Chapter Text
Pain.
That was the first thing that Steven registered as he blinked bleary eyes that were murky with tears. He blinked them away to the best of his ability and looked down to find his left wrist slicked with blood and the glint of a knife's blade hovering just over it. Dried blood caked on the end, blending well with the fresh crimson liquid that trailed down the hilt. His wrist had been sliced vertical numerous times if the clean cut scars were anything to go by. Blood welled from the surface, running down Steven's arm in steady streams until it curled over the edge and dripped onto the floor.
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" Steven dropped the knife and it clattered to the ground. Nausea rose inside of him as he staggered to the sink, almost slipping in the blood that was now streaked across the tile floor. He just managed to catch himself while also crushing his left arm in the process. Steven let out a cry of anguish as he thrust his left arm on the edge of the sink once he had caught himself and attempted to stand.
His bare feet slipped in the blood once more and Steven had to brace his right arm practically around the sink before he could stand. Shakily he straightened to his full heigh, eyes dropping down to his wrist despite his logical thinking that told him that would be a horrible idea.
A new wave of emotion crashed into him like an unsuspecting ocean wave. He brought up his right fist to his mouth and bit down on it as he leg out a ragged sob. Pieces of Steven's skin stuck to the sink when he tried to roll it over to for better inspection.
The cuts were deep, there was no going around that. How deep? Steven wasn't quite sure, and honesty didn't want to be after what he had seen. It was deep enough that it was still pulsating blood with no sign of stopping in sight. The pain was unimaginable, fierce and overwhelming no matter how much Steven tried to breathe through it.
"Hurts," he gasped to himself, pressing his forehead against his right shoulder. "Why does it have to hurt this bad? What happened to me?"
Part of Steven wondered if perhaps Marc had been attacked while he had the body. However, his thoughts were quickly changed when he skirted his foot against the floor and kicked the knife accidentally. The knife skidded over to the bathtub with Steven looking up with a stricken look on his face.
"Marc," Steven choked out, a sob welling in his throat. "Marc, help me!"
Silence. The only movement that Steven could feel from his alter was him retreating even deeper into their headspace into a place that Steven could never hope of reaching him. No, Marc would have to come out on his own and Steven feared that may not be possible when he saw the state of them.
"I don't know what to do," Steven broke out, beginning to hyperventilate. Everything from the pain to the horror of what had happened to them was too much and Steven felt himself slipping.
His body went limp and he fell completely back, head narrowly missing smacking against the edge of the tub. He let out a soft whimper as he pulled his legs to his chest while he stretched out his left arm in front of him, watching the gushing blood coat the tile in front of him, turning it crimson. The metallic taste of blood was thick in the air and Steven felt himself grow lightheaded, eyes rolling in the back of his head.
'Steven!'
Steven's eyes awoke with a start as he blinked the haze from his eyes. He gave a throaty sniffle and looked around the small space without lifting his head. "Marc?"
Sure enough, Steven felt a presence in his mind again and could practically feel the mercenary's eyes on him. This time was different as he didn't feel like Marc was cross with him or annoyed. Instead, Marc sounded terrified in a way that Steven had never heard before. It was slightly comforting if not unnerving to know that a man so stoic and cold at times was practically freaking out and there wasn't a damn thing that Steven could do about it.
'Steven, you need to get up, okay? Get up!'
Tiredness dragged on Steven's limbs and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes again. "Just give me a minute, yeah? Need to rest my eyes."
A sharp twinge coursed through Steven's body until his head was lifting and he groaned as he pulled himself over to the toilet. He propped himself up so that his cheek was pressed on the closed lid of the toilet seat. His breath was coming in labored pants, each one seeming like it took more and more out of him each time he tried.
'Steven, look at me.' Steven lifted his gaze to the mirror and was able to catch a glimpse of Marc. His eyes were haunted, panic clear in his voice. He anxiously shifted his stance while his hair was much messier than usual. 'You have to stay awake and work with me here.'
Steven shook his head weakly and let out a trembling cough. "Marc, it hurts." His eyes closed tightly as he tried not to focus on the rolling of his stomach. Opening his mouth to speak could potentially be disastrous.
'I know, buddy. I know but we're going to fix this. I'm going to be right here to help,' Marc continued. He reached his hand as close to the glass as possible, finger pointing to the small closet in the corner of the bathroom. 'There's a first aid kit in there. You'll need to get it.'
Steven whimpered and shook his head stubbornly. "You get it."
'I can't or I would.' Marc let out an impatient huff. 'We're wasting time. You need to get it, now.'
Steven tensed his calves and flexed his ankles, toes curling while he tried to find sure footing. He as halfway to standing when his left leg gave out and he came crashing down, chin striking the closed lid of the toilet while his hip collided with the floor and the corner of the wall. His back slammed against the edge of the tub for the shower and Steven was left nearly crying out in both frustration and pain. There wasn't much more of this he felt he could take.
"No, no, I can't," Steven choked out, gasping at the end of a shaky inhale that rattled through his chest. "Marc, you need to take the body."
'Steven, I can't.'
"Marc, take the fucking body!"
If Marc was stunned by Steven's sudden outburst, he made no sign of it. If anything his voice began to soften as he regarded his sobbing alter in front of him. Steven could hardly take in a breath without immediately whimpering or crying out.
'I can't,' Marc repeated softly. 'I want to, I do, but I'm the reason that we're in this mess in the first place. If I take the body....' He trailed off and gave his head a sudden shake. He couldn't, wouldn't go there. Not with Steven right there, now relying on him to make everything better and to help him through it. A resigned look showed in his eyes as he turned his head to the side and mumbled something that even Steven couldn't catch.
Suddenly sobered, Steven lifted his head, moist eyes wide with panic and realization. "You would finish it, wouldn't you," he accused. "You bloody well were going to kill the lot of us, weren't you?!"
'Steven—'
"No!" Steven roared as a rush of adrenaline had him springing up to glare at the mirror. He leaned forward, left arm cradled against his chest while he pressed his pointer finger of his right hand against the reflected surface, longing to actually be able to throttle Marc at the moment. "This is your fault. I don't....why did....." Steven looked to the side as the rollercoaster of emotions continued to roll through him. "Why didn't you come to me and let me know you were having a rough go at it?"
'I don't want to do this right now.' Marc's voice turned clipped, controlled as he stared past Steven and nodded in the direction of the closet. 'Grab the first aid kit. We need to stop this bleeding.'
"We need to go to the bloody hospital, Marc," Steven broke out. "We.....We need help."
Marc's eyes flashed in rage. 'Steven, listen to me, we can't go to a hospital or see any doctor. We have to deal with this ourselves.'
"Why? There are professions who deal with stuff like this, yeah. They'll know what to do," Steven protested.
Marc grumbled to himself and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't exactly blame Steven for being this stubborn, though it was still difficult to get through to him. 'The doctors you're thinking of aren't the only ones that are there! Shit!'
"Not the only doctors? Who the hell are you expecting are going to be there?"
'Shrinks, man. They'll have us committed and I'm not doing that again!'
The ferocity in Marc's voice had Steven feeling as though the blood rushing through his veins had turned to ice. Was Marc making a threat? He had known him long enough to know that Marc would never willingly be committed again and he had made comments before that he would possibly harm them for that to be avoided.
'Ironic that he's made those threats when he was the one to do this in the first place,' Steven thought bitterly as his gaze flicked down to their still bleeding extremity.
'I can hear our thoughts, Steven. You're not keeping those to yourself,' Marc hissed inside their headspace and Steven immediately winced. Marc was not the person he wanted to piss off at the moment.
'Look,' Marc continued. 'You need to stop this bleeding and patch it up. I'll walk you through everything, but it has to be you that does it.'
The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Steven felt unsteady and defeated once again. "I don't know if I can. I've never done something like this before."
'I'll walk you through it. Now, grab that damn first aid kit. I'm not going to say it again!'
"Is that a promise?" Steven ignored Marc's frustrated huff of agitation at his comment. He stumbled over to the closet wrenched it open to find the kit that Marc was talking about at the way bottom. Stooping low had Steven struggling to right himself as black dots began to cloud around his vision.
'Steven! Focus!'
Steven gave his head a much needed shake and shuffled back over to the sink. "Coming, coming, you git." He groaned as he unzipped the kit and the contents spilled out onto the floor. "Oh, bugger!"
He bent down to pick up the fallen contents to find that his hands were shaking so terribly that when he went to grab a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, he missed it entirely. He made another grab and his fingers clasped around it, only to drop it when he was halfway on his way to stand.
'Try and calm down. You're going into shock and we have to stop the bleeding. Take a few deep breaths and grab some towels and press as hard as you can. Steven, are you listening to me?'
Steven finally grasped the rubbing alcohol and threw it over the edge of the sink, the bottle clattering around the bowl before sitting sideways on the drain. "Say my name one more bloody time and I'll break that mirror."
It wasn't quite what Marc had been hoping, though he couldn't help but feel a flash of pride that Steven was actually releasing his anger instead of bottling it up until it was likely to explode with little to no warning.
Marc gave Steven as much space as possible as the British man picked up the remaining fallen contents before half shuffling, half dragging himself back to the closet and pulling a whole stack of fluffy white towels with him. They sure wouldn't be white after he was through with them.
He headed back over to the sink and slumped down on the closed lid of the toilet once more. He took the first towel in his fists and sucked in a trepidation filled breath and pressed down as hard as he could muster on the deep gashes on his left wrist.
The pain was immeasurable, the deep throb from earlier replaced with sheer agony that started at the bone and worked its way through the muscle and the nerves all the way up his arm. He had no more tears left to cry but his teeth bared in snarl, threatening to break the tips of his canines with the force from his jaw.
'Rip off a piece of our shirt and stick it in your mouth.'
Steven peeled open one eye to regard Marc questioningly. "What?"
'You're going to break our teeth if you keep that up. Our shirt is already ripped. It may as well be of some use,' Marc continued.
Steven didn't have the time nor the strength to argue. He shifted his weight so that his chest was pressing down on his forearm while he used his now free hand to grasp the edge of the torn sleeve and pulled a strip clean. It was flecked with dried blood and there was no telling exactly where it had been or the last time that it was washed, but Steven didn't have time to ponder it and stuffed the piece of fabric into his mouth and bit down hard as he shifted once more to give himself more leverage to press down on his left forearm.
He wasn't quite sure if the shirt sleeve in his mouth was doing anything if he was being honest. The pain was still there, followed by the unnerving sensation of the fibers of cotton working itself between his top and bottom jaw. Eyes watering, Steven lifted the now completely drenched towel sopping with blood and set it on the floor before reaching for another to repeat the process. This time he wrapped it around the extremity instead, tucking it around his elbow and tying it off while he used his free hand to rifle through the supplies.
"What should I be looking for," Steven questioned as he turned over numerous military issue medical supplies. He sure hadn't bought it, which meant that Marc had to have been the one to find or purchase everything in there.
'A sewing needle and thread.'
Steven's eyes furrowed in confusion. "Sewing, what? Marc, I don't understand."
'You're going to have to stitch us up.'
"What?!"
'It's not as daunting as it sounds. It's pretty simple really. I've done it a couple times.'
"Why can't we just ask Khonshu to heal us? Isn't that what he does?"
Marc frowned, a glimmer of resignation in his eyes as he grimaced. 'Khonshu won't do anything now, not anymore. Not for this, not again.'
Although Steven's mind was cloudy at best the more blood that they lost, he was still lucid enough to catch exactly what Marc meant. "Before? You've done this before?"
'Don't go there,' Marc warned, voice low and dangerous. 'Don't fucking go there.'
There were so many things that Steven wanted to say right now. He could start with how could Marc be that dense that he didn't come to Steven when he had first been feeling suicidal or why he had done this in the first place? The fact that Marc had also disassociated before he could complete it seemed more like dumb luck than anything else as Steven couldn't even remember the last time that he had fronted so abruptly.
"Don't think we're done talking about this." Steven began to unwrap the towel from his arm, stomach churning when he saw the jagged torn flesh that peeled away from each other, revealing the true damage that Marc had done.
'Dump some of that rubbing alcohol in it.'
"What?" Steven tried to keep his voice steady, thought it was nearly impossible. "I don't know about that, mate."
'Steven, please, you have to trust me. Just dump some on, dry it up with that towel, and then I'll walk you through the actually stitching.'
Steven was too caught up in the whole pouring rubbing alcohol into an open wound to really process what Marc meant by stitching. His fingers enclosed around the bottle and squeezed hard, breath coming in frantic gasps. Eyes brimming with tears, Steven bit the bullet and poured an impressive amount right over the still gaping wound.
The second the liquid touched his skin, he screamed. It wasn't a yelp of surprise either, but a full body scream that would've made it seem like Steven was being attacked. He didn't even try to reach for the strip of fabric as if that may calm him as Marc was encouraging him to do in his head.
His stomach suddenly lurched and he gave a sudden cough before gaging. His back arched as he brought up bile and a small amount of water that he could remember drinking before bed. It still hurt all the same, stomach twisting and churning as the threat of a repeat performance weighed heavily on his mind.
'You alright?'
Steven wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and swallowed hard. "Just peachy." He managed to haul himself back from the sink and immediately turned on the faucet. Tap water washed the evidence away, taking some of the smell with it.
"Okay, now what," Steven questioned as he had dabbed his arm dry. It was still extremely painful and Steven wasn't sure how much of this he could take before he was the one to disassociate and then Marc would need to take over. He could only imagine what Marc would do if he came back into the body and saw the scene, as well as the knife that was still sitting on the floor. Would he finish the job? Steven didn't want to find out the answer to that question.
'You need to stitch it up.'
Steven shook his head adamantly. "No, no, not doing that. Nope."
'What are you talking about? You have to.'
"I said that I'm not doing it. I've never done something like this before and I don't want to make it worse." Steven blinked yet more haze from his eyes. When had he gotten so tired? "I'll wrap it, yeah, but that's it. You want it done, do it yourself."
Marc said nothing as Steven pulled a pad of gauze from the first aid kit followed by a long bandage that he could wrap around it. It still hurt to place any sort of pressure on it, but Steven did his best to align the gauze just right and wrap, eyes clouding when he saw that it was already beginning to soak through with blood.
Frantically, Steven continued to wrap until there was a good couple centimeters thickness with the gaze. The bandage was next and he wrapped his entire forearm before safety pinning it to the gauze on the off chance he accidentally tugged on it when moving about.
Once he finished, Steven admired his work. He could feel eyes practically boring into him even though him and Marc shared the same eyes and looked up to see Marc still staring from the mirror. He didn't say a word, only blinked sporadically when he finally saw the arm wrapped in bandages.
'Good job,' Marc muttered after a few awkward moments of silence.
Steven shrugged. "Don't matter much, does it? If you're only going to try again."
'I.....' Marc trailed off and Steven knew exactly why.
‘He can't promise that he's not going to do it again,’ Steven realized. Marc was just as likely to do something this foolish again as he was not to; that was something Steven would just have to be aware and live with, no matter how messed up that realization was.
Steven sighed and looked down at the bloody mess that covered the bathroom. Part of him wanted to get right to cleaning to wash all the evidence away, but he was far too exhausted and light headed for it.
He managed to change out of his jumper and pants and into something that was a little looser and thankfully not covered in blood.
Speaking of blood, Steven couldn't help but noticed how his hands were coated in it and it had collected under his nails. Scrubbing did almost nothing and Steven was resigned to the fact that he would have to take a shower later and really rub and scratch at it to erase everything. He was much too exhausted to even think of doing any of that now, though he did make a mental note of everything that he had to do after he had taken a bit of a kip until he was feeling steadier on his feet.
Steven stumbled through the flat and over to his bed, careful not to mess up the salt line as he crawled under the covers. He pulled them all the way up to his chin with tears shinning in his eyes as the realization of what had just happened truly sunk in.
'Steven, I'm sorry.'
Steven squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms on his ears, a shuddering breath shaking his frame when he twisted his left arm the wrong way.
'You know that I can still talk to you, right? Covering your ears does nothing.'
"I don't want to talk about this right now," Steven hissed. "Just leave me alone."
Part of Steven wanted Marc to fight more to talk to him, to tell him exactly what he was feeling and what had led him to make the decision that he had to take a knife to his wrists. Steven may not be an expert on mental health, but even he knew that someone cutting like that along the vein was a clear suicide attempt, and a serious one at that the deeper one went.
He felt Marc's presence leave him for the time being and it had Steven feeling more alone than he ever had been before.