From what you remember, you spent it on cheap packets of noodles so you could have something to eat throughout the holiday. 

“I might go this year though,” You say after a couple of moments. 

“You should go,” Kris said, “I think Rebecca got really drunk last year.” She chuckles. Rebecca was a previous coworker of yours, she used to work the night shift so you and her barely conversed with each other unless you were scheduled in the afternoon or she was. But, from how much you talked to her, she seemed like a nice person. She quit a couple of months ago because she was moving to Manchester. You heard about the story of your previous co-worker getting smashed and singing terrible karaoke songs. 

You wished that you could have been there, you could have made some good memories or connected better to the people you work with. Perhaps you truly dodged a bullet, maybe they would look closer at your ID and think about how off it is or notice something wrong with it.

“I guess we’ll see in December.” You say. You don’t like making plans for months or years out, mainly because you don’t know what you’ll be doing when the time rolls around for those plans. You really have to prepare yourself to hangout with people because you are much more introverted than extroverted. Of course, this applies to Steven and Marc. Or applied. You frown. You still don’t know what to do although you realize that you can’t avoid them forever. Despite the alter wanting you too. You sigh, you had to go back to your apartment and prepare yourself to tell them, would they believe you if you told them about the other alter and Khonshu? Layla said that they seemed suspicious especially after the fight with Harrow. 

You were once again snapped out of your own thoughts by a pale hand being waved in front of your face. You blinked rapidly, your eyes stinging slightly as you turned your head to your right to see the concerned expression Lauren was giving you. 

“Are you alright, darling?” She asks, her brows furrowed together and brown eyes looking at you with worry. Your lips twitch for a moment before you give her a forced smile. 

“Yeah,” You breathe out. Your mind has been preoccupied with the situation you were thrown in for the last few days. It seems like the men are your first thoughts when you wake and your last before you fall asleep. You felt stressed and anxious all the time, although you were always anxious about something but this specifically made you even more nervous. To be fair your life was threatened and you still felt guilty avoiding the men. She gives you one of her stern mom looks you saw her directing towards Molly earlier. The expression caused you to swallow and your mouth suddenly became dry. Your mother used to give you that look often when you were growing up, it’s been awhile since one was directed towards you. 

“I was just thinking…” You trail off. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look away from her. You couldn’t talk to her about your neighbors and the events that happened earlier this week. You weren’t blind, you could tell that she thought something happened but she never pushed for details. She crosses your path and sits down on the cushion she was previously on. Molly walked back into the living room and picked up the doll Jamie dropped moments ago before she began playing with it. 

“Yeah, I was thinking too,” She says and shifts her attention away from you. You glance at her before following her gaze. Molly and Jamie were playing with the dolls together, he babbled on as Molly tried to explain to him that she was playing the husband and he had to be the wife. 

“Oh yeah?” You hum. It was nice watching the children play. You wished that you could be that carefree and not have to worry about bills and adult life.

“Yeah, I was thinking about how to ask if you’d like to stay for dinner.” She says and you blink, “You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in a week.” You huff out a laugh and meant to give her a reassuring smile but you’re sure it came out looking more like a grimace. You know that peanut butter and toast wasn’t the best meal but that’s what you’ve been eating all week besides Stevens homemade meal of fettuccine. The meal made you feel even worse for avoiding them. It wasn’t their fault that their alter scared you, they did deserve to know about why you’ve been ignoring them. Was it safe for you to tell them? You don’t know. Perhaps they figured it out on their own and were trying to get into contact with you to talk to you about it. 

Maybe apologize on the behalf of the new alter. You haven’t listened to any of the voicemails Steven left.

“Thanks,” You breathe out. “I would accept, but I have to go home and have dinner with…my uncle.” You lie through your teeth. She looks at you with surprise. 

“You live with your uncle?” 

“Nah, my uncle lives next door.” You say. Awkward didn’t even describe the feeling you were going through. It was weird to call the men your uncle, although nobody seems to question it; so that made you a little okay with the description of your neighbors.

“I would stay for dinner if my uncle wasn’t expecting me to eat with him.” you add, “It’s kind of our Saturday night routine.” You glance at the clock on the wall, you’ve spent most of the afternoon with Lauren and her family. It was mainly just you conversing with her five-year-old, but that was enough for you at the moment. You wanted to go home, take a bath, and eat some more peanut butter toast before thinking about finally knocking on Marcs’ and Stevens door to apologize and explain your distancing. Your social battery was running low and you needed to recharge. You push yourself off of the couch and soon Kris and Lauren follow. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Kris says and shakes your hand. Your grip was a little loose in hers but you didn’t really care. 

“It was nice meeting you, too!” You say. Lauren walks you to the door a few feet away and opens it for you. “I appreciate you letting me visit and meet your family.” You tell her and she smiles. 

“It’s a pleasure. Molly seems to enjoy talking to you. Jamie just wanted to play with his toys, which is fine because he usually throws a tantrum, but he was good for us today.” She says. You smile and step from foot to foot. 

“I’ll see you Monday?” You say as you step out into the hallway. 

She nodded, “I’ll bring you something to eat.” She promised and you smiled at her before she shut the door and you began your short journey to the elevator. You were never good at goodbyes, you didn’t know how to get out of Laurens apartment without being terribly direct by stating: I want to go home now. You hope that you didn’t come off as rude by suddenly leaving after she admits that she was going to ask you to stay for dinner. You bite your lip at the thought, man, you’ll apologize profusely on Monday. You’re going to be doing a lot of that throughout the weekend if you decide to knock on your neighbors door. 

The sight of the same missing person poster taped next to the elevator doors made you slow down in your steps. It was a picture of a young teenage boy with blond hair and green eyes smiling at the camera. The name underneath it was Daniel Williams with a description of his height, age, eye color, and any other way to spot him through scars and birthmarks. Daniel was the kid Lauren mentioned to you not that long ago. You press the call button for the elevator before returning your attention back to the teenager. Was it Daniel who was killed at Towers Bridge? Or was it someone else? 

You read the last sighting of him under the description. He was last seen at this apartment complex. No teenager would just walk out without telling someone where they were going in this day and age with kidnapping and human trafficking. Unless…he was going somewhere where he didn’t want his parents to know about. But, even then you would have just told them you were going to the mall or the library just so they would have something and not be completely suspicious. You haven’t heard anything new about the teenager found dead at Towers Bridge, was it Daniel’s body? But, if it was, wouldn’t the missing person posters be taken down? And Lauren would have mentioned it to you, right?

The elevator dinging made you jump slightly. You were too deep into your own thoughts. You stepped into the metal box and pressed the lobby button. The doors slid shut and you back to staring at the missing person flier taped to the metal doors. His face was almost in every part of this building, his mother was devastated and obviously worried for him to tape flyers to any available surface that people would see. It was a somber feeling of a pit in your stomach as the elevator door opened and you stepped out into the lobby and began your walk to the bus stop. A fellow teenager was killed and another one was missing, you have to assume that it’s two different people; and here you were alive and breathing, and enjoying your Saturday off.  

Now, that you were thinking about it, it kind of had that devastation vibe you got when school shootings would happen in the beginning until you eventually became desensitized to hearing or seeing any news about it. You were safe studying for a math quiz in New York while some other school in California got shot up or had a bomb threat. The walk was short and the waiting for the bus was even longer. Unfortunately, you didn’t time up the bus route schedule with your sudden departure from Lauren’s home. So, you sat on the bench and watched as the crows cawed on the power pole wires and occasionally swooped down to the sidewalk below. 

You tried to conserve your battery life for your phone since you didn’t have a portable charger and you didn’t know how long you’ll be sitting here. Deciding on looking up the bus times, you splurged a few percent of your battery to check the route. You had about a forty minute wait time until your ride home was estimated to be here. You groaned and placed your phone into your pocket before you tried to sit more comfortably on the metal bench. The sun beamed down upon you, it was a warm day, not as awful as the heatwave was but still it made you begin to sweat and you were sure that you would soon be sweating through your jeans. 

Oh man, you hope that nobody would think you made a mess of yourself when it’s actually your sweat. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on your own until you were startled when a woman sat down next to you, placing her book-bag between you. 

“Have you been waiting long?” She asks after a few moments of silence. Oh god, she’s one of those people who like to conversate with strangers. You know there’s nothing wrong with making conversation, but sometimes you wish that you were left alone rather than forced to be polite and talk back. You glance at her, she wears a short sleeved green shirt with writing you can’t make out from this angle. Her jean shorts reached mid-thigh and her brown hair was tied up into a messy bun. Her matching colored eyes bored into yours which nearly caused you to jump. You didn’t expect her to be staring at you while she waited for your answer. 

“No,” You say. Something black out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. You glance down to her arm and there was a scale tattoo. Exactly like the two men had on the bus. You look away quickly so she wouldn’t think that you were being rude by staring at her tattoo. It was odd to see two men and a woman with the same tattoo. Perhaps they were besties and all decided to get matching tats; or the tats symbolize a band or something. You’ve seen fans of artists get tattoos to represent how much they love them, so maybe these three people were in the same fandom or liked the same artist. Maybe it was more than that now that you were thinking about it. It was even more weird that the men followed you until you reached your building and now a woman was sitting a couple feet from you. 

You shifted uncomfortably. Something wasn’t right. There was a soft breeze of wind as your stomach knotted and you found it a bit hard to breathe. You look away from her, hoping that she wouldn’t catch the look of panic and anxiety you were beginning to feel. You took a breath of air, the coolness of it went down your throat and filled your lungs before you slowly released it to help ground yourself. You needed to act like nothing was wrong, maybe she would leave you alone. 

“Are you in a club or something?” You ask, the words leaving your mouth a bit shaky. She purses her lips and sends you a small smile as she watches you gesture to the scale tattoo.

“What makes you think that?” Her voice was soft as she spoke.

“The scale tattoo,” You point to her left arm. “I’ve seen a couple of people with the same tattoo.” She lets out a small laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You blink as you watch her look away for a moment before returning her attention to you.

“No, no.” She breathes, the corners of her lips slightly turned up. “Have you ever heard of the scales of justice?” You bite your lip, should you be entertaining this woman by shaking your head and signaling for her to go on? Whatever it is that she’s about to talk about doesn’t seem good. You were curious though, why would three people have matching tattoos? The knot in your stomach seems to tighten as you shake your head. You felt this knot and the anxiety that seemed to be simmering in your stomach before. It always happened when Khonshu was around. 

Maybe you were overthinking it and worrying too much, maybe it was your gut telling you to get the fuck away from this women; or maybe you were too nervous about the tattoos and their symbol that your body was physically reacting. You didn’t know, so despite your body urging you to get up and run, you made yourself sit still and listen to whatever this lady had to say. You suppose you were never the brightest when it came to self-preservation.

“The scales represent justice. Those who were judged and passed the judgment receive this symbol; and those who failed the judgment are condemned to death.” You blink. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“What judgment? What was being judged?”

“The souls of mankind for the goddess Ammit.” She says and you feel your blood drain from your face. Your heart skips a beat and a lump forms in your throat. Oh, that’s not great. The knot in your stomach doesn’t loosen but you soon realize that it was warning you get the fuck away. You didn’t know exactly who these people were but you knew that Ammit was the goddess that Moon Knight destroyed. Steven told you that they fought Harrow and he was killed a couple weeks later. He told you that. You curl your hands into fists, your nails digging into your skin. But, they didn’t kill all of Harrow’s followers and Ammits worshippers. Of course there would be the loyal and faithful left, it made sense that the remaining loyalists would try to release Ammit or raise her back from the dead. 

You were a bit confused on what exactly happened in that fight in Cairo. But that didn’t matter at the moment, you needed to return home safely; and then you could apologize to your neighbors and question them about Cairo, everything that the alter wants you to do can be dealt with later. 

“And you passed?” You asked quietly. Her smile widens and the wind blows a bit harsher against you which nearly causes you to topple to the concrete. You just wanted to distract her until your bus arrives, you really couldn’t give two shits about a cult who wanted a goddess released to judge the world before their crimes were committed. That doesn’t seem right, people can change, and it’s not only targeting adults but children and babies. That was your understanding from what Steven told you about, at least.

“I did,” She hums. She looks giddy like a kid at the candy store as she asks, “Would you like to be judged?” You blink, your mouth parting slightly in disbelief and terror. A gust of wind blew harshly through the trees and you were almost positive that you were going to be kissing the pavement if the breeze got stronger. You felt like you were going to throw up from the tightening of your stomach. Your hands shook and sweat droplets began to form on your forehead. You needed to get away. You have to go home. Right now. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips as you think about the walking distance to the next bus stop or to your apartment itself. It would take a long time but you would get the hell away from her.

“No, thank you.” You croak out around the lump in your throat. Your nose began to sting which was always the first warning that you were about to cry. You were scared, you’d rather take Khonshu over this insane lady, which was saying something in itself. You had to go home. You needed to go home. Your nails dug deeper into your skin until your knuckles were turning white. The sound of an engine approaching caused you to whip your head to your right and you sighed in relief at the sight of the red bus approaching. The woman stands up with her bag hand causing you to turn your attention to her. She gave you a smile, which you thought was supposed to be comforting but clearly it was not. 

“I suppose our time is up. I’ll see you next time.” She says your name gently as if it was a promise and your heart drops at the sound of it. You watch with wide, horrified eyes as she walks away. You never told her your name, how the hell did she know your fucking name? You stand on wobbly legs and walk to the bus. You found a window spot to sit down on and you leaned your head against the glass, letting the slightly coolness of it press against your face. You felt like you were going to throw up with the amount of panic racing through you. You were crying before you even knew you were. You were terrified of everything that has happened over the course of the last month. You couldn’t catch a fucking break could you? 

You let yourself freely cry while you ignored the pitiful looks of your fellow passengers. Maybe they thought you just got dumped, but no you were scared shitless by a cult member, a god, and your neighbors alter. The thought made you snort before more tears welled up and you cried much harder. Your shoulders shook and you gasped for breath as you leaned forward and placed your face in your hands with your elbows resting on your knees. Crying these days came much more often than they did before your neighbors saved you. It seems that you were crying everyday rather than occasionally. You don’t know how long your breakdown lasted, but when you removed your face from the palms of your hands, and blinked away the remaining tears in your eyes, you found yourself staring at the small crescent shaped marks on your hands caused by your fingernails. 

Even with the grounding by the small amount of pain you received by pressing your nails into your skin, you were reminded of Khonshu and Moon Knight. You swallowed and bit down gently on your tongue to keep yourself from continuing your break down. Everything was fucked and you didn’t know what to do about it. Quietly, you looked out the window for the rest of the ride. The walk to your building was luckily uneventful, you kept glancing around and making sure you were aware of your surroundings at all times. You were definitely going to get that taser you left at Marcs and Stevens apartment. You entered the building and approached the elevator. A frown settled on your already upset features at the sight of the paper that stated the lift was out of order. 

You swiveled on your heel and marched across the lobby towards the stairwell. There was a metal door with a push bar handle that leads to the stairwell. You pushed it open and begrudgingly began your assent to the fifth floor. With each step you took, your thighs and calves began to burn and you found it hard to breathe. You haven’t been this athletic since gym in your sophomore year of high-school. It’s been a couple of years since you exercised like this. Your chest was rising and falling quickly as you gasped for air, you didn’t bother to stifle the noise until you opened the door to your hallway and tried to act like you weren’t fighting for your life. Walking down the hallway, you awkwardly nodded at your neighbor who asked if you were having lovers quarrel as you passed her. 

You brought your key out of your pants pocket and opened up your apartment door, flicking on the light switch as you stepped through. The door gently shut behind you before your eyes landed on the person sitting on your couch and a short scream left your mouth at the sight. You barely took a step backwards into the door before you recognized the mop of black hair and tan skin. Marc stared at you, dark circles were underneath his eyes and he looked tired and pissed. Your hand flew up to your chest as if you could calm your racing heart by the gesture. You didn’t know exactly what you were feeling, you were happy, scared, and a little pissed about everything over the past week alone. 

He didn’t look surprised at whatever expression you were wearing as he said, “We need to talk.” You choke out a laugh, you didn’t think anything about today was funny, let alone anything over the past seven days; fuck, month and year. Yet, you were laughing and you could only chalk it up to a mental breakdown. You couldn’t hide from them anymore. You needed to talk to them anyway. You set your key onto the counter with your jacket and pat your pocket for the Eye of Horus before setting that next to the coat. 

Your tense shoulders relax a bit while you take a deep breath and turn to face him as you say, “Yeah, we fucking do.”

Chapter Text

As soon as the words left your mouth a laugh left with it. Your shoulders ached from the tension leaving it and even more so as you giggled and your upper body shook. Marc looked at you in confusion, his forehead wrinkling as he scrunched his brows at the sight of you. You didn’t care how crazy you looked, you had a tough week and a stressful day that was supposed to be relaxing. You had fun with Lauren and her family, it should have stayed that way but no, that crazy lady had to creep you out. Everything since meeting the men has caused you stress.

The questions of what ifs plagued your mind as your giggles increased into boisterous laughter, you bent over and clutched your knees as you let the noise leave you. What if you didn’t go out for groceries that night? What if you walked a little faster? What if you went out for groceries at a different time? You would not have met them. You wouldn’t be dealing with a god who wants you dead and an avatar who happens to be a third alter of your neighbors. Would it have been better if you didn’t meet them? You definitely wouldn’t be as terrified as you have been over the last month. Would your life be better? Your first thought was that it would be, but as soon as that popped into your mind you thought the opposite. You weren’t sure.

“Why are you laughing?” Marc asks. The question made you giggle harder until you were laughing so much that you were bent over and your hands were clutching your knees. Tears spring from your eyes and blur your vision, making it difficult to see the hardwood below you. You blinked and felt the water drop to the floor.

“Why am I laughing?” You ask through your giggles, “Because everything is so fucked.” You stood back into a straight spine position and wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand.

“What happened? Why are you avoiding our calls?” Marc asks. He sounds concerned and slightly angry. You don’t look at him as you walk around the island and open your cupboard before taking a ceramic mug you thrifted from the nearly empty shelf. You walk over to your sink and fill it up with the water running from the faucet before taking a sip. The sight of something moving on the empty dirty glass resting next to the sink caught your eye. You turn your attention to it, squinting at him as you see Marc’s reflection appear in the glass from behind you as you listen to his shoes shuffle behind you with the movement. You feel his eyes burn into your back as you finish the rest of your water while wishing that it was the much needed alcohol.

You only drank alcohol once when you snuck a sip of some brand of vodka from your parents liquor cabinet. It was a dare from your best friend and you refused to back down from it, you were fifteen and it was one of the last sleepovers you had with your best friend before the blip. You wish that you knew it was the last one at the time, you wouldn’t have taken it for granted. You knew that the legal age limit to buy alcohol in the United Kingdom was eighteen, although you were faking your age to be eighteen, you didn’t like people looking too closely at your ID so, you rarely tried risking stuff like that since you moved to London. Now, you were considering buying the cheapest beverage you could find just so you could feel like you were relaxing. After this entire week, you definitely needed something stronger than the water running out of your faucet.

Setting your now empty mug into the sink, you slowly turn around and lean your back against the counter. Marc stood in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest as he gave you an expectant look. You didn’t expect your heart to ache at the sight. He reminded you of your dad, whenever you got into trouble he would have the same expression on his face as he waited for an answer. Except, at Marc’s look you didn’t wither underneath it or feel the anxiety your dad gave you. You felt anxiety from the creepy interaction at the bus stop and the murder bird and his acquaintance, but not from your neighbor who stood before you. Even though the third alter, Marc, and Steven shared the same body and the third alter could switch at any time and go through with their threat of snapping your neck or slashing your throat open, you felt relieved at the familiar sight of the man you became somewhat friends with.

“You know something.” He says quietly. He doesn’t sound accusing but more like stating a fact. A sigh leaves your mouth, your chest deflating as it makes its exit.

“I know I had a shitty week.” You tell him with a small shake of your head. “A shit-show of a week actually.”

“Did…” Marc hesitates. He glances at something to his right that you don’t bother looking at. Instead, you watch him listen to whatever the hell Steven is telling him.

“Something bad happened.” He states. His brown eyes stare at your face but never make contact with you. You bit the inside of your cheek. You never really thought about what to tell them other than some stupid excuse as to why you couldn’t make it to dinner. You did think about screaming at them for worrying you and for the actions of their alter that they have suspicions of but aren’t responsible for. Although Marc and Steven did have the responsibility of telling you about their suspicions, that’s what you’re upset about when it comes to them and not the mysterious and terrifying alter. The third alter and the realization that they’re technically still a gods avatar because of the body is a whole other problem.

“It was terrifying and creepy. I thought I was going to die.” You admit, and he presses his lips into a thin line. “To start off the beginning of the week, I called Stevens’ number multiple times and he didn’t answer. I was worried for you guys and I left voicemails. Next, two men with matching bestie tattoos followed me home and I panicked called Steven and he didn’t pick up.” You watch as Marc winces at that and awkwardly shuffles his feet. “Then, you broke into my apartment and threatened my god-damn life if I didn’t leave and disappear from yours and Stevens. I didn’t get an ounce of sleep after that because I was too scared that you would kill me as you promised to.”

“Wait-” Marc starts but you cut him off.

“And then- this creepy-ass lady that had to be besties with the two men on the bus because she had the same tattoo asks me if I want to be judged.” You finish.

“I-” Marc falters for a moment. He clutched his head, fingers digging into his black curls. “I…we didn’t threaten you…” He says. He looked like he was pained by the thought alone. You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you thought about whether to tell them about the third alter. You should tell them, but to be honest you were scared of the consequences since the third one was most likely lingering in hearing distance or however it works for the men. Would they kill you and make it seem like this conversation was a dream to Marc and Steven? You didn’t want to find out.

You bite your lip before you say, “No, I suppose you didn’t.” It wasn’t a lie, kind of. Marc and Steven weren’t the ones to loosen the lock on your door. It now has a harder time locking, but it still works okay. Marc stared into your eyes. The more you thought about what to say, there was no way of working around not telling them about the third alter. They will notice the gaps in your story if you were to give them a false one, They’re not stupid, they will put two puzzle pieces together and eventually find out. Maybe, you didn’t have to directly tell them. They were suspicious of a third alter anyways, you could give them hints. Perhaps the alter wouldn’t go after you then.

You add, “But, uh…you did break into my apartment. You owe me a new door handle. There’s no way maintenance will actually fix my door.” You roll your eyes as you point at him. “Do you know how long it took for them to fix the caulk around the windows to keep rainwater from getting in? A long ass time.” You called maintenance every single day. You had bags underneath the window for months to keep the water from spreading all over your floor and storms in England were tough to go through.

“The lock was already loose, so it wasn’t difficult picking it.” Marc scoffs. You huff out a breath.

“I know the lock hasn’t been right since you broke in.” You say and it seems to click for him at that moment. It was kind of like watching a lightbulb go off above his head, his lips part and his angry eyes shifted into wide ones. He nearly took a step back, he brought his arms up as if he was getting ready to defend himself but as soon as they lifted into the air they immediately fell back to his sides.

“I didn’t break in.” He says slowly, his features falling into one of horrible realization, “Steven…says he didn’t break in…” He rubs the lower half of his face with his hand before he brings his guilt-filled eyes to your face. “But, they did. The other one.” He finishes. You wet your lips with your tongue, deciding to stay silent. That silence was all he needed to hear because he looked like he wanted to run away from you. The switch was subtle. You noticed the way Marc’s posture slouched into Stevens and his tense shoulders dropped as Steven brought his hands up to his chest.

“Oh my lord,” Steven says. His eyes were wide as he took a hesitant step towards you before he finally decided that he needed to be touching you. His shoes hit the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, he grasped your face between his palms, his right thumb gently rubbed the side of your face.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” He rushes out, his eyes scanned your entire face as if he was taking in every single detail before he took a step back and his eyes checked every visible inch of your body. His hands never left your face as he searched for injuries that may have occurred during the break-in.

“No,” You mumble, the word managing to leave your lips through your squished cheeks. His brown eyes trailed back up to yours and his hands only left your face to instead wrap his arms around your torso and pull you in for a hug. You let out a yelp of surprise which was muffled because your face was buried in his chest. The scent of their laundry detergent and deodorant was inhaled through your nose as you slowly wrapped your arms around his middle. You didn’t know you missed the smell until now. The two of you stood in your kitchen, holding each other for a while. You needed the hug even though it felt a little bit weird to do so. It was a stressful week to say the least. You didn’t know if you should tell him, or them depending on if Marc was still lingering around, that their alter had a knife to your throat.

You planned to, you actually expected to be more pissed and yelling at them than how calm you were throughout your conversation so far. But, as you hugged Steven and breathed in his familiar scent, you thought about how you didn’t want them to blame themselves for the actions of their alter, they had no control over them and they weren’t completely aware of them. Their suspicions should have been brought forward to you so you could have avoided this all together or be much more educated on the possibility of a third alter before it was confirmed by being put in danger of them.

You had every right to be upset by it and you absolutely were. But, you didn’t want them to ghost you like you considered doing. You were worried that they would decide that it was best for you to no longer be in their lives because of the alter. You’ve been thinking for the past few days that you would probably be safer with them anyways. Since Marc was able to gather information on you and the history of your past, you figured that anybody could if they were to look deep enough or consider searching up your first and last name. All your old social media accounts were still up but you never logged into them since before the blip. That’s probably were Marc started his research on you. You made a mental note to return the favor for him soon.

Eventually, as you pulled away from Steven and he took a step back to give you some breathing space, you decided against telling them about the threat the alter made. Perhaps you’ll bring it up to them in the future, but right now you want your somewhat normal relationship to be back. You stared at Stevens face, he had a soft expression on his features directed towards you and the sight made something tug in your heart. You missed him and Marc, you realized as you registered his look of fondness. You still allowed yourself to be scared of the third alter but you refused to let it show. You didn’t want them to have some ego because they knew you were scared of them. They probably already knew, honestly, but you didn’t want to confirm it for them.

“You said that they had tattoos?” Steven says. His statement that sounded like a question nearly caused you to jump. You were too wrapped up in your worried thoughts that you almost forgot that they were here. You nod.

“They had scale tattoos.” You say, pausing for a moment as you thought of what you could say to describe them. “Y’know how they have those scales in the vegetable and fruit aisles at the grocery store? Those were the scales. Not like the type of scale you would weigh yourself with.” You stop your rambling as you watch Stevens’ face pale. He brought his hand up to his face as he turned to the nearest reflective surface which happens to be that exact same glass cup you saw Marc’s reflection in earlier. You could see the wheels turning in his mind through his eyes as he didn’t remove his gaze from the cup beside you.

“Harrow.” Was all he said. Your mouth parts as you slowly process the single word.

“Harrow…?” You say. You give him a confused look as you watch Steven look like he was about to have a huge mental breakdown at any moment. “Isn’t that the guy that you fought?”

“The loony man that released Ammit and we had to step in and stop him? Yeah, that man.” Steven confirms. You definitely needed something stronger than water to drink.

“Harrow.” You state. You place your hands on your hips and glance down to your shoes. You close your eyes for a second just so you could feel like you were able to process the information given to you. “I thought you said that Harrow died.”

“He did,” Steven catches himself and presses his lips together into a thin line. “He is dead.”

“Then why-” You look at him. “Why…?” You didn’t quite know what to say or ask. You couldn’t comprehend that a dead-guys cult was fucking around with you. You of all people, they noticed enough to start a damn conversation with you. You know how the joke goes: an Egyptian god, an avatar with an unknown name, and three cult members walk into a bar and you end up dead. Ba-dum-tiss. Jokes on you, baby. What tops it all off is that they know your apartment complex and the bus route you ride. You were never going to get a break from this were you? You really were dragged into this mess the moment Marc and Steven saved you. You were saved from anything that could have happened in that alley, because there’s a hell of a lot more shit that could have gone down than just being mugged; but at what cost were you saved? You no longer had the choice to live a normal life, as normal as it could be after the blip and living in a world with superhero’s and villains. You don’t think you could walk away from this without looking over your shoulder everyday for as long as you live.

You swallow as your eyes flicker back to his face and he had the expression of fear, worry, and a little bit of anger. That last emotion didn’t seem to fit him as well as it did for Marc even though they shared the same body.

“You said that you called me?” Steven asks after a while of tense silence. You didn’t know if it was as tense for him as you felt or not. You gave him an incredulous look as he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the screen for what you assume was notifications of received messages in his voicemail. “I never…I don’t have any voice messages.”

“Yeah,” You state. “They deleted them like they said they would.” You knew that he was trying to change the subject, you could tell by the way that he stared at his screen that he wasn’t as intently looking for the messages as he probably was listening to whatever the hell Marc was speaking about. You couldn’t think of anything to ask him about the cult, you figured all evidence was in front of you and the three of you could clearly see that the cult wanted something but you didn’t know what and you doubted that they knew since they were surprised about the stalking.

Steven looks away from his phone and to the light fixture above you two. You glance at it, since the bulb and the plastic case around it exploded that night that their alter broke in, you haven’t had any light in your kitchen except for the sunlight filtering through your living room windows and into your apartment. You haven’t called maintenance to fix it, mainly because you knew that it would take them forever to come look at it and confirm that you indeed didn’t have light in your kitchen and that it was a problem. You also didn’t know how to explain that an Egyptian god dramatically broke your light just because he wanted to be extra.

“So, what happened to your light?” Steven asks, his index finger pointing to the fixture above the two of you.

“It broke,” You tell him and he stares at you, waiting for you to inform him of more detail. “You’ll tell me that I’m just scared.” You roll your eyes. “But Khonshu decided that he doesn’t want me to have light, apparently.” You purposely left out the detail of the blanket being ripped off the wall for what you assumed was dramatic purpose. The old god had no reason to break your stuff, he was just being more rude. Steven looks at you and slowly, you watch him accept your answer. You supposed that they were accepting that the old bird has nothing else to do but to fuck with you for his own game. First it was the sight of the crescent staff, then the laundry room, and finally the exploding of your kitchen light bulb.

You didn’t know how to tell them the other reason why Khonshu was lingering around. How do you tell your neighbors that just got out of being a gods avatars that their third alter is still his avatar? It’s not like there’s a sympathy card for the matter. There’s just no easy way to tell them. You couldn’t even buy them a cake and ask the decorator to write the statement in icing. The decorator would think you’re crazy and the men would think you’re heartless. They would have to believe you when you force them to put two and two together. They must have not let on that they thought it was odd that the Moon Knight suit was found at the crime scene of the kid and they disappeared for a whole day and night. Maybe they wanted to believe that their alter didn’t sign up to be the gods avatar, if you were in their shoes, you know you would hope that your alter wouldn’t be an avatar.

As you watched Steven eye the broken shards that were still attached to the lights, you decided that ignorance was bliss and they were bound to find out soon. There’s absolutely no way that they will continue to chalk up their sore muscles because they slept on the couch. Especially now that you’re not going to continue staying the night there, so there’s no reason that they should sleep on the couch. At the moment, you were okay with talking with them, but you didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with a knife to your throat because you pissed the mysterious alter off. Layla said that Marc snapped in the fight against Harrow, which you now guessed to by the third alter; so that means they can force themselves into the driver’s seat as much as Marc and Steven can smoothly switch places. The fact that the alter hasn’t switched with them yet, simply because you told the men of their extra roommate living in the body spoke volumes.

“A lot has happened since we were gone…” Steven trails off with a frown. He lolls his head towards your fridge and stares at the plastic yellowed surface. There wasn’t a single magnet on the door as there was at Stevens and Marcs. Theirs was decorated with magnets of odd sayings, a few Egyptian gods and pyramids, and a couple from Cairo. You guessed they got those ones after the fight with Harrow. You could totally picture Steven walking the streets of the city and picking up some souvenirs. Your parents fridge had weird comic magnets that held up pictures of family members you don’t recognize and some that you do. You briefly wondered if the people that moved into your home kept the magnets or gave them away.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch Steven open the fridge door. You knew what the inside looked like, the shelves were empty save for half a jar of strawberry jelly and a small container of butter you bought on one of your grocery trips months ago. You haven’t had the chance to go shopping this week for yourself, since you were too tired to go on your bonus day off. Your fridge was bare but your friends called bread and peanut butter sat on one of your shelves in your cabinet. They were your best friends until you had the chance to go shopping tomorrow. Maybe you’ll end up using the money you saved for the men’s strawberry waffles and buy yourself a family pack of ramen instead or you’ll buy yourself a slice of cake as a reward for making it through this week. Either one sounded appetizing since all you ate was a couple of slices of toast. Maybe you should have stayed for dinner at Laurens.

“Have you been eating?” Steven asks as he shuts the door and directs his attention to you. He didn’t seem angry, he looked more concerned and a little upset more than anything. You lean against the counter as you nod. He raises an eyebrow at the gesture and says, “Really? Because your fridge is empty.”

“I’ve been eating peanut butter and toast.” You say slowly, and Steven narrows his eyes. “And my work offers free subs for their employees, so I’ve been eating that too.”

“That’s not a proper meal.” He scolds. “You need to eat three meals a day and two of them being a couple of slices of bread smothered in peanut butter isn’t that.”

“I ate your fettuccine…” You say, trying to feel like you’re able to defend yourself but the claim comes off as weak. You reach over onto the counter and hand him the clean container that once held that meal.

“That was days ago,” He says as he takes the small plastic box and lid from you. “You look like you haven’t eaten a single thing since I last saw you.” His fingers play with the lid of the container. You weren’t sure what to say to that. You didn’t think that you looked too bad at least compared to this time last year when you just moved to London and lived in the city for a couple of months. You were terrible at taking care of yourself back then. You were dealing with the fresh wound of losing your parents and life, there were points that you thought about killing yourself. There were days that you didn’t eat, because you didn’t have enough money to spend on a meal and because you didn’t have the motivation to take care of yourself.

That was in the early days before you learned how to properly budget your checks and money you received through tipping; and when you decided that you weren’t going to deal with the five stages of grief and jump straight onto acceptance. It wasn’t easy doing that, you do find yourself occasionally slipping back into stage one whenever you think too much about everything you lost before you force yourself to focus on whatever daily task or conversation you were having. You just…didn’t know how to let yourself grieve without destroying yourself. You knew that if Steven learned of your struggles that he would lose his shit and would probably make you go over for three meals a day. He would probably black mail you to ensure that he sees you on the hour if he absolutely had to.

“Well…I have…” You manage to weakly defend yourself and Steven sighs.

“You look like you haven’t.” He states and you awkwardly look away from him. You felt like a kid who was being scolded by their parents. The feeling felt too familiar and awful, you didn’t like it. Steven adds, “Marc thinks it best that we try to distance ourselves from you until we figure the bloody stuff out with Harrow’s cult and the other us, but I think that’s rubbish.”

“Yeah?” You say. You were a little surprised that Steven thinks keeping you at arm’s distance from now on was stupid. You thought that he would agree with Marc and decide that the best option to keep you safe was to not have any contact with you. Perhaps they would only invite you over to meals and slumber parties if you wanted to continue staying the night at their place if they both agreed on not being spotted with you in public.

“And I know that we look like the alter that scared you, but we’re not them.” Steven adds, you trail your gaze back to him. You have to admit that the last two statements surprised you. They sounded so unlike Steven who seemed to be the one to play it safe while Marc was the one who took more risks. You could only guess that Marc was beating himself up for the suspicions of a third alter that could have done much more harm than scare you, obviously they still don’t know about the extent of being pinned to the wall with a dagger to your throat.

“I don’t feel like cooking tonight, so how do you feel like going out to eat?” Another surprise, Steven doesn’t want to cook and he’s thinking of risking being spotted with you out in public. You suppose it doesn’t matter that you’re seen with the men because clearly Harrow’s cult already knows what you look like and where you live and work. It’s been a long time since you sat down and ate in a restaurant establishment that wasn’t the table shoved into the corner next to the supply closet of your workplace. Your parents and you used to have the Friday night tradition of ordering takeout, most of the time it being pizza from a decent pizza parlor down the road. The couple of final times you ate in a restaurant was when you were celebrating your mothers birthday and your own. You would love to go and enjoy the atmosphere of dining in a restaurant, minus the anxiety you would feel for the cult, the third alter, and looking at the prices of the menu and visibly cringing at it, but you don’t have enough money to spend on a meal out in a food establishment. It’s either tomorrows grocery haul or a meal that would probably last you a day and a half, that is if you have left overs. Some places serve small portions too.

“I don’t have any money to pay for it.” You say softly and Steven shakes his head, the curls softly bouncing against his forehead.

“You’re not going to pay a cent.” He says. Your frown at that, you didn’t like the idea of letting him pay for your dinner.

“Can’t you just order takeout?” You ask. At least with that you could help clean up the mess.

“I would but there’s this restaurant that I’ve been wanting to show you and this is a good enough excuse to.” He narrows his eyes at the glass cup next to you, “Oh hush up, we’ll be fine.” You glance to your side, half expecting that Marc would be standing next to you, but of course nobody was there.

“What if they attack us?”

“Marc has military experience and as far as they know we’re still the old birds Moon Knight.” Steven says with a grin. A feeling of guilt washes through you at the sight of Stevens’ smile, it was clear that he thought it was a clever plan especially since he believes that he and Marc no longer serve Khonshu. It was true that they weren’t the gods’ puppet, but their body still participates in the nightly activities due to the sharing of the body with the alter. He must have mistook your expression of guilt for hesitation because he quietly says, “Come to dinner with us…please?”

You wanted to go. You wanted to get back into the routine of spending at least a couple of hours each day with them since you figured your deal will continue. You were just a little guilty for not knowing how to tell them about Khonshu and their body being his avatar. You couldn’t imagine that the best time to tell them would be as you’re eating a meal that they paid for in public. They would freak out and panic and you weren’t sure if they would handle the information well enough to be able to remain calm. You know you would be absolutely pissed if you were them. You would probably lose it and begin to scream in anger in public. You looked at Stevens’ hopeful expression, he really wanted to show you the place didn’t he? Your gut tugged and the feeling that you shouldn’t go filled the pit of your stomach. You should listen to your intuition when it tells you not to do something but you were never one to always follow the rules. Slowly, you felt your resolve crumbling as you slowly nodded your head in answer. Ignorance is bliss, you’ll let them be unaware for a little longer until you figure out how to rip off the band-aid and tell them.

Steven pumps his fist into the air in excitement and you couldn’t help but let the corner of your lips tilt upwards.

“Okay,” You say. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he holds the container to his chest. “I’ll go only if we stop by your place and we get the taser I left there.”

“Deal.” He grins as he walks backwards a couple of steps before he gestures for you to follow him, “C’mon we gotta leave now to get the best seats.” and despite your gut telling you not to go, you followed him.

Steven Grant the vegan took you to a steakhouse. It had indoor and outdoor seating, but the ones that were available for you to sit down almost right away were outdoors. It was a warm summer evening, the sun was about to set in about an hour and the heat was beginning to cool down. Through the small lobby of the restaurant you felt the air conditioning blow onto your skin, so you immediately understood that the only seating available was outdoors because everyone else filled up the booths and tables in the air conditioning room. You sat a bit anxiously across from Steven as a waitress dressed in a button down shirt and black vest gave the two of you your menus. Your taser that you tucked into the waistband of your jeans and hid underneath your shirt dug into your ribs until you adjusted it so it was still concealed and not making you uncomfortable.

The vibe you were getting from the decorated building, couples dressed to the nines sitting around you, and the well dressed employees were that this place was expensive. Steven gave you an encouraging smile as he pulled out his reading glasses from his coat pocket and placed them on his face before he opened up his menu and began to search through it. You were a bit hesitant to open the fancy looking menu, but once you did you relaxed a bit at the prices. Most of the expensive items were hard to pronounce wine and steak, both of which you weren’t going to order. You scanned through the appetizers, hoping to find something cheap and filling on it but there wasn’t much besides bread rolls. You flipped over to the pastas and soups, before you decided on ordering the nearly thirteen pounds lentil soup. It would roughly cost fifteen American dollars. It better be some damn good soup.

You toyed with the corner of the menu as Steven flipped his closed and removed his reading glasses from his face and onto his head. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was such an old man despite his claims of being too young to be called old.

“What?” He asks at the sight of your smile. “Do I have something on my face?” He brought his hand up and lightly scrubbed around his mouth before glancing at the water glass. You assumed that Marc was checking the body for any possible food crumbs or stains around his mouth. You shake your head, the smile still resting on your face.

“No,” You say. “I was just thinking about how old you are.”

“I’m not that old.” Steven defends himself as he looks at you. He tried to look stern but the expression failed with his puppy dog eyes. You breathe out a laugh at the sight.

“Right,” You say, your smile turning into a grin. “And I’m not your neighbor.”

“No, really. I’m only thirty-eight.” He says, he leans forward a bit and you notice the twinkle that appears whenever he was about to spill some facts was in his eye. “Did you know that if I were to die they would call it an untimely death simply because I am below the age of seventy five?” You didn’t know that. “The average death age for ancient Egypt was the early fifties. They would spend most of their life building and worshiping their Gods and Goddesses.”

.You open your mouth to ask him about more but the waiter returns and takes your order. You watch Steven as he pats his coat pocket before glancing at you with a sheepish look.

“I’m afraid I misplaced my glasses…” He mumbles and you couldn’t help but giggle as you tell him to check his head. He reached up and was slightly surprised to find the frames resting on his scalp. Without missing a beat, he flips through the menu and finds what he was planning to order before handing the menu to the waitress.

“I think you should retract your statement that you’re not old.” You say once the waitress walked away.

“People misplace stuff all the time. Haven’t you walked into a room and immediately forgotten what you were looking for?”

“Oh yeah, probably a handful of times.” You admit. “But, did you notice the thing that you did?”

He scrunches his brows, “What thing?”

“You needed to use your reading glasses to see what you wanted to order.”

“Well, yeah, I needed to see what I was reading.”

“After you already read what you wanted to order?” You ask and he stares at you. You were grinning at his silence. “Sounds like you couldn’t remember what you wanted a few minutes ago. You’re old, Steven.”

“Oh, sod off.” He says and you laugh loudly at his statement. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest as he listens to the noise that sounds like bells to him. You were wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes by the end of your laughter.

“Does it really bother you that I’m calling you old?” You genuinely ask. He sighs.

“I mean…no, but also yes.” He says, “I don’t mind you calling me old because I know that you’re only joking. But, it reminds me that I am getting old and I haven’t had any proper life experience yet.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I haven’t gotten married or dated. I only got to travel once and it’s because of the trip to Cairo. I’m turning thirty-nine next year and then the year after that I’ll be forty. I don’t have much life experience.” You get what he was saying, you’ve been there too many times to keep track of. Steven Grant was upset that he hasn’t got to do much in his life and he probably feels like he’s been wasting it. You don’t know how long Steven has been active, but you figured that it had to be awhile.

“Well, you got the rest of your life to make up for what you haven’t done.” You say, “I think it’s pretty cool of you to do what you did in Cairo.” You glance around at the other tables to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping on you. You still decided to keep the men’s history of being Moon Knight vague when you’re having a conversation about it in public. You don’t want people to give you weird looks or Harrows cult any information about the men.

“I know…” He sighs and you press your lips together. “I have roughly the next forty years of my life give or take to do something fun.”

“Take a vacation to Egypt,” You smile. “I mean, after all you both deserve a trip, right?” You could imagine seeing Stevens awed expression at the sights of the pyramids and the culture. His brown eyes wide as he takes in the sights of the world around him. He would be absolutely floored if he actually had the time to explore more of the continent. You’re sure that Marc would be willing to let Steven take the driver’s seat for the trip just so his alter could experience something more than the museum and the one trip to Cairo. You weren’t sure about the third alter, would they let Marc and Steven front once the men found out about them? Or would they be willing to come to an agreement on sharing the body?

You still felt guilty about not telling them about the real reason Khonshu lingers.

“Where do you want to go?” Steven asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turn your head to face him.

“Oh…Iceland during the summer when the sun doesn’t set.” You answer, “But that’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Passport issues.” You state. “It was already difficult getting a passport in America. I’m afraid that someone would look too closely, y’know?” Steven slowly nods his head. At the moment, the waitress returns with a plate of fettuccine and a decently sized bowl of soup with a basket of bread rolls. You thank her before she leaves and you dig into your soup. It was good, but you definitely wouldn’t pay fifteen dollars for it.

You don’t know how long the two of you sat as you both enjoyed your meals. You only know that you were a few bites into eating when Steven suddenly says, “It’s not healthy to hang out with old blokes all the time.” You look at him with a confused stare. Why was this coming up now? He doesn’t look at you as he pushes around his pasta for a couple of moments before stabbing the noodles with his fork and placing it into his mouth. You watch him chew the food before he respectfully covers his mouth with his hand and speaks around the pasta, “You should go out and look for someone your age to spend time with.”

“I don’t know if you noticed or not but it’s kind of hard to look for friends my age when everyone thinks I’m eighteen.” You state. “Besides, you and Marc only have two friends. One being your ex-wife and the other being a teenager. So, if anything you should look for friends closer to your age.” You scoop up some of your soup and place it into your mouth. When you looked at him he seemed a little surprised and, if you squint, embarrassed. You supposed you would be too if you were to realize that you only had two friends who were exactly like that.

“So, we’re friends then?” He asks a little nervously. You scoop up another spoonful and eat it. You thought you and Steven were on the same page of being friends, of course you guessed wrong.

“I sure hope so.” You say, “You’ve been inviting me over for dinner the past month and a half and you let me stay the night for the majority of the time.” You pause, “You should get friends your own age, Steven. You’re talking to a teenager right now.” You laugh a little at that before scooping up another spoonful of your soup and Steven stabs into his pasta. You look up at the sky, the bright blue was slowly changing into a soft orange. Soon the sun would set and the moon would be high in the sky, Khonshu is probably going to want his avatar as soon as the moon appears. You still didn’t know how to break the news to them. They just got out of being the gods’ avatar a little over a month ago and now they’re going to have their own realization that they were never free. You knew that you were hurting them by withholding this information but unfortunately there’s no guidebook on how to tell someone this. The soup you were enjoying now tasted bitter in your mouth. Steven bought you dinner and you can’t even tell them the truth.

“How are you all doing?” The waitress asks. You glance at her with your mouth full. They always seemed to come at the worst time.

“We’re good, thank you.” Steven says as you gave the female a thumbs up since you were still eating. The waitress looks between the two of you with a soft smile on her face. You think that she’s going to try to flirt with Steven, but you were wrong.

“I think it’s adorable that you are on a father and child date.” The woman says. Your chewing slowed and you shifted your gaze to Steven who looked flustered at the statement. His cheeks were heated red in embarrassment. It’s not like you could correct her and tell her that you aren’t his kid, it’s even more weird to tell her that you’re a teenager hanging out with the old man that you only knew for a little over a month. You swallowed your food. At least she didn’t think you were his sugar baby.

“Thanks,” You manage to say. “It’s my dad’s fiftieth birthday.” Steven glares at you from across the table and you feel a smile stretching across your face.

“Fifty?” She gives Steven a double take. He looked flustered. “He doesn’t look like he’s fifty.” You analyze her face for a moment, your mouth making the shape of a small O. She was interested in Steven. You look at her nametag, her name was Ashley. She looked to be in her early thirties, her hair was professionally tied up into a bun and she wore a pair of black slacks with comfortable sneakers. Ashley could be Stevens girlfriend if she was into dating dilfs.

“It’s the skincare routine he does every morning.” You say. “Listen, my dad is a little shy. He, uh, gets quiet when beautiful women such as yourself are around.” You feel something hit your leg and you inhale a sharp breath at the sudden impact. You shoot a glare at Steven and he glares at you back before giving Ashley a reassuring smile. He just kicked you. You continue, “He thinks that you are beautiful and that, uh, words can’t describe your beauty…” You groaned out at another swift impact to your leg, you knew that you were going to have a bruise on your calves tomorrow. Ashley shifts awkwardly next to you before she holds up her left hand and you notice the small rock resting on her ring finger.

“I’m married…” She says. You look at Steven and he had his face hidden in his hands.

“Oof, okay.” You say, “I am so sorry about that…”

“Check please…” Steven weakly says and Ashley nods swiftly before turning on her heel and getting the hell away from the two of you. You lean back in your seat as Steven slowly removes his hands from his face, his brown eyes were hard as he looked angrily at you.

“I don’t need a girlfriend,” He spat. “And I don’t need help getting one.”

“But you do need friends your own age.” You answer while reaching down and rubbing your leg. “We just had this conversation.”

“I don’t need a bloody teenager helping me get a friend.” He says, “It’s embarrassing.” You remove your hand from your leg and pick up your spoon, you push around your soup with the utensil as you think of what to say. Perhaps you crossed over a boundary that you didn’t realize that it existed. You should have guessed that messing with possible relationships and teasing could have been a boundary. Besides that, it must be awful for Steven getting a new friend through a teenager rather than on his own. If your mom did that to you because you needed a friend, you would be embarrassed too.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “I didn’t think that far…” Everything that you’ve been doing lately has been making you feel bad. Withholding information from the men, ghosting the men for a few days, and stepping over a line with Steven. You felt guilty, you didn’t mean to make him feel upset

“I know.” Steven replies. You push around your soup more and awkward silence settles between you as Ashley returns with the check, a couple of complimentary mints, and two paper containers for the remaining food. As soon as she left, Steven spoke, “Marc says that he’s going to invite Layla over to talk about what happened.” You don’t bother mentioning that you already met her through your mutual panic and worry for the men. You carefully scrape your remaining soup into your container and wrap some of the bread with your napkins. This will be an okay meal for tomorrow’s breakfast or lunch. You weren’t complaining about the leftovers since it’s something other than toast.

After a couple of minutes pass you ask, “Is he okay?” Steven looks at you with confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…Marc hasn’t fronted since you both found out about the other one.” You were concerned that Marc was punishing himself through the lack of communication between the two of you. It seemed like a Marc thing to do since he didn’t know how to deal with his emotions well.

“He’s fine,” Steven says as he looks at his water glass. You figured Marc was grumbling something about not needing a kid to worry for him and the thought made you smile a bit. He adds, “I’m going to go pay and then I’ll head home, alright?” You nod as he scoots back his chair and takes the check with him inside to pay. You neatly stack the dirty dishes before reaching for one of the mints and unwrapping it from its plastic and popping it into your mouth. You felt terrible that you upset Steven. It was clear that you really did step over a line and he wasn’t happy about it. You sucked on your mint, fighting the urge to bite down and smash it with your teeth so you could chew it instead.

Steven returned within minutes, he looked a little happier as he walked towards your table. You push your chair back and grab your to-go box. Perhaps he just needed a couple of minutes to deflate, sometimes you get overstimulated and need a few minutes to yourself. He takes the box from you and picks up his own.

“Did you like the food?” He asks you as the two of you walk in the direction of your bus stop.

“It was good,” You say with a nod of your head. “I liked it a lot. Thank you for buying dinner.” You bump your shoulder into his arm. “I owe you guys a lot.”

“Hush up, you don’t owe us anything.” Steven says. He sends a small smile into your direction. Silence settles between you and that knot in your gut tightens. You frown at the feeling as you chalked it up to guilt or the food settling within you. You should apologize to Steven to let him know how sorry you are. You would feel terrible if someone tried to set up a friendship and it failed like it did to you. You can’t imagine how Steven feels right now.

“I really am sorry,” You say. “I didn’t mean to overstep…”

“It’s alright.” He says, you frown and you stop in your tracks. Your sudden freeze made Steven stop and look at you.

“It’s not and you should stop telling people that it’s okay when it’s not.” You say. “I was in the wrong and it’s okay to be like, ‘hey, I didn’t like what you did and I feel like you crossed a line.’ Y’know? Also, it’s cool for you to be upset that I just avoided you guys for several days. I should have handled that differently and I feel like absolute shit for it. I am so sorry that happened. I-I didn’t know what to fucking do. They told me to avoid you and to move away; and I thought about doing that. Just straight up ghosting you like I did with my family and- oh god- they’re not going to forgive me-”

He cuts off your rambling by saying your name gently and stepping towards you. He carefully puts one of his hands on your shoulders which causes you to look at him through your teary eyes, “It’s okay. I forgive you.” You didn’t know you were crying until the tears were running down your cheeks. He gives you a soft smile and you wipe away the tears from your eyes. Your family and best friend was never going to forgive you if they ever found out you were alive. You planned on them never finding out, but you heard stories of presumed dead people being found alive twenty years later. Kind of like the running joke that all absent fathers went out for milk and never returned. You didn’t want to be one of those stories. What if your best friend decides to one day travel to London for her vacation and she finds you behind the counter at your job? Or your cousin does the same thing?

What would you tell them? That you went out for milk on another continent? Your best friend would have a field-day on that one. And another thing, you were always worried and crying since you met your neighbors. When was that going to stop? Or was the moment that you were saved in the alley the moment you were doomed to be forever crying and anxious? Perhaps it was puberty. You gave Steven a wobbly smile and he gently wipes the tears from underneath your eye with his thumb.

“Are you okay, dove?” He asks. The question nearly made you cry again. You slowly nod and you reach up and knit your finger between his own.

You only spoke once you were sure that your voice wouldn’t crack, “I should be asking you that.” His soft smile turned into one of pity and you didn’t like it one bit. You didn’t want to be pitied. You were the one who put yourself into this position. Nobody forced you to alternate government papers and move over a thousand miles to a new country. You did this to yourself and you didn’t need his pity.

“Why don’t you tell me something about the stars?” The American accent caught you off guard. You stare at Marc, he stood a little awkwardly and anxiously in front of you as he held a bit tighter onto the containers. You trailed your gaze to your hands that were knitted together and slowly removed your hand from his. You didn’t know if he was okay with holding your hands like Steven was. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in any way.

“You want me to tell you something about the stars?” You ask. You felt a little confused about why he would suddenly front and ask that. Perhaps Steven needed a break from you, you would completely understand that.

“Or space.” He adds, “Talk to me about anything that interests you on the way home.” He walks a couple steps backwards. You force yourself to get unrooted from your spot and follow him. You were grasping what he was doing, you used to do it for your best friend all the time. He was trying to distract you from whatever it was you were feeling and going through. The action alone made your heart ping and you almost began to cry again. You really don’t deserve the kindness of these men after this week.

“Okay,” You breathe out as you walk beside him. “So, um, there are millions of stars, right? And planet Earth has the same sets of constellations. So, if we have constellations, Jupiter and Mars and all the other planets in our solar system must have constellations, right? And for some reason we automatically think that they must have different constellations than Earth. But that’s wrong. We all share the same constellations. The only difference is that the sky’s orientations would be different on other planets. So, if you were on Mars, you would probably see the Big Dipper sideways instead of looking like the usual cooking pot that we see on Earth. Y’know, with the handle sticking right-side up instead of how we see it horizontally.”

You pause to collect your thoughts before continuing, “If we were to ever colonize Mars, well once the rich do first, of course. But, if humans were to ever move to the planet, we would see the stars in a whole different way. Kind of like that saying, ‘the grass is greener on the other side,’ but, the grass is the same grass just from a different angle. We would see the same constellations a little differently. Also, the universe is always expanding- oof-” You say as Marc’s left arm whips out in front of you and you run right into it. You breathe out a bit harshly due to the impact of your torso running into his arm as you look ahead to see why he suddenly stopped you.

You were so deep into your nerdy rant that you failed to notice that the same two men from the bus and three other people stood in front of you. You curse yourself out for getting distracted, you really should have been more aware especially after this week. You couldn’t see the three other people’s faces well because of the ski masks they wore, although you almost immediately noticed their matching tattoos of the scale. They were brave enough to show the symbol on their arms but not enough to show their faces.

“What the fuck?” You whisper underneath your breath. Marc’s arm blocked you from moving forward. His hand curls back and his fingertips brush against the left side of your waist before he completely presses his palm into your side and pushes you slightly behind him. He takes a step to his left to help block you from the view of the members; but you knew that it was already too late, they already saw you so they knew that you were there. You should have listened to that feeling in your gut. You bet that it was warning you not to go out, and of course you decided to be a dumbass and ignore it. You reach up and wrap your fingers into Marc’s shirt to have some form of comfort as you peeked around his arm and to the people who stood menacingly a few feet away from the two of you.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of the men’s laundry detergent and deodorant filled your nostrils. The cloth of Marc’s shirt felt soft between your fingertips. You felt bile rise into your throat as your stomach churned. You just knew by the sight of the five people blocking your path to the bus stop that one of two things were going to happen tonight. One: You were going to get beat up; or two: You were going to be killed. Probably for some sacrificial shit since they were oh so interested in releasing or raising Ammit. You still didn’t know if the goddess was gone for good but clearly, they must have found some batshit crazy way to have Ammit come back. Because why else would a cult still be together after their leader was killed?

Your heart pounded against your chest and you felt like you were going to throw up. Sweat began to dot your forehead and armpits as you nervously hid behind Marc. You should have stayed home. You should have convinced Steven to order takeout. You should have convinced them both that you could be the one cooking tonight rather than them. Sweat began to make your palms sweaty and your legs to shake. You were positive that you were going to die tonight and if Marc and Steven survived you were sure that they would blame themselves. Your mouth became dry as you struggled not to let your bile go into your mouth otherwise you knew that you would vomit. It was a bad choice to go out. You should have paid attention to the bad luck of this week and applied it to today.

Your taser dug into your ribs as you took another breath to help steady yourself. You placed your hand on it as Marc says, “You’re cornering kids now, huh?” He sounded pissed. You couldn’t see his face from where you were hiding behind him, but you imagined that his eyes were narrowed and glaring at the five people in front of you. From how he held himself by standing up straight you could tell that he was tense. His feet planted onto the sidewalk and his hands curled into fists. You weren’t an expert at body language but from the action movies you watched, you knew that he was expecting them to attack him. You also figured that because why the hell else would five cult members block your path?

You let go of Marc’s shirt and pulled out the taser from your waistband and quickly rolled it around in your hands as you searched for the switch that would turn it on. You stare down at it with your heart pounding in your ears as your trembling fingers flick on the switch and your thumb lightly lands on the button that would tase once you press down on it.

“Steven,” Marc hisses underneath his breath. “Just shut up and let me focus.” You release a shaky breath as you try to prepare yourself to fight for your own life or to run if Marc demands it. God, you should be doing the latter. Marc has military experience and the history of being an avatar, while you had zero experience in defending and fighting other than watching action scenes in movies. You didn’t want to leave him, that didn’t feel right in this situation although you knew that he could handle himself. Your mind was awful to you, one day you’re thinking of ghosting these men and the next you’re about to be killed because your mind feels too guilty to leave for your own safety. Really, just choose a goddamn side, brain.

You bite your lip until you taste metal and that alone almost made you release all the bodily fluids that were fighting to enter into your mouth. Your hands were shaking as you peeked around Marc. One of the bald men from the bus took a step forward and the others didn’t hesitate to follow. They really worked together like they were in a pack of coyotes, didn’t they?

You screeched as you felt something wrap around your waist and pull you away from Marc. He whips his head around, his eyes wide and curls bouncing against his forehead. You felt a panic bubble in your stomach and you nearly lost the vomit that you’ve been struggling to hold back. Marc looked absolutely pissed. You stare down at the arm wrapped around you and internally swear at the universe for putting you in this life. Marc took a step towards you, his fists curled and arm pulled back to attack whoever was taking you away. You kick your legs, your heels hit the shin of the person as you scream loudly, hoping that any passerby’s would step in and do something.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a busy street. You point your taser onto the tan arm of the person and press down on the button. The weapon buzzed in your hand as they yelled in pain and surprise and immediately they dropped you. The sudden drop almost made you stumble as you stood back on your own two feet and swiveled on your heels to see who tried to kidnap you. They were taller than you and obviously male by the build, he wore a ski mask and had the same visible tattoo of the other five behind you. The sound of skin hitting skin and the groans of pain behind you was the only sound you heard besides the blood pounding in your ear.

Your nose stung and you knew that you were going to cry, despite not wanting to in front of these people. Your legs shook like jello as you watched the man’s brown eyes glare harshly at you. Your lip wobbled and you tried to plant your feet onto the ground like Marc was doing moments ago. You sucked in a breath of cool air between your teeth as the man took seemingly slow steps towards you as if you were a wild animal and he didn’t want to scare you. You weren’t sure if your brain was making it seem slow or not but you sure as hell felt your heart pounding against your chest.

You fought the urge to take a step back as he rolled up both of his sleeves more to keep them from slipping down his arms. Marc grunted behind you and you heard him inhale his breath harshly. The urge was getting more difficult to fight as he got closer and he cracked his knuckles. You didn’t know what the fuck they wanted from you and your neighbors, but it was apparently enough to stalk you and try to kidnap you on a public street. You were too busy being terrified of what’s to come between you and this man that you were a thousand percent sure was your soon to be murderer, that you didn’t realize the prongs of your taser pressed into your arm and you accidently pushed on the button of it. You yelled out in pain and out of reflexes, you dropped the taser to the sidewalk.

“Fucking hell,” You groan as you clutched your hurt arm with your hand. You hiss out at the stinging of your arm and the feeling of your muscles spasming in the limb. Holy fucking shit. Your opponent laughed a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he closed the distance between you. Honestly, it was comedic that you would fuck yourself over in a fight for your life. It was close to being the cherry on top of this week and this past year. He pulled back his arm and punched you right in the face. You fell backwards at the impact of his fist meeting your skull and you harshly landed on the gravel below.

The remaining oxygen in your lungs left quickly as you blinked at the brick wall of the building across from you. Slowly, you turned your head, your cheek stinging and your head pounding as you looked at the night sky above you. The clouds clear away from the moon and the light shines down upon you like a spotlight. You couldn’t help but wonder if Khonshu was watching this play out from a distance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was. You bet that he would rather watch you die than to save you despite his title to protect the travelers of the night. The world around you spun as you finally managed to catch your breath, you were sure that you had hit your head hard enough to need stitches but that thought went away as soon as you saw the man that punched you stand directly above you.

He bent down and grabbed you by your shirt collar, easily lifting you off of the ground as he began to drag you away from the fight Marc was still in. Your hands wrapped around his wrist, your fingers barely able to touch each other with how large his arm was. You tried to push him away as your tailbone and legs dragged along the pavement.

“Marc!” You yell, your voice shaking as you struggle to get him to release you. The man glared down at you, mumbling something incoherent as he stopped in his tracks and peeled back his right arm. He was going to punch you again and this time you weren’t sure if you would wake up. You scream for Marc, your voice cracking towards the end of it and tears begin to leak out of the corners of your eyes. The man’s fist heads straight for your face and you close your eyes, hoping that it would either knock you out so you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of being hit or that it wouldn’t so you still had a chance to get away.

You fell backwards, the tension of his arm keeping your upper body off the ground lessened but you could still feel the grip he had on the collar of your shirt. Something warm sprayed your face and you tasted metal on your lips. The man screaming caused you to open your eyes. The sight before you made you scream, there attached to your shirt with blood squirting out of it was an arm. You pushed it off of you, struggling to get it to let go of your shirt as you gasped and screamed. Once you did, you scrambled backwards, feeling the warm liquid of the man’s blood soak into your clothing and wet your skin. Your back hit the brick wall and you stared with wide, terrified eyes at the limb before you managed to peel your gaze away and to the man the arm belonged to.

He held onto his squirting arm, screaming and yelling at the sight as he stumbled away from the person who must have done it. Not too far from him was someone holding onto a bloody dagger. They were dressed in a white cloak and white boots, they didn’t hesitate to step forward towards the man and slice his throat. Your own closed in on you and you found it difficult to breathe as you watched the armless man hold onto his own throat and blood geysered onto the road. He dropped to his knees before he fell forward limply onto his chest and dragged his face across the pavement.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, you brought your knees up to your chest and you closed your eyes tightly. Oh god, this had to be a fucked up dream. This had to be a fucked up dream. Oh fuck. Oh shit. You pressed your bloody palms into your eyes until spots appeared in the darkness of your vision. You felt like you were underwater, you couldn’t get any air into your lungs, and the taste of the metal on your tongue and lips made it so much worse. Your mouth parted as a shaky sob left you. Your face felt hot and red, tears streamed down your cheeks as you heard soft footsteps approach you. You were shaking badly, almost as close to a leaf in a windstorm.

“Hey,” you heard the voice before you felt his gloved hands touch your face. You pushed his hands away and screamed. Your eyes snapping open as he catches your hands with his own and holds onto them. You tried to push yourself away from him further, but the brick wall behind you didn’t let you budge.

“It’s me. You’re fine, you’re okay. It’s only me.” He says. His accent was from somewhere in New York. You tug your hands out of his grip as black spots appear in your vision. Oh fuck, you were going to pass out. You tried to fold in on yourself, your thighs pressed into your torso and your arms wrapped around your knees. The front of his suit was white with a big crescent moon and the area where his face should have been was completely black except for his eyes which were white and had small glowing crescents in them. The sight of his suit disappearing off of his body, revealing the same outfit Steven was wearing when he left his apartment with you would have brought you some small amount of comfort if it didn’t mean that the third alter was crouched in front of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. You thought as you struggled to calm yourself down. Fucking fuck. You sobbed as he sat down into a crisscross position.

“C’mon,” He says and holds out his hand for you to willingly take. “Inhale with me.” A whimper leaves you and he continues to hold his hand out. If it wasn’t for the metallic smell, you would have tried to trick yourself that it rained and you were soaked. You don’t know how long you sat in someone’s pool of blood as you tried to calm yourself down on your own before you finally took his hand. He slowly brought your hand to his chest and placed it so your palm was touching his shirt.

“Breathe with me,” He says. He inhales, his shoulders and chest rising and you try to copy his actions. All you could smell was the blood and taste the pennies and salty tears on your tongue. You wanted to go home. The alter says your name gently, as if he was trying to talk you off the edge of a cliff. The black spots in your vision lessened and another sob leaves you. You wanted your mom. You wanted her hugs and her promises that everything will be alright and that you’re safe. But, you’re never going to have that despite how much you longed for it.

“I want my mom,” You sob out. You didn’t care that you were crying in front of them. Nothing mattered. This alter saved you from the fate of wherever that man was going to take you to and now they’re going to kill you.

“I want my mommy.” You cry. You don’t remember the last time you called her that, perhaps you were in elementary school. It didn’t matter. You feel the air fill your lungs and rest in your body for a moment before you slowly release it. The spinning of your head slowed and the black spots disappeared completely. The alter lets go of your hand and you bring it back to your chest, the blood was still warm and you felt nauseous.

You were going to throw up. The bile rose into your throat and you turned to the side as you released the contents of your dinner. It tasted good when you first ate it and now it tastes awful. Your throat burns and your mouth tastes gross. Your cheek still stings and you knew that if you survive the night that you would have a bruise tomorrow. You sat back once you felt like you were no longer going to upchuck whatever remains of your dinner. His eyes burned into your face and a small frown forms on his own features.

“You didn’t get too badly injured did you?” His eyes briefly scan your body and you nearly wilt underneath his gaze.

“Why the fuck would you care since you’re going to kill me?” You say. You sounded emotionless to your own ears. It didn’t sound like it came from you. You guess that it didn’t matter if it actually came from you. You add, “I told them about you. I didn’t know what else to do.” He stares down at his lap, his fingers playing with a loose thread of Stevens shirt. “I…I couldn’t just leave them.” The words don’t really register with you, you’re not completely sure what is leaving your mouth or you’re thinking. It doesn’t matter, they’re going to kill you.

“They have no problem leaving you.” He says as he lets go of the thread and moves his attention to you. He stares into your eyes, his brown eyes weren’t soft like Stevens or hard like Marcs, but it was a worse type of harsh gaze. It was the brutal truth that rested in his eyes that Marc hid from you.

“Marc divorced his wife to protect her from Khonshu. He would leave you too. He wouldn’t hesitate to ghost you like you did to your family.” He spits out. “You think Marc cares enough to stick around for your own childish needs and wants? You’re a dumbass. He will leave you, get it through your thick fucking skull. Stay the hell away from them. It’s for your own safety and theirs.”

“Their safety?” You scoff, “I wouldn’t fucking harm a god damn hair on their head.” You can’t even hold a god-damn taser right.

“You say that, but when you have Harrow’s cult putting a gun to your head, you will not hesitate to hurt them.” He replies, “Besides that, it will hurt them when you die.”

You decide to ignore the last part, “You told me that last time, but look where the hell we ended up.” You don’t look at the bodies of the people, but rather gesture in their direction with your bloody hands. “These people with those god-damn tattoos are following me. You think I’m going to be better off on my own in Brighton? The fuck I am.” He breathes out roughly before he picks up a rock next to him and throws it right above you. You flinch as you hear glass shattering and the feeling of sharp edges falling onto you and cutting small bits on your neck. He stands up, clutching another rock and throwing it at another window. You sat as still as you could with wide eyes. His chest rose and fell as he glared at the broken windows. Your lip trembled, you hugged your knees closer to your torso as you ignored the small cuts of blood running down the back of your neck. You weren’t sure if you should speak, especially if the conversation you were having upset him enough to vandalize a shop window.

You weren’t sure where to hold your gaze. You didn’t want to look down at your lap and see the blood staining your clothes and the pool of it you’re sitting in along with the vomit next to you. You also didn’t want to look up the street and see the pile of bodies that the alter left behind; and you didn’t want to look down the street and see the armless man that bled out to death.

Your voice was quiet as you spoke, “What…what did you do that for?” He turns his glare to you and his lips curl into a snarl.

“Marc and Steven wouldn’t fucking shut up.” He angrily states. “They’re too fucking worried about you that they won’t let me fucking think. Hijo de puta.” You bite your wobbly lip as more tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. He says in a gruff voice, “C’mon.”

“What? Where are you taking me?” You say. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Did nothing I say go through the thick ass skull of yours?” He says with an incredulous look. “You die and it will ruin them.” He says the words slowly as if you had to process every syllable of the sentence. You swallow. You didn’t want to accept that no matter how truthfully bitter it sounded.

He adds, “You think I’m going to leave you here? I’m taking you home. Get up.” With trembling hands, you push yourself off of the ground. The sound of your feet splashing in the puddle of blood you were sitting in was the only noise between the two of you. You kept your eyes downcast as you took careful steps to begin your walk home. There was no way that you could hail a taxi or call an uber without getting an ambulance and police called on you.

“Here,” He says and shoves Stevens’ jacket into your arms. “Wear this and zip it up.” You don’t speak, but rather do what he says. The smell of the jacket brings you semi-comfort, but not as much as Stevens’ presence would. He would probably be fretting over you and having a breakdown right alongside you. You would be still sitting in that spot with Steven probably until the sun rose and the streets become busy once more.

“If you’re not going to kill me…and you’re going to be fronting from now on, I think I should know your name.” You say. You stop in your tracks and feel a rush of nausea as your eyes land on the arm with the tattoo of the scale. The tendons, muscles, and bone were cut cleanly, not an ounce of struggle was shown in the action of it. The arm was still wet with blood and there was a pool around it. The tattoo was splattered with red and it was highlighted by the moonlight.

“The less you know about me the better..” He trails off and the blood pounds in your ears as your legs shake. God, you can’t do this. You jumped and let out a screech as you felt something touch your hand. You pulled your hand away and whipped your terrified eyes to the face of your neighbor. He stares at you, lips pressed into a thin line. It’s hard to see what was going on behind those brown eyes of his. Your heart-beat felt like it was doing jump ropes and hitting your sternum as hard as it could. Your stomach churned, you didn’t think you had anything left to throw up.

“I don’t think I can do this,” You whisper more to yourself than to him. You hold your hand to your chest, feeling the dampness of your shirt underneath your palm and stick to your skin. He doesn’t reply, but rather he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Slowly, he exhales the breath and his shoulders fall with it.

He says, “I think we’re past that stage of the less you know, the better you’re off.” He holds out his hand, “The name’s Jake Lockley.” You swallow and you put your hand into his, he shakes your hand once while he says your name.

“Close your eyes. I’ll guide you through.” You stare at him with wide, childish eyes and slowly and a bit hesitatingly you close them. He would have killed you already if he wanted to. He wouldn’t talk you down from a panic attack if he was going to kill you. You had to trust him. He didn’t let go of your hand until you were around the corner and you could no longer see the bodies of the cult members he killed.

Chapter Text

Jake Lockely told you he had some business to take care of, so you wouldn’t see Marc or Steven for a while. He parted ways with you at the door of your apartment, his hands stuffed into Stevens pants pockets and a distant look in his eyes. You didn’t bother watching him as he walked towards the elevator. Instead, you entered your apartment, only pausing in your doorway to flick on the light switch. The lights bright overhead and shining down on all corners of the room, your eyes trailed from wall to wall, it was exactly how you left it just two hours ago. After making sure that nobody was hiding in the main room, you closed the door behind you and walked through your apartment, the bottom of your shoes sticking to the floor due to the still drying blood and your taser clutched in your hand. 

You scanned each room thoroughly, the bedroom that was only occupied with your piles of clothing was empty of any cult member. The bathroom looked empty, but you still pulled back your shower curtain and opened the cabinet underneath the sink to find nothing but a few rolls of toilet paper. Nobody was in there. You made your way into the kitchen and checked all the cabinets that were big enough to hide a person before deciding to check the smaller cabinets that you knew couldn’t hold anybody but you still needed to see anyways. Empty, your apartment was void of any other human but you. You slowly walked back to your front door and deadbolt it shut, before taking extra precaution and tried to lock the door handle. It took a few tries, but eventually, you were able to successfully lock it.

Ever since Jake broke into your flat that first night,  your door handle had issues locking correctly. You’ve been finding yourself taking a couple of extra minutes in the mornings and nights to make sure the door is locked before heading to bed or to work. You did a second trip around your flat, just to be sure that nobody snuck in while you were preoccupied checking your apartment for intruders. You figured that you would be able to hear them enter through  your apartment the first time but you needed to know that none of the cult members were hiding. Besides, if someone were in your flat the first trip you checked, you wouldn’t have wanted a battle with unlocking your door while trying to keep them off your back. Just like it was the first time, nobody but you was in your flat. 

Standing still in your apartment and breathing in the familiar scent this time mixed with a metallic smell, you didn’t feel like you were home. To be fair, you haven’t felt like you were home since before the snap. You missed the scent of your mothers lavender and oranges perfume that she would only wear on special occasions. You missed the scent of your fathers aftershave and deodorant. You missed how your clothes used to smell whenever your parents did your laundry. That was home.  This right now was barren and cold. It didn’t smell like home. You were tense. 

You walked into the bathroom, trying to ignore the sticky sounds of the blood on the bottom of your shoes and how your clothes dried with the fluid felt against your skin. You unzipped Stevens jacket before you paused in your actions as you faced the mirror above your sink and stared at your own reflection. The person you saw looked completely different from the one you saw earlier today. The bruise underneath your eye was slowly darkening into purple and red. The blood that doesn’t belong to you was painted across your face as if they were constellations in the night sky. Your hand prints were stained upon your face from when you pressed your hands into your eyes. The shirt you wore looked like you were the one who was bleeding profusely, not the guy whose arm got cut off. Your eyes were red from crying. You didn’t recognize the person you saw. That wasn’t you, was it? 

That couldn’t be you. Slowly, your eyes trailed away from the mirror and to your red stained hands. You knew that you didn’t kill the man but his blood covered you sure as hell felt like you were the one who took his life. Your throat tightened and it felt like you couldn't breathe. You had to get the blood off of you. You removed Stevens coat from your shoulders and pulled the hem of your shirt over your head and dropped it to the bathroom floor. You kicked off your shoes, one of the pairs hit the side of the bathtub causing you to jump before frantically unzipping your pants and pulling them off of you. Stepping into the shower and turning the handle all the way to the hottest setting, you began to scrub at your skin with your hands. The water burned you, but you didn’t care enough to turn it down until you were sure that one of your arms was no longer covered in blood. 

The scrubbing of your body with your hands was frantic and messy. The blood was easy to wash off, but you weren’t satisfied until you were sure you scrubbed away the first layer of your skin. You didn’t leave the shower even as the water turned cold until your skin was an angry red and you saw that the liquid was clear and not pink. You stood in your bathtub, feeling the water droplets trail down your body as you stared at the pile of bloody clothing and the bloody shoe prints following it. You reached for the towel you hung over your shower liner the last time you did laundry and wrapped the cloth around your body before stepping out of the tub and gingerly avoided all the blood as best as you could. 

After getting dressed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with a hole just below your collarbone, you began to clean the place. First you picked up your bloody clothes with a trash bag and turned it inside out so you wouldn’t have to touch the articles of clothing. You then washed your shoes in the tub since you didn’t have enough money to wash only your shoes in the laundry room, you would have chosen to discard them if you could afford to buy a new pair. Buying pants and shirts from thrift stores was way more cheaper and less risky then if you were to buy a pair of used shoes. You left the shoes to dry in the tub before you carried the bag over to the door and left it next to it. 

You didn’t have a mop, so you used dish soap and a rag to scrub at the trail of the bloody shoe prints and the tiles of the bathroom. You knew by the pressure you were putting on your knees against the wood flooring that you would have bruises tomorrow. You don’t know how long you scrubbed the floor, but you didn’t stop until you were sure that every single inch of your apartment was clean. You placed the dirty rag into the bag by the door and stood in your empty apartment. You were going to make Jake burn the contents of the bag whenever he came back. Moonlight filtered in between the cracks of the blanket and the window frame, the silver of light hit your floor and you frowned at it. Your lips trembled and hands shook as you marched across the room and tacked the blanket against the wooden frame of the window so no light could peek in. 

There you stood in the middle of your living-room with your back to your window. You were safe, well safer than being out on the streets and yet you didn’t feel that way. You couldn’t get the feeling of the man's blood off of your skin, every moment you weren’t preoccupied with something you caught your mind wandering to the memory of your loud screams as you pried the man's fingers from the collar of your shirt. You weren’t going to get any sleep tonight, and if you did, it wasn’t going to last long because of the nightmares that were sure to follow. Your feet padded across the room as you double checked to see if you locked the doors before you walked to the couch and sat on the cushions. 

You decided not to turn off the living room lights because the brightness comforted you. Unfortunately you didn’t have any night-lights or small lanterns that wouldn’t raise your power bill by a few dollars like it would because you left the overhead lights on. You laid on your cushions with your head on your nearly flat pillow as you stared at the white popcorn ceiling. You felt numb and empty. You couldn’t let yourself process what you just went through because you didn’t know if you would be able to see tomorrow or the next if you did. You just had to accept that it happened and move on. 

You stare at the ceiling. You have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. You stare at the ceiling. You need to get bread, eggs, and some protein that’s not peanut butter. You stare at the ceiling. Maybe you could buy a candy bar? You stare at the ceiling. Grocery shopping in the United Kingdom was weird compared to the United States because there’s an aisle dedicated to American food. It always contained brand name cereal and candy that the States offer. Maybe you could get a Reeses or Twix candy bar. It’s been awhile since you had one of those. You stare at the ceiling. You think you were fifteen since you last had one. You probably had it around Halloween. What did you dress up as that year? Didn’t you and your best friend go to a party rather than trick-or-treating? 

You stare at the ceiling. You think you did go to a party. It was Sarahs from English class, wasn’t it? How is she doing now? Was she blipped or did she stay? You didn’t know her that well, your best friend knew her better than you did. Were they besties now? Or did your best friend find someone else? Or was she alone? Surely, she must have found someone to hang out with whether it's through a support group for those who got blipped. She was much more of a social butterfly compared to you. Maybe you should go to one of those support groups. You have seen flyers all over London for it. You have considered going before, but you didn’t because you thought you could handle your grief on your own; and because you didn’t have the money to travel to and from. You still didn’t have the funds to do so since you were saving up for Marcs and Stevens' gift.

You stare at the ceiling. You also didn’t go to the support group because you were worried that someone would question your age and ask for your ID. You doubted that they would do that but, you just wanted to be careful. Speaking of being careful and your age, it’s been a little weird that more people are talking about your age lately. Your neighbor popped her head out when you were trying to get the boys to answer their door and mentioned that you looked young enough to be Stevens' kid after assuming that you were his sugar baby. The waitress from earlier this evening commented that she thought father-child dates were adorable. Kris mentioned that you looked younger than you were because she's under the impression that you are eighteen. 

Too many people have been commenting on your youthful looks lately that it was beginning to make you uncomfortable and a little concerned. You never had this much trouble over the past year until recently. Why is it becoming an issue now? You stare at the ceiling until you eventually fall asleep. 

That night and the weeks that followed after it were plagued with nightmares of being strangled to death by an armless kidnapper and cries for Marc who never came. It’s been a month since you last spoke to Steven and Marc. Jake was always fronting whenever he visited  you which was at least once every two days, sometimes he’ll visit a couple of days in a row but that was a rare occurrence. He told you that he only did it so Steven would shut up about you because he was worried for you. You asked him about how his alters were holding up since you couldn’t directly ask them yourself and Jake simply told you that they were angry because he refused to let them front and live their own life. He didn’t know when or if he would get control of the body. He had a job to do and he wasn’t surrendering control until he finished that job; and once it was completed, you wouldn’t see him anymore. 

You were laying on your couch after a long shift of making sandwiches and catching up on the morning prep work when Jake told you, “I’m going to be gone for a few days. So, if you need to get a hold of me, call Marc's number.” You sat up with furrowed brows as you looked at him standing in your living room behind the sofa. Since he took the driver's seat, he’s been letting a mustache grow across his upper lip, unlike Steven and Marc, Jake doesn’t shave or groom his facial hair very often. 

“You don’t have your own phone?” You ask. You don’t bother to ask him where he’s going since you knew that he wasn’t going to tell you. You asked him the first few times he dipped out for a bit and he ignored you or told you that it wasn’t your business. Honestly, it kind of was since you were never sure if they were going to come back. 

“I never had my own phone,” He shrugs and adjusts his flat cap. “I didn’t front as often as Marc or Steven did. So, what's the point of having one?” He stops and rolls his eyes at the reflection of your water glass, “Steven says that he better see you start taking care of yourself.” He lolls his head towards you, his brown eyes taking in your sunken face and dark circles underneath your eyes. No matter how much sleep you try to get you always wake up from the same nightmare and it’s been a struggle trying to get yourself to fall back asleep. Sometimes you end up staying up the rest of night and watching a youtube playlist of those weird fact videos. You did find some of them interesting but it was for a mostly mindless distraction and background noise. 

You give Jake a thumbs up in response. You think you saw the corners of his lips turn downwards but it was hard to tell by the mustache.

 He says, “I’ll see you in a few days.” and left not a moment afterwards.

That was nearly a week and a half ago. A few days my ass, you thought. It was now a little after mid-July and you were noticing that a lot more tourists are traveling and browsing the streets of London. The restaurant you worked at was getting much more foot traffic around lunchtime and the buses were more crowded than usual. This time last year you were working everyday, you picked up double shifts and made sure that you worked through your weekends. You did it mainly for the money but also to distract yourself from the blip and your grief. You were considering asking your manager if there were any extra shifts this weekend, the only thing that was really stopping you was the tease of the possible sleep you desperately needed.

The news was filled with broadcasts of reports about the murder of six people on a busy street in London. They haven’t found the killer yet, but the police did release a statement about a serial killer being on the loose and to be careful traveling especially late at night. Unfortunately for the police there was no security footage on the street the murders took place at and theres no fingerprints to tie anyone to the crime, Jake told you this when you nervously rambled about the possibility of being arrested. You didn’t question Jake about how he knew this and how he wasn’t as concerned as you were, you figured it had to do with having an Egyptian god on his side. You just knew that you and Jake were lucky not to be linked to the scene.

For days, the news of the murders was all you saw in the feed of your tiktoks and the conversations you had with Lauren and your other coworkers. Today was one of those days. 

“I’m worried that the murderer would attack me or Kris on our way home,” Lauren said as she finished up the morning prep of slicing cucumbers and tomatoes. She already told you this for what felt like a thousand times. But, you let her ramble as you scrubbed the dishes from the lunch rush. 

You hummed as she spoke, “What if I’m walking home from the bus stop and the killer shanks me in my back? Molly and Jamie wouldn’t have both of their mums. They would grow up like those children of the victims in those documentaries. I don’t want them to become like them.” You didn’t want anyone to die. You didn’t want anyone to experience the fear you felt when the cult member was dragging you away and his blood soaking your clothes. Your lip wobbled and hands shook as you forced yourself to nod in understanding. Your shirt felt tight around your neck and you pulled it away with your wet hands. You couldn’t get the feeling of his hands being wrapped around the collar of your shirt. You swallowed as you listened to Lauren ramble more about her worries. You tried to reassure her that you don’t think she or her family would be the next victims but of course it fell to deaf ears. 

If anything, you would probably be the next victim. It was obvious that they wanted something from you and your neighbors. Why else would they stalk you and attempt to kidnap you? Why would they be so willing to try to fight the men while they were under the assumption that Marc and Steven were still Khonshu Moon Knight? What did they want?

You tried not to concentrate on the feeling of the warm water splashing onto your skin and clothes like the man's blood did as you scrubbed the plastic food basket harder. 

“And you,” Lauren says and places her hand onto your shoulder which causes you to jump. She frowns and removes her hand slowly. “You’re just a kid. What if they attack you on your way home from work?” You haven’t told her or anyone how you were linked to the crime scene and how you’ve been stalked by this cult for awhile now. It’s not like you could tell anyone that you were there that night and your neighbor, who is a god's avatar, protected you from those six cult members. You shut off the faucet and reach for a towel to dry your hands with as you lean against the sink. 

“I’m eighteen.” You manage to force it out from your mouth. 

“Yeah and when I was that age I still felt like I was a kid.” She rolls her eyes before she completely looks at you. Her frown deepens. “Are you okay?” You nod and she looks like she doesn’t believe you. “Go take a fifteen.”

“But it hasn't even been an hour since I took my lunch.” You state. 

“So what? Your temporary manager just told you to take a break and you’re going to argue with them?” She raises her eyebrows. Your actual manager was at a doctor appointment for the afternoon and Lauren was temporarily put into the superior position for the time being. 

“Fine.” You groan and set the towel into the trash before walking over to the back corner near the supply closet and sitting in the break chair. You leaned your head against the wall and closed your eyes. You were exhausted but you refused to admit it to anyone else. It seems like all you were doing at night was allowing your body to rest when you try to fall asleep. Perhaps you needed to get some melatonin pills or sleepy time tea to help relax you at night. You did have enough money to splurge on it since you haven’t been going grocery shopping every week now. The last time you went was about two weeks ago, you forced Jake to go with you so you would feel semi-protected. 

Jake wasn’t very happy about it but according to him, Steven wouldn’t stop nagging him  until he left with you. Your fridge at your apartment was empty and so were your cabinets. Your food source lately has been the lunch you eat at work since you ran out of your peanut butter and bread supply. It’s not that you didn’t want to eat, it’s more like that you just didn’t have the energy to make anything nutritious for yourself at your place and going shopping on your days off was a hassle. You weren’t expecting to fall asleep in the slightly uncomfortable position you were in. You just wanted to rest your eyes for a moment and feel like you could sleep despite knowing that you'll open your eyes in a few minutes, feeling even more tired. Maybe you should run a marathon and make your body physically exhausted enough that your brain will shut off and not shove any nightmares to the forefront of your mind. 

“Hey,” Lauren said softly. You peeled open your eyes and blinked at the brightness of the lights a couple of times before your eyes landed on her. You were right, you felt even more tired. 

“Yeah?” You ask. She presses her lips together at the sight of you. Her brown eyes shined with concern and care. She looked so much like a mom that it almost made you tear up at the expression she had worn. You remember being about eight years old and your own mother looked just as worried and caring when you had a hundred and two degree fever. Your heart pinged in your chest and tightened at the sight of your friend. 

“Are you feeling okay? You look sick.” She asks. Her hair was tied into a bun on top of her head and a bandana wrapped around her skull to prevent any hair from falling. Her baby hairs poked out from underneath the cloth a bit.

“I’m good.” You answer, you force a smile onto your face but from her unconvinced stare you think it turned out more like a grimace. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and you prepare yourself for the lecture that is to come. 

“You need to go home.” She says. “You haven’t been doing well these past few days.” You sit up straight at that and return her frown. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, going to your apartment and napping sounded like a really good plan. But, you couldn’t go there since you had to make money. Sure, you had some extra since you haven’t grocery shopped in a while, but you were going to use that as emergency money. Besides, who would pick up your shift? You’re sure that none of your coworkers would want to work doubles in the July heat and tourist time of year. That’s exactly what you tell her. 

“I’ll do it.” She states. 

“But don’t you have a date with Kris after work? You’ve been telling me all week how you and Kris finally are able to go out for the first time without Molly and Jamie.” 

“Kris will understand.” She waves you off. “She’s met you and heard me talk all about how you don’t give yourself a break.” 

“I give myself a break.” You defend yourself and she gives you a look.

“Then what's this?” She gestures to you, “You’re napping in the break chair.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Or eating well?” She replies, and you press your lips together. She sighs softly and says your name. “Go home and rest. I forbid you from picking up any extra shifts until you get your strength back, so don’t bother asking for them. Go now before there’s another rush.” You wanted to argue with her further but instead you took off your apron and stuffed it into your locker and grabbed your key to your apartment and phone before clocking out. 

“Eat something,” She warns and you whip around at her tone. “I don’t want you cutting bread and passing out on the line and stabbing yourself in the process.” You huff out a breath. It felt embarrassing to be told that, especially when she noticed that you haven’t been taking care of yourself. She adds, “I’ll see you Monday.” You nod once in return, you felt too upset at being called out like that to return her goodbye. You push open the door, the bell ringing above you as you leave and walk down the street to the bus stop. You patted your pockets to make sure that you had everything. Your phone was in your right pocket of your jeans, your key and Eye of Horus paper in your left. 

You still carried the paper around as if it was your security blanket. It brought you a little comfort even though if you were to get attacked again that it wouldn’t do anything. It wasn’t as useful as a sword or pepper spray would be. When you were leaving to go to the grocery store with Jake a couple of weeks back, he noticed you stuffed it into your pocket and he didn’t make fun of you for it. Which was surprising since he seems to be rude about any little thing you did. You guess that it was kind enough of him to choose not to make a comment about it. 

The ride home seemed quicker than normal for a Friday afternoon in the middle of summer. You weren’t sure if it was because you dozed off on someone's shoulder and jolted awake when they moved their body to exit the bus or because you were losing track of time. Either way, you were approaching your apartment complex on your feet faster than you thought it would take you. The elevator still wasn’t working so you walked up the five flights of stairs to your floor and pretended that you weren’t fighting for your life as you unlocked your door. It took you quite a few times to get the key to fit into the lock since your handle was still damaged, but once you got it to open you entered your apartment and locked it shut behind you. You kicked off your shoes and removed your clothing as you walked to the bedroom to get into your pajamas. You weren’t planning on doing anything for the rest of the day besides trying to sleep. 

Maybe you’ll splurge a bit on that melatonin medicine with your emergency money if you wake with another nightmare. You laid on your couch and stared at the ceiling like you did all those weeks ago. Your fingers gently held the cotton of your shirt as you shifted on the sofa to get more comfortable. You were exhausted, you physically felt the bags underneath your eyes and the toll that these past months were doing on your body. Yet, you laid still and found yourself staring at the ceiling rather than shutting your eyes and trying to sleep. You weren’t just physically exhausted, you were emotionally too.

The stress and anxiety you felt since you were fifteen only increased. You were tired of being terrified for your life and you were equally as tired of being stressed that someone would find out your real age and report you for fraud. If your family or best friend ever found out that you were alive and breathing, you knew that they would never forgive you; and the thought itself was emotionally exhausting to stress over. The likelihood of them ever finding out was so slim. The only possibility that you could come up with that they would find out was if someone, most likely being your neighbors, Marc, Steven, and Jake, to turn you in. You could absolutely see Marc turning you in to keep you safe from whatever bullshit this cult wants. But, you couldn’t handle the idea of it since it would be like a punch to the gut for you. 

You trust Marc and Steven enough to not suddenly turn the table on you and report your identity. Jake was someone that you were still fifty-fifty on since he did threaten to kill you but he did save your life. Besides that whole situation, you were emotionally exhausted because you refused to let yourself deal with your emotions. You’ve been shoving them away instead of processing them. For one, you didn’t even know where to start and two, if you were to let yourself feel, you didn’t know if you could survive it. Would you come out at the end of the tunnel or forever be stuck in the darkness? You didn’t know. 

You didn’t know how much time passed with you staring at the ceiling until you eventually fell asleep. This time, the nightmares didn’t wake you but the knocking on your door did. You sat up with your eyes drooping and bleary as you stared at the slightly shaking door. You grabbed the taser off of the table and walked towards the door, suddenly feeling wide awake as you approached the door. Your name was being yelled by none other than your neighbor along with the pounding of the door. You peek through the eyehole to see Jake standing on the other side with his flat cap resting on his head and the usual pissed off expression on his face. 

You always thought that he looked like a frog, you couldn’t explain it if you tried. You never told him that because you didn’t want to anger him further but you always think it whenever you first see him. It took you a couple of times to unlock your door and open it. He held up a plastic bag filled with two styrofoam takeout containers wordlessly. 

“You’re back,” You breathe out and open the door wider for him to enter your apartment. He walks past you and sets the bag on the tabletop. 

“You sound surprised.” He states and you shut the door. The smell of chicken and rice wafted into your nostrils and it caused your stomach to growl.

“Yeah, well I’m going to assume that you could die while you’re out doing whatever,” You shrug him off and he busies himself with opening the bag and taking the top container out along with a pair of chopsticks. He sits on the edge of the table and gestures to the other container. Crossing the few steps, you grabbed the container and another pair of chopsticks before sitting on your couch and opening the lid. It was a chicken dish with rice and vegetables. Your mouth watered at the sight and the smell of it. You thanked Jake before digging in. You were careful to eat the rice first in case your body rejects the other food after not eating such a heavy amount for a while.

The two of you eat in silence for a bit until Jake states, “You look like shit.” 

“Wow,” You say with a roll of your eyes. “You really know how to make a person feel special.” He stops chewing and turns towards you, his polo shirt with palm tree patterns ruffling against the surface of the table. 

“You need to eat to keep your energy up.” Jake says. “Steven will come for my throat if he doesn’t think I’m taking care of you. He’s already pissed enough as it is.” You chew slowly on your chicken as you take in his words. It was sweet of Steven to worry about you but you kind of felt like it wasn’t his place to worry. You were able to take care of yourself for a year now, the strings of it all only got tangled when you nearly got mugged and told the men your real age. You’ll be fine until the cult decides to try to mess with you again. You do miss Steven and Marc, even though the latter could be mean. 

You don’t tell Jake this but instead you swallow your chicken and ask, “How was whatever you did?” You figured that he wasn’t going to answer since it was something he usually avoided conversing about and it was one of those unspoken questions that you weren’t allowed to ask without receiving some attitude; and you were right. 

“You know that’s one of the things we don’t talk about.” He scoffs and gives you a look. You hum pop a small piece of broccoli into your mouth and chew. You were so grateful for the food, it was something other than a glass of water or a sandwich from your workplace.

“Okay well, how’s Marc and Steven?” You ask around the food. 

“Tiring.” Jake answers. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “They’re pissed about our situation. I keep telling ‘em that I’m not going to be around once Harrows Cult dies off and they don’t come after us.” 

“Yeah? I think I would be pissed too if I was in their shoes.” You say. You would be pretty upset if you couldn’t live your own life because your alter had to be fronting the whole time. “How long do you think that’s going to take?” 

“You trying to get rid of me already?” He jokes. If it wasn’t for the glint in his eyes, you would have thought that was a genuine question. 

“No,” You answer truthfully. He looks a bit surprised at that. “I’m just wondering, so I could stop looking over my shoulder every five minutes on the bus-ride to work.” He seems to relax a bit at your honesty. If it wasn’t for your acquaintanceship with him and the little you know about Jake, you would have taken your own statement to heart and feel a little upset about it. Steven would absolutely get sad about it. But Jake wasn’t like his alters. He didn’t get bruised easily by your statement because he made it clear that he was only sticking around for one thing and that was to protect Marc and Steven. He doesn’t care about your thoughts and opinions as the other two would. 

“I don’t know,” He says. He looks out your window and into the distance as he chews on his own meal. You turned your gaze to the window, the blue of the sky was still visible but it was slowly becoming lighter as it approached the end of the day. 

“Cierra la boca, Steven.” He says and glares at the window. You raise an eyebrow and shove another piece of chicken into your mouth. He groans and turns towards you as he says, “Steven says that the next time that he sees you, you better be taking greater care of yourself.” He eyes you for a moment and pops a carrot into his mouth and chews on it slowly before huffing out a sigh and saying, “How are you holding up?” You blinked at the question and gazed at him with confusion. You sure as hell didn’t expect him to ask you that question. It was unlike him to care so much about your mental state.

“What?”

“Marc wants to know.”

“How I’m doing?”

“Si.” He says and rolls his eyes at you. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. It was kind of unlike Marc to want to know about your emotional health. Usually it was Steven who cared enough to pressure Jake to ask.

“I’m here.” You say and push a piece of broccoli with your chopsticks. 

“Marc says you look like shit.”

“Well, you and him have something to agree on then.”

“When was the last time you slept?” You snort. 

“Last night but not for long.” You answer and he hums. Silence falls between you for a few minutes before the rustling of the plastic bag dragged your attention over to whatever he was doing. He places his styrofoam box into the bag along with his chopsticks. 

“You’re leaving already?” You ask. Your meal halfway forgotten as you watched him stand up and stretch. 

“Have to get back to work.” He says. His mustache brushed against his upper lip as he spoke. 

You frown, “But you just got back. You need to rest.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Not getting soft on me now?” Your nose scrunches at his suggestion of your feelings towards him.

“No,” You say. “The body needs to rest otherwise you’ll just end up breaking down.” He looks you up and down for a moment. Right, as if you have any room to speak.

“Any suggestions then?” He says. You could tell by his tone that he was just leaning into your statement simply for the hell of it. He really didn’t care what you had to say. 

“You want to watch a movie?” You ask. 

“What movie?”

“Whatever is free on Youtube.” You shrug and point to your laptop on the table behind you. “We can watch it on my laptop. It's old but it runs.” 

“No, I’m good.” He says. He picks up the bag by the handles and fixes the brim of his cap. “Any movie that ends up being free on that site is stupid.”

“But some of them are funny.” You defend.

“Really? He raises an eyebrow. “Name one.”

“The Cave” You answer quickly. The memory of the movie made a small smile pass over your features. “It’s about a group of cavers going exploring in a cave system and finding a weird ass creature and being hunted by it.”

“And that's funny to you?”

“Oh yeah” You say with a nod of your head. “Hilarious actually. The reactions and how they survive is so stupid that it was more of a comedy than horror.” You watched that one with your best friend during one of your sleepovers. You were both laughing so hard at the film that it became an inside joke between you and her. The memory was bittersweet. 

“I’ll pass.” He states and you try not to show your look of disappointment. Sure, you weren’t close to Jake and he did threaten your life once, but you still missed Steven and Marc and Jake was the closest person to the men.  

“Work.” You state, the word rolling off your tongue. You lean over the back of the couch as you watch him walk backwards towards the door. “Right. When are you going to be back?” He pauses in his steps and shrugs. 

“Not more than a few days.”

“That’s what you said last time, Lockley.” 

“What? Are you afraid that I’m not going to come back?” 

“Yeah.” You answer and his mouth parts open a bit before he shuts it completely. His fingers curl inwards and he grips the bag a little tighter than before.

“I’ll be back.” He says. You stare at him just for a moment before you shift your gaze back to the window. You watched the birds fly in front of the clouds and temporarily cast shadows on the hardwood floor. 

“Okay,” You tell him as he opens the door. “I’m counting on it.”

“Lock the door behind me.” He says and shuts the door he entered through not that long ago; and as always, you do.

Chapter Text

“How was your weekend?” Lauren asks as you open your locker and put away your belongings before tying your apron around your waist. You groaned as you shut the small metal door and walked the couple of feet to where she was slicing cucumber. 

“Too short.” You state. “I just napped all weekend and ate chicken and rice, while binge watching shitty rom-coms.” Really, you made your weekend not sound as terrible as it actually was. You did nap, but you didn’t sleep well. You tossed and turned on your couch well into the early morning hours after waking from a nightmare as you did every night for the past month. It was nice to try to relax but it didn’t work out so well. You did recover some by eating more than you have been, but you still felt tired; and you were sure that part of the reason was your worry for Marc and Steven. 

You know that Jake would protect the body at all costs, but it’s still a body that Marc and Steven share. You began to get anxious whenever Jake was away for too long simply because you didn’t know if they would come back alive. It’s odd worrying for someone that you only knew for nearly three months. Back when you were fourteen and fifteen and you made friends, you didn’t worry this much or become this anxious for them. Perhaps the rooted fact that a cult and an Egyptian god are thrown into the mix is a major factor in how much you care. Also, you hate to think this, but you haven’t been close with anyone for a little over a year, so you understood why you were feeling nervous about the men's return. You were becoming soft for your neighbors.

“How was yours?” You ask while stifling a yawn.

“Kris and I went with the kids over to Canvey Island for the weekend.” She says as she reaches for another cucumber and puts into the slicer before turning the handle. You make an O shape with your mouth. Right, she took over your shift Friday. 

“Oh shit.” You state with a wince. “I’m so sorry that Kris and you had to cancel date night.”

“It’s alright,” She waves away your apology. “It’s more memories for the kids and us to share. Besides, you can babysit next time if you’re up for it.” You lean against the sink and cross your arms over your chest. 

“I never babysat anyone before.” You admit. 

“Not even your siblings?”

“I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Didn’t even babysit the neighbors kids.” 

“Well, I was just teasing you about it.” She says with a small smile on her face. You let out a relieved sigh. “I would be willing to help you learn how to take care of small children if you want to.”

“Really?” You say with an arched brow. You were a bit surprised that Lauren would let you trial run with her children. Well, it's under her supervision, so you guess you could understand her proposition. “I know the gist is to make sure that they stay alive.”

“That’s the most important part.” She agrees and laughs a bit. You smile and watch her pick up another cucumber and put it into the slicer before continuing turning the handle.

“So, how was Canvey Island?” 

“It was good!” Lauren excitedly says. She briefly pauses in turning the handle and shooting you a grin. The sight of her eyes crinkling in the corners and the twinkles shining in her eyes made you force out a laugh from your tightening chest. She reminded you of your own mom whenever she used to get hyped about something or reminisce about her youth. Your own mother would get a similar expression on her face and tell you all about her past and excitement. You missed her. 

Lauren doesn’t seem to notice your faltering smile as she says, “It was low-tide. So we were able to go out a bit and check out the tidepools. Molly loved seeing the starfish and barnacles while Jaime tried to catch fish in those small pools.” You look down at your shoes which looked like they barely had any scuff marks or dirt to signal the two years of use since you scrubbed them clean of blood the day after you were attacked. 

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink as you asked, “Did you and Kris have fun?” You shifted your eyes to her and the sight of her eyebrows wiggling a suggestive look in her eyes made you snort and the tightness in your chest loosen a small fraction.

“Oh we sure did.” She grins. “The kids fell asleep in the hotel room and Kris and I went out to the hot-tub.” You stand up straight and begin to mess with the strings of your apron before you walk over to the time clock and punch in to begin your shift. 

Lauren peaks around the shelf supplies of mayonnaise, mustard, and seasonings towards you as she asks, “Have you been to Canvey Island?” You shake your head as you adjust the nametag on your cap.

“Nah, but I do want to travel around England.” You say as you walk back to the sink and drain the remaining water.

“Just England?” She gives you a look. “You don’t want to visit anywhere else?”

“Traveling outside of the country doesn’t seem like it's in the cards for me now and I don’t want to get my hopes up.” You shrug. “I do want to do more with my life than just move from America over to the United Kingdom. But, uh, I just don’t know.” You can’t exactly tell her that you don’t want people squinting at your passport and other documents. 

“Even with the holiday pay we get?” She pushes as she begins to take apart the slicer and put the metal components in the sink next to you. The loud banging of the metal against the sink causes you to wince from the noise. You nod. 

“I kind of want to focus more on saving money and traveling around England.” You say. It wasn’t a lie, you did want to travel around the country. Lauren hums and begins to fill up the sink with warm water. “I have yet to see Big Ben and the London Eye, and I’ve been living here for over a year. I also hear that Manchester is a good place to visit.” She stares at you with an expression of disbelief. You shrug and turn your attention to filling up the sink. 

“You lived here for over a year and you haven’t traveled around London?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadass.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, Lauren.” You tell her. You run your hand underneath the running water to check if it's the right temperature before nodding to yourself. You turn back around and she gives you an incredulous look. “It’s not like I didn’t want to. I was just too busy.”

“You get two days off and paid holidays. I know that you’re a workaholic since you ask for shifts on your days off; but, love, it’s rubbish that you haven’t even seen Big Ben. Have you seen Buckingham Palace?”

“Only on television and social media.”

“Only on the telly?”

“Yeah,” You say. “It’s a building.”

“It’s the Queen's Palace.” She empathizes with the word and you shrug.

“Well, when you go to America would you want to see the White House?”

“No, it’s just a building.” She says. You shut off the water and watch a small frown tug at her lips. “I would want to see the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone, maybe try out some New York pizza.” You nod slowly and she bumps her shoulder into yours lightly as she places the cutting board into the new soapy water. 

“I think you might know a few places to recommend.” She adds. You push yourself off of the sink and raise your arms above your head to stretch your back. You may be sixteen but sleeping on a couch for a year, excluding the few weeks you robbed your neighbors of their bed, hurts your back. 

“I can tell you right off the bat that American life is better in the movies and shows than it is in real life.” You tell her and she nods in agreement.

“I know. I saw the Tiktoks of how the American government is handling the blip is like watching a dumpster fire.” Lauren sympathizes.

 “The best sights to visit in New York are the subway system to see rats bigger than your size nine shoes.” 

“Oh sod off.” She says and you laugh despite the honesty of it. “Are you joking?”

“I’m deadass.” You answer. “Y’know how bad the seagulls are here in London? The rats are worse.” You once saw someone eating some fries and a seagull swooped down and took them right from in between their fingers. You swore that they nearly lost their digits that day. The rats were worse in your opinion. They were all over the platforms in the subway station and you thought you saw one give birth in between some garbage cans in an alley. It was gross watching them scurry across the cement or in between the tracks as you waited for the subway. Lauren scrunches her nose. 

“There is a good restaurant I recommend,” You say after a moment. “It’s not a pizza place but Shawarma Palace is really good.”

“Shawarma.” She says. You hum and grab a food service wiper from the box on the shelves with seasonings.

“Yeah, it became a popular joint after the battle of New York in 2012.” You turn around and begin to wash the dishes. Lauren hums. 

“How was that?”

“Shawarma? It was good. It’s kind of like what we do here but just the wraps and they have their own dipping sauce.”

“No, the battle. Although, it does sound good.” She says and you nod in agreement. Man, you would enjoy it now. It became a tourist spot once the Avengers visited the restaurant and the owners posted the pictures of them eating online. But, you visited it a couple of times with your parents.

“Oh, the battle was terrifying. Loki was trying to take over New York and he was doing some weird mind control shit.” You shrug, “Aliens invaded the city and the Avengers took care of it.” 

“Are you hearing yourself?” Lauren asks. You look up from the knife you were washing and towards her. 

“I can hear myself just fine.”

“You sound mad.” She says while she saran wraps the cucumber container. “I just can’t believe you lived in New York.”

“I wouldn’t have if it was up to me.” You tell her. You return your attention back to the knife you were washing. You don’t know how true the statement was because if you didn’t live in New York you wouldn’t have met your best friend and you probably wouldn’t have the same interests as you do today. But, if you didn’t live in the state, there's the highest possibility that your parents could be alive. They wouldn’t have gotten hit by the car after they came back from the blip. 

“The insurance was high but some of the housing was cheap.” You add.

“Did your home ever get destroyed in fights?”

“No, but some of the people I went to high-school with did.” The sound of a bell rigging made you look up at the monitor hanging from the ceiling that shows the lobby and see a customer waiting in line to order. 

“I got it.” Lauren says as she picks up the container of cucumbers and begins to walk into the front. You busy yourself with washing the dishes so the pre-closer wouldn’t have a stack of them to work on after the lunch rush hits. You carefully scrub the slicer and spray it with the nozzle before dipping it into the sanitizer and hanging it on the shelf above the sink to dry. From where you were standing, you could hear Lauren asking the customer what they wanted and laughing at something they said. You dry your hands with a paper towel as you gaze at the monitor for a moment. 

For as long as you knew Lauren she always managed to stay upbeat and positive. For a while you thought she was putting drugs into her morning tea since you knew a handful of people at your old high-school who did drugs and acted similarly. Lauren never seemed to have a terrible day, she always found the good in something. It took you a long time to come to the conclusion that it’s just the type of person she is. 

You toss the paper towels into the garbage can before opening up the fridge door to do your daily task of counting the vegetables and meats to determine how much you have left until delivery day. The sight of a small plastic container filled with red sauce and something else caught your attention. It was decorated with green scribbles on the surface of the container, it was hard to figure out what it was but you could tell that it was a child's drawing. 

Lauren passed the open fridge door and so you poked your head out and held up the container while asking, “What’s this?” She stops in her tracks and looks at you and the small box you held. 

“I brought you leftovers from last night's lasagna.” She says with a small shrug. Your mouth parts a bit and you feel your chest tighten a little once more. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t tell-”

“The manager you kept in the fridge. She wouldn’t like it because of the cross-contamination. I know.” You share a smile with her before you gesture to the green markings. “So, what’s with the scribbles?” Lauren eyes it with a frown.

“Molly thought the containers were too boring so she decided to spice it up.” 

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. She took the liberty of decorating the containers. The one you’re holding right now is a spaceship.” She says. You hold it up a little higher so you could see the art piece. It was a lumpy oval with another circle inside of it. Lines were diagonally pointing down, you assumed that part was supposed to be beams of the ship. She adds, “The others have flowers and stars and princesses.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jamie once thought it was a perfect idea to paint the wall with Molly’s finger paint. We’re renting the apartment.” Your mouth drops open as you put the container back onto the shelf and make a mental note to take it back to your place later.

“All it takes is less than thirty seconds with my eyes off of them and they’re up to no good.” Lauren says. Just from listening to her stories about her children you were glad you didn’t have any mini humans to take care of. You crouch down and begin your count of the tomatoes as you listen to your friend ramble about other things Molly did when she was younger. The longer you listen, the less you want children. You don’t know how your parents decided to try for a baby and raise you. Looking back on it, you were kind of a problem child. Your mother told you countless times how you painted your nursery walls with the paint they were going to use for the living room. 

She told you how you snuck off to the bathroom and flushed your toys down the toilet and that it caused the apartment building to have pipe issues for days. Your father told you how he brought you to work one day because the babysitter couldn’t watch you and you scribbled on his boss's desk during an important meeting. You don’t remember any of the events that they said you did, but your parents always found it amusing to recount them to you.

“How many tomatoes do we have?” Lauren asks as you finish up your count and stand back up. You try to shake the numbness out of your legs from crouching for so long as you let out a yawn.

“Enough to last us until delivery day on Wednesday.”

“Good.” She replies and you both look up at the monitor as you hear another bell ring. 

“I got it.” You tell her. You walk around her and into the front. You shoot a smile at the customer before washing your hands in the small sink on the back counter and drying them with the paper towels as you approach the first station to begin the task of making them a sandwich. The customer was a woman with brown hair and matching eyes. She stared at the menu directly above you as you tossed the towels into the trash can and pulled out the correct size gloves from underneath the first station. 

“What can I get started for you?” You ask as you struggle to pull on the plastic gloves onto your wet hands. Your tone was a little friendlier than it would be if you weren’t talking to anyone who wasn’t a customer. The smile you had on your face falters as you lifted the cover and stared at the women. You recognize her, she was the same person from the bus stop last month, your eyes glanced down to her arm and sure enough she had the scale tattoo.

“I don’t know. What do you recommend?” She asks. Her eyes trailed away from the menu and to you. Your hands trembled as you tried to keep calm by placing them onto the white boards in front of you. Your throat tightened and you swore you felt droplets hit your arms and soak the front of your uniform. You felt the blood rush out of your face as you shared eye contact with the women. You knew that if anything would happen it would be on camera and Lauren would be a witness to the crime if she were to survive. She’s probably staring at the monitor right now as both of the women wait to hear your response. 

“Number twelve.” You say, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. “It’s bologna, pepperoni, and bacon with shredded mozzarella.” It was the worst sandwich in your opinion but she didn’t need to know that. She doesn’t look away from you to gaze back at the menu. You shift anxiously from foot to foot as you wait for her to say something.

“You look tired.” She says and tilts her head to the side a bit. Her baby hairs brush against her face. “Rough night?” Your hands grip one another harshly. 

“Something like that.” You reply stiffly and she lets a small smile spread across her face. 

“I would like a number seven.” She says after a moment. You pull out the deli paper from underneath the line and place it on the white board before turning around and grabbing a loaf of white bread from the cabinet. You reach for the pink handled knife from underneath the line and cut open the bread swiftly before returning it to its slot and reaching for the turkey and ham to place it onto the loaf. She says your name gently as if you were a wild animal. You look up at her with wide eyes. How the fuck did she know your name? Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you feel the room begin to sway. 

You swallowed roughly as she says, “I would like cheddar cheese and for it to be toasted.” Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips and you nod before shakily placing down the remaining amount of meat and reach for the shredded cheddar. You grab the toaster pan and pick up the deli paper with both hands and pop it into the toaster oven. She says your name quietly, you would have been surprised that you heard it since the blood pounding in your ears made it difficult to hear. 

“I want cucumbers, tomatoes…” She lists off the vegetables, and usually you would be attentive and be able to memorize the customers order before the timer for the toaster oven would go off. But, with the swaying room and the feeling like you were drowning was a challenge that you were losing to. How the fuck did she know your name? Your trembling hands pulled the sandwich from the oven with the spatula and placed it on the whiteboards before reaching for the vegetables you thought she asked for. 

“Can you-?” You clear your throat and try to give her an apologetic smile, but you were sure that it was a fearful grimace instead. “Can you repeat that, ma’am?” You carefully put on the vegetables as she listed them and the appropriate sauce she requested to top it off. 

“I would like it to-go.” She says as you cut the sandwich in half. You nod as you struggle to not look like you weren’t failing at not showing your panic. It took you two times to wrap the sandwich and put in your passcode for the tablet to ring her out. It took you a little longer to give her the appropriate amount of change back. Her fingers brushes against yours as you drop the quarters and bills into her hand and you try not to show your cringe at the contact. 

“Thank you.” She smiles and places the bills into her pockets before picking up her sandwich. “See you around.” She adds your name as she leaves the restaurant. Your legs shook and you clutched onto the counter as Lauren passed next to you with arms full of stainless steel banes with food to restock before the lunch rush hits. You close your eyes and try to feel like air was filling your lungs and you were above the water rather than below it. 

“Are you okay?” Lauren asks. She sounded like she was at the other end of a tunnel. You open your eyes and stare at her, she looked like she was moving slightly from side to side but you knew she was standing still. You couldn’t let her send you home. You already lost a few hours last week for your paycheck. 

“How did she know my name?” The question didn’t sound like it came from you despite the vibrations of your voice in your throat.. 

“Your nametag?” She says incredulously and points to the tag on your cap. “Are you okay? You’re really pale and- are you sweating?” You didn’t know, honestly you didn’t care enough about your well-being at the moment. You swallow dryly and shrug in her direction. The movement caused your tense shoulders to feel more heavy. Your mouth felt dry and stuffed full of cotton. 

“Go sit down.” Lauren demands as the bell chimes once again. You nod and the movement itself causes the room to sway even more. It was a mistake to move your head and it was an even greater mistake to walk to the break-chair in the back. You held onto the walls as you struggled to get the room to stop spinning and swaying, but you failed to make it stop like you were on the tea-cup ride at Disney World Amusement Park. You did stumble into the shelves and sink, you hit your hips and arms into the metal surface. You knew bruises will be forming on your body tomorrow but you didn’t care enough about it, you just wanted the world to stop spinning. You reached the break-chair and slid into the seat before placing your elbows on the small table in front of you and supporting your head with your hands. 

You knew that the cult members were aware of where you worked and lived and what bus route you took, but for some reason you didn’t think they would have the audacity to walk into the establishment of where you were employed. Perhaps you thought that because of the cameras and the constant flow of people around you, of course you were wrong. You breathe a shuddering breath as tears threaten to spill out of your eyes and drop down onto the table-top. You refused to let the tears fall instead you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the air filling your lungs helped ground you as you counted to ten and slowly released it before repeating the process. 

You only opened your eyes when you heard footsteps approaching you. Lauren looked upset and concerned, it wasn’t a good look for her. The thought made a snort leave you as you wiped your eyes away from any tears with the back of your hand. 

“Eat some lasagna and take your lunch early. I don’t want to hear any ifs or buts.” Lauren glares at you as she stops next to the table you sat at. She placed a hand on her hip and gave you a stern, motherly look. “I’m serious, darling.” You didn’t want to go through the process of explaining to her that it wasn’t your lack of eating that caused you to panic but rather that women from a cult that attacked you and your friend who's your neighbor.

“Okay,” You say instead. She walks over to the fridge and grabs the container of the food and a plastic fork from the box of utensils on the shelf before setting both things in front of you. 

“Eat. I want to see all of that gone by the time your lunch is over with. I’ll clock you out.” She says and points her two fingers at her eyes and back to you before she walks away to do what she promised and to finish up prepping for the day. You peeled open the plastic lid and set it onto the surface of the table before removing the plastic wrap from around the fork and stabbing the utensil into the pasta. You brought the noodle up to your mouth and chewed on it slowly. It tasted good but you bet that it  would taste even better warmed up, but despite that you sat still and chewed on your cold meal. 

You leaned back in your seat as you ate quietly, trying not to let yourself become overwhelmed with remembering what just happened a few minutes ago. A noise to your right caught your attention, it was loud and obnoxious. It was coming from one of the lockers. You stood up on wobbling legs and pulled open your locker door to see if it was coming from yours and sure enough your phone was vibrating with Marc's caller ID. You stared at it for a moment, wondering if you were somehow hallucinating this enough to imagine that Marc was calling your phone after a month of not being able to speak with him. Maybe you really were going insane and this was just your brain trying to comfort you. You picked up your phone as soon as the vibrations ended, you stared at your lock-screen of your parents until the screen went black and the phone began to vibrate in your hands. Your thumb hit the accept call button and you brought the device up to your ear.

“Hello?” You answer. You heard soft music in the background and the sound of cars honking at one another.

“It’s Jake,” He tells you. “Come outside.” 

“I can’t just go outside.” You tell him, your voice was shaky. “I’m eating my lunch.” The excuse was weak, but you didn’t care, you just didn’t want to go outside and get ambushed by the cult again; and honestly, you didn’t know how brave you could be with facing Jake after what happened with the woman.
“Then why are you answering your phone?”

“Because I thought it was important.” You say with a roll of your eyes.

He pauses and awkward silence falls between you before he says, “When do you get off of work?” You glance at the time on your phone. You had about three hours left of your shift since the assistant of the morning opener always gets about five hours of work. You usually work eight hours since you needed money and your co-workers needed help; but, you decided that you were going to leave at the assigned time because of the creepy lady. 

“I get off at two.” You answer. “Why?”

“You’re not riding the bus.”

“What?” You ask and stare in confusion at the wall in front of you. The soft call of your name made you turn your head. Lauren stood next to the freezer and the bread making counter with a look of concern. You hold up your finger to signal to give you a minute. The bell above the door rings and it momentarily distracts both of you before Lauren calls out a greeting to the customer and disappears to head into the front of the store. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m waiting outside.” He says. You scrunch your brows and walk into the lobby while gazing out the front windows of the restaurant. All you saw was parked cars along the narrow street and people and traffic passing by. 

“I don’t see you.” You say. You lean a little further towards the window to peek down the sidewalk for him to be leaning against the neighboring shops but you still didn’t see him. “Besides, you don’t have a car and I’m not walking to my apartment.” 

You were lucky enough to not have to walk the hour and a half long stride to your building. You only goggled the maps to it because you were curious how long it would take for you if you missed the bus and didn’t have enough money to call a taxi or uber. You never missed the bus unless it was on one of your days off because you were more relaxed about taking your time; and even that was pretty rare.

“Si, and Marc and Steven didn’t know I existed until a while ago.” He replies. You shoot a reassuring smile at Lauren as you walk back into the employees only area. 

“You really have a car?” You ask. He hums his answer, you can see him rolling his eyes in your mind. “And you’ve been letting Steven take the bus.”

“Well, he doesn’t have his permit.”

“Jake.” 

“I’ll be waiting outside.” He says. The beeping coming from the phone made you pull away your device and stare at the black end call screen. Your reflection stared back until the phone Lauren rounds the corner and you glance up at the monitor when the bell rings just to see the customer leaving. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks. You breathe out slowly and put your phone back into your locker. 

“Everything is good.” You manage to lie. “Just my uncle telling me he was going to pick me up as a surprise so I don’t have to fight for a seat on the bus ride to the apartments.”

“Oh, that's nice of him.” She smiles. “You really need that after what just happened a while ago.”

“Yeah.” You return her smile. “Who’s the pre-closer today?”

“Emily, I think.” Lauren says before walking backwards to the corkboard and reading the schedule. “She gets here at two.” You sigh and nod slowly at Lauren before sitting back down and eating the remaining pasta. God, you just hoped the car Jake had wasn’t a creepy white van and he wasn’t going to kidnap you and kill you and dump your body into the Thames river. Your stomach churned and you breathed out another shuddering breath as you fought your body to hold down your food. It took several minutes just for your stomach to settle down before you were able to take another bite. Maybe you could spend your break with Jake if you feel brave enough to leave the building. That’s only if it slows down enough after the lunch-rush that you won’t feel too guilty about leaving Lauren and Emily alone.

By the time your lunch was over, you only had a small portion left which you didn’t feel too guilty about throwing it away since it was only a small bit. You clocked in and tightened the straps of your cap as the bell rings once more and you put on a smile and greeted the recent customer as cheerfully as you can. 

You didn’t get to spend your fifteen minute break with Jake, although you did spend at least five minutes hiding in the bathroom just to be able to get a small amount of time to yourself. Your feet were aching by the end of your shift and you were ready to go to your flat and kick up your feet onto your sofa and relax. You shoot a text to Marc's phone stating that you were leaving the building and to watch for anyone who may try to kidnap you. 

“Have a good night, Lauren and Emily.” You say over your shoulder and you pat your pockets for your key to your flat, the Eye of Horus paper, and your phone that was vibrating once again. You pick it up as you push open the door and look both ways down the street. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m in the white limo.” Jake says. You blink and turn your head to your right to find the exact vehicle he described parked a little further down the street. A limo. Jake Lockley owns a limo. 

“At least it’s not a white van.” You say as you walk towards the car. 

“¿Qué?” 

“What?” You scrunch your brows. You don’t understand much Spanish.

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, you heard me.” You reply. Your eyes catch the license plate and you couldn’t help  but breathe out a short laugh at the sight. Jake Lockley owns a limo and the plate had Marc's last name, you weren’t sure if Marc was aware of the purchase or not. Either way, you sure as hell was going to talk Jakes ear off about the purchase. You watch the passenger side window roll down and you hang up the phone and place it in your pocket. You stood a couple of feet away from the car as you bent down a bit to look into it. Jake Lockley sat behind the wheel with his flat cap and his frog-like expression resting on his face. You didn’t know what exactly gave you the impression that he looked like a frog but the more you squint at him you begin to think that it's his cheeks and glaring brown eyes. 

“Get in.” He says. You pull open the door and slide onto the leather seat before shutting it behind you. The sound of the car being locked made you turn your head to see the small button pressed down and the window now rolled up completely. 

“Why are you picking me up?” You ask as you buckle yourself in. 

“The bus isn’t safe.”

“Did you run into that lady too?”

“Lady?”

“The one with the scale tattoo.” You say. “She came into my work.” He stares at you for a moment and you wait for his answer. 

“Did she do anything?” He asks, his eyes quickly looking you up and down. If you blinked you probably would have missed it. 

“No. Just ordered a turkey and ham sandwich.” You tell him and he nods once before turning the car into traffic while looking out the side mirror. You didn’t even hear the purr of the engine as he pressed down on the accelerator gently. “It was still creepy. She didn’t threaten me or tell me to watch my back or to praise Ammit. She just ordered a sandwich.”

“Her being there is the threat.” Jake states. You shift uncomfortably in your seat and his grip tightens on the steering-wheel. “They’re getting too comfortable being out in the open. They’re not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t trying to get to us. At least with Steven and Marc they pretended to be cops with a search warrant after Marc broke the toilets at the museum.”

“Why do you think that is?” You ask. “Why are they deciding to be comfortable now?”

“To get underneath our skin and because they don’t care anymore.” Jake says while staring ahead through the windshield. 

“But why?”

“I don’t have all the answers.” 

“Okay, but you’re gone all the time so surely you must know something.” You say while staring at him. He doesn’t reply and his silence becomes an answer for you. He does know something, he just doesn’t want to share with you. “Fine.” You huff out. “The less I know the better, right? Or whatever goddamn bullshit you tell me. But if your lack of answer sharing gets me killed. I’ll wring your neck as a ghost. I’ll haunt your ass, Lockley. You will never know a moment of peace once I’m dead.”

“It would be the same as now.” He says and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know a moment of peace with you.”

“Fuck you, Jake.” You hiss. “I’m fucking scared and you won’t tell me shit.”

“For your own safety.” He didn’t sound angry but rather frustrated at your pressure for him to tell you what he knows. You were frustrated because of how long you’ve been kept in the dark and continue to be even though you were nearly kidnapped and you had a guy's arm spray blood onto you and that you have to watch your back every time you go out in public.

“You look like a frog.” You tell him as you cross your arms and lean back in your seat.

“What?”

“You heard me. You look like a frog.” You say. “Ribbit.”

“You’re calling Steven and Marc a frog?”

“No just you.”

“We share the same body.” He deadpans.

“But you specifically look like a frog. Steven looks like a cinnamon roll and Marc looks like he has a stick up his ass half of the time.” You reply and he barks out a laugh. You didn’t want him to find your jabs humorous, you wanted to hurt him just because of how stressed and anxious his lack of sharing has made you. “You don’t even look like the kissable type of frog from Disney movies.”

“What type of frog do I look like then?” Jake asks. You could tell from his tone that he wasn’t hurt or angry at your jabs but deciding to play along.

“A toad.” You say. Honestly, he doesn’t look like a toad, you just said that in hopes of getting him to be upset about his looks. He laughs loudly, the noise hurts your ears in the small confined space the two of you were in. You frown at the noise and glare at him. 

“You’re funny.” He admits and grins at you. The sight of his smile made the next insult in your brain disappear, you knew Jake for a month and your conversations were never this long and you never saw him smile. You let your anger and hurt slowly calm down into a simmer as you did a couple of breathing exercises. The sound of soft mariachi band music plays in the silence between you two.

“So, you have a limo.” You say once you felt calm enough to not take your fear and anger out on him.

“No shit.”

“Why a limo?”

“I’m a limo driver.” He answered and you were surprised that he told you.

You try not to show your surprise on your face as you ask, “For who?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” He replies. You shrug. 

“I’m bored and you’re the only person outside of work who I get to talk to.”

“What about Lauren?” He asks. “Didn’t you go over to her apartment last month?” Your mouth falls open and you turn your head towards him. You weren’t sure what expression you were showing but whatever it was, it didn’t seem to faze him.

“How do you know about Lauren?”

“I know every person who you work with and their history.” He admits and you blink once. “Part of the job of keeping tabs for your safety and Marcs and Stevens.”

“What?”

“Did you suddenly go deaf or something?”

“No,” You shake your head. “I just- you looked up my friends and co-workers history just to keep me safe, but you won’t tell me what you know to keep me safe.”

“If I found something threatening to your life, I would have taken care of it by now.” Jake says. You didn’t need to guess that ‘by take care of’ means killed. You swallow. At least that means any criminal history your co-workers may have wouldn’t be detrimental to you.

“But the cult obviously wants something. They’re stalking and they feel comfortable enough to go into my work place to order food after, you know, you killed six of their members. So, why aren’t they taken care of?” You state at him and watch the subtle tightening of his grip on the steering-wheel. He’s not going to tell you the answer because he claims that it would keep you safe. The less you know the safer you are and whatever bullshit he says. You run your tongue over your teeth as you think about how he’s Khonshus avatar, a god's avatar, and he disappears for days to weeks without telling you where he’s going and yet the cult is still active and wanting something. Maybe there's a reason Jake hasn’t destroyed Harrow's followers.

“You’re doing this for Marc and Steven. The whole… making sure I stay alive.” You wave around with your hand. “Because you want to keep them safe.”

“You got it.” He says. You nod slowly and knit your hands together in your lap. You didn’t know what to say anymore. You were tired of how much you had to fight him for answers. You leaned your head against the window and watched the scenery go by. 

 “A client of mine pays me to chauffeur them to parties and the airport and their home.” Jake says. The answer surprised you, you lifted your head from the window and turned towards him he didn't add onto it, which you didn’t expect him to, instead he says, “I’m going to be gone for a while.” You give him a look. “Longer than I have been before.”

“You’re going to be gone for more than a week.” You state. “And you’re not going to tell me where you’re going.”

“I think you already know why.” He replies. You huff out a breath before he adds, “I have a friend who is going to stay with you until then.”

“In my apartment?”

“No. You’re staying in the dumbasses flat.” 

“Who’s?” You furrowed your brows at him in confusion.

“Stevens and Marcs.”

“I don’t understand.” You shake your head and turn your body towards him. You slightly lean against the car door and pull the seat belt away from your throat. “You’re going to be gone for a while and you have a friend who’s staying with me?”

He ignores your question by saying, “Here.” He digs into his pants pockets before he hands you a silver key with an orange lanyard attached to it. “The spare key to the apartment. Don’t lose it.” You grasp the thin lanyard in your hands, the thread of it was soft and a little warm from his body heat. The apartment complex you both live in doesn’t give extra keys to the tenants when you sign up as a safety precaution, but they do make spares if you were to ask. So that means Jake had to either go to the hardware store to make a spare key or request a spare key for you. 

“Attach your apartment key to it so you don’t lose that too.” Jake adds. “It’s a miracle you haven’t lost that one yet.” You don’t bother to tell him the time that you searched your apartment for hours looking for that key only to find it underneath the couch. After that you decided to make the counter next to your door the spot you place it whenever you walk into your apartment. You bite your cheek as you turn your face to look out the window at the passing scenery. It was scary having Jake pick you up from work and suddenly drop the news that he’s going to be gone longer than a few days and that a friend of his is staying with you in Marcs’ and Stevens flat rather than your own. 

That friend better not be Khonshu. Whatever has shaken Jake up enough to wait for a few hours outside of your work place just so you wouldn’t be alone on the bus was bad. This whole situation was horrible but it was terrifying in itself for a god's avatar to be taking these measures.

“Jake.” You say, your tone being pleading and firm. He glances away from the road and to you. “It’s bad isn’t it?”

“That’s for me to worry about.” He answers. His hands gripping the steering wheel a little more tighter. “You’re just a kid.” Any hope that you may have allowed yourself to have, wilted with that statement. Of course you shouldn’t have hoped that Jake-the-secretist would tell you shit.

You decided to ignore that last statement by asking, “Who’s the friend?”

“You met her before.” He says. You rack your brain for someone who you met that may have connections to Jake. The only woman you could think of was Marc's ex-wife who you only met once when Marc and Steven suddenly disappeared off of the planet.

“Layla?”

“Bingo.” Jake states. You look out the windshield to see the familiar street with your apartment building.

“Does she know where you’re going?” You ask. He glances away from the road and towards you with a raised brow. “I’m gonna guess you’re keeping her in the dark as much as I am.”

“Why even bother to ask then?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrug, a small smile spreading across your face. You hoped the sight would annoy him. “Just to irritate you, I suppose.”

Chapter Text

“It’s nice to meet you again,” Layla says as she holds out her hand and smiles at you. You grasped her hand with your own and shook it awkwardly.

“It’s been awhile hasn’t it?” You reply and she hums in answer as you let go of her hand. “We really need to stop meeting like this.” You gesture towards Jake who stood next to you and Layla. He adjusted his flat cap so it wasn’t covering his eyes. “Twice now that we only met because of the boys.” The three of you stood in Stevens and Marcs apartment, you still wore your work uniform and your feet were still aching from the five hour shift you did. A suitcase with wheels rested next to the sofa, you assumed it was Layla's. 

“They’re always up to something,” Layla adds and crosses her arms over her chest. “Y’know the time before last, I had to track Marc down to Cairo; at least Jake tells me that he needs help with something.” 

“Jake asked for your help?” You raise your brow and give her a questioning look before shifting your gaze to the man in question. He didn’t seem fazed at all, but rather expectant of your confusion and slight anger. “I’m surprised that he asked.”

“He didn’t directly ask, but told me that he had a job for me.”

“And that's babysitting me,” 

“Looking after and house sitting,” Layla corrects. 

“Same thing. It’s just a polished sentence so I don’t feel babied.” You wave her correction away. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s no fucking way I can take care of myself up against a cult especially after what happened last month-”

“What happened last month?” 

“-But, I’d rather call this house-sitting what it actually is rather than putting kind words on it.”

“What happened last month?” Layla repeats her question and you share a look with her. 

“Jake didn’t tell you?” You ask and she purses her lips before you both look at Jake. “You have the audacity to ask her to babysit me but you haven’t told her the reason why?” He doesn’t answer and you scoff, raising your arms into the air as you make the gesture of flipping a table. “Typical. Right, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jake has been fronting since last month when Marc and I got attacked by a group of insane cultists. He told me multiple times that he only plans on being in the driver's seat until his job is complete and then he’s going to disappear.”

“Are you serious?” Layla scoffs. 

“Deadass.”

“What?” 

“I’m serious.” You tell her. Of course the older generation wouldn’t understand the slang, that’s been the third time it happened. “I thought that maybe he would tell you a little more than he let me in on but I was wrong.”

“You were attacked by a cult and neither of you told me?” Layla says. She frowns and glares between the two of you. The glare almost made you take a step back and rethink your decision of not telling her. The look in her eyes reminded you of your own mother when you got in trouble for skipping school once. She grounded you for two months after that and you had to listen to a long lecture about her and your fathers disappointment in you.

“What was I supposed to say?” You gave her a look of disbelief. “I was attacked and attempted to be kidnapped; but hey, that soup I ate for dinner was good? Besides, I didn’t know that I could have talked to you.”

“Yeah. You were supposed to tell me that.” Layla says. “I literally told you to call me if you needed anything.”

“I thought you were just being nice!” You defend yourself. “I thought it was just something you were telling me because that’s what people do.”

“I wasn’t telling you just to tell you that. I was being genuine.”

“Okay, well that’s nice to know for future shit-shows.” You say. “Be angry at Jake for not telling you all the details because from my understanding, the two of you have talked enough to have a relationship.”

“Acquaintanceship.” Layla says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She turns her anger towards the man that the two of you were brought together through. “You had an entire month to tell me.” She states. She sounded pissed and disappointed in the man. You cross your arms over your chest and watch the argument unfold.

“It’s not your problem.” Jake replies. He didn’t look concerned or scared, not one bit. Instead, he gave a nonchalant vibe by studying his gloves and frowning when he noticed that one of the crescents on his knuckles were scratched. You rolled your eyes. You weren’t surprised at his emotional state, he really didn’t give two shits about you.

“It is when you bring Marc and Steven into it.” Layla hisses at him. Her hands curled into fists. “You brought a kid into this shit.”

“I’m sixteen.” You say and she shoots you a glare. The sight made you keep your mouth shut for a few moments. 

“I didn’t bring them into anything.” Jake defends. “Your ex-husband and his buddy brought them into this the moment that they invited them for dinner.”

“But you continue to let them hang around even with your Moon Knight bullshit,” Layla says. You press your lips together as you listen to her suck in a breath. 

“They’re better off around me than they are without.” He says, “You don’t know what Harrow's cult has planned.”

“And you do?” You raise a brow. “You won’t even tell us what you’re doing or where you’re going; and you’re implying that we need to trust you just because you want Steven and Marc happy and safe.”

“God, you’re just like Marc.” Layla groans. You blink and turn your attention to her and back to Jake. He didn’t seem to have a reaction to that statement. In your opinion, Marc and Jake weren’t exactly the same. Marc was definitely more likely to try for a relationship unlike Jake who is there one moment and gone the next. You frown at the woman. You don’t understand how she reached that conclusion, but you knew that she was once married to Marc so she knew much more than you knew about him. The tension in the room felt suffocating. You didn’t like the silence coming from Jake and the frustration flowing out of Layla. 

“He’s not like Marc,” you say, causing the two of them to look at you. “Jake looks like a toad.”

“De vuelta a esto, ¿eh?” Jake mumbles and throws his hands into the air. You give him a small smile since you weren’t sure what he was saying was good or bad. He’s probably threatening to beat you up at this rate. He adds, “After this trip, you won’t have to worry about Harrow's followers or me.” 

“So, you’re going somewhere to destroy Harrow's cult?” You ask. He doesn’t say anything and you’re satisfied with the silence. “See? Was that too hard to say?” He doesn’t answer and you sigh. You decided to try to push your luck by asking him the length of time he would be gone. He doesn’t answer but instead he walks towards the dining table and picks up a duffle bag before swinging it over his shoulder. You quietly watch him stride to the entrance and swing it open before shutting it behind him. Layla throws her hands up and you frown at the sight of the door. You didn’t know if you should let him go as peacefully as he could or demand answers that you knew you would never receive as long as he is in the driver's seat. Of course, you had a reputation of annoying him today, might as well follow through with it. 

“I’ll be back.” You tell Layla as you speed walk to the door and open it before shutting it closed. Jake was already at the elevator, his eyes were on the rising numbers above the door as you approached. 

“So, you’re leaving just like that?” You say as you close the distance between the two of you.  “Without saying goodbye?” You stop a few feet away from him and place your hands on your hips. He gives you a look. “You better come back,” You warn. You don’t know why you say it, he made his intentions clear on the drive to the apartment complex. He’s not doing this for you but rather his alters. 

“I’m pretty pissed that you’re leaving me in the dark- and stop giving me that angry glare, I’m not going to push your damn buttons right now since I know you’re not going to answer any of my questions.” You huff out. “Just…be careful.” He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to. He was the brooding person you always knew since day one of meeting him. 

“Stay safe.” Jake says in return and you both hold a stare between the two of you. Just like you don’t know why you said what you said moments ago, you lift your arm into the air for the promise-shake you did with Marc and Steven over a month ago. He looks between you and your arm. “What?”

“I want a promise.” You tell him. “A deal that you will come back.” 

“What are you nine?”

“Sixteen actually.” You say. You know that he made the jab just to try to get underneath your skin, but you couldn’t care less about it. You add, “You should already know that if you’re keeping tabs on me and anyone I work with.” You don’t lower your arm, you were determined to at least get this deal from him since you couldn’t get any other answers besides the fact that he was going to go destroy Harrows cult.

“Pinky promise like we’re children?”

“Surely you were around when I made Steven and Marc make a deal with me that they would tell me anything that had to do with my life?” You say with a raised brow. You can’t tell what expression he was wearing in the dim light of the hallway. Your building really needed to get better lighting. But, the noise of him releasing a groan caused you to internally pump your fists into the air in victory. 

“I can’t promise you that I’ll come back,” He says. “But I can make a deal with you that Steven and Marc will.” And that was good enough for you. He raises his own hand and clutches your arm and you return his grip with your own hand. You both shake once before he lets go as if you were too hot to touch. You lower your arm and you both stand in silence for a minute until the noise of the elevator dinging interrupted the peace. You shift your eyes away from him and to the sliding metal doors of the box. This might be the last time you see Jake Lockley. Well, it might be the last time you see the body of Marc, Steven, and Jake if they don’t come back at all. Jake steps into the metal death box and you watch as he presses the button to the lobby floor. A little past him, decorating the walls were mirrors. 

Your reflection stared back, bags were underneath your eyes from sleepless nights and your collar bones showed a bit from underneath the collar of your shirt. You didn’t look well and you definitely still felt like shit from how little you took care of yourself. You looked half-dead. For a moment, you wondered if Marc and Steven were staring back, this was the sight that would have greeted them whenever Jake visited. How were they doing? It’s been awhile since you last heard of them from their alter, he’s been too wrapped up in whatever he’s been doing to not stop by. You raised your hand to stop the doors from closing and looked at Jake. He looked like one of those cartoon dad characters that don’t know how to express their emotions well with his bushy brows and mustache growing above his lips. He adjusted his flat cap to rest better on his head as he waited for you to do whatever it was you were about to do.

You wet your lips before you ask, “How are they?”

“Pissed,” Jake says. He looks at the mirror to his right and narrows his eyes at the sight. In the glass, you saw the reflection of Jake glaring at himself and your half cut off reflection of yourself from where you stood in the entrance of the elevator. You guessed that he saw the other men. “Steven says you need to eat more and get more sleep.”

“Is Steven really saying that?”

“Well, are you surprised? He’s been mommying you since day one.”

“Oh, fuck off.” A British accent says, causing you to step back in surprise. You watched as Jake loosened temporarily into a slumped posture before his back straightened once more and he had a resting bitch face. You raised your hand back up to stop the doors from shutting as you stared at him. That was the first time you ever saw another alter forcibly take control for a split second. The transitions between Marc and Steven were smooth whenever they switched, but this was completely the opposite. 

“What…?” You breathe out. Jake looked more pissed than usual.

“Let go,” He says and gestures to your hand holding the door. You didn’t know what to say, you were too stumped over the sudden and forcible switch you just witnessed; and besides that? You just heard Stevens' voice for the first time in a month and you didn’t realize how much you missed it until now. The sooner you let Jake go, the sooner you would get Steven and Marc back. So, you removed your hand from the elevator to let the third alter leave. You hoped that he would keep his end of the deal as the elevator doors finally shut and the floor numbers began to tick down to the lobby. 

You stared at the descending numbers until the screen showed a L. Behind you, you heard a door open and close before there was a jingle of keys. The noise was what caused you to swivel on your heel and walk back to your neighbors apartment. You watched your other neighbor, the girl who thought you were having a lover's quarrel with Steven keep her head down as she passed you and made her way to the death trap box. You haven’t talked to her since then, you both were too awkward to communicate since the admitted assumption that Steven was your sugar daddy made things weird. The thought grossed you out and caused your stomach to churn as you opened the door to his flat and closed it not a moment afterwards.

Layla was sitting on the couch as you entered the apartment. Her eyes trailed to you as soon as you locked the door behind you. The television was playing a BBC News broadcast of the weather and the short spike of a heatwave in the middle of this week. You didn’t like the heat, the last time there was a heatwave you were a puddle of sweat on the floor of your living room.

“Steven said that you’re a junior in high-school.” Layla says as you cross the room and awkwardly sit on the other end of the couch. You bring your legs up onto the cushions and hug your legs to your chest as you watch the broadcast switch over to one of the main ladies at the desks and they begin to talk about the upcoming summer bank holiday. 

“I’m a senior now.” You reply. “School starts back up in September. I should be graduating in early June next year.” You were glad for the summer break the United States schools offer, but honestly you just wanted to wrap up your schooling now so you wouldn’t be stressed about passing your final year while working full time.

“Steven said that you planned on working after you finish school.” 

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have any other plans?”

“I don’t think I could make any other plans.” You admit. “University isn’t an option anymore and traveling isn’t much of one either.” She hums and you both watch the television for a moment. 

“Are you excited to finish school?” She quietly asks.
“Yeah,” You shrug. “I’ve been looking forward to wrapping up my basic education since I entered high-school.”

“I remember graduating.” Layla says. She had a look on her face as she stared at the television. It was clear that the two of you were using it for background noise and neither of you cared to pay attention to it. “I was in the class of 2014. After I completed school, I went on many trips with my father to the sites he was digging at.” She looked a little sad as she finished.

“How was that?”

“It was fun.”

“Did you find anything cool?”

“Plenty of fossils and ancient antiques.” She shrugs. “I found an old vase from the Han Dynasty period.”

“Which was?” You remember learning about the time period in middle-school but you don’t remember much of the history. You mainly remember learning school shooting drills and something about the Aztecs in history class.

“Around two-hundred and twenty common era.”

“Oof, wow.” You say. Your eyes became wide in awe. “How was it preserved?” You would think it would be cracked from the thousands of years and probably not that good.

“It was in a good condition, not a single crack or chip. The paint was kind of faded but that’s to be expected from over a thousands of years of sitting on a shelf.”

“Where did you find it?”

“It was in the Han Empire area.” She states. You give her a confused look. “Eastern side of China.” Your mouth makes an O shape as she continues, “The place where I found it was underneath an abandoned rich person's home, kind of in a basement like room. The room was hidden away…” She trails off and you stare at her. “Art was very privileged and a sign of wealth, especially back then.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I kept it.”

“You kept it?”

“Yep.” She pops the P and smiles at your awed and incredulous look. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her teeth were showing.

“You didn’t sell it to become rich?”

“Some things I want to keep for myself.” She shrugs. “Besides, what would I say to someone when they ask where I found it? I can’t exactly tell them that I trespassed into an abandoned area and took something. I would have gotten arrested for that and be put to death. Especially in China. Over there they take thievery much more harsher than the United Kingdom or States do.”

“What the fuck?” You breathe out which caused her to laugh. “Steven did say you work dangerous jobs. I just didn’t expect this.” She was kind of like Lara the Tomb Raider.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some protection job like a police officer or a bodyguard. That would have explained why you had a gun that night we met.”

“No,” She chuckles. “I collect items and sell them on the blackmarket or to any wealthy human willing to buy.”

“Wow.” You state and shake your head a little. You wouldn’t have thought that was Layla's choice in career, but of course you were wrong.

“So, quick question…” She starts. You raise a brow at her. Man, you hoped that she wouldn’t ask you something to kill this mood.

“Shoot.”

“Is it true you stole a table?” She asks.

“I thought it was free.” You state, your cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. She lets out a boisterous laugh. 

“At least Marc tells the truth about that.” 

“Why wouldn’t he?” You frown at her statement. What was that supposed to mean? She doesn’t answer but the smile she had slowly falls from her face. Whatever Marc lied about obviously caused her some pain.

“What time do you work tomorrow?” She asks instead of answering.  You wanted to know what had her so worked up over Marc and his lies, but you decided not to push her on the subject because if it was you, you wouldn’t want to be questioned about it either. Layla was much like Marc in that regard. She’ll tell you eventually.

“Seven to three.” You say. “Usually it’s nine to five or nine to two, but the manager is going on maternity leave soon and they need me to help fill in the schedule.”

“We’ll get you there on time.” 

“How are we going to get there?” You ask. “If we’re taking the bus I’ll have to set my alarm a little earlier.”

“I have a Vespa.” She says and waves your worry away. “Don’t worry about it.” The sound of the news cutting to break made you turn your attention back to the flat screen. A commercial for dog food was playing. You don’t know what else to chat with her about, but you had one thing on your mind other than whatever Marc could have lied about. How did Layla know Jake enough to be called over to babysit you? Was Jake slipping over to Layla's home during the days that he was gone? Was Layla invited on one of his sketchy trips of doing whatever he does? You wanted to know how well Layla knew him.

“It seems like you know Jake.” You start. 

“We had a lovely chat when he returned to London,” She says. You raise your brow, when did he leave London? Which is exactly what you ask her. “Those first few days when Marc and Steven disappeared. He visited me shortly after you called about his return.”

“How do you know he left London?”

“He mentioned it.”

“Just casually?”

“He slipped up.”

“Jake never slips up.” You state with a frown. “He has a soft spot for you.”

“Bullshit, he held a knife to my throat.”

“You too, huh?” You reply and you both look at each other. She looks pissed at hearing how he threatened you. “Jake never slips up.” You repeat quietly. “He refuses to tell me where he goes and what he does. He goes missing for days to a week, and now longer than that. He won’t tell me where he’s going or where he went. His mouth is like a bank vault, but for you? He tells you he left London.” You shake your head gently. “He did that on purpose, Layla.” She seems more concerned about the same thing he did to you as he did to her.

“He threatened you with a knife?” She asks quietly. You figured that she was going to hear all about it from Steven or Marc whenever they find out what Jake did, so you might as well tell her from the source.

“Threatened to slit my throat like Khonshu wants him to.” You tell her and she looks more upset.

“But, you’re just a kid.”

“So, I’ve been told.” You say. “Didn’t stop him from threatening me…” You trail off and bite your cheek. You weren’t going to lie, you were still upset about the threat but overtime you’ve become less wary of Jake. He was a mysterious man and you don’t trust him a hundred percent just yet, but he did keep you safe like he promised he was doing for his alters. “He, uh, kind of made up about it when he saved me from getting kidnapped.”

“What?”

“Yeah. The, uh, cult last month.” You mumble. You could feel yourself slipping away into a dreamlike state when you begin to think back on it. “I was getting dragged away by some guy and Jake cut his arm off.” The words sounded distant coming from you. You wouldn’t have guessed that the words came from you if it weren’t for the vibration in your throat and the horrified look of concern written on Layla's face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good?”

“No- that’s,” Layla starts and shakes her head a bit, her brown curls bouncing lightly against her forehead. “That's traumatic for someone to go through. Did Jake ask you about how you’re feeling?”

“No.”

“Well, how are you feeling?” She asks. You don’t say anything, mainly because you don’t know where to begin and you don’t feel comfortable trauma dumping on a stranger. Sure, you know her name but you don’t know her well enough to be able to tell her how much you were truly suffering. How each night you woke up screaming and/or in tears. She was probably going to figure it out when you accidentally wake her with your cries over the next few weeks until Marc and Steven returned, but for now you didn’t want to tell her about it. “Y’know that everything I said about how you can talk to me about anything still applies here, right now.” You nod once and swallow. 

“You want to watch a movie?” You say instead. She purses her lips and just like that, lets go of the subject, much like you did earlier.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Something free on YouTube, I guess.”

“I think Steven has a Netflix account...” Layla trails off as she flicks through the settings on the television to see if there's an app downloaded for the media site.

“I don’t know if he’s signed in or not.” You say as she finds the app and presses down onto the remote to select it.

“There’s only one way to find out.” She says and briefly glances over to you. “You want to go pop some popcorn?” 

“You’re trusting me with cooking?”

“Right. Marc said you nearly caught their kitchen on fire.”

“It was only once.”

“I think I can trust you with using the microwave?” She raises a brow at you. 

“I can handle it.”

“I’ll teach you how to cook later,” She says. You both let out a cheer as you watch the screen on the television load to select an account. There was one for Steven and one for Marc. Marcs had the generic smiley face, which didn’t suit him in your opinion while Stevens had the panda. “Unless you want take-out?”

“No,” You smile at her as you push yourself off of the couch and begin your walk to the kitchen. “I need to gain some cooking skills.”

“Great because I’ve been craving some kebabs.” She says. “And I know the perfect recipe to teach you.”

Chapter Text

Layla taught you how to properly cook chicken on wooden sticks in the oven. You knew how to cook chicken on the broil setting thanks to Google, but you didn’t know that the length of time varies for kebabs. Throughout the time you cooked with Steven, well, you mainly watched him since he was too worried that you would catch the kitchen on fire or hurt yourself, you learned vegan recipes more than anything else that had to do with meat. So, you were surprised when the temperature and the time is different for this meal. Layla was surprised that you didn’t know the cooking time varies, she thought that maybe you would have learned over your time of cooking your own food or maybe Marc taught you, but she was wrong.

You sat on one end of the couch while Layla sat on the other. You both were killing time while dinner cooks in the oven by watching a movie that you weren’t paying enough attention to. Your mind was too preoccupied with your worry for your neighbors. You knew that Jake could handle himself, he proved that multiple times but that didn’t stop you from worrying for his safe return. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but you got attached to your neighbors; and honestly, you didn’t like it. It wasn’t because you didn’t like them, you did like them enough to consider Marc and Steven friends; but it was more of your anxiety that they wouldn’t return and you would be back to being alone. 

If you were to go back to being on your own, eating dinner alone and nobody checking in on you, you don’t know if you would survive. You don’t know if you would reach your seventeenth birthday or your own high-school graduation if Marc and Steven disappear from your life forever. Before you met them, you were barely making it by. You don’t want to go back to being on your own. You doubt Layla would stick around long enough to become friends with you if the men don’t come back. You don’t think she would check in on you and make sure you’re taking care of yourself because she would be too busy grieving for the loss of her own friends.

 You would be left to your own devices and trying to survive on your own all over again. Knowing yourself, you know that you wouldn’t let yourself grieve for the men because you would destroy yourself. So instead, you would force yourself to carry on surviving rather than living because it's either that or giving up entirely; and this all can’t be for nothing. Besides, there's something lonely about grieving in a place you don’t consider home. London doesn’t feel like your home. The flat you’ve been renting for over a year now doesn’t feel like it either. You tried making it your own by hanging up picture frames and decorating it with furniture, but it doesn’t feel right. 

It’s not the home you grew up in and with. You left your physical home back in New York and your other home is six feet under ground in Wyoming where your parents are buried along with a false grave of your own. A family of strangers moved into your parents apartment and you left it. It’s not like you would have any power to kick them out because child protective services would have been called on you if you didn’t leave as soon as you did. Your home is gone and London does not feel like it is at all. You’ve been feeling like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t fit in the box it came with since you fled New York. The feeling just worsened when you met Marc and Steven. 

Besides that? Jake's departure felt different this time around. You don’t know how to pin down what’s different about it, but this time compared to all the other times he left, you were more worried about him. Maybe it’s because you know what he’s doing or maybe it's because you're worried that today's conversation was the last one you’ll ever have with him. What if that was the last time you’ll ever speak to him and all you did was call him a toad? 

Regret and bitterness churned in your stomach as you bite your cheek. What if they didn’t return?

“Hey,” Layla says softly. Her voice brings you out of your suffocating thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” You blink, your eyes stinging a bit from how long you were staring at the wall without giving yourself any relief through blinking. You looked at the television for a moment, noticing the frozen screen and the red bar on the bottom with a paused gray box before you looked at her. She was giving her full attention to you. She wore an expression of concern. Her eyebrows were a little scrunched and her eyes were soft. You felt like you couldn’t tell her how worried you were for the men. You didn’t know how to express to her that Jake's absence was different compared to the times he left before.

“Do you know why we’re staying in Marcs and Stevens apartment?” You ask instead. That was on your mind until your anxiety took over and made your thoughts feel like you were in a washing machine on the rinse and spin cycle. “I’m surprised that Jake didn’t dump you at my place and haul ass from there.”

“I think it has to do with the lack of a bed at your place.” She says. Oh, okay. Well, that made a lot more sense. “Is that what’s really on your mind?”

“Well, yeah. It’s weird that Jake would just make me a key for Marc's and Stevens' apartment and leave me here with you babysitting.”

“Watching over.” She corrects.

“Wrong.” You say. “He had no issues leaving me at my place for days to a week without sending a call or text stating that he is alive and well; but suddenly he left you in charge of me?” You shake your head a bit. “Somethings up and whatever it is, has him spooked enough to leave you and me together in Marcs and Stevens place.”

“It’s still watching over.” She says. “But you’re right.”

“I guess you’re right too.” You mumble before you add, “He wouldn’t even let me ride the bus home. He waited outside my work until my shift ended.” She hums. “A lady came into my work today and she had a scale tattoo.”

“A scale tattoo?” She turns her body to face you, the movement on the couch causes the television remote to fall to the floor which she ignores. “And you’re just mentioning this now? Right after Jake left.”

“You were too busy arguing about bringing me into this mess.” You say. “I could have mentioned it a week from now if that makes you feel any better.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a breath of air. You could tell that she was more frustrated than angry. “I told him about it on the drive over and he said that her being in the shop was the threat.”

“Did she threaten you?”

“No, she just ordered a sandwich.”

“What kind?”

“Turkey and ham.”

“That’s so stupid. She could have made it at home and it would have been cheaper.”

“I know.” You say. “A lot of our sandwiches are like that. It would just be cheaper and you would get more bang for your buck if you bought the items at the store than just ordering one meal.”

“Like, she could have ordered a rotisserie chicken or a steak sandwich and maybe I would be a bit more understanding but, a simple turkey and ham?” She shakes her head causing her curls to lightly hit her face. “That’s not worth it.”

“Kids are more likely to order that than anyone else.” You say. She smiles a bit. “She gives off basic bitch energy.”

“You’re saying she’s a kid?”
“She might as well be.” You say. “If she’s willing to stalk and harass me, that's kid like behavior isn’t it?”

“If anything, it’s creepy behavior.” She says. You nod in agreement. Silence settles between you and the only thing you heard was Gus’s fish tank. You supposed Jake also gave you a key so you would take care of Stevens and Marc's fish. You stood up to feed the two goldfish before you forgot and temporarily stopped to stretch your legs and back. Your arms raised into the air and a pleasant shudder from your torso and legs pleased you. Layla pursed her lips as she watched you and you shot her a slightly awkward smile before walking over to the fish tank and grabbing the sprinkles of fish food next to it. 

“Are you okay?” She asks as you pop open the lid of the food and sprinkle some into the water.

“Yeah?” You say with a little confusion. You closed the lid and set the container back into its place. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re okay with getting stalked by a cult and a knife held to your throat?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then are you okay?” She asks and points to your head. “Upstairs?”

“I’m fine.” You shrug. She gives you a knowing look.

“Really? Because the last time I saw you, you looked a hell of a lot healthier.” She says. “You didn’t look like you have these dark circles under your eyes and your clothes fit better.”

“If I wanted to talk about it, I would.”

“Would you?” She gives you a skeptical look. You nod as you fight against the urge to roll your eyes. You were glad that she cared enough to ask you about your mental health but, you didn’t want to talk about it and she just couldn’t seem to grasp that you weren’t up for sharing. Luckily the timer for the oven went off and you mumbled that you were getting it as you walked into the kitchen. You were too busy being steamed about Layla pressing you for the truth about your emotions and you were still wrapped up in your anxiety for your neighbors that you forgot to put on the oven-mits before you reached for the pan and grasped it with your hand. You hissed out as you let it go not a second later.

“Fuck!” You yell as you wave your hand in the air before stopping to look at the damage. 

“What?!” Layla yells as she pushes herself off of the couch and runs towards you. She had a worried look on her face as she approached you. Your eyes were on your hand as you took in the red and angry skin. You were lucky that you didn’t get any blisters from the heat of the pan. 

“What is it?” She asks and not a second later she seems to put two and two together because she brushes past you and turns on the faucet for the sink. “Come here.” She says gently and you follow her instructions. She gently grasps your wrist and brings your burnt hand underneath the running water. The coolness of it brings relief to your skin and you manage to breathe out a sigh of relief. She leaves you for a moment to take the pan out of the oven and close the door. 

“It’s not too bad.” She says as she stands next to you and you both stare at your injury. “I think Marc has some burn relief ointment somewhere…” She trails off and leaves you to go look for the medication. By the time she returned, your hand felt much better and it was more of a blushing pink color than a red. She shut off the water and patted your hand with a towel before uncapping the tube of ointment and applying it to your palm. You leaned against the counter as she took care of your burn. 

“Marc burnt his hand once when hot oil splashed onto him.” Layla said. “He had blisters as big as those small rubber balls you find in quarter slot machines.” You knew the ones she was talking about, you begged your parents for quarters to use on the machines when you were younger.

“Is that why he’s so careful when he’s frying steak now?” You ask and she smiles a little as she caps the ointment and sets it onto the counter.

“Injury is always a reminder to be careful.” She says and cups your cheek with her hand for a moment before letting go. You watch as she pulls open the drawers next to the oven in search of something. 

“What are you looking for?” 

“Tongs.” She says without looking at you. You pull open the drawer next to you and hand her the kitchen utensil. She tells you her thanks before she dished out the kebabs the two of you cooked. It was chicken, pineapple and tomatoes on wooden skewers. She handed you your plate and you walked back to the couch to sit on the same end you were previously inhabiting. She sat back down on her end and picked up the remote off of the floor before pressing play and resuming the movie you both agreed on. It was a film that you haven’t seen before and from the little you managed to watch of it, it was boring enough that your mind was becoming preoccupied with your anxiety for Jake. 

You don’t know if it was too boring for Layla to watch or if she noticed your worried look, but either way, she turned down the volume of the television and asked, “What do you like to do for fun?” You chewed on your pineapple slowly, savoring the taste. You missed the fruit. It was hard to choose what to pick and buy at the store when fruit cups cost more than a jar of peanut butter. 

“I used to paint.” You tell her after you chewed on your pineapple. “I haven’t in a long time. But, I miss it.”

“What type did you paint with?”

“Acrylic. I wasn’t the best at it, but I enjoyed painting.” You say and Layla nods.

“I don’t paint much.” She admits. “I’m more of a ceramic type of gal.”

“What things did you make?”

“Vases, cups, anything small, really.” She says and it was your turn to acknowledge her answer by nodding. “Is there anything else you like to do?” 

“Star gazing.”

“Marc told me that you were an astronomy nerd.” She smiles.

“I like to look at the stars.” You say. “The light pollution in New York and London make it difficult, but on some nights it’s possible.” 

You pop a piece of chicken into your mouth and chew as she says, “Maybe we could go on a trip outside of London to go look at them.” You nearly choke on the meat and the sight of you coughing made her concerned. You waved her away and gave her a thumbs up as you swallowed the chicken. 

“Are you serious?” You ask. 

“Deadass.” She says. “I don’t see why not.” 

“Well, I have work.” 

“We can go on one of your days off.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“This is it.” She says after she chewed on a tomato. “Watching over you or babysitting, as you put it.”

“I knew it. Jake is paying you.”

“No,” She shakes her head. “I’m choosing to do this.”

“For free?” 

“Yep,” She pops the p. You stare at her. What was her end goal? Nobody does anything nice like this unless they want something.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you doing this for free?”

“I want answers and you and Jake are the only two who can give them to me.” She says. You scoff. You know as much as she does, you don’t know anything outside of the little you’ve been told by Jake. That's exactly what you tell her. She frowns and stares at you for a moment. 

“Listen, I would have told you much more if I knew anything.” You say. “I don’t like being left in the dark, especially about whatever the hell Jake is doing.” You gesture with your injured hand. “So, I doubt you would too.” You bite off another chunk of chicken on the skewer and chew. 

“You’re right.” She says after a few minutes pass. 

“Is there anything else you like to do?” You ask. 

“Go on adventures.” She says and smiles a little. “Travel and find valuable items to sell.”

“Tell me about one of them.” You say. “What's the most exciting one that you went on?”

“Definitely the Cairo trip.” She says. “Steven found the tomb of Alexander the Great..” She trails off and her smile falls. Your mouth drops open at that but you quickly close it as you remembered that you had food in your mouth. Alexander the Great?? Nobody could find his tomb for thousands of years and your neighbor is the one who found it?? 

“Ammit ruined it, right?” You ask after you swallow your food. She doesn’t say anything and that causes your surprised feeling to morph into one of confusion. Did something happen on that trip that is causing her to suddenly become like this? You wanted to pry but, you figured she would have told you if she was up for talking about it. You both were similar in that way. You decided to change the subject by telling her that you were taking the couch tonight.

  “No,” She says. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m used to sleeping on one anyways.” You reply with a shrug. You were looking forward to sleeping in a bed, but you’ll take the couch if she wants it.

“It’s alright. It’s already weird being in my ex-husbands apartment.” She says. You take a glance at her, she looked young every time that you looked at her, but in that glance, she looked older than you saw her before. Layla went through a lot more than what she's letting on and whatever it was, is wearing her down. She was too busy asking you how you were, when you haven’t asked her that question at all. If you did ask it, you didn’t know if she would tell you the truth or avoid answering. Would you be stepping over a line? You don’t know her that well, and yet she cares enough to ask you. Maybe you should ask her. You turned your gaze to the television, you didn’t know what was going on since you weren’t paying attention to it, but you could tell that it was reaching the end of the film. 

You focused on the screen rather than the movie to help prepare yourself to ask her that simple question. But when you opened your mouth to ask, all the courage you had gathered fled and instead you said, “You’re an old lady. You need the bed more than I do.”

“What did you call me?”

“Old.”

“Oh fuck off,” She says; and that caused the both of you to share a laugh.

---

You awoke from a nightmare you know too well of and to a person leaning over you. The sight of the human caused your breath to catch in your throat as you stared with wide eyes at the figure staring down at you. With the moonlight filtering through the slightly parted curtains you were able to make out that it was a woman, her features were hard to see with the curls of her hair hiding her face from the light. Oh god, it had to be the woman with the scale tattoos. Your heart was already pounding from your nightmare but the sight that greeted you when you woke sped up your heart rate. She broke into your apartment to judge you like she asked you if you wanted to all those weeks ago at the bus stop. Your right hand curled into a fist and you managed to breathe in a breath of air before swinging your fist directly for her face. The lady quickly stepped back and caught your hand with her own before using her other hand and turned on the bedside lamp. 

Your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness and the hand holding your fist let go. You blinked, trying to quickly get rid of the black spots in your vision and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. You looked at the lady, your heart still harshly pounding in your chest as you stared at the familiar face of Layla. Her hair was messy and her baggy t-shirt was wrinkled. Underneath her eyes were a bit swollen from sleeping and she stood a bit tensely a couple feet away from you. It took you a long moment after that to remember where you were, why she was standing next to you, and the bed that you slept in belongs to the men whose apartment you were staying in and not your couch. 

“Oh my god,” You breathe out. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Layla says, her voice cracking halfway through the sentence before she clears her throat. You remove your elbows from underneath you and allow yourself to plop onto the mattress and cover your eyes with your hands. God, you felt embarrassed that you could have punched Layla's lights out simply because you didn’t recognize her. You felt embarrassed that you woke her up by your screaming or crying. She was sleeping on the couch because she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in her ex-husbands bed, so your cries and screams had to be loud enough to wake her.

“No, it’s not. I could’ve fucking decked you.” You tell her with a groan. You heard her feet shuffle around the bed before you felt the mattress dip on your left side.
“It’s not the first time that happened and it certainly won’t be the last.” She says. You remove your hands from your eyes and once again find yourself blinking away the spots from your vision and staring at the ceiling much like you did before you fell asleep. 

“What time is it?” You ask. 

“A little after two-thirty.” Layla says. 

“I’m so sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay. I was already awake.”
“You were?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to sleep in a new place.” She says. You don’t bother to tell her that this was the opposite for you. You found it hell of a lot easier falling asleep in Marcs and Stevens flat than your own. Sure, it took awhile for you to fall asleep, but it was a much shorter time than usual. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” You shrug. You breathed in a deep breath to help calm your nerves. The scent of their laundry detergent and Stevens old books comforted you. Your heart ached in your chest due to how much you missed them. 

“Are you sure? It might help to talk about it.” She says. You roll over onto your side to face her. She was sitting up against the headboard and her eyes were trained on you. 

“I don’t want to.” You state and she hums in response. Silence settles between you save for the soft breathing coming from the both of you. She shuffled a bit until her head was resting on one of Stevens pillows and rolled onto her side to face you.

“What can I do to make it better?” Layla asks. You stare into her brown eyes. The light coming from the lamp behind you on the nightstand reflected in her orbs making them seem more lighter than usual. You wanted to feel better. You didn’t want to feel the choking sensation of the man's arm wrapped around your neck as he dragged you backwards. You didn’t want your screams and pleads to be unheard like Marc ignores them in your nightmares. You didn’t want to be thrown down onto the ground and choked out until your eyes pop out of your skull and the damn moon glows onto your corpse. You wanted to feel better and the people you knew that would comfort you were already gone. Your parents can’t come back from the dead.

Maybe it would have been better if you were in your parents' place. Where they would have been home and you would have been blipped in the middle of a crosswalk. You would be the one six feet under and your parents would be grieving for you rather than the other way around. Because at least they would have each other. You don’t have anyone to grieve with. You don’t have anyone to open up to and feel comfortable while doing it. You could tell Marc and Steven how much you’re suffering but you don’t feel comfortable doing that; and besides that? You were sure that they wouldn’t understand. You miss your parents and you don’t feel like you could tell Layla that.

“I don’t know…” You say. You trail your eyes away from hers and to the blanket covering you. Your fingers rubbed the fabric gently as you tried to forget your dream. It was embarrassing waking up another person because you couldn’t differentiate reality and something your mind has made up.

“I used to get night terrors.” Layla says. “All the time, right at the beginning of the snap. I was afraid that one day all the people I loved, my mother, my aunt, Marc…they would suddenly disappear like everyone else did.” You hum sleepily and look at Layla. Her features looked soft in the dim light. She was looking at you with a tired but gentle expression.

“How did you get over that?” You asked.

“I didn’t.” She says. “The terrors stopped when I got used to everyone being gone but the fear is still there.”

“So, what do you do now with the fear?”

“I grow with it instead of letting it manifest in other ways.” She says. “You can’t let your worry and regret hold you back otherwise you’re never going to grow and move on.” She places her hand onto your own causing your fingers to stop their movement. “I found peace in myself and I hope that you find it in yourself too.” You smile at her before a yawn escapes you. You didn’t know what to say to her after that. Sleep was tugging at your eyes and you figured that you would wake up again in a couple of hours from another nightmare. 

Layla must have seen how much you were fighting your eyelids from closing and being dragged back under because she says, “You’re safe. I got you, I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.” Her finger gently traces shapes onto your arm as you close your eyes. The smell of Stevens and Marc's sheets comforted you as you inhaled slow and long breaths to help clear your mind. It took awhile but eventually you were lulled to sleep by the movement of Layla's tracing and the soft breaths of her own. That night no night terrors followed you into your dreamscape, but every night after that one was similar. Layla stopped trying to sleep on the couch by the fifth time and instead slept on top of the blankets next to you; and just like every night, Layla would turn on the light after you woke her and you both would fall asleep with it on.

Chapter Text

Two weeks have passed since you last heard from Jake. It was near the end of August, so there were plenty of tourists trying to cram in their sightseeing at the end of the summer. There were too many customers and not enough employees to be able to keep up on everything. You ran out of premade rotisserie style chicken and sliced cucumbers during your shift so Lauren had to go prep more and leave you on the line to serve the lunch rush by yourself. It wouldn’t have been as terrible as it was if you got tipped well, and several customers didn’t change their order while you were in the middle of making their sandwich. 

What makes it even worse was that a Karen complained to you about the rising prices as if you had any control over it and that you were making her sandwich wrong. She told you that the pepperoni goes on first before the salami and not the other way around. You didn’t see the point in that because the same meat goes onto the same sandwich. She held up the line because it had to be in that specific order and refused to move on until you put the pepperoni onto the bread and then the salami on top of that. Then she was very specific with her cheese and the amount of shredded cheddar she wanted. You wanted to tell her that this was a fast-food restaurant and not a fancy Hell's Kitchen or some shit place that she could boss around the employees living on more than minimum wage. 

You were just a tired teenager who was one more Karen away from a mental breakdown and probably throwing a roast beef sandwich at them. By the end of her ordering, she paid the equivalent of nearly eleven American dollars and didn’t tip you. You hoped that that was the last time you’ll ever have to deal with her. In the last hour and a half of your shift, you had to hide in the walk-in fridge to call Layla to pick you up. Usually, you would send her a text saying that you were nearly done with work and to pick you up at a specific time before heading back to work until you reached the end of your shift. But, you needed to be saved way sooner than that. You were too frustrated to work the full six hours today and the thought of spending another hour and a half at your workplace was awful. You lean your forehead against the metal shelf and shiver a bit as the fridge begins its regular cooldown process and bring your phone to your ear after dialing her.

She picked up on the second ring, “Hello?” 

“Layla.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can you come pick me up?” Your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence and you take a shaky breath to help steady yourself.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m leaving now.” She says. You could hear the sounds of her feet hitting the wooden floor and the jingling of her keys. You close your eyes and imagine her walking to your neighbors door and opening it and shutting it behind her before she locks it shut with the spare key Jake gave her. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?” The air blowing onto the back of your neck helped relax you as you listened to Layla walk softly. She probably just called the button for the elevator and is impatiently watching the numbers ascend.

“Everything is fine.” You tell her. “It’s just been a tough day.”

“And you don’t feel like you could stick it out for your full shift?” She asks. You shake your head despite her not being able to see you. 

“No,” You breathe out. “It’s my Friday and I am ready to begin my weekend.”

“How are you doing on bills and payments?” She asks. You imagine her chewing on the tips of her fingers as the elevator dinged in the background of the call. 

“I got it.” You tell her. “I have plenty saved up for the last couple of months.” It was mainly thanks to your poor self-care habits and Steven and Marc that caused you to have enough saved up that you could splurge on yourself; But, you haven’t yet. You choose not to because you needed to repay Steven and Marc in thanks for what they have done for you so far and because you were worried that you may need to use the money for rainy days or emergencies. If they don’t return, then all you have to rely on is yourself. You ask, “You’re on your way?” 

“In the elevator now.” She replies. “You want to have a movie night tonight?”

“Sure. We’re continuing the Harry Potter series, right?”

“We’re on the third one, I think.”

“Prisoner of Azakban.” You smile and add, “I’ve been craving general Tso chicken and Lauren told me that there is a good Chinese restaurant south of London. We don’t have to get it, if you don’t want to-”

“No, we’re getting it.” Layla cuts you off. “I could go for some mandarin chicken and rice.” The fridge door opens and you stand up straight, your eyes resting on Laurens curious face. She holds the door open as you both make eye contact. She looks tired with the bags underneath her eyes and the lack of makeup she didn’t put on today. She told you earlier that it was a long night with getting Molly to rest because the recently turned six year old was so excited for school to start and going into the second year of primary school. School begins on Monday, but still she was hyped to meet new friends and learn new things. Lauren told you that her plan for the weekend was to go to the store to get school supplies for Molly and maybe some new clothes for both of the kids.

“I have to go,” You tell Layla. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Not too long.” She confirms. You could hear the Vespa bike start in the background of the call.

“Okay, bye.” You reply and she repeats the goodbye back to you before you hang up and hold your phone in your hand as you awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot.

“Who were you sneaking off to to call?” Lauren asks with a wiggle of her brows. She reaches past you for the container of shredded cheddar cheese and the fresh mozzarella slices. “Are you calling your lover in the fridge?” She fakes an exaggerated gasp as she takes a step back to allow you out of the fridge. “Your secret girlfriend or boyfriend or partner?” You slide past her and walk to your locker and place your phone next to your lanyard with your keys attached and the Eye of Horus paper.

“My aunt actually.” You answer as you shut your locker door and adjust the tightness of the strings of your apron wrapped around your waist. “She can’t pick me up later but she can pick me up sooner. Is it okay if I leave early?” You felt a little bad lying to Lauren about leaving early, but not bad enough to tell her that you just weren’t into the game of serving the public today after the lunch rush. 

“When?” She asks and you glance up to the round clock above the exit to the lobby. It was nearing two thirty and you were scheduled until four.

“At three.” You say and she nibbles on her lips as she glances up to the analog clock. “She has a doctor appointment at four for her annual breast cancer exam.” You add onto the lie and the guilt in your stomach grows bigger. You hoped that it would emotionally trip her into saying yes. “The doctor office called her not that long ago and moved her appointment since this one opened up today and I would have carried more money for the bus if I knew that there was a big possibility that I would be taking it. But, I don't have enough for the fare back to my place and I don’t have another way to get back to my apartment.” The latter half was true which made you feel a little less bad but not by much.

“Okay,” Lauren says. “Only if you agree to covering my shift on any day that I need covered.”

“Like a one time thing?”

“Yes, but there's no excuse for you to get out of it unless it’s absolutely important.” She says. “Like, you broke your leg or something.”

“Any day, huh?”

“Any day.” She confirms and arches her brow at you in question. You had no choice but to agree since Layla was on her way and you didn’t want her waiting outside the shop for an hour. 

“Deal.” You say and she sticks out her hand. You grasp her forearm instead and she copies you with a look of confusion before you shake once. “You sound like you already have a particular day in mind.” 

“I do,” She smiles and gestures for you to follow her, in which you do. She leads you to the line and places the two containers of cheeses onto the counter. You wash your hands and dry them with the paper towels before pulling on a pair of latex gloves to help stock the line before you leave. “Kris and I want to go on a weekend trip up to Manchester, just the two of us to make up for the date-night and to spend time together without the kids..”

“I’m sorry.” You say, you still felt bad about being the reason they canceled their date night. She waves you away as she puts on her own gloves before exchanging the empty banes of cheese for the new ones. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lauren says. “Kris and I get to have a full weekend to ourselves and not just one night. So, thank you for that.”

“What day do I need to be expected to accept the call to take your shift?”

“Friday, the fifth of September.” Lauren replies. You focus on looking at the food that seems low enough to be stocked as you take in the up and coming day. The fifth of September was your birthday and you didn’t have anything planned for it besides working. So, it wasn’t an issue accepting it, you haven’t celebrated it since you were fifteen anyways. But, still it was your second year around the sun without your parents to blow out the candles with.

“Okay,” You say as you open the mini fridge behind you and grab the banana peppers to fill the round bane with. “It’s not a problem.” You weren’t going to celebrate the day of your birth at all. You were just going to treat it as if it was any other normal day, so you wouldn’t break down at work. You grab a handful of the peppers and drop them into the cup until it is full to the brim before putting the vegetables back into the fridge behind you. 

“You said your aunt, right?” Lauren asks as you grab the olives from the mini fridge to fill up the metal container. “I thought you said your uncle was divorced.” You spare a glance outside of the shop window. Bystanders walked on the sidewalks and the roads were busy as ever for a Friday afternoon in the summer.

“He is.” You say as you grab a handful and dump it into the smaller bane. “I still talk to my aunt.” The lie rolled off your tongue easily and, as always, the pit of guilt in your stomach tightened. “They don’t live together.” You add and Lauren nods.

“How’s your uncle?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “We haven’t been speaking much.” Your neighbors weren’t your uncles but you had to pretend they were for the sake of keeping up the lie you told her sometime last month. You had to be careful of keeping your lies filed in your head so you wouldn’t get them tangled and slip up. You don’t think you could talk your way out if Lauren ever found out about the lies you’ve been telling her, especially if she ever found out your real age of sixteen. It was true that you haven’t been talking to the men, you don’t even know where they are and if they’re safe. You hope that they are and that Jake is taking good care of the body…and himself.

“You get into an argument or something?” Lauren asks as you put the olives back into the fridge and look at the other vegetables to fill.

“Something like that.” You say. You and Jake did kind of get into an argument before he left. You did call him a toad even though you only meant half of the insult, you really don’t think that he looks like an amphibian; and you did kind of argue about leaving you in the dark even though he says he’s doing it to protect you. You didn’t want to think about your acquaintance that had semi-good intentions after threatening you with a knife and slitting your throat like the God he serves wants him to might be the last time you’ll see him. Now, that you’re looking back on it, the insult of calling him a toad is nothing compared to the trauma he put you through. 

Fuck you, Jake Lockley. You close the lid on the vegetable side to keep them cool and fresh from any possible bugs before you glance into the meat and cheese side of the cooler that Lauren was working stocking. It was full enough that you didn’t need to help her collect any meat or cheeses, so you lean against the bread cabinet as you watch her close the lid of the cooler.

“Did I ask you how Molly's birthday went?” You ask as you peel off your gloves and toss them into the bin next to you before collecting the dirty banes and walking into the employees only area to wash them. Lauren follows you. 

“You didn’t.” She says. You wince a bit and stop in your tracks to spare a glance at her before turning on the faucet to fill up the sink. “But, it went well. We watched the new Paw Patrol movie that just came out in theaters and then we went home and she unwrapped her gifts and  we ate cake.”

“I’m sorry,” You say. “I meant to ask you sooner but I got too wrapped up in other stuff and her birthday completely left my mind-”

“You’re fine.” Lauren laughs a little as she cuts you off. “You have a lot going on in your life. I noticed it and I’m sure anyone else in your life has noticed it.” She places a gentle hand onto your shoulder. “You’re okay, I’m not angry that you didn’t ask. My family and I don’t play a big role in your life anyways.” You swallow as she squeezes your shoulder once before she removes her hand entirely. 

They do kind of play a role though, one that you were jealous of and that you can’t admit to anyone. Lauren had something that you wanted: a family. She had her wife and her children, she didn’t get blipped and lose five years of her life with the people around her. Lauren had something to go home to at the end of the day and you had nothing but an old couch and a stolen table. You were jealous of Lauren because of that; and you didn’t want to admit it.

You don’t tell her how she plays a role in your life but rather you ask, “Did you get Molly the phone she wanted for her birthday?” Lauren lets out a small groan as she leans against the metal table as you turn your attention to the soapy water. 

“No, Kris and I bought her one of those make-up phones with lip gloss though, and Molly threw a fit about it. She really wanted a phone like Megan had last year and she doesn’t understand that we can’t just buy her one.” She says. “We didn’t even get her a flip-phone for emergencies like we were considering.”

“Oh man,” You chuckle a bit as you turn off the knob on the faucet before spraying the dishes with the nozzle. “Is she still upset about it now?”

“A little but she calmed down enough that it’s not on her mind as much as it was.” Lauren says. “She’s more preoccupied with the doll house we got her and the dump truck toys she wanted.”

“Well, I’m glad that she had a good birthday.” You say honestly. Lauren nods in agreement. “When is Jamie turning three?”

“In May.” She answers. “Not for a few more months.”

“Are you and Kris going to adopt any more kids?”

“No,” She says, a bitter-sweet smile resting on her face. “We thought about it, but two is enough to handle for now. Maybe we’ll foster when the kids are older.” You nod as you place the banes on the counter to dry. 

“Have you heard the news yet?” Lauren asks. You spare a glance at her with a look of confusion written on your features. 

“What news?” You ask. You haven’t been paying attention to anything as of lately because you were too worried about hearing news of the masked vigilante Moon Knight being found dead or the revealed identity of Marc Spector or Jake Lockley or Steven Grant. You should be more attentive to the news because of that so you wouldn’t find out about your neighbor's death or arrest by your coworker. But you just couldn’t watch the news without feeling like you’re drowning in your anxiety since Jake left to go destroy Harrows remaining members. How long does it take to kill a cult? More than two weeks, apparently.

“Okay so,” Lauren starts. “Y’know that kid that was murdered at Towers Bridge last month?” You hang up the nozzle and dry your hands with a paper towel as you give her your full attention.

“Yeah?”

“The kid's identity was released.” She says. Your eyes widen and your brows raise in surprise. 

“What?” You breathe out and Lauren nods.

“Yeah.”

“Who is it?”

“Elias Dean.” She answers. “The news released the information that he was a sixteen year old with a history of skipping school and going down to the tracks to do drugs.” You frown and toss the towel into the trash can. Poor kid. A sorrow filled silence settles between you and Lauren. You didn’t know what to say, your mind was running with several questions surrounding his death. Why was he murdered? Was there any specific reason that he was chosen to be killed? Did Jake kill him or was he telling the truth that he didn’t?

“Is it selfish of me to be glad that it wasn’t Daniel?” Lauren asks. You trailed your gaze away from the tiled floor and to her. The name sounded familiar. Daniel was the teenage neighbor that helped her, right? He was the kid in the missing person poster taped to the elevator in her building. You give her a sad look and shake your head.

“No,” you say. “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone I know either.” 

“I wonder if he’s safe and if he’s still…alive.” The last word comes out of her mouth in a whisper. You don’t know if he’s alive, you don’t have the answers for that. But, with the shit you know about a cult and the death of a teenager named Elias, chances are that Daniel was dead; and, as bad as it might sound, you hope that he was dead and not suffering in the hands of the cult or anybody else who might want to do harm. You wouldn’t want to suffer that fate. You wouldn’t want anybody to go through that. 

You tried to find the words to comfort Lauren. You don’t know how close the two of them were, but from how she talked about him, she sounded like she cared for him like he was her own kid or a little brother. The bell above the entrance rings, causing you to look up at the monitor, you could clearly see a customer walking in and getting ready to place an order. 

“I don’t know how to comfort you,” You admit. It was a little embarrassing telling her that since Lauren always seems so good to you whenever it comes to your stress or sadness. “But, whatever happened to him will eventually be brought to light.” She cups your cheek with her hand and gives you a soft smile, a bit of sadness lingering behind her brown eyes. You bring your own hand up to rest on hers and gently rub your thumb across the back of her hand in comfort.

“Everything is always brought to light in due time.” She agrees before she glances up to the clock above the door. She clears her throat and removes her hand from your face before stepping away and walking backwards as she speaks, “You can clock out if you want. Tell your aunt that I’m hoping that she comes back negative in her results.” 

“You sure?” You ask and she nods. Her baby hairs brushed against her cheeks with the movement.

“Have a good weekend.” She replies before disappearing around the corner and you could hear her greet the customer in a friendly voice and apologize for the delay. You punch your card out as Lauren said you could before you walk to your locker and take off your apron, draping it over your arm as you stuff your cap into the storage space. You snag your phone, keys, and the Eye of Horus paper before placing each item into your pants pocket and shutting the door. You said your goodbyes to Lauren as you walked through the lobby and shot her one reassuring and yet grateful smile before you pushed open the door and let it shut on its own behind you.

The sun beamed brightly down onto you, it was a surprisingly clear sky for London. Usually it was cloudy, no wonder there are more people out and about enjoying the sunshine towards the end of the summer. You could see Layla sitting on her Vespa at the end of the street, it was always hard for her to find any parking along this road. One day, not too long ago, Layla had to stop traffic so you would be able to get onto the scooter because there wasn’t any parking space for her to be able to safely pull over and let you on. The two of you had a lot of angry and upset drivers behind you because of that. 

“You’re early.” You say as soon as you are within earshot of her. She turns her head away from her phone and to you. 

“I could say the same.” She says. You clocked out at two-fifty, a whole ten minutes early. Her helmet was still on her head and strapped snugly underneath her chin. She puts her phone into her jeans pocket before handing you the helmet resting on the seat next to her. It was a red one with black trimming and some scratch marks on it that was chipping the red paint. When you first saw it, Layla tried to tell you that it was from wear rather than any possible accidents she got in and you were skeptical about it. You straddle the seat behind her before placing the helmet on and strapping it underneath your chin.

“I thought you would be still driving.” You say as you place a single finger between the strap and your chin so it wouldn’t be completely strapping your mouth shut and it would be more comfortable for the ride to the Chinese restaurant and to Marcs and Stevens apartment.

“I got here quickly because I thought you needed help.” She shrugs. You stare at the back of her helmet for a moment at her answer. You remember hearing her worried tone in the phone call and the scramble of getting her keys before leaving the flat. You just thought that she would take her time on the drive after she hung up, but no, she sped to your workplace and sat outside of it until you clocked out.

“How long have you been sitting out here?” You ask.

“Not that long, maybe ten minutes.” She answers and your mouth parts open in a bit of surprise. The ride to your work from your apartment building was about thirty-five minutes and Layla made it in twenty-five. You stuff your apron underneath your thigh so it wouldn’t fly away while you ride and you wrap your arms around her waist as she starts the scooter.

“You really thought that it was an emergency?” You ask over the sound of the Vespa and traffic around you. 

“No,” She says in a sarcastic tone. “I thought it would just be fun to beat the time of a half hour drive and risk getting pulled over and arrested without an excuse.”

“Well, you do have an excuse now.” 

“Which is?”

“Your doctor's appointment for your annual breast cancer exam.” 

“Is that what you told your boss?” You could hear the smile in her voice.

“Assistant manager, actually.” You say. “But, yeah, she's basically my boss until the manager returns from whatever she took time off for this time. Besides, I couldn’t think of any other excuse besides that one. Luckily, Lauren understands that cancer is important to look out for and that I didn’t have enough money on me for the bus fees.”

“You could have told her that you had some family emergency.” She says. You could feel her torso tighten the moment she registered what just came out of her mouth.

“Yeah…I could have…” You trail off. For a few minutes all you heard was the sound of the wind and the traffic as Layla weaved between cars. 

When she reached a stop sign and the loud sound of the wind stopped temporarily, you heard her ask, “You want to share the spring rolls I ordered?” You knew that this was the way of her apologizing because she felt bad. Marc and her were similar in that way. Him: by offering to teach you how to cook and Layla: sharing food she ordered for herself. You wanted the tension between you gone, it wasn’t her fault that you were still touchy about the subject of your parents. You rest your head on her back as she placed one of her hands on your own and squeezed before placing it back onto the steering bars.

“Sure,” you say. Slowly, you felt the tension leave her body after your acceptance, and the drive became a little bit less long.

---

You carried the paper take-out bag in one hand and your helmet and apron in the other as Layla unlocked the door to Marcs and Stevens apartment. She held the door open as you walked past her and placed all three items onto the cluttered table. The blue folder that held all the information Marc researched about your life rested next to the project Steven was working on months ago. Stevens' project was a book of knowledge about all the Egyptian Gods and Goddesses. It was incomplete, you could tell because it left off halfway through the information on the God Anubis and there were notes next to the book that seemed like he was going to copy onto the page and because there were only four Gods completed while there was a list taped onto the surface of the table of over thirteen Gods and Goddesses. You briefly flickered through the book, the sharp sketches of each deity and their name written neatly next to them. Khonshu, Anubis, Taweret, and Horus.

There you stopped on the god that brought you the most comfort as of late. Horus, the God of the sky. The falcon headed god was traced neatly onto the page, you could see the pencil imprints on the pages from where Steven copied it onto the paper. The same eye symbol you carry around in your pocket was traced onto the page on the left side of the paper while information about the god was written carefully in ink. You were about to begin to read the paper when Layla interrupted you.

“Go change into something that you could get dirty.” She says as she holds up a white canvas and smiles at you. “I don’t want you getting your work clothes stained with paint.”

“What are these for?” You ask, gesturing to the canvases and paint.

“You don’t know what this is?” She gives you a look. “Did you get hit over the head at work today?”

“No, I do know what these are,” You say. “I’m just wondering what you’re going to do with it.

“Paint.” She says. “I haven’t decided what yet but I brought some extra in case you wanted to.” You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to word together how you feel. You were touched that Layla remembered that you liked to paint and she bought some canvases and paint for you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” You smile. “It’s been awhile since I last got to paint.”

“I’m more into making clay sculptures but I don’t think Steven would appreciate the clay sticking to the surfaces.” She says as she sits on the edge of the cluttered table.

“I don’t think he would notice.” You say as you gesture to the messy room around you. It was clearly an organized mess with Egyptology books stacked on one side of the room and other books about aliens and some history of Asgard in another pile. It wasn’t a dirty apartment, the dishes were always washed and any trash was taken care of. The only issue was finding a non cluttered surface that wasn’t the couch or bed to do anything at. 

“Go change.” She repeats and you raise your hands into the air as you back away from the table and towards the door. “We’re on the third movie right?”

“Yeah.” You nod as you carry your apron with you. You spin on your heel and quickly leave the apartment to head to your own. After shoving the key into the lock multiple times and jiggling the handle until you were able to get your door open, you walked into your own flat and emptied your pockets of the paper, phone and key onto the counter that your jacket and the stick stain remover rested on. You still haven’t got your door handle and kitchen light fixed and you still haven’t used the remover that the vending machine spitted out at you the day that Khonshu decided to be a bitch and scare you. You haven’t bothered to call maintenance because it would take a much longer time getting ahold of them than the length of time it has been broken, which was about over a month and a half. You peeled off your pants and shirt as you walked to the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes that you could get paint splatter over and you wouldn’t fuss about it. 

The sunlight filtered through your window and the blankets you used as makeshift curtains were twisted and pulled off to the side so the natural light could enter the apartment better. You haven’t straightened out the blankets since the night Jake left, mainly because you lived on the fifth floor so the chances of break-ins were low enough that you felt like you didn’t have to hide the little you had in your flat. The other reason was because you haven’t slept in this place for the last two weeks so the brightness of the rising sun or the moon beaming into your apartment wasn’t an issue. 

Once you changed into a navy blue shirt with a hole in the shoulder and a pair of gray and red knee length shorts, you snagged your keys and phone off of the counter. You slipped your shoes back on despite the short length to Stevens and Marc's flat, you didn’t want your bare feet touching whatever germs may be out in the hall the fifth floor shares. You stand still with the exit behind you as you look around your apartment. Your laptop rested on the table with the pictures of your parents underneath the computer. The couch was on the other side of the table you unintentionally stole with your nearly flat pillow and blanket sitting on the sofa cushions. 

It was a near empty apartment with the bare essentials after living over a year in London. You would think that you would have enough money saved to buy a bed or thrift a mattress, but you have yet to do that. You opened and closed the door behind you and successfully locked it after several tries before heading down the hall to your neighbors apartment. You turned the door handle and let yourself in.

“How was your day?” You asked as soon as you kicked off your shoes and rested them by the door before walking over to Layla. She sat on the ground next to the coffee table with an open box of mandarin chicken and a fork while she opened a tube of pink to squeeze onto a paper plate. You sat on the other side of the table and crisscrossed your legs before opening the box of general Tso chicken and the plastic forks that they gave Layla when she picked it up. 

“Eh,” She shrugs and pauses in squeezing the tube of pink to press play on the remote to begin the movie. You popped a piece of chicken into your mouth and chewed with bliss. Oh man, you missed the food. It was one of your favorites back in New York. She adds, “I spent the morning shopping and collecting things for us to do over the weekend.” 

“Oh?” You say and spare a glance away from the television playing the beginning of the movie you saw so many times when you were younger and to her. You arch a brow at her despite her focused gaze on the canvas in front of her. You watch her stab a piece of chicken and chew on it before her eyes flicker to you. You ask, “What did you get?”

“Paint supplies and groceries so I wouldn’t have to fight the Saturday crowd at the store.” She pauses as she dips the paint brush into the pink before carefully applying it to the canvas. “I bought some notebooks for you and pens for school.” She says without looking at you. You stare at her. You don't know what to say. You were thankful for her trying to help you and your education, but you didn’t want to feel pitied. You knew Layla for a while, you only really began talking since Jake left her in charge of you. She was more of a friend than acquaintance at this point but you were still a bit unsure because you knew little of her. 

“You don’t have to use it for school either. You could use it to journal your thoughts and feelings so you don’t bottle them up.” She adds and you still don’t know how to respond. This felt like Steven and Marc buying your groceries all over again or Lauren's excuse of making too many Christmas cookies last year. People cared for you and you wanted that, you wanted to know that somebody cared. But you didn’t want to get close enough to them in case there's another blip or Marc and Steven go back on their deal and turn you in for fraud; and where does Layla fit in this? Although you knew little of her, you knew that if this relationship continued that you would become attached.

You would look forward to Layla picking you up from work and eating dinner with her and watching a movie. You would look forward to painting by her side as you talk about your day. You would become used to her sleeping by your side and her comforting you from your nightmares. So, what’s going to happen if Jake doesn’t return? You would go back to sleepless nights of staring at your flat's ceiling and eating peanut butter toast for breakfast and dinner. You would go back to sitting in an empty flat without anybody to ask how your day went. You don’t want to get attached to her and to suddenly not have someone to talk to at the end of the day and return to how you lived the year before you met Marc and Steven.

You don’t want to do it, but you could feel yourself becoming attached to her and your neighbors and you were terrified. This was a different type of terrified compared to a Egyptian God fucking up your kitchen lights to be extra dramatic or shaking the washers and dryers like a five point zero earthquake or a guy dragging you away to take you wherever. This terrified was one that you could protect yourself from but you don’t know if you want to save yourself from the hurt that's to come. When they leave it will hurt like hell but their current presence makes your heart ache a little less. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about your nightmares. But that doesn’t mean you can’t write it down in the journals so you could get it out of your system and to stop whatever your terrors are from ruining your life.” She says. “Marc and Steven and Jake would kill me if they ever find out that I let you succumb to whatever is going on in that brain of yours.” She laughs it off but you could tell that she truly meant every word. 

You still stare at her, trying to form anything coherent to fall from your lips; but all you could focus on was the pain in your chest, the lump in your throat, and how the sun shined on her curly hair. Her eyes were focused on the canvas on the coffee table, the corners of her eyes crinkle a bit as she squinted at the art piece she was working on. The freckles that dotted her skin reminded you of the stars in the night sky. She spares a glance at you before returning her gaze to the painting and doing a double take. She says your name gently as if she was trying to coax a baby fawn out of running away. You don’t know the expression you were wearing but whatever it is, it causes her to set down her paintbrush and give you a worried look.

You should reject her gift. You should tell her no and leave it at that. You should only stick to one hour dinners and return to your apartment like you were doing with Marc and Steven in the beginning. But rejection doesn’t fall from your lips, instead a rather grateful acceptance with wobbling lips and tear brimmed eyes that you refused to let run down your cheeks. Layla gave you a pitiful look, one that you did not want. She repeats your name softly and opens her arms. 

“Come here,” She says; and you, like a child, crawl over to her and wrap your arms around her waist, and she wraps her own around your upper body. She smells of sandalwood and clean clothes. The side of your head rests against her chest as she gently rubs your back with her hand. You don’t know how long you sat there with her holding you, you just knew that you missed being hugged. You only pulled away once the tears dissipated from your eyes and you felt like the redness in your cheeks had faded away to your natural skin tone. 

You don’t look at her as you return back to your spot and stab into your chicken, chewing on the slightly warm piece slowly as you try to find the normal between you. Your eyes rest on the television, it was at the scene that all the classmates were trying out the spells on the bogart. You watch it for a few minutes before you trail your gaze over to Layla. She was continuing her painting. You place the take out box onto the coffee-table before you pick up a tube of red and squeeze the paint onto the paper plate Layla supplied to use as a palette. You dipped your paint brush into the mason jar filled with water before you dabbed it into the paint and carefully streaked a line across the surface of the canvas. You didn’t know what you were painting, you were just doing whatever your heart-desired. 

“What else did you get from the store?” You ask. Your voice sounds nasally to your own ears. 

“I bought some ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.” She says. “I was thinking that we could pass the time this weekend by baking; and I also bought a game for us to play. It’s a murder mystery one and I don’t know if you’re into true crime but I-”

“I like listening to true crime YouTube videos.” You cut her off. “I think we’ll have a fun time solving crime.” You glanced at her and she was smiling. You return your focus to the painting and let your red tipped brush glide across the surface. “I’m not the greatest detective but, uh, I think us having fun and not playing Monopoly for eight hours sounds great.” Layla laughs and the corner of your lips turns up into a smile.

“The length of time on the box said two hours, I think.” She says, you could hear the happiness in her voice. You grab a tube of green and squeeze it onto the paper plate before cleaning the red off in the mason jar and dipping the brush into the green to add to the red. The two of you sat comfortably without speaking as the movie played in the background. You only put down your brush to eat more of the chicken as you wait for the two colors to dry before you add the blue paint to the mix. Your eyes were back to the television, but you weren’t quite watching but rather thinking. 

How did Layla end up with somebody like Marc? Layla is beautiful. She’s the type of person that you would expect to be a model for her career if you didn’t know that she stole trinkets and sold them to the black-market. Marc is handsome, but his emotionally distant personality surprises you the most for the relationship that Layla and he had. He had to show enough emotion for Layla to see and know that Marc was in love with her. They got married. You wouldn’t marry someone who you struggled reading the feelings of because you would need constant reassurance throughout your marriage that they did love you.

“How did you end up with Marc?” You ask. “I mean, no offense but he looks like he has a stick up his ass most of the time and speaking about how he feels isn’t his forte.” She chokes out a short laugh and you smile in victory as you watch her calm down enough to speak. The expression on her face was one that you would best describe as bitter-sweet.

“He…we met in a café.“ She says. “He ran into me while I was waiting to order and he told me how cute I looked and asked for my number.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No, I told him that I wasn’t going to give a stranger my number.”

“So, what happened?”

“He bought me my coffee and asked if we could talk in the cafe.” She says. “We talked and I gave him my number by the time that I ran out of coffee.” She drops her brush and hands over a small paper box. “The spring rolls.” You take the box and open it, taking one of the two that was sitting in it along with some of the sweet and sour dip in it. You hand her back the box and she sets it on the table. You dip it into the sauce and take a bite. It was good, you really liked it. You didn’t ask her anything until the roll was gone and you picked your brush back up. You cleaned it off in the pink water of the mason jar before dabbing it in the blue you squeezed out onto the paper plate.

If the beginning of the relationship started out decent, what happened? You know that Marc divorced her to protect her from Khonshu but from how Layla seems to handle her job, she seems to be able to protect herself from any other harm outside of the deity power. Did Layla find someone else during the time that Marc was blipped? Did he want her to be happy with her new found partner during the time that he was gone? Or was it something else? Marc was obviously older than Layla, so was it an age gap thing? You’ve seen celebrities get married at twenty and the other partner is like thirty-five; and it just didn’t work out because the younger partner felt like they were too young or couldn’t do anything that other twenty year-olds were doing.

You debate on asking her this for a while. You know that it’s rude to pester about something that’s obviously difficult for Layla to talk about, but you were sure that you wouldn’t get the answers from Marc if he ever comes back. The question is eventually blurted out of your mouth, “When did you and Marc get married?”

She hums in thought, “About a year into the blip.” She says. “I was about twenty-five and Marc was thirty-two.” You stare at her in disbelief. A year into the blip? That doesn’t sound right. Marc told you he was blipped. He lives in this apartment complex where all the residents are the victims of the blip and they lost their homes during the time that they were gone. She must be remembering it wrong, old age does that to you. 

“Marc told me he was blipped.” You say. “I think you’re remembering it wrong, old lady.”

“He wasn’t.” She replies. Pausing in her painting and giving her full attention to you. She tilts her head to the side. “When did he say that?”

“The night after they saved me from being mugged. They bought me my groceries that night. We made a deal that night that all I had to do was stop by and they wouldn’t report me for fraud.” You could feel the lump of panic knotting in your throat and the absolute simmering of anger beginning to boil in the pit of your stomach. 

“Well, Marc hides a lot of things.” She says. “I’m not surprised.”

The one thing you had in common with Marc turned out to be a lie. The one thing that you felt like you could connect to him on was fake. You lost five years of your life with friends and classmates and your family; and you thought he did too. But it was fake this whole fucking time. Did he tell you that because he pitied you? Because you lost your entire life due to the blip and he just wanted to make you feel less alone? Or was he hiding something bigger than that? What the hell else was Marc lying about? 

You grasped your paint brush tightly in your hand. You wanted answers and waiting for Marc to tell you himself wasn’t going to happen. If he can pull up your history of the life you left behind, you can do the same to him. It’s time to have your own blue folder for Marc Spector. You pressed your brush a little harder into the canvas, leaving a thick line of blue in its wake.

Chapter Text

“Do you think it was Dr. Hamhall, who killed Jessica Reeves?” Layla asks. She stood with her hands placed down onto the surface of the table as she stared at the evidence laid out before the two of you. You lean on your hand with your elbow propped up on the table as you toyed with the corner of the page file for the boyfriend of the victim. His name was Johnathan Drew, he was seventeen years old and a football athlete. The game was what Americans call soccer in the states. You were a little confused when Layla read off the description of him and showed you a picture of the teen kicking a ball rather than throwing it. 

“No,” you say. “It says on his file that he was in his councilors office during the time of her death. The office is in the main building, looking at this map.” You pause and search through the piles of paper  before you finally find the school building map buried underneath several other documents and some of Stevens belongings. You and Layla cleared off the table the best that you could but some of it was still cluttered with the man's stuff. One of the items on the surface that intrigued you the most was to the right of you, resting on the edge of the table. The book that Steven was working on before Jake took over. It contained the four gods Khonshu, Taweret, Horus, and Anubis. Only some of it was complete.

“Here.” You say, dragging your attention from the corners of your eyes and to the task at hand. You found the paper of the school map and handed it to her. “The main building is on the left side and the gym is over in the upper right hand corner. Jessica's file says that she died in the gym parking lot, remember?”

“I remember.” Layla states as she sets down the paper on top of the table. “He could be lying.”

“If there wasn’t the evidence that Evie was visiting him during the time of Jessica's death.” You say. Evie was Jessica's classmate. She was a year below her and apparently Evie looked up to Jessica like she was her older sister.

“They could be working together.”

“They could.” You say as you lean your head back onto your hand and watch as Layla purses her lips at the sight of you. You were up almost all night and this time it wasn’t completely the nightmares fault but rather your overthinking of what Marc is hiding. His secrecy didn’t bother you before. You were fine with him keeping secrets since you figured he would tell you on his own in due time. But if he’s willing to lie to you about being blipped, something you and billions of others have gone through and that you still struggle with in the present, than whatever it is that he is hiding from you must be bad enough to not admit to it outright; and frankly, you were a little too upset to let that slide without doing some investigating. He searched up on your past, why can’t you return the favor to him?

“Are you having fun?” Layla asks. You raise an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”
“Are you positive?”

“Yes, Layla.” You answer and she squints her eyes in suspicion at you. 

“I think you’re lying.” 

“Well, I’m not.” You reply. You both hold eye contact for a moment before she pulls out a tucked in chair and turns it around so she's straddling it and leaning over the backrest. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks. “You’ve been down since dinner last night.”

“I have not been down.”

“Yes you have.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She says, her tone final. “You have.” she pauses and gives you a hard look for a couple of seconds before saying, “You slept better last night. You didn’t wake up at two.” You felt a ping of guilt since Layla has gotten used to your nightmares waking you up and your screams waking her up in the early morning hours.

“That’s because I was awake at two.” You say. “I couldn’t sleep.” She tilts her head to the side a bit.

“Is this about Marc's lie? Is that what’s bothering you?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.” Layla says. “You can talk to me, remember that?”

“Okay, yeah.” You admit and raise your hands into the air in surrender. “It is.”

“Marc lies a lot.” Layla says. She pushes around some of the papers on the table. You could see the upside down face of Evie from where you sat. 

“Did he lie a lot in your marriage?” You ask. You don’t know how personal that question may be but either way, Layla stares down at the face of the classmate of the victim in silence. You could hear Gus fish tank and the noise of the daily commuters on the street below.

“No.” She says. “He was pretty open about being a god's avatar once we got married. He just didn’t unpack the baggage he had from being Khonshus fist of vengeance. He would come home each night and just…the job chipped away at him. Marc isn’t talkative about how he’s feeling.” You scoff and nod a bit in agreement. You figured that as Khonshus avatar that Marc killed plenty of people or beat them up until the brink of death. It would take a toll on anyone sane. You find that it's hard to speak or think about your own trauma, you couldn’t imagine having to keep reliving it every night as a god's avatar.

“You said that Jake was just like Marc.” You say. “And you also said that Marc hides a lot of things. Care to share?” 

“I am not sharing any of that with a teenager.”

“Eighteen on paper.”

“Since when?”

“May of last year. But my birthday is the same as my real one, just a different birth year.”

“Shouldn’t you be…” She ticks off her fingers. “Twenty then?”

“I don’t bother to keep track,” You admit. “I don’t really care. I just say I’m eighteen because I have to be an adult.”

“Okay, well. You ‘turned’ eighteen…?”

“September.”

“Okay. You turned eighteen in September of last year?”

“No. It would have been the year before that because I just came back from the blip and I had to change the age to eighteen before I moved to the United Kingdom.”

“Right.” Layla says. “So, that’s two years ago?”

“Yes.”

“So you should be turning twenty rather than nineteen on paper.”
“Yeah.” You answer and you both stare at each other. 

Layla blinks a couple of times before asking, “Why do you say you’re eighteen then?”

“Because it’s a little easier to keep track of.”

“You’re not afraid that someone will notice your age mess ups?”

“I’m more afraid of someone taking a look at my passport and realizing how fake it is than someone counting on their fingers how long I’ve been eighteen.”

“Which is fairly easy.”

“If they were paying attention.” You say. “The only people who seem to care are you, Steven, and Marc.”

“What about your coworkers?”

“I only really talk to Lauren and she has her head on backwards most of the time since she's busy with her kids and picking up the manager's position.”  You shrug. “Lauren is a good person, she’s really smart and kind, but I don’t think she’ll put two and two together any time soon and if she does, I can just make up some lie about wanting to stay in my prime or some shit.”

“In your prime?” Layla laughs. “You’re saying that twenty is old?”

“It’s like four years from now. That's a long time.”

“I remember being twenty.” 

“Really? I thought that was like a billion years ago for you.”

“Shut up.” Layla says, causing you to laugh. She smiles at the sight of you.

“What was twenty like for you?” You ask once your laughter settles down enough for you to speak.

“I was visiting archaeological dig sites with my father and I was elated to uncover old relics and bones and discover lost things. I was just getting into my job of selling the things I found to people who wanted to buy.” She had a bit of a sad look in her eyes as she spoke. You shift in your seat and cross your arms over your chest. You could tell that it was a bit of a touchy subject for Layla to talk about. 

You understood that so you asked as a distraction, “Are you and Marc dating?”

“What? No.” She wrinkles her nose at the question as if it had a bad odor attached to it.

“I was just wondering why you both would meet up at a restaurant and not call it a date.” You shrug. Honestly, you were just nosy about it, the question has been on your mind since Marc told you that he was meeting up with Layla about a month and a half ago. 

“We never met up.”

“I know, Jake fucked that up.”

“Marc was supposed to clarify a few things for me.” Layla admits. 

“Yeah.” You breathe out a forced laugh. “Like he’ll do that.” She hums in response. “Is that why you signed the divorce papers?”

“Marc sent me unsigned divorce papers.”

“Unsigned?”

“Unsigned.” She confirms. “I never signed them.”

“Wait. What?” You look at her. “Hold on. Back up.” You sit up straighter and place your hands onto the table. “Marc sent you unsigned divorce papers and you never signed them?”

“Yeah?”

“I just-” You stand up. What the fuck was going on? “I thought you guys have been divorced. Marc calls you his ex-wife and you even said he was your ex-husband a couple of times.”

“So let me get this straight. Marc sends you unsigned divorce papers and you don’t sign them, and you call each other your ex-husband and ex-wife? But, you’re still legally married by the government?”

“You got it right.”

“I-” You breathe out a laugh. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. They really let you believe that they were divorced. “And you just never…clarified? You both were going to let me go on and believe that you both were divorced since I first met you and Marc, but you thought that it would be best to just never clarify?”

“There’s no need to.” Layla says with a shrug. “What’s happening between me and him isn’t any of your business.” You stare at her, your mouth parts a bit. She was right, you knew she was. It wasn’t any of your business, their relationship and how they fix their problems was never yours to learn about. But, being kept in the dark and being convinced that your neighbor and your babysitter were divorced until learning that they weren’t was a real shocker. Marc lied about the blip and his marriage status while Layla lied about the latter. What else were they hiding? 

“You keep stuff hidden too, just like your husband.” You say. The sentence felt bitter on your tongue as it rolled out of your mouth. You thought you had Layla figured out. She was the type of person to be honest and direct about the things that mattered. You thought that you could trust her with telling you the truth. But, apparently you were wrong. You watch her as she opens her mouth to retort but something caught her attention. She whipped her head to her left towards the open window. You moved your gaze in the direction and watched as the curtains moved a little due to the light breeze floating into the apartment. You felt the air shift around you into something tense. The anxiety in your stomach was hard to chalk up to whatever got Layla's attention or the conversation you were just having. You looked around the room, trying to find the source of what made you uneasy but you couldn’t pinpoint it. 

“What are you staring at?” You ask.

“Nothing…” Layla trails off as she turns back to face you. You glare at her.

“Don’t lie.” You scoff. “Isn’t that what you just told me not too long ago? But look where we are now.”

“I just thought I saw something.”

“Saw something?” You ask incredulously. “What did you see?”

“Yes.” She says. You wait for her to clarify what she saw but she doesn’t add anything else. You give her a hard look as she pats her jean pockets for a moment. You couldn’t see the screen from where you sat but you watch her as she gives you an apologetic smile. “Do you mind if I get this?” She doesn’t give you the chance to answer, she stands up from her chair and brings the phone up to her ear as she walks a short distance away from you. “Hello?”

You lean forward and place your chin on your hand as you watch Layla walk slowly around the apartment and speak to whoever called her. Something didn’t feel right. Well, to be honest nothing has felt right since you met Marc and Steven, but the conversation you and Layla were just having and whatever distracted her didn’t feel right. You had a hard time pinpointing why you felt such anxiety. It was probably because of the recent information you just learned about. It wasn’t that their marriage made you anxious, it was that they hid their marriage status rather than straight up tell you that they were still together by law. It raises the question in your mind that they were hiding something, and what are they hiding? 

You watch as Layla ends the call by putting her phone in her pocket before she walks towards you and she grabs her helmet from the chair next to her. You arch a brow at the sight.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” She says. You wanted to press her about where she was going but from the look on her face, you knew not to ask. Maybe she’ll be a bit more open later if she returns to answer your questions. She grabs her jacket from the back of the chair. You wanted to give her the silent treatment like a kid would do to their parents when they’re angry. God knows how many times you did that to your own parents. But, your anger became a worry that she might not come back and you didn’t want your last conversation to end like this. 

“Okay,” You say as she tucks the helmet underneath her arm after she puts on her jacket. “You’re going to come back, right?” 

“I will. “ She says and it doesn’t sound like a lie to you but rather a promise. “Don’t eat all the cookies. Save some for me.”

“Okay.” You say and you both hold eye contact for a moment before she snags her keys off of the table and leaves not a moment after. You sat in the quiet apartment and turned your body enough so that you could see Gus the Second fish tank and his buddy swimming around in the water. You stare at the goldfish enjoying their time in the tank for a few minutes until you slowly begin to realize that this was the first time that you were alone in your neighbors apartment and this was prime time to research Marc’s history without getting questioned by his ex-wife, er, wife. You watch the bubbles float to the surface for a moment before another question pops into your mind. Was Layla's phone ringing or vibrating before she answered the call?

You try to remember if her phone was vibrating in her hand before she answered the call, but you come up with nothing. The curtains moved more in the breeze flowing in through the window and the papers shuffled on the table a little, causing you to look at the window. Nothing was there, and as the breeze caressed your face, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach relaxed into one of a shallow hole until the breeze calmed down and left you in an empty apartment. You decided to take advantage of the opportunity given to you to look up Marc's past. You had plenty of time before to do it, days where you avoided the men simply because you were terrified of Jake. But, you choose not to because it felt like an invasion of privacy. Of course, Marc didn’t respect that for you so, why should you respect that for him?

You grab the notebooks and pens Layla bought for you to use for school or to journal before you left the apartment and locked the door behind you. It took a few tries to get the lock for your door to turn before you were finally in the apartment and had the door shut and bolted safely inside. You snagged your laptop off of the table before sitting on your couch and pressing the power button. The screen was black for a couple of moments which made you think that the laptop finally decided that it is time to die forever. You stared at the screen and your reflection stared back until the noise of the fan running made you sigh in relief and the screen brightened to a background of waterfalls and a jungle. 

You typed in your password which was the same one you have been using as your lunch password since you were in elementary and you watched the circle load slowly. You needed a new computer, but it's not like you had the money to afford a new one. You did have enough to consider buying more than strawberry waffles for Marc and Steven as a thank you for all that they have done for you; but with Marc lying to you about being blipped, you probably won’t spend any money on him. You clicked the Google Chrome app and waited for that to load before the search bar was available for you to use at your will. You eyed the search bar, your fingers resting on the keys of your laptop as you thought of what to search. 

Where do you even begin? You have done similar searches on crushes your best friend had at school but, you haven’t dived as far as you probably will for Marc's past. The most you’ve done was find the crushes Facebook page or Instagram to see if they had a girlfriend or boyfriend so your bestie would know if they were single or not. This wasn’t a brief search into Marc's relationship status, this was uncovering years worth of personal history just by Google searching.

 You typed in Marc Spector London England into the search bar and it came up with absolutely nothing. You typed in Steven Grant in place of the previous name and it was loaded with a page of linked articles about the museum he once worked at having a grand opening of the Egyptology exhibit. Steven stood awkwardly at the right end of the group photo of the employees he once worked with. There was a small gap between him and a woman with black hair while her arms were wrapped around the waist of who was the security guard. You only guessed this because it was listed in the description of the photo and because of the bolded white letters of the shirt he wore that stated he was security. 

There was another article of the list of residents that live in this apartment building, your name was also listed. So, the apartment is in Stevens name and not Marcs? But Marc created Steven. There wasn’t a suggestion that Marc lives in London. You leaned back a bit into the couch as you jot the information down into the notebook. 

“Well,” You say. “Where is Marc from?” You bite the end of your pen as you tried to remember if he stated where he was originally from. Unfortunately, you were unsuccessful with that. You shifted on the couch so your legs are crisscrossed on the cushions and you were sitting a little straighter than before. Marc speaks with a Chicago accent and he did say that he liked the Chicago Cubs at one point, right? You type into the search bar Marc Spector Chicago Illinois. There it is, the beginning of the information that you have been looking for. 

Through your two and a half hour long research of your neighbor, you discovered that Marc graduated high-school in 2004 and he stated that was going to college for an undetermined major. Marc didn’t strike you as the type of person to go to college. From the little you knew of him, he didn't seem interested in anything enough to make a career out of it. At least Steven could be a history teacher because of his interests in Egyptology. Another thing you learned about Marc was that he enlisted into the U.S Marine Corps, you knew about this thanks to Steven reassurances that night you went out to dinner with him. But, you didn’t know how long Marc served, which was three years. It took a little extra prying to discover that Marc was dishonorably discharged. 

There wasn’t any information found for the reason why he was fired from the position he held, but you figured it had to do with lying about something or doing something crazy. He did steal a knife and admit to stealing it when he gave you that taser what felt like forever ago. Some other information you found on your neighbor was that he had a younger brother named Randall but he died at a young age. The cause of death was not stated in the article but rather an obituary for the young child and the date that the funeral will be held.

Marc's father is named Elias Spector and from the information you gathered, you found that Elias is a Rabbi and that he is still alive unlike his wife, Wendy, who died in the spring time earlier this year. Her cause of death was not released. Elias still lives in Chicago in the home he and Wendy bought. The name of Marc's father was familiar. You click the pen a couple of times as you try to figure out why. Wasn’t the kid that was murdered on Towers Bridge named Elias?

You click the pen once more before you scribble down the question next to Elias Spector's name and circle it to ask Marc about when you confront him. All the information you found was jotted into the notebook and you had a couple of pages worth of notes. You could not find any social media that belongs to Marc there was nothing online to suggest that he was alive after he was discharged from the Marines. He was like a ghost. You couldn’t find any definitive proof that Marc was alive during the blip except for Layla's word that they got married during that time. Layla doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, but Marc does. What would Layla gain from telling you that Marc was alive during the five years half of the universe was gone? She wouldn’t gain anything. 

Which begs the question: Why would Marc be dishonest and tell you that he was blipped? What was he doing during those five years that was so terrible enough to lie about? Even more questions popped into your mind as you shut off the computer and placed it on the table behind you. How long was Marc serving Khonshu? How did Marc become Khonshus avatar? 

You were under the impression that Marc was serving Khonshu for the last year, if not a few months. But that was never confirmed. So, was Marc Khonshus Fist of Vengeance for over a year? And Steven only caught it because of…the bird god harassing him while you were in the elevator with him? Or because Marc's actions were affecting Stevens' life more directly?

You clicked your pen for the last time before pushing yourself off of the couch and pacing back and forth. None of this makes much sense. There's a large gap of time that you can’t find anything on either of the men. Steven didn’t exist in London until after the blip and he didn’t exist at all in Chicago while Marc lived there. So where was Marc and Steven during those five years? And what about Jake? Where was he during those years?

It was clear that you weren’t going to find any answers online. You pat your short pockets for the keys to your neighbors apartment. You felt a little guilty at what you were about to do, but you weren’t going to get any direct answers any time soon. You don’t know if Jake was going to come back for sure. You hope that he will. Maybe you’ll throw hands with him because he made you anxiously wait without hearing back from him to know if he was alive for the last two weeks. As always, it took several tries to lock the door correctly before you were on your way to Stevens apartment. 

The flat was just how you left it two and a half hours ago. You closed the door behind you and gazed around the apartment. You were a bit overwhelmed with where to begin. Stevens' place was an organized mess. It was going to be difficult to find anything that could prove Marc was blipped or that Layla was telling the truth. You  walked a little further into the flat before choosing the closet pile to you and flickering through the stacks of papers and moving books to check underneath them. You felt bad for doing this. You wouldn’t want anyone to do what you’re doing to you. You wouldn’t want Steven or Marc or anyone else to snoop through your belongings. 

“Okay, well maybe…” You start as you carefully place the book about Area 51 back onto the stack of other books. “Maybe…Marc would be willing to clarify more than Layla will.” You finish. You stare around the apartment. The chances of Marc explaining more were slim and you wanted answers now. You probably weren’t going to receive the truth that Marc hid from you since the beginning. He had every opportunity to come clean about his marriage and the blip and you weren’t sure he was going to tell you the truth if-when-he comes back. You just couldn’t see what he would gain from telling you that he was gone for five years. 

You marched over to the table and sat down on the same chair you were in earlier today. The papers from the murder-mystery game you and Layla were playing was still laid out onto the table. You didn’t know if you should put the game away. Would Layla want to continue playing when she gets back or are you going to be too distracted pressing for answers to play the game she bought for you to share. Your eyes wandered over to the fish tank and you watched the two goldfish swim around without a care in the world. Oh to be a fish without responsibility and care. You kind of wish that you were one of those aquatic animals right now. You wouldn’t be as anxious or as worried for everything you thought you knew about Marc and Steven or for Layla's and your neighbors safe return. 

“I wish I was you.” You tell them. “I wouldn’t have to pay rent or bills or worry about a God killing me just because he can and because he likes to be dramatic.” Your eyes trail towards the base of the stand, there was an old rug that needed to either be cleaned or thrown away, but it wasn’t the fading colors of it that caught your eye but rather the scratches along the floor. You stare at it for a moment before you push your chair back and stand up, walking towards the sight of the marks on the ground. You didn’t really notice them before when you built a fort in this very same spot. Maybe it was because you were too busy building it or the pillows and blankets covered it up. 

You looked over to the small side table next to the fish tank and the scratches that lead to the right of the enclosure to where it passed your sneakers and stopped at the edge of the tank. You looked up, your eyes landing on the small knob in the wall.

“What the fuck?” You breathe out at the sight of the hidden compartment. You knew that you shouldn't look through it. It was an invasion of privacy and whatever was tucked away into that hidden place wasn’t for your eyes to see. You should just leave it. You half carried and half dragged a dining chair over to it before standing on the furniture and opening the cupboard. Inside, you saw a black duffle bag and anything past that was hard to see. You stare at it for a moment, wondering if you should go even further and take it out. You reached up and dragged it out of the cupboard before stepping off the chair and setting it onto the furniture. You looked at the bag. It was one thing to search Marc's history online, it was another thing to snoop through his belongings. 

You slowly and a little hesitantly, unzipped the bag and peeled back the lid of it. The first thing that greeted you was a pile of clothes. You carefully took out the burgundy color shirt and placed it on the table before doing the same with the pants folded underneath it. Marc didn’t strike you as the type of person to fold his clothes but rather stuff them into the bag and call it good. You don’t know if Steven was aware of this bag being tucked into the cupboard, but the chances are he does. They both seem to be present no matter who is fronting, unless it's Jake, so if Marc put the bag into it, Steven knows. You take out more shirts and pants and underwear  before you find a stick of deodorant and some razors buried underneath the pile of clothing. 

The main compartment of the bag didn’t have anything suspicious. Not even a hint of why they need a pre-packed bag of clothing. You put the items back before opening up the left side pocket and finding a small handgun. You blink at the handle sticking out and the ammo clips besides it.

“What the actual fuck?” You breathe out. You didn’t want to touch the weapon, you figured that they had the safety on but still, if it was linked to any crime you didn’t want your fingerprints on it. You zipped the pocket closed before moving onto the right-side pocket and opening it up. There at the bottom of it rested a small booklet. You picked it up and read the front jacket of it. Passport. The word was in a shiny gold font on the navy blue background. You flick open the passport and stare at your neighbor's face. You could tell just by the slightly angry expression that it was Marc before you read the name next to it that confirmed that you were correct. Your eyes scan the information on it. He was born March 9th, 1987. His place of birth was in Illinois, Chicago. He is male, and the issue date on it is December 14th, 2018. That was during the blip.

You stare at the date a little longer before putting it back in the bag and zipping it shut. You believed Layla, she didn’t have any reason to lie to you about Marc but, this solidifies that he was alive during the five years half of the universe was gone. You hide your face in your hands and take a deep breath, holding it in your lungs before slowly releasing it. You could feel the panic rising in your chest and into your throat. You grabbed the bag and stood back up onto the chair before putting it back into the cupboard and closing the door. You moved the chair back to the table and patted your pockets for your keys. You needed to get out. You needed to step away from whatever mess meeting the men got you into. 

Your hand clutched onto the orange lanyard as you walked on shaky legs towards the door and swung it open before locking it behind you. You didn’t care where you were going. You just needed out of Stevens place. Your face heated red as your legs carried you to your apartment, Your keys jingling as you struggled with unlocking it for the second time that day. Damn Jake for breaking the fucking handle. You finally turn the lock and push open the door and deadbolt it behind you. The sunlight filtered through the window and cast its warm glow onto the wooden floor. You stand in the light for a moment, the sun just hitting your shoes as you stare at the buildings across from you and the falcon sitting on the window sill of the complex. 

Your chest rose and fell as you willed yourself not to start panicking. Why would your neighbors need a to-go bag and hide it with a gun? Why didn’t Marc tell you he was not blipped? What did Marc do that was so bad during those five years? Why didn’t he tell you the real status of Layla's and his marriage? Why did they make you believe that they were divorced when they are not? You cover your face with your hands once more. The final question is what puts the final nail in the coffin for you. Can you trust them?

You inhaled a deep, shuddering breath as you struggled to keep your panic at bay. They haven’t done anything to you, well Jake held a knife to your throat but otherwise, nothing else happened. Marc and Steven did save you from getting mugged and bought you your groceries, and made sure you had a full-stomach almost every night. They are good people, it's just that Marc lied to you about something important. Something that you thought you could relate to with him. If he’s willing to lie about something this major, what else is he willing to lie and hide from you?

The sound of the window opening is what made you remove your hands from your face and briefly adjust your eyes to the sunlight. You stared ahead, your mouth parting slightly at the sight. The window that was just closed was now open and the falcon was gone. The air shifted into tense and it caused anxiety to boil in your stomach to the point that you were sure you were going to throw up. You took a step back towards your door as you gazed around the room. It felt like it always has with Khonshu deciding to visit you. It feels like it was in the laundry room and when you saw the bird gods crescent staff. You couldn’t see where the source was causing you to be anxious and fearful, but it felt like it was all around you. 

You took another step back, grasping your keys in your hands. All you had to do was unbolt the door and run down the hall. To where? You don’t know. All you knew was that it was away from this place. You felt something wrap around your ankle before you had the chance to completely turn around and try your best to get the hell out of dodge. You fell backwards, your head banging against the wood floor as your breath left your lungs and you began to slide on the floor by something that you couldn’t see. You lost the grip on your keys sometime during the fall. Your shirt rides up slightly as you're dragged towards the open window, but you didn’t care about that. You were absolutely terrified that the God of Vengeance decided that now was your time to kick the bucket while the one person who could see him was away. 

“Let go!” You yell and kick at the end of your body with your free foot. “Let me go, you fucking boney ass bird!” Your foot goes through the god and you stop at the base of the window. You breathed heavily, tears springing to your eyes as you watched your shirt get crumpled into a ball on your chest as if someone was grasping it before you were pulled up into a standing position. “Khonshu! Please don’t do this.” You beg. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you tried to grasp onto the gods arm to shove him off of you, but just like your foot moments ago, your hand goes through him. “Please!” You plead. 

Your head hit against the window and you heard it crack from the impact your head made before you were shoved through the open slot. The upper half of your body hung out the window while the lower half was still inside of your apartment. You reach for the frame of your building to try and pull yourself back inside but your hands couldn’t reach it. You were five stories above the pavement and this fucking god decided to kill you by letting you drop onto the concrete below. The sky was blue and clear and there wasn’t a bird flying above you. Whatever was left of the cookies you ate earlier was rising in your throat. You force yourself to swallow your vomit and instead of the fluid leaving you, a loud sob did instead. 

Your chest rattles and your hands flung around for some solid source to grab onto that could save you from your soon-to-be death. The shirt you wore was still balled up and the collar dug into the back of your neck. Oh fuck. Oh shit. You took a deep breath, the air filling your lungs felt cold in your throat and lungs. You’re going to fucking die by being murdered by a god. A month and a half ago you thought you were going to be killed by Jake Lockley or the dude that was trying to kidnap you and now, you were going to be murdered by a deity. Fuck your life. Another sob leaves you as you stop looking for a solid source to grab and instead wrap your hand around your balled up shirt and place your other hand on top of your own.

Your death will be labeled as a suicide rather than murder. Lauren will think that you killed yourself and blame herself for not questioning you further. It will ruin her. It will ruin Marc and Steven too if Jake was telling the truth about how much your death will affect them. Maybe Jake would press Khonshu about killing you. Maybe he would be pissed enough that he would be too angry to serve the god. You doubt that he would stop, but that thought was kind of nice. Your fingers knitted into the fabric of the shirt you slept in last night, it kind of smelled like Stevens bed sheets. Even though you were still upset about the information you just learned about, you found comfort in the scent. It was kind of like they were with you and trying to calm you down enough to think rationally or to show that you weren’t alone in your final moments. 

The sun beamed onto your already hot body, causing sweat to begin to form on your skin as another loud, chest aching sob left you. Since Khonshu was going to kill you, you might as well tell him how you really feel. You felt the grip on your shirt begin to loosen causing more panic to well up in your body. Oh shit, you were about to splatter onto the pavement below. You nearly gathered up the courage to tell the god to fuck off when you were suddenly pulled back inside. You landed harshly on the floor of your apartment and the force of the god pulling you into the safety of your flat made you slide a few feet and scrape up your legs and arms as you rolled. You laid on your side as you tried to catch your breath and ground yourself enough so you didn't immediately let yourself panic as much as you could feel creeping up on you. 

You sit up and turn to your left, your lanyard laid on the ground a couple feet away from the door. You needed to get out. You needed to put some distance from you and the god that feels like he is watching you. You crawl towards the keys, your knees pressing against the floor as you move your legs towards the thin rope. You blinked the tears out of your eyes, your sight set on the orange color on the floor as if it was your only chance to live; and if you let yourself think about it, it is your only chance to escape into somewhere that you felt peace in a week ago or a month ago. You grabbed the lanyard and stood on shaky legs. You stumble towards the door and unbolt it before saying, “Fuck you, Khonshu.” and slamming it closed. 

You stood in the hallway for a moment. You didn’t know if you should waste time trying to lock your door and risk getting attacked by Khonshu again or if you should just book it out of the building and try to collect yourself in the public so if something were to happen to you, people would see it. You didn’t bother locking your door and instead let your wobbly legs carry you to the safety of your neighbors apartment you just left not too long ago. You fumbled with unlocking it and trying to grasp the handle enough to open it before shutting it behind you. 

You dropped your keys by the coat rack and kicked off your shoes. You don’t know why you did that but you just did. You stare around you, your eyes flickering from corner to corner as if you expected to see his crescent staff lingering in them. You take several breaths to try and feel some air entering your lungs, but you didn’t feel like you were receiving any oxygen. You stumble towards the couch, crawling over the back of it until you land on the cushions and roll onto the floor. You barely felt the fall onto the wooden floor. You don’t bother trying to get back onto the sofa, but you stare at the ceiling until black spots appear in your vision and the sounds of the traffic outside was underwater. 

You turn onto your side and bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them as a sob leaves you and another one soon follows. Your cries were loud in the empty apartment of your neighbor. You sobbed, your chest aching and your cries hurting your own ears as you let out all your pent up sadness and fear from the last couple of months. You buried your face into the carpet as you let out a small scream. You don’t care if any of your other neighbors could hear. You don’t care. You don’t care. You don’t care. You breathed heavily, all the air filling your lungs as if you opened a water gate and the water flooded in quickly and without pause. Another scream left you, this time louder than before and it felt like you were releasing more than just a couple months worth of pent up emotions. 

The scream only stopped when you needed air and in place a broken cry left you. The room felt like it was spinning and you were on the Disneyland teacup ride. As the last cry left you, it felt like turning off the lights or letting go of a rubber band that was held back until it was either going to snap or you were going to inevitably let go. You felt numb, all thoughts in your mind ceased to exist at that moment. You blinked, the last of your tears trailed down the side of your face and onto the carpet you laid on. You slowly turned your gaze towards the thread of the fabric and stared. You laid on the dirty floor and you don’t care.

You felt no longer scared or terrified. You don’t care. You don’t know how long you laid there and you don’t remember hearing the door open and close, but you heard Layla's voice as if she was at the other end of a tunnel or she was speaking to you while you were underwater. Her hands touch your face, causing you to wince and her to immediately pull back her hands as if you burned her. 

“What happened? What's wrong?” She asks. You don’t answer, but you keep your unblinking eyes trained on the odd thread of the carpet. You knew you should answer, but you just don’t care enough to. She pushed away the coffee table, you could feel the vibrations of it in your bones as she made room to crouch next to you. She says your name gently and slowly reaches out until her fingers brush against your cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” She asks and out of the corner of your eye you could see her look you up and down carefully for any injuries. “Can you tell me what happened?” You stared at the carpet. You should tell her that you’re okay. Were you okay? 

She gently caresses your face and lets out a small gasp. “You’re bleeding.” She says as she leans over you and softly pokes at your scalp. You could feel a sting from the area she prodded at but you don’t care enough to react to it. 

“Sit up, I’m going to get the first-aid kit. I’ll be back.” She says as she pushes herself off of the floor and leaves the area you laid in. You stare at the thread of the carpet. You should get up. You should show her that you were okay. You lay still until she came back and she said your name softly as if she was speaking to a kid who was injured and needed to be comforted.

“C’mon.” She says and sets the box down next to you and places her hand onto your shoulder before helping you sit up and prop you against the edge of the couch. You were staring at the reflection of yourself in the darkness of the television screen across from you. Layla waved a hand in front of your face, causing you to trail your eyes to her. She looked worried. 

“You might have a concussion.” She mumbles. You watch as she opens the first aid kit next to you and goes behind you to sit on the couch to tend to your head wound. You watch her in the reflection of the television, barely feeling her prodding your injury. “Good news, it's not deep enough to need stitches, but there are some tiny pieces of glass that need to be taken out.” You watch her look around the room for the source of what caused your wound. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” She asks softly. You don’t answer and you’re beginning to find in yourself that you care a little about your choice of silence. She digs through the kit next to her and picks up something that you couldn’t make out in the reflection, but you figured that it was some type of tweezers when she was pinching around your skin. You watched as she placed it onto the couch next to her and you knew that she probably wasn’t just picking out the glass and straight up putting it onto the sofa. She had to be putting it onto a rag or a bandage of some kind. You both sat in silence save for the fish tank and the traffic outside. The same one that you nearly fell to your death by.

“Okay,” Layla says. “All done.” She reaches over the couch cushions and to the end table before grabbing something. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it. I’m here to listen.” She promises. You stare at the dark screen of the television until it suddenly turns on. Layla had to grab the remote. The channel it was let on was the BBC News channel which was airing a broadcast of a large fire in Birmingham burning down an old apartment building and three other residences attached to it. You stare at the footage, as the newscaster explained that the fire department was struggling to contain it and to be warned of going outside for the next few days due to the smoke and the hazards that are being burned in the fire. 

Fires this large were rare in the United Kingdom. This was human doing and not electrical. You know exactly who caused this fire: Jake Lockley; and from the sight of the news, he may be done with his job and coming back soon. A laugh left you. One that sounded broken and not at all humorous; and then another laugh followed until eventually you found yourself crying once more on the floor of Stevens living room.

Chapter Text

The meal of spaghetti Layla had cooked for the two of you was cold. You haven’t taken a bite of it, but rather pushed around the noodles with your fork as you laid your head on the table and watched as the fluorescent lighting hit the metal utensil and caused an occasional glare into your eyes. It was three hours after Layla returned and you haven’t spoken a word. Layla has been asking you questions about what happened and how you got your head wound and arms and legs scraped up; you never answered and you could feel her worried gaze burning into the top of your head as you twirled your noodles on your fork. With the damage to your apartment, the broken door handle, the shattered kitchen light, and the cracked window pane, you knew that you would never get your deposit back if you were to move out. 

Layla says your name softly and you keep your eyes trained on the reflection of yourself in the fork. How were you supposed to tell her that Khonshu held you out the window and threatened to drop you to your death? What does the fucking bird have against you? Did he wake up on the wrong side of the nest and decide that today was a day worth scaring you? Did he decide that he had too much free-time on his boney hands and that your fear was worth his entertainment? How do you tell Layla that you almost died because you were on a gods shit-list? What did you do that was so worthy of Khonshu deciding that your death was personal enough to do it himself than to send his avatar to do it for him?

You couldn’t think of anything. You have never hurt anyone physically, well except that one time you accidently hit your locker door into a classmate back when you were fifteen; but you doubt that would make you worthy enough to be taken care of by the god of vengeance. You only stopped twirling your pasta with your fork when Layla set her hand on top of your own. In your peripheral, you could see that she was crouched next to you. You must have not noticed her getting up from her seat across from you and walking around the table. She repeats your name softly, the word rolling off of her tongue and into the tunnel of your mind. You felt like you were standing on the other side of a tunnel and Layla stood on the opposite end. You could hear her  clearly, just her presence felt far away from you even though she was right next to you. 

“You should talk to me about what happened rather than bottle it up like you have been. I know that it’s hard to talk about these types of things. But if you continue to suppress and hold what you’re feeling it will just explode like it did earlier.” She says. “So, what happened?” Her thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand and the gesture and the memory of the events earlier caused your nose to begin to sting and tears slowly formed in your eyes. 

If Layla was there Khonshu would have not done what he did. She wouldn’t have been able to protect you, she's only human after all and she doesn’t have any deity on her side like Jake does, but maybe her presence would have stopped the events from unfolding. It would have postponed the research you did on Marc, but you wouldn’t have been threatened by a god. If Layla was there with you, you wouldn’t be having this night. You would be laughing about some ridiculous joke that she made and finishing up the murder-mystery game. The last time you saw the files of the characters they were still out on the table half-covering the notes Steven has made for whatever Egyptology book he has read. Where did Layla go that was so important that you couldn’t have had a normal day with her?

You could feel yourself getting upset that this happened to you and it could have been prevented if Layla just stayed. You knew that it wasn’t her fault that a god has it out for you for some unknown reason. You just wanted to be upset at someone and unfortunately that someone was Layla. 

“Where were you?” You ask. Your voice sounds rough around the edges. You clear your throat as your eyes flicker from your reflection and to the woman in question. She looks a little taken back by your question, her brown eyes shining with golden flecks and her brows slightly raised. 

“What?”

“Where were you earlier? Where did you go?” You press. You sit up causing your hand to slip from hers as you drop your fork on your plate. Your head wound stung, it wasn’t hurting as much as it was a couple of hours ago but it still hurt. You don’t have a concussion like Layla thought you may have. It was just a small enough wound that you didn’t need stitches and just the glass taken out of it. 

“What was so important that you couldn’t have just stayed?” You finish as you stare down at Layla and she stares back. A tense silence settles between the two of you. You look into her brown eyes, searching for answers that you knew you were never going to receive until you dug for them yourself. With each passing moment, you were becoming more and more positive that Layla would never tell you about where she went. She was awfully a lot like someone you kind of missed right now. The similarities between them made you want to cry, mainly in frustration but still cry nonetheless. 

“Maybe you and Marc do make a great couple. You’re just like each other.” You say. You hoped that the jab would hurt her. “Maybe you and Jake would make a fantastic husband and wife duo. You have so much in common with your stupid secrecy.” 

“Are you done?” Layla asks. “With your little temper tantrum?”

“Are you going to tell me where you went?”

“Do I have to tell you every little detail of my life? Tell you that I drank a bottle of water at four this morning and have to pee every hour after that until eight? Is that what you want?”

“Why can’t you just tell me why you left?”

“Am I not allowed to leave?”

“No! I just need to know why.” You say. What was so important that she needed to leave at that moment? Why is she getting so defensive about her whereabouts?

“Are you my keeper?” She says in answer. “What happened to you? Why won’t you answer my questions? It’s obvious that something rattled you up enough to shut down and shut me out.”

“I don’t need to be mommied, Layla.”

“Nobody else is doing it.” She says. You bristle at her statement and stand up from your chair before taking a step back. She seems to register what she said moments after it left her mouth.

“I don’t fucking need to be reminded.” You hiss out. 

“I’m sorry.” Layla says as she slowly stands up from her crouched position. You shake your head. No, that was one step too far. 

“No,” You tell her as you walk backwards to create a bigger distance from her. The feeling of your anger began to simmer in the pit of your stomach. You needed to get away from her before you said anything that could cause the tear between you to widen even more. If you were to speak, you were sure that hurtful words would leave you and you would regret it later. The band-aids on your knees tugged at your skin as you walked towards Stevens bed. Layla was the one who cleaned them with rubbing alcohol and plastered them on when she noticed how badly they were scrapped up; she did the same to the ones on your arms. If it weren’t for the Khonshus temper you wouldn’t have any wounds. 

You were thrown like a ragdoll and slid across your floors to receive these burns. Khonshu could have thrown you hard enough that your body would become a crime scene body outline in the brick wall, but he was generous enough to toss you aside once he was ready to let you go. That fucking bitch. You sit on the edge of Stevens bed and you place your head in your hands and close your eyes. Today was too much. You had too much on your plate and nearly crossing into the afterlife simply because a god had it out for you for some unknown reason was the cherry on top of a melted ice cream sundae. Nothing good has happened since you met Marc and Steven. Well, nothing good has happened since you became curious of your screaming neighbor in the lift.

If you didn’t get into the elevator at the same time that Steven running towards the metal box did, you wouldn’t have blinked at him in the hall. You would not be this hurt physically and emotionally if you had not met them. You wouldn’t have to deal with the same nightmare of getting strangled to death while calling for Marc who turns his back away from you and walks away. Instead, you would have another boring summer working at City Subs and listening to Lauren talk about her family, weekend, and whatever fun thing she has planned to do with her kids while you were silently jealous. It would be a boring summer, but you would be safe.

You would not be hurt by a woman you only began a friendship with a couple of weeks ago. You would not be anxiously waiting for three men sharing the same body to come back. The only positive thing you could think of for the last couple of months was that you didn’t spend your time alone. You had someone to ask you how your day went over a warm meal and some television show softly playing in the background. You had that with your parents when they were alive; and you lost that for a year and now you have once again. You don’t want to lose that. But you also don’t want to lose your life because of the deity and a cult doing some sketchy stuff. You don’t want everything you built in the last year to be all for nothing. 

Whatever tangled strings are attached to them will cause you to get caught in it too. You release a sigh, as you move your hands and stare at the floor below you. You could see some grains of sand still surrounding the bed. Steven tried his best to vacuum it but didn’t get every single grain. You guess you got tangled in their mess the moment you accepted their kindness of inviting you over to their place to see if you were okay after you nearly got mugged. If you wanted to walk away from them- from all of this- you don’t think you could. Not only because of their threats to turn you in, but because you can’t pass them in the hallway and pretend you don’t know them. You were too tied up to cut yourself out. 

You heard Layla's footsteps approaching before you saw her mismatched colored socks in your field of view. You were still a little angry that she pointed out something that didn’t need to be said. But, you felt like you were calm enough to speak to her without ruining your friendship. You place your hands in your lap as you move your gaze up to look at her. She had an expression of guilt on her features. Her brown curls were framing her face as she looked at you. 

“Can I sit there?” She asks as she gestures to the open spot next to you on the edge of Stevens bed. You give her a small nod and she moves to sit next to you on your left. You both shared this bed for a little over a week after she gave up trying to sleep on the couch because your nightmares woke her and you needed to be comforted; and yet, with her sitting next to you it was awkward and tense. Mainly because of the argument earlier but it didn’t make it any better to sit in. There was about three inches of space between you as you both stared at the fish tank. You could see the two orange blobs swimming around in the tank from where you sat. 

“You want to talk about it?” Layla gently prods and you could feel a spike of anger rush through you before you took a deep breath to help calm yourself down. Anger was not going to get you anywhere in this conversation.

“You want to talk about where you went off to?” You retort and she doesn’t answer. Of course you expected that to come from her, she really was like Jake. 

“I came back to you being almost unresponsive on the ground and unwilling to talk for hours. I’m concerned about what triggered this and what caused the injuries you have.” She says. You snap your head towards her.

“And you left for a few hours without telling me where you went and-” You swallow, “and I didn’t know if you would come back. You could have died and I wouldn’t know where you were.”

“I’m going to come back.” She says gently, trying to reassure you of something that wasn’t absolute.

“You don’t know that. My parents left the apartment and they got hit by a car after returning from being blipped.” You say. “They died and I thought they were going to come home. At least- the next time you go out- tell me where you go so I can retrieve your body.” The sentence fell out of your mouth and the silence that followed was loud to your own ears. You move your eyes away from her face and to the band-aids on your arms.

“I’m not asking you to stay with me twenty-four-seven. I want you to have your own life away from me. But- I just-” You cut yourself off, trying to find the words that could describe how worried you are for her. “I know that you can take care of yourself. You carry a gun on you and you work selling things to the black-market so you know how to protect yourself. I just- I’m worried for you.” The idea was kind of laughable when you thought about it. Layla had way more experience in defense and combat than you do. She married a man who was serving a deity and, of course, had probably made some enemies over the years. 

Layla knows how to protect herself, but that doesn’t make you any less concerned for her safe return. It was the same for Jake and the system's return. They have a deity on their side, one that wanted you dead, and here you were worried for them to come back. Layla is human. She doesn’t have a god on her side, but she has weapons and knowledge that could protect her if she ever needs to use it. 

“I’ll be alright.” She says. You know that she would be. She would try her damnedest to get out of any sticky situation she may find herself in. Layla is a smart woman, you tried to reassure yourself, she will be fine. You nod and feel Layla slowly knit her fingers between your own which cause you to look back at her. She asks, “So, what happened?” It didn’t feel fair to tell her what happened to you and for her not to talk about what was so important that she had to leave this afternoon; but you were getting tired of pressing her for answers. You were slowly succumbing to the exhaustion your body felt, the adrenaline long gone and sleep beginning to tug at your eyes.

“What do you think happened?”

“From the looks of it, you crashed and burned and hit glass with the back of your head.” She says. “But, with the way you’ve been acting, it’s much more complicated than that.”

“When is it never that complicated?”

“Only on the good days.” She replies and for a moment, you both share a smile. You sigh as you think of what to tell her. 

“Khonshu tried to kill me and I guess that he decided not to because he tossed me aside and I got these burns from it.” You say. It was the least difficult version of it without going into detail about what happened this afternoon. Layla blinked at you, processing the sentence that just came out of your mouth. 

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. I just-” She cuts herself off. “What?” You nod and she stares at you. “What happened?”

“He held me out a window and I thought that he was going to drop me.” You tell her. You guess that you were going to tell her all of the details.

“Are you-?” She starts but cuts herself off with a deep breath to help relax herself. “Are you sure that it was Khonshu?” It was your turn to be confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- don’t get me wrong, Khonshu is an absolute dick; but as far as I know he has zero history of doing that to random people.”

“Well, I’m not random. He hates me. Actually tried to get Jake to kill me the night I met him.”

“That’s normal for the cranky bird though. Marc told me that he does it all the time. But that- physically picking you up and holding you out a window?” She shakes her head. “That's unlike Khonshu.” You purse your lips as you slowly look away from her and back to the fish in disbelief. There’s no way that it wasn’t the deity Jake serves. Khonshu had it out for you since day one. You saw his staff in your apartment and he chased you out of the laundry room just because he could. He wanted to prove some sadistic point that he was an all mighty and powerful being while you were just a weak and fragile human whose life could be taken away like getting squashed as if you were a bug. 

“Maybe he’s changing up his tactics.” You shrug. “He’s a dinosaur, actually he’s probably older than a dinosaur. Either way, he must be getting bored of doing the same thing over and over again, maybe he wants to switch things up.” But none of that didn’t seem right. Why would a god- who claims he wants to protect the travelers of the night and makes his avatars do his dirty work for him- decide to threaten a near seventeen year old kid by holding them out five stories and chasing them out of the laundry room? As far as you knew, you didn’t do anything wrong, at least nothing wrong that you thought would make you worthy enough to be on his hit-list.

Layla hums in answer and you're both back to staring at the fish tank. She asks, “Are you okay?” You nod.

“Yeah.”  You say. You were okay, not great or wonderful, but you were fine. You were still shaken up from it, who wouldn’t be? But you were doing better than you were when you entered Stevens flat a couple of hours ago. You let your body fall back onto the mattress and you stare at the white popcorn ceiling above you. It was a long day- and an exhausting one at that- one that you hoped that you would never experience again. You were going to have a long conversation with the residents of this apartment if, well, when, they return.

You haven’t heard any news since the live coverage of the burning fire ended. The reporters were told from the fire department that it is estimated that seventeen people may have died in the fire since the residents have not been in contact with the owner of the apartment buildings. If you didn’t have the knowledge that Jake was going for the cults' throat and fires were rare in the United Kingdom, you would have thought that this was unlucky for the residents and the community of Birmingham. 

The ceiling looks boring without decorations. Your home, back in New York, had glow in the stars decorating the ceiling and small plastic planets hanging from your bedroom ceiling. You got them for your fourteenth birthday after you began to show an interest in space. Most of your gifts that year were space related, the one thing that you wanted the most was a telescope but it was too expensive for your parents to buy. That was alright with you because they did their best to celebrate your birthday outside of expensive gifts. You didn’t need a telescope to be happy. 

A yawn escapes you and the noise causes Layla to look over her shoulder at you. You were ready to try to get some rest, you were absolutely done with today.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Layla asks. You shift your eyes over to her and tilt your head to the side a bit to get a better view. 

“Tomorrow is Sunday, so I guess I’m going to try to enjoy my remaining weekend and summer break before school starts.” You say. School doesn’t begin for another couple of weeks. It starts the week after your birthday and then your senior year will begin. Your last year of basic education. “Why?” 

“I was just wondering if you want to finish the game or not.” 

“Oh okay.” You pause. “I think Johnathan did it.” He was the classmate and boyfriend of Jessica. He was the only one who didn’t have an alibi from what you remember.

“You think Johnathan killed Jessica?” Layla says and you nod.

“Ten bucks that he was the one who pushed her off of the roof or out the window or whatever it was.” 

“Okay.” Layla smiles and turns around and holds out her hand. “Deal.” You sit up a little and shake her hand.

“Who do you think did it?”

She hums, “Dr Hamhall.” You knew she was joking since you both already ruled out that he was with Evie in his counselor office at the time of Jessica's death. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles and you let out a small chuckle. “It’s bedtime.” She adds after a moment. You raise a brow at her.

“Didn’t know I had an assigned time to be in bed by.”

“Only when you had rough days like today.” Layla says and pushes herself off of the bed. You were glad that she cares, but it kind of felt like she was overstepping a boundary you didn’t know existed. You swallow as you think of what to say to her.

“You’re not my mom, Layla.” The words felt a little heavy and bitter rolling off of your tongue and into the air between you. You felt like you needed to remind her and yourself that she wasn’t your mom. It was nice that she was helping you by taking care of yourself and making sure that you were okay, but it felt like she was trying to fill in a role that was already filled. She doesn’t say anything for a few moments and neither do you. 

“I know.” She says. You nod a bit stiffly before you scoot up the mattress and pull back the covers to settle in underneath them. You yawn, your body agreeing that it was bedtime. You decide that you are going to change your clothes tomorrow and take a shower then. It was gross but you could spend one more night in the same outfit you wore to bed last night. Layla walks around the edge of the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin. The boundary that you tried to settle was easily crossed and you found yourself not seeming to mind. She wasn’t your mom and she was never going to be your mom; but after today, you kind of wanted to be treated as if you were a much younger child. 

You don’t want to be an adult with responsibilities and a job. You wanted to be eight years old again and be tucked or carried into bed and read a book to sleep by your parents. You wanted that and you were never going to have that experience again, but this- with your neighbor's wife tucking you in and making sure you were comfortable and safe- was the closest thing you were ever going to have to that. 

She smiles down at you as she says, “Good night.” You repeat the phrase back to her and watch as she turns off the big light before walking towards the couch. You figured that she would stay up longer than you since it was only a little after seven in the evening. You stare at the ceiling for a while, listening to her watch a television show and softly laugh at whatever joke was made. You weren’t paying attention to the show itself but rather Layla. 

Whatever happened between Marc and Layla that caused them to have a fallout bigger than just Marc being Moon Knight was between them. You were still hurt that they both lied to you about their marriage status, it definitely made it feel like they were hiding a lot more than just that. But, Layla was right, it wasn’t your business. You just wish that they were more upfront and honest about it than they were. Your apartment door remains unlocked and forgotten as the exhaustion you felt pulls you under and into a dreamless sleep.

Your nightmares didn’t have a chance to wake you. The jolting of the mattress is what made you open your eyes and look to your left to see someone settling into bed next to you. The moonlight filtered in through the cracks of the curtains as they peeled back the covers and laid on the pillow your friend has been occupying for the last couple of weeks. 

“Layla?” You ask sleepily. You could hear that the television was off and the lights displaying on the screen were not active. You rolled over onto your side as you made your eyes open more so you could see better in the darkness. 

“No.” He said. You blink. 

You recognize that voice anywhere and yet you ask, “Jake?”
“It’s Steven.” He says in his usual British accent. You still smile softly and you reach out in the darkness for his hand. You knit your fingers together as you decide that your long conversation could wait for tomorrow when all five of you were awake. You neighbors needed their rest and you did too. 

“I missed you guys,” You mumble as you close your eyes. 

“We missed you too,” Steven replies. “Go to sleep, dove.” 

“M’kay...” You say and sleep once again pulls you under; and this time when you woke from your nightmare, you didn’t wake anybody else up in the apartment like you usually did. Instead of Layla calming you down enough for you to fall back asleep, you rubbed the back of Stevens hand with your thumb and took several breaths. You reminded yourself that it was a night terror and only that until you fell back asleep just as the sun began to rise.

This time, you woke to the sound of voices talking as softly as possible. The sun was filtering into the apartment, casting a yellow glow onto the wooden floor as you sat up and saw Layla and Marc sitting at the dining table. You only guessed that it was Marc because of how he held himself by sitting a little tensenly across from his wife. Whatever conversation they were having was one that you could clearly see and feel the tension in the room. You rub your eyes with the back of your hands before you peel back the blankets and walk to the two sitting at the table. The sound of your bare feet padding across the floor, causes the two of them to look in your direction. 

Your eyes first met Layla's, she looks exhausted and it shows her age. She must have had a rough night sleeping on the couch. Your eyes trail over to Marcs and he looked much worse for wear. He had dark circles and bags underneath his eyes and he looks ten years older than the last time that you saw him. The beard and mustache Jake was growing out desperately needs to be shaved or trimmed. The facial hair doesn’t seem to suit Marc even though he shares the same body with Jake. You figure that Steven would do that since he seems to be the one that takes care of the body the most. You wonder if Jake allowed the body to get any rest during the two and a half weeks he was gone. 

“You look like shit.” He tells you as you sit in the seat next to Layla, on the opposite side of the table he sat on. You scoff at his statement. You knew that you looked terrible, but not as bad as you were right before Jake left. 

“I could say the same for you.” You say. “What's with that?” You gesture to his beard and he furrows his brow before running his hand on it as if he had food stuck in it and he was trying to get it off. 

“What?”

“It looks like you have pubes for facial hair.” You say and he rolls his eyes before removing his hands from his beard and flipping you off. 

“You look like you've been wearing the same clothes for the last two days.” He points out. The stain of general tso chicken sauce from Friday was on the same pajama shirt you’ve been wearing. 

“That’s because I am.” You shrug. You could tell that he was trying to make you feel embarrassed about it but you don’t because you don’t care. Being held out the window five stories above the pavement and finding out the truth about Marc made you be at a point past caring. You had bigger issues than wearing the same shirt for the past two days. 

“So, when were you going to tell me?” You ask. Marc stares at you with a bit of confusion on his face. 

“What?”

“When were you going to tell me that you weren’t blipped? Or that you were still married to Layla?” You push the questions towards him and his mouth parts a bit. “Did you not expect me to find out?” You wait for him to respond but nothing comes out of his mouth but air. “Are you fucking serious, Marc?” You say incredulously and glare at him. “You could have told me the truth and it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. I would have thought that you were doing something else during those five years I was gone.” You throw your hands up into the air. “But now I’m thinking that you were doing something terrible enough for you to lie about during those five years; and y’know what? It’s also about you lying about being blipped. That's the one thing we had in common and I don’t know- for some fucking reason I felt like I wasn’t alone in losing five years of my life because you did too. But, no. That's a lie.”

“How long did you know about him?” Marc asks. You stare at him incredulously. He’s not fucking serious, is he?

“You’re seriously going to ignore-”

“How long.” He cuts you off.

“About Jake?”

“No, the pizza man-” He rolls his eyes, “yes about fucking Jake.”

“About a week before you and Steven found out.” You answer and he runs his hand down his face. 

“Tell us about anything that has to do with our lives? Remember that handshake? Well, that applies to you too.” Marc states and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, I'm sorry that there's not a damn handbook on how to tell your neighbor that they got a bonus person living rent free in their headspace.” You tell him. “It’s also fucking hard to tell somebody when said renter threatens to slit my throat if I were to tell you.” Marc stares at you. “So excuse me on deciding to take some time on how to tell you that Jake was in the headspace.” A tense silence settles between you and you take several breaths to help calm yourself enough to clearly ask about his past. 

“How long have you worked as Khonshus bitch, Marc?” You ask.

“I don’t. Not anymore.” He says and eyes you from across the table.

“Okay, well, how long did you work as Khonshus bitch?”

“Ten years.” He answers and both of your brows shoot up in surprise. Ten years of dealing with a god's bullshit? No wonder he looks like he has a stick up his ass most of the time, it's Khonshus staff that's up his ass. 

“So you know him well enough that you know what he’s like and not like?”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Great. That's something we both can agree on.” You say. “So, Yellow Bird held me out my apartment window and nearly dropped me yesterday, does it sound like something he would do?” Marc stares at you, his mouth parting in concern and surprise. 

“What?”

“Yeah.” You say. “What do you think?”

“Khonshu isn't the type to get his hands dirty himself.” Marc says. “He threatens his avatars and usually has us do his deeds for him.” You nod slowly. Everything from the last forty-eight hours is beginning to feel much heavier on you than it did the day before. 

“What do Jake and Steven think?” You ask. You don’t trust Jake completely, but you do think he has some valuable things to say as the god's avatar. 

“Steven says that he agrees with me.”
“And Jake?”

“I don’t know.” He says. “We haven’t heard from him since the buildings burnt down.” You frown.

“Well, pull him forward.”

“I can’t just pull him forward.” Marc says. “I don’t even know where he’s hiding.”

“So, he’s not going to talk to me?”

“He’s not going to talk to anyone.” Marc answers. “And he won’t be talking to anyone.” Your frown deepens. You sit silently as you watch the shadow of a bird appear and leave on the floor as they fly by outside of the window. Jake did say that he was no longer going to be fronting once Harrow's cult was gone and he’s sticking to his word. 

“Okay.” You breathe out. It’s not like you could force Jake to come out of hiding to answer your questions. But you could force Marc to speak about his lies. “So, what did you do during the time of the blip?”

“None of your business.” He says stiffly.

“I think it becomes my business if you’re willing to lie about being gone for five years.” You say. “You said that you were Khonshus bitch for ten years, so you were his during the blip.” He doesn’t answer and you could feel yourself growing frustrated at his silence. 

“What did you do that was so bad during that time that you don’t want me to know?” You say. More silence. You let out a humorless chuckle. “I think there's nothing bad that you could have done compared to a deity hanging me out the window.” You weren’t completely sure in your statement but you hoped that it would reassure him enough to crack. He stays quiet and you press your lips together. Fine, you’ll pull his teeth out if you have to, you gave him a chance to speak. 

“You’re thirty-eight years old. You were born March ninth in the year 1987 in Chicago, Illinois. You had a brother named Randall, he died in 1996. Your mothers name was Wendy and she died in March this year.” You see Layla whip her head in your direction and you don’t bother to look at her as the information you stored in your mind begins to fall out of your mouth. “Your fathers name is Elias, he is a Rabbi and he’s still alive and kicking; he lives in the same childhood home your parents bought together. You graduated high-school in 2004 and you went directly into the Marines only to be discharged three years later; and from my guess it has to do with your superiors finding out about your disorder. But I couldn’t find anything on you after that. It’s like you fell off the face of the Earth. ” You admit as you burn your gaze into the man across from you.

“But Steven and you have mentioned stuff about you being a mercenary so, you had to be doing that for quite a while.” You pause. “From 2025 and counting back ten years makes it 2015 and then to 2007?” You count off on your fingers. “That's eight years. So, you had to be doing mercenary shit during that time; and you didn’t have anything stating you were alive until this year.” You say. “Which makes sense because you don’t want your name out on the web or in articles stating who you are if you’re doing sketchy shit, right? And it only made it easier to state that Steven was blipped, since the apartment is in his name and he got a job as the museum's gift shoppist; and you and I both know how easy it was to fraud papers after coming back from being blipped.” You smile without humor. “So, you did eight years of being a mercenary and ten years of being Khonshus bitch.”

“Your mother died?” Layla says. 

“You did your research.” He says, ignoring Layla's question. 

“It’s only fair if I return the favor.” You shrug. “But, what doesn’t make anything clear is what you did during the blip. Layla says you got married- which is fantastic for you two love birds, by the way, love that for you. But, uh, that doesn’t explain what else happened for those five years.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” He says, glaring at you. His brows were squished together as he directed his angry look towards you. Once again the expression reminded you of your dad when he was angry and that caused you to become more upset because he didn’t have a right to make you miss your dad.

“Yeah?” You scoff. “I think I deserve to know.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was held out a fucking window and chased out a laundry room and it’s all your fault.” You say. His angry glare turns into a neutral one and the edges of panic begin to seep into his expression. You frown at him, too upset to correct yourself and tell him that he couldn’t control the deities' actions. 

“It’s not my fault.” He weakly protests, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. You take a breath, opening your mouth to agree with him before you see the simple switch by the posture of the man loosening. Steven. 

“Nice to see you, Steven.” You say. Layla looks between the two of you and you watch as Steven looks to his right towards the fish tank and frowns.

“He left.” He says. You raise a brow. 

“Who?” You ask. Did Marc or Jake leave? They both better come back.

“Marc.” Steven says. 

“Marc left.” You say. “Like, he’s hiding like Jake is?” Steven nods and you lean back in your chair with a huff. “Did my interrogation become too much for him?” 

“Something like that.” Steven mumbles without looking at you. You groaned, you were sure that you were close to getting him to crack.

“Did you know?” You ask. You shake your head. “Wait, scratch that. You knew that Marc and Layla are still married but you called her your ex-wife.” You watch him shift awkwardly in his seat. “You knew and you just- you let me believe that you were divorced.” You stared at him in disbelief. “You knew.”

“It’s easier.” He says quietly. He looks down into his lap and your mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Layla leans forward, placing her elbow onto the table and propping her head with her hand. 

“And telling the truth isn’t?” You ask incredulously. You couldn’t believe these men. “I feel stupid. I told you both everything when Marc did his research on me and you can’t even return the favor?” Steven doesn’t look up from his lap and you shake your head in disbelief. “I thought that maybe I could- maybe..” You take in a shaky breath. “Maybe I could trust you. But clearly you both have something to hide.” You glance between Layla and Steven. “Both of you.” You pause, “So, Layla. Mind sharing with the class what the fuck is up between you and Marc?” 

“Marc was supposed to clarify what happened the night my father was murdered.” She says. You stare at her with your mouth agape. “And he didn’t this morning because you woke up.” You didn’t think that she would tell you anything, you thought that she would tell you that it wasn’t any of your business. 

“When was that?” You ask. “When did your father die?”

“Ten years ago.” She says. You open and close your mouth a few times. Ten years ago? That would have been the beginning that Marc became Moon Knight and…the end of his mercenary time? 

“Shit.” You say and she nods. 

“Shit.” She agrees. The three of you sit in silence for a moment. You run your hand down your face and your stomach growls. You didn’t eat dinner last night nor did you have breakfast this morning. Steven looks up at the noise and you watch as his mouth forms an O shape.

“You look better.” He says. “Y’know from the last time that I saw you.”

“Two and a half weeks ago.” You say. 

“Have you been sleeping well?”

“As best as I can.” You tell him. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks. “I can make us vegan waffles.” You smile bitterly at that. You wanted to accept his breakfast offer but you don’t think you can sit in the same room with him and eat his food without being too upset about his lies and his part in keeping the truth from you. 

“I, um, actually need to get going and make sure that there aren’t any birds living in my flat since the window was left open. I doubt Khonshu closed it.” You stand up, your legs pushing the chair back. You didn’t know if it was Khonshu that held you out the window, but the gods' hatred for you was the only lead that suggested it. You wanted Jake's opinion on it since he was the gods current avatar unless he quit after the buildings were burnt down. Maybe Jake knows more than Marc or Steven does. The corners of Stevens lips turn downwards as you grab your phone off of the table from where you left it yesterday. 

“I missed you.” He says as you grab your lanyard too. The spare key to Stevens flat was still attached to it and the sight made your heart ache. 

“I missed you too.” You breathe out. “But, I just need some time to myself after-” You cut yourself off. You didn’t want to go back to the apartment alone, you didn’t want to leave again and avoid him for a week like last time. You just needed to be able to process everything within the last two days and desperately take a shower and get new clothes. Maybe you’ll come back for dinner. You definitely will see him tomorrow though. You just needed time. 

“I’ll come with you.” Layla says and stands up, raising her arms into the air as she stretches. You were upset at her too, but you weren’t going to decline her offer of watching your back just in case Khonshu shows up and decides to follow through with yesterday's threat. You smile at her thankfully and she grabs her own phone off of the table. 

“Try and get some rest, Steven.” You say as Layla slips on her shoes. “You look like you need it.” You slip on your own shoes and he stands up from his chair. 

“I’ll make you dinner and keep it in the oven for you, yeah?” He says and you look at him. Maybe you’ll feel better enough by dinner to be able to eat with him and accept the food he makes.

“Okay.” You whisper. He nods slowly and you take a step back. “We’ll talk later, alright?” You add and he nods in agreement. 

“Laters gators.” 

“See you in a while crocodile.” You reply and with that you leave his apartment and walk the short distance to yours with Layla trailing behind. You turn the handle of your door and push it open the sight before you make you think that you got robbed. Your couch was overturned and the table was too. The dry wall was dented with your laptop resting a couple of feet from it and the charger was against the opposite wall near the door. You stepped into your apartment, setting your phone and lanyard onto the counter with your jacket and the stain remover stick the vending machine spat out a couple of months ago. 

“Woah,” Layla says as you both look around the room. “What happened to this place?” You breathe out harshly through your nose as Layla shuts the door behind her. You knew just from your laptop still being in your apartment that it wasn’t a human that caused this because they would have taken it and tried to sell it; but rather a certain god did this just out of spite.

“It looks like Khonshu decided to throw a bitch fit.” You say. You look at the dented drywall of where you think your laptop hit the wall and broke the surface. Yep, there goes that deposit. You run your hands down your face as you try to stop the angry tears forming in your eyes. You take another breath and count to ten slowly before you remove your hands and stare ahead at the cracked window. You just know that the leak that took forever to get maintenance to fix wouldn’t make a difference this winter since the rain will get in from the crack alone. You can not catch a damn break can you? 

There was nothing that you could do besides put it all back together to the way that it was before Khonhus tantrum. You bend down and pick up the scattered photos of your parents and set them on the counter before pulling up the table and setting it onto all of its legs. You make sure that it was stable before moving to the couch and pushing it back upright with Layla's help. Together, the two of you set your apartment back to normal, back to the way that it was.

Your laptop screen was cracked and the screen was snapped in half, laying on the ground and only attached together just by the wires. It was another expensive thing on your list to buy for school three weeks from now. You needed a new laptop anyways, but you wanted to buy one after you wrapped up high-school. You pinch the bridge of your nose at the sight and you take several breaths to help calm yourself down before you release the building up screams and yells of all your anger for the damn god. You barely stop your anger and frustration from escaping as you release the last ten second hold of air in your lungs.

 Your eyes trail away from the laptop and towards the open window, the sunlight hits the glass and casts the crack more brightly. You blink at the sun beams as your eyes adjusted to its brightness while you walked closer to the cracked window to get a better view of how bad it was. You could see the bits of glass missing from the pane and the glass dotted with your dried blood; but more importantly, you saw the web of tangled strings that you were knitted in. You stood still, staring at the web of cracks for a moment longer before you walked forward silently and closed the window and locked it shut.

Chapter Text

“I’m so excited for this weekend.” Lauren says with a grin on her face as she breaks apart the pre-packed tuna with her hands. You glance at her with a smile of your own before you return your attention to your task at hand. You had to cut open the packages of mayonnaise and mustard and squeeze them into bottles to stock up for the next seven days. 

“You said you’re going to Manchester?” You ask and Lauren nods excitedly, her baby hairs swaying back and forth from the movement. 

“Sure are.” She says. “A kid-free weekend and some alone time with my wife.”

“What’s your plans?” 

“The art gallery and the museum.” She starts. “The botanical gardens, maybe some taste testing tour if I can find a place willing to squeeze us in. Oh! I booked Kris and I a reservation at a five star restaurant.” You raise both of your brows in surprise at that. Holy shit, that is going to be an expensive dinner.

“Woah.” You breathe out. “You’re spoiling yourselves.” 

“As my wife and I deserve.” She grins and you nod in agreement. Lauren was a hard working woman who always tried to be there for her family. She covered your shift a couple of times and sent you to your flat when you weren’t doing too hot. Lauren cared and she definitely deserved this weekend away from everything and to spend it with the person she loves. 

“How was your weekend?” She asks. You grimace at the question. You can’t tell her the complete truth of how you spent your Saturday researching your neighbor and getting threatened by a deity who you thought you knew the name of and now you’re not so sure. 

“Ugh,” You groan and grimace as you miss the bottle completely and get the mayo sauce on the counter. “Where do I even begin?”

“That bad?” She says. She grabs the packet of unopened mayo and cuts it open with a pair of scissors before squeezing out the condiment into the bowl of shredded tuna. You nod. 

“I, uh, found out something about my- my uncle.” You start as you squeeze out the remaining mayonnaise and place on the cap onto the bottle before putting it into the bane with the other sauces. You peel off your gloves and toss the plastic into the trash before you grab a food-towel rag and dip it into the sanitizer water and walk back over to where you made the mess on the counter. 

“Good or bad?” She asks. She glances at you and squints her brown eyes in your direction. “Okay, bad. But is it illegal bad-bad or more like ‘you found out he throws his trash away in other peoples bins’?”

“More like he lied about something I thought he was telling the truth about.” You say. She makes a o shape with her mouth. “Not like he stole a cookie out of the cookie jar and got caught. Who gives a shit about the damn cookie? But it was-just-” You stumble over your words for a moment before taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it. You continue, “It was something important to me and he just lied about it and he had almost every opportunity to come clean and tell me the truth.”

“Ah,” She breathes out. “That sucks.” You toss the rag into the trash-can and nod in agreement. You lean your back against the edge of the sink and watch as she begins to scoop the tuna into banes to prepare them for the daily customers. 

“Oh yeah,” You say. “It absolutely does.” You were still upset that Marc lied about being blipped and that he had several chances to come clean, especially yesterday, and he refuses to tell you what happened during those five years. What did he do that was so bad that he doesn’t want you to know about it? You were irritated and annoyed by him and his avoidance of admitting what he did. You were also upset with yourself for blaming Marc for something that he couldn’t control. It wasn't his fault that Khonshu decided to be a bitch and harass you and nearly kill you; and hell, it might not even be Khonshu! It could be another deity that became interested in you simply because they were bored and wanted to prove that they were mighty and powerful. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, the movement causes the Band-Aids on your arm to pull at your skin. The conversation you had with Lauren this morning was all about how you’re a safety hazard to yourself. You always seemed to find a way to hurt yourself even if it was by accident. Only if she knew that deities were assholes and you had a target on your back. 

“Are you two both on good terms?” She asks as she seram wraps the banes before pulling off her gloves and tossing them into the trash can next to you. 

“I mean, I’m still upset with him but I wouldn’t say we’re on terrible terms.” You say. You definitely had some making up to do with Marc and he had that same task with you. He can start by telling you why he lied.

“Do you hate him?” She asks. The question caused you to drop your hand from your nose and stare at her in surprise. For some reason the question never crossed your mind in regards to this topic. You do think Marc can be an asshole with a hard head and he’s too stubborn to allow you to be closer than arm's length, but you were similar. But, Marc had his sweet moments. You were positive that he was in on the idea of bringing you groceries the next day after you got nearly mugged and he brought you up to the roof of your apartment so you wouldn't be suffering in the heat wave a couple months back. Sure, you thought about whether or not it would be for the better if you didn’t meet your neighbors, but you didn’t hate them. You just wished that things played out differently, more truthfully, than it did.

“No,” You say. “I just don’t like that he lied about this.” You watch as she grabs the baines and gestures for you to open the fridge door. You close the couple of feet before wrapping your hand around the handle and pulling it open.

 She places the tuna baines onto the shelf as she says, “You can’t control the past but you can help control the outcome of the future. Don't let this argument dictate whether you’re going to see him tomorrow or today.” She places her hands on her hips and gives you a hard look. “You said that you were on the end of the blip where you disappeared. Well, I wasn’t and it was hard dealing with the loss of loved ones that I didn’t know I was going to see again. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed; and if this argument with your uncle can be repaired, then do it before it’s too late.” You stare at her, taking in her words and swallowing around the lump forming in your throat. You knew that she was right and it was difficult admitting it. Marc had to have a good reason to lie to you about it just like Jake had to have a good reason not to tell you where he went for days to weeks at a time. If you could forgive Jake for not letting you know where he goes, then you can at least hear Marc out for why he lied.

“Okay,” You say. “Thank you for the advice.” She hums and walks past you to grab a food-towel and dip it into the same water you did moments ago and begin to clean the surface of the counter she was working on. You turn around and drain the sinks of the soapy water before filling it with fresh dish soap. Sometimes work was boring, such as moments like this one. You didn’t mind it much, sometimes it was relieving for it to be this slow and you’re able to keep up on tasks without becoming overwhelmed when there are too many customers or too many stacks of dishes to complete. 

The morning slowness also brought you and Lauren closer together. There have been hours before where the two of you had only a handful of customers so there wasn’t much to do. This was one of those days, all the prep was done and your counts for the day were complete. The lobby and the line was clean and the food was stocked well enough that you knew you wouldn’t have to stock more until after lunch rush. Today was one of the many days that you and Lauren could chat without feeling pressured to complete tasks. You shut off the water and turned around. Lauren was sitting on the little cart that stored extra pans for the bread and looking at you with a curious expression on her face. You raised your brow at her as you crossed the two feet to the metal table and hopped onto the surface to sit and rest your feet. Your legs swung back and forth as you moved your gaze to your friend.

“What?” You ask. She hums and leans back, resting her spine against the wall behind her as she looks at her blue jeans. 

“Nothing.” She says. You scoff and breathe out a light laugh. 

“Yeah, right. You gave me a look.”

“No, really. It’s just-” She shakes her head and laughs a bit. “I was just thinking how it’s been almost two years that we’ve been working together now and you look so different now compared to then.”

“Yeah?” You say. “How so?”

“You seem more happy.” She says. “Well, maybe not these past couple of months. It was obvious you were going through something, but now? You just have this- this air around you like- I don’t know.” She shakes it off and you give her a curious look. 

“No, go on. I want to hear it.”

“It’s hard to explain.” She says. With the patient look on your face she opens her mouth to begin to speak. “I just- you seem happy. Like genuinely happy save for whatever caused those dark circles underneath your eyes. But, you get this air around you, a bounce in your step whenever you talk about your aunt and uncle and- yeah, it doesn’t seem to matter if you’re talking about how upset they made you or how the night before you watched a movie and ate popcorn for dinner with them. Whenever you seem to talk about them, you just get this lovely gleam in your eyes.” You stare at her with your mouth parting a bit. 

“You’re telling me I look happier?” You ask. With how your weekend went and the last few weeks of Jake going in and out of your life and all the drama with deities and being lied to, you didn’t think that you looked happy. But according to Lauren, you were glowing with happiness. Well, maybe not glowing, but brightened with it. 

“Is that rude?” She cringes. “Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry-” You shake your head. 

“You didn’t offend me, Lauren.” You tell her. “I just- I didn’t think that I looked happy.”

“No,” She says. “Not happy but more-” she gestures her hands around for the right word as if it would form in thin air. “Yeah. Happier.” She finishes. “You don’t have to be happy all the time. But you seem more cheerful when you come to work or talk about your evening or weekend.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She confirms with a genuine smile on her face. “I’m glad that you’re doing better.” 

“Thanks.” You say. 

You share a smile with her and silence settles between you momentarily before she says, “You can always talk to me about whatever problems you’re having.” You look down at your jeans and twist a loose thread between your fingers as you listen to her speak. “I talk to you all the time about the kids and Kris and it seems like I never hear you talk about yourself up until these past couple of months. I told you about Molly's explosive diarrhea and her stomach bug she brought home from daycare and you didn’t mind it one bit. You can talk to me about anything. Y’know?”

“Alright. Thanks Lauren.” You say gratefully. You know that you would never take her up on that offer. Most of your problems were weird and illegal. Committing fraud and moving to London and deities and their avatars. Lauren would look at you like you grew a second head if she were to ever hear you talk about it. You swing your legs back and forth as you stare ahead at the shelves full of packages of sauces and spices. Your fingers wrap around the edge of the counter as you think of what to say to her. 

Before you could find a topic to talk about she beats you to it by saying, “Did you hear about the fire in Birmingham?” You nod. “Seventeen people are estimated to be dead! The poor families.” She had a sympathetic expression on her face. You felt bad for the seventeen people but not enough to feel guilty about not feeling terrible. You did almost get kidnapped by them and killed. You couldn't tell her that it was a crazed cult family out to do something that Jake wouldn’t let you know about and you had to trust him enough to not let you in on the reason why.

“Seventeen?” You ask. You haven’t heard anything about the fire since Saturday when Layla turned on the television to help ground and distract you. You were obviously too busy with your own problems to pay attention to the news of the complexes burning. But hearing Lauren tell you that seventeen people are estimated to be dead, caused your jaw to drop open and stare at her with an incredulous expression. 

“They’re still pulling out the bodies and counting them.” She adds and you release a small breath of air, your tense shoulders lowering and causing your muscles to ache. Seventeen people were in a cult and killed and they’re still recovering bodies. Holy shit. 

“At least that's what the reporters said.” She adds. “They recovered like thirteen the last time I heard.” Holy fucking shit. It was hard to feel bad for a cult that tried to kidnap you and traumatized you. But it was still shocking to hear the number of casualties. 

“God, they’re still counting?” You say. Seventeen people were in a cult and thirteen of its members are confirmed dead. Lauren nods and you shake your head in disbelief. 

“The fire department still hasn’t released what caused it.” She continues. “The police said it's an on-going investigation but we probably won’t know anything about it for a few months.” You know who caused it, but you don’t know how and the full reason for why. 

“Oh my god.” You say and rub your face with your hands. Maybe Marc or Steven know why Jake lit the place on fire. They had to be in the passenger seat most of the time since Jake complained about Steven wanting you to be taking care of yourself. Maybe they’ll be open to telling you the reason now that the cult is dead and Jake is refusing to front. You were a little sad that the alter refused to talk to you. You still didn’t like that he threatened to slit your throat, but for a month he was the only person you got to talk to outside of work. Maybe it was stupid of you to miss him, but you weren’t very smart when it came to judging your own feelings. You did flee continents because you were grieving and dealing with the shock of five years passing.

“Yeah,” Lauren hums. You remove your hands from your face and look at her. She still looked genuinely sympathetic to the situation. Only if you could feel that way. You would if it wasn’t for the nightly routine of waking from the same night terror of being killed by the cult or dealing with the trauma by suppressing it throughout your day. You didn’t feel bad for the deaths, if anything, you were more shocked at the number of the members; and honestly, as shitty as it sounds, good riddance to the members. They caused more harm than good. They tried to release a Goddess that would judge people before they caused harm and they tried to kidnap you. You totally weren’t salty about that. 

“Wow,” You say. Lauren nods and you swallow. Thirteen people are confirmed dead and  you don’t feel bad about that. Does that make you a terrible person? You chew on your lip as you eye the ingredients of the spices in front of you. You don’t think that it does. Man, you hope that it wouldn’t. They had horrible intentions of killing innocent people before they committed a crime and they wanted something with you. What the fuck did they want with you? Does Jake know? You huff out a laugh. Of course he fucking knows and he’s not going to tell you shit. Maybe Steven would tell you if he knows, Marc might if you were to patch things up with him.

“Are you okay?” Lauren asks. You blink and turn your head to look at her. 

“Yeah,” You say. “I was just thinking of something funny.” She hums and you clear your throat. “So, are you and Kris going anywhere else?” And with that, you watch her eyes light up in excitement and all the serious talk from the past few minutes melted away as you listen to her speak about the plans she had for the weekend with her wife. 

The following hours were busy for you and Lauren until Emily, the pre-closer, arrived.  you reached the end of your shift by clocking out and greeting the closer on the way out the door. The sun wouldn’t be setting until eight-thirty later this evening, so you had a few hours of daylight to enjoy if you wanted to. It was a Monday afternoon and you were ready to head back to your apartment complex rather than to spend the remaining daylight hours wandering around the city. You carried your apron, Eye of Horus slip, phone, and apartment keys on the way to the bus stop and held onto all the items as you got onto the bus; and as always, it was crowded so you had to hold onto the bars above you rather than sitting down. You clutched your items to your chest as your feet ached and passengers uncomfortably brushed against you while getting on and off the bus. 

The New York subway was similar to the buses in London but the chances of getting a seat was much higher in the former state than the latter city. You stare out the windows as the vehicle drives and occasionally stop at its drop off and pick up areas. You step from one foot to the other, trying to lessen the ache of your feet by relieving it of the pressure before you would do the same process with the other foot. There wasn’t much to do on the bus besides scrolling through your phone but with your arm holding your belongings to your chest you didn’t have the option of that. Instead, you continued to stare at the old buildings and the bystanders on the sidewalk all the way to your stop. 

You lived in London for nearly two years now, it will be two years in the spring, and you still haven’t gotten used to the beauty of the old architecture; and seeing how the sun sits between two buildings or the sunlight filters between the branches of the trees on the sidewalk. Since you were fourteen you had traveling to London on your list but now you live in the city, just not how you dreamed it to be. You wanted to travel the world with your best friend. You wanted to go to Guatemala, Italy, Japan, and backpack through Europe with her; and you lost that chance when you forged those documents and took the one way ticket flight. She would have loved your endless amount of pictures of the sun setting or your commentary on just how different the stars look in the night sky above London, even though they’re the same stars you see on rare nights in New York. 

You still haven’t gotten used to the city and you barely got used to life without your best friend. The bus slowed to a stop and the familiar sight of the convenience store across the bus stop that you see every morning when you head to work made you let go of the handle bar and exit the bus. You hold your belongings to your chest as you walk the ten minutes to your apartment building. Relief began to build up in your chest with every minute that passed because it meant that you were closer to relaxing your aching feet and stretching your back on the armrest of your couch. You only let the relief blossom when you saw the sight of your apartment complex in the distance. 

You didn’t have any plans for the rest of your day besides resting your body. You knew that you needed to patch things up with Marc because you don’t want to pretend that you're strangers after everything. Maybe you’ll stop by on the way to your flat just to get the argument out of the way. You walk into your apartment building, giving a nod to a elderly neighbor as you pass her as she leaves. The sight of the metal doors of the elevator greeted you but the out-of-order sign taped to it made you frown and groan in annoyance. The only thing they fix quicker in this building is the lift, so it shouldn’t take as long as it did for maintenance to fix the caulk in your windows last winter. 

Now, you had to take the stairs and exercise your already tired body. You turn on your heel and stalk to the door that has the stairwell. The relief you felt died in your chest as you tucked your phone into your pocket along with your paper and keys as you prepared to fight for your life by walking up the five floors. It’s five floors, that's not bad, you definitely experienced worse than walking up several flights. You pull open the door and begin your journey upwards by taking it one step at a time. It wasn’t until you were on the second floor landing when you began to breathe heavily and relied on the railing a bit more to help pull you up. 

From the sounds of your feet and heavy breath as you walked, it seemed like you were the only one in the stairwell. You didn’t bother trying to stifle the noise of the air leaving your lungs with every exhale because nobody was around to hear it. You clutched onto the railing with your left hand as your right held your balled up apron. You forced your legs to move as sweat began to form on the back of your neck. You wish that your building had a gym or a free public one near your apartment. You wouldn’t be so out of shape like you are now and you absolutely wouldn’t be struggling up the next six flights of stairs. You stood on the fourth floor landing, clutching onto the railing as your chest rose and fell like you just ran a marathon. 

Holy fucking shit. Your tongue darts out of your mouth to wet your lips and the taste of salt makes you scrunch your nose. Your throat burns and a metallic taste overpowers the salt from moments ago. Your heart pounded in your ears almost too loud for you to hear the door that you entered through open and close below you before you heard the sounds of footsteps. You huff for air as you  stare at the last twelve steps before you reach the exit to your floor. The sound of the footsteps below you caused you to peek over the edge of the railing and see the black hair of your neighbor, the same one who asked if you were having a lover's quarrel with Steven.

She was easily walking up the steps as if she did it everyday for a workout. You know that from her quick pace that she would reach the landing you stood on sooner than you did. Who the fuck finds pleasure in walking up and down five flights of stairs and decides to get fit from this? You force your jello legs to move up a couple of steps as you hear her fighting for her own life by breathing heavily. You nod to yourself, feeling a little bit better about your own health as you continue your journey to your floor. You were glad that you reached it and even more glad as you pushed open the door and walked down the hall towards your apartment. You only falter in your steps as you stare at Stevens' door. 

The dark brown of the door and the apartment number screwed into the surface made you feel guilty and a little sad. This was the same door you’ve been passing by for over a year and a half, and yet, you only began talking to your neighbor about three months prior. This door was just like any door you passed until it wasn't. Inside were the possessions of someone you tried not to rely on and two of the three people that you came to know as friends. The third, of course, liked to avoid any long activities with you and did threaten to kill you so you don’t feel bad not feeling like your friends with him.  You wonder if you should knock. 

Were they in there right now? Or were they out doing Khonshus bidding? The sun hasn’t set yet, but Jake could be back in control and out who-knows-where. Were they waiting for you to knock? Or were they wondering if you were too angry to speak with them about everything you discovered? You stare at the door a little longer. You were on a tight time limit, soon your neighbor would be passing you in the hall to go to her flat and she would see you awkwardly standing outside of your ‘uncles’ home. You need to make a decision on knocking or not. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth as your body makes the decision for you by raising your fist to knock on the door. You can’t become strangers. Not again. 

Before your fist was able to make contact with the door, it swung open and you were standing face to face with Steven. You could only tell it was him by how he held himself, his messy hair, and the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Marc was more likely to brush his hair than his counterpart. Your mouth parts a little at the sight of his freshly shaven face, there wasn’t the mustache you grew used to on his features. 

“Oh my god,” You say as you stare at him. He looks years younger than he did with the beard and mustache. Steven stares at you with worry.

“What?” He says as he looks over his shoulder and back to you, “What is it?” You drag your sight away from his jawline and lower cheeks and to his soft eyes.

“You look like a newborn baby.” You tell him and he rolls his eyes.
“Sod off.” He says. You laugh, it felt like your first genuine laugh in weeks and the sound was foreign to your ears. Your worries seem to melt away as you watch a small smile form on his face. It was almost like it was before Jake took over and shook everything up. You could still have those moments with him once you apologize and press Marc for the truth until it left his lips. There was no way that you could continue on without it. Steven steps to the side and opens the door a little wider as a way to invite you inside. You brush past him and you hear the door shut behind you with a click. 

His apartment was cool and inviting from the summer heat. The window was open and a small breeze floated into the flat. Everything there felt familiar from his organized mess of books and research that you tried to make sense of by reading the titles alone; and to the condensation rings from his cups on the coffee table and the stands next to the sofa. You spent weeks in his apartment, you learned the space and almost everything in it. The drawer that contained his utensils was the one closest to the sink and the cupboard that held the trash bags was next to the oven. Steven kept a box of tampons and pads underneath the sink in the bathroom for any female guests that might visit and that was where he stored the packages of toilet paper.

The table that was kind of clean from you and Layla needing the space to play the murder-mystery game was now cluttered with scattered papers, glue, pens, and open books. The game rested on the edge of the table, any files of the characters seem to be resting in the box. You walk towards the table and set your apron onto the back of the chair that was pulled out and stare down at the book project Steven was working on. The ink was dry but the glue was not, the page was open to one with information on the Goddess Isis. Your eyes briefly scan the information that she was the goddess of fertility and magic. You trail your eyes to the list of notebook paper with gods and goddesses next to it. Steven must have added more because the list was longer than you remember it being. 

You silently read the names listed as your fingers gently guided down the page. Khonshu, Anubis, Taweret, Horus, Isis, Osiris, Set, Hathor, Baset, Nut, Nepthys, Sekhmet. The list didn’t seem like it was completed but rather just a to-do list of gods and goddesses to write information down about. 

“You’re back to working on your project?” You say, flickering your eyes to him as you turn your body slightly to face your neighbor. Steven nods as he takes a couple of steps closer to you to look at his work. You liked it. From the little you scanned of Isis you could tell that he was making a brief history of the gods and goddesses rather than a detailed version of them. You were going to read through the book later on once he finishes it and you knew that you were going to enjoy this much better than reading a textbook.

“I didn’t have much time last time to add more names to the list. Marc distracted me…” He trails off and looks away. 

“It looks good.” You tell him and he smiles a bit at the compliment. You genuinely liked it so far. His handwriting that was usually scribbled was more legible and you could actually make out the words instead of treating them like ancient hieroglyphics. You cleared your throat as you looked between him and the crack underneath the door. How did they know you were out there? You didn’t even get the chance to knock. You ask him exactly that.

“Marc and I were wondering what the shadow underneath the door was.” He answers. Oh, you guess that you would wonder what it was too. “And he’s been obsessed with watching the door all day.” He adds. You didn’t need to ask him what for. You knew because it’s been on your mind all day too. Marc was waiting for your shift to end so you could have this conversation and he didn’t know if you were going to avoid them again or be an adult and have this talk as soon as you cooled off enough to think clearly. You weren’t going to tease them about it or pretend that the hurtful words of blaming them for the gods' actions didn’t happen. 

You couldn’t pretend that the argument and Marc's lies didn’t play out like it did. You might as well just rip off the band-aid and get straight to the point of why you’re visiting. Silently, you hope that this conversation wouldn’t end with the four of you going separate ways. 

“Is Marc there?” You ask and Steven looks at you for a moment before nodding. You could tell that Steven was listening to whatever Marc was saying and you wanted to know what was going on between the two but you didn’t want to pry. You had a more important topic to discuss. You hooked your fingers into your belt loop as you gathered the courage to prod him about the lies. Just as you were about to open your mouth to let the request for Marc to front so you could have this conversation face to face, you faltered in your words as a new question popped into your mind like a balloon under pressure. 

What was the extent that Steven knew about Marc's lies and neglected to tell you? You were too wrapped up in Marc lying that you didn’t even think how much Steven hid from you. Your mouth dries and your heart skips a beat as you give him a look of realization. You don’t feel like you discovered buried treasure or the lost city of Atlantis, or found out the plans of an alien invasion. But rather you felt like you realized that your friend lied to you just as much as the actual liar did. 

“Did you know?” You ask him quietly as if any louder would cause alarm sirens to sound. “That Marc and Layla weren’t divorced? That Marc wasn’t blipped?”

“I did.” He admits. His tone was soft and he looked guilty like he was the kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar and not his alter. You felt betrayal as you stared at him with unwavering eyes.

 “I wanted to tell you everything. I told him that honesty was better than lying and getting caught down the road.” He adds. He steps towards you, his hand stretches out as you take a step back into the table and causes the glue to fall over. He stops in his tracks as you make sure that the lid was on none of the sticky liquid was spilt before looking at him. Your heart hurts as you look at him. 

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him. Your voice cracks half-way through the question. You don’t know why you thought that he would tell you the truth from the beginning. You were foolish to think that Steven wouldn’t be like Marc in that regard. Steven was a kind man, he was the glue for you, Marc, and him. But you were so stupid to believe that he wouldn’t keep any secrets from you.

“It was easier to say that Layla and I-” He stops and swallows, his Adam-apple bobbing up and down with the movement before he releases a shuddered breath. “That Layla and Marc were divorced.” You fold your arms over your chest, your fingers gripping the sides of your shirt as you listen to his excuse. You’ve been told countless times by Layla and Marc that their marriage wasn’t any of your business; and you agree that it's not. But it's more of the fact that they just said they weren’t together when they were still married by law that upsets you. They should have just told you they were in the process of getting a divorce rather than make you believe that they already were because it leads to other questions of what they have been lying about. 

You watch as Steven looks away from you and something to your left. You don’t bother looking at whatever it was, you figure he was watching Marc talk to him or distracting himself from looking at your miserable face. You knew that you were wearing what you felt on your sleeves and as your expression. Nothing was fair with these men, was it? They only told the truth about the things they thought that mattered and the one thing you cared the most about- Marc being blipped with you- was a lie. Stevens' excuse sounded pathetic and weak to your ears until you thought about it as you watched his lip wobble and tears glisten in his brown eyes. 

Steven was still in love with Layla even though she wasn’t aware of him throughout Marcs and her marriage. If that was the truth and she wasn’t lying about that but Layla didn’t have a reason to lie for not knowing about Steven. You think back to all the times that he spoke of Layla before Jake came along and fucked everything up. Steven spoke of her like she was the one who hung the moon in the sky. His eyes would shine with adoration and love for her. Steven found it easier to lie about being divorced because she most likely didn’t want anything to do with them after she found out Marc was there the night her father was murdered. 

It became a little easier to accept his excuse for the marriage after that. Maybe Marc found it easier to accept that he was going to get a divorce and he might as well just call Layla his ex-wife now and get used to it. Steven looks back to you, tears stream down his cheeks as he waits for you to say something. Steven Grant was one of the kindest and smartest humans you have ever had the pleasure of meeting; and the sight before you made the pain in your chest loosen to understanding. 

Everything about Steven seems to make so much more sense. He said that he never got married or had a girlfriend in his thirty-eight years of living on this Earth and the moment that he found out about Layla, probably around the time he became conscious of Marc, that he realized Layla was it for him. That he was married, well his alter was-is-married. Steven loves Layla and his feelings probably weren’t reciprocated; and maybe it wasn’t because of him but rather Marc's fault the feelings aren't returned. Steven wasn’t the issue but Marc was; and Steven had to accept that the one woman who seemed to entertain the idea of him didn’t want to be with him because of his counterpart and not because he was Steven Grant the nerd of history and Egyptian culture. His lack of relationships was because of Marc Spector. You can’t change the past but you can shape the future with the words you’ll use.

“Thanks for telling me.” You say. “I just wish that you were honest in the first place.” He nods solemnly and you swallow before releasing a slow breath. He wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and you pretend not to notice. You didn’t want to embarrass him even though crying was natural for everyone. You rub the fabric of your shirt between your right hand fingers as you prepare yourself for the next question. Over a month ago you would have gone to your apartment right after work and stripped yourself over your uniform before heading over to Stevens place.

 But here you stood with your work uniform still on and smelling like ham and mustard. Your shirt felt itchy against your skin causing you to uncross your arms and pull your tucked in shirt out of the waistband of your jeans to cause it to become baggy. You began to feel too hot and standing in this flat didn’t help. You decide to speed up the process of questioning to get out of your shirt sooner. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that Marc wasn’t blipped?” You ask. His eyes were a little wet and red but he was no longer crying. His usual soft eyes looked even softer if possible. You didn’t think his gentle kindness could become even more so. You want to step forward and hold his hand to reassure him that everything is going to be alright between the two of you, but you didn’t know that and giving him and yourself false hope was a mean thing to do.

“I wasn’t present during those five years. I thought that I was blipped because I couldn’t remember anything that happened during that time”  Steven says. “And the stuff Marc did…he’s not proud of. It’s not up to me to tell you what he did.” 

“How do you know what he did if you weren’t there?”

“The short answer: we share the same head.” He says. “The long answer: well, it's difficult and mind blowing for you to understand.”

“I’m not a kid, Steven.” You say. You felt a little insulted at his statement. “I’m not going to have a hard time comprehending it.”

“You are sixteen, so you’re still a kid.” He says in a Chicago accent. Marc. You gaze at him, his posture is straighter and his eyes are more firm. 

“What happened?” You ask. You didn’t need to be 

“It’s none’-” He starts but you cut him off. 

“Don’t tell me it's none of my business because it is my business. If you’re willing to lie about your past and the shitty things you have done. Whether that is because you’re embarrassed of it or not proud of it or you want to protect me from any knowledge of those five years because the less I know the better or some shit like that, it becomes my business.” You hiss out as you close the gap between you and jab your finger into his chest. You could faintly smell alcohol and aftershave on him.

 You look at him, his brown eyes avoiding yours as you press your lips together and take a step back before pointing at yourself. “I’m in this shitty situation because I’m choosing to be.” You tell him. The truth finally spilling out of your lips and into the air around you. You can leave at any point, cut all contact with them and pretend that the last few months of your life didn’t happen. You can go back to being neighbors and no longer friends. You could destroy their lives if they so much as send a police officer to arrest you for fraud. You would be petty about it too and ensure that their life is ruined if they ruined yours. You stuck around for them because you didn’t want to be alone again.

“I’m sorry that I said it was your fault I got attacked by bitch-baby Khonshu. It’s not.” You add after a few moments. You take a shuddering breath to help calm yourself before you stare into Marc's eyes. “None of you can control his actions and it was shitty of me to pin the blame on the three of you.” You hope that your apology sounds sincere to him because you truly meant every word. Marc held your gaze for a couple of moments, his expression unreadable and you thought that he was going to shoot you down and reject your apology. Which would have been totally fine because he didn’t need to accept it, he wasn’t required to accept anything just as much as you were. What you didn’t expect was for Marc to tell you the truth rather than continue to try and hide it. 

“I killed people.” Marc says. The statement causes your heart to drop in your chest and you swore your face pales. You knew that he had to kill people, it was in the job description for being a gods avatar and joining the marines. You didn’t think a god that told his avatar to slit your throat was friendly enough to leave his targets beaten but alive. Although hearing the sentence being confirmed was different from having suspicions of Marc taking people's lives with his bare hands or with a bullet.

“I took people's lives and-” He pauses and swallows. “I’m a murderer.” You open and close your mouth to retaliate and tell him what he’s been thinking of himself was wrong but you struggled to make more than just breathing noises. Layla said that he was there the night her father was murdered. What if he was the one that pulled the trigger and their relationship was just some sick mafia love story or some shit like that? You shake your head to rid yourself of the thought. There was absolutely no way that Marc killed her father and got into a relationship after that. Marc wasn’t that type of person and you refuse to believe that he was.

“I think you’re wrong.” You say after gaining your voice back. “The U.S Military kills people for oil and money and just about any politics everyday. It would be too critical of yourself to believe that you’re a murderer because you killed people as a marine.” You nibble on your lip as you think of what to say to him for his experience as a gods avatar. He spent ten years doing Khonshus bidding. Ten years of hurting people and killing whoever the god wanted dead in order to protect the travelers of the night or do whatever the bird wanted done. A decade of moon knighting and being manipulated. 

You don’t know how the boys got themselves into that mess, but the end effect of Marc's story of abuse from a god stood in front of you: A broken man with a past that he does not like and is not proud of; and that is what redeems him the most. If he enjoyed killing or hurting people that would be an issue, but with the way Marc spoke of himself with regret and horror in his tone and expressing his dislike for himself and his past actions told you that he was a person who was growing. That made it better in your book. 

“And as for being Khonshus bitch…I don't think you murdered anyone.” You tell him. “You didn’t have a choice in the matter, he threatened to have Layla as his next avatar and you continued being his to protect her.” You pause as you try to determine what he was feeling by his facial expression alone. His lip was wobbling and his firm gaze was sad. The expression didn’t seem right on his face, he was always the one who wasn’t in touch with his feelings and didn’t want to be emotionally available with you. Steven was the one who hung out more with you and made sure you were doing well, he was the one you expected to see him cry more than Marc or Jake. You want to reach out for Marc's hand and comfort him, tell him that it was okay to cry and not try to repress it; but you didn’t. You stood still and swallowed, your throat felt dry. 

“Besides, you saved the world a few months ago. Stopped the world from being unfairly judged.” You shuffled from foot to foot, trying to relieve the ache in them. “You’re not a bad person. You never were.” Your tongue darts out between your lips and wets them. He looked like he was about to cry. “And whatever happened between you and Layla…that’s not my business.” You shrug. You were nosy and wanted to know what went down that day but it really wasn’t up for you to know or push him for answers. Layla deserved to know first and if she wanted to tell you, she would. “

“You’ve been right with that all along.” You add. “She said you were there the night her dad died, but I don’t think you killed him.” You nod to yourself. Marc was a good person even if he doesn’t think so; and you tell him exactly that. The tears that he was trying to hold back were running down his cheeks and you stop holding yourself back and close the gap between you once again. You reach for his hand and grasp it gently between your own, rubbing your thumb on the back of his. His hand was warm and a little rough, dry flakes of glue were rubbed off with your fingers and you watched them fall to the floor before trailing your eyes to his. 

“You’re a good person, Marc.” You repeat. “You really are.” He swallows thickly and nods momentarily before pulling his hand out of yours and stepping away from you. The gesture hurt but you understood why he stepped away. Marc didn’t believe in a word you said and he didn’t think he deserved your kindness. You look away from him and to the window. The sky was a bright blue and there were barely any clouds. You watch a crow fly in front of the window and you continue to stare out of it until you are ready to speak what's on your mind.

“I just wish that you told me the truth.” You say without looking at him. “I wish that you told me that you were here for five years instead of being gone. You didn’t need to worry that I would be scared of you if I put two and two together that you killed people as a god's avatar.” It was ridiculous. Marc and Steven saved you from getting mugged and they opened your eyes to the existence of gods and goddesses and that there’s people who get into deals with them to carry out their justice and judgment. It was a stupid judgement that Marc made because he was worried about you thinking he was a murderer for his past actions. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I should have told you.” You don’t need to accept his apology to move on, just like him you weren’t required to. You stare out the window a little longer, watching another bird fly by, this one was a falcon carrying a dead mouse in its claws. You watch it land on the window sill of the one directly across from Stevens and tear into the corpse of the creature with its beak. You wrinkle your nose at the sight, your stomach churning and you quickly look away before you lose your lunch. Marc was looking at you with his sad puppy eyes, he looked like a kid who was in trouble for lying about his grades.

“This mess,” You gesture between the two of you. “Is caused by lies. From now on we need to tell each other the truth.” He nods in agreement before he looks away and unsubtly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand; and just like you did for Steven, you pretend not to notice. 

“Can we start over?” Marc asks once he looks back at you. No acceptance needed, you remind yourself. You can trust him. You glance back to the window and watch as the falcon swallows back- what you think is- the intestine of the mouse before tearing off another chunk. You shouldn’t have looked. You shift your eyes back to Marc, he looks hopeful that you would accept and yet regretful of his actions. You can trust Marc to protect you from harm and ensure your safety, he tried to save you that night you and Steven got ambushed before Jake fronted. He saved you that first day you met too. Marc was a good person with issues that he needs to work past and accept; just as much as you have your own issues that need to be worked on. 

He was a person who made a mistake and you’re going to have to learn to trust him with his words. All you could do was believe that he was telling the truth about his reasoning behind why he lied. For now, a restart was a good place to begin. 

You stick out your hand and he grasps it with his own as you introduce yourself, “Hi, I’m your sixteen year-old neighbor who totally didn’t meet you while getting mugged.” A small smile spreads across his face.

“Hi, I’m Marc. I’m just your average neighbor living down the hall.” He says. You shake his hand a little longer before letting go. You place your hand by your side and you take a moment to breathe before the next topic that you visited them for what to be discussed between the three of you- four, if Jake wants to chime in and you doubt he will with how radio quiet he has been. You wonder if he was watching somewhere where neither of the men have noticed yet, and if so, what did he think of this? You know that you shouldn’t care what he thinks of your relationship with the others, he made it clear that he only made sure you were alive for their sake; and he did threaten to kill you. But for a month, Jake was all you had to talk to outside of your work life. He was the reason that Marc and Steven came back safe.

“There’s some other things that we need to talk about.” You say. Marc raises an eyebrow and you walk back to the table and pull out a chair to take a seat. You need to rest your feet now that you were positive that you wouldn’t be kicked out of their apartment. Marc crosses the room and pulls out the chair across from you before sitting down. 

“What is it?” He asks. He sounds a little nervous and you don’t blame him after the conversation the two of you had moments ago. 

“Well, as you know, Khonshu held me out the window Saturday and threatened to drop me five stories to my death.” You say and he presses his lips together in anger. “I know you guys said that it doesn’t sound like the pigeon, but that’s all I have to go on. Anyways, he threw a bitch-fit and damaged my apartment.”

“What?” Steven says. “How bad is it?”

“He only broke the drywall and cracked my head against the window before he held me out of it. But my laptop is completely broken and I can’t do any school until I get a new one.” School starts in a week from now and you were stressing over it. It’s your senior year, the last year before you graduate basic education with a degree and you can’t do it without a laptop or a screen and monitor.

“Are you joking?” Steven asks and you shake your head. “I haven’t known the damn bird as long as Marc has but he had never done his own bidding. He doesn't get his claws dirty.”

“I agree.” Marc says. This was the same conversation you had yesterday with them and you figured that they would still stick to their answers. You chew on your lip. You want answers and they weren’t offering you much. You bet that Jake has those answers and as far as you knew he was the only one who could ask Khonshu directly about it. You might as well question them about that. 

“You’re Khonshu’s knight?” You ask. Steven stares at you like you asked the dumbest question he has ever heard. You shift in your seat awkwardly. You thought it was an okay question because if Jake is Khonshus knight then that makes the body his knight, the same one that Marc and Steven share with Jake. Wouldn’t that make them Khonshus knights by default or was it different? Were you just understanding it wrong?

“No, Jake is.” Steven rolls his eyes. “He continues to do the work for the damn pigeon.” 

“So, you can’t call Khonshu and ask?”

“We can’t even bloody see him since we’re not his avatars.” Steven says. Oh okay, now you understand it better. You still want to irritate Steven for his rudeness to your genuine question. 

“So, you can’t just write on a scroll as a message to deliver to him?” You ask, “Or shoot a hieroglyphic text to him?” He stares at you, his lips pursed and you try to hold back your smile from spreading on your face but fail once the corners of your mouth tilt up in victory. 

“You’re bloody joking.”

“Sure are.” You state and laugh at the look on his face. “But seriously, you can’t just call him?”

“You want me to caw for him?” Marc says and you shrug. 

“Whatever gets him here.” You say. “I just need confirmation that it wasn’t him.”

“What are you going to do if it’s not him?” Jake asks. You blink and stare at him, your mouth parts open. You didn’t expect for him to front without you harassing the men longer or some argument between the three of them refusing to let Jake take the wheel. 

“You’re back.” You say. 

“¿Eh? ¿Qué vas a hacer?” He says. You don’t understand what he was saying but you think he was repeating his earlier question. 

“I don’t know.” You admit. “I also don’t know what I’m going to do if it is him.” His gaze was hard on you, not firm or soft like the other two men that occupy the same body. Jake fulfilled his role of taking down Harrows remaining cult members and promised you weeks ago that you wouldn’t see him again. Yet, here he sat across from you, questioning you about the task you need him to complete. Ask Khonshu if he had any part in harassing and scaring you and that would be the last time you would see him for a while. No matter who it turned out to be that had an interest in picking on you, there was nothing you could do about it. You can’t beat up a deity, you are human and you can't see them. 

“Khonshu!” Jake calls as he stands up, his legs pushing back his chair. “Khonshu!” You watch him as he yells for his god. The wind blows through the window and shuffles the papers lightly on the table in front of you. Your eyes trail to the window and land on the apartment complex across the street. The falcon was gone, all that was left was a patch of red on the window sill. Your stomach clenches and your breath gets caught in your throat at the feeling of something being in the room with you and Jake. You couldn’t pinpoint where the thing was in the room with you but it made you anxious enough to stand up quickly and knock your chair over in the process. You and Jake ignore it and he directs his attention to something standing in front of the open window. He tilts his head back to look at it and you swallow. Something was there and it wasn’t that hard to guess that it was Khonshu. 

“El chico quiere saber si fuiste tú.” Jake says. “¿Lo era?” You look between him and the empty space as if you could see Khonshu. Your eyes land on the space above the window where Jake was looking at. How tall was the damn pigeon? 

“¿Los has sacado por la ventana? ¿Los has echado del lavadero?” Jake asks. He scoffs. “Don’t play fucking coy with me. Was it or was it not you?” You hold your breath, every fiber of your being told you to flee the room and not come back until he is gone but you force yourself to hold your ground. It would be stupid of him to hurt you while his avatar is present. Jake rubs his face and momentarily frowns before stepping towards the fish tank and looking in the reflection.

“They shaved my beard.” He says. You glance away from him and back to the space you thought the murder-bird was still there. 

“What did he say?” You ask. A rough breeze pushes past you and nearly knocks you over. The papers floated off of the table and onto the floor, scattering around the flat. You take a step back as Jake looks away from the tank and to you. He frowns and walks towards you, his eyes trained on the area in front of where you stood. 

“He says that I should have slit your throat when I first met you.” Jake says. “He says that I should snap your neck right now.” He adds. You stare at him, there was no way that he was going to go through with his god's wants, right? His mission is to keep you safe for his alters sake, if he kills you then that would go against everything he has been working towards. 

“He also says that he never held you out the window or chased you out of the laundry room.” He says. You breathe in harshly through your nose as the wind blows once more and the feeling in your stomach loosens. Khonshu left and it was back to you and Jake. You stand still for a few moments, trying to gather your thoughts and the past few minutes processed. You shakily pick the chair back up and rest it on its four legs. Your hands grip the seat rest tightly, your knuckles turning white. Slowly, you release your grip and stretch your fingers before your eyes trail to the papers scattered around the room. 

The crinkle underneath your shoe caused you to look down and remove your foot from the paper you were standing on. The scuff mark of your shoe was imprinted on the paper with information about Anubis, the god of death. You swallow and slowly, you begin to pick up all the papers scattered around the room until all the parchment was collected and resting on the surface of the table once more. You and Jake stood in silence. You don’t know what to do. There wasn’t much you could do. Should you believe him? A god that manipulated Marc for his own benefit. Was this another manipulation tactic or was it the truth?

You sat back down in the chair you occupied not too long ago and Jake glares at the fish tank. Marc and Steven must be bitching to him about his promise that he broke.

“What do you think?” You ask him. He trails his eyes over to you. He looked different without the mustache, young and baby-faced. Your heart aches once you remember that he was going to leave again and this was probably the last time that you would see him for a long time. 

“I don’t think he did either.” He answers. “He didn’t say who it was or who he thought it was.” You release a shuddering breath and the breeze flows gently through the window and wraps around you as if it was trying to comfort you. You cross your arms over your chest as your eyes land on the scrap book Steven was working on before you arrived. The pages were turned, it was no longer on the goddess Isis but rather Tawerets page. The goddess of childbirth and fertility, you read. Your eyes flicker away from the page and to the window once more. The sky was still its bright blue despite the gray clouds rolling in, you could hear birds tweeting to one another and the traffic below. How lucky were they to be oblivious to the world around them? 

Your eyes landed on the window sill across the street, the bright red spot of blood was slowly drying in the sun. By tomorrow it would be a burgundy red and the neighbors wouldn’t know about it until they opened their window. They would wonder what caused the dark spot on their white sills and maybe they would try to wash it away but by then the blood would be seeped into the wood and impossible to completely remove. You swallow around the lump forming in your throat as you finally allow yourself to contemplate the final question for today: If it wasn’t Khonshu, then who was it?

Chapter Text

You stare at the ceiling of Stevens apartment while you are tucked safely underneath his blankets. He slept soundly next to you, his warm breath hit your skin and tickled the hair on your arms. Steven slept peacefully, or Marc, you weren’t sure since you couldn’t tell who was who as they rested next to you. Steven was the one who laid next to you before he turned off the nightstand light. It was a little awkward laying next to him after so long of being apart, but eventually that melted away and it was almost like nothing had changed between you. Dinner was the same, awkward and a little tense until he cracked a joke and the tension broke away from the laughter you shared. 

You both settled back into that old routine after you changed into your pajamas. Dinner, small talk about your day, any events or interesting news that you wanted to share, comfortable silence as you sit and watch television together; and then it would hit nine pm and you would have to get ready for bed. Your toothbrush was still in the cup next to theirs on the bathroom sink. For some reason, you thought that they would have thrown it out when they returned but they didn’t. You couldn’t form into words how much you missed them. When they were gone you missed the small moments between you and you were glad to have it back now.

 It was nearing three in the morning and you had yet to fall asleep. You have work at seven and you have to be up by six to make it on time. The sun was going to rise before you fell asleep, and you don’t know if it's worth going to bed for a couple of hours and waking up cranky or staying up until after dinner later today. Either way, you were going to be tired and absolutely exhausted by the time you returned to Stevens place after work. For now, you were too wrapped up in replaying the conversation you had with the men after you learned that Khonshu claims that he’s not the bitch who held you out the window and chased you out of the laundry room. It has been playing on repeat in your mind since it ended. 

It was like a videotape that you couldn’t look away from and once it finishes it always rewinds itself to the beginning and replays. You’ve been stuck reliving it in your mind for hours, analyzing every detail and committing it to memory as you stare at the ceiling.

--- 

“Do you think he knows?” You ask. You were still sitting in the seat across from him with your arms over your chest and hugging the itchy shirt to your body. You want to change out of your work uniform but you were too preoccupied with the knowledge that you just learned from the dumb god. Marc sat in the seat across from you. You don’t know when Jake gave up the wheel and let Marc in the driver's seat, but it didn’t matter. Jake wanted nothing to do with you and you need to catch up with Marc. 

“Do you think Khonshu knows who it is?” You press.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he does.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us then?”

“Khonshu is a dick.” Marc says. “He withholds information that he believes is beneficial to himself.”

“But why would he hold back the info on who the god or goddess is?” You ask. What fucking protector of the goddamn night does this shit? Protector your ass. He’s just a cranky old bitch with his fucking staff shoved so far up his ass that he thinks he’s another fucking god. Hot damn. If he couldn’t kill you and you could see him, you would throw hands with him. Punch him right in his beak. You watch as Marc shrugs and a groan leaves your mouth. You know it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know what the damn bird was thinking, but you felt frustrated and scared. Why would a god be interested in you enough to harass you? Why would this fucking deity decide to hold you out a window and not drop you? Khonshu- you could see him doing it just to fuck with you; But another god? Why didn’t they drop you? What was their endgame?

You take a slow deep breath to help your anxiety and so you wouldn’t lash out on Marc and make him disappear like he did yesterday. None of this was his fault and you didn’t want to pin all of your anxiety onto him because you couldn’t control it. You’re going to have to accept that Marc and Steven don't have all the answers and that was a little difficult to swallow because of the stuff they kept from you since day one. You slowly release your breath and remove your fingers that were digging into your sides. 

“What have you guys been up to?” You ask. You’re going to have to trust them that they don’t know any more than you do. That was a little difficult to do in the past and even more difficult now; but you have to force yourself to move on from the conversation of the deity, otherwise you don’t know what would fall past your lips and be wrapped up in your anxiety like barbed wire.

“I’ve been catching up on doing this project,” Steven says as he gestures to the book on the table. Your eyes land on the scrapbook of the gods. “I’m almost finished with it.” 

“That's fun.” You say. You lean forward, reaching for the book to peek through and Steven gently slaps your hand away.

You give him and look as he says, “I want to show you in its complete glory after it’s finished.” You didn’t bother to tell him that you already peeked through it during their absence, but didn’t read the full details. As much as you wanted to see the gods and goddesses 

“Okay,” You reply. “Have you done anything else?”

“Marc has been watching his Chicago baseball games and we went out on the city a couple of times. Stocked up the fridge- and oh, we’re having tofu thai tonight.” Steven says. He pauses for a moment then adds, “If you want to stay for dinner.”

“Steven, I was planning on that and robbing the comforter tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You say. “I don’t think I could spend another night alone anyways.” Yesterday, after you took your shower and cried in it, Layla left with the excuse of meeting up with an old friend. You spent the rest of the day laying on your couch and scrolling through Tiktok while debating on whether or not you were calmed down enough to meet up with Steven and Marc for dinner. You weren’t. You didn’t have anything edible in your cabinets and fridge either after spending about two and half weeks at the men's apartment so you had to sleep for dinner last night. It was weird to admit that after spending two weeks with someone that being alone felt foreign and uncomfortable. Your couch was hard for you to sleep on and you missed the mattress you spent the last two weeks on. 

“How did the mission go?” You ask. “Where did you guys go?”

“Jake took us up to Peterborough and then over to Birmingham.” Steven says. You doubt that after they left London that the three of them got along well enough to cooperate together as Marc and Steven do. Jake didn’t even let them front since he took over the body the night you got ambushed by Harrows cult members. Jake probably dealt with Marc and Steven nagging for the body back and Jake either ignoring them or making some remark back. Either way, they definitely didn’t get along. Marc seems to hate Jake, you could understand that since Jake did rob the body for over a month; but Jake did save you and Marcs and Stevens ass that night. 

 Steven confirmed your doubts by saying, “Jake didn’t give us the body until after he returned to Peterborough and up until he forced control a few minutes ago, we haven’t heard of him.” You knew that latter part because Marc told you yesterday that Jake went radio silent- almost like he never existed in the first place. You frown at that thought. You don’t care that much for Jake, y’know because of the knife thing and the threats, but you do think that he does deserve a shot at having a life as much as Marc and Steven do; only if he wants that, of course. He only fronts for Khonshus work and whatever bitch-mission he has, he doesn’t have anything else besides that. Well, as far as you know since there were days that you haven’t seen him.

“Jake let a kid go.” Steven says, interrupting your thoughts. You give him a wide eyed look. All your thoughts crashing to a stop in your mind like a train wreck. 

“What?” You say and Steven repeats his statement. “What do you mean?” You understood what it meant but you just couldn’t wrap your mind around it. The fuck does he mean that Jake let a kid go?

“Up in Birmingham. There was a kid about your age and Jake chased after him and he...let him go.” Steven says. You stare at him in near disbelief. What? A kid your age was in a crazed cult? And Jake let the kid go? You shake your head slightly. You needed confirmation that you were understanding it correctly. Maybe you were in shock that you couldn’t quite comprehend what was being told to you. Maybe you were hearing him wrong.

“The kid was in the cult?”

“Yeah.” He says. You shake your head again. Shit. A teen your age was in Harrows cult and they were down to hurt a fellow kid for whatever reason. Even though they weren’t there that night you were ambushed and nearly kidnapped, they were part of the group that tried to do so. Holy shit. You were glad that Jake didn’t kill someone your age, that he had enough kindness not to kill a child; but hot damn the cult has to be exterminated like ants because if one gets away they will continue to thrive. This kid will find other members spread across the globe and will gather together to complete their goal. Whatever that may be. You watched too many true crime YouTube videos to feel at ease from this. 

You take a slow deep breath. Too many things have happened today- over the weekend, really- that it was becoming too stressful to deal with. For a moment, you thought of telling Steven that you need some space to register the information you learned about today. But, you thought that would be a bad idea since you don’t know what deity wants from you. They don’t want to kill you, you know that. They had plenty of chances to kill you, they could have dropped you out of that window or tossed a washing machine at you in the laundry room months ago. You don’t know if they’re finding some sick kind of enjoyment out of this or if they’re bored or if they want to let you know how powerful they are compared to you- a human. 

As fast as you inhale the oxygen, you release the air through your mouth. You don’t know whether or not to give points to Jake for not murdering a kid, but this did erase some of your doubts about Jakes honesty in not pushing off Elias Dean off of Towers Bridge. Maybe he didn’t kill Elias, maybe he was telling the truth about not killing him. Steven sat across from you, slouching in his chair as he stared at you, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what to tell him, it was hard putting your feelings into coherent words. You don’t think that Steven would enjoy hearing you tell him that you think Jake letting the kid go was a mistake. Your anxiety of this was based on movies and documentaries and books about shit like this. Maybe you shouldn’t be as anxious as you were because it was a kid but children can cause as much harm as an adult can. 

So you just tell him the one thing that you believe sums up everything you experienced over this weekend and today, “Shit.” Steven nods his head in agreement and repeats the statement with a chuckle. You tilt your head down towards your lap as you uncross your arms and rub a loose thread of your shirt between your fingers. It was silent between you for a moment save for the traffic outside and the humming coming from Gus tank. 

“Go change and come back, alright, dove?” Steven says, breaking the quiet. “I’ll get dinner started for us, yeah?” You nod and stand up, your calves pushing the chair back with the movement; and then you left with a promise to come back. 

---

Stevens' soft snores broke your trance and you blink the sting out of your eyes from not blinking for a while. You decide that you’re going to stay up for the remainder of the early morning hours since you didn’t know if you would sleep through your alarm and you were still too tangled in the strings of everything else. Who was the deity that has been harassing you? Why did Jake decide to let this kid go after threatening you? What was so special about this kid that he couldn’t have gone through with killing them? You don’t have the answers that you desperately seek to find. 

You slowly peel back the comforter and swing your legs out of the bed before carefully padding into the living room part of the apartment. You use the moonlight to help guide your way through the piles of books and messy surfaces. At least the damn bird decided to give Jake rest for the night. You thought that he would send out his avatar on some mission after the weeks that he has been gone, but as far as you knew that the god has been radio silent since he admitted to not partaking in your harassment. Well, as far as you knew the god was quiet since you didn’t feel his presence since he left and you couldn’t see him in the first place. Which brings up another topic, you want to ask Marc how everything works since he was the gods avatar for ten years and you don’t know how open he will be to answering your questions, but you’ll get them one way or another. 

Do the gods just show themselves when they want an avatar; and once they do get said avatar can they see them or whenever they call for them? You want to know if there is an answer for why this deity is being so secretive with their identity. What the fuck is their end goal? You know that Marc doesn’t have an answer for that one but perhaps some insight on it. 

You sit on the couch cushions and stare at the faint reflection of yourself on the television screen. How does being an avatar work? How did Marc get himself into the avatar business for a decade? You should have asked him that earlier, but you were too distracted with what he was hiding during those five years half the universe was gone. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. Does every deity have an avatar? How do they choose avatars? You didn’t want to be one, just hearing from how shitty Khonshu treated Marc and Steven, you don’t want that for yourself. You don’t want to be an avatar for a deity who would treat you like shit for ten years. You were a little surprised that Marc stuck it out that long. How did he get out of that with Khonshu? It couldn’t have been easy. Also, what happened to Ammit? You have yet to ask him to clear the air and tell you what happened to the goddess that they had to stop in Cairo. 

There’s so many things that need to be answered and it doesn’t help that the one person who could answer you doesn’t like speaking half of the time. It’s always Steven, and you don’t mind him, but you would like to build a relationship with Marc too. You turn your body slightly so you can peek over the back of the couch and look out the window. It was hard to tell through the cracks of the curtains but you thought you saw a crescent moon. You didn’t mind the planet up until a few months ago when you began to associate it with the god that you’ve been putting blame on for making your life a living hell. You understood Marc's dislike for the glowing orb in the night sky. You and him had another thing in common. You looked away from the window and towards the cluttered table holding Stevens notes and the scrapbook. You wanted to look at it and see how his project was coming along, but you didn’t want to disrespect his wishes for you to read it once it was finished. 

Maybe you could buy some nice pens for him after work tomorrow- today- or maybe some glitter-glue to make the pages pop out a little more. The corner of your lips curves up a bit at the thought. Steven would absolutely hate the glue idea, he seems like he would rather have his scrap book be organized and professional by using Elmer's glue sticks than cheap glitter glue for kids. Pens it is then. You shift your gaze over to the cluttered kitchen counter, the groceries that Steven and Marc bought yesterday while you were at work were evident by sitting on the surface. It was mainly healthy food, fruits and boxed oats. Perhaps if you go to the store later today, you could buy a cake for the three of you to share. Four, if Jake decides to front. You definitely need to get a new laptop before school next week though so you could do the online classes you already enrolled in.

You had plenty of money saved up from the weeks that you skipped grocery shopping and ate whatever was left in Stevens fridge when you stayed here with Layla. You had yet to buy them the meal that they both agree on is good: strawberry waffles, except it will be vegan for Stevens sake. Maybe you’ll buy something separate for Jake if he ever talks to you. You were a little upset about that but not enough to cause you to be absolutely sad. All because of what he did the night you met him. You would probably be more upset if that didn’t happen. You had questions for him too and you doubt that they will get answered. 

You trail your gaze back to the television and with the help of Gus tank light and the moonlight filtering in through the slightly parted curtains, you could see your blurry reflection on the darkness of the screen. Who was that kid that Jake let go? Why would a fellow teenager join the cult? What happened that caused Elias Dean to die? Jake probably had those answers and you weren’t going to get them anytime soon. The noise of feet shuffling towards you made you turn your head in the direction of the noise. In the dimness of the apartment and with the help of the tanks light, you saw Steven walking towards you. 

He stops a couple of feet from the couch and asks, “What are you doing up, love? It’s three in the morning.” You don’t remember hearing him get out of bed or turning on the mattress, looking for you. You were too tangled in your own thoughts to hear him. 

“Can’t sleep.” You tell him as he rubs the sleep away from his eyes with the back of his hands before stretching. He turns on the light on the stand next to the couch and both of you squint at the sudden brightness before you allow your eyes to adjust by opening them wider and blinking away the color spots. Once your sight adjusted, you spotted his curly and messy hair and smiled a bit at the sight. Marc hated his hair being a mess, he was the one who was more likely to comb it.

“Is something keeping you up?” He asks. You glance at his white shirt and navy blue pajama pants before trailing your eyes back to the blank television screen. 

“I think you already know.” You answer. He sighs a little and mumbles something about making tea for the both of you. You watch him tiredly walk towards the kitchen for a moment before you say, “You don’t have to.” 

“I know.” He says and yawns as he flicks on the kitchen light switch. You push yourself off of the couch and walk towards him, only stopping once you reach the island's counter. He fills up the kettle with water from the faucet before placing it on the stove top and flicking on the switch for it. In New York, you used to fill up your mugs with water from the sink and place it in the microwave. Of course you kept a close eye on it as it heated in the enclosed space but you have never boiled your water on the stove for tea until you met Steven Grant. You lean on the counter and he leans his back against it and you both were quiet in the early morning hours. 

Your eyes flicker to the stove clock time and frown at the sight of it. It was a little after three am. You were used to waking from your nightmares about this time of night, but not already being awake because you were too anxious to sleep. There were a few times you didn’t get any sleep because of Jake or because of the cult but this was a little different because it was your own thoughts keeping you up. 

“Did I wake you?” You ask Steven. The question being spoken in the silence felt loud to your own ears. It felt a little illegal speaking this early in the morning, maybe even too sacred to make any noise at all. You didn’t think that you woke him because you were being quiet the best that you could and you didn’t knock anything over. 

“No,” Steven says. “I woke up because I didn’t feel you next to me.” You had trouble sleeping at your own place last night. You wonder if Steven became conditioned to sleeping next to someone like you did. It was easier for you to fall asleep next to Layla or Steven than it was to sleep by yourself. You would never admit that to anyone but, it was oddly comforting to recognize. 

“I’m sorry,” You say. He shakes his head. 

“Don’t be.” He says. You walk around the counter and reach into his cabinet for your favorite mug before grabbing another one and setting it down next to it.

“You want to watch some historical documentaries with me?” He asks, “It would put you to sleep.” You snort at that. You think you would find it more intriguing depending on the topic. But you were surprised that he was offering to stay up with you. You thought he was going to give you some milk and tea and a dash of honey to knock your ass out until your alarm goes off. 

“You would do that?” You raise your eyebrow in surprise as you turn towards him and lean against the opposite counter across from him.

“Or I could read to you if you’d like.” He adds. The circles underneath his eyes suggested that he would once again fall asleep during either process.

“You did before you fell asleep.” You say. “I had to move the book so you wouldn’t ruin the binding.” He frowns a little and you let out a chuckle at the sight. 

“Even that didn’t put you to sleep?”

“Steven, I find Egyptian history interesting especially with the information I have now.” 

“Bollocks.” He says. “I fell asleep on you, didn’t I?”

“Just mid-sentence.”

“I’m sorry.” He says sincerely and you shake your head.  

“Nah, you don’t have to apologize, it must be really difficult for you these past few weeks, y’know with your body recovering with whatever Jake neglected; and being an old man and all.” 

“I’m not that old.”

“You’re thirty-eight and misplaced your glasses when you were about to read to me earlier.”

“I didn’t know where I put them.” He defends himself. 

“They were on top of your head after you set them on there.” You deadpan and you both stare at each other before cracking smiles. 

“Okay, well you’re right with Jake neglecting the body. I feel exhausted and before you start, no it doesn’t have to do with being up at this ungodly hour of the night.”

“Morning actually.” 

“Do you have to always be right all the time?”

“Only when it annoys you.” You answer and he laughs. The sound makes you look away with a grin on your face. “You are an old man, though.” You add after a moment.

“I don’t need to be reminded of my age in the middle of the night.” He says and this time you don’t bother to correct him about the time that it was. It was your turn to chuckle at his statement.  “I could teach you how to do a Rubik cube.”

“I know how to do a Rubik cube.” You say. 

“Then I could help you get better at it.” He offers.

“This,” You say, gesturing between you and him with your finger. “Is why you should invest in buying a Wii.”

“A Wii?” 

“Yeah, it's a video game console. We could play Wii bowling and I could beat your ass at it.”

“I don’t think we had a Wii.”

“It’s a popular console from like 2009, 2010 ish.” You say. “Point is, our sleepless nights can consist of Mario Kart and being competitive in other games. Maybe it would tire us out more.” 

“Hopefully we don’t have too many of those.” He says. The kettle screaming brought both of your attention to it. You watch the steam rise from it. 

“Go sit on the couch and come up with something to do that we both can agree on.”

“You’re staying up with me?” You ask. You were trying to give him an out in case he did want to go back to bed and didn’t want to stay up with you. He was exhausted from the last couple of months, that was clear with the bags underneath his eyes. 

“I’m not going to let whatever is going on in your mind haunt you on your own.” He says as he grabs an oven mitt and puts it on before grabbing the kettles handle. You turn on your heel and walk towards the couch, sitting on the cushions with your back leaning against the armrest. You watch him from where you sat as he puts the tea bags into the mugs and grabs some milk from the fridge and honey from the cabinet before bringing the items over on a tray. He sets it on the coffee table and sits on the other side of the couch, leaving the middle space open. 

“There’s not much to do.” You say as he leans forward and splashes the milk into the tea and follows it with a quick squeeze of the bottle of honey. 

“When Marc was taking the body out for a spin all over London, when I didn’t know about him, I would try to stay up for hours. I would try to exhaust the body until I couldn’t do it anymore.” He says as he stirs his tea with a spoon. “I listened to podcasts, read books that I was infatuated with, and did puzzle games to help with keeping my brain active.”

“Did it work?” You ask. 

“Sometimes.” He says. “I fell asleep a few times from exhaustion and days would pass without me knowing. I suppose during that time Marc took the body and did whatever he needed to do as Khonshus knight.”

“That must have sucked to go through.”

“It was absolute crap, actually.” He says. “I missed a date!”

“Did you ask them out?”

“No.” He pauses in thought. “I think Marc did.” He looks at the television screen and frowns for a moment. “Marc says he never asked anyone out.” You stare at him for a moment, the answer already came to your mind the moment he said that. Marc was too pent up on Layla to ask anyone on a date and Steven barely seemed like he had his life together before from the little you heard about him prior to June. So, that leads- “Jake.” Steven says, his eyes wide and lips parted. 

You hid your smile behind your cup of tea before you sipped on it. You had to give it to Jake for stepping forward and trying to set Steven up on a date. Or set himself up on one? You tilt your head a bit at the thought as Stevens face scrunches into one of anger and near disbelief. 

“Blimey.” He says. He picks up his cup by the handle, the mug looking small in his big hands as he takes a sip.  It was interesting to think about, did Jake set up that date for Steven and somehow Marc knew about it and missed it on purpose; or did Jake set it up for himself? He doesn’t want to be around often so why would he want to go on a date with someone? The liquid of the tea burnt your tongue a little as you took too big of a sip. You swallow it quickly and put the mug down onto the coffee table before you drop it. From the amount that you knew of Marc, you were sure that he wasn’t happy about Jake asking someone out. He was probably livid and screaming in the headspace right now and from the expression of Steven visibly wincing, you guess that you were close enough. 

“Well, I’m sure that you dogged a bullet with whoever was supposed to be your date.” You say. 

“What makes it even worse is that Dylan thought I stood her up.” Steven says. “And I called her three days after we were supposed to meet up for dinner.”

“For what it's worth, I think you deserve someone better than a woman who thought Steven Grant stood her up.” You say. He was too kind and sweet for someone to believe that he could purposely stand them up. You watch his face flush red and internally pump your fist in victory. You were a little happy about his reaction since it hit hard enough for him to feel flustered. “Where would you have taken her?”

“The steak house.” He says. He takes a sip of his tea and you pick yours back up to copy his movement. 

“The one you took me to?”

“Yeah.”

“It was expensive for the amount that we got, I think you should be glad that you didn’t take her there. Maybe…” You pause, wondering if you should say what you’re about to say. You didn’t want to make anything weird between Marc and Steven but it should be spoken about between them if Marc wants to try to patch up his relationship with his wife. 

“Maybe you should take Layla there.” You say. You didn’t have to look at Steven to know that he was flustered by your suggestion. You didn’t feel his gaze on you as you took a sip of your tea. It tasted good, Steven always made the best cup in your opinion. While you and Layla stayed in Stevens apartment, you tried recreating how Steven makes it and you could never get it right. This cup was like a reward to you for this weekend's shit show. 

“Have you played sudoku?” Steven asks. You decide not to pressure him on the suggestion, it was probably already awkward enough between Marc and him right now. 

“I have tried, but I never understood it.” You say. He smiles as he sets down his tea and grabs an old newspaper off of the table and a pencil. 

“Come here, I’ll show you.” He says. You set your cup down next to his and scoot over onto the middle cushion to get a better view of the paper on his lap. 

The rest of the early morning hours was spent with Steven teaching you math and the placements of numbers. That almost lulled you to sleep so you switched over to doing origami with the newspaper and other parchments that Steven deemed useless. Eventually, you caved into letting Steven teach you how to do Rubik cubes better and faster. You completed one after what felt like hours of working on it and you were going to show your friend, but when you looked over to the couch from where you sat on the floor you saw that he was asleep. His neck was bent awkwardly on the arm cushion and you knew that he was going to wake up with neck pain like the old man he is. 

The first light of the day began to peek through the curtains of his apartment, casting a bright orange glow on the floor with the little that poked through. You were exhausted, yet you only had a tiny bit of regret of staying up all night. You were so happy about spending time with Steven that you couldn’t find much regret in you. You glance at the clock on the wall, you would have to leave now to get ready in your apartment so you could make it on time to work. With a sigh, you set the cube onto the coffee table next to your cold tea before you stood up and stretched. Your limbs shook satisfyingly before you crossed the couple of steps towards the couch and grabbed the yellow blanket off of the back of it and covered Steven with it. 

You let a small yawn escape you, your day was going to be long and full of those. Maybe you could convince Lauren to bring you a mug of coffee from her place if you asked. You usually didn’t but this was one of those rare occasions that you are considering it. You cross the threshold to the nightstand by Stevens bed and grab your phone, keys, and the paper you’ve been carrying since Steven gave it to you. You hug the three items to your chest before you slip on your shoes by the front door and open it. 

“Goodbye, Steven” You whisper. “Goodbye, Marc.” You pause for a moment and squint around the apartment as if you could see the ghost of the third alter before you say, “Adiós, Jake.” You close the door behind you and lock it, leaving your taser in the apartment with them.

Chapter Text

“Thank you so much for the coffee,” You tell Lauren. She sat on the metal cart next to the counter top that you were currently sitting on. Her legs swung back and forth as she adjusted her bun on top of her head. It was a slow morning so far, one that you were grateful for due to your exhaustion, yet, you also hated it because sitting still made you more aware of how tired you were. 

“You rarely ask for these types of things, the least I could do is buy you a coffee as a thanks for picking up my shift this Friday.” She smiles, her own coffee cup filled with lemon tea sat on the counter you perched on. You sip on your warm beverage as she speaks. Right, you have a double shift in a couple of days from now. Seven in the morning to six in the evening, fun. You roll your eyes at that. It was a day you would make a lot of money though, hopefully you’ll be well rested enough to not be too tired throughout that day. You already knew what you were doing tonight after work, eat dinner with Steven and Marc and go right to bed. You had to get a new laptop this weekend too, school was on Monday and that was less than a week away. 

You were stressed about that. You really needed that laptop for your senior year otherwise you would have to drop out and re-enroll next year or try and get your GED. It would be difficult trying to apply once more since they would try to contact you for your whereabouts and why you weren’t doing any school work within the first two weeks of the term. So, you would have to create a new identity and that would be even harder this time around since the American government has finally got most of their shit together. It was pure chaos when everyone came back, the government was backed up on files since the sudden appearance of everyone who was gone for five years came back. It took awhile for them to get ninety percent of the blipped back on file and confirm their status of life. 

The cheapest option for you to buy a laptop is if you could find one at a yard sale like you did for your previous one, but that might not happen. You haven’t seen any flyers for a garage or yard sale. You know for a fact you don’t have five hundred euros saved to buy a brand new computer, you had enough for small items like the strawberry waffles you keep internally promising to buy for Marc and Steven, and maybe the pyramid paperweight you saw at that glass shop a couple of months ago.

“What are you thinking about?” Lauren asks as she sips her tea. You could see the lemon flavored tea paper attached to the tea bag string in her cup from where you sat. You blink tiredly at her and smile. 

“Just the amount of sleep I didn’t have last night.”

“You haven’t slept?”

“I’ve been up for-” You pause and place your coffee next to you before you count off the amount of hours you have been up since. You worked yesterday and didn’t get any shut eye last night. Your shift yesterday was at eight am, but you woke up at six thirty and right now it's nearing ten, so you’ve been up for almost twenty-eight hours and you don’t get off until three. 

“I’ve been up for almost twenty eight hours.” You tell her and her mouth drops open. 

“Are you serious?”

“Deadass.” You say as you pick up your coffee and sip on it. You didn’t want to drink it too quickly and have a caffeine crash mid-shift or on the bus ride back to the apartments and miss your stop. You were falling asleep on your feet this morning, the passenger you almost fell asleep on moved several feet away from where you stood so you couldn’t drool on their backpack. 

“That’s not healthy.” Lauren says with a frown. “Is there something keeping you up?” You let the caffeinated liquid sit in your mouth as you think of what to say. You couldn’t tell her the whole truth. It would sound insane if you did. You can’t tell her about Khonshu and his declaration of not being the god that held you out a window Saturday. You also have to keep quiet about your neighbor who you began to trust and his lies that made you take a couple steps back and think of who he is. Could you trust him completely? You don’t know and that thought alone hurts you. You can’t tell her about your friend, Layla, and her weird absence on Saturday, what was up with that? Maybe she was doing some black market shit? That would be a huge can of worms to open with Lauren. And finally, you can’t talk to her about Jake and how he threatened to kill you and yet, he saved your ass and made sure you were breathing for a month and a half; and now his absence and zero want to communicate with anyone, including you, kind of, surprisingly, hurts.  

You don’t like that he threatened to kill you, but for a while, he was the only person you had. You can’t tell Lauren that because she would absolutely call the police.

“I’m just anxious,” You tell her a slice of the truth. Saying that this weekend was terrible would be an understatement. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks. You knew that she truly meant her promise about how you could talk to her about anything. But, you can’t take her up on this. Maybe in the future you can tell her about any normal problem such as how you mixed colors in your wash and now all your white shirts are pink and the amount of frustration you feel for yourself for that mistake. But, this anxiety issue needs to be kept away from her. You don’t know what you will do if Lauren ever finds out the truth about what you know. You will admit that you would feel relieved that you had someone normal to talk to about the existence of deities, your neighbors and how one works for a god and took down a cult, and also your friend's occupation as an illegal seller for the black market. You can’t let her in on the truth about yourself, though. If Lauren ever finds out about your real age and your fraud, she will never trust you again. Straight to the police station you go. 

“I don’t know why I’m anxious,” You lie and shrug to make it more believable as you bore your tired gaze onto her. “I need to start taking melatonin if this becomes a habit.” 

“You’ll need to go to the doctor if this becomes a habit.” She corrects. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

“When I lived in New York, I think I was…” You squint in thought. “Thirteen.” It was true that the last time you visited the healthcare clinic was for a bone you thought you broke but turned out you sprained it. That was- for you- nearly four years ago. But as far as Lauren knew that was-

“Five years ago?” She says. “Ten years actually! The healthcare here is free, you need to go get some check-ups done.” 

“I know, I know.” You groan. “It’s just that it costs so much in America without the insurance and even if you did have insurance it would cost like five hundred dollars for it.”

“Well, it’s free here.”

“I know.” You repeat. “It was a habit to not go to the doctor or the hospital unless you absolutely needed it.”

“A habit that is free to break.” She says. You nod in agreement. “Molly needs to go to the doctors soon for her yearly check up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She needs to go on the scale and the measurement scale and get her knees tapped at with those hammers.”

“Any shots?”

“I don’t think so.” She says. “Jamie needs to get his four year shots next year. He needs to get his polio and mumps and measles. When Molly got hers, she was crying and we had to reward her with ice cream for being so brave.” You smile at the thought of little Molly crying as she ate her ice cream. It was a comedic sight to imagine. The last time you received any vaccinations was for your annual flu shots in your local pharmacy, you were fifteen and still underneath your parents insurance plan. You should make an appointment for the flu shots this year so it wouldn’t hit you as hard as it did last year, but you weren’t sure if you needed to be insurance to receive the vaccinations.

“Well, it’s Jamie's turn to get ice cream for his reward.” You smile. “Are you packed for your trip?”

“No,” She groans. “We’re doing that tomorrow. We still have to pack the kids bags since they’re staying at Kris’s parents house this weekend.” 

“Are they excited to be staying at their grandparents house?”

“They are! They don’t seem to realize that it’s more than one night though.”

“It’s going to be a surprise when they realize that you aren’t picking them up until Sunday night.” You laugh. “They’re going to miss their mom’s.” 

“Every time I think about that I almost begin to cry.” She says. You glance at her and sure enough there were tears forming in her eyes. 

“It’s just for the weekend, they’ll be fine.” 

“Their grandfather is going to feed them a lot of sugar and send them home with us.” She says, you laugh. 

“That’s the rules though.” You say. “They’ll eat the sugar and be hyperactive before inevitably crashing.”
“Just like you are?” She asks and gestures to the coffee next to you. 

“You’re the one who ordered it to be sugary.”

“Well, having pure black coffee is a crime.” 

“My dad used to drink it straight from the pot without adding any milk or sugar to it. He should have gone to jail for it.” You joke and she grins at that. “I don’t know how he did it, but he drank it every morning.” A ping of sadness hits you as you finish the statement. Your dad will never drink coffee again and you will never have the opportunity to make fun of him for it with him standing next to you. 

“What’s your favorite coffee so I know what to order for you the next time around.” She asks and you swallow around the lump forming in your throat.

“You don’t have to-”
“I know I don’t,” She cuts you off. “So spill, what is it?” 

“Caramel Frappuccino.”

“You basic bitch.”

“You can’t just ask me for my favorite drink and bully me for it.”

“I just did.”

“You have no room to speak because you are drinking lemon tea.” You gesture to her paper cup. 

“At least I have taste.”

“Yeah, weak ass taste.” You scoff. “You didn’t even get raspberry and mint or some other tea with more than one flavor. You paid a coffee shop to make you tea, something you could have made at your own place.”

“I could say the same for your coffee.”

“Actually you can’t because I don’t have a Keurig.” You say before you pick up your cup and sip on the liquid. 

“This is why us English people don’t like you Americans.”

“We don’t even like ourselves.” You laugh and she chimes in with you. The noise hurts your ears in the small space but the sound was melodic. A light feeling spreads through your chest as you both giggle at your teasing of each other. You missed this, the feeling of being relaxed and carefree enough to crack some jokes. It’s been awhile since you haven’t been obsessed with whatever new drama was happening in your life. It was nice to have a normal friend who wasn’t tied to deities or cults. Once the laughter dies out, a comfortable silence settles between you. The bell above the entrance rings and Lauren pushes herself off of the cart and briefly pats your thigh as she passes you. 

You could hear her greet the customer from where you sat on the counter. You listen to her talk about the specials of the day and if there were any coupons underneath the desk that the customer could use for their meal. You only tuned out when you began staring blankly at the box of spices on the shelf across from you. Saying you were ready for bed would be an understatement. The caffeinated beverage was helping a little but not as much as you wish that it would. The word of the black pepper on the side of the cardboard box you burn your gaze into became indistinct the longer you stared at it. You knew what the word was and what it meant, but there was an odd disconnect from it. Your brain was not quite clicking it together in your mind. 

This only happened one other time when you were at your lowest a couple of weeks after moving to London. Everything that was words whether it was on the back of a granola box or sentences of articles on your phone became a blur of unknown words and phrases that you could not comprehend for the life of you. Staring at the two bolded words in front of you now, an odd feeling settles in your chest. You couldn’t describe the feeling, it was hard to put a finger on what it felt like. You force yourself to blink and look away from the box. You could hear Lauren tell the customer to have a good day before you hear her footsteps on the tile floor and see her near you out of the corner of your eye. 

“I was joking about your taste,” She says as she hops back onto the cart and grins at you. “If that wasn’t clear and you feel insulted about your terrible choice in coffee.” She adds. You don’t say anything for a moment as you muddle your way to form a proper sentence in your mind and make it roll off of your tongue so she wouldn’t get concerned and send you back to your apartment early. 

“I know and I was joking about your poor taste in tea.” You say, it doesn’t sound like it came from you despite the vibration in your throat. You rapidly blink as she parts her mouth in fake irritation. You breathe in through your mouth and hold your breath for a moment before letting go. 

“It’s decent taste actually.” She defends herself. The words on the box in front of you made much more better sense in your mind as you forced out a laugh. This time the noise sounded like it belonged to you. 

You trail your tired gaze back to her as you say, “Hmm. Sure.” Whatever has just happened to you scared you a little. Maybe it was caused by the lack of sleep you had, whatever it was you didn’t want to experience again. 

Lauren didn’t seem to notice you as she says, “That customer wanted me to put crisps on their sandwich.”

“Did you?”

“No! That would be cross contamination if I did.”

“Good.” You say. “Emily told me that someone asked her if she could put cookies on their sandwich.” She wrinkles her nose at that.

“Cookies?” She says, “Like the ones in the cookie cabinet?”

“Those exact ones. Chocolate chip onto of their ham sandwich.” You reply. You watch as a look of disgust forms on her face and you agree with her. When you first heard the story, you had the same expression as she has now. You pick up your coffee and sip on it. 

“That's disgusting.”

“I can get potato chips on top of a sandwich, but cookies?” You shake your head. “That's a crime in itself. They need to be jailed.”

“Agreed.” She says. The bell above the entrance rings and you both share a look before looking at the monitor. It was just a single customer, you couldn’t tell who they were from the glare of the lighting but that didn’t matter. You trail your gaze away from the monitor and to Lauren.

“Your turn.” She says before she picks up her own cup and sips on her tea. It was only fair if you were to take turns until lunch rush came. You blink tiredly and yawn as you place your cup onto the counter and hop off of it. You raise your arms above your head to stretch your muscles as you begin to walk to the front. Another yawn escapes you as you greet your first customer of the day.

You don’t care how many orders you messed up today, you were just glad to be ten minutes away from your neighbors apartment. Usually, you would be beating yourself up for putting ranch on a customer's sandwich when they clearly asked for mayonnaise; but you were way past the point of caring by the end of your shift. Your coffee was long gone and your bladder was empty from the endless amount of peeing you seemed to go through today. Caffeine makes you pee more often and you weren’t used to having so much caffeine in a day. You could feel yourself crashing with every step you took towards your apartment complex. Your feet ache and your back hurts a little. 

Maybe you’ll change the plans of you passing out after dinner to taking a nap on Stevens couch before eating instead. You don’t know if that would make you more cranky if Steven or Marc wake you for the meal, but you don’t care enough about it. If you’re lucky, maybe Steven has some snacks you could eat instead of waiting for dinner. Or you could just go to your own apartment and sleep on the couch, you could put your phone on silent and shoot Steven a text message stating that you won’t make it to dinner. Perhaps you’ll pop into his apartment and show him that you’re alive and breathing before heading over to your own and passing out for the remainder of the afternoon and night. 

You would like to sleep in his bed since it wouldn’t hurt your back as badly as your couch does, and his place brings you comfort, but you just want to sleep in peace more than anything. Marc or Steven might make too much noise for you to fall asleep and you weren’t going to ask them to be quiet in their own flat. If Khonshu or whatever deity decides to fuck with you when you’re trying to sleep in your apartment, damn them. You’re tired and cranky enough to beat a bitches ass if they decide to pull some shit like that. Maybe they’ll be willing to show their face and you can pop them in their jaws. You’ll like to think that you’re pissed off enough to throw hands with them. Either way, sleep was your main priority and nothing was going to-

Suddenly, the feeling of something or someone grabbing the back of your shirt and dragging you into the open end of the alley you were just passing causes you to lose your train of thought. You yelp as you get slammed into the brick wall, knocking your head against it and you let out a groan at the contact. Holy fucking shit. You snap your eyes in the direction of the open end of the alley and see someone standing there. They wore a cloth mask on the lower half of their face and a beanie covering their hair. The jacket they wore was zipped up to their neck and a turtle neck shirt hid any identification on their body, the black pants were baggy on their legs. The only visible thing was their brown eyes and the white skin surrounding it. They held onto a knife with glove-covered hands and you can feel their eyes glaring onto your body. You can not catch a fucking break this week, can you?

“Give me all your money,” They said, their voice deep and gruff. Your stance tenses as you stare at him. Just three months ago you were in almost the exact same situation, why does this bullshit seem to only happen to you? Well, you don’t want it to happen to anyone but it was weird that it happened twice to you. 

“I’m flattered that you think I have any.” You say. You know that you shouldn’t be rude to this man and you should hand over any cash you have on you, which you don’t since tips were terrible today. You were more awake than you have been all day thanks to the adrenaline rushing through you. The heaviness in your limbs and the baggy feeling around your eyes was gone. You were slowly planning on how to escape this situation. You could pretend to give him some cash or punch him in his dumb face and run for it; or you could throw your apron at him as a distraction and run- wait where the fuck is your apron? You rack your brain for where you left it and your heart nearly drops to your stomach as you realize that you left it in your locker after you grabbed your phone, keys and the Eye of Horus paper. 

Fucking fuck. Okay, scratch that, go with plan number one and if you get shanked, you have to leave the knife in and go get help. God, you just wanted to go nap and this fucker decides to choose you to mug. Life really just stopped holding back their punches, huh? What did you do to upset the universe?

“I know you.” He says after a long pause. You squint at him. Maybe he was a customer you served today and that’s why he says that he knows you? You sure as hell don’t know anybody that would rob teenagers for their tip money. Well, maybe Jake would though? Where the fuck is he when you need him anyways? Man, it would be the perfect time for him to swoop down from the buildings and do his Moon Knight thing. Kick some ass, take some names. Beat the absolute shit out of this guy so you could go take a nap. Do you have to call for him to come appear and save you or does Khonshus job only happen at night? You doubt that Khonshu would warn Jake about the situation that you’re in. The little bird-bitch. 

“I don’t know you.” You say. Man, you really should have brought your taser. What’s the point of having a taser if you don’t carry it around on you? You just didn’t want to get arrested for having one on you because it’s illegal in the United Kingdom. But, it would be really fucking handy to have it now. You could feel your phone pressing against your thigh. The emergency number for the U.K is 999, all you have to do is be able to call them if you need to. You should actually dial them and report a mugging but you don’t want to get involved with the police because of what you did to move countries. You only need to call them if you get a stab wound or any other major injuries. 

You tuck your fingers inward to make a fist as you prepare yourself to throw hands. You did this last time and you only got away because of your neighbors. They aren’t here now, so you’re on your own. Maybe you’ll call Marc's number if you get stabbed, he was in the marines and a mercenary, he has to have knowledge on stab wounds. He told you not to call his number unless it was a emergency and if this isn’t one than you don’t know what the fuck is.

“You don’t remember me?” He says. You almost snort at how pretentious he sounds. 

“Yeah, I don’t remember every brown eyed bitch that is willing to rob a kid.” You say. Why is he so surprised that you don’t know who the fuck he is?

“We met before.” He supplies and you stare blankly at him. You obviously were familiar to him unless he was mistaking you for another person.

“June.” He hints and your mouth parts open in surprise. This man is the same god damn mugger from before! Holy fucking shit. You almost laugh at that. Even after Marc beat his ass, he still is working the same nine to five job and he’s boasting about it. You stare at the eye slits across his face, any bruises that he might have had were healed. He sure as hell didn’t learn his lesson. What were you supposed to say to him now that he confirmed who he is? Hey man, how have you been? Still mugging teens huh? Or: How’s the kids and partner? Are y’all still a family or married? Going through a divorce huh? Yeah, I would divorce you too if I found out you were mugging children.

“Oh,” You say instead. “I thought you were dead for a while.” His eyes narrow at you. You did hope that he wasn’t dead because it would have meant you were a acquaintance to murder; but if he did kick the bucket, it means that you would be safe from this and you would be going up the stairwell and napping sooner than later.

“Still alive and well.” He snarls at you. You glance at the knife he held. It was the size of a bodice dagger, the blade was about five inches long. If you get stabbed, that’s going to cause some damage. Of course, it depends how bad it will be for where he aims and lands on. You just need to throw a punch and push past him. You need to run for your apartment. Wait, should you lead him to where you live? That sounds like a terrible idea. Okay, well, maybe you should book it for the bus stop? There has to be people there. There’s no fucking way that this man would be willing to stab a kid in front of a group of bystanders. 

“I still don’t have any-” You start but get cut off by his fist connecting with your face. Your head whips to your right as all your breath seems to stop and freeze in your chest. The pounding in your head covers any noise that could have warned you that he was taking a step forward before you feel his hand wrap the cloth of your shirt into his fist. He smelled like cigarettes and axe body spray. The left side of your face stung from the impact and you knew that a bruise would be forming on your face by tomorrow if you make it out of this situation alive.

You reach up and grasp his wrist, your fingernails digging into the cloth of his gloves. If you’re going to die at the hands of this fucker, you’re going to get his DNA underneath your damn nails for the police. He pulls you forward and slams your back into the wall, whatever breath you had is gone as soon as you felt the impact. Your head stung and your chest aches. You let go of his wrist and form your hand into a fist before swinging. His head whips to the side and he groans at the impact of your fist against his cheek. Slowly, he turns his head and glares angrily at you. Did he seriously not expect you to fight back? 

He lets go of your shirt and steps back a little before his fist makes contact with your stomach. You wheeze at the feeling and bend forward, clutching your torso with both hands before he grabs you by the back of your collar and throws you down to the ground. You roll a couple of feet, your skin gets torn apart due to the road burn. You slow to a complete stop and groan as you lay on your side. The gravel of the alley digs into your skin and crunches underneath his feet as he walks towards you. Fucking hell your body hurts. Your palms sting as you roll onto your back and try to catch your breath from being punched in the gut. You need to get up before he kicks the ever-loving shit out of you and gives you a concussion or breaks your ribs or arms.

You need to get up before he makes sure that this is the last bit of daylight you’ll ever see. Through half lidded eyes, you stare at the bright blue sky above you, and watch a bird fly over you with its wings spread wide. You couldn’t tell what type it was and you didn’t care much at the moment to think about it. You just need to get up. You need to get the fuck up. Your palms press into the gravel as you bend your torso to sit up. The muscles in your torso ache in protest as a shadow blocks your view of the sky above you. You bend your neck back and glare at the man before you. You could feel trickles of blood run down your forehead and you saw the drip of blood drop from the arch of your right brow and hit your cheek before continuing on trailing a path down your face.

He swipes the knife across your cheek and narrowly misses your eye. You jerk backwards from him as a sting of pain spikes across the fresh wound and warm blood runs down your face. A gasp leaves you and a scream begins to build up in your throat. This is the moment that you understood that he wanted more than money or any belongings that he could pawn, he wanted revenge; and even though you weren’t the one who beat his ass until he was unconscious, you were there as your neighbor did so and you didn’t stop him. 

You saw his leg swing back before you felt his foot make contact with your ribs. You fall back, your head hitting against the ground and once again, all air gets knocked out of your lungs. He steps forward, placing his foot on your chest and putting all his body weight onto the joint as he leans downward a bit and stares at you. The sunlight glints off of the blade he grasps in his hand and momentarily blinds you. This was going to be difficult to run away from since he’s already beating your ass. You need to scream for help, surely there’s someone nearby and willing to check in on you or call the police. Your hands wrap around his calf as you try to push him off of you so you could inhale some air but alas your attempts are futile.

You kick your feet against the ground, scrambling for some leverage. Maybe if you use the force of your torso against him he will stumble away from you. Your shoes slide against the gravel as you struggle to plant your feet onto the ground and force your torso into the yoga bridge pose. He presses his foot down harder and you swore that you felt your sternum crack under the pressure. You let your legs slide down and lay flat against the ground as you stare with anger at the man. You could feel panic begin to settle in your bones as you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You need to scream for help but you had no air in your lungs to do so. You try to force away the panic so you would have a clear brain to think with. 

Okay, you need to get him off. How do you get this fucking man off of you? Your eyes land on the one sight that all of your male classmates would protect the most during a game of dodgeball at recess in middle-school. He’s a man with a weak spot that happens to be right at arm's length. You should have realized it before, you would have gotten him off of you sooner. You let go of his calf and ball your hand into a fist before harshly slamming it against the area where the sun doesn’t shine. He lets out a gasp of air and stumbles back a few steps. You take a deep breath of air as you waste zero time to push yourself off of the ground. 

You spare a glance down at your palms and frown at the sight of blood seeping from the wounds that were made from when you scraped along the pavement when he threw you down. You pat your pockets for your belongings as you walk towards him. He was bent over and clutching his privates as he blocked the only exit to the alley. You need to run past him and book it for either your apartment or the bus stop. You pick up your pace into a jog before pushing your legs to move faster past him. He reaches out on his right side and grabs onto the cloth of your shirt and tugs you towards him. He stands up straight as you call for help, screaming it like you were a getting murdered and it was your last chance of survival, and it sure as hell felt exactly like that. Your back hits his chest as his left arm wraps around your throat and his knife pokes into your throat.

“Call for fucking help one more time and I’ll slit your god damn throat.” He threatens. Huh, this sounds awfully familiar. Your nose began to sting from the tears forming in your eyes. You could only hope that anyone that was nearby would be willing to check on your pleas. Maybe you’ll get really lucky and someone would pass the alleyway and see this. He kicks at the back of your knees, letting go of you temporarily as your knees give out underneath you and hit the gravel. He bends down, wrapping his arm once more around your throat and digging the tip of his blade back into your skin. You feel the blade digging into your throat as he bends down and begins to pat your torso for anything to take from you. 

With each hard pat, you know that the spots will be red from his hits. His hands trail down to your jean pockets and he pulls out the Ziploc bag that contains the Eye of Horus paper, your lanyard falls out of the same pocket and lands on the ground. 

“What is this?” He says behind your ear. His breath was hot on your ear and you wince at how close he is to you. He keeps your head tucked to his body as he removes the knife from your throat so both of his hands are available to open the baggy. You know that the piece of paper was just that: a piece of paper. But you don’t want him to damage it. It brought you comfort like it was a teddy bear and you don’t want to lose that. He takes out the paper and drops the bag as he unfolds the parchment. You swallow as you look down your nose and at the eye that stares back at you. Your blood drips off of your jawline and onto the paper, a small splat could be heard as it hits the parchment.

“Horus.” He grumbles, “What is that? An anime character or some shit?” You don’t answer, you weren’t going to explain to this prick what this symbol means. He doesn’t add anything but scoffs, you think the sound meant that he finished skimming through the description of the god and the protection symbol. He grips the edge of the paper and you nearly cry out when he tears it in half. Your wide eyes watch as he layers the paper over each other and he tears it once again. He lets the paper drop to the gravel, you swallow around the lump forming in your throat and try to ignore the sting of your nose and tears begin to make your eyesight blurry. 

More of your blood soaks the torn paper as his hand travels to your other pocket and pulls out your phone, the lock-screen picture of your parents lighting up on the device with the movement before he clicks the button on the side and the screen goes black. In the reflection, you could see your injured face and the desperation behind your eyes.

“Please don’t take that.” You plead. “That’s the only thing I have left of my parents.” Every photo of the life you had before was on that phone since you don’t visit your old social media accounts in fear of it stating that you were active online. The SD card was still in the phone and any image saved to the device was more valuable than gold to you. You don’t see him pocket the phone but you can hear him do so. This time the tears roll down your cheeks and the sob you were holding back leaves your throat. His grip tightens around your windpipe, making you choke on your own sob and quiet down from anyone who might be nearby. All of this for zero money and just to get some revenge on a teenager for being in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Fuck this dude. You felt the tip of the blade poking into your neck before you saw his right arm was up and pointing the knife at your throat. The tip drags from the right side of your neck and to the back of your neck. Another choked sob escapes you as tears blur your vision and mix with the trail of blood and sting the cut on your cheek. 

You felt his boot hit your back before you registered that you were face down on the pavement. The smell of metal, dirt, and paper fill your nostrils before you roll over onto your back with a groan and a half moan for help. He marches a couple of steps to your left and he pulls back his leg, the toe of his boot hitting the side of your head, once, twice, three times before he directs his kicks to your side. He had what he wanted, your phone. He could wipe the memory off of it and reset the device before trading it into a pawn shop for some cash. But, this was the cherry on top of the cake for him. He’s getting his revenge nearly three months later and you were nothing to him but a punching bag. 

You don’t know when your eyes closed and darkness took you from the beating you were receiving. But you do know that when your eyes peel open, your lashes stick to your cheeks from the dried blood on your skin, that the world is spinning and it isn't going to stop any time soon. You lay still, your body past the point of it aching and hurting and more into the territory of it feeling like you got hit by a bus and you were in absolute pain. You could feel a puddle of blood surrounding your head and the damp collar of your work shirt didn’t help the suffocating feeling you were experiencing by how it clung to your skin and around your bruising neck. 

The sky above you was covered in gray and white clouds that were slowly darkening with patches of blue poking through. It was going to rain soon and you didn’t want to risk walking back to your apartment injured and bloody on wet pavement. You need to get up; and still, despite that realization, you lay there and watch as the clouds roll by and cover the patches of blue. You don’t know what time it is, but you do know that there’s a chance that Steven may knock on your apartment door or call your phone if the bitch hasn’t shut it off yet. He’ll figure something went wrong and he might look for you if you don’t head over for dinner. A selfish part of you didn’t want him to find you bleeding out in an alley and save you from whatever potential internal bleeding you have. Not because it would cause him trauma and self blame for not looking for you sooner; But because, you hope that you will die in this alley due to everything you lost.

Your old life was on that phone. You lost the memories of the life you had before you were blipped. You lost the pictures and videos of your parents and friends; of homecoming dance pictures, trips to Coney Island, and bookstores. You lost the audio of you and your best friend laughing together over some dumb joke and how both of your eyes shined in the video with wrinkled corners and wide smiles. You lost the video of your mother and father speaking your name as they urged you to cut the video and to set it up to a timer for a photo instead. You will never get to look back on how they sounded and spoke your name with love and affection. Your parents lay six feet underground in the same Earth that you walk on every day; and you laying in your own pool of blood was the closest that you have ever been to them since. 

Everything was gone simply because a man chose you as his victim and you couldn’t defend yourself well. You don’t notice that it began to rain until you felt the first few drops land on your face. You need to get up and go take care of your injuries so Steven and Marc won’t find you dead in an alley. They will blame themselves for your death and you know that they will also do so for how beaten up you are. You need to get up and you don’t want to. You want to die. You want to give up and go to whatever or wherever it is that you’ll go to after you pass. You want to just call it quits and leave this Earth or roam this planet like a ghost. You just don’t want to exist anymore. 

Everything about existence hurts. You hurt; and it’s more than just the physical pain that you were currently going through. You have wounds that you have yet to heal after years of neglect. You want to die. You want to die. You want to die. You want to die, but you still painstakingly push yourself up into a sitting position. 

Your sides scream in protest and your breath gets caught in your throat. The buildings around you sway as if you were on a boat and blood mixed with rain ran down your forehead and made you close your right eye to prevent any blinding you. Your palms are wet and sticky with blood, your jeans and shirt cling to your skin with the liquid of the body fluid and rain. Saying that you are uncomfortable would be an understatement. You slowly inhale a breath of air through your mouth, the taste of metal was gross on your tongue. Your sides expands slowly and you only hiss out in pain when a shock floods your torso. You bend forward a bit, the movement causing you to cry out and clutch your bruising side as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Dying is an easy choice, getting up is going to be a bitch. A mumble of string together curse words leaves your lips as you wait for the pain to die out enough that you could focus on opening your eyes and taking in how bad your injuries are. You sure as hell felt like your ribs on your left side were cracked and perhaps broken. You had to have a concussion and the blood loss was making you woozy. The cut on your hands and cheek probably had to have some form of infection beginning to fester in the wounds from the dirty ground; and they definitely will get infected if you don’t clean them properly in a couple of hours. Slowly, you open your eyes and tilt your head down to your damp shirt. You carefully pull back your shirt from your torso and lift it enough just see some of the damage below your belly button on your side. 

Blood and rain ran down the visible patch of your torso as you stared at the darkening of your skin, it was slowly turning purple and black. You lower your shirt, you don’t need to raise it up any higher to know that it was matching the bit that you saw. You glance at your right hand, your knuckles are a little swollen and the sight of it makes you a tad bit more numb inside. You did fight back, you did punch him, it just wasn’t enough. You look away from it and to the entrance of the alley way, cars pass with their windshield wipers sliding back and forth across the glass. The windows were rolled up and people were tucked warmly inside with the heater blasting on high. You wonder if anyone saw you knocked out in an alley and thought that you were just a knocked over trash bag with your work uniform being a black shirt and black pants. Did they not notice? Were they too busy paying attention to the road or listening to whatever was happening on the radio? Or did they see you and just not care to check on you? 

There were a lot of people like that in New York. Some of the people who were homeless were often doing drugs or drinking their problems away with alcohol. There were several stories of people pushing others onto the subway tracks when the train was visible and about to make its stop. New York was not kind and maybe you thought London would more likely be kind enough to check on a person who was injured. You don’t know if you're grateful or not that nobody seemed to notice you. Your gaze trails to the ground in front of you. There lay the damp and shredded pieces of paper of the Eye of Horus, the ink was running from the rain and your blood; and not far from it was the wet plastic bag you carried it in and the orange lanyard that holds your keys. You bend forward, reaching for the plastic baggy and crying in pain and despair as your fingers wrap around it. 

Carefully, you pick up the pieces of paper, most of it falls apart as you pinch the parchment between your fingers and place it into the baggy. You don’t know if the liquid running down your cheeks was the rain, tears, or your blood, but either way you try to collect and save as much as the paper as you could, just so one less thing could get taken away from you. Sobs begin to build up in your chest and you try to hold them in as you focus on picking up the paper Steven gave to you. Your shoulders start to shake as you pick up the final piece and pinch the baggy shut. You hold the bag to your chest as a sob escapes you and soon another one follows. You try to hold in your cries but all that causes is more pain in your body. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fucking fair. Why does this bullshit happen to you? 

A choked out sob leaves you and just like that, the water-gates were open and you were completely crying. Nothing was fair, why do you have to have a shitty week? Why did you have to be the one chosen to be this asshole's victim? Why did your parents have to die and why weren’t you in their shoes? You let everything out in your cries and sharp pains of breath. You just wanted a damn nap and you sure as hell got one because you went unconscious for who-knows-how-long. Everything hurts and sucks and here you are: crying in an alley during a rain storm while shivering and drenched in blood and rain water. This was a terrible Tuesday, the worst one you think you ever had. By the time that you calm down enough to think rather than to feel, the rain seemed to become heavier and you were sure that you were getting hyperthermia. You were cold, especially your hands and nose. Your teeth clatter together and your face aches. You need to get up. You let the emotional numbness take over, you feel drained and exhausted.

With the state that you’re in, you’re going to need support on getting up, there is no way that you would be able to push yourself off of the ground without help. You look around the alley, trying to focus enough that you could clearly see your surroundings through the rocking of the world. There wasn’t anything but trash cans and bags of garbage that you could use. Through your hazy thoughts, you consider that you could knock them over and injure yourself more if you did try to use them. Your eyes trail away from the bins and to the brick wall next to you. There was about an inch between each brick that you could use as a ledge to help pull yourself up. It might damage your fingers some but it’s your only chance to get up. You didn’t move to London after committing fraud, get scared by a deity multiple times, and have a knife held to your throat twice just to die in an alley.

You stuff the plastic baggy into your jean pockets and scoop up your lanyard off of the ground and place it into your other front pocket. You cry out as you rotate your body so you’re on your hands and knees before crawling slowly over to the wall. Your body screams as you lift your upper body and grasp the wall with your hands. It took what felt like forever to stand and lean against the brick to help stabilize yourself. The world seems to spin faster as you’re standing and you close your eyes and try to calmly take a breath and do some breathing exercises. Inhale slowly, try to ignore the sharp fucking pain in your side, hold for five, four, three, two, one; and slowly exhale and repeat. You go through the cycle several times until you feel nauseous. Your stomach churns and you don’t have a chance to hold back your vomit. You throw up directly onto your shoes, almost in the same spot you did all those months ago. The taste of bile was gross and your throat burns a bit from it. You keep your eyes closed as you wait for your stomach to settle. 

You let out a shuddered breath, the smell of vomit, rain, and metal floods your nostrils as you inhale and prepare yourself to continue to fight. Your eyes flutter open and you stand up straight. With every exhausting step you take, you lean your hand against the wall and move; and you keep moving despite the stumbling of your feet and spinning of the environment around you. You keep moving despite your head pounding and the brightness of the world becoming too much for you; and when you fall due to slipping on a mixture of your blood and rain water on the sidewalk's pavement, you get up and continue. You push forward and persevere just like you always have.

Chapter Text

The walk to your apartment complex felt like you were in a dream. With the small glances into windows and rain puddles, you determine that you look like a ghost haunting the street. Your face is pale and blood and rain blinds you multiple times as fellow humans stop in their tracks and give you a horrifying look as you pass. You know with just their looks alone that you should go to the hospital but, you ignore them and continue to move your feet. The brightness of the headlights of the passing cars hurts your eyes and makes your head pound even worse. You feel like a walking corpse who just got hit by a train. You were extremely exhausted. You haven’t slept in over twenty four hours and the time that you were unconscious doesn’t count.

With every step you take, a jolt of pain runs up your sides. You breathe in and out slowly, trying to not expand your lungs and muscles to cause more hurt and damage to your bruising torso. You press your palm into the cut on your forehead as you walk to apply pressure to the wound, your fingertips have long since gone cold and numb. Your face felt tingly from the bitter rain. There was a pit in your stomach that's hard to describe. You don’t know if it belonged to a bruise from getting punched in your torso or if your anxiety from the day and the dizziness from your blood loss was the root of it, but either way something felt off. You felt like someone was watching you, but as you spare a glance around there were nobody but concerned bystanders who cleared themselves from your path.

You vaguely recognize your apartment building, the lights of your neighbors were shining in the windows of their apartment, others were dark. It was about twenty yards away, you were close to getting inside. It was your building right? You squint at it, trying to find a way to recognize it from the outside. It looks like your building, it was the same color and it had the stairs leading up to it as it always does. But, the buildings next door look the same too. You could feel that your thoughts were becoming more muddled and unfocused as you pause in your tracks and stare at the building. This one has to be it, right? All the buildings in this area look the same. They were built for those who needed places to live after coming back from the blip. You try to focus on the building that you believe is yours as the world spins around you and a wave of nausea hits you. This one has to be it, if it's not you can just move to the next one and see if you recognize the lobby. 

You need to get inside. If you don’t get help soon, you will bleed out on the streets. You should let some passersby call you an ambulance, but you still don’t want to risk getting caught with fraud. You wish that you had your phone to call Steven or Marc. They would come and get you unless Jake was busy doing Moon Knight shit. You doubt that he was because hypothetically, he should have saved you from the fucking mugger. Unless Khonshu was just being a dick and decided that you should die in an alley, you wouldn’t put it past him. You force yourself to walk up the steps, holding onto the railing and lifting your legs slowly as you go. You left a blood trail on the metal railing, one that the rain will wash away and won’t exist by the time the moon is up high in the sky.

You think that he cracked your ribs and gave you a concussion, if he didn’t do the former then he must have heavily bruised your side; but you definitely knew that he gave you a concussion. You pull open the door with gritting teeth before entering the lobby. The brightness hurt your eyes and made your nausea ten times worse. You’re going to throw up soon if you can’t get a hold on it. You grip the cloth of your shirt, rain and blood wringing out with the pressure of your grasp. The floor was dotted with the color of pink liquid and you blink tiredly at the surface. You know that head wounds bleed profusely and should be taken care of immediately. All of your clothing was heavy with rain and blood, you wanted to get into your pajamas and underneath Stevens blankets soon. 

It looks like it belongs to your building, but since the city made these places to live, wouldn’t every building have the same layout? Your eyes land on the closed elevator door, the out of order sign was still taped to it. Yes, this is indeed your apartment, the maintenance was shitty and this elevator has been broken for the last few days. The only way is up and you have five floors. You make your way over to the door for the stairwell, luckily somebody left it propped open so you wouldn’t have to use some of your remaining strength on it. Walking up five floors was already terrible before, now it is even worse. You absolutely weren’t going to complain about going up or down the stairs when you completely heal next time, that’s only if you survive. You had to believe that you will just to spite the universe even though a major part of you wants to let go and finally be at peace. No more arguments, no more lies, no more deities, no more muggings, no more grief. Just peace and death; and right now, that sounds pretty nice.

You clutch onto the railing and force your legs to move, tears run down your face as you lift each leg after the other. You caught yourself from slipping a few times, your hand darting out in front of you while your left clenched tightly onto the railing. You wait a few moments to give yourself a small break before continuing onward. By the time you reached the fourth floor and was halfway up the stairs, you knew that you were going to pass out. Black spots dots across your vision and everything sounds like it was underwater. You felt a warm breeze envelope your body and the pit in your stomach tighten into a knot. You blink your eyes, trying to get rid of the dots and focus on your mission of getting up the rest of the flight of stairs. 

The next thing you know you were staring up at the concrete platform above you. You hazily blink as you turn your head to the side, trying to gather information on what happened. For a moment, you thought everything from the past couple of years of your life was a dream. But, as you gather the sight of the red liquid spreading around you, you come to the conclusion that you were wrong and that this was reality. You bend yourself up on your forearms as you try to assess the damage before getting up. You fell backwards, tumbling from the mid flight of stairs and landed on a concrete base. The back of your head felt even worse than you remember, you’re absolutely going to need stitches and Steven will definitely take you to the hospital or call an ambulance for you if you get up to his flat. 

You felt dizzy and everything seemed like it was too much for you. If you lay back down and close your eyes, you will never wake up again. You blink at the top of the steps, you were so close to getting to Stevens place that if you give up now, you might as well have let yourself die in that alley. You groan and cry out in pain as you sit up and use the handrail to lift yourself up off of the ground. The plastic baggy that contains the shredded and soaked pieces of the Eye of Horus pokes out of your pocket and brushes against your skin as you lift your hand to the back of your head and poked lightly around the source of some of your head pain. 

You hiss between your teeth as you poked a little too harshly on the wound, the spike of pain causes you to pull your hand quickly from the injury. You glance down at the red staining your finger tips and frown at the sight. That shouldn’t be there, that should be in your body and not leaking out like the Kool Aid man just got stabbed. Your eyes trail from your finger tips and to the small pool of blood at the base of the stairs. You don’t know how long you’ve been laying there without anybody stumbling on you or how long in general you were passed out for, but that pool of red was not a good sign. Honestly, none of this was a good sign or day. You hold onto the railing, slowly lifting your foot and trying to push past the spinning of everything. 

Just a few more steps and then you can take a break on the platform at the top of the steps. You nearly black out by the time that you manage to reach the base of the last flight of stairs. Blood loss should have taken you out. You should be dead and have gone long cold by now;  but you like to think that you were too spiteful to let it take you. You hold onto the rail with both of your hands as you struggle to feel like air was reaching your lungs. Through the pounding of your ears, you hear a door above you open and close with footsteps following downwards. You close your eyes and try to breathe calmly through the pain as you listen to the footsteps coming towards you. It was going to be one of your neighbors and they were going to see how injured you are and will probably try to get you help. 

The steps stop suddenly and you think you hear the sound of hitched breath. Your name was called softly before you felt the gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder. Whoever it belonged to, they slowly turn your body towards them and you open your eyes. Steven stares at you with worry, horror, and absolute panic on his face. The shift was subtle, you would have thought that it was Marc if it wasn’t for the New York accent that you grew up listening to when you lived in the States. Stevens' soft eyes shifted into a hard gaze and the hand on your shoulder feels a little tighter than before. It was a comforting grip, one that seems to make you more steady than before.

“¿Qué pasó?” Jake asks. His brown eyes run you up and down. “¿Por qué estás sangrando?” You mumble something incoherent to your own ears and through the dizziness, you watch his hard look form into one of concern. Maybe you hit your head a little too hard for you to think that Jake Lockley is concerned.

 “¿De dónde viene la sangre?” He says. You blink at him, you feel like you were going to pass out once again. Everything was beginning to sound like it was at the far end of a tunnel. You blink at him dazedly as his mouth moves but no sound registers in your ears. His other hand grasps onto your other shoulder as black spots dance across your vision. Here goes round number two you guess. The next thing you know, you were laying down on the concrete floor and this time Jake Lockely stares down at you. Your legs were bent, your knees pointing towards the ceiling while the flat of your shoes rested against the floor. It was an awkward position to wake up in. You try to stretch your legs out but a hand being placed on your thigh stops you. 

“Don’t.” Jake says as he removes his hand. Unlike before when you thought everything of the past two years was a dream, you remember what happened. You turn your head slightly to the side to get a better look at him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. He raises both of his brows.

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I do. I just-” You’re cut off by a sharp spike of pain at the back of your head and the front of it. You wince. “Why are you here? Steven should be in his flat.” You were trying to get to their apartment because Steven wouldn’t know how much help you need.

“They were worried about you and left to go look.” Jake shrugs. “They had the right to worry.” He gestures to you. “I looked you over for where the blood came from but there’s nothing.” You blink at him a few times, trying to process what he just stated. Maybe you misheard him. Maybe your concussion fucked up your hearing. Because for you to be bleeding out and feel like Carrie after she got pig blood dumped on her, there was no fucking way you did not have a wound that needs stitches and staples.

“What?” You say. He stares at you for a moment. You squint at him as the brightness of the overhead lights become a bit too much. You try to see through your lashes if he had a visible expression on his face that could help you determine what he could be thinking about. The silence between you was a little tense, you think that Steven or Marc was talking to Jake, but you’re not sure. 

“You’re not injured.” He says slowly. This time, the words seem to sink into your brain and completely process what he just said. How the fuck can you not be injured? You sure as hell feel like you just got your ribs cracked and head split open in two different spots. He has to be fucking with you. You stare at him for a moment longer as the tense silence deepens. There was blood at the base of the steps, there's blood on your work uniform that's never going to wash out, and the Eye of Horus in your jean pocket was stained with it. The liquid had to come from somewhere and you know where because of the pain you’re suffering through. But there’s no fucking wounds? 

You push yourself up on your elbows and hiss at the pain in your torso. You feel Jake's hands resting against your spine to help you sit up. You lift the edge of your wet shirt and raise it above your belly button to see the sides of your body. The angry purple and black bruises were gone. There was nothing visible but your skin and it felt like the bruises were sore and still plastered underneath your torso. You let go of your shirt and reach up to touch the cut on your cheek, the pain that surfaces from the light brushes of your fingertips causes your hand to jolt back.

“What?” He asks. You turn your head to gaze at him. You gave him an earnest look. “There’s nothing there.” He states. You swallow. You need to see it for yourself, maybe the bruises were still forming. But the cuts on your head? They had to be there. You turn your body, your hands and knees pressing hard against the concrete before you reach for the railing and pull yourself up. Just with the movement, you were in tears. You had one more flight to go up and walking up the last few steps was the last bit of the journey. You don’t understand how you can be in pain and for there to be no injuries. You stare at the last of the steps, you weren’t looking forward to climbing them. 

“Do you want to be carried?” He asks. Your eyes trail over to him and you watch him for a moment. You wait for the other shoe to drop, for him to tell you that he was joking or making fun of you but nothing comes out of his mouth. You didn’t want to be a hassle to him, but climbing the steps on your own just seems like it's a gateway to fainting again; and honestly, you didn’t want to cause any more pain to yourself than necessary. 

“Yeah.” You say. He bends down and hooks his arm around the back of your knees and places his other arm as a support behind your back before scooping you up and pulling you towards him. You lean your head against his shoulder as he begins the trek upwards. You can smell metal, wet clothes, and the scent of your neighbors laundry detergent and cologne. 

“What happened?” He asks. You don’t know how he doesn’t seem out of breath from carrying you and walking up the stairs. You definitely would be suffering if your roles were reversed. Perhaps super strength was part of the deal of being Khonshus knight, he did cut through a guy's arm with a dagger; and that was a clean cut which means he had to have a lot of force to swipe the blade through muscle and bone. Your stomach churns at the memory and you try to rid your head of it. 

“I was mugged.” You mumble. Your fingers wrap into his shirt, the cloth soft between your fingers. You can feel his body tense and tighten his hold on you a little at your statement. The two of you reach the door to the fifth floor level and you thought that he was going to drop you and make you walk all the way down the hall to Stevens apartment but he doesn’t. He holds you closer to his chest as one of his hands briefly lets go of you to open the door before he passes through the doorway and walks down the corridor. He only lets go of you once he reaches the mahogany door that belongs to his alter. You lean against the wall as he pulls out the apartment key from Stevens' jacket and roughly shoves it into the keyhole before opening the door and gesturing for you to go ahead of him. 

The place was just like you left it. The paper cranes you made sat on the coffee table, the mug you drank out of was resting next to them. The Rubik cube was tossed aside on the floor and the pages of sudoku Steven tried to teach you were crumpled up on the surface of the table. The yellow blanket you placed on Steven earlier today was kicked to the end of the couch. It was weird coming back to the same place after the shit you went through today. Everything felt like it was frozen in time, like there was a split between now and this morning. You don’t feel like the same person you were twelve hours earlier. 

Behind you, you hear Jake shut and lock the door. You listen to him shrug off Stevens jacket and drape it over the coat rack before his shoes tap against the floor as he walks towards you. 

“C’mon.” He says as he places his hand gently against your lower back and guides you to the bathroom. He flicks on the light, you wince at the brightness and the swaying of the room. Your eyes land on the mirror in front of you and a small gasp leaves you at the sight of your reflection. You look like yourself, but more drained. There were streaks of blood on your face, trailing down your neck and reaching the collar of your shirt. Your eyes were red and a little hazy. The cut you expected to be on your cheek was gone, a freshly pink scar rests in its place. Your fingers reach towards it and press lightly against it, and just like before, a spike of pain erupts from the surface and you pull your hand quickly away. It looks healed but it feels like the wound was freshly made. What the fuck? 

Your eyes trail up to the cut on your forehead and there was nothing but blood and a pink scar. There was no wound at all. But with the pain throbbing from the area on your skull, you sure as hell felt like there was. You swallow, your throat sore and a lump begins to form. Your eyes trail to Jake in the mirror as he grabs a wash rag from the towel rack and a first aid box that was too big to fit into the medicine cabinet. Panic bubbles in your stomach and your hands begin to shake. Nothing makes sense, how the hell could you get your ass whooped and walk away feeling like you had a concussion and not have any wounds on you? What the actual fuck? 

You watch your face pale even more in the dim light of the bathroom before Jake gently calls your name. His voice was the softest you have ever heard and the noise nearly startled you. It was so unlike him to be soft, for a moment you thought Steven was fronting, but with the frog look he always seems to have, you know that it was Jake. He steps forward and places the first aid kit onto the corner of the sink before turning on the hot water handle and holding the rag underneath the faucet. He brings the cloth up to your face and gently cleans the skin, you hiss out between your teeth and jolt your face away from him each time he causes pain; he would patiently wait for you to calm down and allow him to clean your skin. Each time the rag became too dirty for him to use, he held the rag underneath the running water and twisted the cloth until it was damp. You lost count of how many times he did it. 

Your shirt and pants clings to your skin and you shiver from the cold, wet feeling of it. Jake sets the rag into the sink as he takes in your features, his brown eyes scan every inch of your face with a critical look in his orbs. 

“What happened?” He finally asks, his voice tense and gruff. You frown at the question. You already told him what happened, did he hit his head and forget?

“I told you.” You say, your voice was quiet as you spoke. 

“Where did all this blood come from?” He asks. “Does it belong to you?” You don’t know how to tell him that you were bleeding out in an alley not too long ago and now you have nothing but healed skin to show for it and feeling pain like you were just beaten up.

“I wish that it didn’t” You say. A short humorless laugh leaves you and you are soon cut off by the pain in your side and pounding in your skull. Jake doesn’t look amused, to be fair, he never was.

“Is that scar new?” He brings his fingertips up to the line on your cheek and brushes against it. You slap his hand away as you jolt back and shoot a glare at him.

“It sure as hell wasn’t there yesterday.” You state. A moment falls between you where neither of you speak. The events of the last few hours were rooting themselves into your bones and you could feel the tears forming in your eyes. You lost everything because a man was selfish. You lost memories of your old life and your body hurts and you had no fucking clue why your body healed its self. Everything was crashing down on you as you allowed yourself to feel your hurt. You sniffle and Jake doesn’t comment on it, which you’re glad he chooses not to. You don’t like to cry in front of others and you’re not feeling up to deflecting his snide comments.

Your body hurts and you were terrified, you would be less scared if you didn’t have scars but rather injuries. You lift up the edge of your shirt once the pain in your side gets a little too much to handle. You lift it high enough that it still covers your mid torso and above but your ribs were visible enough for Jake to see. 

“Can you heal me?” You ask quietly. The question made you feel small like you were a kid. “I think he cracked my ribs.” Jake leans down a bit and scans the surface before gently prodding the bones. You try to stifle your moans as he checks to see if they were broken. 

“I don’t have the powers to heal others even with being Khonshus bitch as you put it.” Jake says once he finishes and stands straight. You let go of your shirt as a short laugh bursts out of you before the pain causes your body to still from the movement. He adds, “The suit only gives me the power to heal myself. Besides, there’s nothing to heal, your ribs aren’t cracked or broken.” 

“I feel like I’m wounded.” You tell him. “I clearly remember getting my head knocked against a brick wall and being punched in the gut and getting a knife sliced on my cheek and getting my ribs kicked in and my head hitting the ground several times today.” The list didn’t sound as bad as your body felt. It was bad, but not like the pain you were experiencing. You watch his frown deepen as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. 

You spare a glance into the mirror and the sight of you causes you to do a double take. You look a thousand percent better, but you don’t recognize the person staring back at you. They look worn out, exhausted down to the bone, dark circles underneath their eyes, and their face flushed of all blood. Their jaw were slimmer and their noses more defined than you remember yours being. This person staring back at you didn’t seem like it was you, they looked like a shell of the person you used to be. 

You trail your eyes away from the mirror and as you do so, you catch Jake's eyes staring into the reflective surface. How you look now, was how you’ve been looking to your neighbors. You wonder if Marc and Steven were staring back as you finally register just how terrible you truly are. No wonder Marc told you that you looked like shit. You turn on your heel, trying to ignore the vertigo as you walk to the living room with no real destination in mind but rather the choice of getting the hell away from the mirror. On your way, you decide to instead switch to sitting at the table. You don’t want to get Stevens' couch wet with your clothes, at least the dining chairs could be washed off easily. You sit at the table, groaning at the hurt of your body as you bend your legs to sit in the chair. 

Jake walks out of the bathroom with a puzzled expression on his face. He stares at you, his brows furrow and his eyes slightly narrowed. You could tell that he was trying to figure something out and whatever it was, there was going to be an argument between you. There always seems to be one.

“Did you accept?” He asks. He sounds too neutral and calm for your liking. Underneath his gaze, you felt like an antelope about to get their throat ripped out by a lion. You anxiously shift in your seat as confusion settles in. What is he going on about?

“Did I accept what?” You ask, your voice catching on the end. You blink and scrunch your eyebrows. He frowns at you, the corners of his lips tilting downwards as he registers your reply.

“Don’t fucking play dumb with me.” He says. “Did you or did you not accept?”

“I’m not playing anything, Jake.” You say, “What are you talking about?”

“Did you die and say yes to becoming a gods avatar?” He presses. Your mouth drops open and you give him a ‘are you fucking serious’ expression. He crossed the threshold to where you sat, the table stood between you. 

“Did I die?” You say. “I’m fucking breathing right now, Jake.” What drugs was he taking? Did he snort something up his ass in the bathroom? 

“That doesn’t mean shit.” He states and slams his hand down onto the table. You jump and he glares at you. Your heart beats harshly against your chest.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re going on about.” You tell him. His eyes scan your face, you feel like you’re an open book to him and he was reading you clear as day. 

“Did Marc tell you what happened?” He switches directions. “Did he give you the talk?” You scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Ew. No, are you seriously asking me if he talked about sex education with me-?” You got the talk when you were in middle-school. You definitely don’t need a recap from your neighbors. 

“No.” Jake cuts you off. “He didn’t tell you.” You give him a look. God, there was another secret? You huff out a breath and clutch your side. 

“What didn’t he tell me?” You press. He stares at you for a moment longer before his posture slouches and his eyes soften. Steven gazes at you with a kind and pitiful look. 

“Dove,” He says, his tone matching the look in his eyes. He pulls the chair across from you to the edge of the table and sits down in it, his hands resting on the surface of the table.

“Steven.” You reply. “What is it?” You don’t want to beat around the bush and from how Jake and Steven are both reacting to your mysterious healing, it wasn’t good. Honestly, none of this was good.

“You didn’t die then?” He asks gently.

“Unless I’m keeping my promise and haunting your ass as a ghost, then no I’m not dead.” You answer. His fingers scratch his thumb, peeling back the skin as he takes in your statement. You watch him bite the inside of his cheek as you wait for him to say something. You wanted to cry in peace and take a long nap, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to slip into a short coma and wake from it.

“Last spring,” He starts. “Right before you met us. There was that fight in Cairo.” He shudders out a breath. You let go of your side and place your hand on top of his in comfort. Whatever he was about to say next was clearly hard for him to speak about. He shoots you a small smile before he continues. “Harrow shot us and we died.” He pauses staring at you as you register his words.The words seem to echo in your mind as you process his statement. Your mouth drops open and you return his stare with wide eyes. Is he fucking serious?

“What?” You breathe out. 

“And before that, Marc got himself shot ten years ago and became Khonshus avatar.” He adds. You don’t know what to say to that. What the fuck are you suppsose to say to that? “There’s only two ways that we know of, how you could get healed like this, a deity asks you to become their avatar or you ask them.” You hold his gaze. Holy shit there was more. There were more secrets and more hiding and you thought that there wouldn’t be anything after yesterday but holy shit there is; and it is a hard pill to swallow.

“You died??” You say loudly. “You told me about the fight in Egypt but you left out that you died??” 

“Well it's not like we could tell you.” He defends.

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have believed us!”

“You literally told me about being a god's avatar and saving the world and your logic was to leave out that you died because I wouldn’t have believed you.” You say. What fucking logic was that? The same god damn logic than Marc had of lying to you about being blipped. He winces a little bit at your statement. 

“Marc went to the Field of Reeds.” He continues. “I stayed in the Duat and became stone.”

“Wait-wait-wait.” You say, “The Field of Reeds is the afterlife, right?”  He nods. 

“It’s a afterlife.” He corrects, “It’s a big field and all you feel is peace and calm. Marc described it like that, at least.”

“What’s the Duat?”

“It’s the realm of the dead.” He says, “It’s the place souls go for judgment.”

“Judgment like Ammits scales?” 

“No- well, kind of.” He replies, “Tawerets boat contains a scale that must measure the soul of a person and it must be balanced to enter into the Field of Reeds.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then you get thrown overboard into the sands of the Duat and frozen in time forever.” He says. You reach up to your forehead and massage your temples carefully. This was giving you a headache. 

“You’re both in the same body so shouldn't you both have gone to the Field of Reeds?”

“I mean, kind of.” He says.  “We sort of became like twins.”

“Twins?” You say incredulously. “How did that happen?”

He shrugs, “We’re two different people who just happen to coexist in the same body.”

“Was Jake judged?” You ask. He shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember him being on the boat.” He says. You remove your hand from his and glance at the back of it. The swelling was gone, but like the rest of your injuries, it felt like it was still there. Since the Fields of Reeds exist, where did your parents go after they died? Did they become ghosts or did they go to the pearly gates of heaven? Did they get reincarnated into blue jays or the sands of the beach? Did they enter into the Field of Reeds or did they become stone in the sands of the Duat? Was there anything for them on the other side of the curtain of death or was it just a void of emptiness?
“What happened?” He asks, interrupting your train of thought. You look away from your hand and back to him. 

“I was mugged….I-” You cut yourself off. Your throat is slowly becoming sore as your nose stings. “Steven- he took my phone.” 

“He took your phone.” He says quietly. “I’m sorry. I can- I can buy you a new one.” He offers. You vehemently shake your head, the room spinning even more harshly and the pain in your skull increasing. 

“No, Steven. My mom and dad are on that phone.” You cry out, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. What could he do about it? There wasn’t much he could do besides try to comfort you. You try not to cry as you stare down at your lap. Everything about today was shitty. There was no fucking way you were going to get your phone back. You lost everything in a span of ten minutes.

"Did he touch you?" Marc asks. You only knew it was him by his accent, you don’t bother to look at him. 

"What?" You breathe out a humorless chuckle. "Of course he fucking did look at my clothes! How did I look to you when you saw me in the stairwell?"

"No! Did he touch you." He repeats. You look up at his tone of voice. His jaw is clenched and you know that constipated look from anywhere. He is pissed and concerned. You understood what he meant as the words settled into your mind, you don’t like the implications of it but you were glad that he cares enough to ask about it.

"No." You sniffle. He slowly nods and leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “He took my phone, Marc.” You cry out, tears pooling in your eyes as your voice breaks. “He took my phone.” 

“What do you need?” He asks. What can he do to make it better? You know the two people that you want the most is an impossible request but you still plead for them.

“I want my mom and dad,” You cry.

"Do you need Steven or Layla?" Marc asks, “I can call Layla over right now if you want-”

"No, I want my mom." You cut him off. You desperately want her hugs and back rubs and quiet reassurances about how everything is going to be okay. You want to be a kid again and be in her arms. You want to be away from this, you want to be cut free from the tangled strings you’re too knotted in. You stifle your sobs as you look down onto your lap and let the tears run down your face. You hear the sound of his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he stands. 

“I’ll get you your pajamas from your apartment.” He says. “We’ll get you a shower and then you can sleep.” You sniffle in reply and listen to him walk around the table and crouch down next to you. You turn your head to look at him. 

“We’ll get you ready for bed. I just need the key to your place, kid.” He says. Your lip wobbles as you pat your pockets for your keys. You pull out the Ziploc bag that contains the shredded pieces of the Eye of Horus and the sight of it causes more tears to stream down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, Steven.” You mumble. “He shredded up the paper you gave me.” You place it on the table and pat your other jeans pocket and pull out the orange lanyard and put it into Marc's outstretched hand. Your fingers brush against his calloused palm, warmth spreading through your fingertips as you retract your hand. 

“Steven says not to worry about it.” He says as he stands. You sniffle and nod. “I’m going to be right back, you won’t even know that I’m gone. I’ll be back before you know it.” The words were meant to sound comforting but it causes your heart to ache. You don’t want to be left alone even though you know that they would be only gone for a few minutes at the most. Your lip wobbles and you gently suck it in as you slowly nod so you wouldn’t hurt your head as much. You listen to Marc's footsteps against the hard floor and the door unlock before opening and shutting behind him. You were alone. You breathe in a sharp breath, groaning as your muscles expand and cause more pain to your torso. How can you be injured one moment, pass out, and wake to healed injuries and the ghost pain of them? The answer was clear with everything that has been going on, you weren’t stupid. Whatever deity is fucking with you decided that you weren’t going to die today and heal you. Which doesn’t make much sense.

Why would they hold you out the window five stories above pavement a few days prior and the next, allow you to get your ass kicked and save you from life threatening injuries? What the fuck did they want from you? Why would they treat you like you were just a mouse to them and proceed to heal you? What was their end goal to this torment? You weren’t going to get your questions answered anytime soon so for now, you let it go. Part of you wishes that they would have let you die rather than heal you. You lean forward and place your head on the table. The space you laid on was clear enough that you wouldn’t spread any dampness to Stevens books or papers. Your eyes focus on the plastic baggie with the stained pink and wet shredded pieces of paper. 

Slowly, you close your eyes. You were far past ready to sleep. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough that you will wake up and realize that all of today was just a terrible nightmare. Your breathing slows down and the tug of sleep begins to pull you under and right before you slip into the dreamless landscape or another ruthless nightmare of being choked to death and Marc ignoring your frantic calls, a voice stops you. 

“C’mon kid, get up.” Marc says. Your eyes flutter open and you blink blearily at the man standing next to you with a bundle of clothing held in his arms. “It’s shower time and then you get to sleep.” You groan as you sit up. You don’t remember hearing him come back into the apartment but yet here he stood with an unusually soft look in his eyes. You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if you mixed up his voice with Stevens and your ears are messing with you. Steven never called you kid before, only Marc has. 

“Let’s go, kid.” He says and you scrape back your chair against the wooden floor as you stand. You follow him to the bathroom and he sets the clothes on the edge of the sink before turning the handle for the shower. He holds his hand underneath the running water until he must think that it's warm enough for you. You lean against the wall as you watch him grab a towel from the rack and place it on the back of the toilet so you could easily have it accessible. You shiver as he turns towards you. You were far past ready to get out of your uniform and get rid of the sticky feeling of the clothes clinging to your body. 

“We’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.” He says. “Steven is worrying that you might slip and hit your head again.” You hum and he slips past you and closes the door behind him. You could tell that he was worrying too and was just using Stevens motherly nature as an excuse. You peel off your shirt, hissing between your teeth as your arms stretch above your head and the muscles on your side move. You drop the shirt to the tiled floor and stare at yourself in the mirror, trying to get a better look at your side. It was smooth skin and not a single bruise or darken color of your skin in sight. You would have thought that you were bruising internally since visible bruises take at least a day to show up but, the lack of cuts on your face and head said otherwise.

You unbutton your pants and push it down your legs and kick off your shoes. Your work uniform is far past saving, there is no way that you can get rid of the blood stains. It was another thing you lost today. Although it was just clothes, you still had to tell your manager that you ‘lost’ your shirt so you could get a new one; and you have to go thrifting for another pair of pants and shoes since this pair was going to be too gross to wear and you don’t want to go through another night of scrubbing and rising like you did when you got ambushed. You step into the shower and sigh as the warm water hits your feet. You know that you’re going to have to stick your head underneath the running water to get the blood off of your scalp, but that doesn’t mean that you were looking forward to the inevitable pain of the water hitting where the crack on your skull should be. 

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to stick your head underneath the running water just to rip off the band-aid and try to get used to the pain without too much procrastination. You stepped underneath the shower head and cried out loudly as the stream of water hit your skin and caused a huge flare of pain from your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the shower curtain as you hear nothing but the water dripping off of your body and into the porcelain tub. You try to hold on through the feeling of vertigo and the pain of the water on top of your head as you force yourself to stand in one spot. If you were to leave, you would just have to re-experience the same pain of stepping underneath the shower-head. You hear the loud yell of your name on the other side of the bathroom door. 

“I’m fine!” You yell, the sound was too loud for you in the small space. Your head seems to be an echo of dropping a baine on the kitchen floor and the sound of it never ends. Your heart beats hard against your chest and you open your eyes and stare down at the dirty water as it runs off of your legs and down the drain. You swallow and try to get used to the harsh pain erupting from your head and focus on the water. You watch it until it becomes clear and the temperature is cold. You turn the handle, shutting off the shower before you step out of it and dry yourself off carefully. You put your clothes on before you kick your dirty clothing to the side so the men wouldn’t trip over it. 

You stand in front of the foggy mirror before you wipe it away with your towel and drop it onto the pile of clothes tossed aside. You look better, but only by a smidge if you were completely honest.  A yawn leaves you, your eyes feeling heavy and your bones exhausted. You pull open the door and the first thing you see was Steven nervously pacing back and forth before stopping in his tracks and giving you a sad look. 

“Do you want something to eat, dove?” He asks. You were too upset to eat, besides if you could you were sure that you would throw up any food you manage to swallow. You still felt nauseous and awful.

“No,” You say. “I’m just tired.” You want to sleep and fall into a short coma- or even better a forever coma. You walk towards the bed and listen to his footsteps follow you. 

“Okay,” He hums. “Do you want me to read to you? I bought some new books.” You reach the bed and peel back the covers and slide underneath them, laying your damp head on the pillow. He stood next to the bed before he brought the covers up to your chin, his eyes seem to show more concern the longer he looks at you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks softly. You don’t feel up to the task of talking about the events of today and receiving more guilty looks from the men. 

“You got new books?” You ask instead and he purses his lips. 

“I did.” He replies, “I went out to the bookstore and ran some errands today.” You were glad that he doesn’t pressure you into talking like Layla did a couple of times. 

“Oh?”

“I bought some melatonin and sleepy tea for us. I bought some groceries for dinner, there's this new recipe I want to try. It’s cauliflower crust pizza, I saw the recipe on the food network.” You try to smile at him but you think it turns out more of a grimace. At least one of you had a good day. 

“What books did you get?”

“Dr. Seuss.” He says. You almost laugh. That was a joke the two of you made before everything went to shit, you never thought that he would commit to it.

“You bought Dr. Seuss books?”

“We talked about it.” He says. “I thought that it might bring you comfort and you could take a break from my boring Egyptology books.”

“I’ll always find your books interesting, Steven.” You say. He gives you a doe eyed look and you nearly find the energy to smile. “Did you get Green Eggs and Ham?” He nods. “Can you read that one to me?” He shoots you a smile before swiveling on his heel and disappearing off to somewhere to get the book.  You shift your gaze to the ceiling. It was weird looking at something that you see everyday after a traumatic event happens. Part of you expects that it would be different like the color of the ceiling would no longer be white but purple or orange. But why would it look different if it was just you who went through something life altering?

“Okay,” He says as he approaches with the bright orange book in hand and a smile on his face. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls open the covers, the sound of the paper bending with the glue causes your heart to ping. He bought a brand new book just to read to you. His words were soft as he spoke, the sound of it causing your eyes to slowly close and his tone to lull you to sleep. Nobody had read this book to you since you were younger than eight. Your dad used to read you this author's stories for bedtime and this was one of your favorites. You listen to Steven as he turns pages and he laughs softly as some of the statements and questions asked in it. The sound makes you feel safe.

You crack your eyes open as you feel the dip of the mattress rise and the sound of the book being shut and placed on the nightstand next to you. 

“Steven. Do you think Taweret helped my parents into the Field of Reeds?” You ask quietly. You don’t know if he heard you or not. But you watch as he stares at something. You figure that he would tell you that he doesn’t know because there was no true way of knowing where someone or something goes after death. He would try to be comforting and honest in his answer. But it was Marc who replied.

“I know she did.” He says. His Chicago accent was soft. It was so unusual that your eyes almost open all the way just so you can see his face and be sure that it was him. “You might have a concussion.” He says. “Steven thinks so; and before you start, even though there are no injuries on you, you seem to be affected by them as if they’re actually there. It would be best if Steven or I wake you every couple of hours just in case.” You hum and yawn. You weren’t looking forward to being woken up through the night, but whatever helps them feel better you would be okay with. 

“Okay.” You mumble. 

“Steven, how long does the kid need to be woken up?” Jake asks. Your eyes open a fraction wider in surprise, you didn’t expect him to front to say good night to you. He pulls out Stevens phone from his pocket.

“Dos horas.” He says. You watch as he scrolls through the phone and you assume he’s setting an alarm. “We’ll be back in two hours to wake you?” He says. You blink at him tiredly.

“Where are you going?” You ask. You want them to stay with you, not to do whatever bullshit Khonshu wants Jake to do. Of course the fucking bird would pull them away from you after you got attacked.

“I have a job I need to do.” He replies as he places the phone into his jeans pocket. “Sleep. They’ll be back before you know it.” You watch him through half shut eyes as he walks to the door. There was nothing you could say to stop him so you mumble something that you hope is coherent enough for him to understand. It could be a statement, but you meant it more as a warning. 

“Be safe.” Whatever it came out as, causes his footsteps to falter just for a moment before he continues his pace to the coat rack and shrugs on Stevens jacket. Your eyes close as the door opens and locks behind him. You were nervous for them. You were anxious that they weren’t going to return but you know that your fretting would do nothing but keep you from resting. You had one thing going for you today and that was a nap. Finally, your exhaustion pulls you under and into a dreamless sleep.

The next time you wake was by a hand gently cupping the side of your face and a soft voice was waking you from your slumber. You open your eyes, moonlight filtered in through the cracks of the curtains and the sight of it was too much for you. You groan as you blink several times and shift onto your right side to take in the person standing next to the bed without the light blinding you.

“Despierta.” Jake says. “I’m still on my mission, but I came back to check on you.” You hum tiredly as he removes his hand from your face and brings it to his side. “They’ll be back in a bit.” He adds. “Go on and rest.”

You must have closed your eyes because the second time you’re woken up was by someone gently shaking your shoulders and cupping your cheek once more. The moon was higher in the sky and the curtains were firmly shut, only a sliver of the moon shone into the flat. You squint into the flat, Gus’s tank was a beacon in the darkness of the apartment. Jake stood next to you in his Moon Knight suit, the cape brushes against your hand as he bends down slightly.

“Lo tengo.” He says. He sets something on the nightstand next to you and you turn your gaze away from him and towards whatever he placed. “I got it.” His fingers rub against your cheek bone for a moment before he removes his hand and stretches his arms over his head. You push yourself up on your side to get a better look at what he brought and you ignore the pain your body alerted you to. You reach up and flick on the nightstand light. You blink away the sudden spots as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. A small gasp leaves you at the sight of your phone, your screen was visibly cracked and more scratched than you remember it being but still it was next to you. 

You reach for it. Your fingers fumble with the device for a split second until it is firmly in your grasp and your finger rests on the power button to click it and see your parents smiling faces. You click it and wait for the screen to show them, but nothing happens. You frown and click it again but once more the screen was black. Maybe it was off? You hold down the button and wait for the loading screen of your device to appear but nothing works. You could feel panic rising in your chest and threatening to suffocate you as you hold it down again to see if you just let off the pressure a little too early. The screen was still dark as you turned it over and forcefully took off the case before opening up the back and checking to see if the battery was still in it. There was a small rectangular box resting in it, the temperature of it was cold as if it was turned off a while ago. The SD card was still resting in it. You turn it back over and hold down the power button and still the results are the same. 

You didn’t know you were crying until a loud sob left you. You hold the phone to your chest as Steven rushes forward and crouches down next to the bed as he frantically asks you what’s wrong. 

“It won’t turn on.” You cry. He gives you a sad look and places his hand gently onto yours to comfort you. You sob loudly, the sound of it hurting your own ears as your tears trail down the sides of your face and dampen Stevens' pillow even more. You clutch your phone tightly as Steven says something that you’re unable to make out through your cries. Your chest aches and your shoulders shake as warm tears stream out of the corners of your eyes and the ceiling becomes blurry. At some point, Steven let go of your hand and walked around the bed before resting next to you and hugging you as you breakdown. 

You don’t know how long you cried, but you know that throughout it Steven held you and softly rubbed your arm in comfort. When numbness settled in and the tears were no longer running and exhaustion was once again creeping in, you turned your head to look at Steven. You saw that his eyes were red and puffy. He was crying with you. He shoots you a wobbly smile that comes out more like a grimace; but you don’t say anything about what he looks like and neither does he. You turn your body to your side, ignoring the pain and ache from your body as you bury your face into his chest with your broken phone pressed into yours. He wraps his arms around you and hugs you, his fingers tracing circles into your back as he whispers calming words of affirmation. You close your eyes and breathe in the comforting scent of your neighbor. 

For the third time that night, you let your exhaustion pull you under into a dreamless sleep to escape your reality and be temporarily free from the tangled strings you’re knotted too tightly in.

Chapter Text

“Dove?” You wake to the sound of Stevens voice and the gentle brush of his fingertips against your cheekbone. You let out a small tired groan as you shift on the mattress. Your body aches like you did a hard workout the day before. “Wake up. You need to call your work.” Your eyes flicker open, the early morning rays of the sun filters through the curtains and casts a soft glow on the bedding. You pull the covers up to your chin to snuggle further into the blankets and return to your slumber which causes Steven to say your name softly. Your eyes feel heavy as your gaze trails from the light beams and to his own tired face. He doesn't look like he was doing too well. He looks like he slept terribly as much as you did. He did wake you every two hours throughout the night, so you suppose that was one of the reasons why. 

You blink tiredly at him as your head throbs in the areas you were injured in yesterday. It felt like a dull head pain on the back of your skull and your forehead. Your cheek still felt tender but it wasn’t as painful as it was when Jake brushed his finger tips against it. Your eyes fall half shut as you try to register what he was saying. Why would you need to call in for work? You need to go and make money to pay bills and distract yourself from the events of the last few days.

“Why?” You whisper, your voice is raspy and your throat felt a little sore from the amount of crying you did yesterday.

“You aren’t doing too good and we think it would be best for you if you were to take a day off.” He says. You stare at him for a moment, the bags underneath his eyes are darker and more swollen. He looks old and worn down, his age was showing on him today like an overused jacket with holes and loose threads. The night was unkind to you both. You don’t want to go to work, you were too tired and sad to go and pretend like you didn’t nearly die and get the shit beat out of you. You know that you had enough sick days to last you a while but, you don’t want to use them because what if you need them in the winter when flu season is happening and you don’t have enough money saved up for cold medicine like you did last year? You also don’t want to use the days because you don’t want to be alone with your sadness. You lost everything yesterday and now nothing feels like it matters anymore. You hold the phone in your right hand, the plastic surface is warm from your body heat. You don’t want to fight Steven on whether or not you should go to work. Perhaps, you’ll sleep all day and feel physically better by the time the sun sets. Maybe you’ll be able to feel well enough to eat something. It’s been since lunch yesterday since you ate something. 

“I don’t know the number.” You whisper. Steven nods slowly. His curls softly bounce off of his forehead with the movement.

“We can look it up online.” He says as he rolls over to his side and unplugs his phone from the charging port. You try to pull the covers closer to your body to help comfort you. A short yawn escapes you as you squint at Steven scrolling through his phone for what you assumed is him looking for your place of work. His eyes shine with the reflection of the device as he taps the screen and frowns at it.

“Bollocks.” He breathes out. 

“What?”

“I keep pressing the wrong tab.”

“The wrong tab?” You ask. “Let me see.”  He sighs and passes you the phone. You squint at the sudden brightness and quickly turn it down so you wouldn’t feel like you’re staring into a thousand suns with the illuminance of it. You hit the tabs button and frown at the sight before you. Steven had over a billion tabs open on his phone for the chrome internet.

“Jesus, Steven.” You say. 

“What?” He asks, “What is it?”

“You got like three hundred tabs open.”

“I do not have three hundred tabs open.” He states. Your eyes flicker to him and you raise a brow. 

“Fine.” You say and narrow your eyes at the small box in the upper righthand corner that states how many tabs he actually has open on the Google chrome app. “You got- fucking hell, Steven, twenty-six tabs open. That’s basically three hundred.”

“You obviously don’t know basic math since you’re coming up with two hundred and seventy four extra numbers.”

“I don’t know if that’s the right number, but I’m going to assume that it is and call you a nerd for it.” You state as you scroll through the tabs open. You know that you shouldn’t peep through his phone, especially his google tabs, but you couldn’t help but be nosy as you procrastinate on the inevitable of calling your workplace. What are you going to tell Lauren? You can’t tell her that you’re sick because it would become mandated to take two days off and tomorrow is her weekend trip with her wife; and you made a deal with her to cover her shift. So, you can’t tell her that you’re feeling sick and unwell. You can’t tell her that you got your ass beat up and mugged because she would want you to go to the police and report it and you can’t do that with your history of fraud. Besides, you don’t have any bruises to show for being beat up. 

“You got thirteen tabs open of Egyptian history and culture. Three tabs of clickbait articles on how to attract women and why you might be single. Two tabs on vegan recipes for lentils and brown rice. One tab on google search for puppies and seven tabs that are just the home screen of chrome.”

“You’re looking through my phone?” He says incredulously.

“It's a prime opportunity to be nosy. Steven.” You reply and he scoffs. You click one of the seven tabs that are open for the home screen before typing in the City Subs restaurant and copying down the number into the keypad. Your thumb hovers over the call button as you hesitate. You still haven’t decided on what you were going to tell her.

“What are you waiting for, dove?” He asks. Your eyes flicker to him and he blinks tiredly at you. You have to make it up to him for the last twenty four hours. You kept him up with your anxiety and you continued to keep him up with your possible concussion. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell her.” You say. “I can’t tell her the truth.”

“Tell her what you think feels right.” He suggests. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as your thumb hits the call button and you bring the phone to your ear. The dial on the phone is loud for your hearing and it causes your skull to throb for a few moments until you adjust to the noise. You figure that Lauren won’t pick up on the first two rings because she will be in the back room working on prep or pretending not to hear the phone since she doesn’t like to answer it; and honestly, neither do you. But, by the third ring, the phone clicks and she picks up. 

“Hello, this is City Subs. How may I help you?”

“Lauren?” You ask, your voice soft and small. She says your name softly over the phone, her customer service voice slipping away from her as the word leaves her mouth. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She asks frantically. You know that she knows that you never call out unless it’s absolutely important. You’re one of the rare employees that does not take days off for work unless you need to and you mainly don’t. That was until today.

“I’m not going to be able to make it in today.”

“What happened?” She presses. You can hear the mom in her voice. It was a comforting and stern tone mixed together. The worry drips from her tone and it causes your already tightening throat to close in on itself.

“I’m exhausted.” You whisper, you aren’t sure if she was able to hear you properly, but you continue anyways. “I’ll be able to pick up your shift tomorrow but I can’t do it today.” You can hear the whirling of the toaster oven in the background and you imagine her pressing her lips together as she thinks of what to say. This was inconvenient on her end and yours. You were bone tired and more than physically.  Your exhaustion was more than just the last week, it was a year's worth of things stacked on top of another on your shoulders and you were crumbling underneath its weight. You just need a break. 

“You're exhausted.”

“It’s more than just a sleepless night of exhaustion, Lauren.” You admit. You were tired of everything. You lost your parents and memories of your old life, you had several new traumatic events that you have yet to actually deal with, and you’re tired of being a god's play toy. Your eyes well up and you temporarily hide your face into the pillow as you listen to her breathe softly on the telephone line.

“You do need a break.” She agrees. “Are you sure you can do it tomorrow? Maybe Emily can cover the shift-”

“I can come in tomorrow.” You cut her off. “You bought me coffee and let me go home early and I already agreed.”

“You can tap out. I can make up some excuse to cancel Kris and my reservation at the garden.”

“I’m not tapping out.” You say a little loudly. Your eyes fall shut and silence falls between you for a moment. You need to tell her about your phone so she wouldn’t be confused if she tries to get ahold of you through it. Your lip wobbles. “Lauren?” 

“Yeah?”

“I-” Your voice trembles as you speak, “my phone broke yesterday, so you’re going to have to call this number to ask if I can cover you or I can just come in anyways and say that you called me-”

“Your phone broke?” She asks, cutting you off and you nod before remembering that she can’t see you. You can’t tell her the whole truth but you can tell her some of it. Your phone did break, just not in the way that it actually did. 

“I- I dropped it.” You lie. “It was kind of the tipping point for me yesterday.” You add. It was going to be your thirteenth reason if you can’t somehow salvage it. Maybe it will turn on if you take the battery out and pop it back in? Maybe the battery is dead, maybe it will charge if you plug in the cord into the charging port. She hums and you hear the phone cord scuffle on her shirt. You imagine her leaning against the counter as she thinks of what to say to you. You don’t want it to seem like you’re trying to get out of doing double shifts tomorrow, especially since it is your birthday but Lauren wouldn’t know that since you haven’t told her about it. Still, your anxiety convinces you that she somehow already knows even though you doubt that she does. You chew on your lip as you listen to her slowly exhale. 

“You had a shitty week haven’t you?” She asks and you almost manage a laugh at that but it comes out more like a scoff. 

“That’s a severe understatement,” You tell her. “My phone breaking was just the cherry on top of the sundae, y’know?” 

“It’s what you get for calling my lemon tea gross and basic.” She laughs. You don’t feel offended by her humor, rather you were grateful that someone found something laughable at your shitty day. “The universe hates you.” 

“Yeah, well, the universe does and so do gods.” You say and she chuckles. To her, that was a joke, but to you and your neighbors that was your reality. Your eyes connect with Stevens and he gives you a frown as he presses his lips together. “I’ll see you Monday, Lauren. Have a good weekend.” You look away from Steven and to the duvet that covers the both of you. When was the last time this was washed? Was it before Layla and you stayed in Stevens flat or was it after you left because you couldn’t stick around without worrying that something that you don’t mean would come out of your mouth and hurt them?

“I still have to call you tomorrow to ask you, so don’t tell me to have a good one just yet.”

“Don’t. I’ll just set an alarm and claim that you called.” You say. It will be easier that way anyways, that way you won’t have to worry about her calling the Stevens number. Your eyes trail to the outline of your phone underneath the duvet. You lost everything and yet here you are pretending that you were fine at six-thirty in the morning and still feeling weak and exhausted. You were talking to your friend and coworker who had no fucking idea of the world around her. Every night she got to go to her apartment and be with her family without a care in the world while you get mugged and beaten and left on the brink of death only for a deity to take pity on you and heal you. What the fuck did they want from you, anyways?

“You’ll do that for me?” She asks; and you blink, almost forgetting what you were talking about.

“Just so I don’t have to listen to your annoying voice at six-thirty in the morning.” You tease. You don’t quite feel the teasing in your emotions but your voice sounds that way. “I’ll say that you called me tonight and asked me to cover you.”

“You remember how to open up the store, right?” 

“I do.” You say. “You remember how to have a good time, right?”

“I’m going to party like I’m twenty-two and child free.” She says, you can hear the smile in her voice.

“Have a good weekend, Lauren.” You say. 

“Get some rest. You’re going to need it for tomorrow.” She says and you don’t need to be reminded of your seven am to your four pm shift. “I’ll tell you all about my trip when I get back.”

“I’m counting on it.” You say and close your eyes. “Bye.” You hang up before she can tell you her own goodbye and you pass the phone back to Steven before your hand grips the small rectangle device underneath the covers. He turns onto his side to place his phone onto the nightstand before turning back to you and settling in on his side to face you.

“Can you set an alarm for six-thirty am tomorrow?” You ask him without looking at him. “I would but…” You trail off and your grip tightens a little more on the phone. “I know it’s like twenty-four hours from now but I don’t want to forget about it.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence and your nose begins to sting. His hand reaches out for your own and his thumb smooths the back of your hand in comfort. You swallow as you dread the inevitable question that you know he’s going to ask. You could feel it coming, you don’t have to look at him to know the words forming behind his eyes as the pad of his thumb rubs your skin gently. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly as if he was trying to comfort a young child. You sniffled at the question before tears were spilling out of your eyes and down onto the mattress. Everybody should know to not ask that question after a tough time unless you want them to break down and cry. “Love..” He says softly as you try to hold back the sobs building up in your chest. Your fingers tighten on your phone as he gazes at you sadly. You feel like a child who cannot stop crying. You’ve been crying almost every day and you just can’t stop. You slip your hand from his and move back the covers to look at your broken phone. The screen has a web of cracks from the lower right-hand corner towards the top. You could faintly see your reflection in the darkened screen. 

The lock screen on your phone used to be of your parents. Your mother wanted a picture with your father at the Statue of Liberty so she could send it to your aunt. It was cold that day, so all the inhabitants of New York seemed to be wearing winter coats, scarves, beanies, and gloves in November. You had to take yours off to press the circle icon on your phone to take the picture. Your fingers were frozen stiff and you complained about it the entire time on the way to a café to get some hot chocolate to warm up. Your father took off his own gloves so you could have layers over your hands and he stuffed his own hands into his jacket and didn’t complain a single ounce about it; and then on a small patch of ice, your mother slipped and it scared your father so badly that he yelled her name loud enough that you could of swore that you would be able to hear it across the state if you were on the other side. Once you both realized that she was alright, he laughed hard and long, his hands placed on his knees and joyous laughter leaving his chest.

You wouldn’t trade the memory for the world, but you were afraid you would never get to see that photo ever again with the date and time stamp marked on the photo in your gallery. If you can’t get that phone to work, you’ll lose everything downloaded onto the device that’s not saved on your SD card and you weren’t sure how many of your memories were saved to the card. You knew that you took proper steps to save important photos to the card but your anxiety was convincing you that nothing was saved except old and unimportant things such as a picture of the homework that was due in math class your sophomore year. 

You grab the phone, your thumb brushing against the cracks as Steven asks, “Do you feel better? Does your body hurt?” He must have come across the conclusion that you weren't going to answer his previous question. You didn’t plan to answer truthfully if you did. You roll over on your right and reach for the white cord to plug into the charging port. It took a couple of attempts to plug it in properly, but once you did the screen stays dark for a moment before the red icon of the symbol of the battery charging appeared on your screen. The sight of it made you breathe out a shaky breath and more tears trail out of your eyes. There was a chance that it could turn on now. There was a chance that you could see the photo of your parents smiling faces one more time. You could get everything back if you’re able to turn it on after it's done charging.

You set the phone on the nightstand and roll over to face him. He takes one look at you and his frown deepens into one of more than worry and concern. 

“What’s wrong, love?” He asks as he reaches across the small gap between you and brushes your cheekbone with his thumb. It glides over the new scar on your cheek and this time it feels tender rather than achingly harsh. His brown eyes bore into your features and you nearly cry more at the sight of his kindness and worry. 

“I’m fine. Just sore and tired.” You tell him. You don’t want to celebrate just yet for your phone charging. You don’t want to give your hope up just in case it still doesn’t turn on. Please turn on, you thought. 

“You don’t look like you have a concussion anymore.”  He states. Well, that’s something positive, you guess. He yawns and you soon follow. “Come here.” He says and opens his arms a bit, you close the distance between you and he rolls onto his back and you place your head on your chest. His arms wrap around you, the scent of his shampoo and detergent fill your nostrils reminding you that you were safe. His voice vibrates in his chest as he speaks, “Go to sleep, dove. I’ll wake you later.” Another yawn leaves you as you stare with heavy eyes at the sunlight poking through the slit of the curtains. You watch as the curtains gently move from a light breeze, you thought that the window was closed because of the rain last night but you couldn’t be completely sure. You listen to his breath slowly even out until eventually, your own eyes close once more. A gentle warm breeze brushes against your cheek as you fall asleep in your friend's arms. 

When you woke, you were alone. Steven was no longer resting next to you and the apartment was empty. You push yourself up on your elbows and stare into the emptiness of the flat. It was unlike Steven or Marc to leave without telling you where they were going, perhaps Jake was in the driver's seat doing another mission Khonshu needed him for. Did he really claim last night that he was going on a mission but actually get your phone back or was your brain still scrambled from the concussion? You pull back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the mattress. The cool air of the apartment chills you and causes you to shiver. Your body felt back to normal, not a single ache or throb from your skull that shows what happened yesterday wasn’t some fucked up nightmare. 

You don’t understand why you were healed. Why did you pass out in the stairwell and wake to a healed body? Why did you feel sore this morning and now feel like nothing was ever wrong with your body? Who healed you? Was it the same deity that hung you out the window just days ago or was it a different one? If it’s the same deity that threatened to kill you just by silently proving that they can but choose not to, why would they heal you from your severe injuries? What do they want from you? Why go through all this unnecessary bullshit and make sure that you’re alive and breathing? Maybe you could press Jake for some answers when he comes back. Maybe he’ll call for his god and question him like he did for you days ago.

You reach for your phone, the warm plastic heats your fingers as you stare at the one hundred percent symbol on the screen. All you have to do is calmly press and hold down the button and hope that the logo screen of the brand will load. The lump in your throat was already forming as you hoped that it would turn on despite not wanting to disappoint yourself. You click and hold down the button, counting to five silently before you release the button and then look at the dark screen of your phone. It was broken. You sniffle, tears forming in your eyes as you stare at the sad expression on your face in the reflection of the device. You’re not going to get it back, you’re not going to get anything saved to that device back. You’re not going to be able to re-read past text messages and listen to old voicemails. 

You’re not going to be able to listen to your mother ask about where you went on the day that she forgot about your plans to go to the bookstore with your best friend. You’re not going to be able to read the messages that your father loves you and to have fun at homecoming. You lost the messages between you and your best friend about some guy she had a crush on and was planning to ask out. You lost them and you know that you have photos and videos saved to the SD card, but those readable messages where you can hear their voice in your head are gone forever. You’re going to forget what they sound like in a few years if you don’t have any videos with them saved in the chip. You will forget them and the thought of that and everything else combined makes the panic that's been creeping on you cause your throat to close and it becomes difficult to breathe. 

Your shoulders rose and fell quickly as tears ran down your cheeks and a garbled noise leaves your mouth. You drop your phone into your lap and cover your mouth with your hands so nobody else on your floor could hear your cries. You try to stifle your sobs as they begin to wrack your body. Any thought about the deity and why they decided to save you after threatening to kill you has left your mind and instead you were drowning in an ocean of grief. Everything that helped you through your days after the blip was gone. Everything that reminded you that you were loved and of the person that you were was gone. Text messages and voicemails, you’re going to forget what they sounded like. You’re going to forget what their laughter was like. You’re going to forget how they said your name softly and with care as they pressed for you to cut the video. You’re going to forget how they said that they loved you and how they sounded like they really meant it. You’re going to grow old in a world without them in your life. 

The only witnesses to your breakdown were the two fish swimming in the tank and you can’t help but feel glad about that. You don’t want Stevens or Marcs or Jake's pity. You don’t want them to feel bad for you, you don’t want them to feel obligated to comfort you as you cry and grieve for everything. When you feel like you calmed down enough that numbness settles into your bones and you drop your hands from your mouth. The screen of your phone was wet and you dried it with the edge of the shirt you wore. You stare absently at the phone in your lap as you hear the door open and close. You can’t find it in yourself to care enough to look over to see if someone broke in and was walking towards you with the intention to get rid of all witnesses before robbing the place.

But, with the sound of the footsteps, you know that it was Steven walking towards you. His steps were a little loud and heavy unlike Marcs where he was quite like he was a ghost who doesn’t want to be noticed. Jake's steps were quick and sometimes louder than Marcs depending on whether he wanted to get out of the room quickly or not. You don’t look at him as he sets something on the bed beside you and crouches down in front of you. He takes in your puffy and red eyes with a look of sadness before his eyes trail to your phone in your lap. You sniffle as he places his own hand on top of your own, your cold hands greedily soak in the warmth of his body. 

“You want to talk about it?” He asks quietly. You shake your head, you were too afraid to tell him because you don’t want his pity and you were sure if you did talk about what you lost that the tears would not stop.

He sighs and says, “It’s not healthy for you to be bottling everything up. You’re just like Marc.” You stare at the scars on his hand, white lines just like yours. For a moment in your hazy mind, you wonder how he got them. Was it Marc who received them while he was in the marines? Or did Steven get them when he was a kid? Or was it Jake when he was protecting them? It was a long white scar stretching from their knuckles to the side of their hand. You stare  at it for a moment longer before you quietly admit the truth.

“My phone isn’t turning on, Steven.” You sniffle. You lost everything saved to that device. You would do anything to get it back and you know that it’s impossible to get it to turn back on. “It charges but it won’t turn on.” Your voice breaks off and you keep your eyes trained on the scar. 

“I’m sorry, dove.” He says sincerely. “I wish that we were there for you. I wish that we could have stopped it from happening.” Your lip wobbles and you breathe in a sharp breath to keep from continuing to break down. You don’t speak in fear that you would sob and be unable to stop until you’ve passed out from exhaustion. 

“How do you feel?” He asks quietly.

“Shitty.” You say and he breathes out a short laugh. 

“Anything new with your body physically? Any more soreness?”

“I feel normal.” You tell him. As normal as a teenager that committed fraud and moved over a thousand miles to get away from their grief.

“Normal?” He presses.

“Like nothing ever happened.” You clarify. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. You don’t look at him, not finding the energy to care enough to see the wheels turning in his mind or if he was looking at some nearby reflection and having a silent conversation with Marc. 

“Are you feeling up for getting out of the flat today?” He asks. Honestly no, you just want to lay in bed and stay there until you become one with the mattress. But, you knew from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Still, you don’t reply to him and he moves a little closer to get into your line of vision. 

His grip on your hand becomes a little more firm as he continues, “I brought some of your clothes over… I was wondering if you will go to the library with me.” He pauses and you know that you should say something but nothing comes out of your mouth to tell him that you will go willingly or protest. He squeezes your hand once and he exhales slowly. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it but you’ve been like this since we went out to dinner that night. It’s clear that you need to talk about some stuff, dove.” He says. “You don’t eat and I had to beg Jake to get you something and that fool took his time before he decided to finally go through with my pleas to make sure that you were eating. He didn’t even stick around to make sure you ate it.” He grumbles. You keep your eyes trained on the thin white line. The tears that you were trying to hold back were running down your cheeks again. How the fuck were you staying hydrated enough to have a ocean supply of tears? 

“Layla mentioned to Marc about your night terrors and I’m so sorry.” He says. “I’m so sorry that we weren’t there to comfort you. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry that you have ‘em.” Your tear drips off of your jawline and hits the back of his hand. He pauses as you watch the water droplet trail over the scar and down his skin slowly. “You’re not doing well. We’re worried about you.” You bite your lip to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. 

“It would be healthy to get it off of your chest rather than let it eat you alive. Scream at us, yell, do something. Please don’t keep it in. Please say something.” He begs and your heart breaks at his plea. “You can only let yourself heal if you feel like you deserve it. So, please ask yourself if you do and recognize that you deserve it.” He reaches up and caresses your face with his palm, tilting your head up a bit so he could see you more clearly. The sight of his face shocked you. His eyes were red and he was crying with you. 

“You deserve the world and more, dove; and I am so sorry if someone taught you otherwise.” That is what makes you unleash the built up cries in your chest as you launch yourself at him and wrap your arms around his neck. You both tumble to the floor, you ignore the sound of your phone hitting the ground as you bury your face into his chest and he wraps his own arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him. The sobs that left your body were muffled by his chest. He hides his face into your head and you unleash all of the emotions you were struggling to hold back. His apologies were whispers into your skull as you take in shaky breathes and exhale them in loud sobs. 

He hugs you tightly as if you were his lifeline and you couldn’t help but think of how wrong that was, if anything he was your lifeline. He and Marc were the two people that you look forward to speaking to everyday. Steven, Marc, and Layla were three people that grounded you when you needed it the most; and Jake was someone you looked forward to seeing because if he was there, they were safe. Nothing could take them away from you if he was present. You were safe in their arms. You were safe to feel. You were safe to grieve, you had someone to pull you from the dark so you wouldn’t forever stay stuck there. You don’t know how long you cried in Stevens arms but when you were finished and you felt almost completely numb, you pull away from him and roll to the side and sit on the floor. 

Your tears soak the collar of his shirt and you feel a ping of guilt at the sight. He lays on his back, his chest rising and falling as he collects himself from the emotions that you unpacked in his arms. He sits up slowly and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. His hair was a mess, you don’t think that he has brushed it yet.  

“Everything that Steven has said is the truth for me too.” Marc says. You don’t look at him but rather your phone a few feet away from you. You felt a little embarrassed to look at him and besides, you felt like you had a better relationship with Steven than you did for him so it was a little weird to be breaking down in Stevens arms and realize that he had to front at some point while you were crying in his chest. 

“You should have brought your taser.” He adds. “I gave it to you for a reason and that was to protect yourself when we aren’t around to do so.” Guilt pools in your stomach, you should have taken your taser. You should have gotten into the habit of leaving the apartment building with it. If you had it, you could have protected yourself better and your phone wouldn’t be broken. But you didn’t and now it's another ‘what if’ added to your list. You should have carried your taser with you despite the risk of getting caught carrying a weapon on you.

“I’m going to teach you how to do some self defense- I- '' He stops mid sentence and rolls his eyes at the reflection on the clock. “Steven doesn’t know any defensive moves and he wants to show you.” You don’t say anything, guilt was making it hard to speak. “We’ll practice when you’re better, alright?” You nod. Just the idea alone was laughable, you being taught how to defend yourself by an ex-marine and the previous avatar of a moon god and you don’t have any history of self defense besides throwing a proper punch. 

He clears his throat and asks, “Has your door handle always been broken?”

“No,” You clear your throat. “No, it’s only been like that when Jake broke in a while ago.” God, it felt longer than that. Has it only been a couple of months?

“I’ll have to fix that before it becomes an issue.” He comments and then adds, “I saw your apartment.” 

“When?” 

“When Steven went over there to get you some spare clothes.” He says. “I’m sorry for the damage done to the place.” You don’t know what to say to that. You know that it wasn’t okay for the damage that needs to be repaired, but it wasn’t in their control. Khonshus the one who broke the kitchen light and whatever deity that decided to fuck with you on Saturday caused the rest of the damage. 

“Marc?” You ask. 

“Yeah?” 

“What happened when Jake left last night?” You ask. He stares at you. You know that something had to happen when they left because they returned with your phone. Did the guy die? You hope that he did. You hope that he suffered.

“Jake hunted down the thief and killed him.” Marc says. He doesn’t sound happy or upset about it. “His body is in the Thames River.” He adds. You nod slowly. Good. 

“Get dressed.” He says and pats your knee awkwardly before standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“What?” You scrunch your brows at him. “Why?”

“We’re getting out of here and going to the library like Steven said.” He says. “You better be ready within five minutes or I’m dragging you out the door just like how you are.” You look down at your wrinkled old shirt with a hole in the shoulder and a pair of knee high shorts that were two sizes too big for you. Your eyes trail away from your clothing and land on the stack of Aztec history and culture books in front of Stevens bookshelf. For a moment, you wonder what caused him to become interested in history. What caused him to begin to collect books and make notes on deities? And just as that thought crosses your mind, Marc makes an impatient noise and you breathe out a sigh before pushing yourself off of the ground and grabbing the stack of clothes on the bed before walking to the bathroom and shutting the door behind you to get ready. 

The library was huge and just like how you remembered. You only visited the building twice and both times it was to print off some final documents to submit for applications for the building you live in now and for your workplace. Upon entering the double doors, there are rows upon rows of bookshelves lined with paper and hardback books. Straight ahead was a round receptionist desk with two women working quietly and helping people check out their books. Above you was a second floor filled with even more books and a few people who were gazing at the copies on the shelves and in their hands. You follow Steven as he walks towards reception and takes a hard right, going directly to the row of computers. He pulls out a chair and sits down in it, clicking the button on the mouse a few times to wake up the screen and get the computer going. You linger a few feet away from him before you sit down in the chair next to him. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. “Don’t you have to check in and pay money to use the computer?” You did last time and it was the same way in New York. You had to make a time slotted appointment and pay five dollars to use the computer. In London it was one pound. 

“I did.” He says, sparing a glance at you before returning his attention to the task at hand. “I called ahead and made a reservation.” You raise an eyebrow at him. When did he do that? You decide to not question him about it as you lean back in your seat and cross your arms over your chest. Your eyes land on the monitor in front of you and you watch the home screen pictures change from a beach setting to one of puppies. You still need to get a new laptop this weekend otherwise you’ll have to go through a whole process of reapplying and making up some believable excuse for the government or getting your GED later on rather than a high-school diploma.

“It says that I have to have an account.” He says as he leans forward and reads the screen before looking towards you, “How do you make an account?”

“For what?” You ask without looking at him.

“Facebook.”

“For Facebook?” You repeat. Your eyes trail over to the login screen for the social site. “Why would you need to go onto that?”

“Well, Marc suggested that we could download some pictures of your parents from their old accounts and print them off for you.” He says. Your lips part open in shock and you stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Are you serious?”

“What is it that you say?” He asks, “Deadass, right?”

“Steven.” You breathe out as he turns his eyes back to the screen before him. 

You could feel the sting of tears beginning to form in your eyes as he adds, “We’ll get some frames for them too. We can go to the thrift shop after this and hang them up at your place, alright?”

“I don’t have any money on me for the fees.” You protest weakly and he rolls his eyes at you as if that was the stupidest thing he has ever heard. 

“Hush up. I’ll pay for these. Don’t worry your nose off about it.” He says. “Now, help me make an account.” You help him make a fake email and account to login and search up your parents names before you print them off; and soon you’re going through relatives accounts and printing off their Facebook memories of your parents from ten years ago. Steven makes small comments about how young you looked in some of these photos and how grainy and low quality others were. He laughs at one in particular where you were eight and dancing to Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii with a pair of cheap sunglasses on and a pink feather boa wrapped around your neck. He printed that one off with a grin on his face and a comment about how this is pure gold and he is definitely going to hang this up in the sitting room. 

Within a couple of hours, you had over two dozen photos on printer paper and Marc was at the front desk paying for the fees while you hugged the papers to your chest as if the stack was a teddy bear. He thanked the lady at the desk and placed his hand on your lower back as he guided you out of the library. An endless string of words that stated how grateful you were and how you would pay them back for the fees left your mouth and he cuts you off by saying, “Don’t worry about it.” You open your mouth to protest when the sound of his flip phone vibrating caught your attention and quickly ended the conversation between you.

“Who's calling?” You ask. He stares down at the screen as he stops in his tracks. You pause on your own and watch as he bites the inside of his cheek. You both stood outside of an antique shop, in the window was an old red wagon with fading and scratched off letters of the brand. A slightly dirty and dusty stuffed rabbit wearing overalls sat in it. 

“Layla.” Marc answers as he watches the phone stop vibrating in his palm. Why didn’t he pick up? What if she was in trouble? 

“Is something wrong?” You ask. You could tell by the look on his face alone that you weren’t going to get an answer or at least a truthful one.

“No,” He says. That was an obvious lie to you. “She just sent me a text that she wants to talk.” He looks at the window of the shop and you watch him bite the inside of his cheek before he turns back to you and adds, “It’s going to be dark soon. Come on, let's go back to Stevens.” The sun has been setting at seven lately, by next month it's going to be setting at six and then five pm in November. It was only three in the afternoon, there were still a few hours of daylight left to kill. You hope that he was telling the truth about Layla and wasn’t just ushering you back to the apartment because he was worried or some shit.

“We’re not going to the thrift shop?” You ask and he shakes his head, curls bouncing off of his forehead. You really needed a new laptop, you were already anxious that you weren’t going to find one in time that you could afford. You don’t have any money on you so you supposed that if you did find one today that you couldn't get it because of that and because you’re too embarrassed to even think about asking them to pay for it. 

“We’ll go there this weekend.” He promises. You hope that he keeps it as you resign to heading back to Stevens apartment to unwind from the day. He tosses his arm over your shoulder and walks you towards the bus stop as he asks, “How do you feel about Stevens' cauliflower pizza for dinner?”

Chapter Text

Tossing and turning in your sleep, the sheets were tangled around your legs and your eyelids twitched as a cry of fear left your lips. Sweat dotted your forehead and down your back with the struggle of trying to get out of your nightmare and wake into reality. The only thing that woke you was the gentle shake of your arm and the soft words of affirmation tumbling from the person laying next to you. Your eyes snap open and you take in the darkness of the room you laid in. The dream you had was something that you knew too well of and yet, as your chest rose and fell in quick patterns and your hands trembled, you thought it was more than a dream. You thought you were truly getting ambushed by Harrow's cult again and Marc ignoring your pleas for help. 

It was the same recurring nightmare you had since that night, you just haven’t had it  lately because you were too physically exhausted for the night terrors to occur. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case for this night. The only difference this time was that you were calling for Jake and Marc; and neither of them came to your rescue.

“Hola-” Jake says softly. “‘Hola- estás bien.” The hand resting on your arm removes itself. You blink away the sleep from your eyes as you catch your breath and roll onto your back. Your legs twisting awkwardly in the sheets with how tight the cloth is wrapped around them. The curtains weren’t closed all the way, moonlight filters in and brightens the room as clouds roll by in the night sky. With the light, you saw the features of your neighbor pushed up onto his side and giving a look that you can’t quite make out. Your fingers grip the covers as you try to shake away the memories of the nightmare. You felt guilty at waking them, you didn’t mean to let your night terrors get the best of you. This was the first night that you woke them since they came back. The last few days were chaotic at most. 

“Sorry I woke you.” You whisper into the flat. You try to relax your tense muscles, but all it seems to do is become tighter.

“It’s fine.” He grumbles. “I was going to go do some of Khonshus bidding anyways.” 

“Oh.” You reply. You swallow and stare at the popcorn ceiling. Slowly, you try to ground yourself by counting the small bumps that were visible enough for you to see in the dim light. 

“You scared ‘em.” He adds after a moment. “Thought someone was in the apartment and hurting you.” You release a shaky breath and guilt pools in your stomach. Oh fuck, they were worried about you? How loud were your cries that Jake had to be the one to front?

“I’m sorry.” You reply. “I didn’t mean to.” He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. You don’t know what to tell him. You felt like your apologies weren’t enough for them. Fucking hell, you scared them and you feel guilty for it.

“You want Steven?” He asks. The question surprised you. “He’s better at this than I am.”

“I thought you were going to go out and be the fist of vengeance for the night.”

“It’s four am.” He replies. “It would be for a couple of hours.”

“Is it really?” You ask. He hums in answer and you rub your eyes with the heels of your palms. Four in the morning and you had to be up at six. You knew that it was going to take you awhile to get back to sleep and as much as you knew that you needed to rest, you probably weren’t going to fall back asleep once Jake leaves. 

“I think I’ll be fine.” You tell him. You don’t want Marc or Steven to worry about you. You already felt terrible about the past few days and now months that it was clear to you that they noticed how horrible you are doing. You stare at the ceiling for a moment longer before adding, “I have to be at work by seven-thirty.” You need an alarm to wake you if you did fall back asleep whether it was by accident or on purpose.

“Marc is going to take you to work today.” He says. You scrunch your brows at him. You didn’t know that he was planning on taking you to work. They don’t have a car besides Jake's limo and you don’t want to show up to work in an extravagant vehicle. 

“With your limo?”

“No.” He says, “By the bus and walk you to the building.” You blink tiredly at that. It was like a forty minute ride for them to do that. Plus twenty minutes of walking, ten minutes to the building and ten minutes back to the bus stop. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.”

“Tell him that.” He says. You swallow and let silence settle back between you. They  were worried about you and even in your tired state, you recognize that. You felt terrible for them to be so anxious for you and your safety. It’s been like that far longer than you have been aware of Jake and it's just becoming more noticeable because of the shitty things over the past week. You wait for Jake to get up to begin his routine of being the fist of vengeance, but instead, he leans back against the headboard and stares into the living room. You tilt your head towards him, trying to see if his thoughts were visible on his face; but from the lower angle and the moonlight it was difficult to see make out. 

You move your arms onto your stomach and knit your fingers together as you shift your gaze back to the ceiling. Today is your birthday, you are officially seventeen and you still feel the same. Every year you become older and for some reason you expect to feel different, perhaps a little wiser but you don’t. You’re still the same person from the day before with the same knowledge and experience but just with the achievement that you lasted another three hundred and sixty five days. It was another birthday without your parents, the second one to be exact and this time you had people to be with just without the celebrations because they don’t know what day it is. You’re lying next to them at this moment and despite the nightmares and the guilt you couldn’t help but think about how much this was a better start to your day than this time last year.

Last year, you spent the day working on the brink of tears because it was your first birthday without your parents. The firsts were always the worst, it gets easier as it goes on but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. You cried all afternoon on your couch and well into the evening and ate ramen for dinner. Today, you knew that it was going to be exhausting but a little easier than last year. You’ll have someone to come to after work and talk about your day and eat dinner with and maybe watch a movie to start your weekend. You’ll have a better day. Jake shifts next to you, swinging his leg over the edge of the mattress. You should take this opportunity to say thank you for what he has done before he leaves for his early morning job of protecting those who need it. 

As much as you don’t like to admit it, because of the rift between the two of you, he has been doing some kind things lately like taking care of you when you got beat up and getting your phone back. You never expected him to be this nice to you in a thousand years. You should tell him that you’re grateful for his recent actions just so he knows. You wait a moment longer for him to swing his right leg over the edge of the mattress and push himself to begin his morning routine, but he doesn’t. He instead rests his head against the headboard and lolls it towards the window. The curtains blow softly as if urging him to go out into the early morning. 

You swallow before you say, “I didn’t get to say thanks.” He doesn’t look at you, but his chest slowly deflates as a sigh leaves him.

“For what?” He asks and you find yourself fiddling with your fingers as you try to figure out how to tell him what you feel. Jake isn’t an open and accepting person, that was more of Stevens type of thing and you don’t like to talk about your feelings as much as you should. So, you were struggling on how to tell him that you were grateful for everything he has done this past weekend. You were grateful that he came back and didn’t die. For coming back and not leaving you alone. For killing the bitch before he could do more harm to others. For waking you from the recurring nightmare.

You don’t know how to form it into words and with the silence that seemed to feel like it was extending into miles you settle for, “Getting my phone.” There was a lot unsaid that you want to thank him for but, you don’t know how. So, you hope that he would read between the lines and find out how much you were grateful for.

“Steven would have wanted me to.” He says and you hum. It was true that Steven would have but with the way that he stated it sounds like Steven didn’t ask him to get it back at that point, yet he did it on his own accord. You decide not to press him about it, mainly because you’re too tired and because you’re sure it wouldn’t end well. Instead, you listen to the curtains ruffle together, you think the window is closed so the breeze will have to be blowing through the cracks of the pane. The clouds shift in front of the moon and temporarily darken the room before brightening once again when they’re no longer in the light's path. You wait for him to move off of the bed and go out into the early morning but he doesn’t move an inch. Your eyes trail over to him and he was still looking out the window. 

You don’t know if you’re going to be able to fall back asleep, but you do want to try and with the nightmare you don’t want to be alone. You bite your lip as the request to ask him to stay fills your mind, and instead of immediately throwing it out the window, you consider it. You want him to stay, for your own reassurance that there is someone when you wake and also because him staying meant they couldn’t be killed while doing Mr. Knight duties. Steven and Marc will be safe for longer if you convince him to stay. You shift on the mattress so you’re on your left side and facing him. You hope that the room will be dim enough to hide your embarrassment on your face if he were to look at you.

“Jake?” You ask. You peer up from him from where you lay as you listen to him inhale a breath. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you stay?” You ask and add a little quickly, “At least until I fall asleep.” You felt stupid for asking it. You felt like a little kid asking to stay in their parents room after a nightmare. Childish and embarrassing for your age of seventeen.

“I already was.” He replies and your breath gets caught in your throat. You didn’t expect that answer from him. “Are you going to try to sleep now or continue to stare at the ceiling?” How’d he know that you were staring at it without him looking at you? You were a little creeped out at that but you chalk it up to him being a perspective person. Your hand clutches the sheets, the fabric soft between your fingers as you close your eyes and try to relax your body so you could fall back asleep. But with every breath that leaves your body, it seems like it becomes harder and harder to relax. You turn onto your back to try to become more comfortable but the longer you struggle to fall asleep, it becomes more obvious that you weren’t going to get any more shut eye tonight. 

“You want to talk about it?” He asks. You nearly jump at the question as your eyes snap open and you were back to staring at the ceiling. You didn’t expect him to say anything, you thought he would just try to wait a little longer before leaving to save whoever needed to be saved. 

“About what?” You ask, your voice sounds loud to your own ears.

“Your dream.” He answers. You almost raise an eyebrow at that. Another thing you didn’t expect. You thought Steven would be the one to press you about the nightmare. You thought Jake would relinquish control and let Steven take over to comfort you. Yet, here the two of you are and Jake was still looking out the window while you spare a glance at him.

“You’re offering to have a conversation with me about it?” You ask. You were surprised that he was willing to listen to you. 

“Forget it.” He replies and slides off of the mattress. 

“Jake.” You say. “I was just surprised. I didn’t expect you to offer to listen.”

“No, it’s fine.” He waves you off as he stretches his arms and walks around the edge of the bed. “Steven or Marc will be here to wake you in a couple of hours.” Your gaze trails back to the ceiling and you listen to him as he puts on his shoes before unlocking the door and shutting it behind him. The bolts click in place and you’re left with the moonlight shining brightly onto you. Sleep didn’t come and you spent the next two hours staring at the moon, wishing for slumber to pull you under. 

---

The shift was long and tiring. You made good tips and had to deal with a couple of Karen's, especially the morning bunch. You hate serving the morning customers, sometimes they were nice but the majority of the time they were rude as fuck. Your feet ache and your back hurts, luckily, Marc was willing to give up his seat on the bus for you to rest your joints and nearly fall asleep with your head resting against the window. You had zero plans to celebrate the day of your birth besides resting on Stevens couch and watching some movie on Netflix. Your plan for the weekend was to go to the thrift stores since Marc promised you and browse for a new laptop and frames for the photos that were printed yesterday. 

All of your plans to relax were thrown out the window when Marc says, “Layla's coming over.” You pause in your steps. The two of you were walking up the stairwell since the elevator was still broken and you were beginning to form some shape to your calves.

“Why is she coming over?” You ask. You were happy to see her since it's been a few days but, you were a little weirded out that Marc would tell you about it. He usually kept this type of stuff to himself, but for some reason he decided to let you in on this. Perhaps they’re going to finally talk out their issues and Layla was calling him yesterday to get a hold of him to plan this out? He shrugs at your question and you internally roll your eyes. Typical. He wouldn’t tell you shit unless you press him for it. You continue to walk up the steps, passing the spot where you passed out and hit your head. The pool of blood is gone, the janitor must have cleaned it up which is great because if it was dried that would be gross.

You listen to Marc follow you up the steps to Stevens apartment. You dig your lanyard out of your pocket and jam the key into the lock before turning it and the handle. You push open the door and your breath catches in your throat at the sight before you. Directly across from the door and on the wall was the painting you made with Layla when she bought the art supplies a couple weeks ago. Next to it, in a small rectangular frame was a picture of you from when you were younger with a pink boa wrapped around your neck and a pair of cheap sunglasses on your face. 

“Is that my painting?” You ask and point at the canvas hung up on the wall. You kick off your shoes and take your coat off, hanging it on the rack next to the door before you walk closer to get a better look. You were a few feet away from it, standing next to the table and staring at the two items newly showing off for whoever was to first enter the apartment.

“Yeah,” Steven says. “I thought it would look nice hung up.” He pauses and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. “Is it okay that we put it up? We can take it down if you’ll like.”

“It’s okay, Steven.” You say, “I just didn’t expect you guys to show it off.” Your eyes trail to the picture next to it. It was framed in a rustic golden color making it stand out a little better than the painting. You can’t believe that they went through with framing it, you thought they were just teasing you. You weren’t upset that they hung it up or weirded out, you were just pleasantly surprised. Now that you are thinking about it, your surprise today was always caused by these men since you woke up. You expected work to be long and terrible like it was today, but this, coming back to Stevens apartment and seeing the painting on the wall and Jake asking you if you wanted to talk about your nightmare was surprising and endearing.

You were a little bit in awe about the whole thing until you realized that the frame meant that they had to go to the thrift shop without you. Which meant that you had to tell them why you need to go to a thrift store or a used electronic store for a computer for school and you don’t want them to feel bad for you. You were planning to use the frames as a cover story so you wouldn’t have to tell them about the laptop and your need for one. Now you have to because there was no way that Marc and Steven would let you go out on your own since they were going to work and back with you. Your eyes trail to the table and land on the ziploc baggie that contains the shredded pieces of the Eye of Horus. 

You can tell that the paper was dry and the inside of the bag was free of any condensation that was once in it. The remnants of your blood was dried into a dark red color almost like an over ripe cherry. Delicately, you pick it up and stare down at the paper. The ink has dried into a blurry mess of lines making most of it unreadable. Some words stood out but without them being in sentences, they didn’t make much sense to you. There was no reason for the man to tear this apart, why would he mug you and tear apart a piece of paper? He took his time scaring and beating the shit out of you before he took off with your phone. Did he read something on here that pissed him off? Or did he recognize how much this parchment meant to you and wanted to take it from you for the simple act of revenge? You did beg him not to take your phone so maybe he just wanted to destroy you like Marc did to him back in June. 

“You should throw that away.” Marc says. “It’s unsanitary.”

“Throw what?” You ask. 

“The bag that you're holding?” He says. You didn’t remove your eyes from the object. You know that you should toss it out because it's gross to keep, but it meant a little too much to let go. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t throw it away.” You say. “Steven gave this to me.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence is deafening and you concentrate a little harder on the plastic in your hand.

“It’s a piece of paper-”

“No it’s not.” You cut him off. “It’s not just a piece of paper, Marc. What if this is the last thing I’ll ever have left of you guys? What if Jake doesn’t come back from a mission? What if there’s another snap and this time you’re actually gone and there’s no Tony Stark to save us?” You huff out a breath. “It’s not just a fucking piece of paper I can throw away.” Your heart beats loudly in your ears. You didn’t mean to lash out at him like that but hot damn you don’t want to give this paper up. 

“I can make you a new one.” Steven offers. “I can tear the page out in the book for you if you’ll like.”

“It’s not like the one you gave me first.” You mumble. “Besides, I don’t want you to ruin your book for me.” You set the bag onto the table and smooth out the crinkles with your palm before you pull out the chair next to you and sit in it.

“I can trace it or make a new one entirely for you.” He says and crosses the few feet between you before he crouches in front of you. “I didn’t know how much it meant to you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” He cuts you off. You lean back into the chair and cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry, Steven,” You say. “I’m sorry that it’s ruined.”

“It’s not your fault.” He reassures you and his kindness makes you feel worse. The apartment door opens and it causes you to look up and Steven to stand from his crouched position. A mop of curls enters the flat, a dazzling smile rests on Layla's face as she shuts the door behind her. She carries a polka dot bag with green and white tissue paper sticking out of it. 

“Am I interrupting something?” She asks as she crosses the threshold and places the bag onto the table. You shake your head as she sets her keys onto the table next to the bag. 

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” She greets you and opens her arms for a hug. Your mouth parts open in surprise. 

“How’d you know?” You ask. You haven’t told her or the men that it was your birthday. How did they find out? Marc slides over the blue folder across the surface of the table, disrupting the pieces of scattered paper. Your eyes land on the folder and your lips gently press back together. The folder was the same one that contains all of your history that he gathered to present you with a couple of months ago. 

“Oh,” You breathe out. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” He replies. “Seventeen years old, huh? You feel any older?” You gently shake your head. 

“Is this why you were calling yesterday?” You ask Layla. “Because of my birthday?”

“Well, I wanted to see the birthday kid on their special day and I sent you some birthday messages you have yet to read. I have read receipts on- and what’s with that look?” Your eyes meet Marcs. He hasn’t told her shit about that last few days, typical. He releases a slow breath and explains to her what happened and with every passing word that comes out of his mouth, a look of horror forms on her features. 

“And why didn’t you tell me this when it happened?” She asks as she glares at him. 

“Because I was busy taking care of the kid.” He defends himself. “Jake went out and killed the guy so you don’t have to worry about it.” She huffs out a breath and softens her eyes when she looks at you. 

“Are you alright?” She asks. You nod and try to shoot her a reassuring smile but it feels like it comes out more like a grimace. 

“I’m okay.” You tell her and she frowns at you. You can see her resolve melting off of her features as a sigh leaves her. She wasn’t going to force you to tell her how you really feel, you know that. 

“Here,” She says instead. She grabs the handle of the bag and plops it into your lap. You shoot her a look. “Open it.” She smiles. Marc momentarily disappears from your sight as you focus on the gift placed in your lap. You pull out the tissue paper, letting it drop to the ground before you pull out a small rectangular box. The soft box felt like a lush pillow and it was the color of a deep blue. Your eyes trail away from the box and to the person who was gifting it to you. A unsure look was on your face and she shot you a reassuring smile. 

“Go on,” She encourages. Man, you hope this isn’t too expensive. You take the lid off and smile at the sight of a light blue and brown leather bracelet. It looked like one from those gift shops you traveled to when you were avoiding Marc and Steven a couple months ago. 

“Thank you.” You breathe out, a genuine smile passing over your face. 

“We got matching bracelets.” Layla says and grins as she holds up her left arm and sure enough, it was tied around her wrist. You felt your smile widen before you registered what you were doing and the question of asking her to tie the bracelet around your wrist falls from your lips. She gladly ties it and you finally catch up with what happened in the past minute as soon as the strings were knotted together. You promise to yourself that you would never take it off unless you absolutely had to. 

“There's more.” She gestures to the bag and you glance at it. You could feel something weighing down on your legs and you direct your curious gaze to Layla. “We can sit here all night if we need to but you are opening it up.” You reach into the bag and remove the remaining green tissue and your breath gets caught in your throat as you pull out a box with a picture of a laptop. Holy shit, she bought you a brand new laptop. 

“I can’t take this.” You say. You give her a pleading look as she blinks at you innocently. 

“The bracelet?”

“Layla.” You groan. “I can’t take the laptop. It’s too expensive.”

“I can’t take it back, I lost the receipt.”

“You lost the receipt?” You say incredulously. “You’re fucking lying.”

“Okay, well, I am.” She shrugs. “Listen, look at it this way, this will help your education and I’m just pitching in by helping you.”

“Layla-”

“And,” She cuts you off. “And you need a good one, especially since your old one got destroyed by a god being a bitch.” She pauses and you stare at the box. It was a new laptop, it looked like it was roughly three hundred to four hundred dollars because of how small it was. It didn’t have that Apple logo on it so it wasn’t that expensive compared to the thousands of dollars worth of technology they try to sell. 

“You do need this.” She says and your name falls softly from her lips. “You need a win and you deserve to have this after the past week, so please allow yourself to take this.” You bite your lip and you gently nod. 

“Thank you,” You croak out and she reaches forward and cups your cheek with her palm, tilting your head slightly back so you could see her better. Her thumb rubs gently back and forth on your skin and nothing else needed to be said between the two of you, that gesture was enough. She steps back with a caring and kind smile on her face as Marc hands you a thick yet small rectangular box with a crinkled red bow tie smacked onto the top of it. 

“What’s this?” You ask as you remove the bag from your lap and place the computer onto the table next to you. 

“Go ahead and open it.” He answers. You remove the bow and read the surface of the box, it was a Samsung phone, one of the newer ones that came out within the last couple of years. Your mouth parts and you whip your head to look at Marc. 

“What the fuck.” You say. 

“It’s already paid for, Steven and I both pitched in halves for this and it's on a family plan so you don’t have to worry about monthly bills.” A family plan? You don’t consider the three of you to be that close and from what you know about Marc he doesn’t either. So it must have been cheaper for him to put you on a plan with him than it would be for singles. You felt more comfortable coming to that conclusion than anything else so you don’t question it and push him about it.

“I’ll pay both of you back.” You promise.

“The fuck you will.” He replies. “It’s a gift, you don’t pay people back.” 

“Here, dove.” Steven says, you watch the shift between the two of them as he hands you a small rectangular square wrapped in parchment. It felt thin and light in your hands. You set the phone onto the table and peel back the parchment paper to reveal a light blue case with a cd sealed inside. On the cover was your name written in sharpie across the front of it with “From Steven,” written below it.

“You asked me to make you a playlist of songs that we like and I don’t know how to make one on one of those music apps so I burnt some onto a cd for you.” He says. You swear that your gaze softens as your eyes land on him. “I know that you don’t have a Cd player-”

“Actually, you’re wrong.” Layla says. “Kiddo has one on their laptop.”

“We can still listen to it together, Steven.” You say. “I’ll move the songs onto Spotify so we could both listen to it and add other songs that we both like.” He smiles at that and you swear that your heart softens along with your gaze at these gestures from the three of them.

“Thank you so much,” You add and he smiles sheepishly. 

“There’s one more gift.” He says and walks around the edge of the table before lifting up a larger rectangular box. It didn’t have any wrapping paper or a bow on it, so it clearly showed what it was. Your breath catches in your throat as you register the picture on the box and the name of it. 

“A telescope.” You say. “No fucking way.” 

“Jake got this for you this morning after Marc walked you to work.” He says, “He feels bad but doesn’t want to admit it.” Your fingers brush against the box in awe. You always wanted a telescope but could never afford a good one. Now you had one and as much as you wanted to tell them that you’ll pay them back for their generosity today, you know that they would just tell you not to. So, you internally promise to repay them back down the road somehow. 

“I made cake, we can have some after dinner.” Steven says. 

“Oh my god, cake.” You say. 

“It’s chocolate.” He adds and you groan in response. You don’t know how you’re going to pay them back for their kindness but you will. “Go get into something comfortable while I start dinner.” You stand up and envelope Layla into your arms before letting go and hugging Steven. 

“Thank you so much.” You say. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” You let go of Steven and jog to the door and slip your shoes back on before heading to your apartment. You still struggled with getting your key into the lock but once you did, you turned the handle and nearly cried at the sight on the wall before you. Photos of your parents were in frames decorated the wall and hung securely. You owe them too much for their kindness, don’t you? Your nose stings as the door shuts behind you and you approach the frames. Your parents smile back at you as if they were telling you happy birthday. 

---

The walk back to Stevens apartment was slow, you were an emotional wreck from today. You have been for the past few days, but today was a good type of wreck. You try to gather yourself so they don’t become concerned for the happy tears you just cried. You take a deep breath and turn the handle to enter Stevens flat, the sound of soft music fills your ears and Layla's laughter sounds joyous. You find yourself smiling at the sight before you. Marc sat across from Layla, a dumb smile on his own face from some joke he just told and a happy grin was on Layla's. As much as you wish that they didn’t lie to you about being divorced, you couldn’t help but hope that they were mending their relationship. 

“Table thief,” Marc says. “You want to go up to the rooftop later with your telescope?” 

“Did you just call the kid table theif?” Layla grins at him and he laughs a little. 

“I didn’t mean to steal a table.” You groan out. “But yeah, I do.” You shut the door behind you as you cross the threshold and slide into the chair next to Layla. You open the phone box to begin to set it up as Marc stands to go to the kitchen and Layla gently talks to you about your day. You spent most of the evening chatting with them and laughing, downloading the Spotify app and listening to Marc, Steven, and Layla tell you songs to add to the playlist or songs that you don’t recognize on the cd the four of you were listening to. You added songs that you thought they would enjoy to the list too. Part of you wishes that Jake was listening to it too in one reflection or another. You had their numbers saved to your phone and on Monday you’ll ask for Laurens, but for now you had four numbers saved into the contacts. You sent the link for the playlist to Laylas and Stevens phone, you would have for Marcs but he didn’t have the type of phone that allowed him to have any music app on it.

When it came to singing Happy Birthday, it was awkward sitting and them singing it to you. To be fair it was always awkward having a group of people sing you the song while a cake was on fire with candles sticking out of it. The cake was delicious and you repeatedly thanked Steven for making it. The time that you were most excited for finally came just two hours after the sunset. Layla washed dishes as Marc took your telescope out of the box and read the instructions with you lingering over his shoulder. You tried not to bother him but you were just so damn excited for this moment and you want to learn how to use the scope too. It wasn’t until Layla finished the dishes and Marc was somewhat satisfied that he understood the instructions that the four of you made your way out of the apartment and up the stairs to the sixth floor. You bounce on your heels as you hold open the door for Marc and Layla to pass through so you could begin your ascent to the rooftop. 

And, as always, the stars were beautiful. The night sky was full of them, you thought that it would be a cloudy night. Now that you were thinking about it, you were sure that the forecast said it would be an overcast night. But, you weren’t going to complain when all the stars seemed to be shining brightly just for you. Marc sets the telescope on the gravel of the roof-top and Layla holds her phone flashlight out for him so he could set it up. You grin at the constellation of the Big Dipper, you swear that you’re never going to become bored of seeing these beautiful stars. 

“Y’know,” You say as you feel the weight of the past week seem to melt from you and you could finally somewhat relax. “The stars were here before us. These are the same stars that the Aztecs and Neanderthals saw and they will remain after us. We are only a moment in time.” You felt peaceful as the statement fell from your lips. Marc pauses in his actions and even Layla directs her flashlight to you. You could feel the concern wafting off of them. You lift up your hand to block the shining light as you turn your attention to them.

“Are you okay?” Marc asks. “That was a little deep for a seventeen years old's birthday.”

“I’m great.” You laugh, “I call dibs on being the first to use the telescope.”

“As the birthday kid wishes.” He says and gestures to it. “Go ahead, kid. Knock yourself out.” You grin as you approach the scope and peer down into the lens. It took awhile to adjust it so it’s not completely blurry and out of focus, but once you get that working correctly, you couldn’t help but want to hug Jake for buying this for you. The sight of the stars being slightly bigger than you were used to with the naked eye was amazing and breathtaking. Your grin becomes wider and it feels truly genuine as you breathe out a laugh. You listen to the city traffic below and Marc and Layla chat quietly as if they didn’t want to interrupt you and your amazement. The sound of Layla's laughter causes you to spare a glance at them. Marc was genuinely smiling at his wife, you don’t think he ever smiled like this around you. So, before you embarrass him with your own happiness for them, you return your attention to the telescope and the stars above you. Today was a good day.

Chapter Text

It was mid October. The leaves were in the middle of turning red and brown, most of them were on the wet pavement. The rain never seems to end during autumn in London. It has been pouring for what felt like weeks and every time you go outside with Marc to go to work or the grocery store, the two of you are soaked by the time you get on the bus. Your apartment looks different from a year ago. Garbage bags were lined underneath the window to help prevent as much water damage as you can from the cracked webs of glass. It was definitely colder in the flat thanks to the occasional breeze that would go through the cracks. 

Your kitchen light was replaced courtesy of Jake, he fronted one night after coming back from a mission with a kitchen light bulb. It was a little odd mainly because the bulb was out of its packaging and he didn’t have a receipt that showed that he bought it. Which leads to the conclusion for you that he was a light bulb thief. You hope that he took it for good reason and that whoever he took it from deserved it. The bulb wasn’t a regular type either, it was one of those red color bulbs so now whenever you flick on the kitchen light it was a red fluorescent lighting. It was nice of him, especially since he didn’t make you screw it into the socket, but he did instead. He has been fronting a little more than usual since you got mugged. 

You think he feels guilty for it because Steven did say he was the one who bought you the telescope that now rests in the corner of your living room since Stevens place is cluttered with books and papers. Jake Lockley wasn’t the type of person that you thought would feel easily guilty for you being mugged and left on the brink of death, mainly because he made the impression on you that you were only alive because he lets you be. But, you were wrong. You were slowly accepting the conclusion that Jake is keeping you alive to keep his alters alive as he has stated before. Another thing that was different about the place you rented was that the door handle was broken. Somehow it was even worse after Marc came back to Stevens place with your pajamas after you got mugged.

It now takes about two minutes for you to lock and unlock the door handle. Marc seems to have forgotten about the issue and you feel a little weird about asking him for a new handle that his alter broke so, you haven’t pushed the issue. You looked up the prices of door handles at home department stores and the new handles cost roughly thirty-five pounds which is about forty dollars in the states. Even though you have enough money for it because all that you’ve been saving since you rarely shop for your own food anymore, you still have yet to buy it. You’ve been procrastinating on it since you would have to drag Marc to the store and tell him why you need to go to Ikea and just the thought of Marc's guilt ridden face was enough for you to continue to procrastinate on it.

Compared to what the apartment looked like this time last year, you had more photos lining the wall of the life you had before. You moved a picture frame of your parents so it hid the hole in the drywall from the deity throwing your old laptop against it. You doubt that if your apartment building did a surprise inspection but you tried to fix the place up as best as you could just in case there was one. You don’t consider your apartment home, it never felt like the home you had in New York; but this flat did have some of your belongings that show that you do exist and you are alive, and that was enough for now. 

Your kitchen counter was still the place where you rest your jacket since you don’t have a coat rack and your lanyard lays next to it with the stain remover stick the vending machine spit out the day you got chased out of the laundry room. You still have yet to use it, you didn’t bother trying to see if it would get the blood out of your work uniform when you got mugged, mainly because you doubt that it would do much. Since the mugging and the mysterious healing, you have yet to discover who the god is and why they healed you in the stairwell. You ran over multiple theories in your mind and even talked obsessedly with Steven and Marc about it. Everything has been relatively well the past month and half. You still had your nightmares but they were slowly spreading out in between days, you weren’t waking up every night to them. 

Jake has been secretly teaching you self defense at two in the morning, so maybe that's part of why the nightmares have been slowly getting further apart. Marc still walks you to the bus stop and rides with you to work and back, you feel a lot safer with him by your side. You popped in your SD card from your old phone and downloaded all the videos and pictures to your new phone, you were grateful and lucky that it worked. You backed up everything onto your new laptop too so you have multiple copies saved.

 You’ve been spending your Saturday afternoons either on Stevens couch or in the city, the two of you have discovered some quaint shops that Layla would love. You bought her a glass rose that lights up when you set it on a small box that shines colors. You were planning on giving it to her when she comes back from her business trip in Switzerland. You don’t know what she’s doing exactly but she has sent some pictures in the group chat that you made for you, Steven, and her. You would have added Marc but he doesn’t have a phone that’s new enough for features like that and you would have added Jake but he doesn’t have a phone at all. So, the three of you share a group chat and sometimes Marc joins in through Stevens phone when he’s fronting. 

Today, Layla sent several pictures of her at a beautiful sight in the country and refused to state where she was exactly, which bothered you because where would you know to look if she died? But, you didn’t ask her to cough up where she was simply because you don’t want to cross any boundaries. So, you wait on every text with anxiety and with every notification you receive on your phone that tells you that she’s still breathing makes the tightness in your chest loosen a tiny bit. Currently, you were sitting on one end of Stevens couch and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms, well, more of the marshmallows than the crunchy bits. You occasionally push around the cereal with your spoon for more of the marshmallows, but you begin to come to the conclusion that you ate them all.

A frown tugs at your lips as you ramble about your theories about the deity. You told them this a thousand times in the past month and a half and you couldn’t help but hope that something would click. Nothing made sense, why would this deity scare the shit out of you twice, once in the laundry room and the second being held out the window, and proceed to heal you? What was their endgame? Why play this cat and mouse game? Why choose you? 

You only stop your rambling when you notice that Steven wasn’t listening but rather staring with heart-eyes at a picture of Layla. You will admit that she looks rather cute in this photo, it was the one where her hair was pushed back out of her face and she was posing on a cliff with the skies being a bright orange and yellow due to the sunset. The grass was brushing against her ankles and she had a wide smile on her face. You received that picture today, a couple of hours ago when the sun was setting. You had saved it to your phone and made sure that you had enough space on your SD card for it and silently you made a reminder in your brain for yourself to save it to your laptop.

You pinch a bell shaped grain between your fingers and toss it at Steven, it gently hits him on the cheek. You give him a stern look as he drops his phone into his lap. 

“What is it?” He asks. 

“Steven,” You groan. “You weren’t listening.”

“I was listening, dove.”

“Then why did you ask what I just said?” You raise your eyebrow at him and he sheepishly glances down at his phone that still showed the picture of Layla before trailing his eyes to the television and back to you.

“The telly was too loud?” He supplies but it comes out sounding more like a question. You roll your eyes at the excuse. 

“You were too busy ogling your wife.” You say and point to the picture he was looking at of Layla. She wouldn’t be back for another couple of weeks and you were excited to see her. She’s only been gone for a few days and you miss her.

“She’s not his wife.” Marc says and rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah? And you said she wasn’t yours until about a month ago.” You laugh and toss another piece of cereal at him. It hits directly between his eyes and he instinctively rubs the spot it landed on. You still haven’t completely forgiven him for his lies, it kind of made it difficult to trust anything that comes out of his mouth but as far as you could tell, he seems to regret lying in the first place. Which was a start for something, you suppose.

“I’m sorry for lying about that.” He groans. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth right off the bat.”

“Okay,” You say. You purposely choose not to state that you forgive as you continue on your one sided discussion. You don’t have to forgive and you don’t have to forget, but you can try to move on. “But, were you listening to what I was talking about?” His silence speaks for it all and you throw your hands into the air, spilling the bowl of Lucky Charms into your lap. You were glad you didn’t add milk to the bowl of cereal, but rather opted for pretending to eat it all but really going straight for the marshmallows. “Of course you weren’t.”

“I was actually watching the show we were supposed to be marathoning.” He says. “And you were too busy yammering through it.”

“Since I was busy talking, you should have heard at least one word of what I said.” You reply. You spare a glance at the Scooby-Doo Halloween themed episodes. Lauren let you borrow her physical DVD copies for this weekend in return that you would go over some time on one of your days off to hang out. You were sure she would have given you them if she didn’t realize that it’s been a long while since the two of you spent time together outside of work. You agreed but only on the basis that she sends you pictures of Molly and Jamie in their matching candy corn costumes. You know she would have sent them to you anyways, she loves her children and showing them off.

“Gods.” He says and you roll your eyes. That was too easy for him.

“Yeah, no shit.” You say as you scoop up the grains in your lap and put them back into the bowl. “What about them?”

“Why would a god do this and a god do that?” He sighs. You stare at him. He could at least seem a little interested.

“So, why would a fucking god hang me out a window and save me three days later when I’m about to die?” You ask. You reach for the remote between you on the middle couch cushions and hit the pause button. Nobody knew the answer and you couldn’t express how much that absolutely bothered you. When you talked to Layla about it, she seemed surprised and concerned for you. Especially about the healing part, it bothered the two of you almost to the point that you were making theory boards. You had several pages of notes about your experience with the gods' interactions starting from the night you saw Khonshus staff. Layla was upset with Marc and Steven for not telling her sooner about your mugging and healing. She gave them the silent treat for a couple of hours after your birthday before she began to talk to them about how she felt because they didn’t tell her.

Your scars had now faded completely to a white line on your cheek and forehead from where you got hurt in the mugging. You can’t see the back of your head clear enough, but you assume that it looks the same as it does for your cheek.

“I don’t know, kid.” Marc rubs his face tiredly. You pick up the spoon in your lap and wave it around in the air as if you could conjure the god with the simple movement and force him to answer your questions.

“Khonshu knows,” You state and stab your spoon into the cereal, crushing the grains with the metal. “I bet that bitch ass bird knows and is keeping it from Jake.”

“Do you think he knows?” Marc sneers. You pause in your movement and feel the corner of your lips tug downwards. Marc hates Jake, he talks shit about him whenever he gets the chance to. 

“Why don’t you like him?” You ask, “Why don’t you like Jake?”

“He held a knife to your throat.” He says incredulously.

“Yeah I know.” You huff. “But you got any other reason than that?”

“He held one to Layla's.”

“Yeah and?”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘and?” He states.  He sits up a little straighter as you place the bowl in your lap to give him your full attention.

“He saved our lives multiple times.” You say. “He saved yours, Stevens, and Layla's ass in Cairo and he saved it again when we went out to dinner and that’s just twice that he made sure that we are breathing.”

“You’re standing up for him.” He says. “You’re seriously supporting him after threatening my wife's life and yours?”

“If he wanted us dead, he would have done it as soon as he broke into my apartment that night and he would have killed Layla when he went to hers.” You say. “I’m not forgiving him for it. He scared the shit out of me. But, I do think that he has the best intentions for you.”

“And what about you?” He pushes. “What intentions does he have for you?”

“To make sure that I’m breathing.” You say, nearly shrugging but stopping yourself. You want to come across as confident in your answer, you feel like you need to convince him and yourself that you are no longer afraid of Jake Lockley. The same man that threatened your life and the one that wakes you from your nightmares and sits with you until you fall back asleep. Jake was keeping true to his word of protecting the system and that means whatever affects the state of the system. Marc huffs at your answer and you know that he’s going to say something snarky if you don’t add something soon. 

“You don’t have to like him.” You say. “But he does everything for you and Steven.”

“He kills people.” He says. “You spend time with a murderer. Sleep next to a murderer. Eat meals with a murderer.”

“Yeah, and you’re saying that you didn’t kill anyone as a marine or as Moon Knight?”

“I didn’t say that.” He defends. You purse your lips together, the television show long forgotten. Where is this coming from? Why is he finding this as an issue now? You’ve been doing this for over a month now and he suddenly doesn’t like it?

“They’re not two different things, Marc.” You say. “Murder as revenge for a god you owe your life to and murder as a marine in the military. Murder is murder.” You pause and stare at him. Although you don’t necessarily agree with the statement, you feel like you need to get it through his thick skull that he killed too and so has Jake. He stares at the television, his eyes slowly turning red from tears and you feel your heart cracking at the sight of him. You have never seen Marc cry before, you only ever saw him smiling and happy looking when he was around Layla. He doesn’t show his emotions very often and seeing his lip wobble and he gently bites it with his teeth. 

You don’t think you actually ate a meal with Jake, maybe a few bites but not a complete sit down and talk about your day type of meal as you do with his alters. So, Marc must be talking about himself being a murderer. You almost make an O shape with your mouth as you turn your body more towards him, leaning further into the couch's arm-rests.

“You’re not a monster.” You say. “And neither is he.” You pause and let the statement sink into his mind. Hoping that it would take root there for a long while and live rent free in his mind. “I appreciate your concern and care and believe me, I can’t completely express what I’m feeling from how much you care. But, Jake isn’t a bad person and neither are you.” You kind of can’t believe that these are the words that are coming out of your mouth about the alter who could have unalived you but choose not to. The person you were three months ago is a completely different person than you are now. You wouldn’t say that you’re wiser, but maybe a little more experienced. 

Marc doesn’t look at you and you don’t expect him to. You do expect him to put up some kind of fight about your statement but he surprises you by saying, “You want to talk to him- go ahead.” Your frown deepens as you watch Jake lean a little too comfortingly into the cushions. You hate that Marc was running away from this and you know that he’s going to have to accept your care for them on his own. 

“Got anything to say?” You ask. 

“Hola a ti también,” He picks up the piece of grain from his lap and pops it into his mouth. He chews for a moment before reaching over and taking the bowl out of your lap. He grabs a small handful and scoops it into his mouth before chewing slowly. “How about it wasn’t the same deity.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been talking about this for weeks and you’re telling me that you haven’t considered it to be a different god?” He says. You feel your mouth dry and suddenly you need water and every last drop of it. What the actual fuck?

“Are you saying that Khonshu was the one who healed me?”

“Fuck no.” He says. “I’m saying that some god is messing with you for some reason and it’s probably attracting other gods. You’re kind of like a light for mosquitos, once they notice you they’ll hang around you more often until they either die or find a brighter source of light or your light dies.” He scoops up some more grains and chews on it. “You took the marshmallows out.” 

“The marshmallows are the only good part.” You mumble. So, if it's not just one god, it’s multiple who have noticed you and they’re lingering around you because…? You don’t know and you don’t think Jake knows either. You don’t know how any of this works. Are there rules that the gods are unable to break? Why can’t you see the gods but only their avatars can? Why would they choose you to bully? What was so interesting to them that they decided to treat you like a lab rat?

Your eyes trail over to the paused screen. Velma was about to reveal who was underneath the monster suit and soon the episode would come to an end. Another case solved for the Mystery Gang. You remember watching this when you were about eight, you were sitting on the edge of your parents bed and swinging your legs back and forth, so excited to see another win for the group of friends. You were sure that it was the prospector who was the bad guy, but you won’t know for sure until you hit play. Your eyes trail back to Jake, he was munching on the grains and occasionally looking at the different shapes of the grains. What are the chances that he knows who it is? What would he gain from withholding the information from you? You don’t think he would gain anything other than bitterness from you because he refused to tell you the truth. Maybe he would gain more spite from Marc and Steven too, he already took away their will for a good month when he kidnapped the body for whatever mission he was on. 

“Do you know who it is?” You ask quietly. He stares at you for a moment and you hope that he would spill the beans if he does truly know. It was hard to tell what he was thinking with the mask that he always seemed to wear. 

“No,” He says. You have no choice but to believe him or take his word with a grain of salt.

“Does Khonshu?” You ask. 

“He’s been around for billions of years, of course he knows who it is.” He states and pops another handful into his mouth. Your heart nearly drops in your chest. You figured that the old bird knows who it is, but to actually have confirmation from his avatar was a huge step in this shit show.

“And he hasn’t told you?”

“He’d only tell me if it’s for his own benefit.” He shrugs. “He’s a selfish prick.” You were a hundred and ten percent with him on that statement. Khonshu was an absolute dick. You pick up a piece of cereal from your lap and place it on the couch cushion next to you. You’ll throw it away the next time you get up. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you eye the cartoon that was used more of a background noise for the past half hour. You had asked Steven if the two of you could have a Halloween themed marathon for the weekend to celebrate the spooky season. You used it as an excuse to show them your favorite childhood movies and shows.

 You even made hot chocolate with oat milk because of Stevens veganism and bought supplies to make caramel popcorn. Well, Marc did since the three of you went to the store yesterday after work when you proposed the idea of having a day or two of just laying around and watching films and eating snacks. You think Steven and Marc only agreed because they wanted to spend time with you, which you were fine with. You missed them even though you’ve basically been attached at the hip save for the hours that you work and whenever Jake leaves for missions.

“You want to watch Over the Garden Wall with us?” You ask. You were getting a little tired of Scooby-Doo and you want to show your friends something that they most likely haven’t seen before. You watch him complete his chewing and swallow before he runs his tongue over his cheek. 

“No,” He says. You aren’t hurt or surprised by his rejection. You kind of expected it, you would’ve been in shock if he did accept it. You pinch a loose thread of the t-shirt you wore and rub it gently between your fingers. It was a band shirt that you have never heard of until you bought it at the thrift shop last year. You only bought it because it was in your size and it wasn’t damaged in any way until you began washing it. Since then, the lettering has scrubbed off and the picture of the band on one of their tours they went on. For a moment you wonder if Jake has heard of the band and you nearly ask him that until you stop yourself. He doesn’t have much of a life outside of being Khonshus bitch.

Almost every interaction you had with him always led to him leaving you to be the protector of the night. He most likely hasn’t heard of the band at all and if he has, he probably only heard of the type of band that they are rather than the music. Does he have a favorite band or genre of music that he prefers? Does he get a moment to himself where he’s not in the suit and he’s just Jake Lockley?

“You’re allowed to be a part of this as much as Steven and Marc are.” You say. “You’re allowed to have a life outside of Khonshu’s bidding.” You watch his body stiffen for a moment and you wish that you had something to do with your hands rather than pull at the loose thread of your shirt. You silently curse at yourself as the thread snaps and your sleeve is shorter than it was when you woke up in it this morning. The short thread is pinched between your fingertips as you gently set it next to the piece of cereal on the middle cushion.

“I killed Harrow.” He says suddenly. “I took him out of the institution they put him in and I shot him in the backseat of the limo.” You feel your body freeze at the admission. Your eyes were still on the short green thread you snapped off of your shirt. The same fucking limo he drove you to the apartment building in? Your fingerprints are on that door handle and seat belt. Fuck, he better have cleaned it.

“Why was he put there in the first place?” You decide to brush past the fact that you contaminated a crime scene and that you could be linked later on if the police ever connect the dots.

“Mercy.” He answers. “Marc didn’t want to kill him and neither did Steven, nor Layla.” You slowly looked up at him and he was busy looking down at the nearly empty bowl of charms. His statement put a whole new perspective on your friends. Harrow was a cult member who had a view on killing people for the actions they have yet to make and as a result he would have made what he considered the perfect world. Despite all the shit that he put your friends through they didn’t kill him, you don’t know what you would have done in their shoes.

“Why did you take him out?”

“I heard of some plans to break Ammit out of him since he was used as a vessel to contain her. I shot him twice.”

“The first wasn’t enough?”

“One bullet for Marc and Steven.” He says. “He killed them, so an eye for an eye.” Well, this solves the reason for why they died in Cairo.

“Good.” You say and you really mean it. You’re glad that Jake got revenge for his and his alter's death. You swallow. If he’s talkative now, maybe he’s willing to answer some questions that have been brewing in your mind since he left Layla to babysit you. “And what about the fire you set up in Birmingham?”

“They had plans to raise Ammit.” He says. You furrow your brows. 

“But you killed Ammit when you killed Harrow?”

“Yes.”

“So, why would they try to raise a dead goddess?” You ask. None of this makes any sense. Ammit is dead, why would that lady come up to you at the bus stop and ask if you wanted to be judged? Why would a cult ambush you? Why were you stalked by several of its members? 

“To continue on with their belief.” He answers. 

“You’re killing a cult that has bad intentions for the rest of the world.” You say. “A cult that can’t bring back a goddess.”

“Yes.”

“A cult that cannot bring back Ammit and they have yet to realize it?”

“You watch those true crime shows don’t you?” He asks. You blink at him before slowly nodding. “Have you watched any cases about cults?” You have actually. You watched one a few months ago about the cult that committed mass sucide because they believed an apocalypse would happen soon and they would go to heaven if they were to end their life early. You watched one of Jonestown, a case of a man who was power hungry and was worshiped by every woman in the town. He poisoned the kool-aid with cyanide at a meeting and killed everyone there including children before he shot himself.

One of the oldest cults was the Aztecs, they believed that sacrificing people to their god would cause the crops to flourish for the season or stop whatever disease may be spreading. There always have been groups of people who believe in one thing or another and this cult was the most recent one that you had the terrible pleasure of interacting with. 

“I have,” You breathe out. 

“What do you know about them?”

“I…,” You trail off. You know so much about these specific cases but you can’t group everything into the same category since they all have something different. Different leader. Different reasons. Different times. Different backgrounds. The only thing they have in common is that they aren't going to stop until they're dead. Belief in cults is the most powerful thing you can have. The belief that there is an apocalypse going to happen. The belief that this man is your everything. The belief that the food for the winter will be good if you were to sacrifice your neighbor. 

With the Harrows cult, they saw that Ammit was real. Everyone has seen the Tiktoks and news footage of people disappearing like fireworks shooting up into the sky but not exploding. Everyone has seen the footage of the man holding a glowing cane and fighting Mr. Knight. Ammit was proven to be real and the cult had a taste of what they believed in, of the justice that Ammit would serve if she was released. That alone would cause any cult to want it back and refuse to believe that the goddess is dead and they are never going to get what they want. The worst part is, because Ammit was proven to be real, there are people around the globe who want to release her or raise her from the dead. It’s no longer just a handful of people in Europe and Egypt, but plenty in other countries. 

“Ammit is dead.” You whisper to yourself before looking at him. “They have yet to accept it.”

“They’re delusional.” He says and that felt like an understatement.

“Is there a way to raise her from the dead?” You ask. He shakes his head, his hair brushes against his forehead. He knew more about this cult and the deities than you do so you’ll take his word for it. You were a little bit worried for when the cult realizes that Ammit cannot be raised from the dead. You don’t know how they will react, will they lash out at Mr. Knight for beating Harrow's ass, or will they look at other gods to release?

The sight of Stevens phone lighting up in Jake's lap causes your attention to fall to it, the lock screen lit up, it was one of a purple and green default background. You could see Laylas name on the screen from a text message notification. You glance at Jake as his own attention is drawn to it. 

“You should look into getting a phone. Just for emergencies.” You didn’t realize words were falling from your lips until the suggestion ended. 

He lifts the phone and places it on the armrest of the couch as he says, “That’s what Marc's phone is for.”

“Yeah, but that thing is ancient.” You say. “Marc has a flip phone and his own contacts and pictures. You don’t have anything.” He sets the bowl onto the end table next to him and stands up. You can hear his bones crack a bit as he raises his arms up in a stretch. You can now hear their age of thirty eight from where you sat on the couch. 

“Where are you going?” You ask as he lowers his arms. 

“Mr. Knight stuff.” He says. You were kind of hoping that he was lying about not wanting to stay for the marathon. You also thought that he would pass the control back to Steven or Marc, but you were wrong. Your Saturday marathon of Halloween movies with your friends is over. You watch him as he walks around the couch and you peek over the back of it to watch him walk towards the front door. 

“Jake?” You say. He doesn’t look at you as he slips on his shoes and Marc's coat from the rack. 

“Yeah?” He asks. He stares at you with his back to the door and hands stuffed into the pockets. It was cold out, you were glad that he was taking a jacket so you wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of them when they got sick. 

“I’ll see you later, alright?” You say. He huffs out a breath and lifts his hand as a goodbye before leaving. You sit on the couch in silence for a few minutes before getting up and switching CDs in the DVD player. You were still going to watch Over the Garden Wall with or without them. You move the cereal and thread into the nearly empty bowl before laying down on the couch and hitting the play button. Sometime in between episode three and five, you fell asleep. The next day you woke up in Stevens bed with no memory of how you got there. Next to you, your friends slept peacefully with your hand resting in theirs.

Chapter Text

“Okay, so we have sugar, flour, cinnamon…” Steven says. You lean against the handrail of the grocery cart as you watch him stare at the list of groceries in his hands. He wore his glasses as he squinted down at the paper and occasionally he pushed them up the bridge of his nose whenever it slid to far down it. Today was Friday, there were seven more days until Halloween and you had wanted to celebrate the holiday before the month was over. You wanted to get into the spooky season by watching cartoons and eating snacks with your friends. You used to do that with your best friend. You would order pizza and watch horror movies with her and she would bring over candy and chips and together you would stay up until the early hours of November first. 

Unfortunately, you were getting too old for costumes and trick or treating, so instead this was how you were going to celebrate the season leading up to the holiday. After Marc picked you up from work by standing outside of it until you left the building. You had brought up the idea of baking snickerdoodle cookies and carving pumpkins. Instead of taking the route back to the apartment  complex, Marc and you walked about two blocks until you reached another bus stop that was taking passengers to the area of the grocery store. Now, here the three of you were, shopping for supplies to bake cookies and do the weekend grocery shopping on a Friday rather than a Sunday this time. 

“We need vanilla extract, cream of tartar and soy milk.” He says as he looks up from the list and to the signs above the end of the aisle. “I think it’s the next one over for the first two.” He adds. “C’mon.” He gestures for you to follow him down the shelves and you push the cart as he leads the way. Your eyes scan the shelves as you pass, you were originally in the cereal aisle because you need more for the week. You had convinced Steven to add the box of Lucky Charms to the list again even though you only ate the marshmallows out of it and fed the rest to the birds. You told him that you would pay for it if he decides not to and he rolled his eyes at that and told you to put it in the bloody cart. You only snap your attention forward when you hear Steven yelp and feel his glare on you. 

“Don’t ram the buggy into my ankles,” He says. You give him a sheepish, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” You say and he hums before he continues on the trek to the next aisle over. You follow him, this time a little more attentive of where you were going. You round the corner and walk down the baking aisle. You only come to a stop once you reach him and pauses in his steps to stare at the seasonings for baking. You already were in the same aisle earlier when you got the cinnamon, but instead of looking down the list and correlating what ingredient may be in the same aisle as another ingredient, Steven decided to shop whatever item was next on the list. 

So far, the items in the shopping cart were bread, oat milk, canned red beans and black beans, broccoli, apples, mushrooms, toilet paper, cinnamon, salt, sugar, flour, and fresh chicken breast from the butchers. Steven wasn’t looking forward to buying that last item but Marc declared that you can’t just survive off of broccoli and Lucky Charms and that a growing kid still needs protein to grow strong and healthy. You were somewhat sure that you stopped growing but you weren’t going to complain because you missed chicken. You watch as Steven steps forward and grabs the cream of tartar before tossing it into the cart. 

“Okay, up next is tools for pumpkin carving.” He looks down the aisles and at the signs once more before frowning a bit. “Where would that be?” You shrug. In New York, they used to have a pack of pumpkin carving tools sitting at the end of the aisles for people to grab, but so far there were only toys that tempted children to beg their parents to buy in London. Usually, you saw those small tablets that you put in water and it would grow your own dinosaur, but lately you've been seeing those TY beanie bears in Halloween theme and small keychain squishmallows with bright colors. 

Steven takes off down the aisle and you let go of the cart to step forward and grab the bottle of vanilla extract before placing it in the cart and following him down it. You stop at the end with Steven and he shoots a small apology to a woman who wants to enter the aisle you both were blocking the entrance to. You give her an apologetic mumble before scooting the cart closer to the shelf. The color of a lavender color rubber duck at the end of the aisle catches your attention and you stare at it. It had a pink five point star and the center of its head and beady black eyes staring down into the cart below it. You kind of wanted it. You don’t need it, it wasn’t something that you were going to ask your friends for or buy it yourself; but still, that didn’t stop the urge to buy it just to have it. 

You reach over the cart and snap it from its hook before bringing it closer to you to look at. You don’t need it. You turn it over in your hands and a small smile spreads across your face at the name tag painted around its neck in a dark blue circle with a small white font that stated this duck's name was Mille. You don’t need it. But, god, do you want it.

“Do you think the tools will be next to the pumpkins, kid?” Marc asks.  You jump as you look towards him, the duck still in your grip. 

“Um, yeah.” You say as you put the duck onto the shelf next to you. “They’ll most likely be there.” You push forward the cart and look both ways before your eyes land on a pile of pumpkins next to the double doors of the entrance and exit. You push the cart towards it and with Marc in tow before you stop a couple of feet away from the pile and grab the packet of tools hanging on a clip on a nearby wall. 

“Okay so, choose the ones that you think will be best for carving.” Marc says as you step away from the cart and he takes your place by leaning over the handle bar. 

“Well, what ones do you want?” You ask as you look over your shoulder at him. 

“Choose whatever you think is best.” 

“Do you not know how to choose pumpkins?” You ask. He shrugs and you watch as he looks a little past you and to the fruit piled behind you. 

“It was never something I really learned.” He admits and you frown. 

“You’re going to learn today.” You say, “Look for the bright ones and check for any squishy spots.” You watch him stand still and stare at you, waiting for you to pick for him. You huff out a breath and place your hands on your hips. 

“Marc.” You state. “C’mon. There's no harm in learning something new.” He pushes the cart forward until he stops next to you and you bend down and grab one. 

“Look at this,” You hold up a small pumpkin that had its head caving in with a dark brown spot. “You see this? It’s gross and decaying. Nobody is going to buy this and it’s terrible for carving because the inside will most likely be matching.” You set it back down and scan the pile for another one. 

You point at a slightly bigger one and say, “That one looks decent. Go ahead and turn it over to see if it looks okay on the bottom.” He glances at you before trailing his eyes to the area you were pointing in. 

“This one?” He asks as he bends down and places his hand on the one that you weren’t looking at. 

“No, the one next to it. No, Marc, the one in front of it- no not that one, the other direction. Bingo.” You smile at him as he lifts up the pumpkin and turns it over in his arms to look at the bottom of it. 

“It looks okay.” He says. You smile as you step forward and look at it. 

“You want that one?” You ask and he shrugs. “If you do, you can put it in the cart and help me search for three more.” He moves towards the cart and falters in his steps before he looks at you with furrowed brows. 

“Three?” He asks. “But there's you, me, and Steven.”

“And Jake.” You add and he frowns. “It’s up to him if he wants to carve anything, but if he chooses not to we can just use that one as a bonus one or keep it until Layla comes back and she can carve. When is she coming back again?” 

“No clue.” He answers as he places his chosen pumpkin into the cart and returns to you to help you look for some good pumpkins. 

---

The ride to the apartment complex wasn’t as bad if you were to take the bus with  several bags of groceries and pumpkins sitting between your feet on a crowded bus after people  got off of work. Marc decided that it would be a good idea to call a taxi so you could avoid that terrible experience. You offered to buy the fee for the ride back to the building since they bought the groceries and they refused to even consider that. So, after a long negotiation in the back of the taxi, they paid for the fee and told you to put your money back into your pocket. Luckily, the elevator for your building was fixed so you and Marc didn’t struggle with bringing the groceries up the five flights of stairs and to Stevens apartment. 

After unlocking the door with the key Jake made for you, you pack in the groceries into the kitchen and begin putting stuff away. The ingredients you need for the cookies were left out on the counter as you put away the Lucky Charms into the cabinet above the toaster and the bread into the bread cabinet on the right side of the sink. The only thing that made you stop in your task of putting away the groceries was the sight of a lavender colored rubber duck sitting at the bottom of a paper bag next to the broccoli. You reach into the sack and pull it out, Mille the duck stared right back at you as you looked down at it. You blink at the sight of the duck that you were thinking of buying but didn’t. 

“What’s this?” You ask and hold up the toy to show Marc. He shuts the fridge door as he turns to look at you

“I thought you would like it,” He shrugs. “I saw you looking at it and I put it in the cart.”

“You didn’t have to.” You say with a small smile on your face. He reaches into the bag next to you and pulls out the broccoli.

“I know.” He says. You turn the duck between your fingers and set it on the counter next to you as he adds, “Steven, what temperature do I need to preheat the oven for the cookies?” You grab the metal bowls from underneath the counter and set them next to the duck before unfolding the recipe Steven wrote down on some scratch paper. 

“He says it's three-seventy-five. Do you mind doing that, kid?” Marc asks as he reopens the fridge door and places the vegetable into the drawer. You turn towards the oven and press the buttons to set it to the correct temperature before leaning against the counter and watching Marc grab the mixer from underneath the counter next to the fridge. You move forward and place Mille onto the recipe to keep it in place as you begin to grab ingredients and their proper measuring tools from the kitchen drawer before dumping it into the container. 

“I got that.” He says as he looks into the bowl and looks at the ingredients you added. “You can go get into something more comfortable if you want. Get out of your work clothes.”

“It’s fine,” You say. “I have to do laundry today. I don’t think I have any clean clothes.” You measure out the apple cider into a table spoon and add it to the mix before scanning the recipe for the next step.

You reach for the spatula to scrape the mixture into the mixer as he says, “You can borrow some of ours if you want.” You falter in your movement and glance at him with questioning eyes. Was this a joke? But he doesn’t look at you as he grabs the spatula and takes the bowl from you. 

“I think there’s some pajama pants in the lower drawer and a shirt in the top one.” He says. It was just clothes, you don’t know why borrowing your friends clothes because you don’t have any clean ones to wear was such a big deal. You wore your best friends sweatshirts and shirts and your dad's clothing all the time. So, why did his offer make everything feel like it froze in time? Your fingers curl inwards and touch your palm gently as you slowly lower your hand to your side. Millie the duck stares right at you as you swallow and swivel on your heels before walking to the dresser near Stevens bed. You think it was such a big deal because you were borrowing clothes from friends and maybe you didn’t think that you would have the opportunity to do that again. 

You pull out a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt that had the faded markings of a band on tour in the United States in the year of 2003. You walk to the bathroom with the clothes in your arms before you shut the door and peel off your work clothes before slipping on the borrowed items. They were a little bigger on you, the bagginess of the shirt was comfortable and the pants slipped down your hips a bit until you tightened the strings. You kicked your own clothes into the corner of the bathroom so nobody would trip over it and made a mental reminder to retrieve the items later before you drag Steven down to the laundry room.

You push open the door and go back to the kitchen to hear the noise of the mixture doing its job and Marc keeping a careful eye on it. You stop next to the counter and a small smile spreads across your face at the sight of Mille. You dip your finger into the remaining batter on the sides of the container you were using to combine the ingredients and try a bit of it. It doesn’t taste terrible, it could be a little better but to be fair you were used to normal snickerdoodles and not a vegan recipe of the cookies. Maybe it will taste a bit better once it is cooked. 

“Don’t eat the batter.” Marc says after he shut off the machine and glances at you. You stick your tongue out at him and pick up a bit, pinching it between your fingers as you toss it at him. The cookie dough lands against his cheek and falls to the ground. You stare at one another for a moment, a small smile spreading across your face as he registers what you just did. He slowly turns around and scrapes a small handful of dough out of the bowl and rolls it into a ball. 

“Not fair,” You say. “I did a tiny bit because that’s all I had. You have a lot more than I do and that,” You point to the dough in his hands, “is like the size of a baseball.”

“A baseball?” He asks. “It’s smaller than that.”

“Okay, a golf ball size.” 

“Better.” He says. 

“You’re throwing away a cookie size ball of dough as an act of revenge?”

“It’s one cookie, nobody is going to miss it.” 

“I will.” You say. “I’ll miss it.” He hums and throws it lightly at you, it smacks your chest and you catch it with your hands. 

“You didn’t miss.” He shrugs. “You actually caught it.” You glance down at the ball of dough there was some lint attached to it from the shirt you wore and you briefly allow yourself to feel a bit of disgust before you toss it into the air and catch it with your hands a couple of times. 

“Y’know what?” You say, “I’m going to be the bigger person and not throw this back at you.”

“Really?”

“Nope.” You grin and throw the ball at him hard enough to make a loud smack against his chest. He lets out a harsh breath and rubs the center of his chest as he lets the dough fall to the ground. You honestly didn’t mean to throw it that hard, you did want to catch him by surprise but not enough to actually hurt him. “Sorry,” You say.

“At least you have good aim.” He says and then adds, “A tough throw too.”

“Thanks?” You say. “I, uh, actually didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I know.” He answers. You shuffle to your other foot as you watch him bend down and pick up the ball of dough before throwing it into the trash can. You trail your eyes to read the instructions for the next step.

“The recipe says to make tablespoon size balls and place them on a cookie sheet and bake them for twelve minutes.” You say.

“You know what tablespoon size is, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Are you sure? Because you said the golf ball size was the size of a baseball.”

“Shut up.” You breathe out and he laughs. The noise startles you a bit because you didn’t expect it. But as you watch his eyes light up and the noise leaving him sounds genuine, you can’t help but grin. It was rare to hear and see Marc laugh, plenty of times you have seen Steven do it and Jake only once but Marc was usually hiding away and letting Steven take the wheel. You look away from him so he won’t get bashful and tap out, so you open the drawer full of utensils and grab a spoon before pushing past him and grabbing the bowl of dough and a cookie sheet from underneath the counter. 

“Do you need help with it or do you know the right size?” He asks and you playfully roll your eyes. 

“I got it,” You tell him. “After this, do you want to carve the pumpkins?”

“I think on the back of the carving kit that it said that it came with tracing paper for designs.” 

“You can do whatever you want to yours.” You say. 

“What are you going to do?” He asks. You hum and glance out the window ahead of you. 

“I don’t know,” You shrug. The October weather makes everything appear much gloomier. The skys were a dark gray and the forecast notification on your phone said that it was going to rain. You shivered a little as your eyes land on a falcon sitting on the windowsill across from Stevens flat. You don’t know much about birds but you think that they were supposed to fly North for winter by now. A knot in your stomach forms and you swallow as you register it as the same feeling you always get whenever Khonshu or another god is nearby. You know the feeling of dread a little too well by now.

“Hey Marc?” You say, your voice wavering a little.

“Yeah?”

“What type of falcon is that?” You jut your chin towards it and he brushes past you and stands next to you. He stares out the window, your eyes never moving from the bird. It had visible light brown spots along its back and yellow legs with black talons clutching the sill. 

“What falcon?” 

“The one on the windowsill.” You say. Your eyes never waver from the bird.

“There’s no falcon.” Marc says and the knot tightens in the pit of your stomach. You inhale sharply, all the air from the world seems to be taken from you at that moment. You feel color drain from your face and your mouth dry up like a desert. Your heart pounds against your chest and your body begins to tremble. The falcon sat on the sill staring directly at the window you stared out of. It was a little hard to tell with the distance but you swear that it titled its head at you like it was taunting you. 

“What do you mean?” You breathe out shakily. The last time this feeling was in your body, you got held out a window and whatever was about to happen next, you aren’t looking forward to it.

“There’s no bird, kid.” He says. Your lips wobble and you can feel a build up of tears behind your eyes. “What do you see?”

“A falcon.” You whisper. 

“What is it doing?” 

“It’s just sitting there and looking right at me.” You say. 

“What does it look like?” Steven asks. 

“Brown spots on its back and yellow legs and black talons. Maybe dark brown it’s a little difficult to tell…” Your breath hitches as it spreads its wings. A series of white feathers lined its wings in vertical rows, each one had a black spot centered in the middle of the feather as if it was an eye. You almost take a step back as you watch it flap its wings once before it leaps off of the ledge and flies upwards and into the sky. You watch as it flies above the apartment complex you were in until it was out of view. 

“A falcon?” He asks as he places his hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure it was a falcon?”

“Yeah,” You nod. The knot in your stomach loosens and the feeling of dread dissipates from your body. What the actual fuck? You were glad that nothing had happened but hot damn, a fucking dramatic flare that this god has. You feel the muscles in your body relaxing and your trembling hands slowly stop shaking. You glance down to your knuckles, the color slowly fading back to your skin tone as the blood rushes through your hand. You didn’t realize you were white-knuckling the spoon that hard or at all. You drop the spoon into the bowl and force your head to turn away from the window and to Steven. He had a quizzical expression on his face. His eyes stare at the window which makes you believe that he was listening to whatever Marc or Jake had to say. You lean back against the counter and cross your arms over your chest as you stare at the pumpkins, you’re supposed to carve those today. You were supposed to think about what to carve into your pumpkin and bond with Marc, but now you’re trying to register what happened the last couple of minutes. Was it minutes or did everything happen in seconds? Everything happened quickly and that was hard to wrap your mind around.

How come neither Marc or Steven saw the bird? Didn’t Jake say that the deities will only show themselves to who they are interested in? Maybe your lantern for the damn gods is too bright. You let out a shuddered breath as Steven walks away and turns on the television to a news broadcast and sets it to a loud enough volume that you can hear it clearly from the kitchen. He returns to where you stood and reaches around you and grabs the mixer bowl and cookie sheet before placing it on the counter on the other side of the sink. He slowly picks up the spoon and scoops out a spoonful of dough before plucking it from the utensil and rolling it into a ball. He places it next to the few you have already completed and you watch him do this until the baking sheet has twelve balls and he places it in the oven and sets a timer for the cookies.

“What are you thinking of carving, dove?” He asks quietly. You almost laugh, how can you brush past this like it was just a normal occurrence? How can you continue your day like that didn’t just happen? 

Your fingers clutch your sides as you ask, “Steven, what gods are associated with falcons?”

“Horus.” He says, “Which in turn is associated with Osiris and Isis, the parents of Horus; and the grandmother of Horus is Nut and the grandfather is Geb. The uncle of Horus is Set and the aunt is Nepthys.” You swallow. You carried around the Eye of Horus and you don’t know if you insulted them or if it was a beacon, either way you were in their line of sight and you might have pissed off an entire family. “There’s more but…I think it would be best if you could register the information I gave you.”

“So they’re all related?” You ask.

“In a sense. I just made it easier for you to understand in terms that I think would be familiar to you.” He answers. You lean your head back against the cabinet and groan. You carried around a symbol of protection for comfort and you had no fucking clue if it meant any more than that because you just went with what Steven told you. You were stupid enough not to do your own research and you don’t blame Steven at all for it, you blame yourself. 

“You’re going to have to show me your scrapbook sometime, Steven. Teach me about these deities.” You groan. You can’t fucking believe that you may have pissed off a entire family. You don’t know how close these gods and goddesses may be to one another but if it was anything like how close you were to your parents, you probably upset these deities. Fuck, honestly, you carried around a piece of paper not truly knowing what it meant and not understanding the culture and the religion of the deities and you dived head in first because it made you feel like it was a security blanket. 

“It’s almost completed. Just a few more details and it’ll be ready to show you.” Maybe you’ll do your own research this weekend if he doesn’t finish it by Sunday. You want to give him the chance to teach you every detail about these gods so you know who you may be dealing with because you know that he’ll be good at it and will make it easier for you to understand things; and after he teaches you, you’ll do your own research and do it thoroughly because holy fucking shit you learned your lesson. Fuck me, you thought. The lantern this whole time was the piece of paper you carried on you for comfort.

You rub your hands up and down your face and say, “Fuck.” You don’t know how much longer you can take being stalked by a deity and harassed and threatened. You remove your hands from your face and watch Steven as he toyed with the corner of the carving kit. It came with a knife to cut the pumpkin and a scraper to take out the guts of it along with some tracing paper that had designs on it for the fruit. 

“I think I’m going to carve a bat into mine.” He says. “That’s seasonal and I don’t remember seeing many bat patterns in pumpkins around here.” You saw plenty of typical jack-o-lanterns with sharp teeth and circles for eyes on the way to the complex. Some residents of London had pumpkins sitting on their steps or in their windows. 

“You know how to open it up right?” You ask. You want to talk more about the falcon you saw and the god that is attached to that animal and the piece of paper you once carried; but there wasn’t much to talk about, all bases were temporarily covered and you can tell that Steven wants to distract you away from the harassment of the deity. 

“From the top?”

“Well, you can,” You admit. “But it’s better if it's from the bottom because it stays fresher longer that way. You got any vaseline?”

“Yeah?”

“Great. We can put that on the edges we cut and keep it moisturized so it wouldn’t rot as quickly.” You say. 

“What are you going to carve?” He repeats his question from earlier and you shrug. 

“I don’t know.” You say. You did think about it on the taxi ride over to the apartment but, every thought since then has been thrown out the window and you couldn’t remember any idea that you came up with. 

“Well, you can teach me how to cut open mine and think about what you might want to do.” He offers and you nod. 

“Go get the vaseline and I’ll get the tools to help cut it.” You say. He glances at the carving kit and back to you with a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t think that this knife they gave us will help?” He asks. 

“No, but a butcher knife will.” You say. 

“I’ll get the first aid kit too.” He says. You almost laugh. 

“What? You don’t trust me that I won’t chop off one of my limbs?”

“Maybe I should pre-dial nine-nine-nine.” He says as he walks away and you let out a laugh. 

---

You spent the whole time while several batches of snickerdoodles were cooking in the oven helping Steven cut a hole into the bottom of his pumpkin and remove the guts and seeds from the fruit. The two of you chatted about your day, and the things that you wanted to do over the weekend. You told him about cooking the pumpkin seeds for a snack and he agreed that it sounded good. You talked about Lauren and her plans for the Halloween holiday of taking Jamie and Molly out with Kris to go trick-or-treating and a Halloween party they were invited to by a mutual friend of theirs. They were dressing up as Megan and Graham from But I’m a Cheerleader. Lauren showed you the costumes she ordered on Amazon, it was a cute outfit and you don’t think that you have seen couples dress up as the characters for the holiday so it was neat to see something different. 

Steven told you about the neighbor down the hall who seems to avoid him like he had the plague. He described her to you as the exact same person who teased you about being in a lovers quarrel with Steven back when they weren’t answering the door because Jake took the body out for a spin and you weren’t aware of him. You laugh and cringe a bit at the awkward memory as you tell him about the accusation she made. He makes an O shape with his mouth as he realizes why she won’t even tell him hello when they’re in the lift together. He then tells you about a documentary airing on the telly tonight that he wants to watch and asks if you’ll want to watch it with him. It was about the mammals in the Atlantic ocean and the effect of the blip on the environment. You heard about the whales in the Hudson river during the time that half of the universe was gone, but you didn’t look further into it because you were dealing with everything else. 

You tell him yes and he looks ecstatic about it. You were beginning to carve into the bottom of your own pumpkin when Steven finished his and proudly showed it to you. 

“That looks really good.” You tell him. The bat was from a stencil piece of paper he found from the kit and it looks honestly good for his first pumpkin- which he has been repeatedly telling you since you began teaching him how to remove the inside of the fruit.

“Really?” He asks and you nod. “It’s my first pumpkin.” 

You smile and gesture to it with your scooper as you tell him, “You should take a picture of it and send it to the group chat. Layla would love to see it and you can have the photo on your phone.” He nods, curls bouncing against his forehead as he wipes his hands on the towel to get rid of the slime from his fingertips. He grabs his phone from the counter and takes several pictures of his pumpkin, the flash of it distracts you from your work and even more so as he aims the camera lens at you. 

“Okay, say cheese.” He says. You press your lips together as the light flashes and temporarily blinds you. You blink away the spots in your vision as he frowns at the pictures before he lifts the camera once more and adds, “Give me a real smile.” 

“That was a real smile.” You protest. 

“That was more of a, take the picture and leave me alone, type of photos.” He rolls his eyes. “Layla will want something genuine from you.” You feel your heart constrict a bit in your chest as you make the comparison that this felt almost like Homecoming pictures. It was awkward taking photos in an outfit you felt insecure in and being the center of attention for your parents. You shifted from foot to foot awkwardly as he gave you a look that was similar to the one your mom used to give to you as she tried to wait patiently for you to show her your teeth and the crinkle of your eyes. Your dad would be standing off to the side and either holding up his own phone vertically and taking a dozen pictures every minute or encouraging you to smile. 

You feel a lump form in your throat as you force the corners of your lips upwards and Steven genuinely looked happy for you as he hit the circle button on his phone and the flash of the camera blinded you for several moments until he felt satisfied that he had decent photos to send to his wife. You blink away the spots in your vision as you turn your gaze back to your pumpkin and try to ignore the emotions building up in your chest. You felt your phone vibrate several times in your pocket and you guessed that Steven sent several photos separately rather than at once. 

“I think I’m going to carve a regular jack-o-lantern for mine,” Marc says. You looked up at him and saw that he was looking at the stencils from the kit. “You mind helping me, kid?” He doesn’t look at you as the question leaves his mouth. You let a shuddered breath leave you and you nod.

“You saw how I taught Steven to do it, right?” You ask. 

“I might need a reminder.” He shrugs. You know that he had to see and remember what you showed Steven, Marc wouldn’t forget how to turn the pumpkin upside down and cut a hole in the bottom of it. That would be too simple to forget. So, you know that this was his way of comforting you through your own anxiety and emotions by giving you a distraction and you were grateful for it. 

“Yeah,” You say. “You’re an old man, of course you would forget this easily.” 

“You better watch it or I’ll ball up some of these guts in this bowl and throw it at you.” He says. You narrow your eyes at him. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Go ahead and fuck around and find out,” He replies. You reach for his pumpkin and turn it over. “You know what you’re going to carve yet?” You hum as you grasp the knife and stab into the fruit before beginning to hacksaw a circle into it. 

“I think I’ll carve the Big Dipper or the Cassiopeia constellation. Whichever looks cooler with the candle light inside of it.” You tell him. He places his hand on your arm and you let go of the knife before he takes over. You guess that it was his way of telling you that you were going to hurt yourself and he didn’t want that. You honestly wouldn’t want that for either of you, so you were glad that he was taking over since he had more accuracy than you.

You turn your own pumpkin over, “Do you mind if you do mine next?” 

“I refuse.” He says as he pries out the bottom of the pumpkin with the knife and places the bottom of it on the counter before crossing the few steps to your own and beginning to cut into it. You watch him silently as the sound of the knife sawing around the pumpkin and the news broadcast on the television fills the air between you. You mumble a thanks as he pries out the bottom and steps away from the pumpkin for you to begin gutting it. You scrunch your noses at the slimy texture of the guts as you pull it from the sides and place it into the container Steven provided. Later, you will have to sort through it for the seeds to cook it for a snack and that wasn’t something you were looking forward to, but whatever gets you those damn seeds you will fight for.

“Do you know how to drive a car?” Marc asks. You grab the scraper in hopes that it would be hell of a lot easier to loosen the guts from the wall. 

“No.” You say. “I know the basics of it. Like there's a pedal for gas and one for break, and there's a steering wheel that you turn to go wherever. But I don’t know much more than that.”

“Would you like to learn?”

“Learn what?”

“Learn how to drive.” He states. You pause in your movements and look at him, he was continuing to pull the guts out of his pumpkin like what he said didn’t faze him at all.

“What car are you going to teach me in?” You ask. 

“I might know someone.”

“Someone.” You say. “Like a sketchy guy?”

“In a sense.”

“Marc.” You say. “Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah. You need to learn how to drive and get from point A to point B.”

“Yeah, I agree with that-”

“-Good-”

“-But, you want me to drive some sketchy person's car?” You say. “You want me to get involved with someone who you deem sketchy and trust worthy enough to drive their car.”

“...Yeah.” He says. You drop the scraper onto the counter and stare at him incredulously.

“How do you even know this person?”

“They helped me with supplies and rentals for missions when I had them.”

“Rentals.” You state. “You rented cars from this person?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Did you return the rentals?”

“No.” He says. “They were seen at the crime scenes so I drove them off into whatever the closest largest body of water I could find.” You almost rub your face with your hands as an exasperated sigh leaves you.

“Y’know what, if you could find something that’s less sketchy and I wouldn’t get cross-referenced to any crime, I’ll be down for you to teach me how to drive.” You say. “But, I am not getting more tangled in a mess because you “rented” a car from someone you deem sketchy.”

“Fair.” He says. 

“Besides, if I get pulled over while driving a stolen car, I will be absolutely pissed. I don’t have my permit and I will be fined and maybe even arrested.”

“True.” He says.

“Are you listening?” You ask and watch him glance away from his pumpkin and to you. 

“Yeah.” He says. “We’re not going to put you at risk. Getting you hurt or in danger or put in jail was never our intention.” You decide not to bring up their threats of returning you in for fraud. 

“And?”

“And what?”

“You’re not going to try to get me to drive in a stolen car.”

“Okay.” He says. “Deal.” He holds out his hand and you try not to show your disgust as you see the slimy pumpkin guts cover his hand. You place your hand on his arm and he grasps your own with his hand. You shake once before you let go and brush off the guts on your arm with a towel.

“You want to watch Over the Garden Wall with me this weekend?” You ask. He hums and nods once. 

“Yeah.” He says. “Actually, only if you don’t hog all the marshmallows from the Lucky Charms this time.”

“Oof,” You say. “That’s a hefty price. You’re asking for a lot.”

“I’m only asking for what’s fair.” He replies. “You took all the marshmallows from the box and you only left the grains.”

“As I should, the grains are gross.” You say. “But I did make a deal with Steven to eat all of the cereal and not just the marshmallows in the store. So, I suppose that I will share the marshmallows with you.”

“You’re going to give me mostly the grains aren’t you?”

“You don’t know that. Stop making assumptions.” You say. 

“You fucking are. You’re a table thief and a marshmallow bandit.”

“Okay, but one of those was not intentional.”

“You took a table from some kids setting up a lemonade stand.”

“You don’t know that. They could have just placed it outside to draw the scenery around them.” 

“You still took a table.”

“I thought it was free!” You defend yourself. “Jake intentionally took a colored bulb from someone and I don’t hear you speaking about it. Your alter is a light bulb thief.” 

“Yeah, but at least he took it from someone who deserved it. You? You took a table from some kids.” 

“I’m never going to live this down am I?”

“Not while you’re stuck with us.” He says. “You never answered, marshmallow bandit. Is it a deal or no deal?”

“It’s a deal.” You say. He holds out his arm to shake on it and you narrow your eyes on his gross slimy hand. “I’ll take your end of the deal as a promise. I am not letting you touch me with your slimy, gross hands.” He lurches towards you with his hand outstretched. 

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” You hiss out as he stalks towards you and you back away. “Marc.” He speeds up a bit and you turn around and run away as he chases after you. “Marc!” You yell as you run through the apartment and his footsteps follow yours. Laughter leaves you as you dodge furniture and the man chasing after you. 

---

You finished carving your own pumpkin by the time it hit five thirty. You decided on carving the Scorpio constellation to challenge yourself and because you thought it looked better than the Cassiopeia. You were right and very satisfied when you placed the pumpkin over the lit candle and it immediately became one of your favorite carvings you have done the past holidays. Marcs looked good, he put some detail on the pumpkin by taking some of the paint Layla left and tracing the shapes of the face to make it pop out more. You thought that Jake wasn’t going to show because Steven began to talk about dinner and what to make when there was that shift you were hoping for. Jake stood in front of the open fridge, his back straighter than Stevens and his movements more precise and quicker than his alters. He shut the door and swiveled on his heel. 

“You got a pumpkin waiting for you.” You gesture to the fruit sitting on the counter as you sort through the guts in the bowl for the seeds. He doesn’t say anything as he slides the fruit towards him and grabs the knife you were using earlier before stabbing into the bottom of the pumpkin and sawing quickly. You watch him pry out the bottom with the knife before dropping the knife to the counter and scooping out the guts with his hands and placing it on the counter rather than the bowl. You wrinkle your nose at the thought of the guts being on the surface of the space you use. But you decided not to bitch to him about it because you were worried that it would piss him off enough to go back into the headspace and leave you to clean up the mess. 

Your eyes trail to the television broadcast, you can hear the reporter talking about the fire that happened in Birmingham at the end of August from where you stood. You push yourself off of the counter and walk towards the television, not bothering to shoot a glance at Jake as you pass him. On the screen, you saw the footage of the fire and the confirmation of sixteen bodies being found in the rubble of the building and the newscaster speaking about how this was a tragedy and an electrical fire was the cause of the accident. You weren’t prepared for the pictures of the victims flashing on the screen. You stare at the photos with wide eyes and a parted mouth. 

These were photos from before their lives were taken, your eyes scanning the three rows of almost six, searching for someone you may recognize from the grocery store or a person who rode the morning route to work or a customer you may have served. Your breath catches in your throat as you spot the lady from the bus stop and that one who ordered a sandwich from your work picture was glowing on the screen. She looked completely different from how you remembered her, she looked more happy in the photo than she did when she asked if Ammit could judge you. Underneath her photo was her name and as much as you were okay with a cult being killed for the greater good of humanity, it somehow became much more personal now that you knew her name. 

Amanda Bright, her name was Amanda bright and she looked like any other person you interact with in the city; and that was terrifying. You reach for the television remote and hit the power button, the sudden silence of the apartment, save for Gus' fish tank, was deafening. You turn on your heel and walk back to the kitchen, resuming the same place you leaned against the counter as Jake continued to take out the guts of his pumpkin. You watch him quietly as thoughts raced through your mind of the news footage you just watched. You could have sworn that they said seventeen people were estimated to be dead last time and today they said sixteen and showed sixteen photos. So, number seventeen was that kid that Jake let go, the kid that was your age and in a cult rooting for a goddess they believe can be released. 

There was another kid mixed into these tangled strings, Elias Dean. He was the one who was killed at Towers Bridge. Why did he die? What did he do? Why kill a kid in this mess? What was the point of killing a child? You bite your cheek at your thoughts as you watch Jake continue to pull out the guts of the pumpkin quietly. How did a child get tangled in these strings? 

And wasn’t Elias the same name as Marcs, Steven, and Jake's father? That can’t be a coincidence, can it?

“Elias Dean,” You say. “That was the name of the kid that was murdered at Towers Bridge. What happened?” He doesn’t look at you as he continues his activity for a while. You thought he was going to ignore you and you were willing to let that slide, you could ask him another time and give him this day to not talk about his missions. You have come to a decision that Jake chooses to do stuff that would inevitably protect the system and the people the system cares about, if he did murder Elias Dean, he had a reason for it. You doubt that he would kill a  kid after letting number seventeen go. 

“He was standing up to Harrow's cult when I arrived.” Jake says, nearly startling you when he spoke. “They didn’t like what he had to say so they pushed him off.” Fun, a kid who figured out right and wrong and tried to correct it and got murdered because of it. It sounds awfully like the U.S justice system. 

“He has the same name as your dad.” You say. “Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

“No es mi padre.” Jake says, his tone a bit harsh. You spare a glance at him and catch his gaze. 

“He’s not my dad.” He says. You both shared eye contact for a moment, his eyes were intense and you would have felt intimidated if you didn’t feel as comfortable as you do with him now. 

“Okay,” You say. “He’s not your dad.” You don’t know what happened to Marc's brain to cause it to create several people. But, you weren’t going to press for it, whatever it was that happened had to be traumatic because DID forms when a person goes through something really rough; so, whatever happened in their past you don’t want them to relive it or recount it to you until they are comfortable with you enough to open up to you and that’s if they ever become comfortable.

“Damn straight.” He says. 

“But, you know him as Elias. My question is-”

“Yeah, I know what your question is and I can tell you that I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” You ask. 

“Sí, no lo sé.” He says. You know a little Spanish from freshman year of high-school, so you know the first part of it which makes you think that he is indeed confirming that he doesn’t know. You look down at the recipe for snickerdoodles before reaching for Millie and rolling the duck in your hands as you think of his answer. If he does know, he has a reason for hiding it from you and you should trust him on that decision to keep you in the dark on this. If you were in a cult and knew the identity of Mr. Knight, which has to be impossible in the first place because Mr. Knight always wore a mask; and if he did show his face, it would absolutely be the last thing his victims see. So, how likely would it be if you found out the identity of Moon Knight? Low chance, maybe twenty three percent out of one hundred. Not completely zero but not great chances either. 

You open your mouth to speak when he cuts you off, “Can we talk about other things that don’t have to do with my nine to five job?” You almost stare blankly at him due to his question. It threw you off track and derailed any thoughts you had about his statement that he doesn’t know why the Tower Bridge victim shares the same name with his biological father. 

“Can you teach me Spanish some time?” You ask. “I know a little from freshman year but not a lot.”

“You want me to teach you my language sometime?” He asks and you nod. 

“I would like to speak to you in your first language, yes.” You say. “You learned English and I would like to learn Spanish.”

“Okay.” He says. He reaches for the knife and begins to carve into the pumpkin. You watch him silently for a few moments, wondering if he will go through his agreement when he asks, “What’s that?” He juts his chin towards your pumpkin.

“It’s the Scorpio star constellation.” You say, trailing your eyes to your pumpkin “It looked a lot cooler than the Big Dipper constellation.” 

“I’ll teach you Spanish if you teach me constellations.” He says. You understood what he meant, he doesn’t want to feel like he’s being friendly to you by teaching you his first language but rather trading knowledge for knowledge. You were fine with that. 

“Okay,” You say. “It gives me a chance to be a nerd and to use that telescope you bought me, thanks by the way.” He grunts and you place Millie onto the table. “Also, thanks for that light bulb.”

“It’s no problem, table thief.”

“Light bulb thief.”

“I can take that back from you.” He warns. 

“No thanks, I would like to see in my apartment even if the lighting is a bit ominous.” You say. His brows furrow. 

“I thought all kids like colored lighting. Isn’t that in every teenager's bedroom nowadays?”

“You sound old, like your age is really showing in your words.”

“Shut up.” He says and you laugh which soon turns into a screech when he flicks the pumpkin guts at you. You give him a disgusted look when you take the towel and rub your cheek where the guts landed. 

“That’s rude.” You tell him, only half joking. You drop the towel to the counter as you watch a small smile spread across his face. “What are you carving?” 

“A cat.” He says. You smile a little and shift your eyes to it. It was hard to see how it was going from where you stood, but you don’t want to wander closer to him and make him feel like you're criticizing his work. So, you watched him from a distance and tried to gauge his expressions for progress, but nothing came of it. 

“What type of cat?” You ask. 

“The typical black cat for Halloween,” He shrugs. 

“Do you like cats?” 

“Always wanted one.” He says. 

“Well, what’s stopping you?” You ask and he gives you a look. Right, being Khonshus bitch and not wanting to front more than he has to. But, this right now, says something entirely different. This was the longest he has ever been willing to be fronting outside of being Mr. Knight. Maybe, your pep talk for him getting his own life and being deserving of it gave him a kick that he needed. You don’t tell him any of that, but you were about to open your mouth to nag him into getting a cat or beginning to feed the strays in the neighborhood if he wasn’t already when the caller ID for Layla glowed on your phone. Her photo was set to one that she sent to the group chat when she was in Switzerland. 

“Layla's calling, I have to take this.”

“You don’t have to take it, you want to take the call.” He corrects and you shake your head. 

“No, I have to.” You stick your tongue out at him as you swipe the accept button and bring the phone up to your ear. “Hey, Layla.”

“Hey, I’m going to be in London tomorrow. Do you want to go to the mall or something?” 

“You’re going to be in London tomorrow? Are you deadass?”

“Absolutely, table thief.” You can hear the smile in her voice and it makes you feel giddy. 

“I thought you weren’t going to be back for a much longer time.” 

“Change of plans. The deal was closed early.” She states and you hum. You don’t bother to ask if it was closed early because the deal went well or terribly wrong because someone got killed. “Do you want to go?” You nod fervently. 

“Yeah! Of course. Oh guess what?” You laugh and you can feel the excitement building up in your body for tomorrow. You get to go to the mall and go with Layla. You miss her a lot despite not trying to miss her. Oh man, you get to see her tomorrow. You glance at Jake and he has a soft smile on his face, or maybe he looked to be in a decent mood. Either way, he wasn’t frowning or looking like a frog at the moment.

“What?” She asks and you imagine her with a grin on her face. 

“Jake stole a light bulb for me.” You say and this time she's the one who laughs.

Chapter Text

“Do you have quid on you?” Steven frets. He’s been like this since you told him that you were going to the mall with Layla during the television show you both were watching last night. He asked you plenty of questions about it, what mall are you going to? What time is she picking you up? When can they expect you to be back? Is anyone else going to be there? He’s acting like your parents when they questioned you about your social life and whereabouts. 

“I can give you some, I think I have some in my wallet.” He adds and stands up from the chair, scraping it against the wooden floor with the back of his legs. You stab into your pancake, your fork clanging against the plate. 

“I already told you that I have money.” You say. “I even have some to help pitch in for gas.” You doubt Layla would allow you to pay but you can try, and if she does refuse the money you’ll slip it into her jacket. 

“Do you have your phone on you?” He asks and you nod and verbally confirm for what felt like the millionth time that day. 

“Steven, listen, I’ll be fine.” You say. “Layla carries a gun on her and this time I’m bringing my taser so, if anything happens. We’ll shoot and ask questions later, alright?” You pop the pancake piece into your mouth and chew. It tasted cold but to be fair you have been eating at the dining table for a while. 

“I’ll get you your jacket.” 

“It still needs to be washed.” You say, you haven’t gotten around to doing laundry yet. That was your goal for tomorrow. You were too busy chatting to Layla and Jake and being so excited to see Layla in person that you completely forgot to wash your clothes. You were heading out in a pair of pants you wore a week ago and one of Marc's shirts. You figured that it belonged to Marc because it had a hoodie attached to the pullover and that seems like more of a Marc thing than a Steven clothing item. 

“You can borrow one of mine.” He says. You watch him walk to the coat rack next to the door and pull off a jean jacket before blinking at it. “No, this is a terrible jacket to wear, what if you get rained on or a water puddle is splashed on you?” He hangs it back up and reaches for a brown leather one. 

“Wear this.” He says as he holds it out to you and walks towards you. That was a Marc style of clothing. You know that you saw him wearing the jacket a couple of weeks ago. 

“The weatherman said that it’s forecasted to be cloudy all day.” He adds as he sets it on the back of the chair next to you and scans your body with a look of mild displeasure. His eyes land on your shoes and frowns at them. Your toe has been wearing out the cover of your tennis shoes so it has created a hole at the end of it. You’ve been meaning to search for new shoes, but you got too wrapped up in other things to remember to look for them. 

“Maybe we should get you some thermal socks too…” He says. “I think Marc has stuffed some into the back of the sock drawer.”

“Steven,” You breathe out. “I’ll be fine. It’s not a long ride to the mall and Layla is a good driver.” You decide not to tell him all the traffic maneuvering she did when she picked you up and dropped you off at work. He would go bonkers if he heard about the time that you were running late for work and she went between two buses to skip past them. You swore you had a heart attack by the time that you reached work but you clocked in a minute before you were scheduled to so it was fine. He bites the inside of his cheek as he stares at the hole in your shoes for a moment longer. 

“I’m going to go get you those socks.” He declares before marching off towards the dresser. You almost roll your eyes as you stand from the chair and carry your dishes to the sink to wash them. You scrape the remaining pancake bits and syrup into the trash before holding the plate underneath the running water. 

“I’ll wash those,” He says from behind you.  You jump a bit and glare at him before your gaze softens at the small lump of fabric in his palms. “Get changed into these. Layla will be here any moment.” You set the plate into the sink and dry your hands on a towel before grabbing the socks from him. 

“I’m already wearing socks.” You say. 

“But not thermal ones, I can see your skin color through the fabric of the socks you’re wearing now.” He replies. You look down at the hole in your shoes and frown a bit at the sight that he was correct. Your white socks were thin fabric and the October cold weather is going to make your feet cold especially on the ride to the mall with the cold wind and lack of proper protection for your feet. You sit in the chair and untie your laces, kicking off the heel with your feet before you bend down and pull your sock from your feet and replace it with the thermal ones Steven gave you. As soon as you got them on, you knew that you were never giving them back. Steven made a grave mistake in letting you borrow something warm. These socks were yours until you either lose them or he forcefully takes them back. 

“Wear a helmet.” Marc says. “And hold onto her waist.” You look up at him as you finish tying your shoes. 

“Marc.” You deadpan. “You’re acting like I haven’t rode on her Vespa before.” 

“The roads are more slick.” He says. “It’s October and the rain has been coming down lately.” It rained early this morning but not since then and the weather stated it wasn’t going to rain for the rest of the day and well into the night. He adds, “Maybe I should call you a cab.” You nearly roll your eyes at that. You are glad that they care but this was getting a bit much. Why are they being like this all of a sudden? They didn’t act like this when you went to work yesterday or the week before when it was pouring down rain. 

“Why are you guys acting like this?” You ask

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Like this.” You gesture to Marc. He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest  before you watch his posture slack into one of Stevens. 

“We’re just worried, dove.” Steven says. You purse your lips and stare at him. Why are they so worried? You know that you have a deity interested in you and you just went through a mugging last month, but this level of worrying has never left their mouths. Everything has been decent lately. There hasn’t been anything new with the deity or the remaining cult members so why are they being like this? It was beginning to put you on your toes and worry you more than you bet they were worried.

“Did Jake tell you guys about something that I don’t know of?”

“No-”

“Remember that we shook arms.” You cut him off. “You both promised not to keep anything from me if it has to do with my life.”

“No, he didn’t.” He states. He wrings his hands together. “It’s just that we’re responsible for another human being now and not only ourselves.” You cross your arms over your chest. You could take care of yourself, you proven that over the year that they weren’t in your life. It was sweet that they were taking steps to make sure that you were cared for but it didn’t need to feel overwhelming for you and for them. You tell them that and you watch his shoulders relax and a small breath of air leaves him. Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pull it out, a text from Layla stating that she was outside of the building glowed on the screen before it went dark. 

“Layla’s here,” You tell him as you put your phone back into your pocket and pull on the jacket Steven placed on the back of the chair. You pat your jean pocket for the cash you took from your tip jar in your apartment, the lanyard with the apartment keys attached to it, and your taser. You haven’t left the apartment without the taser since you got mugged, you were nearly on edge the entire time you went out in public since then. You were excited to see Layla, it’s been a little over a month since you last saw her. You speed walk to the door and tell them goodbye as you do so, your heart pounds against your chest as you try not to show your giddy smile towards the men because it was a little embarrassing to show your excitement. 

“Wear a helmet and zip up my jacket!” Marc says a little loudly as you turn the handle and you salute at him before shutting the door and making your way to the elevator.

---

“Are you dressing up for Halloween?” Layla asks. The mall was busy for a Saturday before the holiday this week. There were plenty of parents who took their children to the fabric store to select costumes for the holiday. Currently, you were standing outside of said store and there were a few costumes on display on a rack. Your fingers grip onto the lace of a bumblebee costume gently as you process her question before letting go of the costume and shaking your head. 

“No,” You say. “My work allows the employees to wear costumes as long as it doesn’t interfere with the job, but I’m not going to.” Your eyes trail over to a costume for Ghostbusters. You only watched the movie once and that was when you and your best friend watched it for the spooky season. You wonder how she's doing now. She’s turning seventeen next month and that’s another birthday that you’re going to miss. You made that decision to miss all of her birthdays and holidays when you committed fraud and spent your college tuition on flying to London. What is she going to do after she graduates high-school? She did say she wanted to become a veterinary doctor, but you don’t know if that has changed since she came back from the blip. 

“Why not?” 

“I’m not interested,” You shrug. “I’m not going to spend money on wearing an outfit that I know I’ll never wear again.”

“That’s not very festive,” She replies. 

“Are you going to dress up as anything?” You ask. She shakes her head. “Did you dress up as anything last year? Or the year before that?”

“Not last year.” She answers. “I was too busy mourning for my husband who I thought was dead.” Oof, ouch. You wince at her statement and she continues, “And the year before that Marc and I dressed up as hippies, but the party we were supposed to attend, we didn’t make it because Khonshu wanted his knight.” Khonshu being a party-pooper once again. At least he’s consistent and you know what to expect from him. 

“Oh man,” You say. “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else to say other than that. She waves you off.

“It’s fine.” She shrugs. “He had his serving to do and I was told that the party was lame.” For a moment, you wonder if she’s making up the bit about the party being lame just to make herself and you feel better. 

“You can dress up this year.” You say. “There’s nothing stopping you.” She eyes the costumes and shakes her head a little. 

“I’m getting too old for it.”

“You said it, not me.” You say and she rolls her eyes as she gives you the middle finger and causes you to laugh. Your steps are in sync as you walk down the hallway of the mall and take in the decorations. There were Charlie Brown and Snoopy inflatables along with some cartoonish Dracula near the outlets in the walls. Fake cobwebs and spiders strung around the poles. Fake autumn leaves were taped to the walls and bats were strung from the ceiling. The Halloween spirit was on point this year, it was mainly to make it seem welcoming and inviting for the holiday but it also paired well with the haunted attraction they were building in one of the spare rooms. Above it, it says that it used to be an EAT which was a restaurant but it went out of business, so now it was being used as a spare room for whatever seasonal use. 

“How was Switzerland?” You ask. In the center of the large hallway were some small rides for young children. It was the type that would sway you side to side or rock you back and forth in a small machine that looks like a school bus or a taxi with a green orb dude whose colors are scratching off. You used to love those as a kid and you would beg your parents for a dollar to have a good two minutes worth of fun. You would also beg them for any quarters to put into candy machines or fake tattoos slots. 

“It was good.” She says. “I got the job done.” You smile at her as she stops in front of a brochure case. You don’t know what job she did and you don’t want to ask, but you know that she was back and she seems happy so that was enough for you. You watch her grab a brochure for horseback riding in London and another one for an aquarium in the city. 

“We could go to these sometime if you’ll like.” She says as she holds up the paper. You nod at her with a smile on your face. “You want to go in there?” She asks and juts her chin to the clothing store across from you. It kind of looked like a Hot Topic from the outside of it with its dark interior and edgy clothing hung up on the walls and rows of accessories and stuffed animals. You would go there all the time in New York because you liked to look at the clothing, some of it was your style, but you mainly just enjoyed it because it was cute and felt a little unique compared to the other clothing stores with name brand fashion.

You nod and follow Layla into the store. The items were the typical stuff companies would try to sell to teenagers. Bracelets and necklaces with pop culture icons, Harry Potter merch, anime t-shirts that you vaguely recognize because someone in your math class freshman year was into it. Funko pops were stacked on shelves in the far corner of the store. It definitely smelled like teen spirit and with the twenty five dollar band t-shirts, it was a company selling overpriced items to young adults and teenagers who adored these fandoms and artists. You walk around the small crowded space, there are a few teenagers selecting lace tutus and purple and green striped stockings. One of them held a witches cap with fake twigs wrapped around the base.

You stop in front of a rack with candy and energy drinks with anime characters printed on the labels. You were considering getting something for your friends since you owe them big time. You already gave Layla her glass rose that you bought her when she was on her trip in Switzerland and she adored it. You were glad to make her happy. But, you still owe your neighbors something since you have yet to buy them strawberry waffles and Jake something else since you don’t know if he cares for the breakfast food. Your eyes trail the candy, most of it was gummy, taffy, and Harry Potter candy but the one thing that stuck out to you the most was the pack of marshmallows in the shape of cats. The design on it was an anime that you don’t recognize, but it looked good. Jake would like those, you thought. He was complaining about you eating all the marshmallows out of the cereal and now he will get his own bag of some cat shaped marshmallows. 

You grab one bag off of the hook and then take another. What if he likes them enough that he will want more? A few feet away, Layla looked at the bags of Harry Potter with the horcrux designs and the stag patterns on it. You would like to buy one of those bags for her since the movies seem to be something that she enjoyed but with the prices of how they were in the United States of being up to eighty dollars for a small backpack, you could guess that it was about that price here. You watch her reach for the tag and turn it over, letting out a hiss between her teeth as she lets go of the tag and takes a step back. 

“Sixty-eight pounds.” Layla speaks quietly as she walks towards you. Maybe you could buy one for her for Christmas if you have enough saved up. Wait, does she celebrate Christmas? If she doesn’t, you can buy her the bag for her birthday, wait, when is that? You’ve been friends with her for a while and you don’t know when the day of her birth is. Shame on you. Hot damn.

“What is that?” She asks and gestures to the bags of candy in your hands. 

“Marshmallows,” You say. “I think Jake will like ‘em.” Her eyes flicker between you and the bags before she looks elsewhere. You know that she doesn’t care for Jake much, from what you know of, they haven’t talked much since he asked Layla to babysit you. But you weren’t absolutely sure since they could be talking while you’re at work or asleep and Jake is doing his missions. 

“Layla?”

“Yeah?”

“When’s your birthday?”

“October twenty-eight.” She answers. You pull your phone out of your pocket and check the calendar, that was on Tuesday this week. Shit, you need to get something for her. You’re working on Tuesday too so you won’t be able to spend the day with her. 

“You should have told me sooner, so I could have taken the day off.” You tell her. “We could be celebrating your birthday together.”

“That’s what I’m doing today.” She says. “Hanging out with my favorite kid.” You stare at her with soft eyes. 

“You invited me out to the mall and you didn’t even tell me about your birthday.” You say. “I feel terrible.” 

“Don’t be.” She shrugs. “Just enjoy today and after thirty birthdays number thirty-one isn’t going to be any different.”

“You’re turning thirty-one?” You ask and she gently pushes you towards the counter to check out your items. The cashier shoots you a smile that you can tell is fake just because you have experienced that same look. You can tell that they don’t want to be at work today, who would want to work on a Saturday anyways? But corporations want their money and bills need to be paid. 

“I am.” She says. You glance over your shoulder before you place the marshmallows onto the counter and pull out some bills from your pocket to pay for it. The cashier doesn’t ask about your day or if you had any plans for the weekend, and you’re glad for it, you hate unnecessary small talk with strangers. She places the items into a bag and gives you your change before sending you off with a receipt. 

“Thirty-one is old age.” You tell your friend as you walk out the entrance of the store and pass a small group of teenagers who look to be about your age, laughing and huddling around the benches lined against the wall. She gives you a look and you laugh at it. You add, “You’re almost to the age that I always thought you were.”

“Ugh, do I even want to know?” She says. The corners of your lips raise as you stare ahead with the plastic bag of goodies in your hand. Your eyes trail to the teenagers, the sound of their laughter makes you feel a little jealous. You have a friendship with your neighbors, Layla, and Lauren but you don’t have anyone your age that you could speak to or just vibe with. You missed out a lot on your teen years. You missed out on homecoming, prom, watching movies in the theater with your best friend, celebrating your sixteenth birthday with family and friends. You’ll miss out on the senior scavenger hunt that they do for the high-school seniors on their graduation day. 

You missed out on laughing like those kids are with any potential friends you could have made over the last couple of years. You’re going to miss out on your class graduation. You’re not going to be able to walk across a stage in a cap and down and receive a diploma you worked hard for the last twelve years of your life. 

“Probably not.” You say. You don’t feel the words leave your mouth but you hear your voice speak it and the groan that leaves her at your response. You keep your eyes on the kids, trying to ignore the jealousy simmering in your stomach as you watch them have a good time. You’re seventeen and you’ve been acting like an adult for two years now, you are the one who got yourself into this mess. You are the one who allowed yourself to become tangled in strings so tightly that you are knotted like you would be in a spider's web. You shouldn’t allow yourself to feel jealous over a group of kids your age.

“You need to get some friends your age, kiddo.” She says. You already had this conversation with Steven over the last month. He was trying to encourage you to go out and make some friends with young adults. He wants you to have healthy connections with people who aren’t over the age of thirty and have children. He wants you to be happy with someone who is at least twenty since you’re that age on paper and hang out with them and have a friendship with someone who doesn’t go to bed by nine and their alter protects the travelers of the night. You know that he means well and you’re glad that he cares enough to point out that hanging out with a thirty-eight year old neighbor was odd and a little weird for your age. 

But, you explained to him why you can’t exactly do that so many times before that it has become like a script in your mind that you read off whenever he opens up a conversation with the topic of friends. You can’t make friends your age because you’re seventeen and committed fraud and it would be weird to be known as a twenty year old hanging out with some seventeen year old high-school students. That sounds like you would get the police called on you. So, you stick to Fridays and Saturday nights being spent with Steven, Marc, and sometimes Jake if he decides to front, hanging out instead of spending them with fellow seventeen year olds.

“I know,” You tell her. Your fingers tangle with the plastic bag handle and twist it around your fingers. You tear your eyes away from the kids and begin to walk towards a thrift store. “I need to get something for you and the boys. I’m thinking that Marc would like something yellow.”

“Why yellow?” She asks as she follows you, temporarily picking up her speed to catch up before falling into strides next to you. 

“He seems like he needs some bright colors in his life and yellow reminds me of happiness.” It’s a bright color like the sun and it radiates warmth and it’s a welcoming tone. “I think he would look good in a yellow sweater, do you think the store has anything like that?”

---

It took three different clothing shops to find an affordable yellow sweater in Marc's size and you found a knick knack of a miniature glass frog you found in the thrift store for Steven. You know that he will love it, you just hope that he’ll keep the shelf clean enough that it won't get buried and shatter underneath books or fall to the ground if he puts it on the bookcase. You bought Layla a ceramic cup with pink and purple polka dots painted on it. Someone donated it and it became your treasure. You had enough money left over to buy Layla lunch and maybe yourself something if the prices are cheap enough. You know that Layla won’t let you buy her food if you can’t eat anything in the food court, so you hope that there’s some kind of meal deal. You feel terrible about not knowing her birthday is coming up. This meal and the cup can be her gift, you’ll definitely look for something online once you’ll get back to the apartment for a proper birthday gift. Layla and you stood outside of a woman's clothing store by the front window and she was eying a brown purse with leather flower patterns on a mannequin. The bag looked expensive without you needing to look at the price tag on it. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask and she looks away from the purse and to you. You twist the brown sacks handle that contains the gifts for the four of your friends. The marshmallows and its plastic sack were combined into the same brown sack so you don’t have to carry around two separate bags in the same hand. 

“You ate breakfast, right?” She asks instead. You nod. You still felt a little full from breakfast, the vegan pancakes felt heavy in your stomach. But you wanted to treat her to lunch, maybe you’ll buy yourself some lemonade from the food court. “I’m alright.” She says and you let your frown spread across your face. Within the few weeks that the two of you shared Stevens apartment while Jake was out on his mission, you noticed that Layla didn’t eat food until hours after she woke up and she has claimed that eating too early in the morning has caused her to become nauseous in the past. So, you doubt that she has eaten anything.

“I’m feeling thirsty, though.” You say. You were determined to get some food for her, it was going to be her birthday week in a few days. You follow the signs towards the food court and she falls into steps next to you. 

“How’s school going?” She asks. You shrug as you begin to smell the food of fried rice and hear the chatter of people eating in the court getting louder as you get closer.

“I’m passing my classes with C’s and B’s, so it’s going.” You tell her.

“When’s your exams?”

“My finals are the week before Christmas in December.” You say. “I’m excited for the term to be over with.” 

“Not having a good time learning?”

“No,” You snorted. “The subjects are boring and it’s difficult to focus on them when you listen to some teacher drone on and on about math or history and they don’t make it interesting. Like, the bubonic plague that spread across Europe in the 1300’s I was excited to learn about because that was something I thought was going to be interesting, but the teacher just made it boring and it felt like it dragged on forever.” 

“I’m sorry.” She says and you wave her off. It wasn’t her fault that you couldn’t get interested in the subjects. 

“The one class I like is art and all I have to do is draw for this term and the next I get to paint and in the spring I get to do sculptures. I think there’s clay I can buy on Amazon but I’m not going to be too worried about it until then.”

“I can teach you how to sculpt if you want.” She offers and you spare a glance at her. “I have some clay and a wheel at my place, I know the owner of a pottery shop and she’ll let us borrow her kiln to heat it.”

“Really?” You ask and she nods which causes you to smile. “Okay, thank you.” 

“Have you sculpted before?” She asks and you shake your head. “Okay, cool. I get to teach you something fun and I’ll make it interesting the entire time.” 

“You don’t have to.” You say.

“I know.” She smiles. You were closer to the food court and you noticed that most of the tables were taken except for a few near the edge by the farthest wall with a mural of London on it. The floor was the same gray and white tiles throughout the mall save for a few stores with light brown wooden flooring. There were skylights above you for natural lighting and the sky was gray and cloudy. 

“What do you want?” You ask her. 

“Well, you said you wanted lemonade, so here's some-” She reaches into her jacket pocket and you take a step back. 

“No, lunch is on me. What do you want?” She frowns. 

“I’m not letting you buy me lunch. I should be the one buying you lunch, I invited you out.”

“I don’t give a shit about that, Layla. I’m wondering what you want to eat and giving you the option to choose or I’ll choose for you.”

“Bullshit.” She says. “I’m not choosing.”

“Oh yeah? The Panda Express place smells good right now. Orange chicken and brown rice? Maybe noodles.” You hand her your bag as you take a step back into the direction of the restaurant. “Tell me what you want or I’ll pick for you.” She keeps silent and you shrug. “Orange chicken it is, baby.” 

“I’ll pay you back,” She promises and you roll your eyes. 

“The fuck you will.” You tell her. “Go pick a spot for us.” You watch her stare at you for a moment longer before she gives in and turns her body towards the tables and stalks off. A small victory smile forms on your face as you turn your body to walk to the line for the oriental restaurant. The line was a little long but it was to be expected for lunch hour, you don’t mind waiting if it meant that you could get Layla something. You reached the end of the line near the first set of tables, about seven people were in front of you and two people filed behind you. Your eyes scan the lines for the other restaurants, all were about equally occupied as this one. The smell of the chicken and the cinnamon rolls from one of the other restaurants made your stomach growl. 

You turn your head towards the tables to try and spot Layla, your eyes scan the sea of unfamiliar faces as you search for her.  You spot her across the court, closest to one of the entrances of the mall and to the cinnamon roll restaurant. She sat at the table and took out her phone to occupy herself. Your eyes trail away from her and to the same group of kids you were jealous of earlier, eating at one of the bigger tables closer to the center of the court. You watch them talk about something that you couldn’t hear due to the volume of everyone else, but from the looks of humor on their face you figured it was something funny. You squash down the feeling of jealousy continuing to simmer in your stomach and begin to turn around to step forward since the line has moved ahead within the last couple of minutes; but the feeling turns into a knot and deepens tightly in your stomach, making it almost hard to breathe. You inhale a sharp breath, warm air filling your lungs as you search with frantic eyes for the cause of it. You know that it’s the fucking deity, it happens every time they’re around. 

You jump when the person behind you asks you to move forward. You let out a shaky apology, your eyes still scanning the area around you for the deity before you tear your gaze away and step forward. The knot somehow seems to tighten and it nearly causes you to fall over in pain. You have never experienced it being this terrible, why now? You were always at the apartment when this happened, always on your own except for last time. Why here, at a mall, filled with hundreds of people? You look over your shoulder for Layla, you need to tell her. You already filled her in on the knots and anxiety feelings you get when the gods are around, but she clearly has no idea that it is happening at this moment. You twist your body around as you hold your stomach through Marc's jacket. 

You need Layla. Your eyes land on her and she was still looking at her phone. Phone. Oh fuck, you can call her. Your hands tremble as you reach for the pocket in Marc's jacket that you zipped your phone in. Your eyes were trained on Layla, somehow hoping that she would feel your gaze and look up to see whatever pained and terrified expression you wore. You only tore your eyes away from her when the sight of three men standing around a small table meant for two people and placing a large black duffle bag on the surface caught your attention. One of their sleeves was rolled up and you felt your breath get taken from you when you spotted the scale tattoo on his arm. The woman that urged you forward moments ago asks you to again as you finally unzip the pocket and pull out your phone. The knot in your stomach loosens a tiny bit and it becomes easier to breathe through the pain. 

You take a step back as you look down at your vibrating phone, there were several new messages in the group chat that you, Steven, and Layla were in. It takes a couple of tries to unlock your phone and with each failed try you take a split second to look at the fuck the men were doing. Your fingers tremble as you open the group chat and press the call button, you were too worried to search for Layla's contact and call her directly. You stood your ground as the woman asks you for the third fucking time to move forward and you stepped out of line instead. You swore you felt the hair on your arms stand up as a soft breeze pushed past you while you listened to the phone ring once before Layla answered.

She says your name softly as she stands up from her own chair and looks for you. 

“Layla-” You say, your voice cracking as you watch the men leave the bag on the table before walking towards the entrance. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She asks. 

You hear a beep before Stevens' voice fills your ear, “How do you bloody use this thing?” He asks. 

You swallow as you say, “Deity. Bag.” Your brain begins to short circuit as the anxiety running through your veins seem to wrap itself around your throat as if it was a noose and begin  to slowly tighten. 

“Deity?” She asks incredulously, you try to make out her expression from where you stood. It was difficult with the people passing in front of her and the distance between you two.

“What’s wrong?” Steven asks and you try to swallow down your panic to open your mouth and explain what exactly is wrong when it happened. Whatever the bag contained went off and somewhere near you another one followed and another one after that. You felt like you were pushed to your left from the third blast. You fly several feet across the room and roll several times until you eventually come to a stop and lay on your back with your eyes closed. Your ears ring and your heart pounds against your chest as you try to grasp onto what happened. Your body aches from the landing and rolling, but as you slowly wiggle your fingers and toes before moving onto your legs and arms and then your torso, neck, and head, you come to the conclusion that it was just bruising and no major injuries.

You face the ceiling as your eyes peel open and the ringing in your ears comes to an end. You can hear a baby crying somewhere and small children calling out for their parents. You blink hazily at the skylight above you, trying to remove the blurriness from your eyes as you listen to the sound of crunching glass and calls for help. The gray clouds shift in the sky and you watch it for a moment before your eyes trail to the small brown thing peeking over the edge of the skylight and peering down at you. It takes you about three seconds before your brain registers what it is. The falcon stares at you and you blink slowly at it as the clouds behind it open temporarily and show a patch of blue sky before more clouds cover it. Your stomach churns as your anxiety spikes through the roof at the sight. The knot tightens and you watch as it tilts its head at you as if asking if you were going to lay there and die or get up and fight. 

The god was a falcon, waiting for you to die. Almost like it was a vulture that smells death from several miles away and it’s been stalking you for months now. They are waiting for you to die and then what? What comes after that? Or is their patience thinning and one day they really would drop you out a five story window instead of waiting? You don’t want to stick around and find out if that day is today. You stare at it for a moment longer, half expecting for it to break the glass and swoop down to claw your eyes out, but yet it just watches you. You push yourself up on your elbows as you look around the room for the friend you came with. You hope that she is alright and breathing. 

You need to make sure she is okay. You think that she was lucky enough to be away from one of the blasts but you weren’t totally sure. You try to stifle the feeling of panic as you watch fire consume the walls and the welcome sign hanging from the ceiling swings to the ground from the fire. You cough from the smoke as you look to your right towards the wall with the murals and watch as people stand and look around them. Your eyes flicker to your phone a few feet away, the screen is glowing with new cracks and a light dusting across the surface. You roll onto your hands and knees before crawling towards it, occasionally breathing out deeply through your nostrils as small splitters poke into your palms. You reach your phone and grab it, glancing at the call time increasing up to four minutes and twenty-eight seconds before it passes that and continues rising. 

You bring the phone to your ear, hearing some muffled speaking and yelling on the other end of the line. It was an echo of the same call from Layla's phone on the other side of the room. You stand as you look at where you last saw her. Through the smoke and debris you saw someone rising from the ground. 

“Steven?” You speak, your voice cracking halfway through the word. You listen to the sound of distance yelling through your phone, trying to decide if your friends were on the other end of the line or if it belongs to the chaos around you. You turn on your heels and walk towards the area you last saw Layla, you try not to trip over any debris and look down at possible bodies of people. Your stomach churns at the thought of stepping over bodies or stepping on corpses as you make sure that your friend is okay. 

“¿Estás bien?” Jake asks at the end of the line. “¿Estás herido?” You don’t know what he’s saying but from the concern in his tone you know that he’s worried.

“Jake?” You ask as you watch the figure with the all too well known curly hair slowly turn their head to look at you. You cough as you inhale air too quickly and watch as she bounds towards you, her arms up in a hug and a pair of bronze wings attached to them. 

“Layla.” You say as she approaches closer, a cut was above her eye and blood trailed down her eye brown and over her lid. She says your name softly as Jake says something else in Spanish, this time a little more frantically and you hear something banging against something else. You pull the phone from your ear as you wrap your arms around her and she hugs you back just as tightly. 

“Are you hurt?” She asks as you pull away and look her up and down. You shake your head, the white cloth and bronze body armor was all too familiar to you. You saw the Tiktoks of the Scarlet Scarab fighting alongside Mr. Knight against Harrow. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe out. Your eyes were wide at the sight of the wings Layla wore. “You’re-you’re-” You struggle to put your thoughts into a coherent sentence. She looks amazing, you want to tell her that. But, you felt a little upset that she didn’t tell you she was still Tawerets avatar when she told Steven she wasn’t. 

“Yeah, I know.” She says.

“Are you hurt?” You ask and she gives you a bitter-sweet smile. 

“No, I’ll heal.” She answers. She glances to her right towards the fire consuming the building. “You need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You tell her. “You need to come with me.” You cough as you inhale more smoke and she shakes her head.

“No, I have a job to do.” She says. Her hands rest on your shoulders and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. You don’t want to leave her alone, you know that she can handle herself, she has a gun and she’s an avatar for a goddess. But you were terrified of leaving her on her own and not seeing her again; and against all the cells screaming in your body to get the fuck out of a burning building, you fought your fear enough to tell her that you’re staying and helping. 

“The fuck you will.” She says, narrowing her eyes. You spare a glance at the burning entrance. There’s two more at the other ends of the mall. You hope that those aren’t on fire and people can escape through there. 

“The fuck I won’t.” You say. “I’m not leaving you and there’s too many people that need help.” You both stare at each other a little angrily, both of you know how stubborn the other can be. 

“The sooner we stop arguing, the sooner and more likely we can get people out.” You add. She huffs out a breath and glances to her left, you follow her gaze and watch as a mother picks up her screaming child and limps further into the mall to retreat from the fire. Buildings can go up in flames quickly, especially when the sprinkler system isn’t going off. It doesn’t take Einstein to come to the conclusion that whoever set the bombs also turned off the water system. 

“You’re just a kid.” She says. You tear your gaze away from the woman limping down the hallway with the child on her hip.

“Yeah and you’re just an old woman who's turning thirty-one.” You shrug as you take a step back, pieces of table splintering underneath your feet. “The young are always drafted in war and the old stays home. I’ll find you when I’m done!” You yell and glance down at your phone. The call was increasing to eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds and continuing on past that. You raise your phone to your ear as you turn your body and carefully walk over the remaining pieces of chairs, tables, and peoples belongings. 

“Jake?” You say. 

“¿Estás bien? ¿Está bien Layla?” He breathes out quickly. “Estoy en camino.”

“Jake,” You repeat his name softly and choke back another cough. You still have no clue what he’s saying but you felt like you had to reassure him. You would be terrified for them if the roles were reversed. “We’re okay. I’m helping people get out.”

“You need to get out.” He states. You hear a bang in the distance, causing your head to whip to your right and stare down the hallway the lady and the child passed through. You flinch as you hear another bang. It sounds a little too similar to the gunshots in America for your liking. Every fiber of your being told you to run and hide as you listen to another gunshot and another one. You take a deep breath to help calm yourself as you step forward, deciding to speed up the process of getting people out rather than being a deer caught in headlights. 

“Funny, Layla said the same thing.” Your voice shakes as you try to sound calm and not panicked like you were internally. 

“And she’s right.” He grunts out. You listen to honking on his end and what you think are swears in Spanish leaving his mouth. “Fucking move!” He yells and the honks increase. Part of you wants to tease him about possible driving a limo to a mall that just got bombed and now is having a shooting since you don’t know how else to cope with this but you don’t. Your eyes land on someone laying down next to where the table bomb went off. Smoke was still coming from the remains of the bomb and the fabric of the duffle bag and surrounding object. Your eyes trail to another figure laying feet away from them and another one. The knot tightens in your stomach as you bend down to the person closest to you and your breath catches, causing Jake to repeatedly call your name and slam his hands against the steering wheel. You recognize them, they were the kids that you were jealous of. 

They look younger than you, especially the boy who was laughing hours ago with his friend. He looks like he was fourteen, he still had his baby fat cheeks but now it was sliced open and blood poured out. His mouth rested with a frozen laugh on it and blood streamed out of the corner of it. His brown curls were damp with the body fluid that should be in him and not soaking his clothes and skin in. His brown eyes were open and now becoming filmy and staring at you. He took his last breath at some point looking right at where you stood with Layla hugging and arguing. 

“¿Qué es?" Jake asks and you swallow down the lump in your throat and jump when you hear another gunshot, this one closer than before. You whip your head to your right and watch as the smoke lights up temporarily while another bang happens and two people run from that direction. 

“I’m okay.” You whisper. You don’t feel okay, you feel like you want your mom and dad and to be back in New York, away from here. You want to be anywhere but here. You want to be back in Stevens apartment and buried underneath a mound of blankets as you listen to him read you those Dr. Seuss books. You want to listen to Marc talk about Chicago baseball and his favorite year that they played which is 2016 since they won the World Series that year. You want to sit next to Jake as you talk about the constellations with him and he teaches you a few Spanish words in return. You just began your deal a couple of days ago.

“Perra,” He told you. 

“What does that mean?” You ask. 

“Bitch.” He answers and you laugh; and you think he smiled but you weren’t completely sure because he drank out of the cup of coffee you made for Marc. You pretended not to notice his possible smile so you wouldn’t embarrass him or make him switch seats with Steven or Marc. You were worried that you weren’t going to leave this mall alive, the knot in your stomach loosens and then tightens and loosens again. You nearly throw up whatever remains of your breakfast as you tear your eyes away from the boy on the ground to search for other survivors. 

 You let out a shaky breath as you look at the other teenager, her hair was stained red and you would have thought it was dyed if it wasn’t for her visible blond roots. She laid frozen with her head tilted at the wrong angle and her body still. You forced yourself to look at the next body, you needed to check to see if they were breathing. Another kid, this one looks awfully familiar to the first, laid against a wall separating the cinnamon roll store and the tables. His eyes were closed and his chest unmoving with a thick piece of wood penetrating his torso. His head tilted down and blood coating his shirt. You think they were siblings. The last teenager was face down in a pool of blood, pieces of debris stuck out of their back and thighs, their black hair was parted enough to show the white of their skull and the flesh of the muscles and layers of meat that never shows the light of day. 

The sight is what makes you throw up, your shoes are covered with bile and blood that does not belong to you. You’re here at the age of seventeen and checking for breathing people to help escape the fire and the bullets yards away from you. Seventeen years old, you are a child in war like these other kids were. Elias Dean. These four kids and so many more in this room, let alone in this mall. How many children will have to die before Harrow's cult realizes that Ammit cannot be raised? How many people will have to become casualties in this war before they stop trying?

“¿Pequeño?” Jake asks quietly. You need to find someone to help. This can’t all be for nothing. You cough and stand up straight as you listen to bullets get closer and the flashes of lights through the smoke become brighter. You couldn’t focus with a phone pressed up against your ear and the knot pulling at your stomach like it was tightening strings. It was hard to make a decision of what to do. You don’t want to hang up, you want to listen to Jake because of the minimal comfort it brought you but, you don’t want him to listen to you die if you get shot or the fire burns down the building with you in it. Get people out, make this worth it. 

“I have to hang up.” You tell Jake. He curses at your statement. 

“Don’t hang up.” He warns. “I’m almost there.”

“I’m sorry.” You tell him. “I’m not much of one for warnings are I?” You couldn’t vanish from Marcs and Stevens' lives even after he held a knife to your throat.

“Fucking fuck!” He yells. You hear him release a shuddered breath and you think it catches in his throat. Mr. Shows-No-Emotions was showing hell of a lot more than you have ever heard from him. You weren’t coming out of this one, were you? He knew the chances and he didn’t think they were good; and honestly, neither did you. Tears prick your eyes as you step over the glassy eyed teens and rush towards the mural. The fucking deity knew too, they were waiting for you to be on your last breath before swooping down and taking it from you. You slip in a pool of blood and someone's newly bought clothes but you caught your balance before hitting the tiled floor.

You were about to pull the phone away from your ear and press the end call to make it easier for all four of you. You bet your whole life that Steven and Marc were listening in on the conversation, but he begged and Jake Lockley never begged. “Por favor, pequeño. Please.” 

You have never heard Jake Lockley beg before and you thought you would never see the day that he did. You knew this situation was bad, but it was much more terrible for Jake to beg for you not to hang up. You hear more gunshots and a baby wailing loudly. This time the gun shots seem to echo much more loudly in the food court. You turn your gaze to your left and you watch Layla help up a elderly person and push them through the employee's only door for a restaurant. If you can’t get them out, start hiding them well. Your taser presses against your torso through Marc's jacket. Marc taught you self defense and Jake took you to the roof tops and taught you when you couldn’t sleep. You know how to throw hands, you know how to defend yourself. Not against bullets but all you have to do is disarm them and even out the playing field. You can do this. Easy. You swallow a laugh as the smoke begins to sting your eyes. You need to make it out of this to go to Stevens place and let them see that you are okay. You need to make it out of here. You still owe them those strawberry waffles. 

“You’re on your way.” You reassure yourself and him. “You’ll kick names and take ass and all that fun jazz.” You pause and your eyes land on the sight of a baby crying in a stroller with blood splattered on their chubby cheeks and a man lying next to them with his hand wrapped around the wheel of the stroller and filmy eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling above him. You tear your eyes away from the man and to the red face, wailing baby. You don’t know much about babies, but it looked to be younger than a year old. 

“You hang up and I’ll turn you into the police.” He threatens. That’s not much of a threat; you have an eighty percent shot of dying here. 

“Yeah?” You ask as you press the phone between your ear and shoulder as your fingers fumble with the button to press for the seat belts to let go. You hiss out a breath between your teeth as you accidentally pinch your fingers with the clasp of the belt before it releases and you pick up the crying kid. You hold the child to your chest, not quite sure if you were holding them correctly but at the moment that doesn’t matter. You just need to get them to safety. 

“I will fucking do it.” He warns. You grab your phone and hold it against your ear as you walk towards the employee entrance and push through. 

“Thanks for the warning, Jake.” You tell him and remove the phone from your ear before hanging up. The end call screen flashed with thirteen minutes and twenty-one seconds before the screen lit up with a call request from Steven Grant. You ignore it by placing the phone into your pocket and zipping it shut before switching arms with the kid and unzipping your other pocket and grabbing the taser. A handful of Men, women, and children were crouched in the kitchen of the restaurant. Some were holding pans and pots and others were holding each other. The lights flickered in the restaurant a few times before going out completely and the only lighting was from the emergency exit lights above the door. 

“Layla?” You called as you stepped over a woman's legs and walked further into the room. She doesn’t answer and you feel worry gnawing at your stomach even worse than before. She’s an avatar, she can handle herself, you thought. But still, it didn’t settle right with you that she was out there, preparing to lay down her life for the remaining survivors. The baby in your arms cried into Marc's jacket, saliva getting all over the leather. You should take it off, the building was heating up and it was beginning to get unbearable. Besides, you don’t want to get Marc's jacket gross and bloodied, do you? You look around at the survivors, debating on who to pass the kid to. 

Children in war, You thought bitterly, children losing parents as young as the age of a few months old. You swallow as you feel the phone vibrate in your pocket and you bend down to ask a woman holding her own children to take one more. 

“Where’s your mom?” She asks as she takes the fussy baby from you. You think she’s referring to the baby’s mother. 

“I don’t know.” You say. 

“You don’t know where your own mom is?” She asks. Oh. Oh she’s talking about you. You know it doesn’t matter about telling her that your own parents died two years ago.

So, instead you say. “She’s, uh, out there.” You point to the doors. Somewhere out there, Layla was searching for wounded and breathing humans. You need to go back through those doors and help her. The knot in your stomach loosens, the air feels stiff as you listen to more gunshots and the crackling of the fire spreading. 

“Oh,” She breathes out. 

“Is there a way out of here?” You ask, it was too dark in here which meant that there were no windows for people to crawl through. 

“There's only one exit.” A man says from somewhere behind you. The same one you entered through moments ago. So, everyone is trapped in a burning building and with a group of people willing to shoot up the place. Nice. This building sure as hell ain't up to code. Maybe you could sue the city for not putting in multiple exits for stores and restaurants, that is if you live. You didn’t realize that the baby stopped crying until you turned your head in the direction of the exit, your eyes met the red glowing sign. It was the same color of your kitchen since Jake stole that lightbulb for you. You turned your taser in your hand as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten and a breeze against your back as if it was encouraging you to step through the doors and put your life more at risk for helping others. 

Hopefully, you don't tase yourself and drop it this time. You unzip the jacket and set it on the counter, you think you can hear the phone still vibrating in the pocket. Marc would tell you to pick up the phone, that’s why he bought it, to make sure that you are okay. What’s the point of having a phone if you weren’t going to answer it? To which you would grumble and tell him that you’re sorry you didn’t answer and that would be the truth. Sweat dotted the back of your neck and forehead as you fumbled with the turn on switch for the taser before pressing the button. There’s three ways you could absolutely die here, one: smoke inhalation. Two: a bullet making its home in your body; and three: the fire consuming the building and burning you alive. None of those sounds like great options, if you’re being honest. 

You take a deep breath, the smoke itching your eyes and throat as you walk towards the door with shaky steps. You breathe out slowly as you crack open the door and peek out of it, searching for anyone nearby that is attacking the building. A few men holding guns with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows searched the area, you jump as you watch one point a gun at someone on the floor and pull the trigger. The room lights up in that direction and the knot in your stomach tightens and loosen just as quickly as if the god was pulling on the strings and tugging you out the exit. You crouch on your hands and knees and crawl out the door, making sure it doesn’t slam behind you as glass cuts into your palms and knees. You crawl towards the edge of the wall that separates where the tables once were and the restaurants. You lean against the wall as you listen to their footsteps crunch glass and slowly scan the area for survivors. You swallow a gasp as the light fixture above the entrance by the burning fire loosened and fell to the ground with a loud bang. Okay, there’s four ways you can die here: being crushed by the roof caving in or the objects falling on you. 

This was a terrible idea, playing hero and hoping to save anyone else who remains. You turn your head to your left as you watch one of the men walk towards the directory, someone leaned against it and it was hard to tell if they were breathing or not but it didn’t matter when they put a bullet into their skull. There was glass crunching to your right and you can hear the sounds of their footsteps walking around the wall and towards you. Within the next couple of minutes you may be dead and that falcon will get what they want. You don’t know where Layla went, she may have went further into the mall to rescue others and you were dumb enough to bring a taser to a gun fight. It really is your own stupidity that will kill you. There’s not many places to hide in the food court when three men are wandering around with weapons and putting bullets into the brains of anyone who may or may not be dead. 

You listen to the man to your left walk from the directory and towards you. You heard about the saying of life flashing before your eyes, but you always thought it was some kind of film that would play in your mind in split seconds like it does in movies and books. Like some cheesy side-by-side film that someone took. That everything the brain would try to comfort you with is good memories of times that you wish you could stay in and of smiling loved ones; but, you understand now that it was an existential crisis rather than life. For you, every regret filled your mind like the flood gates released and your brain gave up trying to barricade them from you. You regret almost every decision you have made from the moment that you have forged papers to move countries. 

You regret not reaching out for your aunt and best friend, you regret not spending more time with Lauren and her family. You regret not looking more into universities for astrophysics degrees and careers. You regret not meeting your neighbors sooner and becoming part of their lives. There’s so much you wish you could change but you don’t have years, you have seconds left before a bullet is placed in your brain and the falcon wins. The falcon will finally get whatever the hell they want and you don’t know what that is. The fucking falcon. You tilt your head back and look up at the skylight above you. A falcon that only you can see stares down at you, the cloudy sky now a bright blue and clear of any clouds behind it; and through your stupidity, you thought it was forecasted to be cloudy all day. Actually, you were sure of it because Steven let you borrow Marc's jacket because it was cold and cloudy, right? 

Why does that matter when you’re about to die? You’re obsessing over the weather when you’re about to go into the afterlife. But, that's the thing, you’ve been obsessing over plenty of things lately. You were obsessed over theories of who the god may be and Jake brought up the idea that it might not be the same god who healed you; and as much as you hate to be the metaphorical lantern attracting mosquitoes as known as other deities, you agree with him. You carried around a protection symbol for months without any real knowledge of what it  might mean. It was the beacon for other deities, for the family members of Horus; and although you haven’t done any research on the family, you know a little about this particular god you carried around in a Ziploc baggie. God Horus was depicted as a falcon. He’s depicted as a falcon in the glimpse of the book that you saw on the table when Layla was baby-sitting you that day she brought paint and canvases for you. He was also sketched on the page you carried around as a falcon head and the lower half of the body being human. 

What if he’s been the falcon? But that second god, the one that healed you, was someone else? What if he was the one the god sitting on the window ledge of the apartment complex across from yours and eating that dead mouse? You stare into their beady eyes and he tilts his head to the side as if asking if you have figured it out yet; and you’re sure you have. You think you understand now. You think you know of an idea of who this god is and of course it’s the moment before death. In the corner of your eye, you can see the man raise his gun and aim it at you, but you keep your eyes trained on the falcon above you. You watch him spread his wings wide as if he was about to break through the window to swoop down and pick you up to only drop you from the air to crack your skull open like falcons do to their prey. 

Like how the god held out a window and threatened to drop you five stories to the pavement below. You wanted to die weeks ago in an alley after you lost your phone and was beaten and left for dead. But, that falcon was never there, you don’t remember looking up at the buildings and seeing them look down at you. So, why are they here now? Why is Horus here now? Why is he tilting his fucking head to the side and waiting for something to happen? Within the last near two months, you nearly became a different person. The you who wanted to die in that alleyway was not the same you in this moment. You’re not ready to die, and the one thing that you know about falcons? They like the thrill of hunting, they like the fight; and you sure as hell are not going down without one.

You swing your taser at the man feet from you and hit him directly in the nether region. The taser clings to the ground and rolls a few feet from him as he bends down to clutch himself. You quickly push yourself up onto your legs as he pulls the trigger and misses your feet by inches. You body slam your shoulder into him, causing him to stumble backwards a couple of feet from the impact and to drop his gun which you kick away. It slides across the floor and rests roughly eight or so feet from you and you take note of that. You curl your fingers into a fist and pull your arm back before letting out and punching him directly in the face. His head whips to the side and you shake your hand as pain erupts from it. Okay, maybe you still need to practice on your punches. 

“Perra.”  You spit out. He turns his head, clutching his face with one hand as he glares at you. A small trail of blood trails out of the corner of his lips and down his chin, you felt a little victorious at the sight. His brown eyes flicker towards you, an odd sense of calm in them which unnerves you as you lift up your hands and prepare yourself into a fighting stance just like your friends taught you. Feet shoulder length apart and hands up in front of your chest with your dominant hand being the furthest from your opponent. Deep breathe in and prepare to kick names and take ass or however that goes. Your eyes stung from the smoke and tears form, you blink them away as you watch the man stand there for a moment before reaching into his sweatshirt pocket and taking out a handkerchief. He gently pats it against his chin and you wait with baited breath for him to do something. You were already anxious but it made you more so as you wait for him to do something. Why wasn’t he swinging hands with you? Why was he being so calm?

You hear the sounds of broken glass crunching behind you and the feeling in your face becomes numb as your heart drops in your chest. Right. There were two other men with guns sweeping the place. Your heart drops in your chest as you watch him neatly fold the cloth and place it back into his pocket. He was confident the whole time because he had two men watching his six while you had yourself and a taser that’s on the ground. Great, you were about to become as holy as swiss cheese. You really shouldn’t have played hero. Layla was somewhere in the mall and all you can do is hope that she was safe and helping others out at one of the other entrances. You hope that she won’t stumble across your corpse but rather some poor EMT or police officer so she won’t have to deal with seeing you dead. 

You can feel eyes on you and you know it's not from the three cult members. Horus, his beady eyes burned into your skull and yet, you kept your own trained on the man before you. You took a deep breath, one that would be your last and you try not to go into a coughing fit as you try to prepare yourself for hopefully the one bullet that will enter your skull and take you out. Something flickers in your peripheral and you don’t bother to look at it, you hear the gunshots before the noise of them ricocheting off of something. You wince at the sound before you look over your shoulders and there stood Layla with her wing held up as a shield. You feel your heart skip a beat at the sight and a small grin settles across your face. 

Holy shit. Layla El-Faouly saves the day once again. You heard more clinging of the bullets ricocheting off of her wings. You breathe out a laugh, maybe you weren’t going to die just yet. You look back to the man in front of you and trailed your eyes to the fire, it was getting hotter in here. Sweat trails down your skin and your shirt clings to your body. 

“You should have fucking stayed hidden.” She says loudly. “I am grounding your ass when we get back.” You roll your eyes and jump a bit when a bullet enters into the tile a couple of feet away from your feet.

“We’ll talk about that if we make it out.” You reply. You’re not going to let her ground you but the thought of it was kind of amusing.

“Are you trying to negotiate with me?” She asks incredulously. You can feel her back brush against your own and you think you hear one of the men fall to the floor but you’re not sure. You hope that they’re being taken down while you prepare for your own fight with the man before you. He lifts up his sweat shirt and takes out a hunting knife. Why is it always the fucking knives with bad guys? First you brought a taser to a gunfight, and now it’s suddenly a knife fight and hand-to-hand combat. 

“No,” You say. “Just telling you we can talk about it.” She groans and you can feel the tension in the room come to a boiling point. So much for a day to relax and spend time with your friend. Why is it that every time you try to have fun, something has to come crashing down? 

“Just go hide!” She yells and as much as you want to, you just can’t allow her to sacrifice her life for everyone else. You know that Marc and Steven died in Cairo, but they never went into detail of how they died. Jake told you that Harrow shot them, but not much more than that and if Khonshu was around, why did he let his avatars die? And since they did die, Taweret can let Layla die too. She did say that she can heal, but couldn’t Marc and Steven get healed too as Khonshus avatars back in Cairo? You can’t hide and let her fight Harrows members alone, you can’t risk losing her.. So, you stand your ground in a burning building with smoke filling your lungs and making it difficult to breathe as you decide that you will die next to your friend's side so they are not alone.

You still owe Marc and Steven those strawberry waffles and you hope that you are able to buy it for them. You’re definitely going to haunt their ass if you do die here. You nearly freeze as you watch the man charge towards you and you manage to turn around and wrap your fist into Layla's cloth dress and pull her to the side so you’re both out of the path of the man barreling towards you. She tells you to fuck off and hide and you ignore her as she turns on her heels and tells you to duck, which you do. She pulls back her arm and punches him directly in the face, causing him to get slammed back several feet and skid across the floor, his skull caved in and crushed like a watermelon after dropping it from a balcony. You stare with wide eyes, your stomach churning as you pull your eyes away from his corpse and to her hand. It looked perfectly fine save for the blood coating that belongs to the man she just killed with a single punch. 

“What the fuck.” You breathe out. 

“Superhuman strength.” She says. “It's more than just stopping trucks going fifty miles an hour during a bank robbery.” You sputtered and tried to keep the bile down from rising into your throat. Holy fucking shit, she can handle herself. Oh god, you just watched a man get his face absolutely obliterated. Is he dead? You don’t even want to go over and check. You take in a deep breath and try to keep the tears at bay. God, you just watched a man's face get caved in by a single punch. The memory replayed in your mind and you try to distract yourself from the panic clawing its way up your throat as you force yourself to focus on what she just said. 

“A bank robbery?” You ask. When was that? You haven’t heard of any robberies in the news lately. “Was that in Switzerland?” She doesn’t say anything and that was enough of an answer for you. “That job in Switzerland had to do with you being an avatar didn’t it?” You watch her head bob up and down in confirmation and you huff out a breath. Oh fucking hell, of fucking course you’re finding this shit out during this shit-show. Why is everything revealed at the worst possible time? Why couldn’t she have just told you that she was still Tawerets avatar than keep it hidden? And, wait, hold on. What about that time you got held out a window and she had to leave that day? You ask and she gives you a small grimace. Holy fucking shit. 

“You were off doing missions and you couldn’t even tell me that?” You hiss. “I got held out a window and you just couldn’t tell me where you went?”

“Now is not the time to be fighting about this.” She says. “Pick a better time than to bring it up.” 

“When is it going to be a better time, when we have a fire burning down a building and a group of supporters for a god-damn cult shooting at us?” You ask. “Go ahead and tell me. Would it have been better for you to tell me when I was held out a fucking window or now when I’m about to get a bullet in my head?” You were rightfully pissed. At least you feel that way. 

“I told you to get your ass out of here.”

“And I’m not going.” You hiss out, she lifts up her wing and glances down at you with a disapproving look. 

“You spend too much time with Marc.” She says, “You’re acting just like he would.”

“Yeah, well. At least he didn’t keep the whole history of him being Khonshus ex-avatar.” You say. You flinch as a bullet implants itself into the wall a few feet above your head. You turn your head at the noise of the skylights shattering from the heat and the glass falling down upon you. It cuts into your skin and you hiss between your teeth at the feeling of it. The flames lick the walls and it nears the cinnamon roll restaurant that people are hiding in. More innocent people are going to die if you don’t evacuate soon. You force your anger onto the back burner as you turn your attention back to Layla. 

“How many members were there?” You ask. 

“In Switzerland?”

“No, in the fucking mall.”

“Seven.” She says. “Took down two in the food court and five over at the other entrances.” 

“Are they burning up?” You ask and she nods. Shit. Well, guess you can break down a store front window if you have to. You count on your fingers of the followers in the mall. “That's six people.”

“Number seven is being really stubborn.” She states with a click of her tongue. You frown and look at her as she holds up her other arm and shields herself from a bullet to the head. It was terrifying being in this situation. You look up towards the skylights as you try to come up with a solution for what to do. You’ve been on a time limit since the bomb went off, but now it’s really ticking down as the fire is beginning to burn the restaurant that the civilians are hiding in. You weren’t surprised when you saw Horus sitting on the edge of the skylight like the vulture he was acting as. Doubt begins to flood your mind as you feel the knot in your stomach loosen to a pinching feeling. It’s his prime opportunity to pick your ass up and toss you into the fire but all he has been doing is sitting there, waiting for something and that alone makes you become more unnerved. 

He’s been waiting, now that you think about it. He waited on the windowsill that day you were carving pumpkins, he made sure that you could see him and only you alone could see him. You have more concerning things right now than a mosquito near your lantern light. 

“Did you hear what I said?” She asks and you snap your gaze away from the deity and to her. You didn’t hear a word with all the noise around you and your focus being on the falcon.

“No, it's kind of hard when all I hear is the place burning down and the pounding in my ears.”

“I’m going to be moving so you need to find cover.” She repeats and you nod slowly. Right, okay. You need to get your ass moving then. 

“Okay,” You tell her. You look around you for a possible hiding spot and decide that the best place is the wall separating the food court or going back through the employees door and taking cover in there. Maybe carbon monoxide poisoning isn’t the worst way to go compared to burning alive. Your head spins as your tongue darts out of your mouth to wet your lips. You can only hope that he’s running out of bullets and he’s keeping one for himself. You look at Layla and nod once and you watch as she looks towards the man with a focused and pissed look. You know you’re going to be on the receiving end of that after you get out of here. You hated it when your parents narrowed their eyes and their lips curled when you did something that angered them. Layla was going to have an awfully similar look soon. You wait for her to run towards him before you move to the food court walls but seeing her fly at the man made you nearly stop in your tracks. Holy fucking shit, she can fly?? 

You crouch next to the walls and whip your head to your left as someone with a white cape lands on the tiled floor below the skylight with their leg and arm stuck out and hand placed down in a superhero pose. Jake Lockely has entered the game. He stood slowly and you couldn’t see the expression he wore due to his mask but you can tell from the way that he held himself that he looked pissed. You would hate to be on the receiving end of his anger. Oh shit, you hung up on him. You’re about to be on that receiving end soon. Of course you pissed off two people who are avatars of deities. Might as well keep it consistent, you guess. You watch him stride around the food court until he is no longer visible due to the wall separating you. You would peek over it but with the noise of fighting and bullets flying, you don’t think it’s a good idea to look. 

You turn your head to your left and squint through the smoke to someone crawling on the floor. You frown, was the smoke getting to your head enough that you’re now hallucinating? Maybe you’re too dehydrated from the heat and constant sweating that it’s now catching up to you. You narrow your eyes once you can visibly see the man that you thought Layla killed with one punch crawling towards something on the floor. Wasn’t that where the gun landed when you kicked it away? You watch him belly crawl closer to the small object in the distance as you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. You can clearly see the blood on his face and you saw his face cave in, how the fuck is he still alive? They’re like fucking cockroaches, near damn impossible to kill. He was closer to the weapon on the floor, you don’t want him to get ahold of the gun unless he was going to end himself with it, but lately they seem more likely to do harm to anyone including themselves. 

You can see your taser resting feet from you, all you have to do is grab the taser and put it into his neck. Maybe his heart is doing shitty enough that the voltage would knock his ass out and Jake or Layla could end him. You were dumb enough to come out here to play hero and now you’re dumb enough to consider risking your life to have someone else end his. At least you were consistent. You can hear Jake and Layla fighting alongside each other as you decide to run towards the taser and scoop it up. A bullet whizzes past you and implants itself into the wall next to you, nearly causing you to falter in your plan to stop the member from getting the weapon. You turn your head and Layla looks more pissed and Jake does too. The man they were fighting was no longer fighting them but aiming at you. 

You watch as Jake grabs the man by the back of the neck and you tear your gaze away before you can see what happens next. You jog to the man who is now inches from the gun, his hand outstretched and you kick it away. You turn your taser in your grasp so your thumb is resting on the button. His hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you down, your head slamming against the tiled flooring and the flames licking the ceiling above you. He crawls up your body and wraps his hands around your throat, gripping tightly and applying enough pressure to block any air from entering into you. You were able to see his face a hell of a lot more clearly thanks to this amazing view above you. The fire light helped light up his face which didn’t look very pretty. His eye was caved in and his nose too, flesh that should never see the light of day was making its grand debut just for you and dripping blood directly onto your face and Marc's shirt.

If it wasn’t for all of your air supply being cut off and black spots appearing at the edge  of your vision, you would be thinking about how fucking gross it is to see the inside of someone's meat suit. Ammits supporters are really like fucking cockroaches aren’t they? Your left hand darts up to wrap around his wrist as if you alone can push a grown ass man off of you. Your right hand began to swing the taser at his skull as if it was a rock. You couldn’t breathe and panic was settling in. His blood flicked onto you with each impact of the taser and you didn’t care at the moment, you just wanted him off of you and to stop the burning in your lungs from the lack of oxygen. You pointed the prongs into his skull and held down the button, he doesn’t let go of you but rather seems to fight through the pain to tighten his grip on your throat. Fucking fuck. 

Playing hero and now dying with the consequences of it. Your vision was like staring at a static television, but with flames flickering behind the screen. You can feel your grip loosening on the taser until it clings to the floor and your hand around his wrist slackens. Your eyes begin to flutter shut and you can vaguely recognize that this is the first stage of passing out. If he continues to hold his grip on you after you go under, you will die and Horus will win. Fuck Horus, you think. Your brain short circuits and you don’t know exactly when you do pass out but when you come back, you can hear Layla talking to you. 

“You’re alright,” She says. You can feel that your cheek is pressed against the cloth shoulder of her dress and the smell of smoke, sweat, blood, and something else fills your nostrils. You can feel her chest pushing slightly into your side as she hugs you close. “I got you, c’mon breathe.” She adds. Your eyes flutter open and you can see and feel the heat of the fire near you. You can feel someone's fingers brush against your cheek and you turn your head slightly to see Jake staring down at you with concern written on his face. He must have been the one to get the man off of you. Your eyes trail past him and you can see the man stilled with his neck bent at an odd angle. There's a difference between watching someone get killed and being the reason that someone is killed; and neither feels good even if it was to get the man to stop choking you. 

You feel sick seeing the sight of the man and it must have shown on your face because Jake tilts your head towards you and says, “¿Estás bien, pequeño?” His mask was gone, but he still wore the rest of the suit. Your eyes meet his brown ones and you would have expected to see that hardness but for the first time since you met him they were softer than ever, just for you. You still don’t know what he said, but you feel like you have to reassure him that you were okay. 

“I’m okay.” You tell him, your voice cracking halfway though. Your throat hurts when you speak and you know that bruises will be in the form of handprints tomorrow. You’re going to have a difficult time explaining to anyone that it’s not what they think, you’re not going to be able to tell them that you were at the mall because you can’t afford to be interviewed by the police. 

“We need to get them out of here.” You add. The building was coming down and there are more people who are going to die if you don’t get them out. You were wasting too much time being checked on by your friends. Layla nods in agreement. 

“You think you can walk?” She asks, her fingers brush gently against your cheek. You can walk, it might take you a while since all energy seems to be drained out of you but you will get out on your own time. 

Jake seems to pick up on this because he says, “Give me the kid. I’ll carry them out. You work on getting everyone else.” You want to protest but you’re so fucking exhausted. He crouches down and you’re transferred from the lap of Layla and into his arms, your head rests against his shoulder as he brings his arms underneath your legs and his other arm wraps around your back to help support you before he stands. You were nothing but a bag of flour in his arms thanks to the super strength Khonshu grants him. You feel safe in his arms, the safest that you have been all day. 

You bounce a bit in his grip as he walks, his thumb rubs soft circles in your arm as he moves. To comfort him or you, you don’t know. You were about to pass underneath a skylight and you turn your gaze upwards, expecting to see Horus and you were ready to tell him off and give him a defiant look saying: See? I’m still alive, bitch. But, as you pass, all you saw was blue sky and smoke; and no sign of the god ever being there.

Chapter Text

The ride to the apartment was tense and quiet. You were sitting in the back seat of a stolen car that Jake took with Layla next to you. You would have bitched or teased or generally said something about the thief that Jake is, but you were too exhausted mentally and physically to talk. Instead, you sat with your head leaned against the cool window and Layla's hand grasped in yours. Occasionally, you peeked at the front seat and saw Jake's eyes flickering in the rearview mirror towards the two of you. It wasn’t the limo that Jake took, it was some poor civilian's car and it was going to smell like smoke for the next few weeks. You were sure that the stench you carried from the burning building wouldn’t leave you or your clothes for a long time, let alone the civilian's vehicle. 

Layla's thumb rubbed the back of yours the entire time that she held it. Your conjoined hands rested on the middle cushion as the cool window helped lower your body heat and bring some relief to the pounding in your skull. Your clothes clung to you due to the sweat your body created and you wanted to take a shower; but with the tense silence you knew that there was a ticking bomb counting down and about to explode. Your throat hurts, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window and you could tell that bruises already have begun to form. You don’t know what you’re going to tell Lauren on Monday when you have to go to work. 

She will panic and harass you for any information on who did this to you. She’ll assume that it was your uncle and she will get the police involved, you know that she will do this because she cares and wants you to be safe. So, whatever story you come up with has to be good and believable. Maybe you have a turtleneck shirt you can wear underneath your work uniform. You have a little less than forty-eight hours to come up with something because you can’t just tell Lauren that you were at the mall with a cultist's hands around your neck. You hope that you won’t end up on the news, you desperately don’t want this to go viral and go international. As much as you miss your best friend, you don’t want her trying to get in contact with you and bitch about you being missing for the last two years. You don’t want to hear about her disappointment in you ghosting everyone. 

It was Marc who opens the back door of the car and crouches in front of you when the vehicle was finally parked. He holds the brown leather jacket he let you borrow, you think that Layla grabbed it before she left and you were glad that she did because you completely forgot about it. He stares at you in silence, his eyes saying everything and nothing at the same time. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice is so quiet that you would have thought you imagined it if you didn’t see his lips move. You are okay, you’ve been trying not to think of the dead kid's eyes staring back at you or of the baby that is most likely an orphan now. You felt terrible that you were a little jealous of those teenagers and now they are dead. You can feel the inside of your throat close and your nose sting. You were alive and they were dead; and they were just children. They were kids caught in the crossfire of war. What the fuck did the cult even want anyways? Why would they want to look for ways to raise or release Ammit and come to the conclusion to set bombs and shoot civilians? How the fuck did they get from point A to point Z? 

Was it a random chance that you just happened to be at the mall on the day that they were going to initiate this dumbass idea? Or was it hell of a lot more complicated than that? People were dead and a handful of cult members were too, but they had to have planned on dying. It had to be a suicide mission in their minds, they planned on killing people, why? Why go out of their way to kill others if they want Ammit to judge people of their evil doings before it is committed. Isn’t that counter-productive for them because it is an evil doing for Ammit? Why go for children? Why are so many children dying in the path of what they believe is righteousness?

The memory of the mother carrying the girl on her hip and the flash of orange light in the smoke from the gun fire replays in your mind. The sight of the boy's filmy eyes staring at you feels like it’s burning itself into your soul and you try to rid your mind of it as Marc says your name softly. You’re not going to get his eyes out of your mind until the day you die, aren’t you?

You nod slowly, somehow knowing that he was pressing the question of how you’re feeling without hearing it fall out of his mouth and into the tense air between the three of you. You watch him press his lips together and you can’t find it in you to care enough that he doesn’t believe you. Filmy eyes that will never blink. Filmy eyes that will never have the corners of them crinkled as his cheeks that still had baby fat press upwards from a grin. Filmy eyes that will never see another sunset or sunrise or the constellations in the night sky. Filmy eyes that were left staring at you and Layla as you both reunited in the aftermath of the bombs. He had to have his last breath exhaled as he stared at Layla clutching your own cheeks. 

You being held by someone you care for was the last thing he ever saw and he died alone and scared. Marc’s fingers knit between your own as he pulls you out of the car and onto your wobbling legs. His own eyes crinkle in worry and you’re reminded that the dead kid's own eyes will never do that again. You felt guilty. Why are you still alive? Why aren’t you dead? Why were you the one who had the tangled strings to the god that let you be aware of his presence? Why didn’t you say something sooner or notice the men carrying the duffle bags around? You noticed the group of teens laughing and having fun but not a duffle bag in the mall. Why were you so wrapped up in your own jealousy that you didn’t see the red flags? 

Marc carries you up the stairs on his back with your arms wrapped over his shoulders and his hands hooked underneath your thighs. You don’t process much of the journey into the apartment building or the elevator ride up to the fifth floor. Your head rests against Marc's back as you hear the jingle of keys and the sight of Gus' fish tank as Marc passed and sat you on the dining room chair that you were sitting in just hours ago. You lean back in the seat with your fingers rubbed against each other, the smell of smoke, sweat, and the faint smell of cinnamon fills your nostrils as you try to ground yourself and get rid of the filmy eyes staring at you. You look at the brown leather jacket being set on the back of the chair, you can see the outline of your phone resting in its pocket. 

The same phone that you hung up on Jake. The same phone Marc bought for you so they could be in contact with you. The deal you made to answer the phone all those months ago repeated in your head. You made that deal to pick up their calls so they would know you’re alive, and you hung up on them in a burning building while a group of cultists shot up the place. Does it still work or did the heat fry it enough to make it no longer function? Does it matter since you’re probably going to be turned into the police by tomorrow? You’re going to go back to the United States and be arrested and jailed for a few dozen years and your friends won’t have to worry about you because you’ll no longer be in their life. 

It’s difficult to process the consequences of your actions when you were sure that you were going to die. If you’re completely honest with yourself, you didn’t plan on being alive. You wanted to live, you wanted to see Steven, Marc, Jake, and Layla live and laugh and perhaps forgive each other for their fuck ups, but you didn’t think you would be alive and sitting in the same spot you were in this morning. You thought you would die there. A bullet to the head, a minute or two longer of a grip around your neck. Maybe the fire burning you alive while you scream in agony. But here you are, alive and not so well; and you felt guilty about breathing while so many others were not. You know you have to move on, to not let this consume you. You know you’re going to have to continue with your life but at the moment that seems absolutely impossible. 

The idea of going back to your regular life and doing normal things such as the homework due Monday or the nine to five job you have as a fast food worker was something you could not comprehend. How can you pretend like nothing happened? How can you shove every emotion you have down into the pit in your stomach and force yourself not to feel the immense guilt you are currently going through? How can you ignore the filmy eyes staring back at you and telling you that you should have noticed something sooner? But no, you were too wrapped up in looking for a yellow sweater and watching a group of kids, who will now be forever the same age, have fun. It’s all your fault for not noticing something sooner. It’s your fault that a group of teenager's are dead and a baby is an orphan and a mom and daughter are dead. There’s so much blood on your hands that you will never be able to wash off. 

You can feel numbness slipping over you like a blanket being wrapped around your shoulders as you stare at the floorboards near Marc's feet. His shoes were dirty from the ash of the burning building and the daily routine of going out in public. The floors were dirty and Steven was beginning to complain about them lately, you offered to clean them but he refused to let you. He’ll probably clean them spotless by tomorrow whether it's because he had seen enough of the dirty flooring or because the stress from today will make him exert energy by manic cleaning. You can see Marc's feet shuffle from side to side before he forces himself to stand in one spot. The only noise in the room was from Gus tank and the sound of the heater beginning to shake. 

It was an old thing, the city didn’t seem to renovate the apartment buildings enough for new technology for the people who needed a long term place to stay after coming back from the blip. You think they had to find it at an antique store or a yard sale. Perhaps they did find it online but it was so old that it was sold at half price. Either way, the heater was running all night and morning and now it was beginning to pay the price by bringing noises to the tense silence between the three of you. You just wanted to take a shower and sleep, but the thought of your wants made you feel even more guilty. Those people won’t ever get another shower or another full night of rest. Your stomach churns with guilt and it makes you feel sick. It’s your fault that they are dead. 

“You’re still Tawerets avatar?” Marc asks, his voice cuts through the tension like a knife. You can hear him ask the question clearly, but for some reason it feels like you’re in another room and eavesdropping on the conversation. “After you told me that you are no longer working for Taweret.” 

“I am.” Layla says. You keep your eyes trained on the floor, there were scratch marks from years of scuff and use. A ball of lint rests next to Marc's feet as you hear him scoff. “Except I am working with Taweret, not for.”

“Why would you lie to me? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were alive?” She retorts. “I thought you were dead for months until you sent me unsigned divorce papers and even then you didn’t pick up your phone; or how about you didn’t tell me that you only met me because you felt guilty that you were there the night my father was murdered.” You hear Marc inhale a sharp breath. You know that you shouldn’t be here for this conversation no matter how nosey you are. It was supposed to be a private conversation between two people but apparently neither gives a shit; at least not after today.

“I didn’t mean to get him killed.” He says. He sounds small like a kid defending himself. You can feel his statement repeat in your mind and sink deep into your bones. It felt clear and personal even though it was about two very different people. 

“But you lead them there.” She states, it wasn’t a question but a fact, You feel like all air was taken from you and you think you feel like Marc does now. She’s right, you lead a god there and you couldn’t comprehend the duffle bag in time. It’s your fault so many people are dead. He doesn’t reply to her statement and it feels like a nail to the coffin for both of you. It sealed your fate, you killed so many people and there's no going back from this. You want to cry but you don’t want them to pity you. 

“She isn’t like Khonshu, y’know?” She says after a moment. “I get a say in things and she respects my decisions. She doesn’t threaten me or anyone I love. She’s kind and cares for me.” Taweret already sounds a hell of a lot better than Khonshu. Wasn’t she the one who balanced Marcs and Stevens' hearts on a scale and helped them get back to life? Your head hurts and the pounding in your skull was making it difficult to think. You deserve much worse than this, you are the reason so many people are dead. 

“You’ve been putting yourself in danger this whole time.” He says softly. You have been putting yourself in danger. You hung up. You stayed in the mall with the knowledge that you could die. You stayed with your friends and ignored Jake's warnings. You could have walked away but you stayed because you’re too afraid to be alone again. 

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Marc.” She seethes. “You’ve been putting yourself in danger long before you met me.” That is true, you did travel over a thousand miles and cut off all contact with everyone who remained in your old life. You could have gotten killed way before you met Marc and Steven in that alley way. You could have been became a news headline for a local murder, another static for young deaths. You could have become another victim of Harrow's cult without realizing how tangled his own strings were, you wouldn’t have known who he was or his intentions unless he told you them like those stupid villain's in children's shows and books. 

She takes a deep breath and you listen to her shudder as she exhales. She says, “I need a break.” You feel your heart drop at her statement. You would need a break from yourself too if you were her. She was giving up on you. You fucked up too much. She told you to leave and get to safety but you put yourself in danger and she’s upset with you. She was going to walk away from you and never look back. She’s going to block your phone number and you’ll be left wondering if she is alive or not. It sounds like something you did to your best friend. Now the tables have turned and you’re the one being left to rot. Karma was finally reaching you. 

“Okay,” He says. His voice is small and you feel exactly like that. Small and unwanted. He doesn’t put up a fight and neither do you. Your throat closes in on itself as you try to wrap the numbness around yourself like it was a cocoon. You notice her feet move a few steps and stand in front of you before you feel her hand cup your cheek. The affection startles you for a moment but quickly you push it down as her thumb brushes against your cheek and she tilts your head upwards.  

“Are you okay?” She asks. She looks old like the past few hours aged her enough that she was wiser and more likely to have a heart attack. She’s just asking to be nice, you tell yourself, she doesn’t really care. She knows how many you killed today. You numbly nod despite it being a lie and she doesn’t look like she believes you; but she doesn’t push you and you’re grateful that she chooses not to. You don’t think you could argue with her about how you’re actually feeling.

“I’m going to go,” She tells you and promises to call you later tonight. You’re surprised that she trusts you enough not to hang up or decline her call. You’re even more surprised that she wants to talk to you. She gives you a sad look and you don’t like that it’s directed towards yourself. She lets go of your face for a moment before bending down and pressing her lips to your forehead. You feel like you don’t deserve her pity or affection. She removes her lips from your skin before walking towards the door and opening and shutting it behind her. A break, she needs a break from you and she just came back less than twenty four hours ago. You haven’t seen her in weeks and she told you that she needs a break.

You stare at the door for a moment longer than you would like before your eyes glue themselves back to the ball of lint on the floor next to Marc's feet. You thought he would switch with Steven and let the man fuss over you and scold you or at the very least march off towards the living room and sit down in front of the television to distract himself; so when he began to speak it nearly made you jump.

“You hung up,” He says. “You could have died and I-” He stops himself, the silence between you says what he doesn’t. You could have died and he would blame himself. The guilt that has been punching you in the stomach was now aiming for your face to knock your ass out. Apologizing won’t be enough. Promising them that you won’t do it again won’t even suffice. You hung up on them with the intention of not knowing if you’ll make it out; and what makes it even worse, Steven once explained to you that they feel like they have a responsibility to make sure you are alright since they found out that you are not an adult. You put them in that situation of not knowing and that makes you feel terrible. You know exactly how he feels because if the roles were reversed, you would be just as upset or if not more than he is. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper out. It doesn’t sound like it comes from you but the voice does. You don’t know if he heard or not but either way the apology was clearly not going to be enough. Your eyes trail away from the ball of lint and to his face. He shakes his head, his eyes were red either from the effects of the smoke or the tears building up in his eyes. His hands shake and you can feel your guilt punching your jaw at the sight. Your apology was never going to be enough, you fucked up hard. He rubs his face before huffing out a breath and grabbing the jacket Layla set on the back of the chair not too long ago. He pulls it on and stuffs his hands into the pocket, and you know that he smells the smoke from the fire remaining on his clothes. You can still smell it on you and it stung your nostrils and eyes a bit. 

You knew that he felt your phone in his pocket because he pulls it out and sets it hard onto the table, a loud click of the device smacking the surface of the furniture causes you to wince a little. He was going somewhere that was clear enough and as much as you want the reassurance that you’re going to be okay, that they will come and always save your ass, you couldn’t allow yourself to accept it. You killed people today, you killed several children. Everything was your fault. You bite your wobbling lip and try to sink further into the numbness.

“Where are you going?” You ask. You watch his shoulders tense before a slow breath is released from him. He was like a caged animal needing out and space, the same space that Layla wants. He needs a break from you too. He needs to think and process and feel without your presence being near him and you can respect that. But you need to know where he is so you can get his body, Khonshu can kill them at any moment as far as you know. They haven’t clearly told you why their god let them die in Cairo. 

“Out.” He states. You wring your hands together. Getting information from him was like pulling teeth. 

“Well, can you at least tell me-”

“Can you stop.” He cuts you off. It wasn’t a question, but a demand. “Just shut up and let me fucking breathe.” Your heart drops in your chest and you stare at him with wide eyes as his flicker to the fish tank. How can this change so quickly? This morning he was telling you to zip up his jacket to keep warm and dry and now he’s telling you that you’re being too much? That you need to be quiet? 

Your eyes cast downwards to the ball of lint on the floor. You don’t want to fight him. He huffs out a breath and you will yourself to be smothered in the blanket of numbness wrapped around you. His shoes leave ash marks on the floor as they disappear out of your sight. You hear the door open and shut behind him, the lock doesn’t click and you don’t bother to get up and bolt it shut. Your nose stings and the smell of smoke and sweat clings to your senses. You squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself not to cry as glassy eyes stare back at you in the darkness behind your lids.

Chapter Text

It was weird standing in an empty apartment that belongs to your friend without anyone else being in the place. You’ve only been in Stevens apartment once without him, his alters, or Layla being there with you and that was when you snooped through their belongings to search for shit on Marc. It didn’t feel right then and it still doesn’t now. It is too quiet and ominous; and you don’t like it at all. You’re used to the noise of the fish tank which has become a background noise for you and you’re also used to the sound of the traffic and the neighbors walking around their own flats. But the sound of being alone in your friend's apartment without the feeling of another human being occupying the same space as you felt wrong. 

You were waiting for Steven to talk about some interesting fact or Marc to turn on the television and watch his sports games; or for Jake to make a surprise appearance and tease you for your bad pronunciation in Spanish and demand some knowledge of whatever constellation. But, you’ve been having to remind yourself that Marc is gone, that he took the body out and he hasn’t been back for hours;and it was beginning to look like he wouldn’t be for the rest of the night. It was nearing seven in the evening and you were sitting on the couch, picking at the thread of the sweatshirt you took from Marc since you have yet to do your own laundry and half watching television and half keeping your gaze on the door you locked before you took a shower. You smell like them. You used their shampoo and conditioner and scrubbed your body of soot and dirt with their body wash until you were red and sure that your first layer of skin was gone. 

You haven’t eaten anything, you were too nervous to eat and you think that if you did your stomach wouldn’t agree and you will end up sick. You know that Steven won’t agree if he were to ask if you have eaten something but you haven’t seen him since this morning; back when they were fussing over you being warm and having enough money for the mall. You still don’t understand how things can change so quickly. It felt like a rubber band was suddenly pulled back and released, that there was no time to experience long term tension before it was flying. You haven’t tried to call them yet, you know that Marc needs to cool down and you know that you crossed a line by hanging up. They probably thought the worst during those few minutes that you didn’t keep contact with them. They must have thought you were dead and Jake did say that if you were to die, your death would destroy Marc and Steven. 

Those few minutes that they didn’t know must have done enough damage for them to act like this. Especially Marc, you haven’t heard from Steven since this morning and you know that you fucked up even worse when he doesn’t have a say in anything or makes a appearance. You thought he would comfort you or say something in the terms of comforting you but he hasn’t and that makes guilt pour out of you and drown you. You’re aware that you fucked up, and just saying that you messed up was a understatement. You know you killed people today, there’s no forgiveness in that and they are aware that you killed people and that you could have been added to the list. 

You guess you’re just around to experience the release of the rubber band and wait for what's next. You don’t know if you care enough for the consequences of your actions. You’re a murderer, you brought a god to a mall and you couldn’t even tell them about the bag in time. You didn’t even notice the odd sight of the duffle bags in a public area until the knot in your stomach formed and tightened and tugged until it got your attention to actually look around and take everything in. Was the God warning you? Why would they warn you? Why would they take the time to make you aware if they wanted something from you? You don’t know, but you’re sure of two things. One: There will be more strict ground rules if they decide not to turn you in. Two: You can’t stick around them for much longer. 

You are a magnet for danger, you put everyone in danger, especially today. You took so many lives that you’re basically a serial killer and you deserve much worse than the pounding in your skull. If they return you in, it will make it much easier to break off the friendship you formed with them than it would be if you were to straight up tell them that you can’t do this anymore. 

The picture of Layla in Switzerland was glowing on the screen with the accept or decline option for the phone call. You aren’t going to lie, you were a bit upset with her for not telling you she was Tawerets avatar still. You’re glad that she has some protection but you didn’t know for months and you were worried for her. You were also a little surprised that she was calling even though she said she would. You thought she might be too upset to call so early in the evening, it was only near seven pm and you were thinking she might call last minute before she goes to bed; or she stated that she was going to call you just to be nice and give you comfort you don’t deserve and not actually call you. But, here you were, watching your phone vibrate on the cushions of the couch with her name glowing on the screen. 

For a heart fleeting moment, you thought about ignoring it and letting it go straight to voicemail, but that would be cruel to do. So, with guilt forming a lump in your throat, you pick up your phone and swipe accept on the screen before bringing it to your ear. 

“There you are,” She breathes out. You think you hear relief in her voice but you don’t want to accept it. “Did I wake you?” More guilt floods your system, she really thought that you could be asleep and not debating on ignoring her call. 

“No,” You say. A moment of silence falls between you and you think about how much that statement says before you’re adding, “I was in the bathroom…” The lie trips you and you don’t know if she believes you or not but she doesn’t push it. You just don’t want to hurt her feelings. You listen to her breathe on her end of the line and you can’t help but be grateful that you’re listening to her do so in such a simple action. Still, guilt tastes bitter on your tongue for others who can’t listen to their friends or family breathe tonight. You shouldn’t be breathing at all. 

“Are you okay?” She asks. She probably doesn’t mean it, she’s just asking to be nice before she helps your neighbors return you in for fraud. She’s trying to get you into a sense of comfort before she does what should have been done in the first place. 

“Yeah,” You lie to her. The statement rolls off your tongue a bit too easily. “Are you?” The question was honest, you are preparing yourself for the next few days of unknown things. You don’t know how your friends feel after the strings you pulled today, leading a god to a mall, killing civilians, nearly dying yourself multiple times. You need to prepare yourself for jail and going back to the United States and becoming untangled from these three people you grew too close to. You know that you said you would drag the men down with you if they ever did call the police on you, but you don’t think you will. 

“Yeah,” She breathes out and you’re not sure if you believe her. You let silence settle between you and you think about hanging up to make the hurt a little more tolerable and to begin to distance yourself so that the inevitable hurt in the United States won’t be as bad. But, you don’t, you listen to her soft breaths and you silently thank Taweret for not letting her die this time. 

“I was worried about you,” She says. “We were worried you wouldn’t make it out.” Your stomach knots and you feel guilty and a little sick. You swallow and try not to let the tears pooling in your eyes spill over and run down your cheeks. Your eyes trail from the television and to the soot footprints on the floor, maybe you should clean up the place and take your stuff to make it easier to disappear from their lives. 

“I’m sorry.” You say, this time you really mean it. You were one hundred percent honest in how sorry you are about making them worry. “I was worried about you guys.” You weakly say. But the sentence sounds just like how you say it: weak. They’re both avatars of deities that, as far as you know, have no reason to let them die anytime soon; and she reminds you of that.

“Jake and I are avatars of gods,” she says. “They won’t let us die since we work with them.”

“But Khonshu let Steven and Marc die back in Cairo.” You protest. 

“Khonshu became imprisoned in stone, that's why they died.” She pauses and you felt so stupid for staying in a burning building to help Layla and others that you killed try to get out. “Did you really think that we would die?” Your silence says enough for her and you almost cry. She says your name softly as if she was caressing your cheek with her fingers and you try to ignore the lump forming in your throat. 

“Taweret wouldn’t let me die.” She tries to reassure you and perhaps herself. “She wouldn’t let you die either.”

“What?”

“That night that you got mugged.” She starts and your mouth slowly parts open. No fucking way. “Taweret just...knew something was wrong and she-she told me and I begged for her to heal you and she did.”

“At what cost?” You ask and she stays silent. No deity would heal people out of the kindness of their heart. Steven said that Taweret was kind to them on the boat but you doubt that she is kind enough to heal a human just because her avatar begged for her to do so. 

“I’m no longer her temporary avatar but her long term one.”

“Fucking hell, Layla.” 

“It was worth it.”

“The fuck it was.” You hiss out between your teeth. Everything when you and Marc told her what happened made sense, she didn’t question much about it but she was angry and now that you were thinking about it, she was probably angry at herself for not being there. Since Taweret was the one to heal you, is it like claiming territory? You hate to think of yourself as an object or something, but did she claim you or was it something different? Does it matter now since you’re sure you’re going back to the States?  

“It was worth it,” She repeats. You heavily disagree with that. Jake was Khonshus long term avatar and so was Marc and Steven, and it was clear that they are still suffering from the effects of it. Now, Layla was going to suffer the same fate as them all because she couldn’t let you die in a stairwell. You were the reason she was chained to the life of being an avatar for a debt that will take her entire life to pay off and if not, a good portion of her life. Marc was Khonshus avatar for ten years before he was able to break off the deal, Layla was just starting out. You were the reason all bad things happened to them since they met you. You are the lantern that attracts more than just deities but bad things too, you are a magnet for terrible situations. 

They will be glad enough to get rid of you and get you out of their hair. They will no longer have to deal with you. If one good thing happened today, this was it. You found out what goddess was interested in you enough to heal you; but you didn’t deserve to be healed. You should have died in the stairwell, or when he pulled the knife on you; or the first time he tried to mug you back in June. You should be dead, along with the many others you killed today. You close your eyes and glassy eyes stared back at you. He was only a kid, just a couple of years younger than you. 

She says your name softly and you peel open your eyes, trying to get rid of the sight of the teens gaze looking at you. You just couldn’t get it out of your head, the last thing he saw was you and Layla making sure the other was alright and he didn’t have that. He didn’t have anyone to hold his hand as he breathed out his last breath, he must have been so terrified. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks quietly. You try to focus on the sound of the fish tank as you mull the question over in your own mind. You feel like you can’t tell her the truth about how you killed everyone in the mall, because when you’ll say it aloud she will have to agree and you don’t want to hear her accept it. 

“Mainly about how stupid your decsion was.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” She says and you feel like you’re drowning in your own guilt. You don’t have much room to talk, you stayed in a burning building that was being shot up because you didn’t want to leave Layla and the other people who got dragged into this mess. You were willing to risk your life if it meant she would be safe, and she was willing to chain herself to a decade of avatar work if it meant that you were alive; and that was a hard thing to swallow especially with the lump forming in your throat. How can you say you can’t be around them anymore since she's willing to go to this great length to ensure your safety? How can you tell them that you can’t be with them because of the attraction you pull from gods and cults when Jake stole a car to reach you and Layla in time? 

Maybe it will be easier for you and for them if you were to slowly disappear from their lives. That break that Layla wants would be a perfect start, you can give Marc the breathing room that he wants and you can pretend you aren’t in your own flat if Steven comes knocking. But, as much as it is a good place to begin your distance, a small part of you hopes that she doesn’t mean it; and if she does, then it would be even better to begin sooner than later. Cut all ties before you’re back to laying on your sofa, too sad to go to work. 

“Do you really want a break from me?” You ask quietly, the question slips from your mouth before you even had the thought to ask. 

“A break?” She asks with confusion laced into her tone. “Why do you think that I do?” 

You swallow, “Because you said so.”

“To Marc, I did.” She pauses and says honestly, “Table thief, I would never want a break from you.” You close your eyes to stop the flow of tears threatening to spill over. It was going to be much more difficult to disappear from her life after she said that statement. You try to tell yourself that she’s only saying that because she’s trying to be nice towards the end of your friendship. 

“I’m sorry for what I did, Layla.” You say and just like how you knew with Marc and his alters, an apology won’t be enough. 

“Do you need me to come over?” She asks after a few moments and you shake your head despite her not being able to see you. “Where’s Marc?” His last words replay in your head, you never had a fight this bad before and it was more of a one way argument than both ways. You didn’t open your mouth to retaliate, you did ask him where he was going and he told you to shut up. You let the blanket of numbness wrap around you once more and you wish that it would suffocate you and leave you for the grim reaper to collect you. 

“He left.” You numbly tell her. “He told me to shut up and let him breathe before he left.”

“He told you to shut up?” She asks incredulously, and you nod. Your silence was enough of an answer for her, “I’m going to talk to him, lemme know when he gets back.” She sounds protective and a little upset for you, but you don’t want to accept that. It would just make it harder to leave.

“He might be in a bar somewhere or a liquor store…” She adds. You press your lips together. You hate to think of Marc drinking away his problems because of your fuck up. He must hate you so much that he has to run away and drink away the issues you caused for him, Steven, and Jake. You know that he does hate you, but still you want to be reassured that there might not be a chance that he dislikes you. 

“Do you think he hates me?” You ask quietly. She doesn’t answer for a moment and you know that her rejection of the statement will be false, especially if she’s taking more than a few seconds to answer. 

“No,” She says and you close your eyes. She’s a liar, if you didn’t know her as well as you do, you would think she’s being honest. “Marc doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings well and…we weren’t sure if you were going to make it out.” You peel open your eyes as your mind flashes to the filmy orbs you can’t erase. You wish that the blanket smothered you. 

“He was worried about you and he doesn’t know how to express that.” She finishes. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. 

“I’m sorry I had to leave,” She says. “I didn’t want to say something I didn’t mean and I just- I was so-” She stops herself and you sniffle. You already know what she felt because you felt it too. Worried, they were worried for you and yet, you were guilty of mass murder. You don’t tell her how you don’t deserve their worry because of the people you killed, you don’t want to hear her tell you how wrong you are or maybe how right you are. You definitely don’t want their pity and you don’t want the confirmation about how correct you truly are in believing that you killed dozens of people. You’re scared that they might actually confirm how you feel is right.

Silence settles between you again and you listen to her soft breaths on her end and you think she’s listening to yours unless she was zoning out. 

“Have you thought about therapy?” She asks, you can hear a little hesitation in her tone. The question was so completely unexpected that it threw you off track. You tilt your head a little to the side as you process her question while she adds, "There's no shame in asking for help.” Therapy. Right. 

“I thought about it,” You admit. It was almost a year ago that you considered it but didn’t go through with it because of the strings of fraud and the possibility of getting caught. It stressed you out so much that you had to decide that it wasn’t for you at the moment and put it on the back burner. Now, here you are nearly a year later with worse mental health and new trauma like it was a bonus prize in a video game. You don’t even know how you would talk to a therapist about the shit you’ve been through in the past four months alone. Deities, cults, near death experiences, muggings, killing people, and being stalked. Maybe your therapist would need a therapist for themselves after hearing about your life for the past few months.

“And?” She presses.

“I don’t think it’s for me at the moment.” You say, you can hear her exasperated sigh over the phone. “What about you? Have you gone to therapy for your dads murder?” You don’t mean to sound like you were pointing out her own unresolved trauma but it feels like it comes out that way to your own ears. You wince and inhale a sharp breath, waiting for her to tell you to shut the fuck up and hang up, but she doesn’t. Instead, she answers you honestly and much more calmly than you expected her to. 

“I have.” She says. “It helped somewhat. It didn’t help patch up all the wounds, but it gave me the tools to help me do it myself.” You hum, a little glad that she didn’t lash out like Marc would have. “It’s okay to ask for help.” She adds. “You don’t have to push everything down all the time, you need to grow with your issues instead of around it.” 

“I know,” You say. You close your eyes gently and the boy's glassy eyes stare back at you in the darkness. “I know that I can ask for help and there’s no shame in it.” 

“That’s right.” She says. You need to push her away, you’re getting too close to her. It’s going to be much harder when you do eventually go through with it. You open your eyes and look ahead at the television playing some comedy show that you don’t know much about. You don’t want Marc coming back and seeing you sleeping in Stevens' bed while he asked for you to give him breathing room. You don’t want him coming back to Stevens place and seeing you there because he will lash out on you. You were in his space and he left you instead of kicking you out, you should respect his place and go back to your own. You reach for the remote and hit the power button, in the reflection of the black screen you can see yourself sitting on the sofa with your phone pressed against your ear. 

“I’m going to go to sleep on my couch tonight.” You tell her. 

“Is that a good idea?” She asks and you frown at her question. You felt bad that she was still worrying for you, especially since you’re trying to distance yourself from them.

“I just want to give him the breathing space he asked for.” You tell her. You shiver as your eyes trail to the foggy window. It was cold out and despite the heater running in Stevens flat since early this morning, it was still cold. Your own flat didn’t have the heater on for months now and it was definitely going to be chilly and hard to sleep since you’re not going to be bundled in a pile of blankets like you would be in Stevens. You can see the outline of your head from  where you sat on the couch in the window reflection. 

Maybe you should look for him, he could be passed out in an alley drunk and too proud to call you for help. But then again, he does have a deity on his side despite not serving the god directly. You don’t think Khonshu would allow anyone to harm his avatar's drunken body, maybe the god-like powers avatars receive help burn off the alcohol? You think there was a rumor of Thor not being able to get even near buzzed off of human liquor but you don’t know if it was true or not. Besides, Thor is a god, not an avatar of a god. Marc is human and he told you he wants breathing room; and he can defend himself better than you can, especially with his alter being an avatar. You would put yourself more at risk if you were to wander the streets of London after dark and you doubt that your friends would be pleased to hear you doing so. Also, you were trying to distance yourself so this would be an okay place to start. 

“I’m going to leave now,” You tell her, a bit awkwardly. How do you end a phone call that felt more pitying than you wanted? 

“I’m glad that you’re okay,” She says. You feel your breath catch. You are okay, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be. Those teenagers who will forever be younger than you deserve to be okay, and they are not. 

“I’m glad you’re okay too.” You reply truthfully. Your heart aches as you tell her goodnight and hang up after she returns the statement back to you. You are exhausted and you know that trying to fall asleep is going to be long and terrible thanks to your anxiety and the glassy eyes staring back at you whenever you close your lids. 

You can return the borrowed items of clothing in the morning or slip it into their laundry if you want to go the route of slowly disappearing rather than all at once. The key to their flat will be the last thing that you give them and you’re going to have to return the phone to Marc or block their number. Maybe, go further than that and move to a new building, perhaps a new city. You felt like you were back to square one, restarting everything. Except this time there was no blip to wipe you from existence for the next five years and make everyone assume that you are dead until you are proven not to be. You’re going to ghost the life you built for yourself over the past two years and restart again. 

For a moment, you wonder how many times you will have to do this, ghosting and restarting and building only to watch it crumble and start the cycle again. It will be the second time, but you also didn’t want there to be a first. You were getting too close for comfort and Marc telling you he needs breathing room was a nice excuse to break things off. You don’t know what you would do if you lose them, so you need to ghost them before you find out. You lock Stevens' door behind you after shutting off the main lights in his flat before walking to your own. The hallway was cold, you think there was some mandatory temperature that the building must provide for its residents during the winter. But it was obviously not following the rules, you doubt they ever will and you weren’t going to complain to the manager of the building since it takes too long to get anyone from maintenance to fix anything. 

It took several tries to successfully unlock your door and lock it behind you before you were standing alone in your apartment that you barely spent any time in since you met your neighbors. The window was still cracked and a soft chilly breeze blew from the cracks and into the room. Garbage bags laid underneath the window to collect any water along with a couple of plastic containers half filled with the liquid. Your couch was still in the same spot and the table was too. Everything about your apartment was just like how you left it, except your jean jacket was in the laundry basket in Stevens place rather than resting on the counter next to the door. You set the lanyard on the counter, the stain remover stick was still on the counter. 

You haven’t used it yet because you kept forgetting about it and you doubt that it could remove any blood stains from your clothing with ease. The vending machine spit out the stick that day you got chased out of the laundry room; and you were still a little petty that the god- who you now believe to be is Horus- fucked with the vending machine and gave you what you absolutely didn’t need. That seems to be a common theme with him. The moon shined brightly through the window and it made you scowl at the sight. Stepping closer to the window, you can see the moon was full and peeking behind some clouds. It was like Khonshu was giving you the middle finger while silently giving you the message that he won and you lost. He has Jake and his alters while you lost them. You close the distance between you and the window before untwisting the blankets you use as curtains and blocking the light from entering your apartment. 

The switch for the heater was next to the door on the wall. It was an old dial that only had the settings for on and off. You made sure that it was switched on before you lay on the couch and shiver beneath the thin blanket draped over you. Your head was a little uncomfortable as you rested it on the too soft and lumpy pillow. It wasn’t comfortable like Stevens place was, but you don’t deserve comfort after killing dozens of people today. You were exhausted, your body aches from the blast and your mental state felt like it was deteriorating quickly and yet, you were unable to close your eyes and try to let sleep pull you under. Fuck, you killed people today. You’re a murderer, you have too much blood on your hands and you are only seventeen. How many people will have to die while you’re around?

A boy in his early teens watched you as you made sure Layla was okay and he died, scared and alone. If only you were able to correlate your thoughts quickly at the sight of the bag and Horus. If only you didn’t go to the mall today. If only you stayed inside at Stevens and invited Layla over to wrap up the murder mystery game from over a month ago. Maybe things will still be the same if you didn’t go to the mall. Maybe you were so self-centered that you believe that the attack only happened because you were there. You don’t know, but you blame yourself completely for not noticing something sooner. You could have saved dozens rather than killed. The group of teens you were jealous of could still be alive if you just noticed something. They could be in their own beds or eating dinner at the dining table with their family, alive and laughing at some dumb joke. But, instead their bodies are being identified by the police and the mortuary to report to the families about their death. It was all your fault and you just couldn’t convince yourself otherwise. 

It was too dark in the apartment, you used to be able to sleep in this darkness when you occupied the space more. But now that you were used to the light of Gus tank and his flat-mates, you found it hard to close your eyes and sleep. Let alone, shut off the self blame and deprecation your mind is suffocating itself with. It didn’t help that the heater was a bit too loud and not the soft hum of the fish tank. You sat up and rubbed your face as you tried to think of something other than the blame you’re drowning in. You don’t have any lamps you could flick on to help with the darkness issue, but you do have a kitchen light. A soft red color that’s not too dark but could be a little brighter if you’re being honest but you weren’t going to complain especially since it was free. 

You push yourself off of the couch and trot carefully across the wooden floors to the kitchen before flicking on the light switch. The red glowed ominously but it was a little better than it was before. You cross the distance back to the couch and lay down after stretching the blanket so the end of it is tucked over your toes and the armrest of the sofa and the other end is up to your chin. It was still cold and your teeth were beginning to chatter together, but it was better than nothing. You don’t know when you fell asleep because you can’t pinpoint the moment that your brain shut off the self-blame; but you are aware that the glassy eyes of the people you killed followed you into your dreamless sleep and stared at you from the darkest corners of your mind.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the sound of your friends banging on your door like you hoped or the sound of your phone vibrating on the table next to the sofa with the caller id showing it belonged to your neighbors that woke you. The cause of your blurry eyed, half confused state was the sound of your door handle jiggling and turning before the click of it opening and the creaking of the hinges. You sat up, almost holding a hand up to block the light from the hallway as you took in the figure standing in your doorway. For a moment, you thought it was Jake. You thought in your waking state that he broke in once more since he doesn’t have a key to your place and you somehow slept through the pounding on the door thanks to your exhaustion of the day. You thought he was checking on you, making sure that you are safe. 

“Jake?” You ask quietly. You felt a little relief at the sight of your friend before the sleep was being shaken off of your brain as you slowly registered that this was not your friend. It was a strange man who was resting his hand on your door handle and staring directly at you. He was taller than your friends by a few inches. You can’t see what his facial features look like thanks to the light flooding in and nearly blinding you, but you can tell that he had short, buzz cut hair and a short sleeved shirt and baggy cargo pants. You feel yourself tense at the sight, a stranger breaks in the middle of the night or early hours of the morning or whatever fucking time it is, and he’s just staring at you. He is holding something in his left hand, it glints in the light of the hallway and even more so as he raises it and points it at you as he takes a step into your apartment. 

Your heart pounds harshly against your chest as you comprehend that it was a pistol or a revolver, most definitely some form of gun being pointed at you. You open your mouth to scream for help before the sound of the gun shot wakes your neighbors or ends your life, but what he says causes you to snap your mouth shut, “You make one noise and a bullet will go straight through your brain.” His voice was deep and gruff as if he hadn't spoken in days. The door shuts behind him and as your eyes adjust to the dark red glow of your apartment, you can  see that he was trying to lock the door. You need to get moving while he’s distracted. You can lock yourself in the bedroom and call Marc's number, he might not pick up but it's your only chance. You throw the blanket off of you and it rests over the back of the couch. You grab your phone resting on the table as you stand on shaky legs. The brightness of the home screen temporarily blinds you and you hope that he doesn’t notice the sudden light from behind you as you push through the ache of your eyes and unlock your phone. You scroll through your contacts as you walk quickly past the couch and you nearly screech when you brush past Marcs and your thumb hits the detail button rather than the call.

The familiar sound of the lock clicking shut makes your heart drop as you hit the back button and you’re feet away from the hallway that leads to the bedroom. C’mon, c’mon, you think. The all too familiar sound of a gunshot causes your ears to ring and the sight of the bullet hole landing in the drywall in front of you makes you stop in your tracks and whip your head to your right to stare at him with wide eyes. The red light makes everything a thousand times worse as he points the gun at you, you can kind of see the smoke still rising from the barrel with the light of the red. This is actually it. You are going to die, even after all you’ve been through today. Karma has finally caught up to you and it was not holding back its punches. You killed people today and death was coming for your throat; and you were okay with that.

You’re going to have a bullet enter your body and all life will be drained from you and you were okay with dying because of all the guilt you feel for the people you killed. Marc hates you. Steven does too, he hasn’t even spoken a word to you since before the mall. Layla and Steven are only your friends because they feel like they have to be. Lauren won’t have to work with a kid and feel like she has to parent you, and Jake will be glad that you are out of his hair because he will have one less person to look after. But most of all, nobody in your life will have to deal with a serial killer who has a target on their back thanks to a fucked up deity. Just let the bullet hit you and it will all be over, you can put down your shield and sword and stop looking over your shoulder. People are dead because of you and you have a price to pay, so pay it without a fight. 

Your phone glows brightly as your thumb hovers over the call button for Marc's number. If you call him, he will hear the gunshot and maybe the bullet entering you, perhaps even your last breaths. Do you really want to give more trauma to them just because you’re selfish enough to ask for help? It would just give him more reason to hate you. Your screen begins to dim from the lack of use and you keep your eyes trained on the man. You decide that you're not going to call him. You’re not going to ask for help or beg him to save you. Is it selfish of you just to allow yourself to die when Layla begged Taweret to heal you? Is it selfish of you to let go when Jake went to the extreme of stealing a car to get to the mall for you? 

Selfish is the one that you ever were. You were selfish when you moved across continents. You were selfish when you checked on Layla to make sure she was okay while a kid was dying feet away. You were selfish when you committed fraud to make it look like you were eighteen. You hurt way too many people by your selfish actions. The screen eventually goes into sleep mode; and you are back to the red fluorescent being the only source of light. Perhaps you’re being selfish by not calling them. Jake did say that your death will destroy Marc and Steven, but you know that they will cope. You know that their anger and resentment for you will burn any grief that they have. 

Is it selfish of you to just want to lay down and rest and finally be at peace? You would no longer have to fight for your life every day. You would no longer have to look over your shoulder for the next god or cultist to strike. You’re exhausted and you just want to be at peace. You'll die selfishly at the hands of a cultist. You'll die in a war that you were never meant to be a part of. You played the role of being an adult for so long that you forgot that you were a child; and that role will finally come to an end with a bullet to your skull. Honestly, it was either going to be done by yourself or by someone else. You’ll die selfish because that’s what you ever were for the past two years of your life. Too selfish and jealous to notice a bag out of place. 

Your stomach knots, an all too familiar tug in the pit of it and you think you feel the air change. This knot feels a little different, it wasn’t the overwhelming and tense tightness that you were used to. This one feels like a firm pressure, yet loose and warm. Softly, a breeze pushes the cold air through your shirt and it makes you shiver. The knot tightens a fraction, just enough to be noticeable but not painful. This was new. Never in the last few times you interacted with Horus was he ever this gentle. He was a presence that demanded attention, he made sure that you were aware of him since you got chased out of the laundry room. He made it his goal to make you anxious and fearful for your life. But this tug in your torso and the air around you becoming warm rather than stale and continuing its chilliness was the opposite. 

You can clearly tell that this deity was trying to be comforting, the tug was like a hand on your shoulder or fingers knitting between your own. The warmth they were providing felt like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the feeling of blame and guilt dissipated from you. It felt uncertain, this new god trying to do the opposite of what Horus has done and it terrifies you. What made it even more terrifying was the sight of the man lowering his weapon until he dropped it on the floor and it slid a few feet from him. In the red light, he looked like he was the same as before, nothing has changed. Whatever plan this deity made was something you did not want to be a part of. The tug was a little more firm but not painful and it seems to urge you to do something.

You weren’t sure what it wanted you to do, but as you stand and stare with wide eyes and the urge to survive began to override your urge to die, you thought it was trying to give you the opportunity to escape. You don’t have enough time to process the zero to one hundred and back to fifty percent of emotion you just experienced before you realize your feet are moving towards the door and brushing past him with a few feet of room so he wouldn’t be able to grasp onto you easily. The door was locked, you don’t know how easily he was able to lock it between the time he broke in and the time he pulled the trigger, but it was bolted shut. How come you struggle with locking it for a good two minutes and he was able to do it in less than thirty seconds? 

You don’t know how much time you had and that made your heart pound harder against your chest. You tried not to think of how you were willing to let yourself die with guilt and now you were fighting for your future with a clear mind for the first time since the mall. The tug pulls a little and you groan as you set your phone into the sweatpants pocket before your fingers try to turn the lock and handle. This stupid fucking lock always making things hard. Fucking hell, you should have asked maintenance to fix it for you or buy yourself a new handle. Are you fucking joking? Why is this lock the thing that fucks you over when it comes between life or death? 

Arms lock around your waist and you scream as you flail your own limbs, your heels kick into his shins. A grunt is released from him at the impact as you beat his arms with your fists. You need to get out of his arm hold, he can easily strangle you if he wants. On the rooftop when neither you or Jake could sleep, he taught you some self defense moves and techniques to get out of familiar holds such as the one that you’re currently in. Step one: Don’t fucking panic. You try to stifle the anxiety bubbling in your body as you watch the door get further and further from you as he takes a step back. You don’t know where the fuck he was going but you do know this apartment better than he does and the window Horus held you out of was directly behind the two of you. 

Step two: Lean forward as far as you can and whip backwards as quickly as you can. Which is exactly what you do. Landing on the floor, he groans as he lets you go. The back of your head hurts from hitting his face as you roll off of his chest and push yourself onto your hands and knees. Your knees pressing into the wooden floor causes them to ache along with the bruises around your throat from being choked hours ago. You fight your way through the pain as you try to think of what the next step needs to be. The lock is going to fuck you over, you’re going to spend too much time struggling with it and he’ll put a bullet into the back of your head. You need to find a weapon to defend yourself with. Your taser was left in Stevens apartment because-of-fucking-course it was, so next up was the knives in the kitchen and- oh fuck the gun he dropped. It was feet away, within reach if you were to crawl for a moment and grasp it with your hand. 

You don’t need more blood on your hands. You just need to defend yourself, not kill him. But the thought of that causes the knot to tighten just a little as if they were telling you no, that’s not true. Okay, you thought, shoot him in the thigh or foot to make it much more difficult for him to move. A warm breeze that feels like summer in late October is pushed through your clothing and brushes against your body. It feels gentle like a mother reprimanding their child and trying to direct them on the right course without punishment. Protesting. That’s what they are doing. Horus would have let you die without trying to lift a god-damn finger or talon and this deity is trying to set you on the path to either crash and burn or success. You don’t exactly trust what this god is trying to do, but you both seem to be on the same page of getting a weapon or die trying.

You don’t know why they seem to be trying to help you rather than being an observer on the sidelines; but you don’t have much time to think about it before your hands are on the gun and you’re gripping the handle and pointing it at him as he sits up. The red light glows softly on the metal of the weapon and you can feel your hands begin to shake from adrenaline or fear of what you may have to do. You don’t know much about guns, but you kind of feel like it's as easy as pointing the weapon at your target and pressing down on the trigger. Maybe survival and action shows were part of the only base of your knowledge. Pull the trigger before he moves. That’s all you have to do. You hope that you don’t have to add him to the list of people you killed today. But, from how he didn’t hesitate to point and pull the trigger at you, you most likely will have to if you want to see the sunrise. 

“Go ahead,” He daringly says. You were already uneasy but it made you even more so to hear him so willing to have a bullet enter him. You feel your anxiety bubble in your stomach as your breath catches in your throat and the knot becomes firmer momentarily as if they were trying to show their support. 

“For Ammit.” He adds before he leans forward, hand reaching out past the weapon and for you. You can feel panic override any qualms you have for taking his life and pull down slightly on the trigger. Click. There wasn’t a gun shot or a loud noise that followed it but rather the noise of your head slamming against the wooden floor as hands are being wrapped around your bruised throat and the red light is highlighting the man above you. Empty or jammed, you don’t know, what you do know is that your throat hurts like a bitch. You bring up the gun and whip it against his head, once, twice, three times before he lets go and rolls off of you. 

You scramble backwards, dropping the gun as you try to get some distance between the two of you. You only stop once your back hits the door and your chest is rising and falling as you catch your breath. He turns onto his hands and knees and you can see a dark brown liquid splattering against the floor beneath him. It was easy to put two and two together especially with the feeling of warm liquid on your skin from the splatters of blood the impact caused with the weapon. Getting out was not an option and neither was screaming for help. You doubt none of your neighbors would want to check on you at this time in the morning whether it would be to save their own skin or that they confused the gunshot with something else since guns are illegal in the United Kingdom. 

You need a weapon, the deity seems to agree by the soft breezes that were urging you to get up. You push yourself up, using the counter next to you to help yourself onto your feet as you try to clear your frantic mind enough to think clearly. The knives were in the drawer on the other side of the counter that was separating you from it. You can climb over the counter and grab one, you look at him as he walks towards you quickly, easily closing the few feet between you within seconds. Blood runs down the side of his face and soaks the collar of his shirt and with the red lighting, you can tell he was pissed. You need something now. Something right fucking now, oh my fucking- you look next to you, your eyes landing on the stain stick remover from the vending machine months ago and you grab it. 

It was cold and small in your hands but it was the one thing you have to work with. He pulls back his arm and you figure he was going to punch you, even the deity was on the same page as you with the tug in your stomach as you roll the stain remover in your hand and try to keep a clear mind enough to do what needed to be done. Wait, what are you going to do? Poison him by making him eat it? Open wide, here comes the airplane. Fuck off. You try to prepare yourself to dodge getting a black eye, but there was no preparation for you to do before his fist is flying and you try your best to avoid it by side stepping. 

His fist lands into the wood, causing a hole in the door and getting caught by his clothing tugging on the splintered wood. You take the opportunity he was held still to shove the stain remover into his eye. Your stomach churns at the noise of the plastic tube going through flesh and an organ and making a disgusting squelching noise. He gasps and you try to not allow your body to throw up any bile as you climb over the counter and dig through the drawers for a knife, only coming across butter knives since you couldn’t afford any chef cutlery. It wasn’t going to be enough to kill him right away. You turn the knife in your hand, your body heat warming the handle quickly.

How did you get from the base that you just need to get out to the base of find a weapon to defend yourself and to the final base of finishing the job? Not even a job, actually, but murderer. Kill this man and you can leave, you can go to Stevens apartment and wait for them to come back or maybe call them and tell them what happened. You can hear him gasping as you turn the knife in your hand and look down at the metal of the blade, you can barely see yourself in the reflection; but that doesn’t matter, you don’t recognize the person staring back at you. A warm breeze envelopes you and you think you can feel a light pressure cupping your cheeks and lifting your head, turning it to your left. You don’t see him, but you can hear him. 

You round the corner of the counter and see him lying flat on his back and clutching his eye with both of his hands. A pool of dark brown around his head was forming and the metallic scent you became too familiar with filled your nose. You know from experience that blood comes out quickly when there is an external head injury. You don’t remember hearing him fall, but that doesn’t matter much, does it? Especially with what you’re going to have to do next. You’re going to have to be fast and harsh with your stabs, it's difficult to break contact of the skin with a small blade such as the one you’re holding. 

How many hits will it have to take? You wonder. You can’t imagine doing it once, let alone more than that. Your stomach tugs, tightens and loosens eight times and you exhale once it stops. Eight, huh? Eight hard swings that will have to be strong enough to do damage and take his life. Another life added to the ever growing list of people you killed today. If you don’t do it, he will come back and harm you or your neighbors or even someone on the street. Someone Mr. Knight can’t save because he’s too busy babysitting you. If you let him live, perhaps he’ll be part of another shooting or cause a another bombing. 

If you take his life now, it will save someone else's. It will save another baby's parents. It will save another teenager and their friends. He told you, “for Ammit” before he reached for the gun as if he was saying it was to avenge the goddess. So, taking his life would be vengeance for the people killed today in the mall. Even though you had a role in it. He is part of the cult that helped kill those people. It’s just one more casualty in this war you didn’t ask to be a part of. 

The breeze is gentle and warm, almost feeling like they’re placing their hand on top of your own in comfort or in guidance, you don’t know. You crouch down, his eyes are shut and you doubt that he heard you with all the pounding that must be happening in his ears. You’re a little glad that his eyes are closed because you don’t think you could do this if they were open. There’s no preparing yourself in murdering someone but despite that, you try anyways by taking a deep breath. The scent of metal fills your nostrils and burns your throat, making you nearly gag as you slowly release your breath, you could see the vapor in front of you. You raise your arm, the blade glinting in the red light as you bring it down into his throat.

Chapter Text

The couch at Stevens place was much softer and more comfortable than the one at yours. That was evident enough when you finally sat on the cushions after changing clothes and taking a long shower. It was mainly just standing underneath the running water and staring blankly at the shampoo bottle until you snapped out of it enough to take the washcloth and scrub your body of the blood from the person you killed. You killed. You took a life to protect others and you were now beginning to feel the effects of that. You told yourself repeatedly that it was for the best, even as you listened to him breath through the hole in his neck, even as you watched him reach for the knife and grip the blade and you had to pull it out of his grasp and cut his palm open before you stabbed with a force you didn’t even know you had into his neck again and again.

Eight times. It took eight times for the light in his eyes to begin to fade and his body to fall limp. He was still in your apartment behind a locked door that you struggled with opening and locking shut. You didn’t know what to do as you walked down the hall in a blood stained sweat shirt and pants with no shoes on because for some fucking reason you were worried about tracking blood when you were literally Carrie from Stephen Kings novel. The feeling of the deity being present disappeared on that walk from your flat and to Stevens. You were left with the feeling of guilt and too fucking aware of what you just did; and no matter how many times you told yourself that it was for the best, you were still left with the feeling of guilt and the idea of taking one more life. 

Not anybody else's, just yours. End it all, do one last vengeance for the kids and people you killed today. Do it to no longer have to suffer and cause suffering to others. You considered it: taking your own life for the thousandth time since you came back from the blip. You could go up to the rooftops and see the stars one last time before stepping right off. You could take the night bus to downtown and drown yourself in the icy river. You could dig through Stevens medicine cabinet and mix some prescriptions and just end it all. Throw in the towel and go wherever you’re destined to go after death. Fuck, Ammit would have loved you. She would have killed your ass right away because of how terrible the decisions are that you have made. Why did you listen to that deity in your flat? Why did you stay? You could have turned around and left as soon as he was on the ground and too distracted with the bleach pen you shoved into his eye.

You could have called Jake and told him what happened. You could have called Layla and asked for her to come over. But you didn’t because they hate you and everything just happened so quickly. The deity smothered any concerns you had for yourself, you recognized that when they left and you remained with the feelings of fear, anxiety, and guilt that you carried before they stepped into your place. They smothered it and made it like television static, you just felt too calm despite the knowledge that taking a person's life was wrong. You were too tuned down and out that the only thing on your mind was that you had to kill him. In hindsight, you could have left.

You changed after the shower, a pile of dirty and too red stained clothing in the corner of the bathroom. The person in the fogged mirror was not somebody you recognized, just like the person in the reflection of the knife you used to kill. The bruises on your throat were gone, the ache of it too, every injury you had gained within the last twenty four hours was healed. You knew it was by the deity, they took the opportunity to leave you with metal scars and relinquish you of any physical evidence on your body of the last day. It is frightening to think about how yesterday morning you woke up to Steven making vegetarian pancakes and today, you are sitting on the couch with all the lights on, waiting for Jake, Marc, or Steven to walk through that door. 

It was nearing four in the morning on a Sunday and they have yet to make their way back to the building. Maybe they did come back but noticed that their light was on and decided to stay outside in the cold or go back to the bar or crash at someone's place. You haven’t called them, mainly because you still wanted to try and give them their space and let them breathe like  Marc demanded. But, you were worried. Maybe they got attacked and because they were too inebriated they couldn’t fight them off very well. 

How else would this plan have gone for the cult members? Because Harrow's cult must have been keeping an eye on you long enough to learn your schedule and routine, to sit outside of the building and watch Marc leave before sending in an asshole hours later to kill you. Because how else would they know to come to your apartment when your neighbors aren’t occupying the building at the same time? How did this fucker lock your door so quickly when you struggle with it? They already knew where you lived because they followed you home months ago. They know where you work because Amanda Bright walked right into your job and ordered a sandwich. You wonder if they are sitting outside of the building right now and waiting for their member to return to them or if they gave up and left.

The sound of jingling keys outside of the door and the handle being turned made you look at the only entrance and exit of the flat. Your heart pounds against your chest as you stare with wide eyes and the feeling of fear and anxiety flooding through you. The door opened and there Marc stood in the hallway, squinting at the brightness of the lights and his hair disheveled and shirt messy with new stains. He still wore the brown jacket you last saw him in. His eyes land on you and you think you see a series of emotions turning behind them. 

“You’re still here.” He slurs out as he lets the door shut loudly behind him. You think he left his keys in the lock. “I thought you would be long gone by now.” 

“I’m still here.” You say. He peels off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor before he kicks off his shoes, they go flying in different directions of the apartment and you make a metal note to check the lock in a few minutes. 

“I thought you would be too mad at me to be here. You always go hiding and don’t speak to me for days.” You watch him as he sways in one spot, you can smell him from the couch. He stinks of cheap cigarettes, smoke, and alcohol. Your nose wrinkles as you watch him make his way towards the kitchen, knocking over a pile of Stevens books. You get up from the couch and pick up his shoes and place them next to the door before you open it up and take his keys from the lock before placing them into the bowl next to your own orange lanyard. You pick up his jacket and fold it over your arm. It needs to be washed, it smells too much like what Marc currently smells like and it was gross.

“You need a shower, Marc.” You tell him as you set the jacket into the laundry basket. Tomorrow, well later today, you need to go down to the laundry room and wash clothes. You need to do normal things after killing a man. You still don’t know what to tell them, it was obvious that Marc wouldn’t be able to wrap his head around what you did at the moment. He was too drunk and honestly, you would love to be just like he is right now: to be too drunk to properly deal with anything. You’ll tell them tomorrow when they’re sober and hungover. For now, you’ll try to pretend everything is fine and that there isn’t a dead body decomposing in your flat. Fuck, you hope the blood doesn’t soak through the floor and go into the ceiling of the neighbor below you. 

“I don’t need a shower.” He protests and waves you off, “I need something stronger.” You almost snort as you watch him open up the cabinet and take out a Jack Daniels whisky bottle.

“Only if you’re willing to share.” You say as you lean against the island between you, the same one you carved pumpkins on Friday. He turns around, you can tell that the room was spinning for him by the look in his eyes.

“You’re not of legal age.”

“The U.K says I gotta be with adult supervision, actually.” You shrug, “But since you don’t remember, I’m twenty on paper past legal age for the U.K.” He scoffs. “They kicked you out of the bar?”

“It’s three in the morning, they said they were closing.” He answers before he turns slightly and opens up the cabinet door and takes out a small glass and places it on the surface you’re leaning against. You watch him unscrew the half empty bottle and pour about a quarter of the alcohol into it. He gently pushes it towards you before he takes a swig out of the bottle. You reach for the amber liquid, the glass cold in your hand as you pull it towards you and look down at the drink. 

“It’s actually four am.” You tell him before you lift the cup and down the drink in one go. It burns in your throat on the way down and it causes you to wince. 

“I would have thought that you never had alcohol before if it wasn’t for you taking it like a shot.”

“You’re not supposed to take it like a shot?” 

“No, I would have poured it in a shot glass if you were supposed to.”

“Oh.” You say. “I thought you were supposed to…”

“Have you ever had alcohol?” He asks. You shake your head.

“I have not.” You tell him. Your parents rarely drank and didn’t bother keeping alcohol in the house because of your mom's father being an alcoholic. She said that she didn’t care for drinking since she grew up with her dad being drunk all the time as a kid; but on the occasions that she did drink such as anniversaries and New Years, she only had one glass and your dad did too. Neither of your parents offered you some alcohol because they said it was terrible for your young liver and not fully developed brain, and you weren’t interested in stealing any sips when they weren’t looking. 

“I was fifteen when I had my first drink.” He says. “It was some cheap wine that was left over in my mothers glass when she passed out at the dinner table.” You swirl the little bit left in your glass, it wasn’t enough to drink and with the bitter taste in your mouth you didn’t want more. “I drank the rest of the glass because I knew that when she woke, she wouldn’t remember if it was half empty or not. It wasn’t as good as I thought it would be since she drank that all the time.” He takes a swig of the bottle. 

You knew that he had some baggage on him, hell you carried some baggage yourself. But you never knew what it was for him since he was like a mystery to you. You knew each other for a few months, and about two of those were spent with Jake taking the body out for a spin. So, now that you were thinking about it, you don’t know Marc very well. It was a little weird having that revelation after spending so much time with them. You know Steven better than you know Marc and you met them both the same day. From how his story sounded, it seems like his mother was an alcoholic. You trail your eyes away from the small bit of amber liquid and to him. He took another swig and kept eye contact with you throughout it until he removed his lips from the bottle and swallowed. 

“Steven says you look different.” He tells you. You watch his eyes trail over your face and down to your neck. Fuck, you feel different, you almost correct him. “Where are the bruises?” He sets the bottle onto the island and leans against it, keeping his eyes on your neck. 

“Healed.” You say. Your nose wrinkles at the stench wafting off from him.

“You didn’t make a deal, right?” He asks. 

You shake your head and answer, “No.” You watch as relief settles into his features. He picks the bottle back up by the neck. 

“Do you want more, kid?” He asks and despite not wanting more moments ago, you suddenly do. Everything was getting too real and you just wanted it to be muffled for a while. You know that you’re using alcohol as a coping mechanism and you hope that it doesn't stick. You nod and he pours about another quarter full into it. You stand in silence and tap your fingers gently against your glass before taking a small sip this time. It still doesn’t taste better the second time around. 

“I thought I lost you.” He suddenly says, breaking the tension between you. He sounds the most sober that you have heard from him since he came back to the flat. You look down at your glass, your stomach churns with more guilt. “You hung up and those eleven minutes I just kept thinking about how you were dead and it was all my fault; I didn’t know if you were alive and- and I kept thinking about the best place to bury you. Because you sure as hell are not getting dumped into the Thames River.” Your mouth dries as you listen to him take several gulps from the bottle. 

“I thought about calling the police on you at the bar. Damn near should have.” He says. “Steven stopped me. Said how you were safer with us than anywhere else. Sure doesn’t feel like it. Can’t even protect you right.” He slurs. Saying sorry doesn’t feel like it would cover anything but rather placing a childs size band-aid on a massive head wound. But you say it anyways because there’s not much else you can say to express how much guilt you feel for your suicidal action of staying in a burning building with a cult shooting up the place.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “I know that it's not enough and I will try to make it up to you.”

“What about that handshake deal you made with us, huh? What about staying on the line in something as shitty as today? How can I trust you again?” He presses and takes another swig. Your fingers press against the glass a little harder, not enough to crack it but to release a little bit of the building pressure inside of you. How fucking rich was the question coming from him. You try to swallow down the hurt as you listen to him speak. “Go on, tell me how.”

 But, of course, you weren’t successful, “What about telling me the truth about your fucking marriage and not being blipped?”

“Our deal was to be truthful with things that will affect us, not to go into our personal lives. I am not your friend, I am not your parent, I am your neighbor trying to keep you alive.” Your shoulders tense and you inhale a sharp breath. You try not to show him how much his words affect you. 

“It fucking effects me when you lie about something that I experienced. I lost five fucking years of my life, Marc.”

“Millions of people lost their lives! You are not special.” He retorts as he glares at something in the distance. Part of you hopes that Steven or Jake is trying to talk some sense into him, but another part of you doesn’t because at least now, he’s showing how he truly feels. You know what they say about how drunk thoughts speak sober words. 

“I lost my parents.” You say, “I lost my whole fucking life. I was supposed to go to college, and graduate high-school with a cap and gown, and I was supposed to celebrate my sixteenth birthday with my family. I was supposed to do all these fucking things but now I’m here. Being harassed by a cult and some god that has their head so far up my ass that I’m sure they’re in a whole other universe.”

“Join the fucking club, I never had my parents.” He says. Another swig, this time the liquid leaks out of the corner of his mouth and wets his shirt. “You did this to yourself. You could have stayed in New York and had your shit put together there instead of being dragged into this mess and meeting me.” Tears burn your eyes and you try to hide it behind your glass as you one shot the whisky again. He’s such a fucking asshole. He fucking hates you. They all hate you.

“Pour me more.” You demand and he does. This time it reaches nearly the top of the glass and you wrap your hand around it, alcohol splashing across the surface of the counter and onto your sweatpants as you bring it to your mouth and take a large gulp. You set it onto the counter as your throat burns and your intestines match it. You still don’t understand how people enjoy this stuff. 

“How can I trust you?” You ask. “How can I trust the intentions of my neighbor to keep me alive when they lie about shit all the fucking time?” Okay, maybe you stretched that, but it was a valid question. How can you trust someone who lied about being blipped and being married and acting like a prick? How did Layla fall in love with him enough to even say yes to his proposal?

He laughs sarcastically and downs the rest of the bottle before smashing it on the floor. Glass shards scatter across the floor and you wince at the noise of the impact. You’re not wearing shoes and when you walk glass will cut your feet. You watch as he rubs his face with his hands. 

“I guess we both have the same problem, don’t we?” He slurs once he removes his hands. You move your eyes back to your glass, the amber liquid was filled a little over half way. Your fingers wipe against the condensation of the glass as you both wait for the other to speak. Your thought about how much they hate you became true. They really do hate you and you can’t blame them. From how Marc has been speaking, you were a chore, a job, for them and not a friend like you thought you were for a long time. You told Steven that you considered them friends and went with it. Everything hurts. You did everything for them. You took a person's life to assure their safety and others and you were just a problem. 

You pick up your glass and down the rest of the liquid. You weren’t drunk, maybe a little buzzed and it made everything worse instead of better. You just wanted your mom, not Layla, not Steven, your real mom; and you can’t have her because she is dead and she’s not coming back. You set your glass on the table, deciding to deal with it in the morning- or later today in this case. You turn your body and take a step away from the island, the bottom of your feet pinch and you stifle a yelp at the feeling as you walk towards the sofa and sit down before inspecting your feet. Glass shards stuck out and you pluck them out with your fingers as you try not to cry. You heard Marc stumble towards you and you hope that he wasn’t planning on giving you any more of his mind because you have nowhere to go if you wanted to leave. 

You weren’t going to ask Layla to come pick you up at four in the morning and you weren’t going to return to your apartment. You will tell them about the body when Marc is sober, he will lash out on you if you tell him now and it will upset you more. Then you can clean up the blood, and you’ll be out of their hair for good. Only show them that you are alive and well by knocking on their door everyday after work but never enter the apartment. You’ll keep your end of the deal until you turn eighteen and then you’ll move cities, maybe continents again. Start new, fresh, away from them. Take yourself out of the equation and block their numbers. Don’t let yourself become attached again. 

“Look at you, getting hurt, because of me.” He says, his voice causes you to jump and you whip your head to look at him. His eyes are on the blood rising from the cuts on the bottom of your feet before they trail to your red eyes that are becoming blurry. You hold your breath, waiting for him to say something mean but instead you watch as his posture slouches. 

“Oh, dove, I’m so sorry.” Steven slurs, falling halfway over the back of the couch. His cheeks land on the cushions and he pulls the lower half of his body over the back of it. He rests his head on the armrest of the sofa and his legs curled back before he pushes himself up into a sitting position. His own eyes were bloodshot and had tears in them, crying wasn’t a good look for them.

“Marc loves you, he’s just scared he’ll lose you too.” Steven whispers. “The bloke is an idiot who doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.” You wince as you pull out a big piece of glass and place it on the coffee table.

“Here let me,” He says. His hands wrap gently around your foot to bring it closer to him.

You jerk your foot out of his grasp as if he was on fire, “Don’t touch me.” You hiss at him. He frowns and you turn your eyes back to your foot to care for your wounds and to try not to feel guilty about the tears running down his face. He sniffles and you know that this isn’t fair to treat him like this. He hasn’t done anything wrong to you and he was terrified for you in the mall, but you just can’t get it out of your head that you are a job for him too.

“Do you want to talk about it, dove?” He asks. You can see out of the corner of your eyes that he curled his hands into fists and he was holding onto the pants he wore like it was his lifeline. 

“Don’t call me dove.” You tell him as you pull another chunk of glass out of your foot and set it next to the other one. “I am not your dove, I am not your friend, Steven.” The words hurt to say aloud but it needed to be said. 

“You really believe what that idiot told you?” He slurs, he says your name to catch your attention and you force yourself to focus on your foot. “He’s doing this to be an asshole to you to push you away and you’re letting it work.”

“He’s just speaking the truth, Steven.” You say, you finally look at him and your heartbreaks at the sight of him crying and trying to not let it show. 

“He’s not.” His voice cracks. You feel your own tears run down your cheeks. “Please believe me that he’s not.” You bite your wobbling lip and he reaches out for you with shaky hands. 

“He- he loves you, dove.” You let his hands settle onto yours. “I love you so much that it’s not funny.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re drunk, Steven.” You tell him, he shakes his head vehemently. 

“He was telling us how you’re dead in the headspace on the way over, how there's no chance that you are alive, and I think he was squashing any hope he had for you to be alive so it wouldn’t hurt him.” His thumbs rub against the back of your hand. “I was thinking about how you’re a fighter and there’s no way that you are dead; and if you were… I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much you mean to me.” Your nose strings and you choke out a sob. 

“I’m a murderer, Steven.” You protest. Your hands shake. None of this was fair.

“No, you- you didn’t kill anyone in that mall today.” He cups your cheek, making you look him in the eye. “Don’t even think that for a second.” He places his hand on the back of your head and pulls you towards him to place a kiss on your forehead. You shake your head once he removes his lips from your skin. The words build up in your throat to tell him about the dead cult member in your apartment, but you can’t get them out when you feel his arms wrap around you and pull you against his chest before you’re both laying on the couch. Your legs are slightly draped over his and his arm wrapped around you, hugging you to his side so you won’t fall off the edge of the sofa.

“You’re like my own child.” He laughs through a sob. You bury your face into his chest, your fingers wrapping around the cloth of his shirt. “And I thought- I thought I wouldn’t ever get to see you again. Marc almost had me fooled, damn him.” That nearly causes a laugh to bubble out of your chest but instead, a sob erupts and you feel terrible about all the intrusive thoughts you had today. 

You turn your face away from his chest and say, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You feel his arms tighten around you just a fraction. 

“I’m telling you that because it’s the truth.” He says. “You don’t have to believe me, but I hope that you will one day.” You swallow harshly, your throat still kind of burns from the drink. You try to calm yourself down enough to think clearly, you still feel pretty wrecked from everything that has happened. You don’t know if you trust Steven completely, but part of you hopes that what he said is true. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, you tilt your head back to look at him and he tilts his head down to look at you. “About everything that happened today.” He clarifies. You trail your eyes away and to the backrest cushion of the couch. Eight times, you thought, eight times it took before he was dead. The red light in your kitchen made it worse and that deity, it definitely wasn’t Horus. Was it Taweret? You’ll need to ask Layla about it.

“No,” You say. “Not right now. Tomorrow.” You pause. “When you’re more here and not, y’know. Drunk.” Maybe he’s so drunk that none of them will remember this conversation. He hums and you watch his eyes close.

“Okay.” He whispers. You can feel his chest rise and fall and you watch it for a moment. Everything you did today in your flat was for them. So, they can continue doing what Steven is doing right now: breathing. You get up by placing your hand on his chest and push yourself off of him and he grunts at the pressure on his chest. You take out the remaining glass shards and place them next to the others before you’re shaking him awake. He groans as his eyes slide open.

“Get up Steven,” You urged him. “You need to take a shower and drink a few bottles of water before you sleep.” You shake him a little more. “Get up, you stink and I don’t want to deal with you having a massive hangover.” 

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Marc slurs and you nearly freeze in your movement. “I’m sorry for what I said.” You were still rightfully upset at him but you don’t feel like leaving him to his own devices especially when it will affect Steven and Jake. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” You tell him. You pull him up by his arms and he groans. “C’mon. You do actually stink and I don’t want to smell it on the couch I’m sleeping on tonight.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch?” He asks as you throw his arm over your shoulder and guide him to the bathroom. “Why’s that?”

“Because I can’t deal with sleeping next to you right now.” You sit him on the toilet and he sniffles. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. He sounds like a child who got in trouble for something they did by accident. You grasp the edges of his shirt and pull it over his head before dropping it to the floor and making him unbutton his pants before tugging it down his hips and off of his legs. Soon, his socks followed and he was left in his black boxers. You frown at the sight of some glass sticking out of the bottom of his feet. 

“Stay still,” You order as you crouch down and begin to pluck out the shards and toss them into the trash can next to you.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” He tells you as you inspect his other foot. “I hurt everyone. I hurt you. I hurt Steven. I hurt Randall. I hurt Layla. Layla is mad at me. Do you think she will forgive me?” You glance up at him, wasn’t Randall his brother that died decades ago? 

“I think you need to talk about some issues with her.” You tell him as you stand. 

“I love Layla.” He admits and you were surprised that he was open enough to admit that. “And Steven was right,” He adds. You stare at him blankly. What the fuck was he talking about? He was saying that he loves his wife, but now he was saying that Steven is right? Steven told you that Marc loves you and you took that information with a grain of salt. You know that Marc is drunk, and you know that he would never openly admit his feelings, that he would rather eat a bullet before those three words would ever leave him sober. But, he sure as hell was giving you whiplash.

 You must have either made him uncomfortable enough to change the subject or his drunken mind got distracted because he looked away from you and to the corner of the bathroom you left the bloodied clothes in. 

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“We’ll talk about it later.” You tell him. 

“Did you try to dye clothes while I was gone?” He asks and you nearly scoff. You wish it was color dye rather than what it actually is. 

“A cold shower is going to do you some good, right now.” You say instead. “Get in it Marc.” He groans in response before you’re tugging him up off of the toilet and helping him sit down in the shower. You turn on the water before letting it run over him. You hope that the cold will help sober him up some. Maybe you should make him open his mouth and drink the running water to help quicken the process. You sit down outside of the shower and watch as he rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. You cross your legs into a criss-cross formation and place your arms on your knees before leaning forward. 

From how he’s acting, you doubt that he will remember anything from this morning. You play with a loose thread of a sweater you borrowed from Steven. You know that you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight because your mind will be replaying the events of what you did hours ago. You can’t even tell them about it because of how drunk they are. You would have to repeat it to them when they wake up tomorrow or later today. You feel like you're alone right now and that makes you want to cry. You swallow as you look away from the thread and to Marc, you need a distraction to get rid of the sight of the man's eyes shooting open and looking up at you in fear. 

“I bought you a yellow sweater and Jake a couple packs of marshmallows and Steven a miniature glass frog.” The words tumble from your mouth before you even realize it. Tears were pooling in your eyes. “I’m sorry that you won’t ever get to see them.”

“You bought me a sweater?” He asks, his eyes peeling open to look at you. You nod. “Really?”

“Yeah,” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and nod again. “I had to go to several stores to find this sweater and you won’t ever get to wear it.”

“I wouldn’t get the chance to.” He says. “You’ll steal it for yourself.” You laugh and he smiles at the sound of it. 

“It’s okay.” He grumbles. “As long as you’re okay and alive, I don’t care.” You sniffle and he closes his eyes. You watch him for a few minutes, waiting for yourself to finally calm down enough to stand and put him to bed. Once you stand, you turn off the water and grab a towel from the shelf before tossing it onto him. 

“It’s bedtime, Marc.” You say as you lean down and pat him dry with the towel. “You get to drink a bunch of water and then sleep.” He groans and you try to be patient with him to open his eyes. 

“Another reason I don’t want to sleep next to you is because you’re going to be soaking wet.” You teasingly say once he opens his eyes. You push back his wet hair and he hums. He doesn’t look too good. He looks sick like he’s going to throw up. “Marc?” You ask.’

“Yeah?” He grumbles out. He leans into your touch a bit and you don’t pull away.

“If you throw up on me, I will sock you.” You tell him. You won't actually punch him but you hope that he will think you’ll consider it. He chuckles and the sound makes you feel like everything might be alright. “C’mon.” You tell him. “Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, we still gotta get some water into you.”

“I should be taking care of you.” He mumbles as you help him get out of the shower before heading to bed. “You went through so much today and I couldn’t even be there for the after.” You weren’t going to tell him that it was okay because you did need somebody. You do need someone to tell you that it wasn’t your fault and to be sober while saying it. But, that body in your flat right now, is your fault. You set him on the edge of the bed and lift up his legs as his head lands on the pillow. You leave him momentarily to fetch a few bottles for him to down, and you were careful of the glass shards as you got them.  

“You know that night that you wanted to stay the first time? I didn’t want to do it.” He says. You raise an eyebrow, trying to think back to what he was talking about. The first night that you asked? That was months ago. It was understandable that he didn’t want to say yes because you were sixteen and it was weird for a grown man to let a stranger sleep in their apartment. 

“Yeah?” You say as you set the bottles down next to Stevens nightstand books and crack the seal on one to make him drink it. 

“But, Steven convinced me to say yes.” He tells you. You figured that they had to have some discussion on it so that wasn’t surprising. You tell him to sit up and he does after a few moments. You hold the bottle to his lips and he drinks from it and you make sure that he drinks the entire thing before you put the cap back on the bottle and let it drop to the floor. 

“Steven…Steven told me to be the person that I needed when I was younger and that’s why I said yes.” He tells you. You stare at him and he leans back, letting his body fall back onto the mattress. That was something you didn’t know, you thought it had to do with pity, but no, it was Stevens advice. 

“Oh,” You breathe out. Part of you wants to retort that he was doing a shit job at it, but another tells you to keep your mouth shut; and you follow the latter. You were still upset with Marc, but this piece of information was toying with your heart. You really do want to believe that everything Steven told you was the truth but it was difficult to accept, especially with the argument that you and Marc had no too long ago. 

“Can you…?” He hesitates and you watch him fiddle with the sheets for a moment. “Can you read to me?” You watch his face for any sign that he was fucking with you, but he seems absolutely genuine. 

“Yeah,” You say, “Scoot over a bit.” He does and leaves enough room on the edge of the bed for you to sit on. You reach for the top book left on Stevens nightstand. The yellow cover was comforting to look at and it reminded you so much of your childhood, especially with the colorful jumping fish on the cover. You have a vague recollection of your own father reading this to you, but even a more recent memory of Steven reading it to you just last week. You watch him close his eyes and you push back the drying curls from his forehead before you peel open the book. 

You read, “One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish…”

Chapter Text

The hilt of the knife was warming with the body heat of your palm as you raised it in the air and drove it into his neck. The sound of the blade penetrating flesh and the gasp that he made fills your ears and you try not to gag at the noise. You watch him quickly remove his hands from his face, the bleach stick poked out of his eye and blood ran down his face and pooled underneath his head. His left eye was wide and staring at you with confusion and then fear as he must feel you try to pull the blade out of his neck before you realize how stuck it is. You grip the handle a little tighter before you wiggle it a little to help loosen it, with one strong tug, you pull it from his neck. One. Your chest rose and fell as you watched him stare at the bloody knife above him, the liquid splattered onto your hand as you shifted it a little in your grip. 

He was in shock, that much was obvious. You watched his eye stare at the knife, the wheels turning in his brain as he processed what was happening. He failed his mission to kill you, but the deity firmly tugs the knot as if saying no. Okay then, he had other plans with you and either way, he failed them. Another tug and a warm breeze brushed against the back of your hand. They wanted you to get the job done. You were doing a job, a service to the community of protecting others and absolutely not just doing this for shits and giggles. You try not to think too much about what you were doing as you drove the knife into his neck again. This time, the blade sticks in the middle of his neck and unlike before, it was easier to pull out. Two. His hand grabbed onto the blade of the knife and you pulled it out of his grip, cutting his palm open in the process.

It took a moment for you to register due to all the adrenaline running through you that you heard his breath wheeze through the holes in his throat. You must have hit his windpipe. His hands fly up to his neck and you smell the metallic scent of his blood as you breathe in through your nostrils and out through your mouth. You needed to remove his hands from the wounds so you could continue. It’s for the best, you thought, it’s to keep them safe and anybody else. One less cruel person in this world. You shift the knife in your grip, the red light reflects in the pool surrounding his head as you reach for his wrists and try to pull his hands away from his throat. He pressed down harder against the wounds and you nearly stopped there. 

But, a warm breeze surrounded the hand you weren’t holding the knife in and urged you to try again. You did and this time you thought you felt something glide between your fingers and settled on the back of your own hand as you pulled his hands away from his throat. You took the opportunity to stab him again and pulled the knife easily and just as quickly. Blood spayed high into the air, it nearly reached your ceiling and it coated you and any surrounding objects. You hit an artery. Three. You felt the blood soaking the sweatshirt you wore and the pants along with it, it stuck to your skin as you tried not to throw up at the sight before you stabbed again and pulled the knife. Four. Stab, pull. Five. Stab, pull. Six. This is to protect them. Stab, pull. Seven. His eye began to stare blankly at the ceiling. You drove the knife one last time and pulled. Eight. 

You hear his last breath as a wheeze through what remained of his throat and perhaps his lips if the air made it that far. You breathed quickly, your chest raised and fell as you dropped the knife. It makes a loud noise as it clangs against your wooden floors. You stare at his eye until you can confirm that there was no light behind it. Nobody was there, just you and the body of the person you killed. You sat on your knees in a puddle of blood and stared at the corpse in front of you. You just killed somebody. You just killed somebody. You just killed somebody. You just killed somebody.  Your heart raced as you felt the warm breeze envelope you as if they were placing a blanket around your shoulders. You just killed somebody. Your hands shook as you trailed your gaze away from the body and to your hands. They were coated in the blood of the victim and the fluid dripped from your fingers and into the puddle you sat in. 

You just killed somebody. You blinked several times, trying to ground yourself as you felt the warm breeze pushed you gently as if they were trying to get you to stand. A shuddered breath left you as you let the breeze bully you into standing. You just killed somebody. Your legs wobbled beneath you and the room spun. You need to get out. You need to go to Stevens. The knot tightens in agreement but you still couldn’t get over the fact that you just killed somebody. You turned your head, in the red lighting you can see the photos of your parents smiling at you. You thought that some spots of blood covered the glass of the frame.

It’s been hours since you read to Marc and ever since he fell asleep halfway through the book, your mind has been replaying the crime that you committed. You cleaned up the glass shards of the broken bottle of whisky, you washed the glass you drank out of, you set Marcs shoes he kicked off by the door, and you righted Stevens book pile that Marc knocked over; and while you did all those things, your mind was consumed by your actions and the guilt that came with it. Marc only threw up twice and both times you made sure he wasn’t sleeping in his own vomit and choking on it throughout the time he slept. You don’t know what you’re going to tell them about the intruder and the body in your flat. It’s not like there's a guidebook on telling your neighbor about the murder you committed. 

How do you even bring it up? Like, hey there's a body in my living room, oh do you want toast for breakfast? No, that's a terrible idea of breaking the news to them that you straight up killed another human being. Do you tell them as they’re inevitably throwing up in the toilet as you rub their back or do you wait until they aren’t completely hungover? You can’t wait much longer, the body will be in the beginning of its decomposition stage and soon your flat will stink and your neighbors will become suspicious if they aren’t already. So, waiting for their sickness to get over is not an option. Oh man, will they even help you get rid of a corpse or will they call the police on you? You would understand if they decide to do the latter, but it's also very hypocritical of them to do so because of Jake's job. 

The television in front of you was playing some game show that you weren’t paying much attention to. You are exhausted, you have not slept because you were too consumed by your guilty thoughts and actions and you were too anxious about what's to come. Part of you was worried that once you inevitably close your eyes that you will see all the people you killed yesterday staring back at you. You know that you can’t avoid sleep or rest forever but you sure as hell can exhaust your body past the point that dreams will not be playing behind your lids. Besides that, you don’t feel like you deserve any break from this reality because of the lives you took. 

The sound of grunting and groans that followed was what made you shift your eyes away from the television and to the bed. You watch as Marc stands, his hair messy and a look of absolute shit on his face. He looks terrible and you know he feels even more worse as he blinks rapidly at the fluorescent lighting before swaying side to side and placing his hand on the wall next to Stevens bed to steady himself. You watch as he closes his eyes and tries to take a breath to help calm himself but instead gags and snaps his eyes open. Oh fuck, you hope he doesn’t throw up all over the floor you just cleaned not too long ago. He gags again and makes his way quickly towards the bathroom, you don’t need to get up to know that he was throwing up because of the loud retching sounds he was making. 

You feel your own stomach churn at the sound and you know you don’t have anything but bile in your system since you were sure you peed out all the alcohol you consumed hours ago. You think about getting up to see what you might be able to help him with but the sound of a toilet flushing makes your decision for you. You hear the faucet running for a few moments and you try to prepare yourself for a hungover Marc or Steven to talk back through the doorway and complain about the pounding in their skull. They’re going to have a hell of a lot worse headache when you break the news to them. 

“¿Estás herido?” Jake asks and the sound of his voice is loud to your own ears as you look over the back of the couch. His eyes are wide as he looks at you, his balance is a little off as he walks towards the couch. He asks, “¿Te he hecho daño? ¿Te hemos hecho daño?” You watch as his eyes scan your body. You know a little Spanish but not enough to understand what he was talking about. He stumbles around the sofa and lands on the cushions. 

“What happened?” He asks. “I don’t see any wounds or injuries but there's bloody clothing in the bathroom and-” He pauses and stares at you, “Did I hurt you?” The question was unexpected, you didn’t think that his mind would jump to the conclusion that he was the cause of the blood. 

“What?” You say. You completely understood the question but you were surprised by it. He repeats it slowly and you watch as he raises his hand and rubs his temple. The headache must be hurting him, you almost feel bad for them but they need to learn from their actions of the effects of alcohol. 

“You can tell me the truth,” He says. You can hear the honesty in his voice and it nearly makes your mouth dry up. You’re going to have to tell them about the body in your flat, there's no way you can skirt around it. 

“No,” You tell him. Marc did hurt you emotionally but he never laid a hand on you. He’s  not the cause of the blood on the clothing. “How much do you remember?” You ask and he stares at you for a moment longer, you can tell he was trying to figure you out. 

“Nothing after the first two dozen drinks Marc chugged at the bar.” He finally says. You stand up, nerves getting the best of you and they cause you to walk to the fridge and take out a bottle of water. You were a little surprised that Jake followed you because you didn’t hear him. You place the bottle on the island separating the two of you and lean back against the counter and watch him take the bottle and snap open the cap. 

“Not a single thing?” You press. He tells you no before he slowly drinks out of the bottle. You were a little glad that you didn't have to tell him to drink slowly in order to not throw up the water. He probably nursed way too many hangovers in his life and maybe he was the cause of them. 

“What about Steven or Marc?” You ask. His eyes glide over to the window behind you and he repeats his answer after a couple of seconds. They don’t remember anything from this morning. They don’t remember the drunken confession or the giving you alcohol. They don’t remember a single thing. They could be lying to save themselves and you the embarrassment of breaking down and telling you how they feel but you don’t know for sure. 

“What happened?” He asks, “Did we do something last night to you? Marc is wondering if he said something stupid?” Besides emotionally mess with you and literally say some stupid shit to you that you doubt they are refering to? No. But their drunken confessions are something that you don’t know if you want to remind them about. You’re still hurt by Marc's words even though he was drunk and Steven had to apologize for him. You aren’t willing to accept it because they were inebriated and it's not genuine because they weren’t sober. You know that they can’t apologize for it without knowing about it and that means telling them everything that happened while they were blacked out. You were going to hold a grudge against them for something that they don’t remember simply because you are afraid that they did actually mean what they said. That they love you and you allowed yourself to become too close. 

“No,” You say. “I think Marc should talk to Layla, though. None of you did anything, but Marc smashed a bottle and I cleaned up the mess.” You also cut your feet on the glass but you don’t tell them that. You choose not to tell them about the alcohol Marc poured for you because you don’t want to hear Stevens scolding. 

“That’s all?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. It was obvious that he wouldn’t believe you if you were to end it there. “That doesn’t explain why you look like shit and there's a pile of bloody clothing in the bathroom.” You haven’t slept in over twenty four hours and you definitely feel like he stated how you look. His eyes scan your face for a moment before they trail to your neck. The bruises are gone and your throat no longer aches. 

You can see the wheels turning in his mind and you already know the question before he asks it, “Why are you healed?” He looks into your eyes and you think you can see a tiny bit of panic and anxiety behind them. “Did you say yes.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. 

Did you say yes to a god who asked you to become their avatar? You can see the puzzle forming in his mind, the bloody clothes, the lack of somebody to protect you, the god asking you and you agreeing, and your body becoming healed and no aches or pains remain. 

“No,” You say and pause for a moment to watch the anxiousness transfer to relief. “I wouldn’t say yes even if they asked me because of how shitty you are when you come back. The missions take a toll on you and Marc and Steven.” You honestly tell him. He only grunts and finishes his water bottle before putting the cap back on and letting it rest on the countertop. 

“Then what happened?” He presses and you bite the inside of your cheek as you cross your arms over your chest. You know that you were going to tell them, but there was no easy way to tell them about the body and the trauma you experienced within the last day. You swallow and decide to begin where they last remember being with you. 

“Marc left and I cleaned up before Layla called me. She talked to me about the mall and apologized…I was waiting for a while for you guys to come back before I decided to follow through with Marc's wish and give him breathing room. I went to my apartment.” You tell him. 

“You didn’t try to look for us, right?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“No. I thought about it but didn’t.”

“Good.” He replies. You try not to look further into the sound of relief in his voice as you spare a glance down at the floor. It was clean and spotless after you swept the area. You decided to mop too since you had time to kill and you knew that you weren’t going to fall asleep until exhaustion completely took over and your body had no choice but to let you rest. You killed somebody and you know that it was self-defense, that it was your life or his. But you still took his life. You made someone stop breathing. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice the softest that you have ever heard from him. Usually, Steven spoke in that tone, but it was so wild to hear it come out from Jake as if he was trying to lure a stray cat to him. 

“A guy broke in.” You say, your hands begin to shake.

“A guy broke in.” He repeats and you nod after a few moments. A lump forms in your throat and your fingers grip onto the cloth of the sweater you wore.

“He tried to kill me and I couldn’t get out.” You tell him, your voice cracking halfway through. He stands up straighter, no longer leaning against the counter as color fades from his face while he processes what you’re telling him. 

“Why couldn’t you get out?” 

“My door handle is broken or jammed. I couldn’t get it to unlock but he locked it so easily in, like, less than thirty seconds when it takes me minutes to do it.”

“I-I don’t understand, dove.” Steven says. You stare at him for a moment, your mouth parting in surprise. You can tell that he pushed his way to the front especially since he keeps looking at the window behind you, Jake didn’t allow the switch but Steven fought for it.

“I almost died in my flat.” You say, “He broke in and locked my door easily, like it was nothing, when I struggle with it every time I enter and leave my apartment.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks. No, you aren’t. You glance away from him and your mind replays the murder again. Suddenly the sweater you’re wearing makes the room feel too hot and the collar of it feels like it's choking you.

“The blood isn’t mine.” You say. “I killed him.” You don’t feel real as those words leave your mouth. You don’t feel like your body is yours and nor does the voice leaving it. You are not real, this cannot be real.

“What do you mean?” He asks. You know that it was a lot of information to drop on them at once but there was no easy way to do it. 

“I killed him,” You repeat. “I-I stabbed him.” It feels like your throat closes in on itself and it’s difficult to breathe. You wonder for a second if this was how he felt when you drove the knife into his throat. 

“You stabbed him?” He repeats, he sounds like he’s at the end of a tunnel. You don’t look at him and instead stare at the floor. 

“Why didn’t you call us, dove?” He asks. “We would have been there in a heartbeat.” Your breath shudders and you can feel your heart constrict in your chest. You don’t have the strength to tell him that you wanted to die and you were saved by a deity who suffocated your overwhelming feelings of guilt and anxiety for the people you killed in the mall. You see his bare feet before you feel his palms cup your cheeks and tilt your head up to look at him. His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your face. 

“Dove?” He whispers. You press your lips together and clutch your sides with enough pressure to almost leave a bruise. Why didn’t you call them? You can’t just tell them that you were willing to throw everything away, they wouldn’t understand. 

“I think it would be easier to show you.” You tell him as you side step from him and out of his grasp. His hands fall to his sides as you backtrack to his dresser and grab him a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. It would be weird for the neighbors to see him walking down the hallway and to your apartment in a pair of slightly damp boxers. 

“Why you didn’t call us?” Marc asks and you don’t look at him as you hand him the clothing. “You think it would be easier to show us why you choose not to?” You don’t say anything but you can feel his eyes on you. You don’t need to look at him to know that the wheels are turning in his head, the connections he has made with no tangible strings except self-blame and doubt.

“You didn’t call us because of me.” He says. “Because you felt like you couldn’t.” You open your mouth for a moment whether to agree or to lie and protest that it wasn’t true but his words from last night rang in your head like church bells. He is not your friend, he is not your parent, he has a job to do and you are that job; there is nothing pleasant about spending time with you. No sound leaves your mouth and you shut it as Stevens' words of trying to get you to believe him that they love you also ring in your head along with it. You don’t know who to believe and whether they both were truthful. 

“C’mon.” You say, “I’ll show you before I feel like I’m about to pass out.” You didn’t want to go back and look at what you’ve done, but you had to and the thought of going back and seeing his corpse was nauseating. He was quiet as he pulled on the shirt and pants. You lead him to the door and grab your lanyard from the bowl before walking out into the hallway and down to your door. You don’t smell anything which is an okay sign, you guess. You know that it takes hours for the stages of decomposition to begin and at least your neighbors won’t smell anything. 

“Hey,” You hear to your right. You look down the hallway and see your neighbor who asked you if you had a lover's quarrel, poking her head out of her doorway. You stare at her for a moment, waiting for her to say something else. “Is everything alright?” She finally asks. You think she was waiting for you to greet her back but you’re not in the mood for it. “It was loud at your place last night, it sounded like there was this bang and then grunting…” She trails off. Fuck. You know that the bang from the gunshot must have woken people but you didn’t think they would actually press you about it.

“Yeah, I was just renovating.” You lie and you know it's your voice because you watch her reactions carefully. She scrunches her brows together.

“At two in the morning?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrug. “Uncle Marc- Steven,” You quickly correct yourself, “Is about to help me with some more, so y’know, sorry for the noise.” You can feel the corners of your mouth turn up in a smile but it comes out more like a grimace. 

“Okay..” She says and you wait for her to disappear back into her own flat before you turn your gaze to the door handle and feel your heart drop at the sight. Dried blood rested on the knob in the shape of your fingerprints. You hope that none of your neighbors have noticed as your trembling hands reach for the key on your lanyard and you stop at the sight of the matching color on the key. You did wash your hands in your kitchen sink before you left but you must have not washed it well enough. Your hands shake as you try jamming the key into the lock several times before Marc eventually takes it from you and does it for you. It takes a few times before he’s able to turn the knob enough that it can open. 

You knew that you left the body in the same spot, you didn’t touch it since your last stab. But what you did do is that you took the blanket from the couch and twisted it enough and blocked the cracks of the door to stop the blood from flowing underneath it and into the hallway. Which is why it was more difficult than it should be to get the door open enough to slip through the crack and close the door. Marc poked his head through the crack and gasped at the sight on the floor. 

“Holy shit.” He says. You urge him inside and shut the door behind you and struggle with the lock. It took a couple of minutes before it twisted and locked and you stare at the wooden door, trying to gather enough courage to turn and face what you did. The wet blanket on the ground squelches underneath your bare feet and you gag as the feeling of cold blood rises between your toes. You shakily step to the side to get out of the puddle before you turn your attention to the body. He was still lying flat on his back in the pool of blood that you left him in. The pool was more dry than wet but you can tell that it wasn’t completely solid. The body was bloated and it stinks, but it wasn’t a strong enough stench for anybody outside of the flat to quite smell it yet. Give it a few more hours and maybe they could if they were to pass by your door. 

The red light was still on and it didn’t make seeing the body any easier in the slightly dark light. Your eyes trail to the butter knife you dropped in the puddle, there was no saving that and you don’t want to. Man, you hope that the blood didn’t soak through the floor all the way because that’s going to be difficult to cover up if the landlord asks.

“What is that?” Marc asks as he bends down slightly towards the face. “Is that a pen?” You didn’t need to look at the body to know he was looking at the eye you wounded.

“Bleach pen.” You tell him. You nearly gag at the memory of shoving it into his eye and hearing the squelch of the flesh. You take a shuddering breath, metal and the taste of death filling your mouth and it makes you actually gag. You killed this man and here you are observing his body as if it was an art piece in a museum with your neighbor.

“You just stabbed it into his eye?”

“Had to.” You supply, there really wasn’t a choice. You knew that and you were still feeling guilty.

“You didn’t try using the gun?” He asks, your eyes trail from the knife and to the gun resting a few feet away. It was resting at the edge of the pool of blood, you recognize some dark spots on the weapon that aren't hard to determine as blood. You did bash the side of his head with it a couple of times.

“I did. It just didn’t go off.” He gently pushes you to the side and scoops up the weapon before he checks the chamber. 

“Empty.” He states. His eyes scan the room around him before landing on the hole in the wall caused by the bullet. “Just one gunshot?” You nod. 

“Who goes into a home invasion with one bullet?” You ask. 

“Someone who expects to get the job done the first time.” He answers. You watch his posture slouch a bit, not enough for it to be Steven but enough to look relaxed. But you doubt Jake feels that way, especially with how he put his hands into the sweatpants pocket and kept his eyes trained on the hole. You can tell without needing to see his face that he was calculating something. You stand next to him and stare at the quarter sized hole. You knew you were never going to get your deposit back a long time ago but it was still difficult looking at the damage done to the apartment. 

“Or,” Jake says, nearly startling you. “Someone who tried to scare you enough to get you to leave with them.” You blink at that. What? 

“What do you mean?”

“Why would this asshole break into your apartment, be able to lock your door in a shorter amount of time than you just did and point a gun at you and miss the killing shot, especially when he has one bullet?” He says. You keep your eyes on the hole. It made sense, you don’t like it but it did make a lot of sense. Especially how everything unfolded from the moment Marc left. You knew that they followed you to your apartment months ago on the bus and they know where you work because Amanda Bright showed up to order a sandwich. What you don’t know is how they knew which flat you would be in. You were in Stevens apartment for a while and then you moved over to yours. Your eyes trail over to the reflection in the photo frame of your parents, the red glow was bright against the glass. Maybe they saw that your light was on? But your blankets are over your window, so the only way possible was through the cracks of the makeshift curtain or the light underneath your door. 

“How were you able to outsmart him?” He asks, shifting his attention to you, “You said that a deity showed up, do you know what god it was?” 

“Not Horus.” You say. “Horus was at the mall. I think it was him at least.” 

“How do you know?”

“Too many similarities between a falcon and a symbol I carried around for months.” You say. “Horus is a bitch and he demands attention. This one- this one chooses to be…nice.”

“But it’s not confirmed that it is him.” He states and you nod. No, it’s only a suspicion. “Who else do you think it is?”

“I was thinking Taweret…” You shrug. You had all morning to think of this and the only other goddess you can come up with is the deity that Layla serves. She did say that she healed you in the stairwell, but you have no idea if she did it again this morning.

“Taweret wouldn’t do that.” Jake scoffs. “She’s only able to stick to the boat or around Layla.” You roll your eyes at his disagreement and tell him about the stairwell.  

“Layla is her proper avatar now.” You say. He frowns at that reminder before he reaches up and rubs his temples. 

“But that was a one time thing, do you think that she would appear again just to help you?” He asks. You don’t know. You don’t know how far Tawerets kindness will extend. Would she heal you if you were on your dying bed and Layla begged for it? Or would she simply allow you to pass? Is she keeping an eye on you because Layla asked her to and that’s why she stepped in last night by guiding you and numbing any guilt you had enough to push through and survive? Or was it another god?

“I don’t know.” You shrug. He turns his body to look at the corpse on the ground. 

“There was no way you could walk out of here alive unless a gun was pressed against your head with the intent to take you to a second location.” He states. “And you got out of here without a scratch on you.” You feel like you didn’t walk away without any trauma. You’re going to have nightmares for the rest of your life. Ones that consist of glassy teenagers eyes and stabbing the intruder to death. You don’t correct him on his statement. Your eyes trail to the blood stained arm that had the scale symbol you were too familiar with. 

“How many times?” He asks.

“What?”

“How many times did you have to stab him?” He asks.

“You think I’m a psycho and kept track?” You say. You did, it was eight, but only because the god told you it would take eight times to kill him.

“It looks like you were more than past the defending stage and killing.” He shrugs, you shift your eyes to his face, careful not to look at the gross and bloody mess below you. “You massacred him. Maybe two or three stabs would have worked, but this-” He pauses. “I see about nine different stab wounds.” He was right, three stabs would have worked because you hit an artery- You gag at the memory and turn your body to walk away from the corpse. 

“The god told me it would take eight.” You say after you were sure you weren’t going to upchuck anything. Did he say he sees nine stab wounds? Did you stab an extra time and just didn’t realize it? There's no way because you’ve been reliving that moment over and over again and you did it eight times. Right?

“Told you?” He asks. “Like they spoke in your ear?” You try to put that question on the back burner and focus on the conversation at hand.

“No, they did it through feeling.” You breathe in, metal filling your senses. “I know it sounds crazy-”

“Steven says it’s not.”  He tells you. “He would front but he’s worried he has too weak of a stomach for this.” You and me both, you think as you listen to him walk closer to you. “He says that overwhelming feelings and sightings are the first steps to being near gods. To be fair, he didn’t know about Khonshu until he was put into the role of Mr. Knight, but he thought he was going crazy.”

“So, these gods are like..” You trail off, a little too worried that if you were to say it out-loud that it will become true. They weren’t just fucking with you for the hell of it. “These gods are like testing the waters to pop the question?” 

“Or demand you fill the role.” 

“I will say no-”

“You don’t know that.” He cuts you off with a soft tone. It was so soft coming from Jake Lockley that it nearly made you uncomfortable because it was coming from a man who always kept his distance.

“I will.” You state. 

“What if they hold you out the window again and demand it from you; and if you say no then they will drop you.”

“Then I die hitting the pavement rather than selling myself to serve a god.” You say. He stares at you hard, his unwavering gaze nearly makes you turn away. “I don’t think I’m fit to be an avatar.” You admit. You don’t want to deal with any more sleepless nights or the guilt of killing others. You just want to be a normal teenager who only has to worry about bad grades and prom dates and whether you have something stuck between your teeth; not the amount of blood staining your hands.

“You want to die.” He states and the statement makes your heart drop and it sounds weird to your ears because nobody has ever said that aloud before. You feel like you’re underwater as you process his statement.

“What?” You ask, it doesn’t sound like it comes from you. 

“You want to die.” He repeats. “That’s why you didn’t call Marc or Steven.” His realization and the tone coming from him makes you feel defensive. He figured you out and it doesn’t feel right.

“Yeah, Jake.” You say. “I don’t want to serve a god for ten years and turn out bitter like Marc. So, yeah if that makes me choose death over serving, I guess I do want to die.”

“Don’t speak to me that way.” He says. “You want to die.” You feel overwhelmed, the confrontation, the body, the smell, the taste in the air, the last twenty four hours, everything was beginning to make you too stimulated and you want out. You want to be anywhere but here and you can’t leave until you get rid of the body because you still have to clean up the remains. With the look in their brown eyes, it made you feel even more defensive. You hate that he was right, you hate that he’s trying to have this heart-to-heart conversation with you after the shit Marc said early this morning; and you know it’s not fair to be upset at them for something that they don’t remember, but you do. 

You remember and it is shitty. Marc hasn’t even apologized for telling you to let him breathe; and yeah, you will give him his space but he didn’t have to be rude about it. Especially since he demanded it after you both went through something traumatic. You can’t rely on them, you can’t trust them, no matter how much you want to believe that they are telling the truth that they love you. They lied about a lot of important things, this is just another one. Cut them off, set boundaries and start anew, do whatever you need to do to not get hurt again.

“I’ll be out of your hair once the body is gone.” You say. He stares at you with a little confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ll stop by everyday after work until I turn eighteen so you can physically see that I am alive-”

“Stop-” He cuts you off.

“So you won’t have to worry about me-”

“Where is this coming from?” He asks. “What happened?” You don’t say anything but tears burn your eyes. Back to square one, starting over. He walks a bit into your view so he could get a better look at you and gently, the softest that he has ever been with you, cups your cheek with his palm and turns your head to look at him. Jake being this gentle with you was never on your bingo card for this year and seeing and experiencing almost scares you. You don’t exactly know what he sees, but in the reflection of his eyes, you can see your face. You feel like shit and you think he can tell. 

“You’re staying with us.” He says after a long moment. “And if you don’t want to, you can stay with Layla. Either way, you are not leaving us.” You gently pull away from him, everything was feeling like it was too much to handle. The warmth from his hand lingers on your face. 

“I am so sorry that you had to go through this.” He sounds so genuine that it breaks your heart and yet, you don’t know if you believe him. You cross your arms over your chest, the stench of death is suffocating you along with everything else.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” You admit, quietly. “It’s just too much.” He nods slowly, this conversation was more of something for Steven and you can tell that he is struggling with finding the right thing to say to you. 

“Bien, pequeño.” He says softly. “Who do you need right now?” You don’t want to talk to Marc at the moment, and Steven fronting would just make the situation worse because of the body decomposing a few feet away. Jake was the person you were the most scared of months ago and now you were seeking comfort in him despite how terrifying the idea is. You were too close to him in order to want him, and you need to push him away; yet, you say, “You.” 

“Okay,” He breathes out. “We’re going to take care of this and then you’ll go to Laylas, does that sound alright with you?” 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper. You feel terrible despite knowing that you kind of had the right to be upset. You were overwhelmed with everything and a break was something that you needed. “I don’t have any clean clothes or a bag...”

“That’s okay,” He says. “We’ll give you some clothes and a bag and Steven will do your laundry for you.” You sniffle at that. 

“I should be taking care of you guys.” You say. You should be shoving everything down and pretending it doesn’t exist and making sure that they are good. “You guys are sick, I should be taking care of you. I should make sure that you’re hydrated and eating and sleeping.” They were grown adults and you feel like you have to care for them, just like this morning when Marc came back drunk and you tried to make it easy on him so he wouldn’t have a terrible hangover when he woke. You cleaned up the mess that he left in the wake of being drunk, like a parent picking up a toddlers mess.

The frown was visible on his face as he shook his head, “No, you’re just a kid.”

Chapter Text

Layla lived about twenty five minutes away from your own building and about forty minutes away from your work. The brick-building was tall and had a row of four windows stretching from one end of the building to the other on each floor, a total of sixteen windows. There was a patch of bushes without leaves in front of the building and some green grass. A total of three concrete steps lead up to the entrance which had double brown wooden doors and golden knobs. Jake put the car into park and turned off the engine. You both sat in the quiet, waiting for the other to say something. You don’t know Jake very well, but you do think that he stole the car, especially when there’s photos of someone's animals and family members taped to the dash; but the question of his morals doesn’t leave your mouth; it doesn’t matter, does it? 

He exits the car and pulls open the back seat, grabbing the duffle bag Jake stole from Marc and swings it over his shoulder. The car door shuts and he walks around to your side, pulling open the door and holding it for you. He looks sick, his face is a little paler than usual and the bags underneath his eyes are more visible. He is suffering the consequences of Marc's actions. It probably isn't the first or the last time. You exit the car and he shuts the door, making sure the car locks so he won’t have to steal another one before he leads you up the steps and into the building. It has a dim hallway, the lighting wasn’t bright and the lack of natural light entering into the narrow walkway just made it feel more claustrophobic. You think the wall paper is green or maybe it’s paint, it's just too hard to tell. There were four doors in the hallway, two on each side. You have never been to an apartment complex with this small number of residents on each floor. It must be an old building.

At the end of the hallway was a small elevator and Jake walked straight towards it, not bothering to even glance at the photos of flowers hung on the walls or the welcome mats in front of residents' doors. The elevator looked old, but you think the owners of the building tried to refurbish it by painting over the metal doors with gold color paint, you can clearly see some spots that were scratched off and a rusted brown lie underneath. The elevator wobbles as the door shuts which causes your breath to hitch. There were five buttons for five floors, from the bottom was a basement level and the top was the fourth floor. Which was pressed and colored in a dim red. 

Shifting your eyes to the closed doors in front of you, you can see the blurry reflection of you and Jake. It was kind of looking like a funhouse mirror that was tampered with. There was no screen to show what floor you are on but rather the faint beeping with, what you can only assume, is the passing of each floor. The walls of the box had the same look of the funhouse mirror and chipped paint, you wonder how many times this elevator goes out of order, especially when it jolts as it comes to a stop and the doors slide open with a loud creaking noise. Does maintenance fix the elevator quicker than the people who work in your building? Or does it take weeks to months for them to come around and fix it?

Jake exits the elevator and you follow him, the hallway looks almost identical to the first floor except there are no photos of flowers or anything to help brighten up the place and make it look welcoming. But there is a window at the end of it that looks like it has a fire escape and it helps brighten up the walkway. Gray clouds cover up the blue in the sky, you think it was supposed to rain for the remainder of the week. He leads you to the second door on the left side of the hallway. A rusted number of sixteen was screwed into the door and below that was a small peephole. In your head, you did the math. There were four residents on the bottom floor and there's four floors. So four times four is sixteen, which makes Layla's number the final apartment. You aren’t surprised that Layla would choose a flat on the top floor and at the end of it, it protects herself from any possible intruders and gives her an advantage. 

Jake raises his hand and knocks once. The sound was loud to your ears in the small space and you almost wince because of it. You don’t hear any shuffling or noise in the apartment you’re standing outside of which makes you think Layla isn’t in there. You don’t think Jake called ahead to ask if she was in her apartment or out running errands whether that be another mission or grocery shopping; so when the door does crack open just a bit to show the chain lock and the peeking of Layla before slamming shut and opening just a moment later, you’re surprised she is there.

“What happened?” She asks as she takes one long look at you, eyes scanning your face before trailing over the rest of your body, searching for any visible injuries Stevens sweater couldn’t hide. The question makes your throat close and it becomes difficult to breathe. It’s a simple question, she wants to know what happened for you to make a sudden appearance without warning; but the answer is so complicated and you are terrified that she will hate you even more when she hears it. 

“Creo que es mejor que dejemos descansar al pequeño.” He says in return to her question. You watch her eyes flicker towards Jake before she steps back and holds open the door a little wider to let you through. Jake gently places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you through the doorway and into the small hallway of Layla's flat. The floors were a light wooden color, not the deep mahogany you were used to in your own place and Stevens. The kitchen was on your right, it was small and spacious, a vase of daisies rested on the counter. To your left was a supply closet door with you guessed, was where Layla stores brooms and mops and any other cleaning supply. 

The hallway opened up into a living room. A white couch that looks a bit too expensive for you to sit on faces the flat screen hanging on the wall.On either side of the couch were end tables with light stands resting on them. A bit to the right of the sitting room was a square dining table with a set of four chairs and papers and books covered it just like Stevens. Tucked into the back was a bookshelf full of old looking items, vases, small statues, and books with yellowed pages sat on the shelves. It wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion that these are trinkets from her adventures. To the far left of the room, the white curtains of the windows were open and tied back to allow more natural light to pass through the glass. 

Tucked into one end of the room was a door that was slightly open and you can see the ceramic sink against the wall which made you guess it was a bathroom. On the other end was a matching door that was also cracked open and you can see the bed sheets of the mattress on the box spring. Jake lets go of your shoulder and sets the bag onto the floor behind the couch and you stare at the television. The screen is dark and you can barely see your reflection in it. You know that Marc and Steven are staring back from it or any other possible surface, they were probably analyzing you in every possible moment since you admitted what you did, that you took a life and you want to die. What do they think of you? Should it matter?

You glance away from the screen and towards the adults in the room, Jake was sharing a look with Layla, one that you recognize all too well from the looks your own parents used to occasionally share. Talk with me in private, it said and Layla trails her eyes over to you. She takes you in one last time before she nods and gestures outside of the apartment. They walk to the exit and shut the door behind them. You’re kind of glad that Jake is the one to break the news to her because you don’t think that you can. You don’t want to see the pitying looks that may cross her features or the ones filled with realization and possible fear because if this human did this to somebody, they may do it to me. 

You don’t want to see the confirmation on her face of what you already know, that you are a murderer and you need to go to jail for your crimes. Everything bad that has happened is because of you and the dead eyes that have been staring at you without end since the mall agrees too. The man on the floor below you and wheezing through the hole in his throat voices his own agreement with the noise leaving his throat in gargles of blood and fighting for air. The next time that Layla and Jake will return through that door they both will be on the same page, both with the same knowledge of what you have done and both with some form of opinion on you. You already know what that opinion is: they hate you and they know you killed way too many people, it will be best to send you off back to the states and you will go without a fight.

There is too much blood on your young hands. There shouldn’t be any but you have it dripping off of you until it forms a lake and drowns everyone around you in it. You’re killing everyone just by existing. Soon, Layla and your neighbors will become more blood on your hands, it’s better for everyone if you’re just no longer around. Whether that means you move back to New York or you find what death has in store for you. Which do you deserve more? A longer life with guilt and behind bars for fraud and your remaining family members being told that you are alive after believing you're dead for seven years, two of which are post blip; or, whatever forever punishment death has for you?

You killed people, one of them still rests in your flat since it’s too bright outside to get rid of the body. That one person has been bleeding out and staining the floorboards and seeping through them. Literally decomposing in your apartment, and one of the thoughts that crossed your mind was that your deposit was never going to get returned and you are a terrible person for that. You just took a life and you were worried about your money being returned to you, you should be ashamed of yourself. You already were, but even more ashamed, you deserve so much worse than what you did to the people in the mall and the man you stabbed to death. 

Nine times, Jake said he saw nine stab wounds when the deity told you it would take eight. You remember stabbing him eight times, you even kept count so you wouldn’t do extra or do less and keep him suffering for a longer time. So where did the ninth stab wound come from? Did you black out for a moment or did you miscount? What happened to cause that ninth wound? What did you do? 

The door creaks open and closes while a pair of footsteps walk back towards you. You keep your eyes trained on the floor as they approach, here comes the pitying looks or the angry glares that you don’t want to see. You see Layla's feet before you hear her voice, she wore slippers with a bunny face on the ends of them. She was resting on her day off and you crashed it. She was recuperating from the mall yesterday and you show up to her doorstep unannounced and ruin it. She hates you even more, she can’t even get a break from you. 

“Sit for me, okay?” She asks gently, but the voice sounds loud to your own ears. You wince at the noise and walk around the couch before sitting on the edge of the cushions precariously so you won’t ruin them with your touch. You keep your eyes on your hands in your lap as you listen to the footsteps round the couch and stop in front of you. You can see the brown leather shoes that Jake is wearing, dry mud was splattered on the sides without removing your eyes from your hands. 

“Layla's going to take care of you, alright?” He says. “It’s just like before, only this time she’s going to take care of you here until you are ready to come back.” So, they’re trading you off like a problem child to their divorced parents in a Walmart parking lot. Nobody wants you and they all hate you. Just wait until Lauren finds out what you have done, the only normal person in your life will hate you too.  

“You have Marcs and Stevens number, if you need anything just call, alright, pequeño?” He says quietly. It was too quiet, his voice is usually rough and authoritative but this was too soft for him and you don't like it one bit. He should be screaming and yelling at you, he should be showing some form of anger or regret with you. He should be telling you how you killed all those people and to prepare yourself to be one of his targets for Khonshus fist of vengeance. But, no, he is being nice or just doing his job of protecting the system. Jake Lockley, Mister I Don’t Front Unless I Have To, was being present to drop you off at daycare.

“Do you want to talk to them before we go?” He asks. Your index finger picks at your thumb as you keep your eyes trained on your hand. You don’t think you can face them and say goodbye with everything that was said last night and this morning. They have seen what you’ve done and you don’t want to hear them call you a monster for it or tell you how they should have called the police on you the first day they met you; or even at that bar they were at last night. It was a mistake meeting you, you bring chaos to their lives and they bring it to yours too. It will be better to no longer be in their lives. They won’t have to babysit and worry about you anymore.

Cut your tangled strings with them and leave their lives. Make it stop hurting for yourself and for them. Besides that, whatever words that may fall past their lips will be lies because you can’t trust them. You don’t know if they were telling the truth when they said that they loved you; and even if they were, you don’t deserve it. It’s better to break things off now than to let them re-admit it while sober or try to shove it into your eardrums to make things worse between you. So, you let your silence give Jake an answer. You don’t know what his expression looks like because your gaze never strays from your thumb that you’re picking apart until it bleeds. 

“Okay,” He says. “I’ll see you around, kid.” He left just like that, there was no screaming, no yelling, no pointing fingers at how you murdered dozens of people. Nothing. Just the soft sound of his shoes on the wooden floor and the click of the door being shut. Jake Lockley, the man who entered your life by breaking your door handle and holding a knife to your throat, left it quietly and without a fight. Layla locks the door behind him, you hear the chain lock shut and the lock on the knob click in the silence of the apartment. There is no hum of Gus fish tank, or the sound of the neighbors next door stomping around in their flat. The traffic below was quiet since this place doesn’t have a busy road unlike the apartment complex you rent. 

The busyness of the place you lived in for the past two years is gone and this place is quiet, almost peaceful; and you should have been relaxed in it, but all you felt was anything but that. She crouches down in front of you before resting her knees on the fluffy gray throw rug. She rests her hands on her pajama pants covered thighs, her fingers splaying out on the surface; and once again, you’re reminded about how you ruined her break from the stress of being around you.

‘“How are you feeling?” She asks. You watch the crimson color rise from the small wound you caused on your thumb until it forms a small bubble. She’s just asking to be polite, to have some form of small talk before the inevitable flashing blue colors of the police cars below are reflected in the window. You think there should be more blood coming from the wound after all the problems you caused and all the lives you took. This little bit isn’t enough, the deity should have left you injured. They should have stayed out of it. They should have let you fend for yourself. You need to tell them to stay the fuck away from you even if you are on your death bed and dying. You don’t want anything to do with them.

“Did Taweret heal me?” You ask instead. Your voice sounds raspy like you haven’t spoken in days when in reality it was only an hour. 

“What?”

“Last night when I killed him, did she heal me?”

“I haven’t heard her say anything to me about it.” She says. That wasn’t enough for you, you needed to know.

“Ask her.” 

“I’m not going to ask her.” 

“Layla, I need to know.” You say. “Please ask her.” You don’t know if it was the begging in your voice or the crack that followed, but she does call for her goddess. It took a moment, but the presence that entered the apartment is gentle and warm, there is no pity of anxiety in your stomach or any knot tightening for you to be aware of her. This felt different to last night, Taweret is more soft whereas the other deity was a little more rigid. Kind of like a smooth paper with only a bit of wrinkles. Taweret brings a comforting feeling like a fresh blanket from the dryer or a warm pair of socks on a cold day. This presence was not threatening or had any underlying threats, it felt like she doesn’t want anything from you unlike Horus or the unknown god. Before Layla even asks, you just know that it wasn’t Taweret who healed you early this morning. 

“You heard?” She asks, the breeze that blows through the apartment makes the papers on the table drift to the floor and the curtains tied back move slightly. “She says that it wasn’t her.” 

“Then who was it?” You ask. “Does she know?” You both wait with baited breath. You don’t know what you’re going to do if she says yes and tells you who it is. What are you going to do? Go to their temple in Egypt and tell them to fuck off? Another warm breeze passes, this one feels like it goes right over your head and skims the top of it.

“She doesn’t.” She pauses and listens to whatever it is she’s saying. “She says that she keeps to herself, a lot of the gods and goddesses don’t talk to her since she’s been in the Duat for thousands of years.” Peachy. Of course the one shot that you have to figure out who this fucker is, doesn’t even know. 

“Taweret?” You say. Layla spares a glance at you before looking back towards the window. Your gaze follows her and you try to search for the goddess. A warm breeze brushes past your cheek as if she was replying, telling you to go on. “Don’t heal me when I’m injured.”

“Don’t listen to them.” Layla says, as she whips her head to look at you. Her brown eyes glare at you, silently telling you to shut up because you don’t have a clue for what you’re talking about. But, you do, you don’t want to be healed when you get hurt. You don’t want to cause any more debt for Layla even if you’re only going to be around awhile longer. Because you will leave her. Maybe she will hate you a little less if you refuse help and stop her from extending her time as an avatar to repay a debt to make you hurt less.

“No.” You state. “I’m serious, just leave me alone.”

“Are you hearing yourself, right now?” She asks. 

“Loud and clear.” 

“That is not your decision to make.” 

“It is not your decision to heal me.” You retort. “I don’t want to be healed.” She stares at you. You can tell that she is trying to figure something out, maybe trying to find the answers of the universe or trying to discover where everything went wrong. Maybe she’s trying to find the broken pieces of you and put you back together again like that old nursery rhyme. Humpty Dumpty breaks after a great fall and everyone tries to put them together again and they can’t. Nobody can put you together again, you are broken; and perhaps you were cracking long before they even noticed that you are damaged and now you are shattered. What do you do with broken things that can no longer be fixed? You throw them away.

She only looks away from you shortly to tell Taweret goodbye before she looks back at you. The warm presence has faded and it was just you and Layla. 

“Do you want to die?” She asks. It wasn’t a statement like Jake had said earlier, but a question and despite knowing that your neighbor had to talk to her out in the hallway; and told her what he knows, it still surprises you. The question should have been expected because you figured a conversation about your thoughts and feelings was coming up, but the confirmation that she needed to proceed was what surprised you.. 

“Thought Jake would have already told you I am deadass about that.”

“Don’t joke about wanting to die, it’s not funny.” She states and gives you a stern look before she slowly exhales. Her shoulders drop and her gaze softens. When you both lived together in Stevens place while Jake was gone on missions, sometimes you would stare at Layla in moments when she was too occupied with something. During those moments, she looked younger, her wrinkles would be relaxed and her shield down as she focused on whatever task at hand. Her brown eyes were content with whatever peace she was breathing through. But now, she looks older. Too old for her age, stress and grief and anger has worn her down and sculpted her into the person you are looking at now. 

“You are seventeen years old, you are still a child and it is up to me and everyone else in your life to make sure that you are okay.” She begins. “How are you feeling right now?” You think about telling her that you feel fine and that there's nothing to worry about because everyone wants to die at least once in their life whether it's because of embarrassment or something else. But you don’t tell her that. You also don’t tell her that you’re doing great and that you’re on top of the world, and nothing could take you off of it just to see if she will believe you. Not because of how convincing you are but because she wants it to be true so she won’t have to have this conversation with you.

What you do tell her is the truth, “Like shit.”

“Okay, well, that’s a start.” She says and pauses. You know that she is thinking of what to say and maybe she’s getting ready to tell you that the police are already on their way to take you into custody. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” She asks as you gently pinch the side of your thumb until the bubble bursts and trails down your skin. You watch the blood pool at the underside of your thumb before it drops onto your sweatpants. You stare at it for a moment, the red staining the fabric as she waits for your answer. You know that you should talk about it, confide in someone about how you let your phone screen dim and snooze when you decided not to call your neighbors. You should confide in someone about how you shoved a bleach pen into a intruder's eye and you could have walked out of your apartment without stabbing him in the neck eight times- possibly nine- but didn’t. 

You should tell someone about how you killed all those people in the mall because you were too jealous and busy hanging out with a previous friend. You should tell someone about the words your neighbors told you when they were drunk and how it affected you, but you won’t. 

“Table thief?” She says quietly, the nickname steals your breath and you feel like you were sealed in a tomb. “What happened? Talk to me, baby.” She places her hand on top of your bleeding one and smears the trail and she doesn’t seem to notice. You can’t help but feel like that marked her for death if she wasn’t already. She is too kind and too caring for you and that’s what is going to get her killed if you can’t break things off with her. Maybe she is acting this way just so you feel like you can trust her. 

“You have people rooting for you,” She promises. “We all want to see you get better.” Your eyes stare at the back of her hand as she rubs her thumb gently against yours. You know that she means to be comforting but you feel like you’re poisoning her by being around her, suffocating her and everyone else in your life. It was only a matter of time before they had enough of you.

“What happened?” She asks, her voice too gentle. Too soft. Too much. It was too much for you, everything was and she will never understand and you can’t tell her because you can’t trust her. You cannot trust- a breath shudders out of you and you didn’t know you were crying until you heard a sob leave your mouth. It was too loud to your own ears and it made your head hurt, but another sob leaves you in a gasp and the woman in front of you reaches up with both hands and grasps your own, knitting her fingers between yours. Too familiar, too much.

“I can’t-” Your voice breaks off and you feel snot trailing down your upper lip. “I can’t trust you.” One of her hands lets go of yours for a moment, and you think she was pulling away, finally accepting that you really are broken and she was going to tell you how this was all a ploy to keep you in one spot until the authorities arrive. But instead, she cups your cheek and tilts your head up a bit so you are staring at her instead of the crimson red spot on the pants you are borrowing. If you didn’t know any better you would say that she looks sad. Her brown eyes are light with small golden flecks in them and her lips are tilted down a bit.

You expect her to get angry at you for your honesty, Marc would, but she doesn’t. She holds your face in her hand for a minute and she looks at you. Looks, not stares, it finally feels like she was noticing the pieces that you are and that makes your throat let out a small choked sound. 

“What makes you think that you can’t trust me?” She asks softly. You sniffle, she doesn’t sound upset or blaming you for everything that went wrong this weekend. She wasn’t telling you that you’re a murderer or that you could have saved the children in the mall. She was asking about what went wrong between you and her, and it seems like she wants to fix it and you don’t think that you can.

“I’ve been telling the truth since day one.” You whisper, your voice loud enough for her to hear but soft enough that it doesn’t cause the pounding in your skull to increase. “You lied to me about being an avatar. You said that you weren’t one anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” She says genuinely. The sound of how honest she is hurts you even more, why couldn’t she be this truthful with you in the first place?

“And you didn’t tell me that you went out on these missions. You told me you were in Switzerland for a job, not being Tawerets avatar.” 

“It was a job,” She says. “The mission was a job.”

“The mission was not worth this.” You tell her and you don’t know how to express to her that the mission was not worth her life or what you had with her. It wasn’t worth your friendship, it wasn’t worth the trust you once had in her. She purses her lips, looking at you for something that you don’t quite know of. 

“I’m sorry,” She repeats genuinely and it damn near ruins you even more. It was not fair how honest she sounds when you feel like you can’t trust her. She looks away, her eyes resting on something in the distance. Her hand still cups your cheek and her other hand is holding your own. You wait for her to pull away, and maybe walk out, go to a bar and drink until she forgets; but she doesn’t. She holds onto you until she is ready to speak again and you think about pulling away to recline into yourself and away from her, but you don’t.

“Can I tell you something?” She asks. The question nearly startles you and her brown eyes looking into your own makes you want to shrink underneath her gaze. It wasn’t a harsh look or an angry one, but one with something you need to reject for yourself so it won’t hurt too badly when you leave. It was one full of worry and love and you can’t accept it, you cannot allow yourself to have it.

She adds, “You don’t have to believe me or listen to me, but I just feel like I need to get this off of my chest.” You swallow as you feel her breath softly blow out from her lips and brush against Stevens sweater. 

“I was worried that you wouldn’t make it out of the mall yesterday. I was so mad at myself that I asked if you wanted to go with me and I brought you there. I should have taken better care of you. I should have swept you off of your feet and brought you outside where it was safer rather than to let you stay with me because I was too worried that there might be more people who wanted to hurt others out there.” She bites her lip, “I should have done everything in my power to ensure your safety rather than to allow you to stay. When I saw that man on top of you, his hands around your neck, I-” Her voice cracks and she pauses, inhaling slowly and releasing a shuddering breath. “I didn’t- I just couldn’t think. Jake got there before me and I didn’t know if you were breathing and- and I thought I lost you-” She sniffles and openly cries in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t do better.” She says, her lip wobbles and tears drip off of her jawline and onto her pajama pants. “I promise that I will do better.” You feel her thumb rub against your cheekbone before you realize that she let go of your hand and she was pulling you  onto the floor to hug you. Your knees hit the ground with a thump and her arms wrap around you in a hug, she smells like Stevens laundry detergent and that causes you to think that she went out of her way to buy the same exact one that your neighbors get at the store. Somehow, you end up being cradled in her arms rather than hugged, your head against her left shoulder and her left arm supporting your back while her right holds you closer to her. 

You sniffle, trying to suppress the overwhelming urge to cry by telling yourself that you don’t deserve to. You’ve done too much crying for yourself, every time you are around Layla or your neighbors you seem to become emotional and let loose on the waterworks. All those people you killed want to cry too and they can’t, instead their families are crying for them. You should be ashamed of yourself. 

“I want to help you get better and be there for you.” She admits quietly, bending down and placing a kiss to your forehead. “I want to see you flourish and bloom and grow.” The lump in your throat is hard to swallow around, you feel terrible. You really want to believe her. You really want to try again with her, but you’re so worried about what the future has in store for you. What if she leaves you? What if the relationship you have developed with her is nothing but ash? What if she’s lying about this too? What if you lose her too? The last question leaves your mouth in a tumbled haze of a mixture of sobs and mumbles. You see her face through blurry eyes filled with tears and she ever gently holds you closer to her. 

“What was that?” She asks and proceeds to tell you that she didn’t quite catch what you said. 

“I’m going to lose you too.” You say, the words were muffled in her shirt and you look up at her with wide eyes. She softly frowns at your statement.

“You’re not going to lose me, baby.” She tells you. “I promise I will be right next to you through everything.” You sniffle, wetting her shirt with snot and tears and she doesn’t seem to mind one bit. You swallow the words that she doesn’t know how long everything will last. That she can’t promise to be next to you if she gets torn away from you by some outside force. That she can’t promise to be with you if you’re fated to go down on a sinking ship because she will drown with you. You’ve been this person for so long that change doesn’t seem possible. You’ve been stuck in this sadness and loneliness that it feels like it is forever rooted to you and this is the person you will be until you die and perhaps even after that. 

What if you can’t change? What if you can’t get better? What if you try and fail over and over again and you are still the same person when you started? The questions feel overwhelming and suffocating that you didn’t know it was climbing out of your throat until your voice is loud to your own ears and you hear the question as bright as day. 

“But what if I can’t?” You cry out. “What if this is the person I am for the rest of my life?” She looks down at you with too soft eyes and she too gently caresses your face with her right  hand. 

“Change is scary,” She admits quietly. “But I know that you can do it. You just need to want to do it in order for it to work.” You’ve been sad for so long that it’s become more of a safety blanket than an emotion. It was something constant that you found comfort in and now she was asking for you to unravel yourself from it. You sniffle again and look at the popcorn ceiling behind her head. You don’t deserve to feel comforted but you also don’t deserve to get better when the people that you killed don’t have that opportunity. The pad of her thumb wipes away a trail of tears running down the side of your face and into your ear. 

“How about this?” She says gently, “We’ll look for therapists that will be good for you.” It kind of surprises you to hear how committed she is to this. You really don’t deserve her.

“We?” You ask quietly.

“You’re not alone in this and I’m not leaving you alone.” She tells you and your heart hurts along with your head. It wasn’t fair for how she’s willing to stick with you on a sinking ship and try to bring you to safety when you’re literally stuck to the floorboards of it. You had this conversation with her just yesterday on the phone, she asked you if you thought about going to therapy and you told her that it wasn’t for you at the moment. Now, it seems like she’s not giving you a choice and you don’t feel up to arguing with her on this.

“What about the doctors looking at my papers too closely?” You ask. What if they notice the fraud? What if your name is somehow familiar to them and they trace it back to New York and they see that you are presumed dead? What if they try to look for medical records for you and they find out that you did some illegal shit?

“I have ties.” She says. “I got some contacts from people who know people and they owe me a few favors.” She pauses and shifts her hold on you a bit, you wonder if her arm or legs were going numb from your body cutting off her blood circulation. “It’s going to be awhile for that, so until then, I think you should go to a blipped support group.” Your eyes trail back to her face and you blink at her. But they didn’t do what you did, they didn’t fraud papers and move a thousand miles to another continent, and you tell her that. She gently rolls her eyes, not in exasperation but rather how different you think you are to anybody else.

“They have similar experiences to you.” She says. “They lost five years of their life too and they are seeking help for it even two years later. It’s never too late to look for help.” You nod slowly. “I think I saw some flyers for a meeting on Tuesday in a café. I’ll look up local meetings in a bit, alright?” You hum, sleep was pulling at your eyes. 

“I have work tomorrow.” You mumble. Tomorrow is Monday and you’re going to have to go back to work like you just had a normal weekend. Lauren will definitely be chatting about what happened at the mall and asking if you heard anything new about it; and you’re going to have to tell her you don’t know anything. Acting is exhausting.

“Not anymore you don’t.” She says, “You’re taking the week off and calling in sick.” You open your mouth to protest because how else will you distract yourself from the mourning of your relationship with your neighbors and the actions of this weekend; but you shut it because what was the point in arguing with someone who you know will win? You try to tell yourself that this is all a ruse just so it won’t hurt as much when she inevitably leaves just like your neighbors.

“Did you eat today?” She rubs your back gently and you shake your head. She’s being too nice to you, she’s going to dump you the moment you fall asleep, you tell yourself. “Are you hungry?” Not really, you shake your head. Your stomach has not growled or groaned to signal you of how hungry you are. Even if you were starving, you don’t think you could hold down anything because of the guilt consuming you. 

She frowns, "When was the last time you ate?” Yesterday, before the mall. You ate Stevens vegan pancakes which will probably be the last thing you will ever have that was made by him. Just yesterday, they were fussing over you to wear thermal socks and the hole in your shoe and to wear a thick jacket to keep warm from the cold air, and now they left you in the care of someone who will eventually leave you too.

“Baby?” She asks, “When was it?” And quietly, you tell her and she releases a sigh. “You’re going to eat something before you go to bed.” She says and you think about protesting, telling her no and that you’ll eat when you wake but you don’t instead, you admit the thing that has been on your mind in the last twenty-four hours.

“I don’t deserve to.” You say, nearly letting the statement be muffled by her shirt, but deciding at the last moment that you’re only going to say it once so you won’t have to repeat it. She looks at you incredulously.

“Who told you that?” She asks. “Who told you that you don’t deserve to eat?” Nobody really, but yourself.

“I killed people.” You tell her, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

“You didn’t kill anybody, baby.” She breathes out. That was a lie, you killed those teenagers and the parents of that baby in the mall, you killed everyone who didn’t make it out. You killed the man in your flat, you stabbed him to death.

“I killed the man in my apartment.”

“You did it out of self-defense.”  She tells you, “He was going to kill you if you didn’t kill him first.” You wonder if Jake told her that or she was trying to convince herself that you had no choice.

“I could have walked away.” You admit. “I incapacitated him and I could have left and called you or Marc and I didn’t.” You didn’t because you felt like you couldn’t. You didn’t because you were worried that he would go back to the cult and send others after you or your neighbors or Layla and hurt them. You add quietly after a gap of silence that felt like it stretched on forever, “I didn’t want him to take you guys away from me too.” She looks down at you with sad eyes that you feel like you don’t deserve. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” She tells you and you tuck your face into her shirt to hide away from her. The scent of her clothing smelled exactly like your neighbors who left you and it makes your heart ache for them.

Chapter Text

The support group wasn’t in a café but rather a church basement. Layla found the ads for it in a local community page on Facebook, they said that they were welcoming new people every week despite the days shortening from three times a week to once. You think they shortened the days because there weren't many people showing up. It sketched you out that the only entrance into the basement was down a short hill next to the church, there is only one window and that's on the door. It was old and dirty, with dust lining the edge of it and pine needles resting precariously on it. The glass was stained with blue, red, yellow, and green pieces all cut into little sharp edges and splayed out in a collage that doesn’t make any familiar patterns.

The door was cracked open to show that they were still waiting for people, but not wide enough to let all of the cold October air into the room. There was a small parking lot large enough to fit at least six cars. The parking spaces were full and there were a couple of cars parked on the edge of the slope that leads to the city below. The only entrance was the same hill Layla drove down on her scooter which also sketched you out because that meant it was the only exit too. If you needed to get away it was going to be difficult to get out. Layla and you sat on her Vespa in the middle of the concrete parking area. Your hands and face are cold and you know that you’re going to have a runny nose by the time that you wake up tomorrow. 

The helmet she let you borrow was resting on your head with the straps snapped together and snug against the underside of your jaw.  It was due to rain tonight and she offered to take you there and back to her place without any complaint. She told you that she was going to wait at a café that was about two miles away just so she would be out of the rain if it begins to pour while you’re still in the meeting. She said she’ll even share her location with you if the sight of seeing where she was will put you at ease. The weatherman said it won’t rain until eight o’clock tonight and it was nearing six pm but sometimes the weather was wrong and it rained earlier than expected.

Either way, she was getting out of the cold weather and you can’t blame her for wanting to be warm. You were shivering in the clothes that Jake packed for you, today's outfit consists of a sweatshirt with a sweater underneath and two layers of sweatpants on your legs along with a pair of thermal socks and regular socks underneath that. The sweatshirt has the logo of the Chicago Cubs baseball team with a hole in the sleeve, you think it got caught on a door handle and ripped open. You wonder if they have any warm clothes to wear for the cold weather to come or if they gave it all to you.

“You ready, table thief?” She asks you, peeking over her shoulders as she rests her hands on your own that's wrapped around her waist. You’ve been sitting outside in the cold for awhile, the meeting wasn’t until six and you watched a few people enter the building and chatted like old friends outside of it. Layla decided to leave the apartment early just in case there was some traffic and to make sure that you wouldn’t awkwardly walk into the first meeting late. But, either way, you are going to feel anxious walking into a room full of strangers especially without Layla by your side. It makes you a little nervous to know that you are a new person joining this meeting when some of these people may have known each other for years or months. They have some form of history with each other while you have nothing. 

What if- when they ask you to tell them your name and talk about your experience- that they decide that they don’t like you? What if they decide that your experience is too different and not like theirs at all? What if they kick you out and to the curb because you’re too much?

“Baby?” She says, this time she turns as far as her torso will allow her to see you more clearly. You don’t know what you look like at the moment, but whatever it is, it causes her to frown at the sight. “What’s wrong?” You bite your lip at her question before huffing out a breath and trailing your gaze to the damp ground below you. It already rained today, it was supposed to continue later. There is no use in hiding how nervous you are with her, she can tell when something is bothering you and she won’t stop snooping until you tell her. You might as well just tell her now instead of letting her worry for you and push you about it later.

She’ll probably assume that you’re thinking of hurting yourself since you admitted to her that you want to die two days ago. You are her new roommate until you are deemed no longer suicidal and maybe even after that. You saw a couple of tabs open on her tablet about how to approach someone who wants to kill themselves when you woke up from your nap on Sunday. You haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since your nightmares wake you so most of the time you are on autopilot and staring blankly at the television screen until she jolts you back to reality. 

The bathroom door and her bedroom door no longer have a lock on them; and she took you to the hardware store yesterday to get a spare key for herself in case you lock her out of the apartment to end your life in it. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have any privacy in her home, so you need to get past the whole ordeal of her believing that every moment that you’re quiet, you are thinking of ending things. 

“What if they don’t like me?” You ask. The question sounds stupid to your own ears as you say it aloud. Her face softens. 

“Is that what you’re really worried about?” She asks gently and you nod. “Oh baby, they aren’t going to dislike you as soon as you walk through that door.” She squeezes your hand. “They won’t even be thinking about anything like that.”

“You don’t know that.” You point out. Some people just automatically dislike other people simply because of how they are dressed. There was this girl in your middle-school who hated you because on the first day of school you picked a desk that she wanted to sit in. You refused to move all year long even when she called you mean names and laughed with her friends at you whenever you passed in the halls. Some people just dislike others because they are petty, sure you could have moved and let her have the desk next to her best friend; but she also could have just sat in one period without being next to her friend and get over it. 

She gives you a look and you sigh as she asks, “Are you just nervous?” You bite the inside of your cheek and trail your eyes to the gray clouds above the two of you. “On a scale of one to ten, how anxious are you feeling?” That's the seventh time she has asked you that since Sunday. You think she picked it up from one to the articles she read on how to handle situations like this one. How to help a teenager who wants to hurt themselves. You know that one of the first Google searches pops up the international suicide helpline and followed by the United Kingdoms emergency number. But after that is the repetitive same thing in each article, let them know that they are loved and safe, and ask them a bit about how they are feeling while giving them words of affirmation.

“Six.” You tell her and she hums. You both had a conversation two days ago about what each number means, one being the lowest at risk for self-harm and ten being the highest to want to hurt yourself. Even if you were going to kill yourself, you probably wouldn’t tell her as bad as that sounds. You just wanted to be away from here and to be laying on her couch with her fingers tangled in yours as you watch some rom-com, even if that means seeing the blurry eyes of the teen stare at you from behind the darkest corner of the living-room. You’ve convinced yourself that everything you see out of the corner of your eye is the teenager or the man you killed and they are watching you, making you feel guilty for breathing. You have yet to tell her this but, you think she's catching on because you sometimes find her looking at you and back to the corner.

Another thing she did since you moved in with her, she banned dark media from the apartment until you are stable enough to watch it without her- and you- feel like you’re triggered to overthink. But that doesn’t seem to matter because here you are, overthinking about how you’re going to walk into the church basement and be automatically disliked.

“I see you. I hear you.” She says. “Why are you rating yourself as a six?” You shrug at first without really thinking about it. It kind of feels embarrassing to have this conversation with her. 

“I don’t feel bad enough to go any higher and I don’t feel great enough to go lower.” You mumble. 

“What do you think you’re going to rate yourself after this meeting?”

“Hopefully lower than a six.” You tell her and she smiles a bit at that. 

“I think you’ll be a three, maybe even a two.” She says. You blink tiredly at her and she holds your eyes for a moment before gesturing for you to make your way into the meeting. “You have about three minutes to get into the building, not too late and not too early.” She smiles. You both sat in the parking lot for about ten minutes and during that whole time you were trying to work up the courage to go inside so neither of you are sitting in the cold for long. Your legs stretch as you stand from the scooter and she reaches up for your face and unclasps the helmet. Her cold gloves brush against your skin and it causes you to shiver a bit.

“If you need me, I’m just a phone call away,” She promises. “I have my location on and I’ll even text you when I get to the cafe so you won’t worry if the location is glitched or something.” You glance away from her, your eyes landing on a puddle with the reflection of the sky and some pine needles resting at the bottom of it along with a few pebbles. 

“I’m not…” You start and stop, taking a breath to steady yourself before continuing. “I’m not suffocating you, am I?” She does have some breathing room, right? Marc told you he wanted that and then…everything else happened. Her smile falls slightly and she shakes her head. 

“Not at all, table thief.” She says. “I have your number and you have mine. If you need anything-”

“You’re a phone call away.” You finish. You don’t know if you would call her if you did actually need something or were in danger. You take off the helmet and hold it between your hands. She turns on the Vespa and it rumbles loudly for a moment before tuning down a bit. 

“Call me,” She says. “Really. I mean it. There's nothing wrong in asking for help.” In other words, don’t take something into your own hands that you can’t deal with later. Don’t do something stupid because you feel like you can’t reach out for anyone. You nod and swallow before forcing yourself to turn on your heels and walk to the door. You squeeze yourself through the crack and blink away the brightness of the room.

Above you a row of white lights hung from the ceiling and led to a slightly more open room of six people sitting in a circle of eight chairs while two people chatted by small snack bar. A coffee pot and a plate of cookies rest on the table cloth. The walls are colored a mint green and rough with small bumps like the ceiling at Layla's. A bald man stands from the folding chair he sat in. He wears a light blue button up dress shirt and a pair of khaki pants and black dress shoes. He smiles and it looks genuine even as he holds his arms wide and welcomes you in with open arms.

“Hello,” He greets and holds out his hand. “My name is Henry and I run the support group. You must be…” He trails off and gives you the chance to introduce yourself. You do, your name falling out of your mouth and into the dusty air that smells like coffee and apple-cinnamon candles. The soft orange glow in the corner of your eye catches your attention, you glance at it  and see the air freshener diffuser plugged into an outlet. Ever since the mall, whenever you go into a new place, you have the overwhelming need to scope everything out and try to keep an eye on everything at once. You became so stressed in the hardware store yesterday that Layla thought you were having a panic attack. He says something else but, you’re not really listening as you try to take in the new place.

Your eyes land on the wall of slightly rusted metal folding chairs leaning against it as Henry walks towards them with his long legs and grabs a seat for you. He snaps it open and sets it between a teenage girl who looks to be fifteen and staring down at her phone and a woman with graying streaks in her brown hair whose legs are crossed under the other. Almost all the adults in the room are dressed in some form of work attire. Some were dressed in slacks and collar shirts and others were wearing pencil skirts or dresses reaching their knees. A couple of people wore gym clothing and were slightly drench either from sweat or the downpour not too long ago. Two others were wearing casual attire. 

The girl you sat next to is wearing a school uniform, one with a plaid skirt that reaches her knees and a pair of black dress shoes and neon tights, the top two buttons of her shirt were undone. Her black hair curled down her back and her brown eyes stayed on the glowing phone in her lap. Your own phone vibrates in your pocket and you dig it out after setting the helmet on the floor in front of you. Clutching the slightly warm case in your hands as you read the confirmation text message Layla sent you. I’m at the café followed by a pin of her location. You sent her back a smiley face despite not feeling very happy at the moment before putting it back into your pants pocket. 

Behind you, you can hear the two women gossiping about the mall and the estimated tally of the dead, twenty-six. The identities of the victims haven’t been released yet, but one of the women stated that their co-worker's daughter was in the mall and they are dead. You feel your throat close in on itself and you turn your gaze to the old blue carpet and make yourself focus on a stain in it. Twenty-six people, you killed twenty-six people and that's not even confirmed but estimated. Layla refused to let you watch the news because they’ve been airing updates on the events of the mall since this rarely happens in the United Kingdom; and you understood why because she was worried you’ll get triggered and do something irrational. But, it seems to not matter whether you watch the news or not because of these two people gossiping behind you. 

You know that they don’t know how big of a role you played in the events that unfolded Saturday, but still you can’t help but feel like their eyes were burning holes into the back of your head as they talked. They know, there's no fucking way that they don’t, you think. Your stomach twists and you think the food you ate for lunch and managed to keep down until now was beginning to try to show its appearance. Your hands shake as you clutch the seat and you try to look as normal as possible. You think everyone in the room is staring at you, thinking about how you killed twenty-six people and you are in a support group looking for help. You don’t deserve it and they are aware that you don’t deserve it. Your grip tightens on the seat as the room begins to spin. You need to get out of here, you need to call Layla. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you listen to the women pass you and sit in their respective seats. Layla will be disappointed if you were to call her, she will hate that you couldn’t even get through the first five minutes of the meeting. It will give her even more of a reason to hate you. You try to calm yourself and relax your muscles. One meeting, you think, just one meeting and then you can tell Layla that you tried it and it’s not for you. You try to steady your breathing before you burst into a panic attack. One meeting, you breathe in slowly. One meeting, you exhale. Just one meeting and then you can look at other options. Inhale, exhale. One meeting and these people will never see your face again. Inhale, exhale. One meeting, just this one. 

You breathe out slowly, the room is no longer spinning and it doesn’t feel like everyone's eyes are glaring at you. You shift your gaze away from the stain in the rug and to the man who greeted you just moments ago speaks softly and steady into the room. “Welcome back everyone and welcome to those who are new.” He says, “We have a couple of new familiar faces in the room as you can see, and they are nervous just like you were when you first showed up. Please welcome them with open arms and give them the support that you’ll like to receive from them.” 

He pauses and looks around, “Who wants to go first?” Your name falls from his lips as his eyes land on you, a small smile spreads across his face and you think he’s meaning to be comforting. “Do you want to go first?” You press your lips together and shake your head, you were already too nervous to even think about going first. 

“I will,” A red head man sitting across from you raises his hand a bit. He looks to be about in his forties, perhaps in the middle of it. His beard was short, a bit longer than stubble and his green eyes glow brightly in the lighting as he says, “Most of you already know my name, for those who don’t, my name is Oliver and I was snapped.” A soft breeze blows through the cracks of the door and it makes you shiver. Does this place not have any heating? Your eyes trail over to the stained glass window on the door as you listen to him speak, “My wife at the time, fell in love with someone else. Someone much younger than I am. It’s funny because he looks exactly like I did when I was in my first year of university decades ago.” 

Oh man that sucks. You watch as the rain hits the window, running down the glass in streaks as he says, “Mary- my therapist- says that in times of grief we look back to the times that we find comfort and solace in. Sometimes we surround ourselves with smells, or food, and I guess my wife found her comfort in a familiar looking young man.” He pauses, “We’re no longer married but, when I came back it was like a blink. It felt like I just blinked and for everyone else who stayed, they had five years to come to the terms that we weren’t coming back.” He swallows, “It felt like she no longer wanted me within a blink.”

You felt bad for him, you didn’t experience the loss of a partner within moments but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel upset for him. You can’t imagine coming back and realizing that your partner is in love with someone who looks like you from when you were younger. The rain drops steaks down the glass window and combine to make one line, you keep your eyes trained on the water droplets as you listen.

“We got a divorce within a few months after trying to get that spark back.” He says, “She didn’t feel the same as before I was gone...” He trails off and leans back in his seat. You turn your gaze over to him and watch him cross his arms over his chest.

“You tried to mend your relationship with her and it didn’t work out,” Henry says. “The best that you can do is try; and you do try everyday that you wake up and decide to start your day. I’m proud of you for doing so.” He smiles softly, “Who’s next?” 

Your eyes are still on Oliver, he was looking down at something on the old blue carpet. You think he’s staring at the stain, trying to steady himself as you did not too long ago. The movement of the man next to him raising his hand slightly, catches your eyes and you look at him. He wore a green plaid flannel and his brown hair was damp and curly, you don’t think he has brushed it; or if he has, he ran his hands through it so much that it made it messy. His brown beard was shorter than Oliver's, it was closer to stubble than a beard now that you were thinking of it. 

“My name is George and my nan died in her home.” He says, rubbing his chin as he speaks in a soft tone, “My family and I were taking care of her. She was about ninety and, uh, she had to have someone check on her at least three times a day since she was getting old and forgetting things. She lost almost all of her hand strength, so she couldn’t open up any of her heart medication.” He swallows and you turn your gaze away from and to his feet wrapping around the back of the front legs of the chair he sits in. You watch as his jeans rise slightly with the movement, showing the white sock he is wearing. 

“Then the snap happened and both of my dads and my sister and I- we,” He coughs slightly. “We were gone….there was nobody around in our family to take care of my nan. Nobody really knew about her condition except us and she…died. Alone.” He adds the last part after a long moment. “She, um, probably had no idea what happened. She- my nan- she wasn’t the best with social media, didn’t even know how to use the cell phone we bought her the Christmas before and it was one of those big ones for the elderly. The ones with the big screen and bold letters and symbols for what is what on the keypad. She must have thought that we just stopped showing up.” He lets out a shuddering breath and leans forward a bit to rest his arms on his legs. 

Oliver reaches out and pats his back reassuringly. Henry says something, but you’re more focused on George taking breaths of air to steady himself to listen to him. You didn’t realize you were copying his breathing until you felt the cold air fill your lungs and burn them as you slowly release it. You haven’t really thought about the elderly, the disabled, and the children that were left without anyone to care for them during the five years everyone was gone. You were more focused on the things that you lost rather than the stuff people had to go through during the snap. You shift a little in your seat and the all too familiar feeling of guilt pooling in your stomach. 

There's people that survived the snap and lost everything, they lost their loved ones and friends, they lost their homes, and they built a life without expecting people to come back. They tried to move one and continue in a world without the people they love and when everyone came back you can’t imagine how they felt. Your aunt must have been so ecstatic before she received the news that her sister and brother-in-law are dead and their kid is presumed dead too. You are the only tie left to her sister and she doesn’t even know you are alive. You are the only blood related and breathing person who is the offspring of her sister and she thinks that you are dead. You are a selfish human being. You always have been selfish from the start, your actions of the last two years have just proven that. 

“Hello, my name is Cecilia and I have been highlighting my hair to look as old as I should be.” The woman next to you speaks and it causes you to jump a bit in your chair, “I’ve been doing it for about two years now. I should be fifty-four but don’t tell anyone that.” You force out a short laugh to make it look like you are okay, but it doesn’t seem to matter because the others cover up the noise with their own laughter and are too distracted by her own joke.

“Cecilia, you don’t look a day over fifty.” Oliver says. She waves him off with a small smile as you blink. You curl your fingers inward to form a fist, your nails dig into your palm and the pain of it grounds you momentarily. You breathe in slowly, letting the air fill your lungs and expand your chest before holding it for a few seconds and releasing. 

“Thank you, but that’s the opposite of where I want to be.” She says, “On my mothers side of the family, a lot of us get graying hair early among other things, and I don’t have it at all; or maybe I do. Samantha is a really good stylist.” She smiles a bit bitterly, “But when I was snapped and came back, I didn’t have any visible grays.” She pauses, “My sister she was three years younger than me before I was snapped and she had grays just beginning to show. Now she's fifty-four and I’m fifty-one. I was supposed to be the older sibling and now she is, her hair naturally has gray streaks and is not artificial...” She trails off. 

“My therapist says that I’m trying to cope with being the younger sibling by dyeing my hair. Like a teenager having a crisis when they do something impulsive like get bangs or bleach their hair. For me, she says that I may be trying to be the older sister again or getting some form of control.” She says. “I was supposed to be the older sister forever.” You decide not to point out that she would only be the older sibling unless her sibling died. But, you get what she was trying to say, you are the only child your parents had but you get it with your cousins. They were supposed to be younger than you and now they are in college and married. 

You look back to the stained glass windows, the rain was still pouring and streaking down it. You watch it for a few moments, trying not to cry as you think about all the selfish shit you have done since you came back from the blip. You committed fraud and moved continents making your living relatives and best friend believe you are dead. You tricked your neighbors, Layla, and Lauren into caring for you so you wouldn’t get jailed for fraud. You killed twenty-six people and that number might be higher since it's only estimated to be that many. You killed a man because you didn’t want to lose your neighbors and Layla. 

Yet, here you are, nearly on the brink of tears in a church basement looking for support and maybe even forgiveness for your selfish actions. You are so fucking selfish that you don’t deserve anything or anyone. You are looking for forgiveness when you took people's lives who won’t ever get to see the same constellations you see in the night sky. You swallow roughly as Henry says something you’re not listening to until he speaks your name. You blink, tearing your burning gaze away from the colorful window and to him. He offers a too kind smile that makes the lump in your throat feel like it's a golf-ball and you’re choking on it. You’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud. 

“Are you ready to share your story?” He asks you. You should have been expecting to be asked but it still surprises you nonetheless. You don’t feel like you can speak without crying so you shake your head. You hope that nobody recognizes how close you are to breaking down. You don’t want their pity. You don’t deserve their pity. 

“That’s alright,” He tells you, the smile still resting on his face and never wavering. “Not everybody tells their story on the first day. Some find it more comforting to listen in on others' experiences until they are ready.”

“It took me about a month to tell mine.” Oliver pitches in, your eyes trail away from Henry and to him. “You’ll get there, kid.”

“I think a week or two for me.” Cecilia adds, she places a hand on your knee before removing it after a moment. Her touch leaves a warm spot on your knee and you think she pulled away because she’s afraid you’ll poison her too. 

“You’re going to get there. It gets easier the more you talk about it. It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt any less, it just gets easier to breathe through.” She smiles at you, the corner of her eyes crinkling and her brown eyes bright. You nod, letting them know that you hear them and that you see them; and they seem satisfied with that as they turn their attention to someone else who begins to speak about their experience. 

You tune them out as your eyes trail back to the colorful window. You don’t feel like you fit in, you are forever in the role of an outcast looking in and it’s probably best to keep you in that position. Everything you touch gets poisoned or killed and it is just a matter of time before it turns on yourself. Besides, you’re not worthy enough to spill your grief after everything that you have done. You watch the rain trail down the glass once again and feel a familiar streak run down your cheek.

Chapter Text

Today is Layla's birthday and you don’t have a gift for her. You had one just a little over a week ago. It was a cup you bought for her at the mall and planned to give to her as a present but of course you don’t have it, and you know exactly why. Currently, she is out of the apartment. She is in Loughton on a mission because of a rumor that Harrows cult members were camping out there. She has been sending some text messages occasionally updating you on the status that she is alive and asking if you returned to the flat after work. You have. It was the first time in a little over a week that you were residing in her place without her being present alongside you. The only times you were ever separated since you confessed that you want to die was when you had to inevitably return to work yesterday and the meeting last Tuesday. 

You gave Lauren the excuse that you thought you had the flu since it was going around and she accepted that answer without any consideration you were lying. She then proceeded to gossip about the mall and the tragedy that it is and all you could do was try not to break down and cry in front of her. You spent about a good twenty minutes in the bathroom after she got distracted by a customer and tried not to call Layla to come pick you up after she just dropped you off not even an hour prior. You are still dealing with the guilt of it and your roommate- at the moment- has been trying to help you process and deal with the grief of what you have experienced. You haven’t quite opened up to her and told her about the weight of being alive while others are not. 

You also haven’t told her the knowledge of being a murderer is suffocating you. But, you think she has an idea of both of them being an issue because you avoid the topic whenever she tries to bring it up. You won’t be surprised when she finally forces you to sit down and communicate with her about how you’re feeling. This time without the number being asked on the scale of how you are. Before she left, she told you that Taweret was sending her over to Loughton and she asked how you felt about that with the rating of one to ten, and you told her seven. It was mainly because the idea of her leaving on a mission and not coming back to you makes you anxious and worried for her. You know that she has a goddess on her side but that doesn’t make you any less worried and despite the endless reassurance she tried to shove into your brain of Taweret not abandoning her and leaving her to die, you just were too anxious to accept that. 

So, as you wait for your roommates return, you are baking her peanut butter cookies in place of her gifts and also using it as an excuse to get your mind off of the possibility of her never coming back. You turned your phone setting to ring so any notification you get dings rather than vibrates so you will be able to hear it more clearly. You’ve been trying to detach yourself from her so it won’t hurt as much when you leave or she leaves. Whichever comes first. But, it’s been a difficult process because every time that you do try something comes up and you find comfort in her even though you feel like you can’t trust her. Usually it’s a mental break-down from the shit-show that your life is and she holds you through it and asks you to open up to her and you can’t. It’s an awful feeling to know what you want to do- dip out of her life and your neighbors- but here you are worried that she won’t come back. 

It gives you whiplash when your brain wants one thing and your heart wants another. You want her to be okay and breathing, but your brain is telling you that you need to go because she hates you. You can want both things for the person you care about and yourself but you don’t feel like it’s possible to succeed in both. You know that when you do leave- or if you ever leave- that she will be okay. She will probably be grateful that she doesn’t have to continue to babysit you and you know that she says she cares for you and won’t ever be bored of you, but you just can’t believe her. It is hard to trust her and your neighbors. You haven’t even heard a peep from them since the day Jake dropped you off and left you.

A small part of you thought that Steven might send a message or try to call, but that hasn’t even happened and you don’t know if you feel disappointed or relieved. Maybe Marc or Jake told him that it would be a bad idea; or maybe your silence when Jake asked you if you wanted to say goodbye to them was enough to get through their heads that you can’t accept anything from them at the moment. You still have yet to actually deal with the drunk words they said last Sunday morning. You’ve been shoving away the speech that Steven desperately wanted you to believe in to the back burner and telling yourself that you’ll leave it there because they were under the influence. 

Also, the fact that they don’t remember a single piece of that night after Marc's drinking at the bar was enough for you to decide that they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Not even Stevens “I love you,” or “you’re like my own child,” or his begging for you to believe him was solid because he doesn’t remember. So, since none of them remember, why have you been pushing it back and back and back to deal with later when you’ve been telling yourself that they were drunk so it doesn’t matter? It doesn’t matter and yet, you’ve been letting it stay on your stove top to simmer and mull over. Perhaps a small part of you wants it to be true, but you are afraid of it being exactly that or perhaps the complete opposite of it. 

What if Steven told you what he did because he was trying to manipulate you and screw with you like the deities do? What if he was just saying that because he thought that you just needed to hear it after the day that you experienced and he did not mean a single word of it? That would be a very cruel thing for him to do but it would make sense because he hates you. Your hand grasps the peanut butter jar and places it on the shelf of the cabinet which you finally shut after putting away all the other ingredients. But what if it was true? What if he was honest? And you’re just being too stubborn to accept it because you’re terrified that he was truthful. Maybe they haven’t contacted you because they blame themselves for what you had to do on your own. Was that too hopeful and too stupid for you to consider?

You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes flicker to the timer you set on the stove for the cookies. You have eleven seconds left before the cookies are done baking and Layla's gift will be complete. You hit the button a little early but it doesn’t really matter since the cookies are done baking anyways. You look around the kitchen in search of oven mitts as you hear the door knob rattle and keys jiggling outside of the flat. Quickly deciding that you can hold on your search for the mitts, you peek around the edge of the cabinet to welcome Layla back and see with your own eyes that she is okay. The door opens harshly, the handle banging into the wall and bouncing off of it as she speed-walks down the short hallway.

She says your name loudly, her footsteps falling fast and harshly against the wooden floor and only stopping once she sees you. 

“Baby?” She breathes out as her eyes take in your body. You can feel yourself relax at the sight of her being alive, but still you were a little tense from whatever has her spooked enough to act like this.

“I thought-” She stops herself, tears welling in her eyes as she stares at you in relief and a little anger. Your heart drops in your chest and you nearly take a step back just from the look in her eyes but her arms wrap around you and she pulls you to her tight. 

“What?” You ask, sounding muffled in her shirt. She smells like sweat and the laundry detergent that still makes your heart ache.

“I thought you killed yourself.” She says, “You weren’t answering your phone and I-” She stops herself by hiding her face into your neck. You stand frozen in her grasp as you take in her belief that you were dead. That you took the opportunity that she was gone to do the deed of what you have been thinking about much more in the past week since you found out your parents were dead. 

“I was calling you,” She says as she briefly pulls away, her hands on your waist as she looks at your face. Her fingers gently press into your sides as if she was trying to tell herself by the touch alone that you are alive, “Why didn’t you pick it up?”

“My phone is charging by the table, I didn’t hear it…” You trail off. You should have heard it, you set the ringer on the loudest setting so any call or text you would have received you would hear from the kitchen or even the bedroom or bathroom. 

“You thought I was dead?” You ask, the question sounds surreal as it comes out of your mouth. 

“I thought I lost you.” She says as she steps back and removes her hands from your waist to instead bring them up to her face. “I was begging Taweret to bring you back and I just wasn’t listening to a single word she was saying.” You feel guilt pouring into your stomach and churning. Everything that you have done in the past week was causing her to be like this and it was your fault. There is no deniability in that. 

“I’m sorry…” You say. 

“What were you doing that was so important that you couldn’t answer the phone?” She asks. Her gaze is a little harsh towards you. You swallow, opening your mouth to simply tell her that you just didn’t hear your phone despite the setting being loud and obnoxious enough that you should have heard it; but the smell of something burning catches your attention. Oh shit the cookies. You quickly scan the kitchen for the oven mitts before your eyes land on them resting on a hook against the wall. You take one and slide it on before removing the cookie sheet from the oven and setting it on top of it.

“You were baking cookies?” She says incredulously. “And you couldn’t have opened your ears for your phone?” You take off the mitt and hit the off button on the oven before turning around and looking at her

“They’re your birthday gift…” You trail off. Her gaze softens just a bit and her shoulders follow. 

“Where's your phone?” She asks and you tell her that it's charging on the table. She leaves your sight and you soon follow her and stand in the entryway of the living room. She picks up your phone and stares down at the glowing screen before turning towards you and saying, “You put your phone on mute.” She tells you. “Are you being serious?” You blink at her and meet her across the room in seconds. What the fuck does she mean the phone is on mute?

“I promise that I turned it up.” You say as you take the device from her and stare down at it in your own hands. The silent symbol was tucked into the upper right hand corner of the screen and you feel all the air in the room stop filling your lungs. 

“Yeah, well your phone says something different.” She states. You swear that you turned it onto the loudest setting before baking the cookies and you tell her that which causes her to shake her head slightly. She doesn’t believe you. Holy shit, she does not fucking believe you.

“Is this like a game to you?” She asks. You set your phone down onto the table and stare at her. What the actual fuck?

“What?”

“This isn’t the first time you ignored phone calls. Steven told me about the ones on the bus when they were worried that you were next or how about when you hung up on them last Saturday.” She says. “Do you find this humorous? Us worrying that you’re dead because of the shit we got you tangled in? Or how about leaving you alone after a traumatic event you refuse to speak about and I don’t have a clue what's going on in that head of yours and that terrifies me.”

“I don’t find any of this funny, Layla.” You state. How can she even think that? She gives you a look, one you can’t quite decipher before she releases a breath and turns on her heel to look out the window of the flat. The sky only had a few white and gray clouds today. It was a near overwhelming bright blue compared to the last few days of gray clouds that showed it is autumn. 

“I promise that I did turn it up to the loudest setting.” You tell her and she doesn’t answer. You remember doing that, it was one of the first things you did before you tried to distract yourself with baking. How the fuck was it on silent? You cannot comprehend how it became the opposite of what you wanted it to do. You stand in the quiet of her apartment and watch your roommate stare out the window with her back turned to you. You don’t know how to fix this. You don’t know if this can be fixed. Is it worth fixing if you’re just going to ghost her once you turn eighteen? Or are you just telling yourself that you will leave her once you reach that age just so you won’t get hurt between now and then?

“Okay,” She breathes out and slowly turns to face you. She doesn’t look like she believes you but she also doesn’t seem to want to continue the argument. Your chest tightens at the sight of exhaustion upon her features, she’s thirty-one today but she looks older than that. 

“Halloween is in a couple of days,” She says. “You want to do something for it?” All you can do is stare at her, you don’t know what expression you were wearing as you wait for the other shoe to drop. How can she accuse you of something so stupid and suddenly let it go and ask about the upcoming holiday? You want to ask her about it, why she thinks that you would continue to ignore phone calls while you had so much anxiety about her not returning. You know that you didn’t call her nor your neighbors during the break-in because you felt like you had no one to rely on; but this- right now, with her awaiting your answer for a holiday that you haven’t celebrated in years after accusing you that you purposely put your phone on silent when it must have glitched or something causes you to feel waves of emotions. 

You feel upset, relief, and anger all at once. You want to confront her on her bullshit just like she tried to confront you on something you didn’t do on purpose. But another part of you tells you to let it go, let it be water underneath the bridge. You want to keep the peace just until you leave or she leaves. It doesn’t matter does it? You’ll be gone in less than a year and won’t ever have to talk to her again. And even if you’re just telling yourself that to make yourself detached and hurt less, it seems like solid advice. She doesn’t believe you anyways so why push it?

You swallow, your throat feels dry as you ask, “Like what?” She shrugs. 

“We could watch some rom-coms and order some pizza.”

“Rom-coms aren’t very scary.” You point out. 

“I think it would be best if we avoid the scary stuff because of the gore.” She says and you nod. You don’t think you can handle any fake gore at the moment especially with the events of last weekend. “Besides, if you pick the right rom-com it can be scary.” She adds with a small smile. You scoff. 

“Terrible and cheesy dialogue and awful costumes,” She fakes shivers and you let out a short laugh that feels a little forced. “Terrifying.” She says. 

“Okay, well we can do that.” You say, “I have to work that day so we can’t really do anything until the evening.”

“I figured, it lands on a Friday so there will be plenty of customers for you to serve.” She shrugs, “Can’t you dress up at your work?”

“We can,” You say. “We already talked about this.” 

She scrunches her eyebrows, “We have?”

“At the mall.” You tell her. Her lips shape an O and you look away from her and to the wall on your right. You want to change the topic so you can get the blurry eyes belonging to the teenager out of the back of your mind. “How did the mission go?”

“It went well.” She says and turns away from you and walks back to the kitchen. You follow her as she speaks, “I scooped out the city and I found a few suspicious people but nothing confirming them being a part of Harrow's clique.” You lean against the counter and watch her grab a spatula from the jar that holds the utensils for cooking and begin to remove one of the cookies from the sheet. You frown at the sight of the bottom of the desert being black.

“They’re burnt.” You tell her. She picks one up and bites into it. You think that it was a bit too warm for it to be good and for it to not burn her mouth but she chews anyways and swallows. 

“It’s good,” She tells you. “Thank you.” She adds after a moment. You want to tell her about the cup you secretly bought for her at the mall but left in the aftermath of everything. Because cookies just don’t seem like enough of a gift to give to her. But you don’t because if you bring that up you’ll probably bring everything else up with it. You push yourself off of the counter and close the gap between you and the sink, turning the handle to run the faucet so you can begin dishes. 

“Happy birthday.” You tell her for the third time today. You told her once when you woke up and a second time right before she left to go on the mission. She repeats the same gratitude that she once showed before with a small bitter-sweet smile on her face. You wet the wash rag underneath the running water before applying dish soap to it and scrubbing the dishes you dirtied in the process of making the cookies. The stainless bowl, the tablespoon measurements, the cups you used, and the spatula. The water was warm as you rinsed out the bowl and put it on the counter top to dry. 

“You said the support group on Tuesday wasn’t for you, and you told me that you’d talk about it later.” She says. You feel your heart drop in your chest as you force yourself to focus on cleaning the dishes. Of course she’ll take this opportunity to corner you about it. 

“It’s been about a week and there's another meeting tonight, how about you tell me why it wasn’t for you.” She adds. You know you can’t avoid the topic forever, especially when you know she's aware that you were upset when she picked you up from the meeting last week. You don’t know how to explain to her that sitting in a room full of people who are trying to become better and support others to do exactly that wasn’t for you when you are the reason that so many people are dead. 

Getting better wasn’t for you because you don’t feel like you deserve it. She will not understand that or perhaps she will because she’s in the same boat for how you feel. Maybe she thinks that you don’t deserve getting better either and this is just one huge act before she pulls the rug out from underneath you.

“Kid?” She asks, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. You startle underneath her touch and blink rapidly at her as you turn around to look at her. You weren’t even aware that you were spacing out until she scared you. You rack your brain for a lie to tell her, you had a week to come up with something and yet any lie that you created was thrown out the window in that instant. 

“The meeting wasn’t for me.” You say. You try to sound sure of yourself but your voice is quiet and sounds small to you. 

“Okay,” She nods slowly. “Why?” You shut off the water and dry your hands with a nearby towel as you try to come up with anything but the truth. Nothing is coming to mind but the statement that you don’t deserve to get better. You open and close your mouth as you slowly set the towel down onto the countertop. Maybe you should tell her this despite every fiber of your being screaming at you not to. Maybe you should tell her how you’ve been drowning in your mind since last Saturday. She might agree with you on how you don’t deserve to get help and reveal her true colors or maybe she will continue to act like she has been. 

You decide not to go into detail about how your nightmares consist of the boys eyes staring into you or how the murder you committed in your apartment replays in your mind in moments that you aren’t preoccupied with something. Rather you decide to just tell her the basics of how you’ve been suffering. 

“Layla…” You trail off and bite your lip. “I think I’m a bad person and that I don’t deserve help.” She doesn’t say anything for a moment and you think she’s quietly agreeing with you and about to tell you that your thoughts about yourself are correct. But she doesn’t.

“Why do you think that?” She asks instead and you stare down at the floor and at her muddy shoes. You feel embarrassed to tell her about the murders you took part in and being the reason that so many people are dead. So, instead you shrug and keep your eyes trained on her black boots as she shuffles from one foot to the other. Silence settles between you and you think she came to the conclusion that you aren’t going to answer her question. It was already hard enough to admit what you think of yourself and your worth. 

She breaks the quiet by saying, “I think this is even more proof that you shouldn’t stop looking for help.” She pauses and you don’t look at her, you don’t want to see the pity in her gaze whether it's real or not. “I talked to a few people and they are looking for a therapist for you that won’t ask too many questions or return you in if we pay them a good amount of money under the table.”

“We?” You ask quietly. 

“I told you that I’m in this with you.” She says. You press your lips together. “I think it will be beneficial for you to go to another meeting today.” You frown and flick your eyes towards her face.

“Layla, we're supposed to be celebrating your birthday.” You protest, “It’s not celebrating if I’m stuck in a two hour meeting while you wait in some café a couple of miles away.”

“Healing doesn’t stop, table thief.” She says. “And the greatest gift and celebration you can give me is seeing you get better. I want to see that.” You stare at her, looking for anything that might call her bluff but all you hope to see is honesty and that makes your heart ache. 

“Please go.” She begs. “Please. I don’t want to be the adult that forces you to go, I’d rather you go willingly but if I have to, I will pull the card that says you must go if you want to stay here.” She gives you this puppy-eyes begging look that you just can’t deny (and every week that follows for the next month she gives you the same look; and you still haven’t been able to tell her no.)

“Tonight,” You say. “When we get back, we will be celebrating.” You don’t want to be the focus on her birthday. It’s her day, not yours.

She smiles, “I plan on it.”

“We’ll watch whatever you want to watch and eat whatever you want to eat.” You say. “I’m serious, I want this to be about you and not me.” Her smile widens a bit and she nods with sparkles in her coffee colored eyes. 

Later that night, after a crying session on the floor of her living room due to the stress of the meeting, the feeling of guilt, and the stories that others shared; and two empty boxes of take away from her favorite restaurant resting on the coffee table. You are leaning against the couch cushions and watching some early two-thousands romance movie on Netflix with her resting against your side. You both share a blanket as the two of you watch the movie while she eats a couple of the burnt cookies you made without a single complaint leaving her lips.

Chapter Text

When the moonlight hits the stained glass windows right, it will reflect onto the blue carpet and cast its pattern onto the ground. But since your first meeting for the support group last month it hasn’t done it until today that is. From where you sat in the small circle, you can see the cast of the blue, yellow, red, and green colors onto the fabric on the floor. It’s been raining for weeks now, almost non-stop and the one day that you are in the basement of the church for your fifth support group meeting, the moon has peeked out long enough from the dark gray clouds in the sky to shine down and hit the window just right. It felt oddly comforting to see the colors and the moonlight shining through when you’ve been associating it with the god your neighbor serves.

You’ve been told that the heater has been running long before you arrived for the meeting today. Yet, the room was chilly and it was causing you to shiver and debate on leaving early enough to go back to Laylas apartment and bundle up in several layers of blankets. You have listened to everyone's stories multiple times, some repeated theirs when new people arrived or just to get it off of their chest again and again to the listening ears. They always seem bitterly relieved when they finish and despite everyone else hearing about the same story for what feels like the millionth time they are still supportive of them and continue to be even after the meeting ends. 

At almost every meeting, Oliver tells everyone about how his ex-wife left him for a younger man who looks like him from his university days and once the meeting does end he offers George a cigarette underneath the awning outside. Cellia gives out her hairstylist phone number whether it's on a gum wrapper from in her purse or by verbally telling people the digits and name. Henry ends up folding the chairs and resting them back against the wall before unplugging the pot of coffee and the pot of hot water from the outlet so he can dump out the remaining. Peter sometimes helps him pack up the cookies and cups while Danielle is speed walking to the exit to get into her fathers car to go home. You usually call Layla as you make your way to the exit and stand out underneath the awning in the pouring rain, clutching the helmet's straps in your hand with your phone pressed against your ear.

The girl who you thought to be fifteen turns out to actually be seventeen and her name is Danielle. She sits next to you at every meeting, because there's this unspoken agreement that everyone has spots that they claimed. Danielle told everyone about how she was blipped and came back to an empty home in Wales and spent about a year trying to find her family before she found them in London. She said that her family changed their numbers for a fresh start because that's what they felt like they needed the most at the time. Danielle lived on the streets for a better part of the year because she didn’t want to get thrown into social services and be forgotten in the system so she toughed out the winters in a women's refuge with most of the other people who lost their homes after coming back. She spent nights underneath the stars during the summer when it was too hot to stay indoors with some other woman who also had the same idea. 

Sometimes she stared up at the bright stars until she was crying because somewhere her family was staring at the same night sky and she felt even further apart from them because of that. Like a vast ocean between her and her dads and baby brother that she might drown in while crossing. Other times, she spent summer nights walking around the city until most of the shops were closed and spent it in the public park on a set of swings or on the merry-go-round with her legs hanging off of the edge of it. She told everyone how her eyes always found the moon whether through bleary eyes filled with tears or clear ones that knew too much at the age of sixteen. 

She told everyone how the moon was like a beacon for her to come home, like it was guiding her home this whole time. You found that funny, you didn’t laugh or show any amusement from her statement but the moon god could care less about a measly teenager wanting to go home when he seems to not want you around. When she did find her two dads and her nine year old brother, she cried and they cried too. Apparently, the dads did try to search for her but they couldn’t come up with anything but the ghost of her. There was this part of her story where they did call the women's refuge in Luton a week after she just left and nobody had a clue of where she went. 

It wasn’t until she ran into a coworker of one of her dads in London who knew who she was because her father had a picture of her on his desk and he carried around a photo of her everywhere he went to ask people if they have seen her. That was how she was found after a year of searching just because of a photograph. She told us how her brother was two when she left and when she came back he was eight and just about her chest height. 

The baby she once carried around her home as a fifteen year old was nine- and now ten since a year has passed after she was found; and she tells us how difficult it is to grasp that she missed about six years of her baby brothers life and he is too big to carry on her hip or put into buggies when they go shopping. She missed his first year of school, his first football game, his first trip to the aquarium, his first crush. She always tells us how there will be other firsts but it’s hard to acknowledge the years she missed. Especially with a child who had no clue who she was except for photographs and home videos that her fathers showed him and stated that she was dead during the blip. It’s hard explaining to a child that the dead can’t come back except for this time. Now he believes that the family's dead pet guinea pig will come back in five years because Danielle did. 

Her fathers immediately put her into a support group and therapy once she came back into their lives. She told everyone how it’s going for her- which is good, better than she expected; and the oddness of being seventeen when her classmates are in their twenties and going to university while she’s making up year ten because she was gone for about six years from her old life. Danielle rarely speaks during the meetings but she tells us how she feels seen and supported by others who experienced the same thing as her or at least something similar to it because everyone has a different story. 

Another person, Peter, told his story only twice since you joined. The first time was the first day you showed up to the meeting and the second time was when he was willing to go into more detail about stuff he kept vague previously. He is twenty-eight years old and he was blipped on the freeway between London and Manchester after spending the day with a friend in London. He told everyone how he came back on the freeway with his friend and watched him get killed after several cars tried to swerve out of the way. He told everyone how he got hit and wasn’t sure what was happening because he remembers being in the car one moment and suddenly being in the middle of the road with dozens of cars heading straight for them. 

He explained the fear, and how his screams will forever remain in his mind until the day he dies because he watched his friend get killed in front of him. The sound of metal crashing into metal and cars honking frantically, trying to get him out of the road, the sound of tires peeling on the pavement and air passing by him as they try to go around him. And then he was hit, he flew over the metal barrier blocking the other lane and hit the ground and rolled until he was in the ditch and staring at the October sky. The sound of cars continuing to crash into one another was still background noise even as he watched birds fly above him; and felt as if he broke his ribs and arm. It turns out he did, he spent about four months recovering physically and to this day he is still patching himself up mentally.  

He tells everyone how disfigured his friend's body was that the funeral was a closed casket. Apparently his friend's family already had a funeral for him during the blip, the tombstone was already finished when it should have taken months to make. At the real funeral with the body, the family didn’t cry but rather mourned for what could have been. They didn’t cry because he died, but rather because he could have lived again. They could have made new memories and spent more birthdays and holidays together. He said that going to a funeral for a dead person who was already considered dead for five years was different from going to one who was freshly dead in everyone's minds and not just his. It was like looking through the window of a burning house from the inside and people who escaped the house were watching it go up in flames from the outside. He said he saw his own tombstone in the same graveyard on his way of leaving the funeral, his name on it with his birthday and the day the blip happened before his body is even in the grave. 

It was terrifying to see the gravestone and still be breathing. His own mother forgot he was still alive sometimes and he would call her and she would panic and think he’s calling from beyond. To be fair, his mother has dementia and she’s been slowly succumbing to the disease. She was diagnosed during the first year that he was gone and he wasn’t there to support her, and that’s one of his biggest regrets even though he couldn’t control whether he turned to dust or not. 

Your eyes stayed on the stained glass window the whole time that Danielle and Peter shared their stories and Henry reinforced that they are doing their best to become better and he’s proud of them coming forward to receive support. You heard every word that they spoke, you understood the emotions that they were feeling when their voices would crack and they would falter in their sentences. You felt their grief without being in their shoes. You heard Danielle sniffle next to you when she spoke about her little brother and missing out on his years of adolescence. You don’t know their exact pain of what they’ve been experiencing for the past two years of their life, but you understand enough because you went through something similar. 

The meeting was set to end in about twenty minutes but with how everyone who has spoken before at the meetings besides you, they don’t seem to expect you to say anything and they aren’t going to push you. All of you know that you have to do it on your own and you have yet to come to terms about the mall and the murder of the intruder despite Layla's reassurance that you had to kill him because it was either you or him. But, it was more than that, it was to make sure that your neighbors and her stay safe and their hearts continue beating. You still murdered him and the teenager at the mall, and the parents of the children. You still took lives and you can’t shake that.

You can’t talk about the mall, or the murder, you can’t talk to them about how every night you wake up screaming and Layla is the one to turn on the nightstand light and try to calm you down enough to  sleep. You can’t tell them about anything besides the small grain of truth you’ve been holding to your chest. You’ve been here for five meetings and you’re not doing anything besides quietly staring at the stained glass window or the stain on the floor that the circle of chairs seems to always surround. You’ve been going to a support group for the blip for a little over a month now on every Tuesday, and you have yet to be supported. Why continue to go if you’re not going to open your mouth and talk? 

You’re just wasting space if you don’t say anything. Somebody else who is willing to open up about themselves can sit in your own spot. You know that you are afraid to speak not only because you’ll be welcoming support after you killed all those people; and because the bleary eyes that haunt your dreams at night and the dark corners of Layla's apartment when you get up to get a glass of water, always stare back at you. You haven’t told your roommate about them, you haven’t told her about what your nightmares are but you think she knows. Today, all throughout the meeting your eyes were on the stained glass window because you swear that someone was looking in from the outside. You can’t see their figure, just their eyes and you know exactly who they belong to. 

The bleary eyes on the other side of the colored glass don’t look directly at you but rather they observe the meeting that’s been unfolding for the last hour and a half. You feel sick staring at it, knowing that you are the reason why they are there rather than alive and breathing. You slowly take in a breath, the stale and dusty air fills your lungs along with the coldness as you listen to Henry speak about the amount of overwhelming support that everyone has been providing. You tear your eyes away from the ones looking in at the sound of your name being spoken. 

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, you blink and that causes your eyes to sting. 

“Yeah,” You force out as you rapidly blink to try to get rid of the stinging of your eyes. He gives you a concerned look. Stop looking at me like that, you think, I don’t deserve that. 

“Are you ready to talk?” He asks after a moment and you feel your throat swell shut as your eyes flicker to the ones looking in before looking back at him. His brown eyes were too kind for you. 

“I am talking,” You say. You don’t mean to sound defensive but you sound exactly like that. You look away from him and to the stain on the carpet. Weeks ago you decided that the stain belongs to someone's spilled coffee, it was the only thing that made sense because of the color and the scent of the beverage behind you. You haven’t decided if it was because someone dropped it or because someone set it on the ground like you do with the helmet Layla lets you borrow and accidentally kicked it.

“It’s okay if you aren’t ready.” He tells you and that makes you feel even worse. He was being too kind towards you when you were a bit mean to him. “But, you’re here for a reason. You continue to come to this support group every week when you simply could have chosen to stop after the first time.” It wasn’t that simple, you only continued to go because of the pleading look in your roommates eyes. She hasn’t asked you if going to the meetings were helping, but she must think they do because she doesn’t question too much about how they go. You don’t tell him that though and instead let the silence settle between you. He’s right about coming back, you could have demanded that the meetings stop after the second one or the third or the fourth. You could have told your roommate to fuck off or to mind her own business. But you didn’t.

You still show up on every Tuesday about ten minutes before the meeting starts and sit out on Layla's Vespa, bundled in layers of clothes to keep warm from the autumn wind and chill. You still sit through two hours of meeting, listening to people's stories, none who you have met before the first meeting and you could have left within the first few minutes or in the middle of it. You still come back and repeat the cycle of looking at the stained glass window, breathing in the apple-cinnamon air freshener and coffee and tea and dust; and bully yourself into believing that these people will hate you once you tell your sliver of truth. You still believe that you are a bad person and Ammit would believe that too. Except, when she did momentarily rule and people were judged, you weren’t one of those who were killed. Whether that’s because she didn’t have a chance to get to you or because you were judged and you passed. 

Ammit wanted to judge people before they had the chance of doing the bad thing, what if you passed her judgment? What if- underneath her judgment- you are a good person. It’s a fifty-fifty chance that she just didn’t get to you in time, but there's also a chance that she did. As much as you don’t want to rely on a goddesses morals who tried to wipe out all evil off of the board, you want to believe that you are a good person because if you stay in this self-deprecation you’ve been stuck in, you will die in it; and it all can’t be for nothing. The nightmares, the fraud, the stalking, the nights spent waiting for Steven and Marc to come back, the year you spent alone and wanting to die. The endless guilt and anxiety and tears that you can drown yourself in if you were to collect it into a bucket.

You could have left that baby in its stroller in the mall, but you didn’t. You tried to make sure your friend was safe because you thought a goddess would let her die. You tried to make sure that everyone in that restaurant's kitchen would be okay. You tried your hardest to be a soldier, but you are just a kid. You are just a seventeen year old child carrying the weight of grief and anxiety and acting like you are an adult because that’s who you had to become when the universe yanked the rug out from underneath your feet and took away everything from you. You allowed jealousy of those teenagers having fun distract you because you thought you were safe and you’ve been apologizing to the universe ever since. You should have held that teens hands as he breathed out his last breath so he wasn’t alone and terrified. But you didn’t know, how could you have known that a cult would pull some bullshit like they did? 

It’s war and you just didn’t know. Horus didn’t attack you but observed you and perhaps even warned you of the looming threat moments before you noticed. The cult member that broke in was planning to do something with you; he only had one bullet in his gun and missed his shot. You’ve been taught since you were in pre-school to never allow strangers to take you to a second location and that’s what you did. You defended yourself and made sure that he would never hurt anyone else again. One less member of a cult that was willing to take their anger out on the world because their goddess can no longer be released. 

You have to believe that you are a good person because if you don’t you will die. You’ve been killing yourself for longer before the mall but it just increased afterwards. You have to believe that you are a good person, your neighbors and your roommate believed it too at one point. But, it’s up to you to ultimately believe that you are good enough to continue breathing or stay in this pit for the remainder of your life. 

“I was gone for five years.” You quietly say. Your voice startles you when it comes out of your mouth and into the stale air. You try to ignore the eyes that feel like they’re burning into you from the window as you speak. “I lived in New York…in the Brooklyn area. I remember standing up from my bed to call my best friend about some stupid thing and it was like I blinked and then my bedroom was different. Some other family lived in my childhood home and I-I didn’t understand so I ran outside and the building was my building. I saw my window and the building number and I heard someone speaking to someone else about what was happening. I ended up staying in a café, my phone was going off and I…” You trail off and swallow. The memory was clear in your head of what happened, but you can’t exactly tell them the truth. So, you fudge it a little. 

“I picked it up and it was my aunt telling me my mom and dad died during the years that I was gone and that she wanted me to come to her home in Wyoming but I didn’t.” You state. Even the lie hurts you to tell. Tears prick the corners of your eyes and you release a shuddering breath. “I moved to England and now, I’m here.” Nobody says anything for a moment and you think that if you had lasers for eyes that the coffee stain in the carpet would be set on fire by now. 

“I think it was very brave of you to step forward today,” Henry finally says. Maybe he didn’t expect you to say anything today and that’s why it took so long for him to gather his bearing; or maybe he was waiting for you to continue. “You don’t have to tell us everything if you’re not completely ready, but this was a very good start for you.” You nod without looking at him and you feel like you’re about to throw up from everything that you’re feeling. You just want to leave and get some fresh air before calling Layla to come get you. Your leg bounces for a moment before you stand up, you know that everyone is looking at you but you don’t care. 

“Thanks,” You whisper out, your voice sounds hoarse and you try not to look at anyone so they won’t notice the tears in your eyes. “I am- I need some air.” You tell them before you grab the helmet next to your seat and walk quickly towards the exit. As you approach the door, you can see two small leaves stuck to the glass in the exact place you saw the eyes looking in. You almost let out a sob at the sight as you turn the handle and push open the door, stepping out into the cold evening air. You let the door shut on its own behind you as you walk towards the end of the awning and lean against the church's walls and close your eyes. You take in a deep breath, holding it in your lungs and letting it burn the organs before pushing it out through your mouth. It comes out as a vapor and floats slowly away before disappearing entirely. 

Deep breath in, hold and slow release before repeating the cycle until you are ready to open your eyes. Once you do, you look up to the clear night sky, the moon is full and shining down onto the city below and stars paint the sky like one of those old paintings from the eighteen hundreds. Your eyes scan the sky, searching for the easiest one and your favorite, the Big Dipper. You let a small bitter-sweet smile spread across your face at the sight of it. You think Cecilia was right when she told you that talking about what everyone experienced helps you breathe better. You don’t know if it's the night chill or the relief of getting a small bit of the truth off of your chest but you feel a little better than you have been.

You let the tears run down your face as you stare at the night sky. For a moment, you wonder if Steven or Marc or Jake was staring at it too. You take in one last breath before you pull your phone out of Marc's jacket and unlock it with the pattern it requested before going to contacts. You begin to scroll through it, only to surprise yourself when you go past Layla's and straight to Stevens and click on the contact. His picture was enlarged on the screen and you stare at it, feeling more tears slip down your cheeks. You’ve been trying to distance yourself from him but you miss him and it wasn’t fair. Your hands shake as you hesitate to call him before your thumb hits the green dial button and you bring it up to your ear.

You listen to it ring for a few moments. You wouldn’t be upset with him if he doesn’t pick up, you did refuse to speak to him the last time that you saw them. The click surprises you and your heart aches even more at the sound of his voice flooding into your ear. 

“Dove?” He says. He sounds a little anxious and worried. “What’s wrong?” Your nose stings and you try to swallow the lump in your throat while a bubble of apologies rises in your throat for how you acted and how much you miss him. 

“Steven,” You breathe out instead and try to stifle the sobs threatening to release from your chest and into the night air. “Hello.”

“Are you hurt?” He asks, “Are you safe? Stop it, Jake-” He hisses out the last part and you nearly laugh at the image of him glaring at his alter in some reflective surface.

“No,” You say. “I’m good.” 

He doesn’t answer for a moment and you think that he doesn’t believe you and he’s about to pressure you for information before he says,  “How are you?”

“I've been better.” You say with honesty. That’s all you ever have been with them: honest and you hope that they will too after what happened last time. You almost close your eyes at the memory of Marc yelling at you about being blipped or losing your parents not being special enough to hurt over; and then the endearments of ‘I love you’ that followed. 

“Yeah?” He asks, “Where are you?”

“A church.”

“You didn’t strike me as a religious type.” He says and you shake your head at that.

“I’m not.” You reply. “I just finished a support group meeting….Layla didn’t tell you?”

“She hasn’t told us anything since Jake dropped you off.” He says. You don’t know what to say so you don’t let out any noise except the soft breathing leaving your nose. “Jake replaced the handle for your flat.” He tells you, “He made two sets of keys and we’ll give them to you the next time that we see you. Unless you want us to give them to Layla and she’ll give them to you without you needing to see us.” You feel more tears leak out of the corner of your eyes and you try to blink them away before anyone from the meeting comes out and tries to speak with you. You are hurt from this situation and you try to keep in mind that they are too. You should speak with them about everything, about the night they don’t remember and how you’ve been feeling. 

“Steven.” You breathe out. “Keep the keys until the next time that I see you guys.” It will give you a reason to need to see them. 

“Yeah?” He sounds hopeful and regret tastes bitter on your tongue. Maybe they don’t hate you as much as you convinced yourself that they did.

“Yeah.” You hum out and you imagine he’s smiling on the other end of the line. 

“Everything is clean.” He tells you. “Marc and Jake took care of it and I would’ve helped but-” He cuts himself off and you close your eyes, trying to steady your breath as the memory of the man laying on your floor flashes in your mind. You know it was either you or him, and you made the right choice, you have to believe that you did, or you’ll drown again.

“No, I get it.” You tell him. “I…thank you.” You finish. It feels awful and awkward to thank them for taking care of it. 

“There was this sticky note.” He says, “The same one I put on the container of food I gave you back before Marc and I knew about Jake. ‘Please call us- or visit us. -Steven/Marc.’ You kept it.” You did, you set it underneath a container of salt so you wouldn’t lose it or forget about it in a drawer. They must have found it when they were cleaning your flat. 

“Yeah,” You say. He was quiet on the other end of the line and you glanced down at the puddle in front of you. “What about it?” You ask after a moment.

“Nothing,” He answers and instead of imagining he's smiling, you can hear in his voice that he is. “So how is staying with Layla?”

“It’s good,” You say. “Everything is good.” 

You listen to him breathe on the other end of the line and you can feel the tension rise slightly between you before he whispers out, “I’m sorry we weren’t there for you.” You almost close your eyes.

“Steven-” You start but get cut off, 

“You’re just a child-”

“Steven it’s-”

“We should have taken care of you better.” He says. You can hear the regret in his tone and you don’t know how to fix what is broken between you. You don’t know if it's salvageable but you do know that you miss him even though you tried not to. You try to think of the right words, something that can put this to rest for now and give them some reassurance that it’s not their fault. 

“It’s not like you can be there all the time.” You say, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?” You listen to his breath shudder on his end and you think he’s about to cry. You hope he doesn’t because then you’ll cry and you just were able to stop not too long ago.

“What are you doing this weekend?” He asks after a few moments. “Maybe we can give you the keys then?”

“Not this weekend.” You tell him, “Lauren invited me over to teach me how to handle children and possibly babysit her kids in the future. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to learn how to take care of them. Besides, maybe it would be a good source of income if I’m good at it.” You don’t add how you made a deal to borrow her Scooby-Doo Halloween collection back in October only if you were to accept her deal to spend time with her outside of work.

“Do you think that you’ll be good at it?” He asks.  You look away from the puddle and to the sight of the trees at the edge of the parking lot. You can lie, tell him that you’re great with children and that you were just watering down how fantastic you are; but you don’t, you tell him the truth. You hope that the next time that you speak with them they will be honest with you.

“I don’t know.” 

“I think you’ll be fine at it.” He says. “You’ll have a hiccup here and there but everyone does.” You nod and let the silence settle between you as your eyes land back on your favorite constellation. It shines brightly, if anyone were to look up into the sky they wouldn’t be able to miss it. Your same thought of your neighbors looking up into the sky from earlier reappeared in your mind.

“Steven?” You ask quietly. 

“Yeah, dove?” 

“Do you see the Big Dipper from where you are?”

“I’m- hold on,” He says. You hear him shuffling on the other end of the line and you imagine him forcing himself away from the table cluttered with books and papers about Egypt and making sure that none of the sheets fall to the floor as he stands. Your heart hurts at the image, you miss him so much. “I…” He trails off and you keep your eyes trained on the constellation. “I see it.” He breathes out, you like to think a smile was tugging at his lips just like it was spreading across your face. 

You pull in a big breath of cold air, the feeling of it burns your warm lungs and you slowly release it. The vapor floats in front of you while the smile still stays on your face as you say, “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Laurens apartment smells like sage and rosemary, the sight of the incense sticks resting on the second from the top shelf of a bookcase tucked against the far wall as soon as you enter the apartment is the source of where the smell is coming from. You give her a soft smile as she holds open the door for you and tells you to take off your coat and hang it on the coat rack behind you. Your fingers wrap around the straps of the helmet as if the thread would warm your hands. 

“You look like a drenched rat,” She tells you and you laugh despite it sounding like a rude comment. You know she means well and it was pouring down rain on the way over to her apartment on the back of Layla's Vespa. Even when you took off the helmet for just a minute, once you got off of her bike, you were even more blinded by the rain. 

“Well, it’s raining hard outside.” You tell her as you peel off Marc's jacket and place it on the hook before resting Layla's helmet on top of it. You shiver, your teeth chattering lightly together and she frowns a bit at the sight.

“You want some tea?” She asks as she shuts the door and locks it. You know just by her tone alone that it wasn’t a question, she was going to force you to drink something warm and you are going to welcome it. Anything warm sounds good right now. 

“Sure, thanks.” You say as she makes her way towards the kitchen and disappears from view. Your eyes trail to the couch, looking for her wife to greet her so you wouldn’t seem rude despite how awkward you feel being in someone else's space. She wasn’t on the couch and neither were the children.

“Where’s Kris?” You ask, peeking down the short hallway as if you would see her poking her head out one of the doorways simply because you said her name. You walk towards the kitchen and stand awkwardly as you watch her grab the kettle from the stove top and fill it with water from the sink. 

“She’s doing some overtime for work.” She says over her shoulder. She places it on the stove top and flicks on the burner switch before leaning against the counter. “The holidays are coming up and we’re trying to save some money for Christmas gifts. We both thought that this would be a good day to make the extra money since you’re helping me take care of the children.” You hum and allow yourself to lean sideways against the counter, slightly hoping that the comfortable look will make you seem not as tense in her home. You aren’t worried that she is going to harm you or some intruder or god will appear, but more like feeling comfortable in a place you have only been to once before. 

“They’re napping right now. They’ve been so cranky today that I thought that it would be best that they have a chance to sleep it off so you wouldn’t have to deal with too much of that…” She trails off and you watch her eye the kettle for a moment before she says softly, “Maybe it will be just you and me today, if that’s alright. I really need a break from them. I love them, but I just need a break…I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a terrible mom.” You shake your head. You feel something tense in your body relax a bit, you didn’t realize how stressed you were for taking care of her children until now.

“Nah, I think you’re great. You can still love your children and need a few hours away from them and to yourself.” You shrug. You feel a little bad about not visiting her sooner when  she invited you back in October. So much has happened between then and now that you know you couldn’t have visited her sooner because of how you would have acted. You wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her and you know she would pry information out of you like it was nothing. 

You add, “Maybe we can do something together soon? Just you and me.” She perks up a bit.

“I would love that.” She smiles genuinely. “I’ve been wanting to do something with you outside of work forever.” A ping of guilt hits you and you try to act like you haven’t been a terrible friend to her. There is so much shit that you are hiding from her that if she were to ever find out about it, it would be best to ghost her completely before she calls the police on you.

“I know but things kept coming up and we just didn’t have the right time…” You trail off and she nods in agreement. You are a bit surprised that she agrees that the timing wasn’t right. 

“I could tell that something was wrong and different about you.” She admits. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to pressure you into telling me if it got too bad and I became too worried for you.” You bite your lip and trail your eyes away and to the steam beginning to come out of the kettle. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but just so you know, I’m here to listen and support you. Lord knows how many times you listened to my rants about my own life. I’m available day and night.” 

“Thanks,” You say. You know you have no intent to tell her what happened over the last month but the offer for her to be a listening ear was nice. You would rather keep her out of the life of cults, Gods, and murders, to make sure her and her family are safe. Besides, you don’t think she would take anything that you have been through within the last fifty days well. You lived through it all, she would only listen to your tales and perhaps send you off to a mental hospital for help, maybe she wouldn’t even believe you and tell you to sod off and laugh, that would be the best outcome if she were to find out your truth. 

“I’m deadass,” She tells you. You spare a glance at her face to see how serious she is. A small smile spreads across your face at the lingo she picked up from you. 

“I know you are,” You grin. “But, I would like to escape from that for a while.” A break from everything sounds really nice.

“A break, right?” She asks and you nod. She wants a break and you want a break. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I don’t wake up the children and it’s just you and me?”

“What children?” You ask and she returns your grin. “All I see is you and me in this apartment and a comfy couch and some tasty tea.” You both deserve a break from everything even if that meant throwing out the plan of learning how to take care of two toddlers.

“I’m going to go get you a towel,” She states. “You’re dripping all over my floors I just cleaned.” You can tell by her tone that she wasn’t bothered by it but rather teasing you.

“Sorry,” You say as she brushes past you. She waves you off and leaves you with the beginning to boil kettle. Your eyes trail over the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. It was just like it was last time, not much has changed in the apartment from what you remember but you do notice pictures from the trip Lauren and Kris took back in September framed and hung up on a few tacks. You only know it was from months ago because Lauren showed you almost every photo that they took when they came back from the trip. You stare at the photo with Kris and Lauren who was laughing in front of the gardens with some form of pink flower in the background. Kris was staring at her with a look of love and adoration on her face, you don’t think you ever seen anyone look like that since your parents passed. 

You sometimes would catch your dad looking at your mom with that same expression, but it's been so long since you saw it on anyone that it nearly threw you off to see it captured in a photograph. You look away and to the counter, your eyes trailing over the granite and to the various items on top. Envelopes that you assumed are bills, receipts from stores, a couple of toy cars and a Barbie doll missing a pink shoe, empty packets of tea bags, and a flier for Daniel Williams. You step forward a bit to get a closer look of the missing teenager. You saw the same flier of his in the elevator just above the buttons for the floor when you entered it. It was an updated version from the one you saw months before. It was the same photo of him smiling into the camera. His green eyes were bright with crinkles at the corner of them while his blond hair was short and a little messy. 

A description of his eye color, hair color, his birthday, weight, and any other way to spot him through scars and birthmarks were listed underneath the photograph. According to his birthday coming up in December he was younger than you by just a couple of months. This kid was missing and his family has not stopped looking for him since he disappeared. A couple of weeks ago, Lauren was talking to Richard upstairs, he generally runs the business by doing paperwork and ordering supplies for the toaster oven that would occasionally break down. You think she was asking him about hanging up some of the fliers in the workplace for her missing neighbor because the next thing that you knew, she was taping it to the entrance double sided. So anyone who entered or exited the building would see his face.

“He’s been gone for a long time now.” She says, causing you to jump a bit. You turn to look at her as she hands you a towel with Paw Patrol characters decorating it. You mumble a thank you and begin to pat your pants with it. “I think he’s dead and I think his mum knows it too. But, she won’t stop looking for him until the truth comes out or she finds his body.” You watch her lean against the counter in the same spot she was previously as she eyes the paper. “He was a good kid, he brought up some soil for Kris when she wanted to make a garden. He and Molly played a few times when she invited him over for tea parties. I think you would have loved him, he was just like you.”

“What do you mean?” You ask quietly. 

“He was quiet and reserved until you got to know him and he was one of the kindest and funniest people I knew.” She says just as quietly as you asked. You think that if she spoke any louder, she would break and cry. “He just…he went out at random times of the day, his mum said he would leave late at night and come back weeks later with sun burnt skin and dirt underneath his nails and…he just wasn’t the same kid. She told me that the boy who came home at two, sometimes three or four in the morning, was not the boy she raised and recognized.” She pauses at the sound of the kettle beginning to whistle before she quickly removes it from the burner. 

You both turn to look at the hallway leading towards the bedrooms and waited a few moments for the sound of small footsteps to come from that area. You look back at her and notice that her shoulders drop a bit before she begins to pour the water into some mugs. Neither of the children were woken up by the sound of the kettle. 

“He was a good kid,” She finishes as she reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a box of tea bags. You can’t read what type they were from how her hand was placed over the box, but you can tell it was nearly empty once she opens the lid and places one tea bag into each cup. It must be good tea for the box to be almost done with.

“I think I would have liked to meet him.” You say and she gives you a watery smile. If she thinks he’s so much like you, maybe he decided to fraud papers and move to North America or some other country. Maybe he’s living in New York and working at the shawarma restaurant or a sandwich shop. Maybe he’s acting like an adult when he actually is a kid. What caused him to disappear from everyone's lives? What happened to him to cause him to act like he did before suddenly dropping off of the edge of the Earth?

You add, “He sounds like a good person to be around.” She nods and you know that she was keeping quiet because of her worry for if she were to speak she would end up sobbing loudly. She passes you one of the cups, this one decorated in pink, blue, and yellow stars with small rainbows on the surface. A small smile spreads across your face at the sight of it, Molly must have decided to take it upon herself to decorate the surface and neither of her parents were able to get the stickers off completely. This was evident because there were bits of paper still stuck to the cup that neither Kris or Lauren were able to scrub off all the way.

You follow her to the couch, this time leaning all the way back against the cushions instead of sitting on the edge as you allow the cup to warm your cold hands. 

“What are you planning on getting your kids for Christmas this year?” You ask. You hope that the question will distract her from the grief she has for Daniel. 

“Molly wants a phone, a real one.” She rolls her eyes a bit at that and you let out a chuckle. “Jamie wants a doll house, you know those massive ones that we don’t have room for. I think he wants the dolls that come with it more than the house though…” She says. “We went through the clothing store not too long ago and he wanted the sparkly dresses. He’s nearly three, of course he’s going to find anything bright and glittery, cool and exciting. I just worry that other parents will see two lesbian mums dressing up their son in gowns and think that we’re trying to influence him into being gay or something.”

“Nobody is gay simply because they like the opposite gender things.” You say. “And who gives a shit about what others think because of what things your child likes to wear. If he wants to wear a dress one day and the next day he wants to wear a shirt with a monster truck, let him. It’s not harming anyone and he might grow with confidence to wear whatever he wants to when he’s older if he realizes he has an awesome support system.” She smiles in thanks towards you and you sip the tea, half-hoping that the liquid was cool enough that it wouldn’t burn your mouth. It tastes like mint and raspberry, a slightly weird combination at first until you swallowed it and realized that it wasn’t bad. 

“Do they know about Santa?” You ask. You were told when you were twelve that Santa doesn’t exist, that he’s just a make-believe character really created to keep children in line for the holidays. But, you already figured it out by the time you were nine when you noticed the bar-codes on a candy bar your parents put in your stocking. You didn’t push them about the topic because you were worried that you might be wrong and Santa would stop visiting your apartment because you no longer believed in him and your parents would somehow communicate with him to stop coming by. Maybe you still somewhat believed in him but were skeptical about it.

“They know that he leaves gifts for the good children and gives coal to the bad ones but they don’t know anything past that.” She says. “We give them the more expensive gifts while Santa gives them the cheaper ones, that way when they get older and want a phone it will be from their mums rather than Santa. I want them to…” She pauses, looking down into her cup of tea for a moment before saying, “I don’t want them to think about how unfair it is for other children to get books and socks from Santa while they got a phone or a gaming console. That’s pretty unfair of Saint Nick to give them these devices while their classmate got a coat for winter.”

“I get it.” You tell her. “I think that’s smart of the two of you to do that rather than let Santa take the credit for the expensive gifts.”

“Shut up,” She rolls her eyes and you giggle at her. “We’re trying to humble them.”

“I know you are.” You grin. “I think it’s pretty selfish of the man in the red suit to take the credit for the things that they will enjoy the most.”

“You think Jamie will enjoy the dollhouse more than a pair of fuzzy green socks?”

“Most definitely.” You nod, “You think when Molly is, like, ten that she will love a coloring book over a phone?”

“She better because there's no way we’re buying her a phone at ten years old.” She says, causing you to breathe out a short laugh. 

“If not now, when?” You ask, “She’s going to harass you for years about a phone so when is she going to get one?”

“Later,” She says. You smile into your cup as you sip some more of the drink. “Do you like it?”

“It tastes good,” You say. “Thank you. I’m just surprised that you got tea with more than one flavor. Didn’t you get lemon tea from the café when you bought me coffee months ago?” She scrunches her brows in thought. 

“I did,” She says after a moment. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never.” You grin and she picks up a balled up piece of paper from the end table behind her before throwing it lightly at you. You giggle as you swat it out of your way and it lands on the floor softly.

“You’re an ass.” She tells you and this time your laughter is loud enough that you’re worried you woke the kids. You try to quiet down as Lauren looks past you and down the hallway with a small smile on her face. 

You both wait for the pattering of feet for a couple of minutes before she says, “We have a Christmas party on one of the Saturdays next month at the shop. Are you coming?”

“It depends.” You shrug as you remove your right hand from the mug and press the towel into your pants a little harshly. 

“You didn’t show up last year, you should come this year.” She says. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look down at your pants. You didn’t go last year because you didn’t have enough money for the bus ride and back, besides that parties aren’t your favorite thing to go to. Maybe you’ll show up this year for an hour before going back to Layla's place, but that seems like a waste of gas just to spend a short time there. 

“I don’t know…” You trail off. “Parties aren’t my thing.”

“C’mon,” She groans. “When was the last time you went to a party?” You pat down your pants roughly as you think back on it. The last time that you remember you went to a party was for your best friend's thirteenth birthday, which was SpongeBob themed. You spent the night at her house and stayed up until the sun was beginning to glow its first morning light on New York. It’s been years since you went to a party, and you know that a Christmas party isn’t going to be like your best friend's birthday, but it might be good for you to go and hang out with people who aren’t associated with deities and cults. Look at you, thinking like Layla and trying to encourage yourself to go out and have fun and step out of your comfort zone.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Not a ‘I’ll think about it for two minutes before saying no,’ actually think about this.” She tells you. 

“Best I can do is think about this for three minutes.” You say. “Maybe two-and-a-half.”

“Sod off.” She replies. You look at her, wondering if maybe she took your joke seriously but she was rolling her eyes playfully and showing clear wrinkles at the corner of them from her smile. “Before I forget, when's your birthday, again?” You fake a look of shock.

“Don’t tell me you forgot, Lauren.” You say.

“I’m sorry, I am a very busy woman.”

“Lauren!”

“I don’t think you even told me!” She defends herself and you nearly reach down onto the floor to throw the crumpled up paper at her. You know that you haven’t told her when your birthday is because you don’t want her to find out and feel like she has to celebrate, besides that you don’t care for the celebration of the day of your birth.

“You don’t know when my birthday is?” You place your hand against your chest and open your mouth a bit. “My favorite coworker doesn’t know? How fucking rude.” You bring your cup up to your mouth and take a drink. 

“Perhaps, I’ll find out in your background check.” She says, you nearly choke on the tea but manage to swallow the liquid. She has a look of surprise upon her face and you don’t have to be a genius to know that she didn’t mean to tell you about that. 

“My background check?” You ask quietly. 

She looks down at the couch cushion as she says, “Richard asked me to help him since the manager is still on maternity leave.” She picks at a loose thread on the cushion she sat on. “Nobody is supposed to know so, you know, keep it between us please?” You nod, you weren’t planning on telling anyone. “It’s been a couple of years since the last check for everyone. It’s really just to check to see if anyone got arrested or did some criminal activity that law enforcement or the employee hasn’t reported to the business.”

You pick at the pink star sticker on the cup nervously. Everything should be fine, they shouldn’t find anything on you but still you were anxious that they would find something. Maybe they’ll notice some wrong information on the papers you faked and look further into it or maybe they’ll type your name into Google and find that you are a missing person in New York. It wasn’t hard for Marc to find your old Facebook account and family members, he has a blue folder on you sitting on Stevens dining table. You should have changed your first and last name, you should have done something to throw them off the trail. Soon you’re going to be found out and arrested and Lauren will hate you for lying to her and allowing you to be around her family when she didn’t even know you- oh fuck-

“Is there any crime you committed that we should know about?” She asks, cutting off your train of thought. Your heart pounds against your chest and you feel all the blood drain from your face. Oh god, what if she already knows and invited you over to come clean? What if Molly and Jamie weren’t in their bedrooms sleeping but Kris took them away from the apartment so they wouldn’t get in the crossfire of the United Kingdom's equivalent to the United States SWAT team barging in and arresting you? Your hands shake and this time it isn’t because of the cold. 

You feel your stomach churn and you think you’re going to throw up the tea and this morning's cereal. She says your name gently and you try to give her a smile, hoping it didn’t turn out as a grimace. She purses her lips at the sight of you and you try to hold down the tea and cercal as you say, “Besides being this-?” You gesture to yourself,. “I am a crime in itself.”

“Are you feeling okay?” She asks with concern, “You look flushed.” You take a deep breath, the room suddenly feels ten times hotter and you keep your eyes trained on the mug you hold. 

“Peachy,” You mumble. “I think-” You cut yourself off as you gag. “I don’t feel very good.” You tell her. Her forehead creases in worry and you try to not throw up on her couch. That's the last thing she needs from the person she thought she knew. 

“I think there's the flu going around, Molly might have it and knowing how it worked last time, everyone is soon to have it.” She says. She leans forward a bit and presses the back of her hand against your forehead. “It doesn’t feel like you have a fever.” She pulls her hand away and leans back against the armrest. You try to stop the guilt from slamming into you like a basketball as you try to get your stomach to settle down. 

“Drink some tea,” She says. “It might help.” Despite figuring that it would do the exact opposite, you drink some of it. She places her elbow on the back of the couch and leans her head against her arm as she looks down at the towel in your lap. “The forecast said there's a chance of snow next week.”

“In November?” You breathe out. She hums. “It’s not going to stick.”

“That’s what I said, but who knows maybe we’ll be surprised.” She says. You watch her eyes trail past you and look down the hallway, with the pounding in your ears finally settling back into normal, you can hear the sound of footsteps behind you. You look over your shoulder and  see Molly standing in the entrance of the hallway with a large wet spot on her Paw Patrol pajama top and her face flushed. She looks absolutely miserable. 

“Mum I frew up,” She says. You look back towards Lauren and she sighs softly. 

“I knew it.” She says. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you might want to get out before you get the sickness spreading around in this home.”

“It’s okay,” You say. “I think it would be best to have my-” You pause as your stomach churns and this time everything that you were holding down comes up and all over onto the living room floor. You breathe out deeply, staring down at the liquid you consumed and the Lucky Charms you tried so hard to keep in your body. 

“I’m so sorry,” You say as you feel a hand on your back, rubbing soft circles into it. You can’t help but feel embarrassed even though you really did try not to throw up. 

“It’s okay,” She says. “It happens.” She sets her tea onto the coffee table and stands up, “I’m going to get you a washcloth and then we’ll call your uncle.”

“Aunt,” You say as you close your eyes and listen to her walk towards the kitchen. 

“You and your uncle had another argument?” She asks as she gently tilts your head upwards and presses the warm cloth to your mouth, wiping away whatever vomit was surrounding it. 

“Unfortunately.” You mumble as you open your eyes. She presses her lips together. 

“Your aunt it is then,” She smiles softly. It was too kind for you to face the knowledge that she might find out about you in the upcoming weeks. “I’ll call her for you after I take care of Molly, okay?” She gently pushes you back onto the cushions. “Just rest until then, love.” You stare at the ceiling as you listen to her walk down the hallway to take care of her child before you allow the tears building up behind your eyes escape. For a woman who doesn’t truly know you, she is too kind towards you. Soon, she might find out about you and you don’t want that day to come; and if it does, you don’t know what you will tell her.

Chapter Text

The last time you had a fever was in the fifth grade when Sarah got the class sick. You vaguely remember her stating that her mom took her to the hospital to visit her dying grandma and that's where she most likely got the germs from but you aren’t so sure of that. Elementary school is like a minefield for children to get sick. Half of the students don’t wash their hands and they pick their nose while some kids straight up eat whatever food landed on the cafeteria floor either voluntarily or being dared by others to do so. The germs on the swing sets and monkey bars on the playground were terrible, they were never sanitized but students were always encouraged to use hand sanitizer as soon as they entered their classroom. Either way, you don’t quite know where ten year-old you got the sickness from but it was a terrible week of playing on your Nintendo DS and throwing up whatever food you managed to eat. 

You remember endless amounts of cough syrup and checking your temperature at least twice a day with a thermometer. You remember shivering even underneath a pile of blankets and whenever you stood up, the room spinned like you were on an amusement park ride even though you stood still. That was the last time you got sick that bad, but here you are at seventeen years old and watching Friends on Layla's television as your head rests on a pillow and several blankets are thrown over you. Below you, between the coffee table and the couch, rests a stainless steel bowl for you just in case you were to throw up the crackers and bread you ate not too long ago. It was Sunday and you know that you are about to miss work tomorrow and maybe even Tuesday simply because of the state you are in. 

You hope that Lauren gets sick enough to stay home with her kids so it will buy you a few extra days to come up with a plan of what to do. You are well aware that there's a chance she might not even find anything on you, but if there's that chance then there's the portion that she will. It’s not that hard to look up your name online, you’ve done it countless times and usually the first few dozen articles are about someone else with the same name. But once you type in New York along with your first and last name, a small handful of articles appear. Some with information on some academic achievements you made in freshman year, others that are obituaries for you during the time of the blip, and then finally the missing person posters your aunt created when everyone came back from the blip. 

You are presumed dead over in New York, but your aunt has hope that you are alive. It was so similar to Daniel's mother still searching for her missing child after months of his disappearance. You stare at the television, not quite watching the scenes playing out as you stress over what to do. Since you went back to Layla's apartment yesterday, you’ve been sick. You couldn’t hold down anything and the room felt too hot and too cold at the same time. Overnight, your body formed a fever and you don’t know if it was caused by the flu Molly had or if it was caused by your own stress and the mantra of “she’s going to find out” haunting you in your sleep. It was also probably caused by not receiving any flu vaccinations in the past two years so it is your own fault, really. 

You can tell Lauren that the papers are wrong if they find a mistake but what is the likelihood of the United States government and the United Kingdom overlooking that mistake? You were lucky to use the time that everyone came back from the blip to flee the country and change your birthdate, so what if Lauren and Richard look too closely at the papers? You can’t control what they look at, and when Richard first hired you, he had to not notice anything suspicious so there should be nothing wrong with the background check. You’re just being hard on yourself and stressing about nothing. There’s no fucking way they will find anything on you and what are the chances they decide to put your name and New York into the same search bar? Low. Probably. Fuck. 

You told Layla about the background check and she didn’t seem too stressed about that. So, maybe you were just overreacting. Maybe you were allowing your anxiety to bully you into being sick and you shouldn’t be as stressed as you feel. Laurens not going to find anything on you. She’s not going to turn you into the police and send you back to North America. She’s not going to confront you about some documents you forged when you were fifteen. She’s not going to search your name and the state you once lived in on the internet. She will not find shit on you. Despite trying to calm yourself down about the situation, you still threw up the water your roommate forced you to drink not too long ago. 

“You okay?” She asks as she wipes up the vomit with a towel and begins to spray down the area with anti-bacterial spray. You blink slowly at her, watching the room spin for a moment before you close your eyes and try to steady yourself. 

“I’m fine,” You huff out. Your throat hurts and so does your head, so no, you’re not fine. You know that you have a migraine just because of the pain where your forehead is and light is beginning to hurt your eyes. You hate being sick. 

“C’mon,” She says. “We need to get some water in you.” 

“I think that's a terrible idea.” You mumble. You just threw up water and she wants to put more in you? No, thank you. 

“Well, it’s the best one we have at the moment, so you need to sit up and get hydrated and eat some crackers.”

“You want me to eat crackers that dehydrate me?” You ask. Salty crackers on an empty stomach and being unable to hold down any liquid, that sounds like a recipe for a worse time.

“Stop being difficult and just sit up,” She says. You continue to lay on the couch and try to ignore the pain in your skull and behind your eyes. “I’m serious, kid. Get your ass up or I’ll make you.” You breathe out through your mouth, your nose being too congested to breathe through. There was nothing you like about being sick, maybe when you were younger you liked the attention you received but now, it was dreadful being this ill. 

“Make me, Layla.”

“You’re an ass when you’re sick.” She tells you. You know that you can be much ruder when you don’t feel good, but you really don’t want to do anything but wallow in your self-pity as long as it helps the room stop spinning and stop your body rejecting anything you consume. Throwing up for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours is not something you want to do again. You hear her sigh before her footsteps fall against the floor as she walks away. You listen to the laugh sound track on the television and the pounding of your eardrums. You felt something knot in the shirt you wore and before you know it, you’re sitting upright and your eyes are open. Layla stands next to you as she releases your shirt from her grasp and hands you a water bottle and a small packet of saltines. 

“Eat,” She demands as she sits on the sofa next to you. She takes the bottle from you and snaps open the lid, breaking the seal so you wouldn’t have to use your energy to open it before handing it back to you and giving you a look. You know you can be stubborn and sit on the couch for hours until she eventually runs out of patience and either forces it down your throat or she decides to stop trying to help you; but neither sounds very appealing. Perhaps she’ll be more happy if she sees you try to eat and drink even though you know you’re not going to be able to hold it down like you have been since you first threw up in Laurens apartment yesterday. You bring the bottle to your lips and take a small sip before taking a large gulp.

“Slow down,” She tells you. “You’re going to get more sick if you drink it too fast.” You put the lid back on as you swallow the last bit in your mouth and place the bottle onto the coffee table in front of you. Your mouth felt back to normal before you popped a saltine into it and chewed, inevitably drying it back out and making you thirsty. 

“When I was sick, my father would make me drink this nasty syrup and send me off to bed.” She says. You chew the cracker slowly as you listen to her speak. “I would sleep for days, only remembering bits and pieces when I woke. Maybe we should look for something like that for you.” 

“Nyquil.” You say, “It would knock my ass out and make this suffering a breeze. Maybe I’ll be lucky and see the hat man.” You don’t look at her but you like to think she was smiling even if it was at the expense of you being the butt of the joke. You swallow the cracker before picking up a second one and waiting for your stomach to stop rumbling so you can feel better about eating again. “My mom used to give me this nasty pink liquid that said it tastes like bubblegum but it definitely lied. It tasted terrible.”

“I think I know what one you’re talking about.” She says. You pop the cracker into your mouth and chew slowly before you stop because of the all too familiar feeling of your body disagreeing with you. 

“I don’t feel so good,” You tell her past the food in your mouth. You feel her hand settle on your shoulder. You close your eyes and try to fight the feeling of your body rejecting the food and water. Why does it have to be a bitch and decide that anything you try to eat or drink that it is best to not let into your body?

“What do you need?” She asks. “Do you need a bowl or-” You gasp as you bend over and hold onto your stomach as if pressing into your body with your hands will manage to keep everything inside of it.

“Steven.” You say. You half-recognize the word, you know who the name belongs to but it doesn’t feel like you’re saying it. To your ears, it sounds like someone is asking for your neighbor from another room. You almost squeeze your eyes and desperately try to not upchuck the food and water you just ate as you feel yourself lay back down onto the cushions as Layla moves off of them. Her movement makes the couch feel like you’re on a boat and you want it to dock so you can get off of it. You want to cry, you feel absolutely terrible. Being sick is not something that you will rate five out of five stars. You can hear your neighbors name being repeated from another room, they sound like they are desperate to see him, begging for him. For a brief moment, you wonder why they want him so badly.

You stare at the flashing light behind your lids as you listen to the outro theme song for Friends before the next episode comes on. You keep your eyes closed until the darkness eventually settles behind your lids and you mix it with dreaming and the dark. You’re not sure what belongs to what, but you do know that the next time you wake, it’s to a glimpse of Steven placing a cool rag onto your forehead and giving you a soft smile before you let the darkness pull you back underneath the ocean's surface with the sinking ship. When you wake again, it’s to Steven crouching in front of you, holding up a small white stick that you think is a thermometer before the waves of the ocean pushes you back underneath its surface. 

When you come to, your eyes are already open and staring at him. He looks like the Steven you know, except there's some darker circles and bags underneath his eyes and his hair is much messier than usual. 

“I finished it, dove.” He tells you, his eyes are bright despite how exhausted he looks. You wonder what caused him to not get an adequate amount of sleep. 

“What?” You mumble, blinking tiredly at him. Your eyes don’t hurt as much as they did but the brightness of the room makes you nauseous. Was he really here? Or was your brain tricking you into believing he was? Were you so feverish that you began to hallucinate? Or was this a dream that seems so real?

“The book I’ve been working on.” He clarifies. He holds up the scrap book and your eyes trail to it for a moment before the sight of a bright blue light reflecting in the television behind him catches your attention. 

“Where am I?” You ask, looking past him and at the environment you’re in. It looks like Stevens' apartment but the last place you remember is laying on Layla's couch. You don’t remember traveling from her place to his. He gives you a concerned look as he drops the book onto the floor beside him. 

“You don’t remember Marc coming to get you?” He asks gently, his hand reaching out and cupping your cheek. He feels real, his warmth soaks into your skin which makes you believe that this is a really accurate dream or hallucination or perhaps this is reality. Your mouth feels dry as you try to rack your brain for any memory of it, but nothing comes forward. You think you remember somebody asking for Steven in another room but you aren’t too sure. You don’t remember hearing anybody ask for Marc or Jake. 

“No,” You say. Your tongue darts out of your mouth and wets your dry lips. That feels real too. 

“You were crying for Marc, Jake, and I so we came and got you, dove.” 

“I was?” 

He nods, the movement causes your head to spin. “Yes.” You close your eyes for a moment and breathe in through your mouth, feeling the warm air of the apartment fill your lungs and out before you open your lids. You don’t remember them coming to get you, you don’t remember much actually.

“You got me?” You wrinkle your brows as you stare at him, his thumb rubs against your skin softly. The roughness of his skin drags against your cheek as he smiles sadly.

“We’ll always come get you when you need us or ask for us.” He says. He removes his hand from your face and stands up, towering over you before he leaves your field of view. Your eyes wander around the apartment, everything looks like it did the last time you were here. Perhaps a bit more messier with papers and books and clothing scattered around, but it looks like the same place you spent months of your life in. Your eyes trail to the scrap book resting on the floor, it was the same one he refused for you to look at because it wasn’t finished. There wasn’t a title for it, but you can tell by the parchment paper that it is loved and carefully cared for. 

“Here,” He says as he comes back into your view and crouches down in front of you. He holds a thermometer between his fingers, it was one of those that you have to place underneath your tongue. You scrunch your nose at it, you never liked having your temperature taken. Mainly because of the taste of rubber that would linger until you got rid of the taste with something that you ate or drank. “Open up.” 

“No,” You say and he gives you an exasperated look. 

“I need to check your temperature.” He says. “Layla told me it was a hundred and three this morning.” When did she check your temperature? You try to remember anything about that but nothing comes forward. Which causes you to quickly decide that you don’t like having gaps in your memory. 

“Okay,” You say, wincing at the pounding in your skull. “That was this morning.”

“Why do you have to be difficult?” He asks. “Why can’t you just tough this out for a minute?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“That’s because I am one.” You retort and he falls silent. You know that he’s trying to take care of you and all you’re doing is making this difficult for all parties involved, but you don’t like feeling miserable as you do right now and hot damn you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

“Okay, fine.” He huffs out, “You can get some candy if you do this.” You peek at him, suddenly you were feeling a bit interested in the reward for this task. 

“What kind is it?” You press and he stares at you for a moment. 

“It’s Marc's Dum-Dums.” He answers. You squint at him. He was offering up his head-mates candy for you which was a little sweet in itself because Marc was definitely going to be a bit upset when you plan on taking the only good kind from it. Unless, Marc already took the good ones. 

“Okay, but what kind?”

“Are you serious?” He breathes out. 

“Yeah, I’m not taking the offer unless I know if there's any good ones left.” You shrug. He gives you an incredulous look before he sets the thermometer on the table behind him as he stands from his crouched position and leaves your view. You listen to his footsteps and watch his reflection move in the darkness of the television screen before you hear the opening and shutting of a cabinet and the crinkle of a plastic bag. He is back to crouching in front of you once more and holding up a mixed bag of half-empty lolly-pops. He allows you to peek into the bag but not take any, you can spot some of the ones you like such as the cotton candy, the butterscotch, watermelon, and the mystery flavors. 

“I get as much as I want,” You tell him. It wasn’t a question but a demand on your end of the bargain. 

“You get five lollys for every time you let me check your temperature.” He says. 

“Eight.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“Six, take it or leave it. Final offer.” He says, you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Eight suckers or I refuse any medicine you may try to get me to take.” You tell him. It was his turn to narrow his eyes at you. 

“I’ll find the nastiest medicine for you to take then.”

“Okay, I’m not taking shit so go look for it.”

“You’re a brat,” He tells you. “Fine. Eight lollies every time I take your temperature.”

“Deal,” You say and he hands you the thermometer and you place it in your mouth, resting the stick underneath your tongue before you make grabby hands for the bag. He hands it to you and you dig through the bag, searching for the good ones. 

“I’m going to have to buy Marc a new bag.” He grumbles. You pull out the ones you want and he keeps a careful eye on the amount you’re taking. You hand him back the bag once you take eight of them and when the thermometer begins to beep, signaling that it was done taking your temperature, you hand him that back too. You unwrap a blueberry lolly and pop it into your mouth, hoping it would work its magic to get rid of the gross rubber taste underneath your tongue. 

He grabs his glasses off of the top of his head and places them over the bridge of his nose before he reads the number glowing on the small screen aloud, “One-hundred and four point two.” 

“That's a record.” You tell him around the lolly, “Write that down for the books.” 

“We need you to cool down or we’re going to have to take you to the doctor.” He says seriously as he lowers the thermometer and looks at you.

“Can’t go.”

He scrunches his brows, “Why not?”

“They’ll know.” 

“Know what?”

“Papers.” You mumble. “Laurens gonna figure it out. She’s gonna know I’m a fraud. I dunno what to do. She’s going to send me off back to the states.”

“How do you know that?” He asks quietly. 

“She’s a mom, she wouldn’t want me around her babies.” You say. You know she wouldn’t want you around her children because of how little she’ll realize that she knows you.

“But we didn’t send you back.” He protests. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah but, you said I’m like your kid.” You say, “I’m not Laurens kid, I’m her friend or coworker pretending to be someone who I’m not.”

“When did I say that?”

“Say what?”

“That you’re my kid.” He says, you squint at him. You remove the sucker from your mouth entirely, feeling the sticky saliva run onto your fingers due to the stick you hold.

“Now look at who doesn’t remember.” You tell him. “How the tables have turned.”

“We have so much to talk about,” He says.

“That we do.” You whisper, you cover your eyes with your arm and listen to the sounds of the fish tank and his soft breathing. You wish that you could breathe through your nose rather than your mouth. You put the lolly back into your mouth and bit down, crunching it between your teeth. 

You don’t think it’s a good time to have the long awaited conversation while you’re sick and feverish and luckily he must have the same train of thought because he asks, “Lauren found out?”

“Not yet, about to.”

“How do you know that?”

“She’s doing some research for Richard and it’s not that hard to type my name into the search engine for Google. Marc did it, she can do it too.” You place the stick onto the candy wrapper, the taste of rubber was out of your mouth and you are a little glad about that.

“What are you going to do if she does find out?”

“Pack my bags and move countries, I guess.” You half-meant it as a joke but it might be your only option if she were to find out. Abandon all progress you made in London and dip out to another continent.

“I think we can figure something else out.” He says softly, “Maybe we can travel somewhere else, Norway or Canada or the Philippines. I think Marc and Jake have some people who owe them favors.” You open your eyes and peer at him, half waiting for him to tell you that it was a joke and that you shouldn’t take him seriously, but nothing comes.

“You would go with me?” You ask. 

“Always wanted to travel.” He shrugs. “Jake can bend to Khonshus will in other places than London.” You don’t know what to say to that so you keep silent, it was weird to know that if you had to leave that they would follow you. “You want me to read to you?” He lifts up the scrap book and you hum in reply. He flicks open the cover and clears his throat before he reads off of the first page. 

“Khonshu is the moon god,” He begins. “He-”

“He’s a little bitch.” You cut him off. “He doesn’t deserve our attention, skip him.”

“That he is,” He agrees with a small smile as he turns the pages to the next deity. “Okay, Taweret is the goddess of motherhood and pregnancy and she is the protector of women and children. Taweret is a guardian of the Duat, a realm for the afterlife. She helps guide souls into the afterlife by weighing the hearts of the dead against the feather of Maat- which is the god of truth and justice- on a scale.”

“Wait,” You breathe out. “She weighs people's hearts on a scale?”

“Yes.”

“Against a feather?” You press and he’s silent for a moment before confirming it with a simple yes. “The hearts are gonna be heavier. So of course you’re going to lose.” You say. 

“I’m sure that the hearts are the equivalent weight of the feather,” He replies. “Maat’s feather is the representation of truth, justice, order, and balance. So, in order to have an afterlife of peace, you must be honest with yourself and balance the scales.”

“Well, that’s shitty.”

“Internal peace is not offered on a silver platter.” He says. “As easy as it would be just to have everything set out for you after death, forever being at peace is something you still have to work for.” You’re quiet as he speaks and remain silent afterward. You wonder if you’re going to have to balance your scales when you die or if you’ll end up in a different realm for the afterlife. Will you have to go through what they did? Balance the scale during a time limit or be thrown overboard, or will you have to do something else? 

“Taweret takes the form of a hippopotamus. Although mythology says, she is often depicted with the body of a female and the head of a hippo. I can tell you first hand that she is a hippo with human hair.” He smiles at you. “Taweret is over six feet, I believe she’s closer to seven or eight from what I remember.” You listen to him retell the story of him and Marc meeting the Egyptian goddess on the boat and how she helped them escape the Duat through Osiris gate. 

You close your eyes as he speaks, the story wasn’t boring you but rather his voice was so comforting that it began to lull you to sleep. But right before you go under he says, “The God Horus, worshiped as the sun god. He was the protector of the sky.” You squint through your eyes and look at him as he reads out of the book, “Horus is often depicted as a hawk or a falcon, many pieces of artwork and Egyptian religion shows that he is flying throughout the sky to protect the humans down below. Some pieces state that he is along the horizon which soon became one of his names: Horus in the Horizon.”

“His right eye is depicted as the sun which represents power while his left is the moon which represents healing. The left eye was lost in a fight against Seth, who was essentially his uncle, in a fight for the throne of Egypt. The eye was restored by the goddess, Hathor. This eye became known as the Eye of Horus. The symbol for protection, healing, and restoration. The healing process of the eye became known for making whole and healing.” He glances at you and you open your eyes a bit wider so he wouldn’t think you were falling asleep to his history lecture.

“Am I boring you, dove?” He asks. You try to shake off the exhaustion you were falling to as you try to think clearly through the fog in your brain. Being sick is a bitch. 

“I think Horus is the bitch baby harassing me, dad.” You say as a yawn leaves you. “I think he’s going to ask me.” You try to sit up, but the movement of the room spinning faster stops you, so you settle back into the cushions and close your eyes to steady yourself. 

 He doesn’t say anything for a long moment and you wonder if he didn’t hear you until he finally asks, “To be his avatar?”

“No, to prom.” You say, “He’s going to get me a corsage or a boutonniere and we’re going to wear matching colors so everyone will know he’s my bitch.” You wait until it feels like you have enough control over the spinning room to open your eyes before you quietly add, “He was there at the mall.”

“How do you know it was him?” He asks. 

“I carried around a paper with his protection symbol for months and I am the only one who sees this falcon. Horus is depicted as a falcon.”

“So you’re just assuming it’s him because of a piece of paper?”

“Until it’s stated otherwise, yes.” You say. You watch him flick through the scrap book, landing on a rough sketch of a man holding something in his hands, you could barely see it from where you lay. 

“Osiris is the god of the underworld,” He read. “And the god of fertility.” He pauses and skips a few lines. “Osiris is the father of Horus and the husband to Isis.” You watch his fingers trail down the page, he was searching or something. Maybe you’ll end up cracking open this case during your feverish haze. “It was believed that every man at death became associated with Osiris which signified the renewal of life both in the next world and the descendants….Osiris is symbolized with an ostrich feather, mummy gauze, and fish…” He trails off. 

“Nothing about a falcon.” You point out. 

He flicks to the next page and reads, “Isis is the mother to Horus and wife to Osiris…after the death of Osiris and the birth of Horus, and the death of Seth; the shelter Isis afforded for Horus gave her the character for the goddess of protection…she- her powers transcended all other deities several narratives state that she is more powerful than Osiris and Re….Isis became known as the Eye of Re.”

“Who’s Re?” You ask. 

“Re is the god who created all gods.” He says as he looks away from the book in his lap. 

“And it’s rumored that Isis is more powerful than her creator?”

“Well, all the information I found on it states that Isis is exactly that.”

“Through books?” You ask and he nods. “Well, where did they get their information?” He huffs out a breath. 

“Listen, I only gather information from sources that I researched and discovered as reliable. So, don’t shoot the messenger, you don’t have to like what I’m telling you but know that I did do my research.”

“Sorry,” You grumble out, wincing as a particular pounding in your skull increases momentarily. “It’s just scary to not be able to pin down who this fucker is.” He purses his lips. 

“I know,” He breathes out. “It might not even be this god. But rather some deity keeping tabs on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“This falcon could be Horus, but it also is not. It could be some other god shape-shifting into the form of a falcon to throw you off. Or maybe it is Horus as a falcon but what about all the other times? Like when you got chased out of the laundry room, was there a falcon?”

“No,” Your voice sounds small.

“What about the time you were held out the window, was there a falcon?”

“Yeah, it was sitting on the windowsill across the road.”

“Well, what about…what about Sunday morning?” He asks. You know exactly what day he was talking about. The morning you murdered the intruder because it was either your life or his, because it was kill to protect others or let him kill you. There was no falcon that morning, but rather some other force guiding you through. 

“No,” You whisper this time.

“Who do you think that was?” He asks. Originally you thought it was Taweret but she said it wasn’t her. So you have no other basis to go off of, back to square one, and you hated that. 

“I don’t know.” You whisper, you feel like you’re going to cry. You have nothing to go off of, no hints, you can only assume that the falcon is Horus until found otherwise. You close your eyes and cover them with the crook of your elbow.

“Can you read more?” You ask. You feel his eyes on you for a moment longer before you hear the flipping of pages. 

His voice was soft as he spoke, “Isis is represented as a kestrel- which is a common falcon in Egypt.” Your breath catches in your throat. He trails off and looks at you. “You okay?” 

“Keep going.”

“There's not much else that may interest you on Isis.”

“Okay, we'll go to the next one.” You say. Holy shit, Isis is a falcon too; and yeah, that doesn’t mean much but it means everything too. You can’t just assume this falcon is Horus or Isis until it’s proven.

“Nut is the goddess of the sky, the vault of heaven. She is the symbol of protecting the dead once they enter the afterlife. According to the Egyptians, the sun and moon would make their way across her body.”
“So, she really is the sky?”

“Yes, and the cosmos and stars too.”

“Huh,” You breathe out. 

“Nut depicted symbols are a cow, stars, sky, and a water-pot placed upon her head. She is usually seen as a cow stretching across the sky in pieces of art. But, she is also seen as a sycamore tree. Because of her role in saving Osiris, she is seen as a friend and as a protector of the dead. She is often thought to draw the dead into her star-filled sky, offering them food, wine and protection from all evil…She is the mother of Isis, Osiris, Set, and Nephthys.” You can tell that he was skipping lines that he thought would interest you enough to get your mind off of what you did not too long ago. You have to believe that you are a good person because if you don’t you will die. Eight stab wounds turned into nine, but you clearly remember stabbing him eight. So, where did the ninth come from? 

“...Set, also known as Seth, is the god of war, chaos, and storms. Usually depicted as Sha, an animal that is not known today, but best described as an African wild dog, hyena, pig, antelope, aardvark, and a donkey. Later, he is usually depicted as a man with a donkey's head.” 

You yawn and listen to him turn the page. You can feel your body trying to fall back asleep even though you woke not too long ago, “Nephthys is the goddess who symbolizes the death experience whereas her sister, Isis, is the symbol for childbirth, remember?” You hum in answer to his question so he wouldn’t think you were asleep, your excitement for the discovery that the falcon may be Isis was exhausting you. Usually, you were more wide awake because of discoveries like this one, but your body was trying to recover from the fever you are still experiencing. 

 “She is associated with protection, magic, mourning, childbirth, the dead, and health….” He pauses and you try to fight off the pull of sleep trying to tug you back into the ocean of darkness. You want to tell him to go on but you can’t seem to find the energy for it. 

“How are you feeling, kid?” Marc asks, you listen to the book shut and you think he set it on the ground next to him. Part of you felt relieved at having another Goddess to look into but, another part of you was so stressed from learning there's another god for you to look out for. Besides that? The question of them being a shapeshifter or it not being a deity attached to the symbol of the falcon was going to eat you alive. Just one fucking break away from this stress sounds real nice. 

“Terrible.” You whisper. You feel his hand wrap around your own and pull your arm away from your eyes before he places his hand against your forehead. You know you were burning against his skin.

“I’m going to go to the store for some medicine.” He says once he removes his hand. “I’ll be back.” You groan, almost forcing your eyes open to look at him, but you don’t think you would be able to stare at him without looking pitiful to him. 

“You take my dum-dums I’ll break your knee caps,” You warn. It was an empty threat, but you half hope he would take it seriously so when you wake out of your feverish stupor, that you would have seven suckers left. It would be rude of him to steal from the sick. 

“Sleep,” He tells you. You can hear the eye rolling in his tone and for a moment, it felt like nothing happened between you. That there was no fight or there was no night that he came back drunk off of his ass and his neighbor took care of him. But soon after that moment came, it passed.

“We’ll be here when you wake.” He promises and despite him lying to you endlessly, you try to believe him as you listen to him open and close the door, locking it behind him with a click. You have no choice but to believe that they will come back because you sure as hell aren’t going to get up to follow them. With the sound of Gus' fish tank and the familiar traffic below, you allow the ocean to finally pull you back under with the sinking ship and into the darkness.

Chapter Text

It was raining when you woke, the last three days were a feverish haze in your mind. You remember waking at points, munching on saltines and soup that Steven would try to shove down your throat. You remember the awful taste of grape cough-syrup and comparing it to the remaining taste of bile in your mouth; ultimately deciding that the syrup was better. You remember listening to Stevens hushed whispers to Marc and possibly Jake as you pretended to sleep, most of it was mumbled and too quiet for you to hear so your brain decided that anything you did catch was not worth retaining. You remembered the feeling of one of your neighbors brushing their hand against your cheek before they lifted you off of the couch and took you to bed, tucking the blanket up to your chin. 

You remembered counting six suckers when you woke and hiding them underneath the couch cushion so Marc wouldn’t steal more back. The fucking asshole. You skipped your blip support meeting for the first time since you began going and it was because of this disease you were suffering with. It wasn’t because you quit or because you thought you didn’t deserve to be healed, but because of a common cold that a six year-old passed onto you. It was nearing noon  when you rolled out of bed and stood on your feet for the first time that day. You can hear Steven humming in the kitchen and the television playing some baseball game that you think is a rerun because you’re sure that Marc has watched this before. The apartment smells like oatmeal and tea, which you take in a big whiff of because you can finally breathe through your nose. 

For a single moment, it felt like nothing happened. You would have thought that it was just a week before Halloween and this was Saturday. You just carved pumpkins with them the night before and Marc gave Millie the rubber duck because you wanted it but didn’t put it in the cart. Jake just carved a pumpkin with a cat, fronting for more than a half hour without doing any guarding or protecting, just existing. Layla called to announce that she was back in London from her extraordinary trip in Switzerland and she wanted to finish the murder-mystery game with you instead of going to the mall. All was well, nothing has happened. There was no fight for survival twice in twenty-four hours. There was no argument between you and a drunk Marc. There was no drunken admittance of how sorry they are and pleads for forgiveness and the expression of how much they love you. There was just you and your friends and a normal Saturday. 

Unfortunately today was Wednesday and it was towards the end of November. Everything that you would love to chalk up to a dream or a feverish haze, was real and you were now dealing with the fallout between you and your neighbors directly rather than staying with Layla. You snatch a sweater resting at the end of Stevens bed before rummaging through his dresser drawers and finding plaid pajama pants. You were going to take a shower not only to prolong the inevitable conversation where you are completely present and not mumbling incoherent answers; but because you were sure that the last time you took a shower was five days ago and you can clearly smell your body odor. You did not want to sit through a tense conversation and smell terrible.

You tip-toe to the bathroom with the stolen clothing quietly. You hope that Marc was too distracted with the game and Steven with his cooking to notice you before you reached where you wanted to be. If Jake was around, you hope he was too busy making fun of Marc's interests to even spare a glance at you. The door clicks behind you and you lock it before turning on the light. You blink at the sudden brightness before you peer around the room, it is dirtier than you remembered. Luckily the pile of bloody clothing you left last time you remember being in this bathroom was gone. The empty toilet paper rolls scattered around the small trash can next to the toilet. The sink wasn't completely rinsed of short dark hair that was similar looking to the hair you would sometimes find in the sink after they shave. The toilet was thankfully clean but the shower looked a bit dirtier. You haven’t seen it in this terrible of a condition since you began spending time with them back in June. 

You spend a good amount of time in the shower, mainly just standing underneath the running water until it begins to get cold, before you use their shampoo and conditioner and body wash. You didn’t want to have the conversation you knew that was coming. You had two options, one: call Layla to come get you, but she would most likely be hovering over you and asking questions herself; Or two: face the music and get this conversation over with. Stop running from these people and finally tell them what you’ve been locking up and drowning in for a long time. You were already here in their apartment, you might as well steady yourself and tell them. When you step out after shutting off the water and drying yourself as best as you can, you get dressed. 

You push your dirty clothes into the same corner you placed the bloody ones a lifetime ago and stare at them. You are surrounded with the belongings of the people you tried to break things off with. You are wearing their clothes and have been sleeping in their bed and on their couch for days now. You have been taking the medicine they paid for and the food they cooked. You just took a shower in their bathroom. They have taken care of you when you called for them, even if you don’t remember begging for them. They came when you asked, they took you back to their apartment, they made sure you were okay and placed cold wash cloths on your forehead. They could have left you with Layla, ignoring her caller id and texts that may have stated your pleads for them. 

They could have told you to suck it up and that you should have taken vitamins and supplements leading up to getting this sickness that may have prevented it better. But, they didn’t. They came and got you when you were begging for them, even though you don’t remember doing so. 

You put yourself in the situation of needing a break away from them because you were so sure they hated you and you were struggling with the events leading up to one of the last conversations you had with Jake. You refused to talk to Marc and Steven when Jake dropped you off at Laylas and you even called it abandonment simply because you were trying to push them away to make it hurt less. Jake didn’t fight when he left you in her living room, he didn’t fight when you told him you couldn’t be around them anymore. He didn’t do anything but give you what you wanted; and even though you wanted to be alone, he didn’t trust you to be isolated because of your admittance that you wanted to die. He took care of you by taking you to Layla, someone that he has to trust enough to ensure your safety and the state of your wellbeing. 

They care, although most of the time it's not clear and that does cause some anxiety for yourself and it sometimes causes miscommunication between you.. They express their affection through actions rather than words, except for that one time that they don’t remember telling you that they love you. Turns out being forgetful is something all four of you have in common at the moment. With a sigh, you decide that you can no longer avoid the inevitable and open the door, switching off the light. You can see the dark curly hair sitting at the table and pushing their food around with a utensil from where you stood. Their head tilts up, a small smile spreading across his face and eyes brightening a considerable amount.

“Good morning,” Steven calls out from the table. “I made some porridge. Come sit and eat.” You pad across the room, avoiding the stacks of books towering precariously along full shelves and stepping over pieces of parchment that seem to be forgotten since they haven’t been picked up. The closer you get to Steven, the more details you can see. The bags underneath his eyes are darker, his wrinkles are more defined and he looks like he hasn’t properly slept in weeks. You wonder if Jake has been neglecting the body in order to complete missions while you were out of their hair. You sit across from him, a bowl of oatmeal rests on the table with steam rising from it and a few berries on top of the food and a mug filled with green tea next to it. A spoon rests on top of a folded napkin and you scoot the chair a little closer to the table. 

“Thank you.” You mumble out. Your fingers wrap around the cool handle of the spoon before you dig in. The oatmeal tastes sweet, you were a little surprised that Steven managed to find berries this time of year during November, they tasted fresh and not frozen. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him watching you whether because he was expecting a reaction from you or because he was waiting for something else. Either way, you swallow and give him praise for how good it tastes. You smile at him before you scoop another spoonful and chew slowly. He mimics your movement and you trail your eyes back to the bowl, keeping your gaze on it as you eat.

You don’t know how to open up the conversation and from how it feels like, neither does he. Your tongue pushes out an oat between your teeth before you scoop another spoonful. It was nice to eat something other than soup and crackers and actually be able to taste it. It was even better to not have the taste of bile or cough syrup lingering in your mouth. 

“Do you feel better?” He asks, your eyes flicker to his face. He was staring at you with concern. 

“Yeah,” You say, nodding a bit. “I do, thanks.” You pause and an awkward silence settles between you. You don’t think things have been this difficult or weird since you began spending time with them months ago. There was no background noise besides the hum of the fish tank and the occasional honk from the traffic below the window. 

“How is Layla doing?” He asks quietly. You push the oatmeal around with your spoon, as hungry as you feel, you don’t think it is a good idea to have a conversation that is making you more anxious the more you prolong it. 

“She’s good.” You say. “Did you…did you not get the chance to chat with her when you came and got me?”

He shakes his head, “No, Jake picked you up and carried you to the cab. Your stuff is washed and dried, it’s in the bag by the sofa.”

“I’m going back?” You ask, your voice sounds small to your own ears. Maybe he didn’t want you around and he was giving you back to Layla so she could babysit you.

“If you want.”

“Do you want me to?” 

“No,” He says. You stare at him, waiting for him to slip up and tell you that it was a joke and he did want you out of his hair. But it doesn’t come. 

“I want you to stay.” He tells you, “But if you want to go, then I won’t fight you on it.” You wish you were back to June when everything was so much easier, when all you had to worry about was the heat and Khonshu messing with you. When the night is spent on the rooftop and talking about the Ursa Major, and the building of forts and movie nights were much more frequent. When the strings weren’t so tangled and you didn’t have the experience that you have now. When everything was more at peace and laughter was more genuine and not forced and smiles didn’t form as grimaces.

Do you want to stay with them again? Or do you want to come back to the apartment everyday after work and show them that you are alive only to go to yours? Do you want to watch Stevens' face fall every time you decline when he asks you if you want to stay for dinner? Or Do you want to sleep next to them at night when the feel of their body laying next to yours brings you comfort because you aren’t alone? Do you want to wake up to the smell of Marc's morning coffee on the weekends and the sound of him moving around in the kitchen? Do you want to come back and stay with them even if you must flee the country or city if Lauren ever finds out about you? 

As much as you don’t like to admit it, you want to stay. You tried to distance yourself from them by telling yourself that they don’t care; and that they only keep you around because they feel bad for you. They hate you and you still care for them despite trying not to. You do want to stick around with them but only if they are willing to be honest with you.

“I think I’ll need to know some things before I decide.” You tell him. He nods, curls bouncing against his forehead with the movement. He looks hopeful and the sight causes your chest to tighten just a bit. 

“What do you want to know?” He asks. 

“Do you remember anything from the night that Marc got drunk?”

“I don’t,” He says. “I remember Marc arguing with you, he drank too much and that’s about it.” You nod slowly. That was their story last time, so at least none of that has changed and they weren’t lying to you. Unless they remembered the made up story they created and are sticking with it. You try to rid the thought out of your head, you have to give them the benefit of the doubt if this was going to work out between you. 

“Does Jake remember anything or Marc?” You press. His eyes trail to the cup of tea and spoon belonging to him and shakes his head. 

“Both of them said no.” He answers. You glance down to your own bowl of oatmeal and push the food around with the spoon. Jake was around and no longer hiding, he usually never lingers unless there was a mission to do whether that meant protecting or serving his god. But he was sticking around for this conversation or just checking in.

He looks at you a moment longer before he asks, “Did something happen? I remember you saying that Marc smashed a bottle and you gave him a shower…” 

“That did happen,” You say. “But there is more.”

“More?”

“Yep,” You pop the P. “I didn’t tell you everything.”

“Is it bad?” He asks, he sounds hesitant and concerned. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips before you drop the spoon against the bowl and pick up your mug, taking a sip of the tea. “Oh, it’s bad.” He winces.

“Not…necessarily.” You breathe out. “It could be worse.”

“Oh, my stars…” He groans. “What did we do? Did we hurt you? Did- did I do something that made you uncomfortable? You told us that we didn’t hurt you, did you lie about that?”

“No,” You say. “I haven't lied about anything since we met.” Well, maybe a white lie here or there but nothing majorly concerning or important. “Marc and I got into an argument.” 

“Okay,” He nods shortly.

“He said some mean things and I became even more convinced that he hates me,” You start. His eyes flicker to his cup, Marc must be in the reflection of the liquid. At least he was sticking around to hear what happened from your side. “He told me that being blipped and losing my parents and the life that I thought was guaranteed for me was not special, not really important. The whole high-school graduation, and becoming an astrophysics major was ripped away from me and he basically said that it doesn’t matter.” 

Steven glares at the liquid as you speak, “And he told me that we aren’t friends.” You decide to keep out the parent part out of the conversation. That would cause this to be way more awkward than you would like it to be.

“Did he say anything else?” He asks, his voice was soft towards you but his eyes were stern at the reflection in the cup. 

“Well, no…not really…” You trail off and glance down to your fingers fiddling with the handle of the cup. “You did, actually.”

“What did I say, dove?” His eyes shift towards you with a look of nervousness in them. 

“Um…” You breathe out. “Nothing, like, terrible.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No…You, uh, you said that….you loved me and that I was, um…like your own child.” You let go of your mug and stare down at your hands in your lap, your fingers twisting together. 

“Oh.” He whispers underneath his breath. 

“Yeah.” You say. “You were drunk and you obviously had no idea what was falling out of your mouth, so…” Maybe you shouldn’t have told him that part. It was best to forget that. 

“Did I say anything else?”

“Well, you, uh, begged me to believe you.”

“Do you…?” He asks. Your eyes flicker to his face, you see that he was looking down into his own bowl of porridge and pushing it around with his spoon. 

“I don’t know.” You admit. Maybe if things were different, you would believe him and be open to the concept of your neighbor loving you enough that he feels like you’re his own kid. But, right now you don't like the idea that the man you feel betrayed by is emotionally manipulating you into believing that he cares for you on the wavelength of being his child. He did lie to you and you do want to trust him again, but you don’t feel ready to trust that his drunk words were honest. Maybe you will be more open to it down the road, but at the moment you aren’t ready to consider his words to be true.

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments and neither do you. Perhaps he was gathering his thoughts on whether to defend himself or to ensure that he meant his words but instead he says, “You called me dad.” You blink at him. What? You don’t remember saying that, when the fuck did you say that? You stare at him as you search in your mind for any moment that you could have called him that but nothing comes forward.

“What?” You say, you shake your head. “I never said that. You’re lying or fucking with me.” Maybe you did call him that while you were half-out of it when you were sicker? Maybe you mistook him for your actual father? 

“Why would I lie?” He presses. “That’s a stupid thing to lie about.”

“You called me your child,” You retort. “You were drunk and if I did call you dad, which I’m sure that I didn’t, I was sick and feverish and I don’t remember half of it.”

“Well, what do you remember?” He asks. You lean back in your chair as you try to remember what bits and pieces your hazy brain decided to keep.

“The fucking dum-dums Marc stole.” You tell him. The last thing you remember was that they are underneath the couch cushions. You hope that they aren’t broken or Marc found your stache and took them back. You earned those fair and square with being compliant as Steven took your temperature. 

“And?” He presses. You scrunch your brows together. 

“Your book?” You say. You meant it as a statement but it came out sounding like a question. Didn’t you find out that Isis was a falcon? And Osiris is the king of the underworld? Or did your brain make that up entirely?

“And?” He says. You shake your head a bit. You guess that you didn’t make that up because he didn’t correct you. 

“I…don’t remember.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t remember your crying when we walked through the door  with the medicine we left for; and that you didn’t make grabby hands and call us dad.” You give him a look. 

“I did not do that.” You state. You cross your arms over your chest as he returns your look.

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know, why would Marc lie about being blipped?” You shrug. 

“I’m not Marc.”

“No…but, you did lie about being divorced from Layla.”

“I told you that I was sorry, when are you going to forgive me? Why is this something that you’ve been keeping a grudge against us for?”

“I’ve been telling the truth since I met you,” You say. “Marc dug up information on my past, my G.P.A in high-school, my aunts and uncles and cousins, my old address of my apartment in New York. He tucked it all into a folder and handed it to me to confront me and I waited months before I tried searching up on him and only came up with a small handful of points of who he is. I just- we made a promise not to keep anything from each other that would affect the other; and you kept the marriage a secret, Layla kept her status as a goddesses avatar hidden, and Marc lied about being blipped for five years and I was convinced that I had someone close to me go through something similar and have five years of his life taken from him too.” 

“And yeah, the marriage shouldn’t feel like it's a big deal. But it does. Why would you keep that hidden from me? Like that’s such a stupid thing to lie about. You could have said that you’re in the process of getting a divorce, or it's complicated and I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But no, you said she’s your ex-wife and Marc even agreed. I felt so dumb when Layla told me the papers weren’t signed but Marc sent them out. Because, like, you told me you weren’t married. You lied to me about that and it’s not so much about the marriage, who gives a shit whether you’re married or not? But it's about the fact that you lied about it, y’know? You just didn’t tell the truth off the bat. So my brain is thinking, oh man what else are you keeping from me? What else are you lying about?” 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way.” He sounds earnest and you want to believe him, you want to be back to where you can easily accept his apology without feeling like he’s not manipulating you. He adds, “I’ll try to do better.”

“I do want you to do better, Steven,” You tell him. “I want you to be honest with me.” He stares at you for a long moment, tears brimming in his eyes and you watch as his body straightens and his eyes become more hard. 

“We’ll be honest with you if you’re honest with us,” Marc says. You wonder if Steven gave up the control of the body so Marc could speak with you or if Marc fought for the control and Steven tried to come off as calm during your conversation with him. You guess that it doesn’t matter since you were talking to someone else now. 

“Why did you feel like you couldn’t call me when the bitch broke into your apartment?” He asks quietly. You look at your hands, wringing them together as you think about what happened that night. Marc told you that he needed space, and you thought he hated you. He told you to let him breathe and you were suffocating him. Being too much. 

“I’m too overbearing and you wanted space and I just thought…I just thought that you hated me and the mall was the tipping point. You know…when I hung up and you thought I was dead.”

“I never hated you.” He says. “I disliked you being suicidal and your decision to risk your life. I…” He swallows harshly, “It would have been my fault if you died because I agreed to watching over you and keeping you safe and I couldn’t do that.” You kept quiet as he spoke, “I left you when you needed us. I should have stayed, I should have let Steven come forward, but I was too angry.” You aren’t going to tell him that it was okay, because you did need them and they left you. 

He lets out a shuddered breath, “If you die because of me, because I could have prevented it…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I don’t think I could live with myself…that’s why I always come back around to: did I…do the right thing by not turning you in? Because even though it would mean that you would be behind bars for thirty years of your life in the United States, you would be safer behind those bars than lying next to us at night.” He runs his hand through his hair before leaning forward and placing his elbows onto the table and his hand into his hands. 

“And you hung up and I thought you were dead,” His voice cracked. “And I kept telling myself that you were because- because when we got there and discovered that you were, it would hurt less. I wouldn’t expect that you would be alive and find your body in the dust.” You look down at your hands. Your vision begins to blur with tears and your throat is forming an all too familiar lump. “And when Jake got there, I needed to know if you were alive. I saw you and I just felt…relief; and then, I saw that bastard choking you and I thought you were dead.” You can’t imagine thinking someone you promised to care for was dead only to find out that they’re alive and then think they're dead again. You have thought that you would lose your neighbors and Layla, but you haven’t actively been in the situation that your neighbors were in.

“I thought I lost you, honey.” He whispers. You feel terrible, you’ve been thinking how much they hate you and here Marc was trying to be honest with you and you trying to believe him. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumble. The apology sounds so stupid compared to his confession. You’ve been in this same position too many times before with your neighbors, apologizing wasn’t going to be enough for either of you. You wish that apologizing wasn’t as frequent as it was with them. He sits still and keeps his eyes on the table between you. 

“I’m sorry I was an asshole to you,” He says. “I hope you can forgive me for reacting as I did and move past this with me.” You look at him in surprise.

“You still want me around?” You ask, you know that Steven wanted you to stay, but Marc? You couldn’t even comprehend that he would want that. 

“If you let me.” He says. “If you want to stay with me, Steven…and Jake.” He was hurt and scared for you and your actions; and he hurt and scared you from his actions too. You both caused each other pain, intentional and unintentional, and it’s up to you to accept his invitation to stay or not. Part of you wants to go through with what you’ve been trying to do. Push them away and move once you turn eighteen, maybe even sooner because Lauren might find out about you and call the police. But the other part of you wants this, you want to stay and see this out. See what this might become between the four of you. Besides, you don’t know who to turn to if a deity follows you up North and hangs you out another window. 

It was best to stay with them because you will be safer. Jake will protect you, Marc has his military training, and Steven…he can keep you sane with mundane things such as baking and grocery shopping. If it does come to moving around to avoid jail, Jake and Marc definitely have better ties and knowledge than you do. Staying is the better option, you just have to try to become normal with them again so sitting on their couch won’t feel as awkward or eating dinner with them. 

“I think we should set some ground rules first,” You tell him. “This time all of us have to be loyal to it, that includes you Jake.” He nods in agreement as your eyes flicker to his face. “Same rules as before, no keeping secrets from each other, especially if it includes our lives. I’ll answer the phone whenever you call and I’ll stay on the line, but it applies to the three of you too.” You pause as you think of what else to add, “From now on, we have to be honest with each other. If I find out that either of you lied to me about something important, I’ll leave.”

“So, if I say that your cooking is great, but it tastes like garbage, that’s okay, love?” Steven asks, you roll your eyes. 

“I don’t care about that. But if there's another situation of telling me something that you think would majorly affect me or our relationship, I want the truth; and I hope you would want that from me too.” 

“Do we have to do the handshake?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“No, I’m going to have to trust each of your words,” You say. “So?”

“Marc and Jake both agree to the terms and I do too,” He answers. You let out a shaky breath and lean forward a bit, reaching for your mug and taking a drink.

“Good,” You say once you swallow the tea. You set the cup back onto the table and pick up your spoon. “Honesty is what we’re all for, right?” You push around the oatmeal and glance at him. He shifts in his seat a little. 

“Yes,” He breathes out. 

“Something has been bothering me for a while, and I think Jake has the answers.”

“Okay,” He nods. “Do you want to speak with him?” 

You nod and you watch his posture straighten into a rigid one before slacking off a bit into a seemingly relaxed one, “You said you saw nine stab wounds. I-” You stop yourself and run a hand down your face before giving him a fixed stare, “Look, there's no easy way of saying this, But I remember stabbing him eight times and even the deity told me it would take eight times and- y’know there’s nine wounds.”

“A deity told you that it would take eight times?” He says with an odd look on his face. 

“Yeah, they kind of snapped me out of it and helped me.”

“Snapped you out of what?” He asks, you swallow and look away. You knew that you would have to tell him the details of what happened that night otherwise he might not be too open about giving you the answers if you weren’t compliant on your end.

“I almost called Marc and I didn’t,” You say without looking at him. “I was going to let him shoot me.” He doesn’t say anything and you feel a bit too anxious. You shift in your seat as your grip on your spoon tightens and loosens. Your palms begin to feel a bit sweaty and you fight the urge to wipe them on the pajama pants. 

“Lo siento mucho, mi pequeño,” He says underneath his breath. “Siento no haber estado ahí para protegerte.” You don’t know if he’s swearing in Spanish or not but from his tone he sounds somber. “I don’t have the answers that you want.” He says. “I don’t know why there were nine entries and you were told that it would take eight and you remember eight.” You don’t want to hear that answer, but you’re going to have to accept it. Jake isn’t going to have all of the answers. 

“Maybe you stabbed him nine times?” He says, you shake your head. 

“Not possible,” You tell him. “I clearly remember counting.”

“It is possible to forget major details,” He says. “Most cases of crime, the witnesses mistake details such as the clothes the perpetrator wore or the eye or hair color.”

“Jake, I am the murderer. I have been having nightmares and flashbacks almost every day since I killed him. I know that I committed the crime and I kept track so I wouldn’t go over or under and leave him suffering.”

“He was going to take you somewhere and you didn’t want to leave him suffering?”

“I didn’t know he had intentions of kidnapping me, I thought he just wanted to kill me,” You defend yourself. “Besides, if someone were to stab me I wouldn’t want to be left suffering.” You don’t even want to imagine it, the cold metal piercing your flesh, the blood gushing from the wound as they pulled out the knife. Ugh, gross and disturbing. 

“I’ll make sure nobody stabs you because anyone that looks your way and has those intentions is already dead.” He says. You think he was trying to be reassuring in his own fucked up way, but with his past reassurance of already looking into the people you communicate with daily, you think he is being honest. 

“Okay,” You say and then awkwardly add, “Thanks.” You don’t know if you can continue with eating breakfast after this conversation so you drop the spoon and rub your hands against your pants to help dry them of the sweat. He must have picked up on your reluctance to eat after the talk of murdering a guy and him telling you he’ll kill anyone who thinks of harming you because he stands up from his chair and walks to the kitchen counter, snagging something off of it before returning.  

“Here’s your keys to your apartment,” He holds up the small metal keys on a circular chain. Two pairs of matching keys were hooked to it. 

“Thanks,” You say as he places them in your outstretched hand. You stare at one before deciding to unhook it from the metal circle. “I think you should keep one,” You tell him as you place it on the table in front of him and add, “Just in case I get locked out. Can’t have two keys  being locked in my apartment, that would be very…bad.” You finish. He takes the key and hooks it onto his own keychain before picking up his spoon and scooping up the porridge and eating it. 

“You know how to drive?” He asks in between bites and you set the keys into your lap and decide to try to eat since your nerves are more settled. 

“I don’t have my permit.” You tell him. 

“You know how to drive, though?”

“I know the basics.”

“Which is?” He asks. 

You can tell he wasn’t going to drop this until you tell him so after you chew on your spoonful you say, “There's a brake, an accelerator, turn the wheel left to go left, right to go right. There’s a switch for the blinker but I’m not quite sure if pushing down on it goes left or right. Um, there’s a gear for park which is P and D for driving. I don’t have my permit.”

“Permits are just a certificate that states you are good to drive. But, you have the knowledge so you are fine.”

“That’s like saying you’re qualified to do surgery because you watched Grey's Anatomy.”

“Watched what?” He asks. 

“It's a medical show.” You wave him off. “I have never driven a car.”

“Well, you’re about to be taught after you eat. So, eat up, kid. We got some driving to do.”

---

It was still pouring down rain as you followed Jake down the street and through several alleys. You stood about three blocks away from your apartment building with Marc's jacket hood covering your head and the zipper up to your chin. You thought that Jake would let you drive his limo or something but you were wrong as you approached a silver hatchback car and waited for Jake to take the keys out of pocket but he didn’t. It soon dawned on you what his plan was. 

“You’re stealing a car,” You say. 

“I’m teaching you how to steal a car,” He tries to correct you but that only causes you to glare at him. 

“You’re teaching me how to steal a car.” You repeat incredulously. 

“Just in case.”

“Marc made a deal with me that he wouldn’t teach me to drive a stolen car.” 

“I’m not Marc.” He says. “Be quiet, you’re going to attract attention if you speak any louder.” You can tell he already had his mind set and there was nothing to deter him away from teaching you this. “Never break the window. It will cause the car alarm to go off.”

“Oh my god,” You say and throw your hands up in the air. 

“So, what you are going to do-”

“I am not doing shit, Jake.” You hiss out. “I’m not going to get caught up in any possible crime.”

“It’s not a crime until you get caught.” He replies. “But if you don’t want to do it. Fine. At least watch what I do so you know what to do if you need a car.” You almost open your mouth to ask him about why you would need a car when the memory of the Harrows remaining cult members flashes behind your eyes. 

“So, what you would hypothetically do is remove the handle to the car door. If you know how to pick locks, great. But, in this case, you don’t and I don’t think I have time to teach you how to pick locks without somebody passing by and noticing us. So, remove the handle. To do so, there's this screw at the end of the handle closest to the side mirror. You want to unscrew that, but since you can’t, you just pull at the handle until,” He snaps it off and holds it like a trophy.

“Tada.” He breathes out, your mouth parts open in shock as he lets go of the plastic piece and it hits the cobblestones underneath you. “Next you would press this little switch right here,” He points on the inside of the handle next to the lock and pushes it inwards until you hear a snap. With his left hand, he reaches up and grips the edge of the car door before prying it open. You wince as you wait for the alarms to sound but none came and he grins at you. 

“Holy fucking shit,” You breathe out. You watch as he crouches next to the driver's seat and ignores you.

“This panel underneath the steering wheel needs to be removed.” He pats the gray plastic covering. “See these screws?” You watch as his index finger taps the small heads and hum. “You need to remove them, but since you don’t carry around a screwdriver on you, just reach underneath this bit.” His hand trails further down the panel to the bottom and his fingers grasp underneath it and pull. It rips away from the car and lands against the driver's seat. You stare with wide eyes at the sight. 

“You expect me to have the strength to rip away this panel that's screwed into the car?” You ask.

“I expect you to try.” He tells you; and you don’t hear an ounce of fuckery in his tone. Holy shit, he’s not joking. 

“You were only able to do that because you have Marc's military background and being a god's avatar, I’m a seventeen year-old with noodles for arms.”

“I still want you to try,” He repeats himself before pointing to something underneath the steering wheel. “You see this wire?” He asks. With a sigh, you crouch down and peer over his shoulder, he was pointing to a green piece. 

“Uh, huh.”

“Don’t ever touch it.”

“I don’t plan to.” You tell him honestly. 

“You see these bundles?” He points to three clusters of small wires bundled together. “This one on the far left belongs to the radio, lights, and indicators. This one in the middle belongs to the control lights such as the seat warmers or the heater; and this one is the ignition and battery. You want this one. You select the wrong bundle, you will be electrocuted and possibly killed.”

“I’m going to be honest, that does not sound very live, laugh, love.” You tell him. 

He ignores you by saying, “So what you are going to do is remove this end.” He takes off the gray square covering and drops it to the floor before pointing to a red wire and a blue one. “If you have a knife on you, you are going to use it to cut off about one inch of it off of the end.”

You decide to humor him, “And if I don’t have a knife?”

“Use your apartment key or a sharp rock. Whatever you do, don’t tear it off with your hands,” He says. Has he done that before? He pulls out a knife from underneath his shirt and uses it to cut off the end.

“Next, you are going to twist these together, don’t touch the wire as you do.” He carefully twists them and leans back enough to give you a better view. You watch as the dash lights up and the radio turns on to a local channel and he quickly reaches over to the dial and turns it down. 

“Congratulations, Jake, you connected the battery and the ignition wire.” He says in a sarcastic tone. “See this wire?” He points to a red one. “You want that one touch these two that I just connected. So, you need to strip it by about half an inch. Remember to not touch it because it will be live.” He uses his knife to do so. “Now, it just needs to touch the ends of these wires that are twisted, so carefully bring it over and…” He gently touches it against the battery and it causes the engine to rumble to life. “Excelente,” He smiles before he climbs into the driver's seat and revs the engine a couple of times. 

“You want to do that so it doesn’t stall and then turn the steering wheel all the way to your left or right to get it to…” You watch as the steering wheel pops out of the lock and he gives you a grin. 

“It’s ready to drive.” He tells you. You stare at him, your mouth parted open as you think of what to say. A croaked noise leaves your mouth and your stomach churns, a knot tightening in it. You would have thought that it was just nerves until you watch his face fall and eyes shift to your right. 

“Khonshu,” He says as he gets out of the car and leans against the driver's door, resting his arms on top. Your gaze shifts to your right, the overwhelming and slightly familiar feeling of the deity's presence loosens in your stomach as the hair on your arms stand up. Jake keeps a neutral look as he listens to whatever the bird was telling him until he looks annoyed and rolls his eyes.

“She’s not coming,” He says. “I don’t care if this mission qualifies for more than one avatar, Layla is staying with the kid until I get back.” A gust of air blows past you and it would have knocked you off of your feet if it weren’t for you forcing yourself to stand your ground. “The kid is not being left unattended and I’m not taking them along.” He grits out between his teeth. He rolls his eyes at something Khonshu must have said before the feeling disappears in your gut and he flips off the direction that the god once stood. 

“Where are you going this time?” You ask. 

“Algeria,” He answers as he pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at the running car. You nod slowly. 

“I’m not going to lie, this is terrible timing,” You say. You just reconciled somewhat with your neighbors and now they’re leaving. You know that they have a job to do but you still can’t help but feel like you’re being left behind. 

“Yeah, I know pequeño,” He pauses. “Laylas going to stay with you or you with her.”

“She can go with you.” You shrug. The idea of your neighbors leaving already made you anxious and now saying that Layla and your neighbors can go was increasing your anxiety. If it helps speed up the mission and keep the other safer by watching each other's back, you’re all for it. 

“No, she can’t. Not after I left you alone.” He doesn’t need to explain that he meant the murder you had to commit to defend yourself. You look away from him and he sighs.

“It wasn’t your fault,” You tell him quietly. “You can’t be there for me all the time.”

“I’m one phone call away,” He tells you. “You just dial Marc's number and I’ll answer.”

“You’ll be in Algeria.”

“I can fly.” He says, you blink. 

“Then…why did you drive to the mall?”

“I needed a car to get you back to the apartments and a place to keep you safe.” He says. “So, I borrowed a car.”

“You stole a car,” You correct. 

“Borrowed without permission,” He grins. “We’ll meet half-way, alright?” You try to return his smile but your lip wobbles and you have to sink your teeth into it to get it to stop.

“You’re going to call me,” You tell him. “Every night when you’re safe, you’ll call me.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” His voice sounds quiet and you try not to cry. You are worried that you’re not going to see them again even though that’s what you were trying to do for the last month. The comparison of who you were a month ago and to who you are now is wild. 

“It’s a new part of the ground rules.” You say. Your nose stings. “A new agreement has to be added for me to stay with you three. Do all three of you agree to call me, to let me know that you are alive?” The rain seems to pick up and your clothes are beginning to stick to your skin. 

“Marc and Steven both say yes,” He whispers. You wouldn’t have heard him if you weren’t paying attention. 

“What about you, Jake, do you agree?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and you almost begin to cry until he says, “I agree.”

Chapter Text

“Emily is clear,” Lauren says as she hops up onto the rolling cart and leans against the  wall. You dip your hand into the sink to check if it’s the right temperature to wash the dishes before sparing a glance at her. “She doesn’t have anything suspicious about her, there’s no crime she has hidden from us; it’s pretty evident that her only crime is being one to two minutes late almost every shift but that’s not enough to put her behind bars.”

“She just needs better time management,” You reply as you reach for a rag. “Do you know who's next?”

“No,” She answers, swinging her legs back and forth for a moment before she says, “Why? Are you nervous?” You can hear the teasing in her tone but it just causes your anxiety to spike. 

“No, I was just wondering if you are doing it in any order or just randomly.”

“Random, like once every week,” She says. “Richard is a little busy catching up on paperwork from October, so instead of spending a few days looking everyone up at once and getting him even more behind, we’re doing one person every week.” You nod as you dip the rag into the dish soap and begin to scrub the metal banes in the sink. 

“Are you okay?” She asks. “You seem a little tense.”

“Oh, yeah,” You try to force out a chuckle but all that comes out is a choked noise. “I just don’t feel very hot still.” You actually feel almost back to normal save for the taste of congestion in your throat, but she doesn’t need to know that. You hope that your answer is enough for her to not be so suspicious about your anxiety around the subject of secret background checks. 

“Oh shit, sorry about that,” She says sheepishly. “Molly got all of us sick and it was not great.”

“That’s an understatement,” You scoff. “I had a fever and I was out of it the majority of the time, I don’t remember half of it.” She winces. That was a little over a week ago and although your immune system is still fighting against the virus, you can feel yourself recovering. 

“I’m so sorry, did you have someone to look after you? I know you got into an argument with your uncle not too long ago…”

“Yeah, we made up,” Kind of, but you don’t tell her that. You won’t say that you both repaired the damage made over the weekend in October, but you can say that it was a start. “He took care of me.”

“That’s great,” She says and without even needing to look at her, you can hear the smile in her voice. “You both seem to argue a lot.” You almost laugh. That was a severe understatement 

“Yeah, we, uh, kind of have similar personalities.” You tell her. Marc shoves people away and so do you. He wants to protect you and you want to protect him even though he is an asshole most of the time. He just has some issues but honestly, you do too. 

“My sister and my father were both the same way. They always butted heads and our dad would nit-pick small things about my sister's life.”

“Did they get along eventually?” You ask.

“After my sister came back from the blip, yes.” She answers and you nearly chuckle as you place a bane into the sanitizer water. Great, so you would have to disappear from Marc's life and reappear five years later in order to have a better relationship with him. You sigh as you scrub the next dish and rise it underneath the faucet before setting it into the sanitizer and repeating the process. 

Maybe you and Marc will get along from here on out once he returns. Maybe you’ll begin to loosen up and let your guard down and let him in and perhaps he’ll do the same. Only if Lauren doesn’t find out about you and decide that the best course of action is to call the police. You wouldn’t blame her if she does, she has children to protect and a job to keep to support her family. The person she grew close to over the past two years- mainly the last few months since the two of you truly began to talk to one another, now that you are thinking about it- is not the person she believed she knew. So, yeah, you understand her choice to do the right thing, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t go without trying to slip out of the police's grasp.

Perhaps you should pack a to-go bag just in case you do have to run? What would you even pack? Maybe three outfits and the rest are important documents? Pictures of your family can be printed off again and framed later so if you need to abandon the photographs you can. You should look into getting a back-pack just in case, all you have now are trash bags and that’s going to be difficult trying to look normal carrying around when the police will be hunting you down. It’s winter so perhaps you should pack your blanket too, but what if that can’t fit in the bag? You do need to pack your laptop and charger because you’ll need it to work on forging new documents if you can or should you try risking hitchhiking up North and to Sweden or Denmark? Do they check passports? You should start researching it. Fuck, you should have done it awhile ago because you don’t know when she will choose to look up you.

Moving over the winter break will be ideal, finals for the fall term are coming up next month about a week before Christmas. If shit hits the fan by then you hope that it would be over the break so it won’t fuck with your schooling but when were you ever that lucky? Jake and Layla must have ties to safe-houses or something so you can hide there if it comes down to it. 

“How long do you have left of your shift?” She asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You jump a bit and glance over your shoulder, she is giving you a sheepish smile. You drop the rag into the sink and lean back a bit to peek around the edge of the door and to the clock hanging on the wall. 

“About five minutes.” You tell her before reaching for the napkins above the sink and drying your hands. 

“You can go now if you want.” She shrugs, you glance at her and back to the clock. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely, there's no one here and Emily clocks in about an hour from now. I know that I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay, thanks.” You smile at her before walking towards your locker and opening the small cubby. You remove Marc's leather jacket from the edge of it and slip it on. He let you borrow it a handful of times and now it belongs to you. He just doesn’t know it yet. He is a fool for letting you wear his clothes in cold weather. He is never going to get this back while you’re still alive. 

“What are your plans for tonight?” She asks as you push your arms through the sleeves

“Oh, I don’t know…” You trail off as you stuff your apron into your locker and pat your pockets for the lanyard and phone. “Maybe watch something on Netflix.” Honestly, you’ll probably try to do homework but you’ll be too anxious about receiving a phone call that you won’t get the assignments done.

“It’s raining buckets out there,” She tsks, peering through the doorway and to the outside. “Is your uncle or aunt picking you up?” You step closer to her and look through the same doorway. It was raining hard, you know that you’re going to be soaked by the time you reach the bus stop and even more so if there’s no room underneath the awning. 

“No, they’re both out of town.” You say. Jake was on the mission in Algeria and Layla stayed with you for about three days before deciding she was going to help him to speed up the process and make sure he got the job done. You’re sure that Taweret convinced her to help them because you felt her presence linger in Stevens flat before you were supposed to be taken to work by Layla. You made her promise to call you every night when she is safe before you tried to reassure her that you will be safe. You have your taser, a new door handle for your own flat if you need to move back into it. You know several self-defense moves thanks to Jake and Marc. You’ll be fine. She was still a bit skeptical but had decided her mind by the time you arrived to work on the back of her Vespa. 

“So the bus?” 

“Unfortunately.” You sigh as you zip your coat up underneath your chin. 

“Well, it’s warmer than sitting on the back of your aunt's bike.”

“Yeah, but it’s crowded and takes longer and I have to stand.” You stuff your hands into your coat pocket and eye the downpour. You aren’t going to lie, you are not looking forward to the next hour of shivering and teeth chattering until you can take a warm shower and change into dry clothes. You pull out your phone and look down at the screen, you are waiting for a phone call from Layla or Steven, whichever comes first. You know that Layla's plane was supposed to land at seven in the morning and she wasn’t going to call you until the evening when she retires for the night. You put your phone back into the pocket and pull the hood up and over your head before pulling on the drawstrings and tying it underneath your chin. 

“Molly has a school project due Friday and she just gave me the paper for it this morning.”

“Isn’t Friday like four days from now?”

“Three,” She corrects and you wince. “That is if you don’t count today. I still have to get the supplies for it and I was planning on doing it today but…” She gestures to the rain. “I’ll just get the poster board wet and that won’t do.”

“When did the project get assigned to her?”

“A week ago,” She rolls her eyes and you chuckle a bit. “She is going to give me a stroke with all of her last minute assignments she asks for help with.”

“At least it’s not the night before or the day of,” You point out and she groans. “Imagine the school work she’ll receive when she’s older and hold off until the last minute.”

“I don’t even want to think about that headache,” She says. “It will be up to her when she’s older, she’s just six and wants to play with her Transformers and draw outfits and have a phone because the most popular girl in her class has one.”

“And complain when you don’t get her one.”

“And do that,” She rubs her forehead. “Get out of here while you still can. We’re lucky that there's no customers willing to venture out in this weather for a sandwich.” You smile and clock out quickly, a promise leaving your lips to bring her something warm to drink in the morning as you head out the door and into the rain.

---

You took a shower hours ago and ate some leftover soup Steven put into a container and stored in the freezer while you were feverish last week. You have been sitting on his sofa and mindlessly watching television as you waited anxiously for the call to come in from either Stevens, Marcs, or Layla's phone. Lately it has been Steven but since Layla was supposed to meet up with them today, you think she’s going to be the one to call. Mainly because she prefers to use the video call and Steven isn’t that smart with today's technology. You put your phone on the loudest ringer setting and always made sure it was within sight of you. You even went to the lengths of moving the charger cord from Stevens night stand and to the outlet by the television temporarily. 

You hope that by doing so, you would be able to see the glowing screen of the phone whenever someone was calling you even if you are sitting on the couch so you wouldn’t have the same situation when Layla was trying to get ahold of you on her birthday. Your phone was ringing loudly causing you to scramble from the couch cushions and nearly trip over the blanket that fell to the floor in your haste. You step over it and take a couple of steps before looking down at the glowing screen and seeing Layla's picture of her smiling brightly as the caller ID. The show you both were watching months ago of some drag queens getting ready to perform was in the background. You pick it up and slide your thumb across the green icon to accept the call and unplug the phone from the charger. 

“Hey,” You smile as you answer. She has flakes of sand covering her face and hair as she stares into the camera. Orange light flickers across her features and you think you can see the reflection of the fire in her eyes. The sky above her is dark, making you think she either has bad camera quality or she's in a cave or underneath some tree canopy or something. It was probably the first one since she has to have cell service in order to call you.

“Hi,” She smiles back. “I’m alive.”

“I can see that,” You smile as you sit back down onto the couch and try to stop your shaking hands. 

“Jake seems like he’s about to kill me though so I don’t know how long I’m going to be alive for.”

“He looks like he’s about two seconds away from killing everyone,” You tell her. “It’s like his natural expression.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t know I was here until he almost shot me.”

“Yikes,” You wince. “You didn’t tell him you were heading over?”

“No,” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “He would have bitched to me about staying with you over the phone and in person when I showed up. So, instead of allowing both to happen, I just let him bitch to me about it when I arrived.”

“Did he rip into your ass or was it a little better?”

“What do you think he did?”

“Made your life a living hell since the moment he recognized you.”

“Ding-ding-ding! We got a winner!” 

“That bad, huh?”

“He has been swearing at me in Spanish and fussing over you and me for the last….” She trails off and glances down at her wrist. “Eight hours.”

“Did you just look down at your wrist that doesn’t have a watch?”

“I did. The watch is on the other wrist and it’s usually on my right but I had to switch it.”

“And you said that it was eight hours?” You scrunch your brows. You glance at the clock on the wall, it was only eight o’clock. “I thought you said you’d arrive at like seven in the morning.”

“Plane delayed.” She groans. “You would think being a goddesses avatar I would have some cool teleporting powers, but I don’t.”

“The plane was delayed. Why was it delayed?” You ask. Your fingers twisted the thread of the sweater you borrowed from Steven as you tried to calm the bubbling anxiety in your stomach. You were already worried about them not coming back due to some unseen force or something, but now you had to be nervous about their planes going missing and becoming the new mysterious case like that one Malaysia flight 370. 

“Weather.” She says and looks at you for a moment before saying, “Listen, I can see the anxiety unfolding itself on your face right now.”

“I’m not anxious.” You protest, it was a white lie so you don’t feel too terrible about telling her that but with the tilt of her chin pointing down towards her chest and the arch of her brows, you know she doesn’t believe you.

“I’m anxious,” She tells you. You blink at her through the screen and she glances away, biting her lip for a moment before speaking in a softer tone, “I’m nervous that I called the wrong shots, maybe Jake really doesn’t need my help and Khonshu and Taweret are wrong. Maybe leaving you alone after going through every precaution I placed last month is the wrong move. Maybe leaving you alone after someone just tried to kill you over thirty days ago is a terrible idea. ”

“I’m not going to kill myself.” You tell her quietly. You felt guilty saying the sentence aloud, not because you were lying to her, you really don’t plan on killing yourself even though you have had thoughts about it; it’s more of the need to reassure her that you won’t. You feel guilty needing to tell her that she won’t come back to London and find a dead kid in her husbands alters flat. She doesn’t say anything and you feel the anxiety twisting harshly in your gut and creeping up your throat. 

You add, “I got my taser and I’ve been staying in Stevens place.” You want to reassure her that you’ll be okay, and yeah, maybe even yourself. You are prepared the best that you can be; and if it comes down to fighting some intruder for your life again, you’ll do it and hope that your neighbors and Layla are well-aware of how much you tried if you were to die.

“A taser isn’t going to protect you when someone is aiming a gun at you.” She says. You decide to keep your mouth shut about the mall and the moves you pulled by swinging the taser into the nether region of a man pointing the weapon at you. You don’t think she would become any more thrilled about the danger you were in not too long ago, even if you mean to reassure her of your abilities. You look away from the screen and to the painting you made months ago. You remember making it, painting it with Layla and watching Harry Potter and eating General tso chicken after you begged her to come pick you up early from work. It feels like a life-time ago. 

“Why do you say that?” She asks. You shift your eyes back to her and raise a brow.

“What?”

“You’ve been calling the apartment Stevens when it belongs to Marc and Jake too.” She points out. You blink at her. 

“I don’t know why I’ve been saying that.” You admit. “I know the apartment belongs to the three of them, but I haven’t realized that I’ve been calling it Stevens.” She hums and you bite the inside of your cheek. “How was the plane ride?”

“Nerve racking,” She answers. “I was worried that the plane would crash into the ocean or the engines would explode. I have never been a fan of planes and flying to Algeria wasn’t any different.”

“I thought you liked traveling.”

“I do, I like exploring and discovering new things and places. But flying is definitely something that I don’t like.”

“I thought you said you could fly as Tawerets avatar,” You tease.

“Stop,” She rolls her eyes. “I like flying low to the ground, not so much in an aircraft I can’t control. Do you want to talk to Steven? He looks like he wants to chat with you, table thief.” 

“Yeah,” You nod and she passes the phone over to him. He shifts the device, flipping the phone upside down before turning it right side up and staring at the screen with a small smile on his face. 

“Dove!” He says. “Hi, how are you? How was your day? The forecast said that it was supposed to be pouring down rain. You did change into dry clothes once you reached the flat, yeah? Did you eat? I think there's some soup in the freezer…”

“Hey,” You can’t help but grin. “I’m good, it was cold today and I was drenched by the time I reached your apartment. But I took a shower and ate some soup.” You lift up the empty bowl to show the camera. “I’ve been running the heater and the flat is much warmer than it was when I got back from work.”

“Are the doors and windows locked?” He asks and you nod. “Good. I’m just worried about you. Layla was supposed to stay and keep watch after you, but she’s sitting right next to me.”

“I can see that.” You tell him. “If it makes it any better, I encouraged her to go help you to speed up the process and you can come back quicker. You have someone who you trust and care for to watch your back.” His face flushes red and you try to hide your smile from him by covering your mouth with the sleeve of the sweater. You think that if you were to tease him of his blush that he will try to blame it on the heat of the fire.

“Can you record the new episode of World History for me please?” He tries to switch the subject and as much as you want to continue to tease him about his love for Layla. You let it go and nod before reaching for the remote and flickering through the channels to search for the series he enjoys.

“Will you watch it with me when I get back?” He asks as you find the channel and press the record button on the remote. 

“Yeah,” You say. “We can make it an evening thing and catch up on everything. Layla is invited too, right?” Your eyes shift to your phone and he looks a bit nervous as he shifts in his spot. “It’s rude to make plans in front of her and not invite her.”

“Would you want to watch it with us, Layla?” He asks, his gaze shifting away from you and to his left off screen. 

“I’ll think about it.” You hear her say and he nods gently before looking back at you. He’s silent for a moment as a small frown develops on his face. “Jake says that we don’t have a lot of time and we should conserve our battery life for all of our phones. So do you want to talk to them really quickly before we have to go?” You feel your heart tighten in your chest. 

“How much do you have left on yours and Marc's phone?”

“I think it was about thirty on mine and Marcs was eighty. Laylas says it's forty three percent.”

“Shit.” You breathe out. “Yeah, I want to talk to them real quick.” You nod and you watch as Stevens' soft eyes become firm in the firelight. 

“How long do you think this will take, Jake?” You ask. It was the same question you asked before they left and the same one when they called you the first night. The first answer was at least two weeks at the most and then one week. 

“I think it will take six days, if you count today,” He answers. “It won’t take very long, pequeño.”

“And then that’s the last long distance mission for a while, right?”

“As far as I know, yes,” He says. You nod slowly and bring your knees to your chest and wrap your left arm around them. “The pigeon likes to pull strings and mess things up for us as long as it plays out in his favor. So, I’m sure that he will come up with some other mission, some excuse for us to be away for a while without you being near us.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of him being an asshole.” You say, causing him to chuckle and a small smile spreads across your face at the noise.

“Remember our deal.” You warn. “Conserve your phone battery and come back. You have to teach me how to drive a car.”

“Even a stolen one?”

“If it means you’ll come back, yeah.” You say. You don’t like the idea of driving a stolen vehicle, but you will do it if it gives him some motive to come back for himself and not just his alters. “Buenas noches, Jake.”

“Buenas noches, pequeño.” He says. You think he was smiling before Marc took over but it could have been the firelight playing tricks on you. You watch his shoulders tense and spine straighten.

“Hey,” He breathes out.

“Hi,” You reply. “How are you?” It felt a little awkward to ask him that even though it was a genuine question.

“I’ve been better,” He admits. “I should be asking you that.”

“I could be better,” You tell him. “I’m just nervous about not seeing you again…” You let the silence fall between you and you look away from the screen and to the window. Through it, you can see the stars shining brightly and the moon cascading its glow onto the Earth below. You know that he is struggling with filling the void between you, the rift that he caused by telling you that being blipped and stripped away of your future and your parents was not special; and telling you that you are suffocating him made you take a step back and never come near him since. You can reach across that rift and try to mend things with him, and you were trying to do so before Khonshu stepped in and decided to swoop them away like the god-damn bird he is. You’ll try to mend things, but right now, it doesn’t feel right to tell him about how nerve-wracked you are to not see him again after trying to cross the rift between you.

So, instead you try to give him advice, “Hey, make up with Layla. It’s just going to be awkward between you two and me when you come back if you don’t.” You tell him, your eyes flickering back to the screen. “Just tell her what she’s been waiting to hear: The truth.” You don’t know what happened that night that Layla's father was killed, Marc's story might be different from what you would assume from a previous mercenary. Maybe he tried to save him but couldn’t, maybe he did pull the trigger and felt terrible about it enough that he hunted down the man's daughter and tried to tell her but couldn’t. You don’t know, but either way, you would want the truth from someone who was there that night. 

“It might make things less tense between you.” You add. “Maybe more enjoyable and…perhaps you can mend your own marriage.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, kid,” He says. You nod slowly and try to swallow around the lump forming in your throat. 

“You better,” You warn him and you think you see the corner of his lip curl up before he ends the call. For the next five days, Steven or Layla would call and chat to you about their day and ask about yours for less than ten minutes. By the end of the video chat, Jake would briefly front, updating you on the status of how long it would take- which extended from six to twelve days- before Marc would end the call the same way he always did. But yesterday's call was different, he told you how the battery for Layla's phone was less than ten percent so the next time they would call it would be on Stevens. Which was fine, they are trying to conserve battery life. By day six, you were waiting for a call that never came. 

Day seven and eight, you were always checking your phone and making sure you have service available at all times, even in the elevator of your building. You made sure you carried your charger on you to work and your phone was on you at all times. Day nine and ten, you were sitting in your anxiety and trying to sleep but always waking due to nightmares of men breaking into your apartment and killing you. Other times, the nightmares would be of you walking through the desert and being unable to find the bodies of your neighbors and Layla but finding their belongings. It’s been five days since the last time you heard from them and you are well-aware of Steven and Marc's phone having battery life so why haven’t they called you?

Are they in a shitty spot with no service? Or are they in trouble? They’re both avatars of deities theres no fucking way that they can be in trouble. Unless…Khonshu and Taweret broke off their ends of the deal and left them stranded on a mission with targets who must have bad intentions. Which means…that they are dead because they are normal humans- perhaps with less experience than the people they were after. Your hands shake as you stop pacing the floors of Stevens apartment. What are the odds of them being dead? It can’t be zero because Khonshu was imprisoned not too long ago and they died because of it. So what are the chances of that happening? It has to be slim, right? If it was done once, it can happen again but how would you know? 

There’s not some Earth-shattering sign for that to happen, the moon hasn’t exploded. So, how the fuck would you know if Khonshu was imprisoned or Taweret ended her deal with Layla? They can’t be dead. They can’t be dead. You curl your fingers inwards and try to stop the panic rising into your throat. They’re going to come back, they have to come back. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to count to ten but the feeling of an all too familiar knot tightening in your stomach causes you to gasp. You snap your eyes open and look for the source of the overwhelming feeling in your stomach before your eyes land on the window. Just outside of it, on the sill was a falcon. Your mouth parts and the bile rising into your throat burns as you stare at the deity watching you in the pouring down rain. 

You stare with wide eyes as you watch the window unlatch and slide open, the cool breeze of the London air blows into the apartment and scatters the loose papers of Stevens research onto the floor. The bird spreads its wings as if it was stretching or showing dominance before shaking off the raindrops and blinking slowly at you, tilting their head to the side. You can feel your body shake as you force yourself to stand your ground and not to go running out of the flat and elsewhere. You feel the knot loosen in your gut just enough for it to be noticeable but not completely disappear. You almost scream as you stare with terrified eyes as the bird transforms into a creature easily over eight feet tall. 

Their head brushes against the ceiling, causing them to have to bend down a bit to avoid hitting their head. You want to take a step back as you take in the big bird eyes staring at you and the beak pointing down, the head was the same as the falcon you saw just moments ago on your window sill. But instead, of their eyes being on the side of their head it was smack in the middle like a humans. A curtain of dark braids reach bare human shoulders and your eyes trail over a muscular chest and upper body arms down to human feet with rough calluses and veins stretching throughout the body part. The creature standing in front of you is holding onto a golden colored staff with the end of it being the shape of a paddle for a rowboat. It was decorated in symbols that you don’t understand but are familiar with thanks to Stevens papers laying around the flat. 

He wears a pair of shorts that reach his knees. The clothing was made with a brown cloth that looks nice for the age that this deity may be. He stares down at you with beady brown eyes and you can feel the intimidation settling into your bones. It was easier looking at him while he was still a bird. 

“You can save them.” He booms. You flinch at the noise and the pressure in your chest, almost covering your ears to protect them from the noise. “If only you promise to protect my kingdom underneath my sky.”

“Who are you?” You demand. He taps the staff onto the ground and it causes a gust of wind to blow past you and raise the hair on your arms. 

“I thought you were smart enough to already figure that out.” He states, this time he spoke more softer. You aren’t sure if he sounds disappointed in you or bored. 

“Horus,” You say. He continues to stare at you and you decide that despite you being right all along that this was not a good thing to celebrate. 

“I sense a brokenness in you. A need to protect those you desire to keep alive.” He says. You try to stand still so you won’t show him how uncomfortable you are with his accuracy. “I can help you with the completion of that goal.” You are rightfully terrified of this deity standing in front of you, but you were tired of being scared. 

“Oh yeah?” You scoff. “And what? Ten years of being treated like shit from a god that thinks too highly of himself?”

“Some would take the offer in a heartbeat even with the knowledge of the consequences.”

“But I’m not some.” You point out. “You obviously want me for something.”

“A smart mouse, you are.” He says. “You agree to becoming the protector of what’s underneath my sky, I will give you armor, strength and many more abilities to ensure that your goal is fulfilled.” 

“I’m not stupid,” You huff. “Why ask me to be your avatar? Why not ask someone who is more qualified for the position?” At least Marc had the background of being a Marine and Mercenary when Khonshu propositioned him. You have zero experience except for the self-defense that Jake and Marc taught you on the late nights when you couldn’t sleep or had too much pent up anxiety. But you would hardly say that you can beat someone up even as an avatar. 

“There is something that I want.” He says. Yeah, no shit. You almost roll your eyes. “And you are the easiest route to it.” You try not to show the wheels turning in your head as you shift your gaze to Gus the Second and his buddy swimming around in the tank. It’s been obvious that he wanted something from you since he chased you out of the laundry room, but you never knew what it was. Now, you just learned that it’s not you he wants, but something through you and you just have strings tied to whatever that is. 

“I can sense your puzzlement, mouse. You are running through the labyrinth and trying to find the answers you seek, when I can willingly hand them over to you.”

“I don’t think receiving answers from a god that held me out a window and watched me almost die a handful of times in a mall is something that I would like. So, no thanks.” Besides if you did accept, Marc, Steven, and Jake won’t forgive themselves for it; that is, if they are alive

“I warned you of the danger you were in, mouse ,” He hisses. “You should be grateful.”

“And I would be if I didn’t feel like I am trying to be manipulated by an asshat.” You tell him. He scoffs and you cross your arms over your chest. “Why did you go to the length of holding me out the window if you were just going to ask me to be your avatar? Why suggest that you have the power to kill me if you really wanted to and ask me to be your loyal servant?” 

“I wanted to give you a choice,” He says, which causes you to laugh. The noise nearly startles you and you almost look around for the source of it before recognizing that it came from you. 

“Are you being deadass, right now?”

“What?”

“I am not explaining to an asshole who's older than the dinosaurs and probably the Earth what that means,” You say. “You wanted to give me a choice? By threatening my life and trying to scare me into accepting. You sense a brokenness in me, something that sounds like it can’t be easily repaired or some shit. But I’ve been fixing myself. I’ve been trying to live for a better future and being your avatar is not part of it.”

“I am offering you the choice of either life or death,” He states. “If you are to decline my offer I will have no choice but to kill you.”

“Fuck off,” You laugh out loud. This is such a ridiculous plan of his. This entire thing is insane. If you were to tell yourself last year or even a month ago what this December will have in store for you, you’re sure they would be acting way more serious than you are right now. This deity has been harassing you for months now, threatening your life and saving it and now you are being asked to be his avatar simply because you are the easiest route to get whatever he wants. You are not going to be his avatar, you promised your neighbors that you will decline if this ever happened, hell, you promised yourself. You have no intention of becoming this god's bitch and becoming as miserable as your neighbors are. Layla only likes her deal with Taweret because of how the goddess treats her, you know that if you accept Horus' offer of being his avatar that you will hate it. 

 “I humbly decline your offer,” You tell him. He stares at you for a moment, your heart pounds against your chest and you try to appear calm and not fearful for what is to come. You don’t know if he was bluffing about taking your life simply because you rejected him or if he was one-hundred percent honest about what he will do. You soon find out when he steps to the side of the window and you feel that your feet are no longer touching the ground. The knot in your stomach tightens and you try to fight against the urge to scream and ultimately fail the closer that you are brought to the open window. You can clearly see the floor and the sill of it are wet from the raindrops and it is freezing outside. 

You reach for the standing lamp next to Stevens' reading chair and clutch tightly onto it, half hoping that it will stop you from going out the window and dropping to your death. You feel the pull in your torso tighten as the lamp becomes unplugged from the outlet and you drag it across the room towards the window. The instinct for humans to survive is wild. One moment, you’re signing yourself up for death and the next, you’re fighting against it and trying to continue to live. You feel hot tears running down your face as you grip on tightly to the lamp and swing at the god. Of course, it goes through him. 

You choke on a sob as the force of your swing causes the lamp to fly from your hands and crash into one of Stevens bookshelves, knocking off several of his knick knacks and books to the floor and shattering the head covering of the lamp. You feel your body being turned around against your will as if you are a puppet attached to tangled strings and being shoved through the window. Your hands dig into the sides of the walls, your fingers scraping against the drywall and you try to push your digits into it as if you can ground yourself if you were to hold on a little tightly. You only let go because of a forceful shove out the window. You fall back, your legs scraping against the sill as you are pushed out and you are staring through teary eyes at the dark gray clouds above you. Your sweater that belongs to Steven, your favorite one of a dark navy blue and soft insides that weren’t itchy, was tugged upwards towards the sky as if Horus was gripping it without laying a hand on you.

He did all of this without even touching you. You are going to die and Layla will think you killed yourself when you told her that you won’t. Maybe Khonshu will tell them about Horus if he knows it's him; or maybe they’ll piece together the events of what happened because of the open window and the broken lamp and marks you left in the drywall. You just hope that they won’t blame themselves if they are still alive. 

“I can drop you out right now,” He tells you. “I can make you fear for your life until you are begging for me to stop and have no choice but to accept my deal.” Power hungry fucker. Your hands reach up and grasp the part of your sweater that Horus is clutching. Every fiber of your being is screaming to accept just to survive, every bit of you wants to see another starry night or see the rain fall from the safety of your Stevens apartment. But accepting his deal is not living, it’s being forced to play a role that you don’t want any part of. Your hands are cold and wet as you clutch onto the damp sweater and try to feel for his hand but there was nothing but cloth.

Every time that you were healed by a god when you were injured or on the brink of death, you were always asked the question of did you accept, by your neighbors; and when you told them no, they always looked relieved. The life that Marc signed up for and his alters was not something that you want for yourself. Accepting Horus' offer is death, you’ll lose your freedom. You’ll be in a contract with a deity that has plans for you that you are not aware of. You want to live, but not like this. 

“I am not the same person that you chased out of the laundry room; and you are well-aware of that. So, you shouldn’t be surprised that the answer is still no,” You say. You feel the shirt loosen just a bit in his grasp. 

“I didn’t chase you out of the laundry room,” He says. You don’t know if you should believe him or not. He must have felt your hesitation because he adds, “I am a god who tells the truth. I may be complex about my honesty but I will never lie to you.” You still don’t know if you believe him because he has something he wants through you. He’ll manipulate you just like Khonshu did to Marc and continues to do to Jake. 

“I can sense that you desire honesty and I can give that to you if you accept my offer.”

“No,” You breathe out. 

“Are you seriously considering death being a better alternative to being my avatar for a short time?”

“I am absolutely being deadass right now,” You confirm. Your words are shaky as they leave your mouth and you feel the shirt loosen in his grip enough that you drop a couple of inches. 

“Just do it already,” You tell him. “There's no use of playing with the mouse that you’ve been hunting.” 

“Very well,” He replies, and with that he lets go of you. An involuntary scream leaves your mouth as you fall quickly towards the concrete below. You watch as the window to Stevens apartment gets further away as you fall past several floors. The jolting of something grabbing onto you causes you to reach out for it. Your eyes land on the grip in your sweater before you look up at the building you live in, there Horus sat in his falcon form on the rooftop and stares with beady eyes down below. The feeling in your stomach of Horus' presence and of someone else's clash in your gut as you are slowly and carefully lowered to the ground. You stand on the wet concrete with shaky legs and wet socks. You notice the grip in your sweater loosen and the feeling of calm being washed over you. Whoever saved you from your death was the same deity that saved you in your apartment. 

Your hands continue to shake as you clench them at your sides and glare at Horus on the rooftop. He tilts his head to the side for a moment before spreading his wings and flying away. You watch as his bird form gets smaller until the buildings hide him from your view. You bring your arms up and cross them over your chest, trying to calm your racing heart as another feeling of comfort from this deity passes through you. 

“Who are you?” You whisper, you don’t trust yourself to speak any louder without crying. The rain falls around you and you feel a soft pressure land on your back and guide you up the steps of your building, the door opens without you needing to touch it and it shuts behind you as you enter the lobby and walk on shaking legs towards the elevator. The doors slide open once the call button lights up next to it and you enter the metal box. The fifth floor button lights up and the lights flicker a bit as the doors close. You stare at the metal doors, trying not to completely register what just went down between you and Horus and now this unknown deity that seems like they are trying to help you. 

Your lips tremble from your fear and the cold as the doors slide open and the deity gently guides you down the hall and to Stevens door. You know that the door is locked because you locked it when you arrived from work just an hour ago. But, just how the deity opened the door to the building and pressed the buttons for the elevator, you can hear the sound of the chain sliding and the knobs lock twisting. The door pops open and you feel the lull to come inside. You push through the door and it shuts behind you, relocking itself. You can feel the sweater clinging to your skin and the cloth of your socks being gripped between your toes as you watch the window shut and the bolt of it lock. The standing lamp is set up right and the glass of the head covering is scrapped together into a pile. Stevens books and knick knacks are set into their rightful place on the shelf. 

“Who are you?” You repeat, your voice cracks and you feel a gentle pressure on your cheek as if they are caressing you. “Why are you doing this?” The pressure is removed from your cheek and they guide you to the couch, gently setting you upon the cushions. You feel more tears run down your cheeks and a sob building up in your chest until it leaves your mouth. The feeling of comfort disappears from your body and you can’t sense them being in the room with you as you break down. You bend forward and clutch your head with your hands and cry, sobs wrack your body before you allow a loud ear piercing scream to leave your mouth. You fall onto your side and curl up into a ball as you let everything go. 

All your fear from the last few minutes, all your anxiety from your neighbors and Layla not calling, all your self-hatred for choosing death over seeing another starry night and putting your friends through the grief of believing you killed yourself rather than being a victim in a gods game of chess. Everything comes out in loud sobs and a mixture of screams as you let your grief go until you fall numb and the tears stop; and you are left staring with red stained eyes at a phone with zero notifications of missed calls or text messages stating that they are alive and breathing. You have to trust them to come out alright, you have to believe that they will without your help. You have to trust them to come back to you because if they don’t you don’t know what you will do. 

You numbly push yourself up from the couch and walk across the room to Stevens supply closet and take out the broom and dustpan. You pad to the pile of glass and sweep up the remains of the headcover before dumping it into the trash-can and putting the cleaning supplies back. You breathe out slowly as you cross the room towards the fish tank and stare at the two fishes that must have had no clue what just happened swimming around in the tank. You listen to the hum of the water filter before you reach for the fish food and uncap it. You tap the flakes into the tank from above and watch the orange, red, and tan bits float down and Gus the Second and his buddy eat it without a care in the world.

Chapter Text

They are dead. You convinced yourself that they are dead and that they are not coming back. You tried to believe for the first two days since the encounter with Horus that they are alive and they just need to get themselves out of whatever situation they put themselves in. But as time passed, your anxiety worsened and all you could think about was the likelihood of them being alive. Seven days have passed since you last heard from them and as the days stretch further and further apart, your hope dwindles and your health declines. Perhaps you could have saved them as Horus' avatar. Maybe they did need your help and the only way that they could have gotten out of the bind they are tied in was for you to accept Horus' deal. 

Several scenarios have passed through your mind of the possible reasons that they have not called. The first two being the lack of service and the dead battery of their cellphone, both are very reasonable and likely. The rest of the following are worse case scenarios. They are dead, Taweret and Khonshu abandoned them. You like to think that Taweret would probably tell you about Layla just to ease your mind but why would she do that when she’s busy dealing with the souls of the afterlife? And Khonshu would probably ask you to become his avatar to fill Jake's role but he must have not liked you enough to consider you. 

So, the chances of them ending the deal is still a possibility. What if they got kidnapped and are being held hostage until the kidnappers realize that they aren’t useful alive? What if they got hurt and are waiting for someone to rescue them? What if Horus was aware of their situation and Khonshu or Taweret asked other deities to help? What if Horus was trying to get you to accept his deal to save your friends? He did say that you can save them only if you accept and you refused; so, what if you are the reason that they are dead? That’s more blood on your hands and forcing yourself to believe that you are a good person is getting much more difficult as each day passes. 

You are the reason that they are dead. You’ve been laying in your neighbors bed since Lauren sent you away when she realized that something was wrong with you the day after Horus tried to kill you. She tried to get you to talk to her, but you clamped shut, not a single peep left your mouth unless you were doing your job by greeting customers or asking them for their order. She told you to clock out and go home, which you did do the first part; but instead of going to the bus stop and waiting forty-five minutes for the next bus to arrive, you wandered the streets of London in the cold and rainy morning. Marc's jacket was zipped up to your chin and his hood thrown over your head. You could smell his laundry detergent along with the scent of wet pavement and exhaust. 

The scent is going to be long gone once you do the last load of laundry. You haven’t quite decided when that is going to be but the first of the month just passed not too long ago and you know that management will come knocking for their rent that Steven has yet to pay. Their mailbox in the lobby has plenty of bills they still need to pay, and you only know it because you watched the mailman struggle with shoving their envelopes into their locker and making sure it would be inaccessible to anyone if they tried to steal their information by taking out the envelopes through the slot. You should move back to your own flat, you still have yet to pay your own bills because you don’t know how long this will last. 

You don’t know what you are going to do. You have nothing grounding you in London. You are about to be arrested soon because Lauren will find out about you and you need to decide what you want to do. Should you try running again? Take a bag from Marc and just pack your clothing and laptop and papers to get you out of the country? Or should you stop fighting and let whatever happens, happen? You’ll be taken back to the United States and imprisoned, but is that so bad compared to being on the run for the rest of your life and hunted down by deities that want you simply because you are tied to something they desire? 

Would they follow you back to the states and harass you there until you are dead or put into a psychiatric hospital? Would they stop if you are in a padded room or would they throw you around and make it seem like you are levitating and scare the shit out of the nurses and doctors? You don’t know, but you do know that you are the reason they are dead. You only left your neighbor's bed to go to the bathroom, but as soon as you were done you would return and lay staring at the ceiling or looking out the window. You should return to your flat and decide on what to do, but instead you continue to lay and watch as the clouds roll by. 

You are the reason that they are dead. You shouldn’t have let Layla go, you should have told her that you don’t feel comfortable being alone with a cult that tried to kidnap you or a god that held you out a window. You should have begged her to stay. You should have put your foot down when Khonshu ruined your bonding moment with Jake. You should have asked to go with but you probably would be more of a distraction than helping. You should have looked into solar batteries or perhaps made some deal to stay in the hotel room while they were out on the mission. You should have done more than just let them go. You are the reason that they are dead. 

You called in sick two days in a row now. You can tell that Lauren is on the brink of looking up your address to make sure you are doing okay. You won’t be surprised if she decides to do exactly that and knock on your apartment door, but you won’t answer because you’ll be here, watching the sky until the sunsets and the moon rises and the stars peek through the dark clouds. You are the reason that they are dead. You feel terrible about laying on their mattress and being as safe as you can be while their bodies are somewhere in Algeria. Maybe they went to the Field of Reeds and are finally at peace now. Maybe Layla is finally seeing her father after all of these years. 

Maybe Marc is finally accepting the peace without a fight and Steven is talking his ear off about the Field of Reeds. Perhaps Jake is sitting in the grass and just being present without expecting a physical fight to arise. It’s better to put the hope that they are alive to rest because it will prolong the hurt that will inevitably drown you. The clouds are passing by and you need to go back to your own flat, yet you lay in their bed and watch the day pass through the window. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to become close to them because you wouldn’t be hurting as much as you are right now. Your chest hurts and your eyes sting from the amount of tears you cried today. 

How are you going to explain to Gus and his buddy that their dads aren’t coming back? They’re fish and all they know is that they get fed and the tank they swim in. So, if you do head back to your apartment and stop coming over here, who is going to feed them? You can’t just let them die. Steven would be very upset with you, but he’s not here is he? He’s not coming back. You are the reason that they are dead. You haven’t eaten or drank anything in the last two days and your head hurts because of it. Which is what you deserve because you didn’t accept Horus' deal and killed your friends because of your selfishness. You are the reason that they are dead.

Maybe it's best if you go to the Thames river and plunge yourself into the icy water; or maybe it's best if you rot in Stevens bed and wait for management to find your corpse. The latter isn’t so much as an option but rather a thought. It would only take about three months without food or water for your body to break down and die which is too long because management would find you before you pass. Maybe you should force yourself to carry on like you have done so many times before. Push your grief you have for your friends away and move on. Ignore it until it bubbles over and you are forced to tend to it. You will die if you don’t push forward. This all can’t be for nothing. 

Moving countries, forging papers, and risking your life to save others in the mall. The sleepless nights, the tears, the days you skipped meals to make sure the lights stay on. The friendship you had for the near six months with your neighbors, it can’t all be for nothing. You staying alive for the sake of your friends not feeling guilt for your death can’t be for nothing. But you are the reason that they are dead. You feel guilty for sending them off to their death. There's not much holding you back from ending things. You will have a deity harass you until you either die or accept because he wants something. You will be alone once again when you decide on where to go before Lauren finds out. 

You will have to restart and even though you went through this so many times in your head by trying to push your friends away and thinking of leaving when you turn eighteen; you just didn’t think that it would be so soon or it would truly happen. But, here you are, laying in your dead neighbor's apartment and staring out the window. Maybe ending things would be a better option than continuing. There's the pavement below that you nearly died on two days ago. There's a few dozen vitamins in Stevens medicine cabinet and a bottle of liquor above the sink in the kitchen. There's a cult you can hunt down and sacrifice yourself to. There's plenty of ways to kill yourself, yet you endlessly stare at the gray clouds rolling by and the small patches of blue poking through. 

Should you write a note? Maybe Lauren will look up your past online and get in contact with your aunt to tell her of your death. Perhaps she would want the truth of why you left, because you’ve been lying to yourself the whole time since you came back from the blip. You left not only because you couldn’t handle the loss of your parents and your future, but because of much more than that and you told yourself otherwise. Should you write down the truth and allow whoever to find it get in contact with your remaining family or should you let them wonder about why you did what you did. This can’t be for nothing, yet, you are thinking about letting it be exactly that. There's no fight left in you, just overwhelming and suffocating amounts of guilt and sadness.

What would you write in it besides the truth or your reasons? Would you tell them about the people that you met just nearly six months ago and how they saved you from getting mugged? Or how they took you in hesitating and open arms to make sure you came back from work alright? Or how you took them up to the roof and taught them about the stars above you. Would you tell them about Millie the rubber duck Marc bought for you when you wanted it? Would you tell them about Steven reading Dr. Seuss books to you as a bedtime story as a joke but he got into the habit of telling you them unironically? Would you tell them about Jake teaching you Spanish in exchange to teach him about constellations? Would you tell them about Layla and how she drove you to work on the back of her Vespa or the nights you shared laughing about some stupid joke?

Maybe you’ll be selfish and keep these memories of your friends close to your heart for the rest of your life. Whether that's for the next couple of hours or the next month or year. Nothing lasts forever, running has to stop at some point. You are the one who gets to decide when that stops, whether you decide to stay in London and accept your fate of being arrested, or you decide to take your own life. The sky looks gloomy and dark clouds are rolling in, there will be a storm tonight. You should look for candles and flashlights just in case the power goes out. You continue to watch the sky. 

Maybe they won’t find anything on you and you’re just being overdramatic and anxious as always. Maybe they’ll clear you and you are free to stay in your apartment alone, eating  toast and peanut butter because that’s all you’ll be able to afford and have the energy to make. You’ll be back to who you were six months ago, just with new wounds and fresh losses. You’ll pass by this apartment everyday, knowing what it once looked like inside. The stack of books that cluttered the walkway, the fish tank that hummed all day and throughout the night, the scratch marks on the floor by scraping the chairs against it. The supply closet that was once cluttered with mops and brooms and buckets.

The painting of yours hung up proudly on the wall next to a photo of yourself as a child with a boa wrapped around your neck and a pair of cheap sunglasses on your nose. You’ll know what the inside of this place will look like and you’ll be the one watching when movers throw out their belongings when nobody pays the bills. You’ll be the one answering the question of your nosey neighbor across from your apartment asking where your uncles went and you’ll come up with some lie, like you always do. Like how you said that you moved for a new change of scenery, or that you are eighteen years of age, or that Steven was your uncle and Layla was your aunt. You’ll lie, come up with some backstory on them and if the police ever come knocking for answers of where your uncle went, you’ll lie too. You’re decent at it. 

You’ll lie to yourself by saying that they didn’t matter or that they left you. You’ll lie to make yourself continue breathing so you won’t die in the state that you can feel yourself slipping into. You have to force yourself to move forward like you did two years ago when you moved to London. You’ll die if you don’t and this all can’t be for nothing…right? You roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling. You have homework due today. You need to go grocery shopping for your own place. You have bills you need to pay. You have a job to go to tomorrow. You can go to the support meeting if you want, nobody is forcing you to go anymore. Your throat hurts and your chest tightens. You feel the tears run down your cheeks and into your ears as the first sound you made in days left you in a strangled noise. 

You are alone again. There will be nobody to come back to after a long day at work. There will be nobody to watch movies with and share your interest with the stars. There will be  nobody to cook and laugh with. There will be nobody but you and your cold apartment, a cracked window and a stolen table. You are alone again. You cover your mouth with your hand as if that would stop the next sob from escaping as you stare with teary eyes at the ceiling above you and feel your ears get wet with each drop of water that runs down your cheek. You are alone again. You try to muffle the cries that leave you as you feel your heart break. Your cries make your body shake and heave as your headache increases with every sob. You are alone again. 

You can drown in a sea of your own tears for how much you cried since you came back from the blip. You can water the flowers on your friends and family's grave that you will plant. You are alone again and will be forever. You spent so much time pushing your friends away that you took them for granted to always be around. It is your fault that they are dead. Your fingers dig into your cheeks as if pressing any harder into your mouth will keep your grief and self-blame in and from spelling itself out in front of you. You don’t know how long you cried, but you do know that by the end of it, your face feels hot and your arms hurt from straining the muscles in them.
The ceiling is the same from before, the same white popcorn and yet, you stare at it as if it is the most interesting thing in the world as your heart calms down and your hands knit together across your stomach. You should pack. You lay still. You should take a shower. You lay still. You should eat something. You lay still. You should feed Gus and his friend, it’s been awhile since they ate. Your leg twitches as you stand and pad across the room, the wooden floor is cool against your bare feet as you approach the tank and uncap the fish flakes, sprinkling them inside. You cap the fish food and rub your eyes as you walk across the room and check your phone for any notifications. 

There were only a couple of texts from Lauren asking if you’ll be coming into work tomorrow but there were no missed messages or calls from the people you desperately want to hear from. You set the phone back onto the nightstand roll onto the mattress. You lay still and breathe. 

---

Work was tiring. You didn’t catch much sleep last night but rather found yourself glaring at the moon peeking behind the storm clouds. You didn’t talk to Lauren much, she pestered you on what was wrong and why you were acting how you were. You just lied to her as you almost always do by telling her you are sick. The ride on the bus back to the apartments was crowded, you ended up standing and crushed between a group of people who were holding on for dear life to the poles and barely noticed the too familiar tattoos matching several peoples arms. You didn’t run back to your flat, but rather walked too calmly and slowly. Perhaps you wanted an excuse to let go as you kept your back to them. 

You didn’t have your taser on you, but it didn’t matter because nothing happened besides the feeling of eyes burning into your back as you approached your building and walked up the stairs and into the lobby. You rode the same elevator you met Steven in weeks before he saved you from being mugged. You unlocked your neighbors apartment and locked it behind you before you set your keys into the bowl by the door and took off Marc's jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. You fed the fish before you took a shower and dressed into their clothes. You found Jake's green, plaid flat caps in the back of the sock drawer and decided to wear it. It smelled like cigarettes a bit but that didn’t deter you enough from placing it upon your head, it was a little big for your skull so it often slipped a bit and covered your eyes. You tried to ignore the ache in your chest as you opened the fridge for something to eat. You might as well use their food before you inevitably go back to your own flat, it will be thrown out anyways. 

There wasn’t much in the fridge besides some nearly expired almond milk and a week old steak that you threw out as soon as you saw it and condiments. You shut the door and opened the freezer, your eyes landing on the frozen bowl of soup Steven made for you when you were sick. It was the only one left and it was tucked between a half empty bag of fries and some ice cream. You stare at it for a long moment and shut the door, deciding that the sandwich you picked at for your lunch would suffice for today. You walk to the couch, sitting down and turning on the television before flickering through the channels for something to watch. 

The World History show Steven liked caught your attention, making you stop as soon as you landed on it. It was an episode about Mayan history, right above the description of the episode it stated in bold letters it was a new episode. He would never get to watch last week's episode with your or this one. He would never get to tell you facts that the show won’t state or tell you that what the show described is incorrect. You won’t get to hear him speak ever again. 

You turn off the television and stand from the couch before walking to the bed and crawling underneath the blankets on the mattress and raise them above your head. You feel Jake's hat slipping off of your head but you don't dare to adjust it as you stare at the sheets trying to stop the feeling bubbling in your chest from spilling out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You don’t have anything to remember them by besides the few photos you snapped of them when they weren’t looking. Just like the people in your previous life, you’re not going to remember what they sounded like or looked like when they smiled. 

You’re not going to hear their laughter or their scolding, you’re not going to remember how Stevens' eyes crinkled when he laughed. Or how the corner of Marc's lips curled up when he smiled. Or how Jake would try not to show any emotion when he found something funny. You’ll forget Layla's brown eyes shining as she laughed and her smile being wide and open. You’re going to forget them. You’re going to lose this place that you spent more time in than you did your own apartment during the last few months. Your breath shudders as you glare into the sheets, not because you are angry but rather to force yourself not to cry. 

Maybe…you can pay their bills this month and keep their apartment a little longer but if you do so, you will lose yours. You won’t have enough money to pay for your own place and theirs. How hard will it be to pay their bills underneath your name? How hard is it to commit fraud again and write your name into Stevens lease? You did it once, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t be as easy as the first time. The government was too busy with the aftermath of several million people coming back from the blip that they didn’t pay too close attention to your papers. So, doing it again but messing with someone else's name, dragging an actual dead person into this, and when the government is more under control is going to be much more difficult to pull off. 

Perhaps not impossible, just difficult. But is it worth to pull off when you’re either going to kill yourself or move up North to some other country? You don’t know. Maybe you’ll just take some of their belongings and move it into your place temporarily. Like the fish tank, you are not leaving the fish to die, and then your photos and maybe the children's books. You are taking their bed, you won’t sleep on your couch any longer than necessary. Your breathing steadies as you allow your exhaustion to creep over you while you think of what you might take temporarily if you can’t find a way to pay for their place.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that the sound of the doorknob turning is what woke you. You shift in the bed enough to be able to see the door open and someone enter thanks to the hallway light before the door shuts. You feel your breath get caught in your throat as you watch them slowly walk around the apartment without turning on a single light as if they don’t want to get caught. Oh fuck, this has to be another member of Harrows cult. Your heart pounds against your chest as you try to think of what you should do. Your taser is by Stevens reading chair and the knives are in the block in the kitchen. Marc has a gun in one of Stevens drawers but you don’t know how to use it. You don’t feel the presence of the deity that saved you last time in the room with you so you are on your own. 

If you get up too quickly, they’ll know that you are in the room with them when this isn’t your place. So, why are they here? Why would they break into an apartment that they think isn’t occupied as far as they know? Unless…they’ve been keeping tabs on more than just the place you work and the apartment you rent. What if they have a spy on the inside? What if one of your neighbors is in the cult and noticed that your friends haven’t returned in the last week and a half and they watched you leave their apartment so many times that they knew you were still inside? What if they are after Jake, Steven, or Marc and they plan on attacking them in their own apartment, thinking that they are here?

You watch the figure creep closer towards the bed as you try to think of what to do. Moonlight filters in through the curtains that you didn’t close for the last few days. The light cascaded across their features enough to give you a hint that they are male. You feel your heart pound against your chest as they walk quietly towards your right side and you allow instinct to take over the closer they get. You roll over the stretch of the mattress just as they reach the opposite side and you grab the lamp on the nightstand, knocking over the Dr. Seuss books to the floor in the process and unplugging it from the outlet as you tugged. Your chest rises and falls as he reaches his hands up as if he was surrendering.

“It’s me,” He says, “Hey, kid, it’s me.” Your eardrums pound and you watch as he reaches to the other lamp on the nightstand and flickers on the light. Marc's face glows in the soft orange light just like how you last saw him with the firelight casting upon his face in the video chat. Your hands shake as you stare at him, you cannot comprehend how he’s standing in front of you after you were sure that he was dead. You feel like you are underwater as you take in the man standing before you, is that actually him or are you hallucinating? Is he a ghost? Did you die and not remember it?

“Marc?” You ask, your voice cracks as he nods slowly. You watch as his curls bounce slightly with the movement. Your lip wobbles and you can feel the tears building up behind your eyes as you continue to look at him without moving from your spot. 

“You look like you saw a ghost, kiddo,” He says. His eyes trail you up and down before the frown becomes more visible on his features. “Do you want Steven or Jake?”

“I thought you were dead,” You cry out as you drop the lamp onto the mattress and try not to let the tears out of your eyes. “I thought you weren’t going to come home.” He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you cover your eyes with your hands as if pressing the heels of your palms into them would stop the waterworks from continuing. 

“I’m so sorry, honey,” He says. A choked sob leaves you and you try to stifle it before more follow. You hear his footsteps fall against the wooden floor and stop just feet away from you. You can feel his hesitation on placing a hand onto you so instead, you swivel on your feet and lunge at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and he holds you against him so you wouldn’t fall. For a moment, you swear that his own grip around your waist tightens as if he was hugging you back while you sob into his neck and wet the collar of his shirt with snot and tears. 

Maybe he was hugging you too so he wouldn’t fall but rather holding onto you like you were steadying him. Everything that was built up since you last talked to them is released as you breathe in the scent of sweat, blood, and tears and you hold on tightly to him as if your life depends on it; and it does, it really does.

Chapter Text

Marc doesn’t let go of you until you let go of him. You only pull away from him once your arms begin to go numb and you want answers for his radio silence. Your hands grip his arms as you stare at him with red rimmed, blotchy eyes. In the moonlight and the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand, you can tell he was crying too. 

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracks and you swallow around the lump in your throat. “Why didn’t you call? Where’s Layla?” You can feel panic building up in you from the lack of your friends' presence. Why isn’t she here? Did she die? 

“Layla's fine, she just went home to get some rest,” He reassures you. You feel his hands slip down his arms until his fingers knit between your own and squeezes them gently. “I’m so sorry that you thought I- we were dead. You didn’t deserve not knowing and stressing over us. Jake tried to get Khonshu to go tell you that we were alright, but the bitch decided not to. He said something about you being fine and taking care of yourself.” 

The fucking prick, yeah, taking care of yourself by considering suicide or ghosting and telling a god to fuck off before he tried to send you to the grave.

“Word of advice,” You tell him. “Don’t listen to the fucking douche bag.”

“He was insistent on it,” He says. “He refused to go tell you.” You take in a deep breath and release it slowly. It’s not their fault that a goddamn deity decided to be a dick and refused to be kind.

“Our batteries ran out of power,” He starts. “We traveled to a part of Algeria that doesn’t have a lot of service and since we were undercover, we couldn’t travel into a building and plug our phones in to charge them.” His hands feel warm against yours as you stare down at them. He’s alive, they’re alive, that’s all that matters. “Layla tried to send Taweret to go talk to you but she couldn’t reach you, she didn’t say why because she didn’t know. Taweret wouldn’t tell her.” You can guess why Taweret couldn’t reach you although it can’t be confirmed through Marc. You can at least guess that it has to do with the two gods lingering around your apartment. Sleep isn’t an option after their return, no matter how exhausted your body feels at the moment. 

You yawn before you ask, “What time is it?” 

“It’s a little after four in the morning,” He answers. “Do you have work tomorrow- well, today?”

“Not anymore,” You say. “I’m not going in since you’re back and we have a lot to catch up on.” Besides, you don’t want them to leave your sight for a long time. Part of you is worried that when you do go back to bed that you’ll wake up to an empty apartment and all of this is a dream. Your friends are dead and this was just something your mind was making up to comfort you even though the hands you are holding right now feels real.

“I can’t talk about the mission. The less-”

“-I know the better,” You cut him off. “There's too much that happened in the last seventy-two hours that we need to talk about. More than just the mission.” He gives you a look  and you hesitantly let go of his hands. You miss his warmth and the comfort of being close that it brought.

“You want coffee?” You ask as you take a step towards the kitchen.

“Something decaffeinated is fine,” He says. “I just kind of want to sleep.”

“Right. Sorry, you must be exhausted.”

“Not as much as you look,” He scoffs. “When was the last time you had a proper night's rest?”

“Steven usually asks me that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m asking about it.” He says. You stop in your tracks and stare at him. Steven is typically more caring about your health, Marc doesn’t seem to care that much, that is until tonight. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for your answer, but you are too busy trying to figure him out to do so. He sighs and places his hands on his hips before adding quietly, “There’s more that we need to talk about than just…the mission.” 

“I think I last slept a full night when you guys were here,” You tell him. “I think it was probably when I was sick and delusional with a fever and medicine.”

“You look like it,” He says. “When was the last time you ate?” You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him for a moment. He’s not going to like the answer. 

“Yesterday…at lunch.” You didn’t eat much, you picked at your food more than you ate it. He stares at you and rubs his hand down his face. 

“You want a grilled cheese sandwich or something?” 

“We don’t have cheese.” 

“There’s a convenience store a couple of blocks over, I can go get some.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want any,” You say. “I just want to talk to you and try to sleep.” You don’t add how you know that you’re going to fail and instead listen to him breathe for hours until the sun is high in the sky and you decide to roll out of bed to start your day. 

“I’m going to make some tea,” You tell him. “I think Steven has some sleepy tea left. You should clean up.”

“Do I look terrible?” He looks down at himself before turning his head to look at a mirror next to the dresser. 

“Definitely want to take a shower,” You say. “You smell awful.” You watch his head trail to the window and you know that one of his alters was in the reflection. You also know about the decent scratch marks you left in the drywall when you got held out the window.

“What is that?” He asks as he takes closer steps to the marks and urges you to turn on some more lights. You turn on the light next to Stevens' reading chair, the same floor lamp that you broke the head covering to when you tried to hit Horus with it. It lights up the flat brightly and Marc side steps a bit so he wouldn't block the light from hitting the marks completely. He runs his fingers over it and trails his gaze to the other side of the window with the matching marks.

“What happened?” He asks, turning his head towards you and raising his hand a bit to block the lamp's light from his eyes. You turn the switch and watch as he blinks rapidly while lowering his hand. “What happened to the head covering?” He gestures to the lamp. 

You cross your arms over your chest and glance down at the floor before saying, “Something more than just the mission.” Your chest deflates and you give him a look, pressing your lips together. “Go take a shower, you stink.” He stares at you, you don’t know what to make of his expression before he sighs and turns his body to search through the dresser for fresh clothes. You turn on your heel and walk to the kitchen, grabbing the kettle from the cupboard and filling it with water from the faucet before placing it on the stove and turning the dial. You listen to the bathroom door shut as you search through the cabinet for the box of sleepy tea you think Steven still has. You set the half-empty box of chamomile tea onto the counter and lean your back against it and cross your arms over your chest. 

It’s terrible to think about how a little less than twelve hours ago you were considering writing a suicide note, not knowing if your friends are alive and now they are in the same flat as you are and breathing. You could have killed yourself just hours ago and they would come back to find you dead or missing if you left the apartment to go do it. You can hear the shower running from where you rest. They are back, they are safe, and you are not alone once again. You lean your head back against the cabinet and stare at the ceiling, the feeling of anxiety in your chest is relaxing into something that became unfamiliar over the past week. They are back and breathing and okay. 

You wonder if this was how they felt when you were in the mall and they didn’t know if you were alive. The relief they must have felt when they saw that you were breathing and the anguish they must have felt when they saw that man choking you and they didn’t know if you were alive. You understand how they felt when you didn’t pick up their phone calls and when you hung up in the mall. It’s a terrible feeling and the relief you feel now is so overwhelming that you nearly cry. You don’t like how you became so close to them because of how reactive you become when you think that they are dead. You don’t like the possibility of losing them and being alone again. It was like the first two weeks of living in London all over again when you thought that they were dead. 

 You push yourself off of the counter and turn around, grabbing a blue ceramic cup from the cabinet and placing it next to the stove as soon as the kettle begins to whistle. You listen to the sound of the shower water stop as you remove the kettle from the burner and pour the water into the mug before placing the tea bag into the cup. You throw away the wrapping in the garbage before you grab the mug as soon as the bathroom door opens. You watch him step out with damp hair and a gray short-sleeved shirt and boxers with a towel wrapped around their neck. 

“Go sit down,” You tell him as you carry the mug of tea towards him. He sits down at the table and you place the cup on the table in front of him before sitting down in the same chair that you sat in just a week ago when you stretched an olive branch to them before Khonshu took them away. You lean back in the chair and watch the steam rise from the mug as he looks down into the yellow water. 

“I didn’t poison it,” You tell him. You are sure that this man is Jake, he likes to observe things more than Steven or Marc. 

“That’s a weird thing to say right after you set it down in front of me,” He points out. An American accent, around the Brooklyn area. Definitely Jake, you feel a little proud of yourself for easily recognizing him.

He doesn’t add anything for a moment before saying quietly, “I know you didn’t.” You stay quiet and continue to watch the steam rise from the mug. You want to question him about the mission, why was it so important that two avatars had to complete the job together? Why did it take so long with even two avatars? What went wrong for it to be estimated to take six days and take nearly two weeks for it to be completed? But, none of the questions leave your mouth because you know he won’t answer you, none of them would, if you are being honest. 

Steven would be the most likely to slip up but, you think that he would try to keep his mouth ironed shut about it because of the potential consequences if you have too much knowledge about the mission. With how everything has been turning out lately, Horus being a bitch and several cult members on the bus ride yesterday. It's best to have a limited amount of knowledge about what happened in Algeria. The less you know, the better.

“Did you win?” You ask, your eyes flickering to his face. He has a beard forming, it has been awhile since they last shaved. “Y’know, beat the bad guys, take names, kick ass and whatever.”

“Yeah,” He says. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

“Good,” You breathe out. At least their one and a half weeks of being gone was worth something. You watch as he wraps his hand around the handle of the cup and brings it to his lips, blowing softly on the liquid before taking a sip. You know the liquid tastes a little bitter since you’ve drunk it so many times before that you understand the scrunching of his nose and the look of slight discomfort on his face as he sets down the cup. 

“I would have looked for honey to add, but we’re out of that too,” You tell him. 

“What did you eat while we were gone?” He asks. 

“Mainly the leftover soup Steven stored in the freezer.”

“Anything else?” He presses and you shake your head. “Why not?” 

“I wasn’t particularly hungry,” You supply. “I was too nervous for you guys to come back and…I thought you were dead.” You had an overwhelming experience of what Steven and Marc went through when they tried to get ahold of you all those months ago when there was the news of a teenager found dead at the Towers Bridge; and when you hung up on them in the mall. 

“So, you punished yourself for our death?”

“I didn’t punish myself,” You say. “I was just too anxious, I couldn’t hold anything down and I don’t know, I felt…sad.” You felt depressed and suicidal, but hey, sad can be the term you use to cushion the impact for them so they don’t realize just how bad it was for you. 

“What happened?” He asks. “What happened when I was gone?” Where do you even start? You almost let out a chuckle as you think about his question. Every time that they are gone, something happens. You got held out a window twice and dropped once, you got chased out of the laundry room, you ended up murdering a intruder out of self-defense, you were followed to the apartment building by a cult twice, and you were in a mall that was attacked by the same cult. 

“You might want to add something stronger to your tea,” You tell him. You wait for him to get up and raid the cabinets for liquor but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits for you to continue and you can’t help but feel a little surprised by that. He was willing to listen to your story sober and give you his full attention.

“Everything was fine while you guys were gone until the first two days you didn’t call,” You start. “I was worried that Khonshu and Taweret broke off the deal with you guys and left you stranded in a different country. I thought that you got kidnapped or hurt or died and I was too…sad and anxious about it. I didn’t want to think that the four of you were dead, but my brain was trying really hard to tell me that you were. I…Horus appeared. He tried to get me to become his avatar, asked me at first and when I told him no, he tried to scare me into it.”

“How do you know it was Horus?” He asks.

“Showed himself to me, he easily reached the ceiling. Big bird head with feathers and a human body. Loud voice and was a prick.” You tell him. He picks up his tea, swirling it around in his cup before taking a drink of it. He seemed to regret not adding any alcohol to the drink, you did try to warn him. 

“How did he try to scare you?”

“Told me that I could save you guys if I accepted. I didn’t even know if you guys were in any trouble, I assumed you were but I didn’t know for sure. He, um, he then held me out the window.” You say. He stares at you. “I tried to fight him by grabbing the lamp but it went through him and smashed the headlight against the bookshelf; and then I tried to grab onto the wall but he shoved me out of it and held me outside. He…he asked one more time to be his avatar and I told him no and then he dropped me.”

“Dropped you.” He states. “Dropped you like one of those amusement rides that drop and then stop and drop again?”

“Fuck no,” You nearly laugh at the question. Only if it was like that. “Dropped me like he was expecting me to die when I hit the pavement.” He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. The blunt truth of your statement was in the air and it was a harsh reality. Horus was willing to kill you because you said no. He asked you to be his avatar and you declined his offer and he thought you to be worthless and proceeded to try to end your life. He really threw a temper tantrum because he didn’t get what he wanted.

“Did you accept?” He asks seriously. 

“No.”

“Then how are you still alive?”

“Another god saved me. The same one that told me it would take eight stabs to kill the guy who tried to kidnap me.” You tell him and then pause for a moment before adding, “I think.”

“You think?” He repeats incredulously.

“It’s not like there's any fucking way to know, Jake. I only think it's the same god because they were calm and seemed to be nice because they helped clean up the place after saving me. They also have, like, this feeling they wash over me. A different vibe from Khonshu or Horus. They feel more reassuring?”

“They helped you clean up?”

“The head covering shattered and they pushed all the glass into a pile and they shut the window too.” You tell him. He rubs his face with his hand. 

“Well, gods don’t linger unless they want something.” He says. 

“Yeah, no shit,” You scoff. “I didn’t think that this god is just being nice to be nice.” There is no such thing as kindness in a world full of deities who demand to be respected.

“Did Horus say anything about why he wants you to be his avatar?”

“Said that there is something he wants and I’m the easiest path to get it.” You shrug. He picks up his mug and this time, he takes a longer drink, nearly chugging half of it. You watch as he sets it down onto the table and his thumb rubs against the handle almost mindlessly. 

“Do you have any idea about what he wants?” You ask. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and releases a short sigh.

“Khonshu was a dick to the Ennead during the time that Harrow was trying to release Ammit.” He says. “Horus doesn’t like Khonshu, I mean who doesn’t? But, Khonshu proved him wrong and embarrassed the shit out of Horus and the rest of the Ennead.”

“So, Horus is just being a little bitch and trying to do what? Commit revenge for getting embarrassed?”

“It’s a guess,” He shrugs. “I don’t have much intel for what is happening, believe it or not, Khonshu won’t tell us shit unless it’s for his own benefit.” You huff out a breath, it was a guess but it was better than nothing. It kind of gives you more insight into the gods and how they may work and think; and so far, it does match up with Horus and his temper. 

“Anything else happen while we were gone?” He asks. You bite down on your tongue gently as you watch his thumb continue to rub against the handle of the cup. 

“Not much,” You say. “I, um…” You don’t know if you should admit to how low you became mentally or if it was better to keep them in the dark from it. You shift in your seat as you let the hum of the fish tank fill the air. 

“Do you want to talk to Steven?” He asks. “You might feel more comfortable talking to him about it.”

“What do you think I need to talk about?” You ask quietly. 

“Whatever's going on in your head,” He answers. “Layla might be easier to talk to, but she’s probably asleep by now. So, you would have to wait until tomorrow.”

“What day is it?” You ask. He glances down at his watch. 

“Tuesday.”

“There’s a meeting today for the support group,” You tell him. “I think I should go.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You say. He finishes the tea and sets it back down onto the table with a clink.

“What time is it?”

“Six pm. It’s at a church, a little bit on the edge of London,” You say. He hums. “I was wondering if you can take me. I can take the bus too or maybe ask Layla to take me; but it’s okay if you don’t want to, you don’t have to-”

“Okay,” He cuts you off. “I’ll take you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you…” You trail off and pick at the skin on the side of your thumb as you feel the anxiety building up in you. “Can you wait outside until it’s done…please?”

“Yeah, kid,” He says. “Anything that you want.” He pushes himself out of the chair and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt rising a bit. “Come on, pequeño, it’s bedtime.” He holds his hand out and you take it, deciding that his cup can wait to be washed. He leads you to the bed and lets go of your hand to pick up the books you knocked off of the end table when you grabbed the lamp as a weapon not too long ago. You pull back the covers before crawling over the mattress and to your side, scooting past the flat cap you were wearing before you fell asleep yesterday. He picks it up and raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it as he places it on the lamp next to him. 

“Do you want me to read to you, pequeño?” He asks and you shake your head as you lay your head upon the pillow and bring the covers up to your chin. 

“What does that mean?” You ask quietly. 

“What? To read?”

“No! Pequeño?” You say. You feel him shuffle next to you in the darkness and you roll your head to face his direction. You think he is lying on his side and facing you but it was a little hard to see even with the moonlight peeking through the crack of the curtains. 

“It means, little shit.” 

“Fuck off,” You breathe out a laugh and he chuckles next to you. “Does it really?”

“Sí,” He answers. “Now sleep.” You smile at the ceiling and listen to his breathing even out. Sometime, after you think he is asleep, you reach for his hand in the darkness and grasp it. They are safe and home. They are here with you and you are no longer alone. Throughout the morning and well past the time that the sun rises, you listen to his breath and soft snores. You let the feeling of relief wash over you at the fact that they are alive.

---

The stained glass windows are still the object in the basement of the church that you focus the most on when you are listening to the others speak. The coffee stain is still in the green of the carpet and everyone that attended last time was still in their same respected seats. For some reason you thought that the stain would be long gone by the time you returned, but alas, it was still in the carpet. There were no familiar faces in the group, just welcoming smiles and statements from people saying how they are glad that you’re back. Cecilia looks like she just got her hair redone not too long ago and she was chatting your ear off about how she’s glad you returned and decided to try again. 

You try to be friendly with her, she was just trying to be supportive and you are well aware of that. So, you nod and run your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you turn your attention to Henry who is welcoming everyone back with open arms and grins. He says your name gently as he sits down and crosses his legs over the other. 

“Glad that you’re back,” He smiles. “Do you have anything new or exciting to share with us?” You wonder if he was unintentionally jabbing at you for your absence but you quickly decide that it was just your self-doubt and anxiety of what you have to get off your chest this meeting trying to sabotage yourself. 

“Oh man,” You laugh awkwardly. “I, uh, I don’t have anything exciting, unfortunately.”

“That’s okay,” He tells you. “Not everything has to be exciting. It’s nice to have mundane opportunities and life experiences. Did you do anything while you were away?”

“Um, no…” You start. “I didn’t do anything. I really just…went to work and stayed at my…uncles and aunts most of the time.” You shift in your seat as you feel everyone's eyes on you. Jake was waiting out in the car he ‘borrowed’ so if you need to get out, you can just escape to the vehicle. You doubt anyone is going to attack you here, but it was more like the overwhelming anxiety boiling inside of you that was sounding the alarms of your fight or flight instinct. 

“Well, we’re glad you decided to give this another go,” He smiles. You try to smile back at him but you think it came out more like a grimace. “Is there anything that you would like to talk about today?”

“Yeah, actually…” You breathe out and nod. “I, um…I know it doesn’t really matter if I explain my disappearance, but I was just, um, going through a rough patch. Some personal things happened and I’m trying to be better now, this is a start, at least…” You trail off and look at the stained glass window. You take a deep breath to help steady you before you say, “I thought someone close to me was dead. They weren’t calling me or sending me a message; and I didn’t try calling them because I thought…it would put them in danger.” 

You shuffle in your seat as you watch the moonlight hit the stain glass and reflect it onto the ground. “It felt like it was the first two weeks after I moved here. I felt alone and I thought they weren’t coming back. They did, but y’know…I thought they weren’t; and…I know that we were gone for five years and everyone that knew us adjusted to a life without us in it. But imagine how hard that was for them when we came back. They must have had anxious attachment issues and abandonment issues…I mean, look at me. My uncles are waiting out in the car right now after I thought they were dead.” 

Your eyes trail to the coffee stain on the floor and you release a sigh, “It’s…weird being on the other side of the coin, I guess. Like, if I wasn’t blipped and my parents were and came back I wonder if I would be acting the same way that I’m acting with my aunt and uncle.” You finish and silence fills the space between all of you. 

“I, um…I just wanted to get that off of my chest,” You add. “I’m done talking, so y’know whoever wants to go next, can.” 

“I think it’s very brave of you to tell us that,” Henry says. “I have thought about the other side of the coin as you put it, whether it’s better to have survived the snap and think that whoever was dusted in my life would be gone forever; or if we got the better end of the deal. Nobody wins when we think like that.” 

“My sister stayed while I was gone,” Cecilia says. “I was jealous of her for a long time and when I told her that, she told me how ridiculous I sounded. We didn’t have to suffer five years of thinking our loved ones weren’t coming back. People killed themselves because they couldn’t deal with the grief of losing their own. We were frozen in time while the world moved on without us. So, no, I don’t think it's stupid or ridiculous of you to think about what could have been.”

“I think,” Danielle says on your right. “I think we should be grateful for the life that we have now. Like Henry said, nobody wins when we look back on the 'what ifs’ and the ‘could have beens’. Part of the healing journey is looking back on the past and trying to be better for the future. If you continue to look backwards for the rest of your life, you’re going to run into walls and fail the obstacles that life puts out for us. Looking forwards and moving onwards is the best you can do for yourself and for those who died and want to see us succeed. It doesn’t mean that you have to forget, but just live life as it is now rather than what it could have been.” 

You nod and try to smile as thanks and tell them that you’re grateful for their support but all that comes out is some mumbles. You listen to Oliver talk about how his therapy is going, he was the man that came back to find his then wife in a relationship with some young man that looks like him from his university days. You listen to George ramble on about something he did over the weekend and some new movie that is coming out around Christmas; and that’s how the topic opened up to the White Elephant gift exchange or Secret Santa. 

“If everyone is okay with it, I guess we can do it,” Henry sighs. “It has to be cheap and if nobody wants to bring a gift that's okay, it is not required.” You tune out their rambling as you watch the light shift on the floor in front of the door and the stained glass window reflection seems to stretch. Christmas is coming up in a couple of weeks. The annual Christmas party for work is happening the weekend before the holiday and Lauren has been pestering you about showing up this year. You haven’t put much thought into it besides saying a simple maybe and leaving it at that. 

It depends on whether or not you’re found out before then and if Lauren decides the best course of action is to return you in. Which is one of the reasons why you haven’t gone present shopping, you don’t know if your friends celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah. You haven’t really asked them because you haven’t had time or just forgot to. If they don’t want to celebrate, that’s fine. You’ll be okay with it being just another day. You aren’t too much into the holiday anyways. Your family used to celebrate Christmas but rather than it being hyper-focused on the religious aspect of Christianity, you focused on spending time together and making memories. It was just one of those holidays used as an excuse to stay home and just exist with one another. 

The shuffling of the people around you causes you to tear your gaze away from the shadow of the window. You blink until your eyes no longer sting and glance at the others grabbing their stuff. The meeting must be over.

Henry says your name softly as you stand, “Can I ask you a question?” He says. You raise an eyebrow at him as you close the gap between you. “Are you planning on harming yourself?” The question stunned you a bit, nearly throwing you off track and giving him a double take. But as you think back on what you said that would give him that idea, you aren’t surprised he asked. It was his job to make sure all of the people joining the meeting are supported and alright.

“No,” You tell him. Not anymore at least, not now since you know they are alive. You shuffle from foot to foot. “I have thought about it,” You admit as you stuff your hands into Marc's jacket. “But, I think we all think about it; and that's what it stays as, just a brief thought.”

“Do you know that you are supported and cared for?” He asks and you nod almost right away. “If you need someone to talk to, you have me and plenty of others who will happily listen to anything you need to say.”

“Thanks,” You say. It felt a bit awkward to accept his statement but you push through it. “Have a good night,” You tell him. He smiles and reaches for your left hand, clasping it between his as a gesture of comfort. You look down at where your hand is covered by his left, his right sleeve is rolled up to his elbow, showing a tattoo that you know too much of. Your breath catches in your through at the sight. Henry is part of Harrow's cult and you told him and everyone else in this room how you feel. You slowly trail your gaze away from the tattoo and up his blue, buttoned up shirt and to his face. His eyes are crinkled at the corners behind his glasses as he smiles at you. If you didn’t catch his tattoo, you would have taken his smile as comforting rather than menacing. 

You pull your hand out of his grip and he doesn’t fight you on it. He lowers his hands to his sides as you take a step back. 

“I’ll see you next week?” He asks as he places his hands behind his back. Fuck no. 

“Yeah,” You breathe out. You nod shakily and try to give him a reassuring smile as you step towards the door. “I’ll see you next week.”

“We’ll see each other again soon.” He promises and your stomach knots with unease. You pick up your pace, speed walking towards the door and turning the handle. You step into the night air and  head straight for the passenger side of the car Jake sat in. You are almost running towards it, your feet splashing in the rain puddles as you approach. You grip the door handle tightly and dive in, slamming it shut behind you. 

“What is it?” Steven asks. 

“Just fucking drive!” You shout and he jumps at your voice before reaching for the key and grasping nothing. Jake hotwired a car for the four of you to get here, so there is no key but rather a clump of wires hanging out beneath the wheel. 

“What’s wrong?” Jake asks as he drops his hand to the emergency break and pushes it downwards to release it. He presses on the gas and you grab the seat belt on your left and strap it across from you and into the buckle. 

“They know,” You breathe out. “They’re part of the cult.”

“What?”

“At least Henry is, he’s the- the support leader or whatever. He has a fucking scale tattoo, Jake!” 

“Are you fucking with me?” 

“No!” You yell and run your hands down your face. “I didn’t know before. He always has his sleeves down to his fucking wrists and he took my hand and I-”

“Did he read your scales?” He whips his face towards you and lets go of the wheel to grasp your wrists in one hand. You jolt towards him with his grip as he looks down at your arms. The lights of the car on the other side of the lane gets louder and you look out the windshield to see that Jake was driving in the oncoming traffic lane.  

“The road, Jake!” You yell and he swerves back into his lane as the car passes and honks angrily at you. He lets go of your wrists and you rub your right one softly to ease the tension. 

“I don’t think he read my scales.” You tell him. “I don’t have any scales on my arms.” He rubs his mouth before hitting the wheel out of anger and fear. You jump and look down at the bruises forming on your wrists underneath the streetlights as you pass. 

“What do they know?” He asks. “What did you say?” You feel yourself become even more tense at the accusation that you said something that could have potentially fucked things up. 

“I just told them that I thought you guys were dead!” You defend yourself. “I said that you were waiting outside in the car.”

“That we were waiting outside in the car,” He repeats. “What were the exact words that you used? Did you tell them that Marc or Steven was waiting or did you say that your neighbors were?”

“I said that my uncles are waiting outside in the car,” You say. He leans his right hand on the door and rubs his beard as he stares at the road. 

“Your uncles,” He mumbles. “Like we’re close.” You wince at that statement and try to curl in on yourself. 

“I sure fucking hope we are, Jake.” You say. “I sleep next to you guys at night.” 

He glances at you before back tracking, “No! Not like that. Just- Harrow's cult has the knowledge now that we’re…close.” He finishes. 

“They already had that knowledge when they broke into my apartment to kidnap me,” You scoff. “Or when Amanda went into my work or sat next to me at the bus stop, or hey, when those groups of cultists followed me to our apartment building twice.”

“That could have been blamed as a neighbor that we hang out too much with.” He points out, “But, now they know we’re close enough for you to call us your uncle.”

“Right,” You say. “I’m not going back there.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Marc says, you glance at his hands white knuckling the steering wheel and the slight increase of his speed.

“What do you think they would have done if I didn’t tell them you guys were outside?” You ask quietly as you look out the windshield and at the moon high in the clear sky. 

“I don’t want to think about that,” He says. But you already knew that the three of them were thinking about it, you already had a clue of what probably would have happened if you didn’t say anything. You would have been kidnapped or killed in a church basement. You haven’t shown up for almost a month and Henry was going to take the opportunity of your appearance to do something. But why did he let you go when he had the prime opportunity to kill you while your friends were outside with the car running? Why did he let your hand slip and nobody else stopped you from leaving?

You breathe out slowly and flicker your eyes to Marc. He keeps his gaze on the road ahead as he heads straight for the apartment complex. You pick at a loose thread on the sleeves of the jacket that now belongs to you as you think of what to say. There wasn’t much to talk about with him, he always seemed to try to shut you out and push you away, but to be fair you did do the same exact thing for a long time. 

“Did you guys make up?” You ask. He gives you a confused glance. “You and Layla,” You clarify. 

“Yeah, we’re working things out.” He shrugs. “Things are…better.”

“Good,” You nod. “It was weird feeling all this tension between the two of you. It was like a possum and a raccoon running into the same piece of trash and they are either going to fight over it or make out.”

“Shut up,” He groans but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. “Did you just compare Layla and I to a possum and raccoon?”

“If the shoe fits, sure,” You grin and he pushes your shoulder gently. “How do you feel about inviting Layla over to watch World History?” 

“Only if you tell me which animal I am.” He says. You tap your chin in thought. 

“The possum,” You say. “You act ferocious but, you’re really just a softie.”

“Yeah?” He says and you nod. He rolls his eyes at the rearview mirror. “Shut up Jake.”

You laugh, “Don’t forget to call Layla. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She is,” He reassures you. 

“Yeah, I know…but I just gotta see it with my own eyes, y’know?” You say and he hums.

“I know, kid.” He tells you softly; and just by his tone alone you know there's somethings he doesn’t speak about but he understands so much of. He sounds honest and genuine in his statement that you believe him. 

“You want pizza for dinner?” He asks. “There’s not much in the fridge and we haven’t gone shopping yet.”

“Yeah,” You say. “Can I go with you?” 

“Yeah,” He answers. “You can always go with me if you want to.”

Chapter Text

“How’s the studying going?” Steven asks. You turn your head away from your notebook and stare at him with red and stinging eyes. You don’t know the exact expression you are wearing as he looks at you but it must be hard to look at because he says, “That bad, huh?”

“Terrible,” You groan. “Finals are two days from now and I feel like my brain is already melting.” You rub your temples with your hand as you squint at him with half-lidded eyes while he sits next to you on the floor. 

“What subject are you studying?” He asks. You show him the notebook that you’ve been scribbling into over the term with bullet points of events from slideshows your teacher in New York made. 

“U.S History,” You tell him. “It’s all about the Industrial Revolution and how the states progressed into what we are today.” He pulls out his glasses from underneath his shirt and places them on the bridge of his nose before he reads your scribbles. “I have Algebra, Chemistry, and First-aid next.”

“Your finals are this Friday?” He asks.

“Thursday and Friday,” You tell him. “I have to do History and English on Thursday and Algebra, Chemistry, and First-aid on Friday.”

“And they’re all cramming this at the end of the week?”
“Unfortunately. Christmas and New Years are coming up. In the States they give us a two week break in December for the holidays.” You say. He drops the notebook to his lap and you stare at him from where you are laying on your stomach.

“You’ve been studying for a week now,” He points out. “And you don’t think you have all this information already imprinted into your mind?”

“I just want to graduate,” You admit. “If I don’t pass this term, then I’ll have extra classes next term and I don’t want to add more.”

“What are your grades?”

“Like…C’s and D’s…”

“That’s not terrible,” He tells you and pauses before asking, “You’re not failing your courses in America?”

“No!” You say. He arches an eyebrow and you sigh. “Just almost failing. It’s been a tough term.” You usually do better, but the last three months have really gotten to you. It wasn’t just the hard subject but rather your daily life. It distracted you from your schooling and it almost caused you to fail your classes. If you fail your exams in History and in Algebra then you would have to retake the classes all over again to graduate on time. Not only that, but if you do fail, you will have to have a video chat with an advisor in the school you’re attending to talk about your plans for retaking the courses. Which just by seeing your face through a camera lens and perhaps some missing person posters of you around New York can make the situation difficult. 

“When do you graduate again?” He asks.

“The spring.” It will be early June that you will graduate but still the spring nonetheless.

“And then you’ll be done with school?”

“Yeah…” You say. Your dreams of being an astrophysicist are already ruined by your choice of committing fraud and moving countries. University is not an option for you any longer. 

“And then what?”

“Work, I guess,” You shrug. “Maybe apply to other places than a fast-food restaurant.”

“Do you think you’ll be happy with your education once you finish?”

“I have to be satisfied with it,” You tell him. “I don’t have any other option.” You won’t be happy with it, but you’ll learn to become content. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. You grab the bottle of water you’ve been drinking out of since you made your home on the floor of their apartment when you got off of work just hours ago. The liquid felt cool in your mouth as you drank and it put the lid back on before swallowing and returning it to the same spot you took it from. 

“Do you need help?” He asks. You look at him and he raises the notebook a bit out of his lap. “Studying,” He clarifies and you nod. There wasn’t any harm with him trying to quiz you on the subject besides, if you’re going to stare at any more words on a piece of lined paper again, they’re going to start swimming. 

He shifts his gaze down to the book in his hand while you lay your head on your arms and kick your feet back and forth in the air as you listen to him speak, “What tool did farmers rely on in the eighteen-hundreds to harvest hay and grain?”

“Sickles and hoes,” You answer. He smiles and tells you it's correct.

“Who did John Quincy Adams run against for presidency?”

“Andrew Jackson.”

“Who won?”

“John Quincy Adams.”

“In what year did the California gold rush take place and what year did it end?” He asks, you watch a piece of dust scuffle on the rug as you rack your brain for the answer.

“Eighteen-forty-eight to eighteen-fifty-five?” You say but it comes out sounding like a question. 

“You are right. Good job, dove,” He tells you. You can hear the smile in his voice without needing to look at him. “What was the Louisiana purchase?”

“The United States bought over eight million square acres from France in the eighteen-hundreds. It went from, like, the Nebraska and North Dakota range down to Louisiana.” You say and he hums in response. You close your eyes and try to picture the state in your mind. “It kind of looks like the state of Louisiana, the whole outline of the purchase.”

“That must be why it’s called that,” He says. “I don’t know much about American history but if it looks like the state today, perhaps that’s why they refer to it as a purchase?”

“Maybe,” You shrug. 

“You remembered quite a bit,” He says. “I think you’ll be fine on your exams.”

“I’m just worried,” You say as you open your eyes and look at him. “What if I don’t pass? What if I have to retake the class again and show my face to the advisor? What if I have a missing person poster in New York and they see me and think, ‘wow, that kid looks awfully familiar. Huh, they have the same name as the kid that is missing or presumed dead.’”

“Then we’ll figure something out,” He says. “We’ll make something up or enroll you elsewhere.”

“We?”

“You’re not doing this alone all over again.” He sets the notebook down and removes his glasses from his face, letting them thump gently against his chest as the beaded string around his neck pulls them to him. “How do you feel about a break?”

“I have to remember everything, Steven.” 

“Not everything, dove. Just enough to get by,” He says. “Besides, taking a break is going to be good for you. C’mon. Get up. We are going to go get some dinner and take a stroll.”

“The last time we did that, we got ambushed and gained more trauma.” You point out from where you remained on the floor.

“But, not this time.” He promises. “Grab a jacket, the news said it's going to snow.”

“Steven-”

“Stop protesting and just get up,” He cuts you off. “It’s just a break, it’s not going to kill you.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I promise that we won’t let anything kill you.” 

“If I die from hypothermia today, I’m going to keep my promise of haunting all of your asses and never giving you a moment of peace.”

“That’s why, I’m bundling you up before we leave.” He smiles and holds out his hand. “C’mon, love.” You sigh. He’s not going to stop pestering you until you give in. You wouldn’t be surprised if Marc takes the wheel and decides to throw you over his shoulder and walk out the door with how he’s been acting. Ever since their return from the mission two weeks ago, he’s been more kind and present than he has been in months. You haven’t asked them much about the mission because you know that they won’t tell you shit about it. But something happened during the time that they were gone. Not just for you but for them. 

They seem more attentive towards you, Steven checks in with you much more often and Marc tries to get more into the things you’re interested in. You took the telescope up to the roof last weekend and you both charted stars, he told you small tidbits of facts that you already knew but didn’t know that he was aware of. Jake has been fronting more often and watching television with you, he began to teach you what was right and wrong in replays of baseball games from years ago. He got into cooking, he’s been following recipes online and making you be the guinea pig for the food that he makes. Sometimes it tastes good and other times it tastes awful, but you try to encourage him to continue. Marc has been showing less of his hatred for Jake and more understanding. 

He doesn’t have much of a stick up his ass anymore, which was taking some time to get used to because you always expect him to get angry at you and disappear for days at a time. He’s been talking to Layla much more too, sometimes she comes over for dinner on the weekends and other times you catch him speaking to her softly on the phone late at night like two teenagers who don’t want to get caught. Those nights, when he sits on the couch and the fish tank lights up his features, you watch him speak in a quiet voice and smile and laugh softly at whatever she was saying from where you lay. You don’t bring it up to him or tease him when the morning comes; and if he does notice you are awake at night, he doesn’t ask you why you were up. 

If one thing went right during their mission, it was the resolved issues between all of you. Whatever happened in Algeria affects them enough to suddenly switch things up and, as bad as it sounds, you’re a little grateful for it. You’re just glad that it doesn’t feel awkward to be in the same room with Marc and Layla even with the affectionate looks they share that you pretend not to notice. You reach for Stevens hand and he pulls you up. 

---

The diner was a small one, just enough to fit in about twenty or so people. It had a jukebox shoved into a dimly lit corner and it smelled like maple syrup, hash browns, and stale cigarettes. Steven told you that it is a hole in the wall place, not a lot of people know about it. The booths have brown leather covering, faded with age; and the tables are scratched and have initials of people who previously sat in the same spot that you are currently in. The curtains hanging above the window are decorative plaid that you think was once the color red but has faded to a dark brown and the blinds are half broken. 

Soft tunes from a stereo above the entrance played the local pop radio station as your eyes traveled from a waitress wearing a pair of blue jeans and a tucked in green shirt with an apron tied around her waist making her way to a table to the window you sat next to. It was snowing, supposedly there are only supposed to be a couple of inches growing overnight but the forecast is almost always wrong. Steven sat across from you as he peeled off his gloves and set them on the bench while you shiver. Even with the layers of thermal Steven let you borrow, and Marc's pair of pants and Jake's thick and wooly socks stuffed into your tennis-shoes, you are still cold. You take your hands out of your jacket- it was Marcs technically, but you used it for months, so now it's yours- and reach across the table wrapping your cold hands in Stevens to take his warmth. 

He jumps from the coldness and looks at the redness in your fingertips with wide eyes and states the obvious, “Your hands are freezing, dove.”

“Yeah, I know.” You tell him. His cheeks are flushed red from the cold and there's some snowflakes in his hair.

“Do you have gloves?”

“I would have worn them if I did.”

“You can borrow mine on the way back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” He replies and curls his hands over yours. “Are you excited for the break?” 

“From school?” You ask and he nods, his curls bounce against his forehead with the movement. The white flake in his hair has melted into water. “Yeah, I’m excited to just be able to relax from my education.”

“School is stressful,” He says and glances at the window. “Marc says that his best subject was skipping classes.” You snort and roll your eyes.

“You’re doing far better than I was, kid.” Marc tells you with a small smile resting on his face. “I went straight into the marines after I graduated.”

“Did you like it?”

“It gave me a purpose,” He says. You watch his cheek pop out a bit as his tongue pushes against it. “It kept my mind off of things and it kept me occupied.”

“Right up until you got discharged.” You say. He hums in agreement. “What happened?” You couldn’t find much on what exactly went down, but you always wondered. It was the nosey part of you that you tried so hard not to be, you always wanted them to tell you the truth instead of having to dig it up. 

He was silent which makes you think that he wasn’t going to answer you so it surprises you when he says, “It was Jake…He was protecting us and went AWOL. They found out about my disorder and that was how I got discharged.” You feel his thumbs rubbing against the back of your hands but you don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it. You know that he wasn’t going to share any details of what Jake did, perhaps he doesn’t even know it himself; so you leave it at that, a mystery that maybe, one day, you’ll hear from Jake, if he’s ever willing to talk about it. 

He lets go of your hands and moves for the creamer cups for coffee and tea stacked neatly in a bowl. You watch him dump the bowl onto the table and set it back onto the surface before neatly stacking the cups on top of one another only to knock it down once all the cups were used. He repeats this process a couple of times, stacking them in different ways. A pyramid shape, a Christmas tree, and two small squares. You rub your hands together to get circulation and warmth back in them as the waitress finally appears. She looks frazzled and a little bit stressed and you can’t help but feel a bit bad for her. You don’t think you have seen any other waitress working with her. 

“Sorry for the wait,” She says as she takes the red leather menus with a picture of the diners on the front and places them upon the table, accidentally knocking over Marc's tower in the process. “Here are some menus. Our specials are-”

“I already know what I want,” He cuts her off. She blinks momentarily in surprise before she stands up straight and takes out her notepad and pen from her apron. 

“All the merrier.” She says. “Speeds up the process.”

“I would like one strawberry waffle stack and a hot chocolate,” He says. You kick him underneath the table and give him a look. “Please,” He adds. 

“And what would you like, dear?” She asks as she scribbles down Marc's order. 

“I would like the same please,” You tell her with a smile. “I’m sorry that he was a little rude. It’s just past his bedtime, he’s an old man.” She waves you off. 

“It’s water under the bridge,” She says as she clicks the pen and snatches the menu from the table. “Your order will be out as soon as it can, thank you for your patience.”

“I am not that old,” He tells you as soon as she was out of ear shot. You snort and pick up a creamer and gently throw it at him, hitting his chest. 

“You are,” You say. “You’re acting like you are entitled. Don’t be rude to service workers. She’s trying her best to keep afloat. I don’t even see anyone else working with her; and she can spit in your food if you’re rude.”

“You ordered the same food as I did so how would you know which one she spits in?”

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that.” You scoff. “That’s why I’m asking you to have manners and patience.” You don’t want her to take out her frustration by spitting on Marc's waffles and giving it to you. You hope she won’t do it. He sets the creamer onto the table, the same one you threw at him just moments ago, and stares at the liquid cups.

You lean back in the booth seat and watch him for a minute before you ask, “Do you guys celebrate Hanukkah?” You’ve meant to ask them weeks ago but everything else just seemed to get in the way. He shifts in his seat and picks up a creamer, looking at the picture of a snowman and a blue background on the plastic covering. 

“Not anymore,” He says without looking at you. “I haven’t celebrated in a long time.” Your eyes flicker to the setting sun outside, the sky was a shade of blue and gray. It looks exactly like it in New York on winter days. Bright colors were rare to find in winter sunsets. You aren’t going to question him about whether or not he wants to celebrate it this year because from how he stated he hasn’t in a long time, he stopped for a reason; and you doubt he would get into that with you. The motion of red, blue, yellow, and green Christmas lights turning on caught your attention. You shift your gaze across the street and there, hanging off of the awning of a shop, was a string of lights. 

“Do you celebrate Christmas?” He asks as you watch more lights flicker on from other stores. 

“Not so much,” You tell him as you trail your gaze back to him and pick up a creamer from the table. This one had a picture of a small snowflake with a background of blue. “I haven’t in a couple of years…It was more about spending time together than about the birth of Jesus. Just…being with one another and enjoying the time spent.” You shrug and set the creamer on top of another, slowly stacking it as you go. 

“Are you going to?”

“Celebrate?” You ask and he hums. “No. There's a work-party next weekend, but…I don’t think I’m going to go. Lauren wants me to, but I just…don’t think it’s a good idea.” You pause as you reach for another creamer on the edge of the table, quietly, you admit, “But for the holiday? Like, the twenty-fifth, I just want to do whatever you guys usually do.”

“We don’t do much,” He says as you place the creamer on top of the other.

“That’s fine. I want to not do much with you,” You say as you accidentally tip over the stack and scatter it across the table. Your eyes meet him across the table and you try to read him. He looks a little bit uncomfortable. Perhaps he has plans with his wife and you just didn’t know about it? Maybe it seemed like you were trying to force him to do something fun with you and he doesn’t know how to turn you down. You shift in your own seat awkwardly and swallow. You don’t mean to seem like you were forcing him to celebrate or hangout with you. If he doesn’t want to do anything, that’s completely fine. If he doesn’t want to be in the same room with you, you are absolutely okay with it. 

You decide to give him an out, “Unless you and Layla have something planned.”

“We don’t.” He says. 

“You can do whatever you want, Marc,” You tell him. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was trying to force you to celebrate or something, I just- I want to spend time with you guys and I have the day off so I just want to hang out with you.”

“You didn’t,” He says. He rubs his face with his hands as he tries to form the words that are hard to speak of, “I’m just kind of used to…being elsewhere.” He pauses and you wait for him to continue. “I’m used to watching things unfold through Steven with you and…this is new: being…wanted.” 

“I’m sorry,” You say, and you mean it. Things were rocky between you and Marc since the beginning and it only got more rocky when you lost your trust in him. You don’t quite know how to express your feelings of how you wish things were different between you. How you wish you can put your full trust into whatever he says and does. You think he is being genuine now, he isn’t the type of person to admit this aloud, especially in a public place, so you believe him. But how long will that last? When is the next time he’s going to break his deal of being honest when it matters the most? You can’t believe every word that he says but you can try. That’s all you can do, right?

“I think we should watch a movie when we get back,” You say without looking at him. You hope the activity stretches across the point that you want to hang out with him. “I think I’m done studying for the day.” 

You watch as the waitress approaches with two cups of hot chocolate with whipped cream and places them down in front of you. She apologizes for the wait and pulls out two wrapped utensils in napkins and straws and sets them next to your respective drinks before leaving to go tend to other tables. 

“She works so hard,” You mumble as you watch her buffer empty tables.

“You scared him,” Jake says, making your attention trail to him. He unwraps the napkins and picks up a spoon before scooping up some whipped cream and placing it in his mouth. You frown a bit but try not to let your disappointment show. “He’s like a rabbit, he easily gets spooked by affection.”

“No shit,” You tell him as you scoop the creamers back into the bowl with your hand before setting it back where Marc took it. “You are too.” 

“For good reason,” He says and picks up his mug and takes a drink. You smile at the sight of some whipped cream on the edge of his nose as he places the drink back onto the surface. You look away from him before he notices your amusement as he asks, “What movie do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know…” You start. “Something funny.” You want to watch something that will help relax you from the stress of finals this week. You rub your temples as you feel something vibrating in the pocket of your coat. You take out your phone and stare at the caller ID. It was Lauren, you feel the corners of your lips tilt down as you watch her call buzz on your phone. 

“Who is it?” He asks. 

“Lauren,” You tell him. You scoot out of your booth seat and give him an apologetic look as you look around for a private place to take it. You hope she is just calling you to ask if you’re going to the party next weekend for the millionth time, or if you can cover her shift tomorrow because Molly is sick. You walk to the jukebox shoved into the corner, as you slide your thumb across the accept and bring it to your ear. 

You can hear her breathing on the other end of the line as you force the trembling words out of your mouth, “Hey,” You answer. You stare at the jukebox, vaguely taking in the hit records of ELO and Journey as you listen to her breath catch.

“I want to talk to you,” She says shakily. You can feel your heart drop in your chest at the simple statement and all blood run from your face. “I want to give you a chance to clear up some things with me…and- and I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” You try to feel the stale air of cigarettes and maple syrup fill you but everything feels too hot and too cold at once. You reach up and unzip your jacket, trying to get cooler as you struggle with some kind of response. She says your name harshly and you wince, you don’t think she was ever like this with you. 

“Do you hear me?” She says and you nod despite her not being able to see you. 

“Yeah,” You say, your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. 

“It’s just going to be you and me tomorrow,” She tells you. “Kris is taking the kids up to their nans.”

“Does she know?” You ask quietly. 

“She’s not going to tell anyone unless I want to.” She responds. You hear her breath shudder out of her like she is trying to not to show just how hard this is for her. You don’t blame her if she begins crying, she did find out that someone she thought she knew was not completely honest. It sounds familiar with you and Marc. “Come over after work tomorrow. I’m not going to be there and I think you know why.” You can feel your own tears building up behind you from your anxiety. 

“Okay,” You whisper. Your grip slips around your phone as your hands begin to sweat.

“I’m not going to call the police until I hear what you have to say,” She says. “I want to hear it from you. Not in some cheap news cover story as a way for you to try to earn money to get out of prison.”

“So you’ll do it?” You ask, “You’re going to call?” 

“Not unless I don’t like what I hear,” She admits and sniffles. “I think…unless this whole thing- our friendship and the person that I know- is fake and you were out to fool everyone in your life…I don’t think you are a bad person. I think you made some mistakes; and if what I found is correct, then maybe this can be salvageable between us.” 

“You would do that?” You ask. “You would risk knowing and keeping this between us, if it meant hearing me out?”

“You’re my friend,” She says, her breath shudders. “And…as weird as it sounds, you’re like my own kid. If Molly or Jamie were older and in your shoes, I would want to hear them out.” You nod slowly, your heart begins to ache. She feels like you are her own kid and she got betrayed by you. You can feel the stinging beginning in your nose. 

“Don’t tell your uncle,” She adds. “I think the less people who know about this, the better. So that way if you ever get arrested, I can’t be linked to the crime.”

“But you looked me up,” You point out.

“And I could just say I did a shit job at it,” She replies. “I’m serious, don’t tell anyone and maybe if I don’t like what I hear and I report your ass, I’ll give you a head-start to get out of the country.”

“Deadass?”

“Deadass.” She says. She sniffles again and that causes your nose to sting more from the oncoming tears. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she hangs up and the beeping in your ear signals the end of the call. You lower the phone and stare at the Jukebox as you register what the fuck just happened. Lauren found out and she is giving you a chance to explain yourself. Shit. Fuck. And she doesn’t want anyone to know about it. You breathe in and slowly exhale. Should you tell your friends just in case you need a getaway car? Or should you try to handle it yourself? It’s your mess and you’re just dragging them into it if you ask them to risk their reputation of helping you get away if it's a trap. If they get arrested, they’re behind bars with you and there's no way that they can break you out if they want to. 

You bite your cheek as you think of what to do. It is your mess, not theirs. Maybe you really can convince Lauren to turn a blind eye, she did say that you’re like her kid. Maybe you can tug at her heart strings and if you fail she did say that she might give you a head start out of the country. You try to steady your shaking hands as you turn on your heel and walk back to the table, sometime during the phone call, the waffles were delivered to your table. 

“What did Lauren want?” He asks as you slide back into your booth seat. You force a smile to grace your features as you pick up your fork and knife.

“She wants me to come over after work tomorrow and help wrap her kids Christmas presents and bake cookies for the party next weekend.” You tell him. “I think it's her way of giving one last try to convince me to go to the party.”

“She really wants you to go.” He observes. 

“I know,” You roll your eyes, trying to play into the roll of frustration that you would begin to feel after so many attempts for someone to coerce you to go to a party. “I’m hoping she’ll get the hint tomorrow when I tell her no.”

“Do you want me to drive you there?” He asks as you cut into your waffle. You watch the red liquid of the strawberries spill over onto your plate.

“Yeah,” You say as you stab with your fork at the piece you cut off. “I think it will be quicker if you take me, but I need an excuse if I need to leave early.”

“If you want to get out?” He raises an eyebrow at you.
“I do need to study,” You tell him. “She doesn’t know I’m in school.”

“It’s always about studying with you,” He groans. “When are you going to let yourself have a break? Have fun”

“Right now,” You say as you pop the waffle into your mouth and chew. “And after finals. I got two weeks of freedom.”

“You want to go ice skating this weekend?” He asks. You try not to let the anxiety of tomorrow's conversation show on your face when you feel the guilt of not knowing if you will be behind bars or traveling to another country this weekend rather than having fun at an ice rink. 

“Yeah,” You grin as you watch him lift up his mug and take another sip of hot chocolate, leaving more whip cream on the tip of his nose. “That sounds like fun.”

“How are we doing?” The waitress asks as she briefly stops at your table. She smiles at the two of you before taking a double look at Jake. “Sir, sorry, you have something on your nose.” He scrunches his brows together and looks at you before using the reflection of his spoon whether to talk to his alters or to check his own reflection before wiping off the whipped cream with the napkin. 

“We’re good,” You tell her as a soft laugh leaves you. She smiles and leaves to go check on another table. 

“You little shit,” He tells you once she was out of ear shot. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

“Why would I want to tell you when seeing the look on your face was so much fun?” You grin. “You did tell me to have fun.” He feigns a look of exasperation before he reaches across the table and swipes some whipped cream from your waffle, running his finger across your own cheek. You gasp before a laugh leaves you once more and you wipe it off with your own napkin. 

The rest of the dinner was filled with laughter and conversation between the four of you. You don’t want this night to end, but it has too. You had work tomorrow and the diner was closing in half an hour. A huge hint of this is when the waitress brings the bill over and places it onto the table as she says, “You two are an adorable family.” You glance at Jake and can feel a shit-eating grin spreading across your face. 

“Thanks,” You tell her as you turn your attention to her. “It’s my dad’s fiftieth birthday-”

“Cállate,” He tells you and rolls his eyes. “Los niños y su boca malcriada.”

“Sorry, he’s just embarrassed.” You tell her as you snag the check from the end of the table before Jake can take it. “Fifty is a big year. Soon he’ll be needing diapers and asking where he placed his glasses when they’re in his hand.” You can feel Jake give you a gentle kick to the shin. 

“Fifty,” She says as she eyes him. You wouldn’t be surprised if she was trying to guess how he manages to look so young at that age. You wait for the question to leave her mouth so you can embarrass him more but she seems to let it go as she says, “Congratulations, sir. Have a happy birthday.” and stalks off to go check on the remaining tables. You turn your attention to Jake and grin, trying to not laugh too much at the look on his face.

“Cincuenta. Eres un mierdecilla, ¿lo sabías?” He huffs out and sighs before he holds his hand out for the piece of paper you clutched onto. 

“I’ve got the check,” You say as you calculate how much money you had on you to pay for your dinner and to leave the lady a nice tip. “I promised to pay you guys back through strawberry waffles. Besides, I’ll be an asshole if I don’t pay for the newly fifty year-olds dinner.” 

“You’re a little shit,” He tells you. “You know that?”

“I do, actually. It’s in the job description to make your life unpeaceful as possible. Kind of promised myself that when you held a knife to my throat.” He winces a bit, which surprises you. You don’t expect him to show regret for that. He was doing what he thought he needed to do to protect the system. 

“You don’t have to pay,” He tells you quietly.

You repeat Stevens words from earlier with a small smile as you scoot out of the booth to go to the register to pay, “I know I don’t.”

Chapter Text

Laurens window was decorated with stickers of holiday characters such as the Grinch and his dog, Max, along with small stacks of presents and sleighs. Lights are hung up in her window in colors of red, green, yellow, and blue outlining the pane from the inside. You wouldn’t have noticed her decorations if you aren’t sitting in the car that Jake borrowed as you shift nervously in your seat. He left the car running, the heat is easily warming you from the cold as the headlights point at a pile of snow pushed up against the edge of the road. You aren’t looking forward to getting out of the vehicle and feeling the cold try to infiltrate your winter clothing and skin. 

“Do you have your taser?” He asks as he turns his head to look at you. You bring it out of the pocket you placed it in before you left for work this morning and show him. “Good,” He says at the sight of it. You return it back to your pocket and look out the windshield and back to Laurens home. You don’t know what to tell her besides the truth and that’s what she wants the most from you. She has been nothing but kind to you and she’s even willing to give you a chance to tell her about why you did what you did. This could be a trap though, she could have already reported you to the authorities and they decided to lure you in so you wouldn’t have the chance to run. 

Your eyes trail away from the window and down to the cars surrounding the building, if there was any indication of a police car, marked or unmarked, you are going to dip out. But, there was none that you could tell, just vehicles covered with snow. 

“You don’t look like you’re looking forward to spending time with your friend, love,” Steven says. You shift your gaze towards him, his brows are furrowed causing a small crease between them. “Is something wrong?” You feel your stomach knot with anxiety as you force your shoulders to relax. They can tell that something is wrong and that is making you even more nervous. You haven’t told them anything about the real reason why you are visiting Lauren today. Perhaps when they pick you up from her place, you’ll be forced to tell them if she decides to give you a head start. Right now though, he is giving you the opportunity to come clean and tell him what’s really going on; and yeah, you made them promise to be honest about anything that might affect you and you would do the same for them.

But this is your mess, not theirs, and you feel like you are the one who has to get yourself out of it because you did this to yourself. You are the one who made this mess. You are the one who decided to commit fraud and move continents. You are the one who tangled yourself in these strings and so you are the one who has to remove the noose from your neck and cut yourself loose.

“I’m just worried about my finals tomorrow,” You tell him, which is partly the truth. You are stressed about passing your courses and fixing the D’s you currently have. You really don’t want to fail and have to have a one-on-one conversation with your advisor for the classes you didn’t pass. 

“I want to pass and-” You release a sigh. “I like Lauren but, I’m just worried that this time I’m spending with her is going to fuck me over for my finals.”

“You’re going to pass, kid,” Marc says “You’re smart and determined. Besides, if you need to you will have your notes just feet away…” You can feel your lips twitch with the beginning of a smile at his statement as you watch his posture slacken.

“Don’t listen to him,” Steven says. “Don’t cheat. Cheating will get you nowhere.” He glares at the mirror. “Don’t encourage the kid to cheat, Marc.” Your lips turn upwards in a grin as you place your hand on the door handle. You were supposed to meet her a while ago but with the conditions of snow and ice on the road, it took a while to have Jake pick you up from work and drive you here. 

“We’re just a phone call away, dove,” He says, stopping you from tightening your grip on the handle and pushing open the door. You feel your breath catch in your throat as he gives you a soft look. 

“Yeah,” You tell him as you feel your smile slipping. You hope that you won’t have to call them behind bars or if you’re running from the police. “I know. I’ll call you when I’m ready to be picked up.” This is your mess, not theirs, you repeat to yourself as he nods. 

“We’re going to the store while we wait for you,” He says. “Is there anything that you would like?”

“Lucky Charms,” You say and he gives you a look. “I’ll eat the grains and the marshmallows, I promise.” You pop open the door before he can scold you for just eating the marshmallows and leaving Jake the grains recently and step out into the chilly air. The coldness bites at your cheeks and your shoes begin to get wet from the snow. You should look into snow boots. Last winter was terrible wearing just tennis-shoes and walking to and from the bus stop during the peak of the season.

 “I’ll call you,” You promise him before you shut the door and make your way across the road towards her building. You want to get this done and over with before you become too overridden with nerves and let the truth slip from your lips. You slip a couple of times as you cross the road but catch yourself before you hit the pavement. You clutch onto the railing of the stairs and carefully take each step slowly so you wouldn’t eat shit and only let yourself feel a little victory as you reach the door. You raise your hand to wave at your friends before pushing open the door to the building. It was warm inside and you are glad to feel relief from the cold. Your shoes squeak against the tile floor as you walk to the elevators and press the call button. 

You warily look over your shoulder. Part of you expects to get swatted as soon as you put down your guard and the other part of you really hopes that Lauren is true to her word and willing to hear you out. You almost jump when the elevator dings, signaling that it arrived. You step into the metal box and press her floor number, your eyes landing on the Daniels missing person poster above the buttons as the door closes. He’s been missing for months now and they still haven’t given up hope. It is still the same paper as last month when you visited Lauren, it has not been updated but the edges of it are more crinkled like someone ran their fingers over it or rubbed against it. Perhaps the elevator was full at one point and someone did just that. 

Has your aunt ran her fingers over your missing poster if you have one? Has your best friend's eyes burned holes into it from staring at your picture for so long? Or did they just presume that you are dead and your body has yet to be found? You don’t know and you hope that you won’t find out because if they visit you while you are behind bars, you don’t know what you are going to tell them. You doubt they would understand your reasons for why you did what you did. They would absolutely be hurt by your actions and the knowledge that over the past two years you watched their life go by in pictures and videos posted on social media while they think the worst has happened to you. 

You will get their anger and grief if they are to ever find out of the strings you pulled. You would be too if the roles were reversed with either of them. Your aunt believes that you are dead or worse, and so she has nothing tied to her sister for the past seven years. Daniels' family must be feeling that same grief. You wonder where he went, perhaps he did the same thing as you did and made a break for New York. Maybe he went elsewhere up North or maybe he was still in London just in the Thames River. 

The elevator door opens and you step out. With every step towards the door, your legs shake and your hands do too. This conversation can be the trigger for many things. A new life behind bars, a new game of running and trying not to get caught, or a new person- family, Kris knows about you- who is willing to put everything on the line so you can stay in London. You just hope that everything will be alright in the end, that no matter where you end up, you will be okay. You stop in front of her door which has a wreath and bells attached to it. You take a deep breath and raise your hand, knocking three times on the door before it swings open. There, on the other side, stood Lauren with dark circles underneath her eyes and a redness coating them. Her eyes are a bit puffy as she stares at you almost like a zombie, she looks like you did when you went to work on nights with zero to little sleep. 

She wears a stained blue, collared t-shirt with a pair of flannel pajama pants and a dark blue robe open on her shoulders. Her hair is tied into a messy bun, she doesn’t seem to care for how she looks today and you completely understand. She just learned that someone who she felt like was her own kid is not who they are. She let a stranger in her own home and around her kids, someone she thought she knew, and she is distraught over the knowledge that she gained within the past twenty-four hours. You watch as she looks at you with slightly surprised and sad eyes as she takes in your appearance in the hallway. 

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” She told you. Her voice cracks halfway through and she sounds exhausted. You watch as she opens the door a bit wider to let you in and you step through. 

“The weather delayed me,” You tell her quietly as you listen to her shut the door and lock it. It was quiet in her home, the fridge hums and the snow outside pads any sound that could have traveled up into the apartment. It was weird being in her flat without the feeling of any other presence but the two of you. The last time you were here, Molly and Jamie were asleep and the two of you spent the day on her couch until you had to go to your own building because her children were sick and you became sick. You stand next to her in the short entryway as she looks at you. 

“You didn’t tell anyone?” She asks, seriously. You nod. “Not even your uncle?”

“No. I told them- him-” You correct yourself and give her a nervous smile before continuing, “that we are making cookies for the holiday party next weekend and wrapping gifts for your children.” 

She doesn’t say anything for a moment but rather stares at you with unblinking eyes before she swallows roughly and says, “You can hang up your jacket, I’ll make us some tea.” You watch as she turns on her heels and marches towards the kitchen. You unzip the brown leather jacket and take your phone out of its pocket before stuffing it into your pants. You peel it off and hang it up on the rack, rubbing your arms a bit to replace the warmth you just removed from yourself. You are wearing a short sleeve shirt with the logo of your workplace and Lauren's apartment feels a bit cold, like she hasn’t bothered to turn on the heat until recently and the place is just beginning to warm up. 

The feeling of your feet gently kicking into something causes you to look down. The children's and the adult shoes of sandals and tennis lay scattered in a plie like they walked through the door and kicked them off before doing other things. You turn your gaze to something white and colorful on the ground. It was a crayon drawing of dresses and a costume of a tiger. You remember Molly showed you the exact drawing when you first visited months ago, she was really excited to show you her artwork back then. You bend down and pick it up, noticing the dirt and drying water marks of shoe prints on the paper. You clutch onto the paper as you walk down the short hallway and glance to your left. 

The living room is messy with children's toys and belongings. It was obvious that Lauren didn’t bother to clean up anything and you don’t mind one bit, she has more pressing matters to attend to then to make her home less cluttered for a visitor who may be behind bars or in another country soon. The television was off, showing the outline of your reflection as you take in the room. Shoved into the corner by the television and a bookshelf was a Christmas tree. Balls of ornaments decorated the dying tree with matching strings of lights from the one in her window. One of the ornaments stuck out the most, a clear one with a picture of Molly shoved into it like a grade-school holiday gift from her teacher. 

Soon Jamie will have one in a couple of years when he’s old enough to attend school and perhaps Molly will have an updated one then. You turn to your right and peer through the open entry of the kitchen, it looks even worse than the living room. Papers clutter the counter and the floor is messy with cardboard boxes and grocery bags. Your eyes land on Lauren who is leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed, her eyes staring blankly at the kettle on the stove. 

“Do you need help?” You ask from where you stand. She blinks a couple of times before she looks at you. 

“No,” She tells you. Her eyes flicker down to the drawing you held. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it on the floor,” You tell her and gesture towards the area where you found it.

“Put it on the counter,” She says stiffly. “Go sit down. I’ll bring you your tea.” You swallow harshly as you turn towards the nearest countertop and set the drawing on top of Daniels missing person flier. You turn on your heel and walk towards the couch. 

You feel terrible about what you put your friend through over the past twenty-four hours. It’s painfully obvious that she is suffering from the knowledge of your actions. She’s rightfully upset with you. She’s risking everything just to hear you out and she probably needs some time to collect herself and her thoughts before even beginning to question you, let alone be around you. She did say that she wasn’t sure if you were coming so this must be a surprise to her to just have you in her home, risking your own future for her to hear you out. 

You swallow as you sit on the couch and lean against the armrest while turning your body to face where Lauren will sit. Was it really just last month that you were drinking tea and laughing with her while the kids slept? It feels like a lifetime ago. Your leg is laying on something soft and you lift it up a bit to see what was making you feel a bit uncomfortable. You snatch the fuzzy object and pull it out from underneath you, it was a teddy bear. You set it down on the middle cushions on top of a Paw Patrol blanket, your eyes travel to the other end of the couch. A throw pillow rests against the arm of the chair. Lauren must have been laying on the couch while she waited for you. She was probably overthinking about what to ask, how this conversation may go, you were doing the same thing last night. 

You hear the water begin to whistle and the snap of the dial on the oven being turned off. You shift in your seat, trying to get as comfortable as possible for the tense time ahead. You have to tell her the truth, there’s no other way around it because you don’t know what she has found on you. You listen to her footsteps shuffle towards her before you see the mug being held out in front of you. You grip the tea, a mumble of thanks leaving your lips as she walks around the couch and she sits on the opposite end. You stare down into the yellow liquid, steam warming your face and hands. It smells like herbal leaves and dandelions, a bit of an odd combination. Your friend doesn’t strike you as the type of person who would drink something like this, you thought she would go for some fruit flavor mixed with mint leaves. 

“It’s a new herbal tea,” She tells you. “You always teased me about my flavor choices, so I thought I should switch things up.” You keep your eyes on the liquid, trying to form some playful response in your brain to leave your mouth but all you can think of is regret. She adds, “Tell me how it tastes.” You swirl the liquid in your cup and blow on it a bit to cool it down before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip of the hot drink. It tastes like how you would expect dandelions to be. A little bitter but you aren’t going to complain one bit if it keeps your friend happy. 

“It tastes good,” You tell her after you swallow the liquid and give her a wobbly smile. “Where did you get it?”

“The store,” She says. Her eyes are down cast into her own mug as she taps the cup. You listen to her fingernails clink against the ceramic as she says, “Kris took the little ones out to the ice rink today. So, it’s just you and me.” If it wasn’t for her telling you over the phone that it  was the case, you would have picked it up that it was just the two of you because the children would have been running all over the house and Kris would have greeted you as soon as you stepped through the door. 

“I thought she was going to take them to their nans.” You say. Didn’t she tell you over the phone yesterday or was your brain too scrambled with anxiety for you to remember correctly? You raise the mug to take another sip. You don’t want to hurt her feelings by taking only one sip, saying it's good, and leaving it full. 

You watch her bite the inside of her cheek for a moment before saying, “She was, but the snowstorm hit and she didn’t want to travel too far in it.” You hum. You get that, it was a bitch being able to get over here after work. It took longer than you expected it to and Jake almost lost traction on the car in the icy spots. You listen to her shudder out a breath and you feel guilt pull at your heart. Her family was out in a snow storm because she needed to talk to you about your past. She sniffles and you clutch onto your cup a little harder. You made her upset, you made her feel betrayed and she wants to know why. You have to tell her the truth, there is no other way around it. 

“Is he really your uncle?” She asks quietly. You set your mug down onto your thigh and grip the handle with one hand. The silence was loud and tense, you easily feel like it can be cut with a knife.

“No,” You say. “He’s my neighbor.” She doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. Rather, you trail your eyes to the teddy bear on the couch cushions between you. 

“Does he know?”

“Yeah, he found out when I let it slip after he saved me from being mugged.” You admit. It feels like a weight is being taken off of your shoulders as you tell the truth and it feels nice. It feels good to be able to talk to someone else about this, even if it leads to your inevitable arrest or game of cat and mouse. 

“He’s…more like my uncle than neighbor.” You tell her. “He- he told me that I called him dad when I was sick and feverish. But, I don’t quite remember that…and when they- he- was drunk he told me that he loved me and I was like…his own kid.” You bring the cup up to your lips and take another sip, trying to ignore the bitter taste it leaves after you swallow. You add, “He doesn’t remember that either.” She places her elbow on the back of the couch and leans her head against her hand as she stares into her own cup. 

“How old are you?” She asks. “Your paperwork says you're twenty but your shit over there in New York says that you would be seventeen if you are still alive.” You stare down into your own cup, half tempted to take a big gulp just to prolong the answer to her question; but you would burn your mouth and you don’t want to do that. 

“I’m seventeen,” You tell her and she lets out a long breath of air. 

“Good lord,” She whispers. “You’re seventeen.” In your peripheral, you can see her rub her face with her hands. “You lived here for two years. I worked with you for two whole years and you were only a child. How- why did you move here as a fifteen year-old?”

“I…” You start but cut yourself off. Lauren is your friend, but that doesn’t make it any easier to open up to her about your grief and the shock you felt when some young boy was living in your home when you came back from the blip. “I…moved here for change and I always wanted to visit London. I was…it was like a plan between my best friend and I to travel here after we graduated…I just moved here instead.”

“For change,” She repeats incredulously. “You moved over a thousand miles, disappeared from everyone in your life, and lied to me and everyone else around you just for change. That’s so bloody stupid of you.” She glares angrily at you. “You have missing person posters. Your bloody name is on a memorial statue in Central Park along with others that are dead.” You wince and look down at your tea. Your hands are shaking, causing the liquid to ripple in the cup. The missing person posters are something that you guessed rather than knew. You figured that you have posters in New York and possibly Wyoming because your aunt has talked about you on her Facebook page. Now it is confirmed that you have flyers in the states. 

“Your family has been looking for you for the last two years,” She tells you. “And you have been living in London. They stated that they think you might be dead but they won’t give up until they bring you home.” You rarely check on their media posts, it used to be frequent in the first six months of living in the United Kingdom, but after that it became once in a blue moon. When you went to the library with Steven to print out some photos, you didn’t pay much attention to the posts but rather the pictures. 

“I let you in, I let you be around my family, around my children,” She cries, her voice breaking. You feel your nose begin to string and your eyes slowly become blurry. “I trusted you, I thought you were who you said you were. I looked after you, you became like my own child.” Tears run down your cheeks and you sniffle. You were right with everything that you thought would hurt her. She believed you were telling the truth since you met her and now she feels betrayed just like how you felt when you found out about Marc's lies.

“Drink your fucking tea,” She says, You jump a bit but obey her by taking a large gulp of it since it has cooled down enough to do so without burning your mouth. You swallow, the liquid warms your throat and you can feel it travel down and into your stomach. 

“Your name is the exact same as the one you had in the States. You have the same face and eyes as in the missing child poster, but the photo they used was one from when you were fifteen,” She tells you. “You have the same name as I know, the same face, too. Just a bit older and…sadder and more tired.” She says the last bit quietly and rubs her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “You are just a child. What…what happened? Tell me the truth, please.” Her voice cracks at the end and you feel more tears run down your own cheeks. “I need to know that you are a good person and that you aren’t just running from some kind of crime. Did you kill someone?”

“No,” You immediately say and shake your head. Your stomach churns whether it's from the tea or your anxiety, you don’t know. “I didn’t.” But you did, not in New York but when a man broke into your apartment just nearly two months ago.

“Then why did you move?” She begs. “Why are you here? I really want to believe that you are a good person.” You look down into your half-empty cup and stare at your reflection. You’ve been trying to force yourself into believing that you are a good person in order to survive. It wasn’t easy, but you got by. Now, someone- your friend- was asking you to convince her that you are a good person; and all you can think about is the nine stab wounds in the intruder's corpse. You stabbed him eight times so you wouldn’t keep him suffering, so why is there a nine? You had to stab him a ninth time, you don’t remember doing it, but you had to stab him an extra time. 

Why? That’s excessive. Were you just so out of it that you did do it a ninth time? Whether it was because you were scared or angry? Does that make you a bad person to stab someone an extra time when a deity told you that it would take less than that? He was the one who was breaking into your apartment, he planned to take you somewhere. So, why are you feeling so much guilt about taking another human being's life even if it was to protect yours? You went overboard with stabbing him an extra time, he was already dead and you stabbed him again. You are a terrible person for that. It was not necessary. 

“I can’t,” You tell her. “I didn’t do anything terrible in New York. I just took advantage of the weakness in the government right after everyone came back. But…” You trail off and close your eyes. You can’t force yourself to believe that you are good. You committed a crime worse than changing your age on legal papers. You took a life and mutilated a corpse. You had to be the one who stabbed him a ninth time, there's no other explanation. 

“I…I think I’m a bad person,” You finish. She doesn’t say anything and neither do you. You sniffle, your heart aches and your stomach hurts. You wish you could go back to how it was before. You wish you were sitting on her couch, laughing about something and teasing the other. You want everything to be back to how it was before. She doesn’t ask why you think you are a bad person, perhaps she knew it all along and was just trying to fool herself. She did say over the phone last night that she thinks you’re a good person; or wants to believe you are a good person. Maybe she was just saying that to ease you over, like a human trying to call over a feral cat with promises of affection and food. 

You feel like you're about to throw up and you try to hold it down as you place your cup onto the coffee table so you wouldn’t spill that over the floor. You sit up a bit straighter as you fight your body to stop itself from upchucking, that’s the last thing either of you need. Especially Lauren, she was already going through betrayal and heartbreak over you and your lies. You can feel sweat begin to dot your forehead and underneath your armpits as the room begins to spin. Damn you and your weak ass stomach. Why does your anxiety and emotions always cause this fucking sickness?

“I’m sorry, Lauren,” You tell her. “I don’t feel so good.” You don’t want her to think that you’re trying to dip out of this serious conversation to run because you believe that you are losing. Because y’know, you are. She definitely thinks that you are a terrible person and you being unable to convince her otherwise makes a pretty solid case. 

“Do you remember Daniel?” She asks quietly. You don’t think you would have heard her over your own heartbeat in your ears if you weren’t actively listening for her. You blink at her slowly, before you close your eyes to try to stop the room from spinning. 

“He was a kid your age,” She continues. “He lived down the hall with his mum. He played with Molly whenever she asked and he would come over for tea parties. He helped carry up some potting soil for a garden Kris wanted.”

“He’s the kid on the posters,” You mumble without opening your eyes. 

“He came home last night,” She tells you. You can feel your heart skip a beat and you force your eyes open to look at her. She looks sad rather than relieved. “He knocked on my door with some police officers and came in. They all had matching scale tattoos…He told us everything over the last few months that he was gone, the release of a Goddess named Ammit and the snuffing of her… He told us that a man named Marc Spector and a woman named Layla El-Faouly are the reason why Ammit doesn’t get to rule, why she doesn’t get to serve justice for the world…” She trails off and swallows. You can see her visibly crying and you want to lean forward and place your hands on hers to help steady her and yourself. 

“That Marc and Layla killed her and someone will have to pay. An eye for an eye,” She finishes. Through the pounding of your head you can formulate several thoughts which are: Oh shit, are the kids okay? Is Kris okay? Are they alive?

“Where are your children?” You ask. You force down the bile rising in your throat. “Where’s Kris?” She places her cup on the coffee table, some of the liquid splashes out onto the surface. 

“I talked to them just an hour ago,” She says and you can feel yourself relax a bit as a door creaks open from behind you down the hall. You turn your body  to go look to see what caused the noise but the feeling of your friend placing her hand on your thigh stops you as she says, “They told me that they are safe and unharmed.” Good, you can’t imagine anything terrible happening to them. Let alone by a cult that is fucking insane. You try to stop from feeling like you’re on an amusement ride as the room seems to spin a little faster and your stomach churns more. 

“If the police are in on it, we can call my uncles,” You tell her. 

“Marc Spector,” A deep, yet calm voice says from behind you. You turn as best as you could in your seat without trying to feel like your balance is overthrown and look down the hall. Daniel Williams, the missing neighbor and the seventeen year-old child slowly walked towards you. He wears a white collared shirt that looks too clean and fresh and a pair of blue jeans and old sneakers that are stained with dirt. His blond hair is long and uncombed unlike the one in the photo of his missing person poster.

“Your uncle is Marc Spector and his aliases are Steven Grant and Jake Lockley,” He continues with each step. You try to push yourself off of the couch and find that it is difficult to do so. You grab onto the back couch cushions and pull yourself up. Through the pounding in your ears, you can hear your friend's sobs and his footsteps hitting against the wooden floor, getting closer and closer to you. The spinning room throws off your balance making you reach out and slam your hands onto the coffee table to catch yourself. You stare down at the surface, black dots beginning to dance across your vision as you force a big breath of air to fill your lungs. 

Your half-empty mug sits just below you, you watch the liquid ripple momentarily before you force yourself to stand straight and past Lauren who’s sitting on the couch with her legs tucked to her chest. You stumble past her and into the wall, slamming against it and nearly knocking your head as you try to tell her to run but your tongue feels heavy. Why are your legs refusing to cooperate with you? Why can’t you speak? Everything feels too hot and too cold at once, like someone turned on the heater to full blast and the air conditioning and pointed both directly at you. 

You turn around, leaning your back against it and reach into your pocket to call Marc or Jake. You can feel your fingers slide against the phone as strangled gasps leave you. Daniel slowly walks towards you, taking his time and it makes you want to vomit even more. What the actual fuck? You grasp your phone and pull it out of your pocket as you feel yourself sliding to the slide and laying on your left. Why is your body acting like this? You have been sick before and you never acted like this. You hear your phone thump against the floor, barely registering it falling out of your hand as your eyes trail to the mugs sitting on the coffee table. Yours is half-empty and hers…you don’t remember her ever taking a sip out of it.

Daniels blue jeans block your view of the mug and the blood pounding in your ears muffles any other sound that you may hear. You can feel your body slacking, all your muscles relaxing against your will as you try to move them to push yourself up and run. Your gaze trails up his legs and to his face as the spots across your vision increase. The last thing you see before you’re pulled under is his green and lifeless eyes staring down at you.

Chapter Text

You don’t remember much between being awake and being asleep. Time becomes useless when you continue to slip underneath the sinking ship and only wake in short intervals. 

What you do remember is a short list of things that you aren’t completely sure your mind's made up of, whether it's to comfort yourself or to prove that what is happening is real. You vaguely remember the passing of street lights, someone murmuring next to you, the sound of the car driving on pavement, and someone crying; and that's only when you do manage to keep your eyes open longer than they have been in who knows how long and your brain isn’t as fuzzy as it felt in between waking and sleeping.

Your head feels cool against the window and you can feel the tires sailing across the road with ease. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to your surroundings but you notice three things right away. One: Your hands are zip tied together in front of you, the plastic is digging into your skin and you think it broke the first layer. Two: There are three other people in the car with you, two are in the front and one of them is on the same bench as you in the back. Three: The full moon is high in the clear night sky. It beams down onto the road with tire tracks in the snow and its brightness feels like it was turned up to the highest setting. You can easily see the near clear view of the snowy hills in the distance rather than the outline of them. It looks like a winter wonderland.

So…how did you get here? Weren’t you at Laurens? You rack your brain for the answers and almost like a rubber band releasing its tension, everything comes back at once. The conversation, the drugging, and Daniel; and your friends didn’t know about Laurens knowledge of your fraud. You never told them that…they- Steven was going grocery shopping and…he had to wait for a call that never came. If Daniel shut off your phone, your friend's calls would have gone straight to voicemail. They would have gone to Laurens place, banged on a door that was never opened and broken it down themselves just to find you and her missing. Maybe they would scour the apartment to find evidence of what she found on you. 

Maybe the cups of tea are still resting on the coffee table and they can just tell that something went wrong between you when they see that one is half-empty and the other untouched. Maybe they’re begging Khonshu for answers that they will never receive unless the God gets something of more or equal value. You hope that Marc and Steven don’t agree to becoming his avatars again in order to save you. If your friends are asking for the God that they serve to find you, there's no way that he won’t be able to deny your location because of the moon.

 He can decide to send them on a wild goose chase but he will know where you exactly are, it’s up to him to tell them that information; and from how much of a dick any of the Gods are, you wouldn’t be surprised if he refuses to answer. Layla might be asking Taweret but…you don’t know if the goddess can find you. She healed you in the stairwell, so…she can track you in a moving car, right? You can’t just assume Taweret will do it successfully. It’s up to you to get yourself out of this, this is your mess, remember? It’s why you didn’t tell them the truth of why you were going to Laurens. You wanted to do it yourself without their help, you wanted to be able to do something yourself, to fix the mess you created by frauding papers and moving to London and telling people that you were eighteen when you were actually just fifteen and lost everything and more because of your choices. 

That honesty policy that you wanted in the first place- the exact one that you made them promise to tell you anything that might affect their life, that very same one that was supposed to apply to you too- you fucked up and it’s bad. It will affect their life because you will die. Jake did say that your death will ruin Steven and Marc, didn’t he? And here you are, being kidnapped and taken to a second location in a country that you only know one city of because you sure as hell haven’t traveled since you arrived two years ago. You have watched films and shows where a character is put through a kidnapping or hostage situation and they go through some traumatic event. You just never really expected it to happen to you. Well, nobody expects it to happen to them, right?

But despite you going through multiple traumatic events throughout the last six months alone, you just didn’t expect to be in the backseat of a stranger's car and being taken somewhere. It’s terrifying being in this situation and knowing one of two things will happen. One, you will live because of some miracle that Jake saves your ass or the cult is just using you as bait for the person responsible who killed their god; or two, this is revenge for killing their god and you are the person who gets the short end of the stick. You’re not completely stupid even though you feel like you absolutely are at the moment because of the mistake you made. You know how this story ends.

You should have told them the truth, you made them promise for a reason and you decided to be an asshole and go against your end of the agreement. If they’re looking for you now they are past stressed and downright terrified. Marc did say that he always comes back to if he did the right thing by letting you stay, if he returned you in you would be safe somewhere else. You wouldn’t be suffering the after effects of being drugged and kidnapped. If everything went right and you mean everything. You should have returned home, you should have helped Steven unpack the groceries and cook dinner. You should have sat on the couch and studied for your exams, you should have listened to Marc tell you to take it easy and don’t overwork yourself. 

You should have Steven read you to sleep but you would be so stressed about your finals that Jake stays until you do eventually fall under. He should be out and about being Khonshus fist of vengeance with the knowledge that you are safe. But nothing ever goes right, does it? There’s always something that goes terribly wrong since you agreed to get checked by Steven when you nearly got mugged. There would be times of peace, the nights of sitting up on the rooftops and staring at the stars while talking about life; and there would be times of war, of fighting and listening to Marc tell you that you are not special because you lost your family and five years of your life. 

Why is it that when you are near death you think of every little thing that went sideways? You know too well that the taste of regret is bitter, the feeling is unsettling in your body and it makes you begin to shake and want to cry and that's exactly what you feel now. But, you don’t know if it's completely that or the effects of whatever Lauren drugged you with. Your head hurts and you still feel like the room is spinning, but it's not as terrible as you felt when you were first feeling the effects. You just have a hard time wrapping your damn mind around the fact that Lauren drugged you. She willingly put something into your drink and gave it to you, not even taking a sip out of hers. She told you that you were like her own child and that if Molly or Jamie were in your shoes, she would want to hear them out. 

What a fucking dick. It was all a ruse to get you to go over, stall you long enough for the drugs to kick in and reveal that her missing neighbor is part of a cult that Jake has been trying to fight off since Harrow's death. You have every right to be angry, she tricked you and what was her reason for that? Her reason is….You can feel the anger in your chest simmer down as you remember what she told you. Daniel and his cult took her family and she felt like this was her only option. She’s not completely aware of the world of deities that you know. As far as she knows, Daniel is batshit crazy and two people dressed like police officers took her family from her. But she had to be awfully convinced that wasn’t the case for her to not go to the police. Henry is in the cult and he’s a support group leader for the blipped. You can’t trust everyone. 

Only if you told her sooner and were honest with her about the world around her and who your aunt and uncle really are, you wouldn’t be zip tied in the backseat of a car. You can be angry with her, but you also can’t at the same time. She did what she thought was best for her and her family; and that was serving you on a silver platter to a bunch of cultists who want something from you. Perhaps it’s not even you who they want but the person that you are tied to with tangled strings. Maybe you can get yourself out of this, it might end up killing you but they’re probably going to do exactly that anyways. The least you can do is try, that’s what you’ve been doing since day one right?

Since you came back from the blip and found out your parents are dead and the world has passed by five years. Since you laid on the floor of your apartment after frauding papers and moving over a thousand miles to a new continent and decided that you will die if you don’t get up. So, that’s what you did. You got up and tried every single day since and now, this could be your last try, your last chance to live your life; and you sure as hell aren’t just going to lay down and let them kill you. If you’re smart you can use yourself to your own advantage. You can manipulate them into deciding to keep you alive or to possibly let you go. You can fight them, you can distract them long enough for Jake to show up or an opportunity for you to escape arises. You just need to do anything but lay down and die.

Everything the past few months have made sense, the two men on the bus following you to your apartment, Amanda sitting next to you at the bus stop and asking if you want to be judged, the realization that the cult had that their God is not coming back and they have to take matters into their own hands by killing people who may make terrible decisions in the future at the mall; and the intruder breaking into your apartment with just one bullet and a possible intent to take you with him. You don’t know his exact intentions that night, but you can take a guess that it has to do with whatever this cult plans to do with you tonight. 

Maybe they’re going to sacrifice you, who knows, it doesn’t matter at the moment. What does is getting out of these fucking zip-ties and doing something. You can force the driver to crash the car. You’re sitting right behind them. It might kill you by flinging you out the window since you’re not wearing your seatbelt but it’s better than allowing them to bring you to the second location. You can bring your wrists over the top of the drivers head rest and choke them until you are either forced to let go of them or they swerve into a ditch. If there wasn’t the sight of a child-proof lock, you can open the back door and roll out. You know that the moment you move, they will notice that you are awake and pissed. 

It’s quiet in the car, the radio isn’t playing any music and there's no conversation between anyone. It’s deathly silent and you know that you will have to move fast if you are to make this work. You move your fingers, trying to decide on how sluggish your body may be due  to the remaining drug in your system. You can feel them move and brush against each other but it's not as fast as you would like them to be. So, gripping anything is going to be difficult. Something warm is placed on your thigh causing you to nearly jump and reveal your position that you are awake. But you keep your body still and breathe even. You keep your eyes half-lidded and head resting against the window so they would continue to think you are knocked out and maybe assume that your fingers were just twitching. 

You feel the cushioned bench move slightly as whoever it is moves closer and now places their hand on yours. You feel their warmth seep into your hands as their thumb rubs gently across the skin before you feel their head rest on your shoulder, hair brushing against your neck. You think you recognize Laurens deodorant and shampoo. They tilt their head back, nose rubbing against your neck. You want to shift uncomfortably or push them away but you stand your ground of not revealing a single thing about your state. 

“They’re taking us to Northumberland National Park,” She whispers into your skin. You don’t think you would have picked it up if your eyes were fully open and your senses divided normally. Her breath feels hot against your neck. “It’s about a five hour drive North of London. We’re almost there…” She pauses and you hear one of the two men shuffle in the front. You guess that he was checking on the two of you and wondering why Lauren was suddenly so close to you after all this time. 

“What are you doing?” One of the men asks, you think the voice belongs to Daniel but you’re not completely sure. You feel someone's eyes burning into you as Lauren removes her face from your neck.

“Telling the kid that I’m sorry,” She says. Her voice cracks and you can feel her squeeze your hand. “I know that they’re asleep but I just need them to know.” She sniffles and snaps, “Just give me some privacy.” You can still feel someone glaring holes into you before you hear some shuffling and you guess they turned back around. You wait for Lauren to say something a little bit louder for everyone to hear but she returns to your shoulder and turns her head towards your neck once again. 

“I’m so sorry,” She whispers. “My babies…they’ll kill them if you kill…” She chokes out and you can feel warm tears stream down your neck and meet the collar of your t-shirt. She brushes her thumb against your knuckles and you can feel your stomach twist. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What does she mean that they’ll kill the kids if you kill? How true is that? How honest is she being right now? What the fuck? Molly is only six and Jaime is turning three next year, they’re just babies who were dragged into this war because of their mothers attachment to you. 

What if you do fight them and they kill them? Not just here in the car, but there at the park? What if they aren’t fucking bluffing? If you kill anyone for your own life- out of self-defense, they’re going to kill the kids? Your heart pounds against your chest and you can feel the pulse in your throat do the same. Fuck. Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck! You can only hope that Daniel will keep true to his word of letting Laurens family go unharmed in exchange for you. They really thought this one through, didn’t they? They stalked you for months and you only caught them doing it on three separate occasions, so they had to be tracking your every move. 

They had to notice all your relationships and time spent in the apartment complex and outside of it and that includes Laurens; and Daniel, being Laurens missing neighbor, pulled the strings behind the scenes and did what he had to do to get you into his grubby hands to do…what? Kill you? Use you as bait? You don’t know, it doesn’t matter, all you know is that his plan worked and he has you right where he wants you. 

You can’t fight them and risk them killing Molly and Jamie and Kris. You have to wait for the right opportunity to present itself and take it. You have to assume that Jake will not get there on time. You have to assume that Daniel took your phone from you and turned it off so they can’t track your location. You are the only person who can save yourself. Play hero, take the leap, do whatever it takes to get yourself and Lauren's family out of this mess.

“I’m so sorry,” She whispers and places a kiss against your cheek. Your skin feels wet from her lips. Maybe she knows that you are awake, she had to, because why else would she warn you about the danger that you will put Molly and Jamie through if you do fight? She didn’t give up your position to Daniel, she basically told him to fuck off in the politest way possible. Lauren cares, but she loves her family more than she loves you; and you? You care for them and want them to be safe even if she drugged you. She squeezes your hand once and you decide to show her support and understanding by turning your hand as best as you can and squeezing her back. You don’t care if they notice that you’re awake. It doesn’t matter now since you know there are children at risk. 

She grasps onto the back of your left hand and knits her fingers between your own. The jolting of the car turning onto a gravel road causes you to bounce your head off of the window and a groan nearly leaves your mouth. You squint through your half-lidded eyes and out the window as the car begins to roll to a stop. You can see a branch of a tree with snow resting on top. Some time, while you were out, it stopped snowing. You push your body off of the door as you hear the two front doors open and slam shut. Your neck hurts from the odd angle you were resting in for the last few hours.

Lauren said that this place was about five hours North; and you were at her place just after five o’clock and had to talk to her for about half an hour or so…which means it’s just nearing eleven. But with the road conditions you have to assume it took a little longer so it’s safe to say it’s sometime after midnight. You watch as a man with a black winter jacket, a red beard and brown eyes appears at your window before he opens the door. Your own jacket is folded over his arms, your taser resting in his hand as he stares with unblinking eyes at you. Your eyes quickly scan him, searching down to his snow boots and back up to his shoulders for any visible weapons. He only steps aside a bit when Daniel rounds the car and gives you a smile that makes you want to punch it off of his face. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He tells you. “You slept the whole way here!” You watch as he holds his hand out to help you step out of the car and his smile widens just a bit as if he was trying to be reassuring. “C’mon. I don’t bite.” You sit still and his face never falters, not even as he reaches for your combined wrists and tugs, nearly causing you to fly out of the car and into the bed of snow. You expect for your environment to spin like it has been but it doesn’t and you can’t help but be a little surprised. The snow covers your shoes, easily soaking the old cloth and seeping through the small holes. You never did get new shoes, not even when Steven pestered you about your feet being wet on the back of Layla's Vespa. You can feel your toes getting cold and you know that if you do manage to survive that you will be suffering from frostbite. 

He tugs you forward just enough to allow Lauren to scoot over the seats behind you and exit the car. Your wrists hurt and your body aches from the long drive. The pounding in your skull causes your eyes to hurt as you glare at him. He lets go of your wrists and takes the jacket folded over his buddy's arm and opens it before wrapping it over your shoulders and buttoning it at your neck so it wouldn’t fall off as easily. 

“Don’t want you to get too cold,” He says before he places his arm around your shoulder and guides you with each step through the snow. Your body shivers as you look ahead. There were two cars lined up and parked, snow covering each of the windshields in a thick layer. Whoever they belong to hasn’t used them in a while, which means that they were waiting for something. Perhaps you were right about them waiting for Daniel, it's a semi-good thing that Lauren told you about the kids and what they will do to them before you made the car crash. 

In the distance, you can see an open field of rolling hills that seemed never ending until you spotted a wall of trees. The moonlight beams brightly onto the Earth and you can see everything almost as clear as the morning right before the sunrises. You think you see a small cluster of people standing together against the backdrop of snow, but it might just be a small patch of bushes. With the direction you’re walking, going straight towards them, you think you’re right about it being a group of people. Northumberland is a beautiful place, you would love to visit this place literally any other time but tonight. Above you, the night sky is dotted with stars, you don’t think you’ve seen this many decorating the sky in all your years. You easily search the night sky for your favorite constellation, The Big Dipper, and find it within moments. 

The sight of it brings you comfort despite the cold seeping into your bones and wetting your clothes. This may be the last time that you see the constellation and the thought of that makes your heart ache. Was it really just a month ago that you called Steven and you both looked at the stars together? 

“You must be wondering why you of all people were chosen for this glorious opportunity,” Daniel says. You spare a glance at him, his eyes are ahead and you follow his gaze. You think you can see Molly in a pink winter jacket waving her arms in greeting or in help. She’s six years-old. What are the chances she knows what's going on? Would she understand or would Kris have to tell her in simpler terms for her to be able to process it?

“Your definition of glorious and mine are completely different,” You say. Your voice is hoarse due to the lack of use over the past few hours, causing you to clear your throat. You raise your foot over a log and he makes sure that you don’t trip. 

“Do you know what happened eight months ago between Marc Spector, his personalities, Layla El-Faouly, and Arthur Harrow?” He asks. You scrunch your nose at the term he decided to use to describe Marc's alters. 

“I do,” You say. “They beat Harrow's ass and saved the world.”

“Ah…” He hums and shakes his head lightly. “They poisoned the world by killing Ammit and ridding any chance of her judgment. She was to rid the world of evil before the deed is done.” 

“Even against children, right?” You say. “Even against babies who have just taken their first breath.” He nods and you almost laugh at the irony. A seventeen year-old has his arm resting over your shoulder, talking about a Goddess with heavily questioning morals and getting rid of those who do evil acts before the chance of doing them; and he plans on doing something with you and your best guess is that he’s going to murder you. 

“Are you hearing this, Lauren?” You look over her shoulder. She gives you a wide eyed look as she nods, her bangs bounce against her forehead with the movement. She’s still wearing her pajama pants, but instead of the robe, she has a thick bubble coat. She wears snow boots and you think about how lucky she is until the feeling of jealousy is soon gone. You tell her, “That's what batshit crazy sounds like.” 

You get closer to the small group, making out two people surrounding Kris who's holding Jamie in her arms and Molly who is waving her hands to catch your attention. You can make out the redness of the cold on their cheeks. If Daniel really believes that Ammit would have rid the world of all evil before it happens, why does he have a scale on his arm since he passed the test? He’s going to murder you, you’re three thousand percent sure about that. So is Ammits judgment system flawed or did he find a loophole? If he believes that he is doing the right thing by murdering you as an act of revenge or bait, does that cancel out the harm that he caused?

“Mummy!” Molly calls from the hillside, her voice traveling over the open terrain. Snow crunches underneath your shoes as you hear Lauren pick up her pace a bit and run ahead as fast as she can in the snow. You watch as she falls to the ground a couple of times, her pajama bottoms getting soaked by the snow but she stands not a moment after and keeps going until  she falls to the ground and her baby is in her arms. She reaches for Kris' legs and wraps her arm around them, burying her face into Molly's stomach and you can hear the muffled sobs as you approach. 

He removes his arm around your shoulder as he comes to a stop and claps loudly. Each clap sounded condescending as you watched Lauren wipe tears off her own face with her sleeve before standing and doing the same to her wife. She zips up Jamie's jacket a little tighter and tucks the hood around his head a bit more snuggly as he rests on Kris shoulder with his face tucked into her collar bone. 

“You did a wonderful job, Lauren.” He says as he slows his clapping. Your fingers are cold against the chilly air and you can’t feel your toes. 

“You said that if I did this for you that you would let my family free and unharmed,” She says, her voice cracking halfway through. She glares at him with hard and teary eyes. Her hands rest on her daughter's shoulders.

“There’s just one last thing I need you to do,” He says as he walks towards her. Snow crunches underneath his feet loudly in the silence and a pit forms in your stomach. She pushes Molly behind her, you watch the small girl peek behind her mothers back. He reaches through the lapel of his jacket and you hear something click like a button releasing something before he produces a wooden handled knife. “I need you to kill the kid.”

“I’m not killing anyone,” She says as her eyes stare at the weapon. 

“You will do it,” He says before he quietly adds, “Look around you.” Your eyes trail away from your friend's face and to the group of four cult members surrounding you. Three of them look to be stronger and taller than the both of you and only two of them are pointing pistols at her family. A gun pointed at Molly and another at Kris. It’s either kill or be killed. They will kill them if she refuses, but there's a chance they might be killed anyway because the cult doesn’t care about casualties but rather hitting where it will hurt. They want to rid the world of evil even if they can’t see the future and that’s by taking out as many as possible. Do Ammits deed and carry it on like a torch. If Lauren kills you, will they think that it’s evil enough to kill her too, even though she has no other choice?

Your eyes flicker back to her. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her eyes look wildly at the members. Her cheeks are flushed and hair is beginning to freeze. She has to accept, there’s no possible way for you and her family to get out alive when there's too many people. Perhaps you could have made a break for it if there were less members….Maybe you could make a break for it. They want you, right? They don’t need Lauren and her family unless they’re going to hold it over your head and threaten to harm them if you don’t stay. They can chase you and shoot at you, the fields open so there's not going to be a lot of hiding spots but, you did see those trees in the distance not too long ago. You can run there, go hide and hope you make it until morning, maybe Khonshu will tell them where you are. 

 You’re scared, you can feel it all along your body, from your ankles and to your chest and down to your fingers that are turning blue. The tip of your nose and ears must be red by now. You haven’t felt this cold since your last winter in New York with your best friend. You can see the wheels turning behind Laurens eyes as she takes in the people around you. Slowly, Daniel turns towards you and gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“If you run, we will shoot the kids,” He says. You try to keep your expression neutral despite the shock that you’re feeling. How the fuck did he know that you were going to run? The pit in your stomach deepens and the knot tightens, anxiety spiking into your veins and causing your heart to pound against your chest and your head to ache even worse. They will shoot the kids and everything over the last day will not be worth it. You want them to be free and safe and out of harm's way, to have a normal life away from this. That’s one of the main reasons why you didn’t tell Lauren about any of this, about deities and cults and hanging out the window by an unseen force. She should be anywhere but here, all of them should be. You should be anywhere but here, you should be in bed with the men who took care of you the past six months and now they’re going to wonder what happened to you.

If you run, they will be killed. If you stay, you will be killed but they will be alive. They will be alive and have a future that you let go of. Molly and Jamie will have a normal life. They will go to school and prom and graduate and travel. They will have much more experience than you ever had. But that’s the future that most adults ensure for the young, right? To have more opportunities and goals, and to see the world for what it really is. They’ll have that future that you wanted, with two loving parents by their side who will do anything in the world for them. That’s their future, but for now, while they are still young and don’t quite know how cruel the universe can be, they will go home and be tucked into their warm beds and read a story. They’ll sleep and dream of all good things in the world. 

Maybe one day, Lauren will tell them about how you took that leap, how brave you were when you had no choice but to be. You made your decision a long time ago when you forged those documents and sealed a fate that you didn’t quite know of until now. 

“Lauren,” You call her name across the few feet between you. Your teeth chatter against each other as you tell her, “I’m okay.” You pause as she takes you in with red eyes. “I get it.” Daniel lifts up her hand gently and places the knife in it, curling her fingers around the handle. 

“I’m sorry,” She tells you as she slowly approaches you. Her feet drag in the snow and you feel your heart pound harshly against your chest. The knot in your stomach tightens the closer she gets and you try not to take a step back. 

“Your tea was shitty by the way,” You tell her. Part of you meant it as a joke even though it was the truth. Perhaps you wanted to see her lips tremble with a smile rather than with fear or sadness. She huffs out a short breath at that, not quite a laugh but you’ll take it.

“I’m so sorry,” She says. “They have my kids-” Her voice breaks off and you nod. 

“The kids don’t need to see this,” You say, your voice travels to the others and you know they heard you as clear as day. She pauses in her steps and turns around, glaring right at Daniel.

“I am not kill-killing anyone in front of my children or my wife,” She says. You watch the teen look at the two of you and then to the six year-old and two-year old. 

“Very well,” He breathes out. “Take them to the cars.” You watch as one of the members split off from the group and guides Kris and the kids in the direction that you came from. You and Lauren watch the group become smaller until they are nothing but dots underneath the moon. You breathe out slowly, the vapor leaving your mouth and spreading through the air until it disappears. Maybe you can try stalling for time, just for the possibility that Jake will show up and save the day like he always does; or maybe for you to come up with a way out.

“So, are you going to tell me your villain origin story or are you just going to leave me guessing?” You ask as you turn to look at Daniel. “Because what I’m wondering is why a teenager is killing another teenager.”

“Arthur Harrow has shown me the path to what humanity could have been,” He says. “I’m filling the role he left.” Yeah, batshit insane is what he sounds like. 

“You told Lauren that this is an eye for an eye,” You say. You try to suppress another shiver from the cold. “What the fuck is that about?”

“Marc Spector and his personalities and Layla El-Faouly are the reason that Ammit can’t create a better future. You murdered one of our members. You are evil and taking you out of this world will make the future just a little brighter.” You open your mouth to defend yourself about killing the intruder that they sent before you stop yourself. A new realization dawning across you and making your stomach churn and nerves spike. What if he wasn’t going to kill you or kidnap you? What if they were just framing it to look that way? What if Daniel sent the man to his death, knowing that you would have no choice but to kill him and decide that murdering the man is enough of an excuse to take you out? 

He had one bullet in his gun and he pulled the trigger, missing you entirely. What if…oh fuck, it was all planned from the start. The break in, the single gunshot, the fight and then…the death of the man they sent. They knew he was going to die that night, he had to know that he was going to die and he still went and broke in. Definitely traumatized you and harmed you but didn’t cause any major injury…Oh fuck, the loopholes. Harrows and Daniels' cult still managed to pass Ammits judgment because they didn’t cause direct harm with their belief of it being good intention; let alone her bias of them releasing her. Perhaps if they truly believe that they are a good person that it cancels it out and saves them from death. If your first theory is correct, it means that Daniel won’t be the one to kill you but someone else has to. Which is why he told Lauren that there’s one last thing before she can go home and be with her family.

“What does he mean that you murdered one of their members?” Lauren asks, you can feel her eyes burning into you and the knot in your stomach becomes tighter. Lauren has to be the one to kill you if your theory is right.

“I- he sent someone to kill me or kidnap me or…” You trail off, your earlier realization repeating through your mind. Your teeth chatter against each other as you continue, “and I ended up…killing him before he had the chance.” You can’t feel your feet. You’re sure that if you move that it will be impossible to control your limbs as much as normal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into this mess.” You tell her. “I wanted you to have a normal life and be blissfully unaware of the life that I know.” You swallow roughly and feel your eyes begin to leak and tears trail down your cold cheeks. You think the teardrops are turning to ice on your skin. You quietly add, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from this.” 

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and you don’t expect her to express how hurt  she is. Instead, she asks,  “Is that why you said that you don’t think you’re a good person?” You don’t know how to explain to her that a deity told you it would take eight stab wounds to kill him but you had to stab him nine times, even though you clearly remember eight. 

“Yeah,” You whisper. She looks down at the knife in her hand. With the brightness of the moon, you can see the jagged edge of the blade. It wasn’t straight like a kitchen knife or a dagger, but rather a hunting knife with teeth. 

War is essentially two teams on opposing sides with different points of views and intentions. Sometimes it's over money or land, and other times it’s over the belief that Ammit could have ruled and make the world a better place from the start rather than progressing as humanity grows. Ammits view was to take away the option of choice and freewill, creating a handful of good people who will never cause harm. But can’t anyone cause harm even if they have good intentions or are a good person? You and Daniel are children in war on opposing sides. He has to believe that he is on the good side while you believe that your friends are on the good side. You had to believe that you are a good person to survive over the last couple of months and Daniel has to believe that he is a good person too. 

“C’mon,” Daniel says. “Get it done and over with. It’s cold.” You huff out a breath at that. He’s the one wearing a winter jacket and snow boots while you barely have Marc's jacket wrapped properly around your shoulders and tennis-shoes and a short sleeved shirt. He’s also talking about your death as if it was just leaping off of the high-end of a diving board and into the pool below. 

“Right,” You say. “Fuck you too.” Your eyes flicker to the sky, half-hoping that Jake will come swooping down and beat their ass. But alas, the sky is empty save for the moon and stars decorating it. You swallow as you look back to your friend, can you even call her that? You understand that she did what she thought was her only option, but you have to be honest that this is a big deal breaker for friendships. Your hands shake, not only from the cold but from the knowledge of what is going to happen. The cold blade is going to pierce your skin and it is not going to feel pleasant. You almost snort at that, your nerves and the weather are making you short circuit, you know that being stabbed is not going to be very fun. Definitely not on your bucket list, that’s for sure. 

Your friend is looking down at the weapon in her hands as if it is the most interesting thing in the whole world. You try to analyze her face for anything that might give you a hit as to what she is thinking but all you can see is the wrinkles on her forehead and the tear streaks down her cheeks. Maybe pissing her off will make it go quicker, the stab will be more brutal but you won’t have to worry about the blade sinking in slowly. Your lip wobbles as you watch her. You have never seen Lauren get angry in the past two years that you’ve known her, she was always kind hearted. She baked cookies for you just last Christmas and claimed that it was because she made too much. Right now, she needs comfort and you do too, but you’re more worried about it being fast and not suffering. Jake isn’t coming and you aren’t getting out of this on your own without possibly killing Molly and Jamie. 

“Lauren,” You whisper. “Hey, it’s just us. A break from the kids, that’s what you wanted just last month.” She turns the knife in her hand and looks at the blade, sniffling. “It’s just you and me, right?” Her eyes flicker up to yours and you can see her visibly trembling. You try to give her a smile, but you know that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’re scared that you’re laying down your shield and sword and turning off the big light. You’re scared of what’s to come after you die, you’re scared of your last breath. You are seventeen years old. You are just a kid.

“They might kill you,” You tell her quietly. “Once you kill me.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice trembles.

“You’re an accessory to the crime. Attached to a cult that wants to rid the world of evil and…you’re committing an act of evil.” She gives you a wide eyed look and you can feel your heart break for her. Your nose stings and you feel more tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. You and Lauren are victims in a much bigger game; and neither of you will win. 

“You’re going to need to run.” You tell her, “Take Molly and Jamie and Kris and just run. Pack up everything when you get home and move. Change names, identities. Do everything to keep them safe. Give them a normal life as much as possible…okay?” She sniffles and nods. Your eyes trail down to the blade in her hand. “Big force,” You tell her. “It’s going to take a lot of strength.” You try not to think of driving the butter knife into the man's throat and the swings you had to make to force it to go through his muscles and fat. She cups her hand against your cheek, her cold fingers make your face freeze more but the affection she gives you is endearing. 

“A lot of strength,” She whispers back. She removes her hand from your face before grasping your tied hands. You hope that she recognizes the sacrifice you are making for her family. You look at her face as she gazes down at the blade between you. There is no amount of preparing yourself to get stabbed. Your muscles tense and you force yourself to stay rooted in one spot so you wouldn’t prolong the inevitable. 

Your stomach churns and knots and you feel like you’re about to throw up as a glint of the knife in the moonlight momentarily blinds you. You wait for the pain in your torso to flare and make you gasp, instead, you hear a soft snap of plastic through the pounding in your ears and a sting on your wrist before your hands fall loose and she pushes past you and runs across the open field and towards the car. 

You stand still for a moment, stunned by her actions before the next second you’re running through the snow, stumbling with each step and heading straight for the tree line in the distance. Holy shit, Lauren is risking her family for you.

“Zig-zag!” You scream. “Zig-zag!” You hope that Lauren can hear your advice as she books it for the cars and her family. You hear gunshots and one of the bullets whizz past you, implanting itself in the snow. You’re going left and right to avoid them as best as you can as you force your legs to push through stiffness caused by the cold and get as much distance as you can between them. Snow crunches loudly underneath your feet with every step that you take towards the tree-line, Marc's jacket billows out behind you like a cape as you swing your arms at your sides to push yourself faster. The dark color of something brown catches your eyes and you spare a glance at it.

Your arm is bleeding which explains the sting you felt on your wrist, Lauren must have cut you when she broke you free. Your eyes return to the tree line as another bullet hits the ground next to you, nearly causing you to jump but you just swing your body to your left and keep pushing forward. The trees are getting bigger the closer you approach. If you get there, you can hide in them until morning comes or hyperthermia takes over. You can hear the sound of running water the closer you get. Your eyes make out a small ditch just below one of the hills. It must be a small stream or river, you think. 

If you can hear it, it means that it’s not completely covered in ice. So, you’re going to have to cross through freezing water. You push towards it, the moonlight lighting your way as your lungs burn and legs ache but you keep going. Another gunshot and this time you feel something pinch on the right side of your body where your kidney is. You gasp and nearly stumble to the ground, quickly you catch your balance and push forward, adrenaline coursing through you. You just need to get some distance. You just need to get some distance. Water soaks your shoes and pant legs as you splash into the stream and stride across it. The icy water stings your skin as another bullet splashes into the liquid near your ankles.

Come on, you tell yourself as you stumble onto the bank on the other side and step onto the snow before swinging your legs in front of the other. You can feel warmth soak your back and pull your t-shirt to your skin as you climb the short hill. Your stomach knots even tighter and you feel like you’re about to throw up as you easily recognize Horus' presence. The wind blows softly against your chilly skin as you push forward. You can hear splashing behind you as you run, you know the cult members are chasing you with the intent to kill. Maybe your theory was wrong. You trip over something the snow buried, your hands land through the snow and press against the Earth and you huff out a breath. The taste of metal is on your tongue as you scramble back onto your feet to keep going. 

Another bullet whizzes past you and you can hear someone breathing heavily not too far from you. You’re closer to the trees now, about a hundred yards from it and your feet feel like they’re pushing through piles of sand rather than snow with each step. Your eyes burn into the trees as the cold stings your face. You see a familiar bird head peering through the branches of the trees as you get closer, your stomach tugs and knots, making your breath catch in your throat. Horus steps out, just enough for you to see him standing with his golden paddle and waiting for you. The fucking bitch. 

“I can save you,” He says. His loud voice carries over the short distance as you run. You pump your arms to move faster but another bullet imbeds itself into the back of your right thigh, causing you to stumble to the ground. Your hands press into the ground as a groan leaves your mouth at the white-hot pinching you feel in your lower back and leg. Your wrists are red and bloody from the zip ties as your right leaks more bodily fluid than you would like into the white snow, melting some of it from the heat. If you go into the woods, they will hunt you down just using the bloody trail your body is leaving. Like a wild animal being shot and hunted down only to be killed and put out of its misery. You are going to die.

He adds, “If only you agree to protect my kingdom underneath my sky.”

“Fuck off,” You tell him. A pained moan leaves your mouth as you try to move your leg to push yourself back up. Your leg hurts and you struggle to stand up with the pain. You feel something digging into your numb hands with the pressure you’re putting into your palms and you can see a little bit of brown wood. You think it's a branch, big enough wrap your hands around it completely but small and light looking enough for it to not be too heavy. You grasp onto it as you hear two pairs of footsteps coming closer to you. You take a deep breath, your back sting and lungs burning with the expansion as you sit on your knees and stifle a cry of pain. 

Your eyes watch one of their shadows approach you from behind before you feel their hand settle onto your shoulder and you turn your upper body and swing. The branch goes right into their crotch and thigh, causing them to groan as they clutch their neither region. You turn onto your back, arms pressing into the snow as you're about to force yourself up and body slam yourself into Daniel, you hear another gunshot. This time pain blooms from your stomach, right where your hip is. A sharp gasp leaves you as you feel warm blood immediately begin to spread out of the wound and soak your shirt. Your hand flies to your hip as if feeling it would make it go away. But it doesn’t, it just makes it more real.

Slowly, you remove your hand and stare at the red liquid coating your palm and in between your fingers. It feels hot and sticky on your frostbitten hand. Daniel approaches as you stare at the blood, he crouches down next to you. There is no weapon in his hand but a folded piece of paper and your phone. He drops the device to your chest, it thumps against it and with your bloody hand you grasp it as tight as you can with your stiff fingers. 

“You should call him,” He says. He sounds solemn and a bit out of breath. He raises the paper slightly. “Tell him who did this.” He reaches forward and places it in your jacket pocket. It wasn’t a warning or a suggestion but an invite to let them know who is responsible for this. He pats it once before standing. You watch as his friend stands from the ground, a groan leaving his own mouth. He doesn’t look angry at you, nor does Daniel. Your chest rises and falls as small puffs of vapor leave you. You can taste blood in your mouth but you're not sure if it's caused by the wounds or by the cold. You watch as they both turn on their heels and walk calmly away, leaving you to die on your own. 

You want to scream, to shout at them not to do this, just to put you out of your misery and not leave you suffering like you did for the member they sent to die. Nothing leaves your mouth but gasps for air as you press down on your wound with your bloody hand. Your fingers slide against the power button for your phone before you push down on it, waiting for the dark screen to light up with its home logo. You don’t know if you have service, but if you do, you’re not sure if you will call them. You don’t know what you’ll tell them and you don’t want them to hear your dying breath.

You can feel Horus’s watching you from the tree-line as you watch the screen come to life and show the home picture of your parents. Their faces smiling happily at the camera, you can feel tears stream down your cheeks at the sight. You feel terrified and sad as you watch as notifications come flooding in, several missed calls and text messages from Steven, Marc, and Layla. They called you, but you never answered. They must have been thinking that you’re dead. It was the mall all over again but this time for hours. Your phone rings loudly in the silence as an incoming call from Marc floods through and you watch it for a moment, hesitant to answer. It takes a couple of times for your thumb to be able to press down onto the screen and accept the call, slowly your trembling hand brings it to your ear. 

“Pequeño,” Jake breathes out. You can hear the worry and relief in his voice. More tears stream down your face and into your ears as you try to push down harder onto the wound. “¿Se encuentra bien? ¿Estás herido? ¿Dónde se encuentra?” 

“Jake,” You rasp out. You can feel the metallic burn in the back of your throat and spreading into your mouth. 

“Where are you, baby?” Marc asks. “Do you know where you are?” You close your eyes as you hear crunching of snow coming behind you and the knot tightening.

“Northumberland.”

“Okay, we’re coming, dove.” Steven says. “We’ll be right there. Are you hurt?” You don’t say anything, but rather keep your eyes shut and feel the pain of your wounds slowly becoming numb. The sound of air whooshing through the receiver makes it sound like you are listening to them dropping their phone and it is constantly falling. They did say they could fly, right? They’ll be here soon. 

“Pequeño,” Jake says sharply. “Are you hurt?” They’ll keep asking this question until they get some form of answer. Maybe if you tell them the truth, they’ll get here faster.

“Yeah,” You breathe out. 

You hear him swear softly on his end of the line before he hesitantly asks, “How bad is it?” Do you want to sugar coat it and tell him it’s nothing but a bruise? Or straight up tell him you were shot three times and you’re beginning to not feel the pain. 

“It’s bad,” You answer. He inhales a sharp breath. 

“Can you keep talking to me, baby?” He asks. His voice sounds stiff to your own ears. He’s assuming the worst and he’s right to do so. 

“About what?”

“Anything,” He pleads. The footsteps stop just behind your head and you know if you open your eyes, you’ll see Horus staring down at you. He’s probably expecting you to realize how much you don’t want to die and beg him to save you. Too bad he’s not going to hear you plead for shit. You sit up and a pained moan leaves your mouth. Your eyes peel open at the sight of the hills in front of you. You can feel Horus lingering behind you as you stare at the small headlights in the distance. Daniel is probably sitting in his warm ass car and Lauren…she is most likely dead with her family. 

You have to get up, you have to stand, you have to fight. You press your hands into the snow and try to do just that, it takes a couple of times but you’re able to stand. You press your hand into your wound as you let out a breath and gasp sharply at the spike of pain in your side. At least the feeling in your body is not going quickly, there’s a chance they’ll make it on time and…either save you as they always do or…

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” You say breathlessly into the microphone. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about what Lauren wanted.” You move your feet. If you can make it back to the road, they’ll have a better chance of finding you. You breathe harshly as your feet trudge much slower through the snow than before. You watch the headlights pull backwards until they are nothing but dots before disappearing completely.

“What are you doing, baby?” He asks worriedly.

“I’m moving.” 

“Don’t you need to sit down and save your energy.”

You ignore his advice by saying, “Lauren’s not a bad person, she just had a tough choice to make. Daniel had her kids.”

“Who’s Daniel?” He asks stiffly, he sounds pissed but trying to keep it contained. 

“Missing person poster. You’ll find it in my pocket.” You whisper.

“You mean you’ll give it to me,” He corrects but you can hear his voice crack. 

Your nose stings and you don’t say anything to him as you listen to the soft curse words leave his mouth and the sound of wind. What will happen to them after you die? Marc will push anyone away, blame himself for your death. He’ll pick up a bottle rather than a phone to talk to someone about his feelings. Jake will do the same but he’ll become a hermit. He’ll front less during the day and take his anger out on anyone in his path when he does his service at night. Steven might seek help, but you don’t know how long that would last. He’ll push through the day, and maybe every little thing would remind him of you, inevitably breaking down at the mugs you once drank out of or the blanket you slept with or the stack of Dr. Seuss books by his bed.

Layla would throw herself into her work, maybe hunt down Daniel herself and slaughter him before she allows herself to deal with her grief and she’ll develop poor coping habits. Maybe long hours busying herself before passing out on the couch. They are not going to be okay after you die. You want them to be but they will not. You did wreck the system and Layla. Jake warned you that if you died, you would ruin them; and here you are, doing just that. 

“¿Mi pequeño?” He asks, you can hear the fear in his voice as his voice cracks, “B-baby?” You exhale loudly and you can hear him sigh in relief. “What are you thinking?” You can’t tell him how you’re worried about them when you die, whether they would be okay. They have Layla…but Jake and Marc have a track record of pushing others away; and maybe Layla will push them away too. 

“I’m cold,” You admit. You can’t feel anything, not even your legs as you get closer to the stream; and now that you are paying a bit more attention to your wounds, you can’t feel them either. Is that a good thing? It means that it’s not terrible, right? That the wounds had to stop bleeding so they can’t be that bad.

“We’ll warm you up when we get there,” He promises. “I’m almost there.” You feel Horus' eyes burning into you as you take in his words. You trip, your hands slamming into the ground and causing you to slide down the bank a bit. You grasp tightly onto your phone and hiss out air between your teeth. 

“Mouse,” Horus seethes. “Are you sure that you would rather die than become my avatar?” You check your screen, making sure that the call hasn't ended because of your fall. 

“I do,” You tell him as you stare at a cracked and bloody screen before raising it to your ear. 

“¿Pequeño? Bebé, ¿estás bien? ¡Háblame!” He says frantically. “The kid’s not fucking answering, Marc-”

“I’m good,” You tell him, cutting him off and he breathes out a shaky breath. “I just tripped…” Your chest rises and falls. 

“Why did you say-”

“Horus.” You cut him off. You already knew what he was going to ask. 

“Don’t- don’t say yes, pequeño.”

“I thought you knew me better than that.” You whisper and you can hear his breath hitch. Exhaustion hits you like a truck, like every bone in your body is past the state of being tired. You didn’t realize that you were lying backwards until you were staring at the sky, weren’t you just sitting a moment ago? Your limbs feel heavy as you bring your phone to your ear. In the back of your head, you can hear Steven telling you to close your eyes otherwise you’ll never fall asleep. It was tempting to do just that but you force your eyes to stay open as you look above you and at the stars.

“You’ll cuddle with me and a pile of blankets at home,” You tell him. Your tongue feels heavy and your words slur. 

“We’ll do that at home,” He promises. “I’m here, can you make some movement for me, baby?” Your eyes scan the night sky and you can see him floating about a hundred yards away. His cape is white and his mask is pulled back as he looks down at the snow for you. You reach into your pocket and grab the paper Daniel stuffed into it.

“Dad…I’m really tired.”

“I know, my little one.” He says. “But you need to do this for me. C’mon, I know you can.” You groan as you lift your hand holding the paper and wave. You can’t see his face from how high above he is but you can tell that his head is moving as he looks around. 

“I’m waving…” You tell him. You’re waving goodbye in hopes that he’ll see you.

“I found you,” He breathes out in relief and you watch as he dives towards you. The suit almost immediately leaves him as soon as he touches the ground.

“Kid,” Marc says as he closes the distance between you. He looks worried, his hair messy and uncombed like he ran his hand through it too much. You drop your phone and it gets buried in the snow as Marc falls to his knees next to you. 

“Honey, where- where are you hurt?” He stutters out. His hands graze over your torso, you know that he only figured that's the first place to look because of the blood spreading from you. “Please- talk to me.” 

“Marc-” You whisper. You hold up the paper and press it against his chest before dropping your hand.

“We can talk about your- where you’re hurt on the way to the hospital.” He shakes his head as he lets the paper drop to the ground and lifts you. You cry out as you feel his thumb press into the wound on your back. Apparently you weren’t completely numb as you thought. Pain surges through your back, torso, and thigh causing you to gasp in pain and tears to spring to your eyes.

“I know,” He shakily tells you. You look at him through blurry eyes, seeing tears stream down his own cheeks. “I know.” Another cry leaves you as he tries to stand with you in his arms but the snow makes him slip, causing you to tumble out of his arms and back onto the Earth. 

“Marc, stop- you’re hurting them-” Steven says. He looks at you with a little surprise and hell of a lot of concern and sadness. You think that he didn’t expect to forcefully take the wheel from Marc. 

“Dove,” He whispers. His hands shake as he brushes his thumb across your cheek. You know that he knows. You know that Marc knows and so does Jake. He picks up the bloody paper and tentatively unfolds it enough before he’s staring at the picture of Daniel. His breath hitches at the sight and you can see the paper shaking in his hands.

 “Jake…” He says with horror “This is- oh lord- this is the kid you let go.” He drops the paper, sobs building up in his chest and racking his shoulders as he picks up your hand. Your breath shudders out as you feel something rising in your throat and out your mouth, leaking down the corner of your lips. You stare at him for a moment and watch as he chokes out a loud heart wrenching sob. His brows furrow together as he clutches your hand to his chest, his face flushing red with every sob that leaves his mouth. 

“I can save you, mouse. Last chance. Tick-tock.” Horus booms. You can feel your breath beginning to shallow and sleep is tugging at your eyes as you force them away from Steven and to the night sky above you. With your last breath you noticed how the stars are brighter than ever before.

Chapter Text

“It’s been awhile since you took that telescope up to the roof,” Marc says. You pause in poking your bowl of noodles with your fork and glance at him from where you sat at the table. It was nearing nine o’clock in the evening and you were supposed to work and pick up an extra shift for your coworker, Emily. It will be a little earlier than usual tomorrow since she has to take her grandma to the doctors on the weekend because of a weird rash on her leg. You tried to help Jake cook dinner but the apartment nearly caught fire again because of hot oil splashing and an open stove top don’t mix. Luckily, they didn’t blame you for it this time because Jake was trying to teach you how to cook chicken in a skillet on the stove and it was his fault he wasn’t paying attention.

So, here you are, eating dinner a little too late since it took a while to clean up the mess from your failed attempt and Steven decided that pasta was a better idea than burnt chicken.

“Yeah,” You agree. “It’s been hard trying to find the time to go up there and use it without it being too cloudy.” Your eyes flicker to the window you were just dropped out of not too long ago. The sky has very little clouds which surprised you since there’s almost always clouds during the winter. You can see the moon is in its crescent phase as you absentmindedly poke your noodles. Your eyes trail to his and you stare at him as he looks out the same window you were staring out of just moments ago and hums in agreement.

“Why don’t we take the telescope to the roof in a bit?” You ask as you return your gaze to your noodles and you scoop them with the fork and chew.
You can feel his eyes are on you while you eat as he asks, “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I do.”

“You’ll be tired.”

You shrug, “I’m always tired.”

“You’ll be even more grumpy when you wake.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to make up excuses.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” You ask in between bites. “Are you going to be tired in the morning when you take me to work? You can come back and take a nap.”

“That’s not it…” He grumbles. You stare at him, his eyes are pointed down at something on the floor. You drop your fork against your bowl and lean back in your chair, deciding that you are done with your half empty bowl.

“So, what is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It sure does sound like something.”

“Well, it’s not,” He snaps. Your fingers tap against your thigh as you trail your gaze back over to the window. You can still see the marks that your fingers made when Horus forced you out of it on the wall. Over the past few days since they returned from Algeria you learned that Marc is the type of person where if he wants to do something fun, it has to be your idea. If he wants to watch a certain movie, he’ll give you hints until you ask him to watch the movie with you. Sometimes, Steven picks up on it a bit better than you do and he’ll invite you to watch the movie or go out shopping or do something mundane with them.

You think Marc just doesn’t know how to ask to spend time with you. Maybe he gets embarrassed to ask or he’s afraid that he’ll be rejected; so it’s better not to ask overall or hint enough for you to pick up. It was a decent night to go up to the roof and gaze at the stars, you would like it to be warmer but you can just layer up and steal Stevens mittens if you need to. Besides, what’s the chances of you falling asleep before eleven tonight, anyways? Jake has to go do his nightly patrolling and you’ll just be wound up until he comes back.

“Okay,” You breathe out as you grab your bowl and stand up. “I’m going to go get a jacket and some thicker pants before I head up, you’re welcome to join me if you want.”
“It’s cold out,” He tells you as you walk to the trash and scrape the remaining pasta into it.

“I know, that’s why I’m taking your thicker sweatpants. Y’know, the ones with the fur on the inside.” You wash your dishes before setting them on the drying rack and passing Marc, who remained in his seat, and going to their dresser to steal his clothes. You rummage through their drawer and pull out a thick pair of socks before taking out the blue threaded bottoms you were talking about. You pull on the sweatpants over your own pajama bottoms and tie them around your waist before pulling on the socks. You grab a sweatshirt from the end of the bed and put it over your t-shirt before slipping on your shoes and walking to the coat rack. You shrug on the jacket that once belonged to Marc- and now it was yours- as you turn towards him.

“It’s a little cloudy out,” He says as he peers out the window.

“I see some patches open,” You tell him without looking out the glass pane. You grab your lanyard, the thin cloth feeling small in between your fingers as you tell him that you’re getting the telescope and going to the roof. Walking down the short distance to your apartment and unlocking the door, you peer into the moonlit room. The cracks in the window are still visible and the floor in front of the door where the intruder was killed is clean of any bloodstain that could be seen just by the naked eye. You know that just behind the picture frame of your parents that there was a hole in the drywall caused by your laptop hitting it.

So much has happened in this flat over the last six months. You spent time on the floor during the summer heat wave, eating popsicles with your neighbor and trying to not peel your skin off when your thighs stuck to the floor due to your sweat. You also tracked blood from the entryway across the floor to the bathroom when you came back from dinner with your neighbor and got ambushed. You cleaned the broken bulb in the kitchen when Khonshu decided to be extra and shatter it. You were pressed up against the window by Horus and held out of it once, although he didn’t confirm nor deny that it was him. He seemed to ignore your statement when he decided to drop you out the window of Stevens flat after you rejected his offer.

You can’t believe that a deity saved your life twice, the first when they made you move and fight the cult member; and the second when they stopped you from hitting the pavement after Horus dropped you. Taweret has healed you before but she was never in an active role such as this god. Taweret healed your injuries after you got mugged and the Eye of Horus paper was ripped. She didn’t save you from hitting the pavement, you’re sure of it.

You spent a little over a year in this apartment being alone but not with the anxiety that seems to be more common these days than it should be. Now you spend more time anywhere but here. You spend more nights at your neighbors and Laylas than you do with your stolen table and couch you bought at a yard sale. So much has happened in such little time. If you didn’t have the knowledge of the things that happened here, you wouldn’t have thought twice about walking on the floor, especially in the entryway. Your hand reaches through the entry way and you flip on the light switch before taking a large step over the patch where you killed the man and heading towards the telescope propped against the wall in the far corner of the room near the couch.

You would have left it at Stevens place but he doesn’t have much room, besides you shouldn’t clutter his space with your things. It's not like you’re paying rent at his place even though you eat his food, sleep in his bed, and take a shower in his bathroom. Your hands grasp onto the cool metal of the scope as you pause in your steps. Are you just laying in their bed and taking up his space without doing anything useful? You’re not contributing to his home even with the amount of time you spend there. You do the dishes when he cooks or you dirty them. You do the laundry and you have tried to pitch in for groceries but they refused to allow you to do so. But, you haven’t done much else.
You should talk to them sometime about that. But how do you bring it up to your neighbor that you should pay some portion of their rent just because you take up their space? Can you even afford to do that? You know that you have some money saved up since you don’t grocery shop as much and your water bill is nonexistent since you don’t use your sinks or shower for your own apartment. But, is that enough to give them every month?

You don’t know, maybe you should think more on this before bringing it up to them. You’re sure that Marc won’t want to chat to you about this, it was more of a Steven conversation, right? It is Stevens' apartment, it is in his name but…Jake and Marc live there too and they are part of Steven just as much as he is part of them. So, shouldn’t this conversation include everyone?

You carry the telescope towards the exit before your eyes catch the notebook and pencil resting on your coffee table. It is nearly filled with notes on your classes about your upcoming exams before the winter break and you are feeling nervous about them. If you don’t pass, you’ll have to contact your counselor and have a one-on-one conversation with them about why you didn’t pass your class and what you can do in the next term to improve your education. It doesn’t sound terrible, but it truly is because you are considered dead and if your counselor recognizes you, you are fucked. You grab the notebook and pencil, tucking the lead into the metal spiral holding the book together before you pick up the telescope. Are you asking them to move in if you bring up the rent issue?

Afterall, you were considering paying for their place rather than yours when you thought that they were dead. A small knot in your stomach twists at the memory of those days. Quickly, you push it away and take a breath of air to calm yourself. Should you be the one to bring this up? It sounds like you're possibly inviting yourself to move in one hundred percent. It is their apartment and so far they don't have any problems about your living arrangement. But that doesn't mean they won't if you decide to ask them about it. Who knows, maybe they're going to be against the idea. They are grown men and it is a bit weird that a teenager who is unrelated to them is living with them.

You should wait to see if they'll bring it up themselves, you shouldn't question them if you should move into their apartment and withdraw from your own space. Mentally, you bookmark the topic and decide to focus on the task of getting outside. Pushing open the door to the rooftop, you walk up the steps and immediately get the shivers from the cool breeze. Goosebumps cover your skin and the metal of the telescope seems to make your hands ten times colder in the stairway. You're not even completely on the roof and you are beginning to. It almost makes you return to the boys apartment to be warm on a soft bed and underneath a pile of blankets. But, instead you persevere and push forward into the December night. Dozens of white dots litter the night sky as if brush was flicked among a canvas. Tonight was going to be great, you can feel it in your bones; although that might be the chill.

The gravel on the rooftop, crunches underneath your shoes as you walk further onto the roof. Setting down your notebook, you open up your telescope and place it carefully onto its three legs and remove the lens cover before peeking through the scope and at the stars above you. It took a few extra seconds for the lens to adjust and the blurriness to fade, but there above you in all its might was a beautiful sight. The stars never seem to not amaze you. Slowly, you exhale and vapor leaves your mouth as you stuff your hands into your sweats. Maybe in another life you were in university and studying the stars. Maybe in that life you and your best friend are attending the same school. Your hands clench a bit at the thought of her and your stomach turns in grief. What is she up to? You wonder. She has to be completing her high school education since you are too; or maybe she took a gap year to process your “death.”

Maybe she has a partner or maybe shes attending school but she’s fucking around in it. Maybe she no longer gives a damn about her education since five years were taken from her and so were you. This time this year you both should be applying for scholarships and studying at each other's homes. You both should be brainstorming Christmas crafts and teasing her about her wonky paper mache stars from the previous years. But, instead you took a one way plane ride to the other side of the world and cut all the strings that once tied you to your previous life. You can think of all the alternate lives another you are living all you want, but the simple conclusion is that it is not this one, so why bother? Why think of all the what ifs and the could be when it's no use. It won't change anything, all it will do is make you mourn for the should be’s.

You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. Where’s Marc? You think. It felt like it's been too long since you last saw him. It’s definitely been long enough for you to reflect on alternate lives. Perhaps he wasn’t coming and was just making a mere observation that it has been a long time since you took the telescope up to the roof. They did buy you that as a birthday gift and you only have ever used it once. That's an expensive dust collector for your apartment. Did you really come to the roof all by yourself and set everything with the expectation for him to come but get stood up instead? You don’t doubt it. Maybe he decided to go on patrol instead. You came up here with the intent to have a good night and that's exactly what is going to happen. Fuck it if Horus comes and threatens you when you’re all by your lonesome. Fuck him. You can’t let that fear stop you from living your life.

“Fine,” You breathe out. “He doesn’t have to join me, but he could at the very least have told me they’re going on patrol.” The noise of the door opening behind you causes you to turn and your heart to skip a beat in your chest. Marc's cheeks become tinted red as the winter breeze softly blows into him.

You clear your throat a bit before you tell him, “I was beginning to think that you weren’t going to take my invite.” You watch him cross the space to you. He holds a navy bubble jacket to his chest as he breathes out, vapor drifting from him as he does so.

“I should have stayed inside,” He grumbles and hands you the jacket. “Take it and put it on, you’re going to get a cold and I don’t want to deal with you being sick again.”

“Thanks,” You snatch it from him and slide it on before zipping it up. You feel like you’re the Michelin Tire Mascot. All puffed up on your torso and arms which is making it difficult to move an inch but you’re warm with the three layers of tops you have on. A warm feeling drips down from your chest and pools in your gut. It was a feeling that you recognize so easily, you are grateful for his appearance even though you told yourself you were okay with them not showing. You are grateful for everything that they have done for you.

“You’re going to catch your death at this rate.”

“Probably,” You shrug as you step away from the telescope and sit down onto the gravel. You reach for the notebook and pencil a couple of inches away from you.The rocks press harshly into your legs and butt and you know that when you stand up again that you’re going to have rock imprints upon your body even through the clothes. You shift in your spot and try to get comfortable upon the cold ground before you feel his eyes burning into you. Your eyes flicker up and he was giving you a questioning look.

“What’s that for?” He asks and points to your lap.

“The notebook?” You raise it a bit and show him your pencil. “I’m charting some stars.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in response and stuffs his hands into his pockets. The curls on his head blow softly as another breeze passes through you and your papers ruffle a bit. You move your attention to the paper in your lap and begin to chart the stars, glancing back and forth between the sky above you and the notebook you held. You only charted one constellation before you look up and see Marc eying the telescope.

“Do you want to use it?” You ask and he doesn’t answer which causes you to set down your pencil. “It’s okay if you do. You can use the telescope anytime you want, Marc.”

“Any time?”

“Yes, Marc, any time.” You tell him and pick up the pencil once more to continue. He bends down and adjusts the height for the scope before peering into it. For a while, the only sound between the two of you was the traffic below, the single plane flying in the distance, and your pencil scratching against the surface of the paper. You were feeling content and at peace with it. Marc and you never really spoke for a long time before and you weren’t expecting to now. It was just how the two of you typically interacted. You would sometimes say something or he would too and you always let the silence settle between you before Steven fronts and decides to interact with you. It hasn’t made you uncomfortable in a long time, not since you first met them and felt like you had to cram in conversation every single second so none of you would be awkward.
It just felt comfortable and peaceful; and you were beginning to settle into it when he said, “Did you know that our sun is a dwarf star?” You did. You learned it in science class when you were a sophomore. It was one of the few introductions to the upper grades astronomy class that your teacher was trying to get your fellow students to be interested in and take within the next two years of high school. You took that biology class with your best friend and wrote notes back and forth to each other. Marc should know that you already knew it since you were so invested in astrophysics. Which could only mean he was just asking you to have a conversation.

“Yeah,” You tell him as you glance at the constellation you were sketching before returning your gaze to your notebook. “I learned that when I was a sophomore.”
He doesn't look at you but focuses on whatever he was looking at as he says, “I loved space when I was a kid. I used to want to be an astronaut. I wanted to be thousands of miles away from home and among the stars. I wanted to visit the moon.” He pauses, causing you to look at him as you roll your pencil between your fingers. “Maybe I would be an astrophysicist like you want to be.” You still want to be, he knows you do and the longing for another life will never go away.

“What happened?” You ask even though you know the answer.

“I left home as soon as I turned eighteen and joined the army. My dreams stopped.” He shrugs his shoulders as you take in his statement. The adult who you have come to know was a child once. He had dreams and aspirations. He had favorite superheroes in comic books and a favorite cereal. He had a favorite toy and a favorite park to go to. He had preferences over playing on the slide or swings. He once knew the channel number for kids shows. All of that sunk down deep into the starry ocean to never come to the surface again. To never matter.

“The best version of yourself has yet to come, kid.” He says. “Don't give up on them.” How could he say that even though he knows you can't do anything about your old aspirations. It kind of felt a punch to your gut, everything felt impossible to do. The idea of succeeding was just dead hope. Your lips part slightly as you get ready to tell him how wrong he is but quickly shut it. He was trying to boost your morals and give you unnecessary pep talk. You don't need that, you know the reality of everything; although you decide to keep quiet about it for tonight. Maybe some other time you'll argue it but tonight wasn't the night for it. You want to keep the peace and have a good time. It was one of the rare times that there was no danger, but rather you and them and the stars above.

“Can you help me with charting?” You ask him, he stands up straight and turns away from the scope to look at you. His eyes travel down to the notebook in your lap and back to your face with a questioning gaze.

“What do you need?” He asks. Honestly, you don’t need the help. You can see the night sky clearly and you can easily tell what the constellations were. He knew that and you know that he knows, but you still want to keep the conversation rolling.

“Just the location of the stars and the constellations.” You tell him. He stares at you for a moment with a look of something you can’t quite place. Perhaps he was calling your bluff and getting ready to tell you no and leave to go patrol. Maybe he was thinking about how you managed to invite him to a cold ass rooftop at ten in the evening and he agreed to it and now he’s regretting it because of your stupid request. Maybe he was listening to Steven beg him to help you.

“Yeah,” He tells you.“It’s no problem.” His acceptance somewhat surprises you. You thought he was going to reject you and tell you that you can do it without his help. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Okay, cool,” You pause and glance down to the sketch of what you already started. “Uh, can you start with the one next to the Big Dipper?”

“Did you begin with that one?”

“Yeah, it's easier to go from there than to start with any other one,” You lie, really it was just the easiest one to draw and seek out. It was also your favorite so you put more detail into it than you will with the other constellations. You don’t want to be burnt out by the time you get to it and do a halfass job at doing it justice. He turns around and looks at the sky.

“Okay, so… I think the next one has a kind of shape to it like a rhombus and a triangle for the left side.”

“Like it's a wonky hedgehog without legs?” You ask and he laughs.

“I guess you could say that.” He says and you swear you hear a smile in his voice as he speaks.

“Or a gnome without limbs.” You add.

“Some might say it's a house but turned on its side.”

“That’s too boring.” You shake your head a bit and release a breathy laugh as you sketch it. You spent the next hour drawing his descriptions and making small talk and jokes as the time passed. It wasn’t until you finish your fifth drawing that a yawn escape your mouth and you feel sleep pulling at your eyes. It was getting late and you do need to get ready for bed. You do have to go to work tomorrow as much as that sucks. You know that you’re not going to get any rest until they come back but you do have to try. Besides, the sooner they leave the quicker they come back and the more rest you’re going to get.

“Okay,” You say. “I’m ready to call it.” You sign your own name before placing the pencil on the notebook and lifting it up towards him. He raises an eyebrow at you and you sniffle from the cold. Being underneath the blankets in a warm and cozy bed sounds amazing and you are so ready for that.

“Sign it,” You tell him, trying to balance the lead on the page so it wouldn’t fall off.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why do you want me to sign it? I barely even helped with it.”

“You did though, you told me where the constellations were and what shapes they should be.” You nod your chin to the notebook. He wasn’t going to get out of not signing it. He did help and he deserves the credit as much as you do. Besides, it will be a fun memory to come across in the future. He takes the book from you and scribbles his name down into something barely legible. As he hands it back, you can recognize the first two letters of his first and last name. You can feel the corner of your lips tilt up and you do your best to hide your happiness as you stand and brush off the pebbles from your body.

“You have work tomorrow.” He comments as another yawn leaves you.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumble as you tuck the book underneath your arm as Marc collapses the telescope. Silence is between the two of you and it's not uncomfortable at all. It feels more like the type of silence where the party is over and you both had a good time and now it's time to focus on the other tasks at hand. You head down the stairs and he shuts the door behind you with the items in hand.

“This was your idea, you know.” He tells you. It was, kind of. Wasn’t he the one who originally commented on the night sky? You can’t really remember, your brain feels too tired to recall any memories leading up to the last couple of hours.

“Yeah,” You breathe out as you unlock your apartment door. He brushes past you and sets the telescope next to your couch. “I know.” From the hallway, as you watch him return to you, you can see his face is flushed red from the cold but his eyes are a little brighter than before you went up to the roof. He had a good time and you feel glad that you can clearly see that on his face.

“Bedtime,” He tells you and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not a kid,” You grumble as you lock your apartment door and head towards their apartment.

“You’re going to be grumpy in the morning like a child would be.”

“Speak for yourself, you’re always grumpy.” You tell him. He exhales like a laugh leaves him.

The corner of his lips tilts up in a smile you don’t mention, “We’ll see.”