Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marc's vision flickered in and out as he felt himself fall out of the body. He tried reaching out, as if he could hold on to the front like it was tangible, but his hand found nothing to grasp. He simply fell further back into the void of their mind, the outside world slipping from sight. And as that world faded, so too did his consciousness, like he was being pulled into a deep sleep. Down, down, down into the cold embrace of nothing.

Thump. Marc landed on something soft and cushiony. His eyes peeled open, his vision blurry and dull. He blinked hard a few times, each time his vision getting clearer, until he found he was staring at a ceiling. 

It was white, made up of large, square panels with small, circular holes, patterned uniformly, making up a smaller square shape in the middle of each panel. It reminded him of a hospital ceiling. Oh shit, was he in a hospital? He quickly sat up and looked around the room.

“What the-” he muttered.

He was looking at their apartment, the one he had just been in before he switched out with Steven. But it wasn't right. All the furniture and the layout was the same, but the walls, floor and ceiling were that of a hospital room. White. Sterile. Like the hospital from their time in the Duat and Steven's apartment had been bashed together to make something new. And the lighting was harsh, artificial. Normally the room had nice warm lighting, but now it was cool and bright.

Marc got out of the bed and looked around in disbelief. “Steven?” he called out. No response. “This isn't funny Steven, what have you done?” Still nothing. Whatever this place was, it made Marc's stomach churn and his head spin. He headed for the door, briefly stopping and staring into the fish tank. Three goldfish? That's not right. They only had two. He roughly shook his head and stumbled out the door.

Instead of the hallway of apartments he expected, he walked out into a hospital hallway lined with doors, stretching on and on into darkness. He had no clue how long it could be. Some doors were white, matching the rest of the hallway, while others, like the one he had just gone through, were more like normal wooden doors. At the other end of the hallway was the elevator he was expecting. He glanced down the dark hallway and then walked over to the elevator.

The rickety doors of the elevator opened up as he came close, a dull light flickering on. Marc hesitated before entering.

On the wall of the elevator waited just two buttons, an arrow up and an arrow down. Marc considered his options. Normally the exit to a building is the ground floor. So down? Or was this the ground floor and did going down take him to a basement? He had no clue what to expect above him. He took a sharp breath in and cautiously pressed the down button. The elevator rattled to life and began to descend, the light flickering more and more the further down it went until it went out completely, on cue with the doors slowly sliding open again.

The moon. He was on the surface of the moon. Marc slowly crept out of the elevator, the doors closing behind him. He turned around to look at the elevator. “What the fuck.” He breathed quietly. There was no elevator shaft. No where for it to go up to. It was just a box with doors.

He spun around, breath picking up. Dotted around the lunar landscape stood more of those hospital doors, standing with no wall in sight, just white doors leading to seemingly nowhere. He cautiously approached a door and slowly opened it. He stepped back in disbelief. Within the door was a dark room, but outside he could still only see the rocky ground behind it.

He swallowed, hard, and quickly closed the door, stumbling away and back towards the elevator. It was now that he noticed foot prints leading towards the elevator. They weren't his. Were they Steven's? Had Steven been to this strange place before? Though the prints made him think of heavy boots, like the kind he had worn when he was deployed. That didn't seem like something Steven would wear. Had Marc been here before and just forgotten?

He shook his head and continued to the elevator, the doors opening upon his approach once again, though this time the light remained off. He walked in, went to press the buttons and stopped, his hand hovering just over them. The buttons had changed. Instead of the up arrow and down arrow, the top button was two up arrows overlayed on one another, and the bottom had one up arrow. Marc could feel his body was starting to shake and he was finding it hard to breathe. He just wanted to leave this place. He steadied his hand and pushed the double up button.

Once again, the elevator sprung to life and begun its journey up. It made no sense. How did the elevator work? And how did those doors work? How could he breathe on the surface of the moon? What the fuck was this place?

As the elevator rose, the light flickered, brighter and brighter. As the journey continued, Marc began to feel fuzzy, his vision blurry. Sounds began to creep into his ears. The clinking of dishware. The rumble of boiling water. He could feel his body going numb, but also… gaining sensation? It was strange. His body here was losing feeling, but he was also gaining awareness of his body elsewhere. A smell hit him. Tea. He couldn't see anymore, the light had gotten so bright. It was like he wasn't anywhere anymore. His body gone, his senses dazed. The light flickered a few times before he was plunged into darkness. Not just darkness. There was nothing.

Another thump. But different this time. He watched as his hand closed a laptop in front of him. Except he wasn't doing it. He was watching. This was familiar to him. He'd watch Steven do things many times before. Their hand moved to the cuff of the jumper they were wearing and began to fidget with it. Marc's mind felt as though it was full of fog, the memory of the world he'd left behind dissolving away. But even with his sluggish thoughts, he knew that that was a Steven behaviour, if ever he'd seen one. They reached for a mug of tea and took a long drink from it.

“I'm telling you Steven, oat milk and tea just don't mix.” Marc spoke out into their consciousness.

“Marc?” Steven spoke this aloud, Marc could hear it, but it felt far away, like the world he was watching. Like it was a dream. But even in this dream-like fugue, Steven's voice immediately brought him a warm comfort, nestled right in his chest and slowly spreading through his body. Though a body within their mind.

He never quite understood that. How he could feel their physical body but also this strange mental one separately. And yet, he did. And Steven's warmth felt just as real as anything that could come from the physical world laying before them.

“Hey buddy.” Marc replied, smiling warmly.

Chapter Text

“You alright mate?” The voice was distant, blurred along with the music and the chatter around Marc. It felt like his body and mind was made of TV static, his head pounding with his heartbeat. For a moment he thought his heart would jump right out of his chest, but the tightness of his chest kept it caged within him. His head was down, he was sitting at some kind of table or maybe a counter, based on its height. And he felt sick. Like really sick.

Slowly the world came into focus and he carefully lifted his head. “Hey, you good?” He finally looked at who was speaking. And then at his surroundings. He was at a counter, alcoholic drinks on shelves in front of him. Tables dotted around the room. A few people chatting, though this place seemed pretty quiet at this moment. Why the hell was he in a bar? The man talking to him stood behind the counter, a towel over his shoulder and a concerned look on his face.

“Uhm,” He murmured, slowly sitting up, pain shooting through his head.

“You passed out there. Drank a few too many, don't you think?” The bartender said lightly. He had a Londoner accent, so that was slightly reassuring.

“What… sorry, where am I?” Marc asked, looking around again.

“Wow, you're really fucked up, huh?” The bartender threw down the towel and leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. “Your accent has changed and everything. That happen every time you get drunk?” Marc stared blankly for a moment.

“What accent did I have before?”

“Sort of… New Yorky? Like, ‘I’m walkin’ here!’, kinda.” His impression was pretty poor, but kind of endearing.

“What did I say?”

“You really don't remember, huh?” Marc shook his head, which just made it hurt more. He winced, holding his head in his hands. “Eh, you didn't say much. Flirted a bit.” Marc choked a bit.

“Flirted? With… with you?”

“Yeah, a little. Backed off once I said I was already taken though.” The bartender squinted a bit. “What, not interested anymore? Had a change of heart?”

“No, no. I mean, yeah. I'm sure you're great, but,” His hand went to his ring finger. His bare ring finger. He stared at where his wedding ring should be. “Fuck.” He said quietly. The bartender was quiet for a moment.

“Look, mate, I don't know what's going on here, but I think you should head home.” Marc glanced around, his head searing as it whipped around, his eyes landing on the bathrooms.

“Excuse me.” Marc murmured, getting up and stumbling slightly over to the bathrooms. He quickly made sure no one else was in there and then leaned against the sink, glaring into the mirror. “Alright Steven, what the hell happened.” There was a moment of silence as Steven's presence slowly emerged from the void, getting hesitantly closer. Marc’s face morphed in the mirror, taking on the softer qualities of Steven, who looked like he'd just been woken up from a nap.

“Huh, what?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Where the hell are we?” Marc hissed.

“What do you mean where? You've been fronting, not me.” Marc squinted even more than he had been.

“I just got here. Only to find someone’s been flirting with the bartender.” Steven recoiled slightly, looking at him with a ‘what the fuck do you mean’ face.

“Last I was fronting we were at home. What are you on about?” It was Steven's turn to squint. “You sure you didn't just, I don't know. Get a bit too drunk?” Marc scowled and stepped back slightly, running a hand through his hair, his chest becoming tight, its rising and falling speeding up. “Alright, uh.” Steven's tone softened. “Sorry. It's alright, we'll figure it out.” Marc fumbled for his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Layla.” Marc glanced at the mirror one last time. Steven was fiddling with the bottom hem of their shirt, his eyes large with concern. Marc exhaled heavily and pushed against the door, leaving the bathroom as he hit the call button. “Come on, come on. Pick up.” He murmured, walking across the room.

“You alright mate?” The bartender called after him. Marc waved him off and exited the bar, turning to search for any signage.

“Hello?” Layla's voice came through the phone. Marc sighed in relief.

“Layla. I need your help with something.” He quickly looked around the street.

“Marc, what are you-”

“Just. Listen.” Marc interrupted her. “I need you to come pick me up somewhere. Still London,” He looked around again. “I think. Uh,” He looked up at the bar’s sign. “I'm outside a bar called Jericho’s?”

“Just. Slow down a second.” Layla told him. “I thought you said you could get yourself home?”

“What?”

“You texted me before, said that you were going out? And you promised you wouldn't get so drunk you couldn't get home on your own.”

“I… I didn't text you though.” Marc said quieter, leaning against the outer wall of the bar, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand.

“Well it wasn't Steven. Marc, what's going on?”

“I,” He paused, sighing shakily.

“You promised me, Marc. No more secrets.” She sternly reminded him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I don't know.” He murmured.

“What?”

“I don't know what's going on. I don't know how I got here or what I was doing.” He told her, louder.

“Why don't you ask Steven then?”

“You don't think I tried that?” He bit his tongue, stopping himself from yelling at her. “Could you just come and get me.” He paused, hitting his head against the wall. “Please, Layla.” There was a moment of silence over the phone, he could only hear the sound of her breathing. Though just that sound was enough to keep him from screaming in frustration.

“Alright. But get inside, you'll make yourself sick in this weather.” She hung up before he could respond. It was only now that he realised it was pouring with rain, the frigid drops piercing through his clothes.

“C’mon Marc, get inside.” Steven told him after a long moment of him standing in the rain, staring at the ground in front of him.

“You really know nothing about this?” Marc asked him, not budging.

“I promise. But we're gonna figure it out. Together. Yeah?” Marc thought for a moment, teeth clenching together. He hit his head against the wall again, breathing laboured.

“I thought we'd gotten through this shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Having no clue what we've done or where we are. Before we knew each other it was constant. At least now I can ask you what's happened.” He rubbed his face in frustration. “I thought it was just us two.” Steven was quiet from a bit, thinking. Marc looked down at their reflection, a puddle lit up by the bar's interior lights. Steven was once again fiddling with their shirt.

“Its not exactly.” Steven paused. “Unexpected.”

“Not unexpected? How?”

“Those moments in Egypt. The sarcophagus in the Duat.” Marc's mind flashed back to the strange moon apartment he'd visited.

“The goldfish.” He murmured to himself.

“The what?”

“Nevermind.” He shook his head. He looked down at his hands and stared at his bare ring finger again. “Layla’s going to kill me.” He began searching his pockets.

“You really thought I'd be flirting with the bartender?”

“Well I wasn't.” Steven thought for a moment.

“Were they cute?” Marc chuckled softly.

“I suppose.” He ran a hand through his hair as his search came up empty.

“You suppose?” Steven teased. Marc looked back at the puddle to see Steven's raised eyebrow.

“Oh. Shut up.” He murmured lightheartedly, leaning his pounding head against the wall and closing his eyes, taking some deep breaths.

“I can't help but notice we’re still standing in the rain, Marc.” He ignored Steven, continuing to control his breathing. Steven hesitated, as if he was about to say more, but instead drew back, returning to the back of their mind.

Marc remained in the same spot, shivering slightly, crossing his arms and glancing up and down the street, keeping an eye on his surroundings. He moved only at the sound of Layla's motorbike rumbling down the road towards him. He stepped out to the edge of the footpath, putting his hand out to get her attention. She pulled up without a word and nodded her head to the bike. He got on behind her, putting his arms around her waist. The drive home was silent, the roaring of the bike matching her fuming energy. Marc stayed as still as possible, as if any movement he made could make her begin yelling at him.

They ascended to Steven's apartment, still in silence and entered, Marc heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Layla stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, staring at him. He leaned against the counter, sipping at the water.

“So are you going to tell me what's going on?” Layla finally asked. Marc sighed, putting the glass in the sink and running a hand through his hair.

“I already told you. I don't know.” He looked at her. “I promise you, I have no idea.” She sighed, rubbing the side of her face.

“Alright. You don't know.” She paused. “So there's more? More than just you and Steven?”

“Seems like it.” Marc shrugged, putting a hand to his face. Layla stared at him for a bit, thinking.

“And Steven doesn't…” She trailed off. He shook his head, putting his hand back down on the counter and hanging his head, eyes shut. Marc took a few deep breaths.

“Do you remember, in Cairo, when we were fighting Harrow?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“He had us pinned to the ground and then suddenly.” He paused. “Something. Someone. Happened.” He looked at her. “And it wasn't me and it wasn't Steven.” He looked away again. “That wasn't the first time that's happened.”

“So. You do know what it might be?”

“It's like.” He grasped at his thoughts, trying to form the words. “If I don't think about those memories. They don't exist.” He looked at her. “Like whoever that is. I shouldn't know about them.”

“Do you… think they're dangerous?” Layla asked carefully.

“I…” Marc looked away again, clutching the counter as a feeling of wrongness wracked through his mind.

“Marc?” She stepped towards him slightly, looking at his face, now drained of colour. His vision was blurring, his hands beginning to go tingly and numb. He breathed shakily, Layla's voice fading away as he held tighter onto the counter in an attempt to remain in the body. “Marc don't you dare-” Was the last thing he caught from Layla, who had gotten closer now. He lowered himself to the floor, leaning his back and head against the counter, pressing his hands on the cold tiles. The coolness quickly disappeared as his awareness of their body slipped away, his vision shrinking and fading to black as he fell into their mind.

Down, down, down…

Chapter Text

“Marc? Marc!” The voice was muffled, but somehow it pierced into Marc's head all the same. He shifted slightly, laying on something soft and warm. Marc's eyes blearily opened, squinting at the bright light of the room. That ceiling. He recognised it. He was in the strange apartment again. He sat up quickly, looking around. Someone stood at the foot of the bed, with his face and his body. But their features were softer, their hair messier, their posture hunched slightly. He wore a knitted sweater, with sleeves that were slightly too long. Marc looked down at himself. T-shirt and jeans, that checked out. He looked back up.

“S… Steven?” Marc stuttered. Steven smiled softly and looked around.

“Marc,” He looked back at him. “Where are we?”

“You, you don't…” Marc got up from the bed, slowly approaching. “You haven't been here before?”

“Well I mean,” Steven looked around again. “It's my flat but,” He paused, swallowing. “Different.” He looked at Marc. “You've been here?”

“Uh, yeah.” Marc rubbed the back of his head, looking around. “Once before.” He thought for a moment. “When I disappeared I was here. Wherever here is.” He walked over to the fish tank and peered in. Three fish. He sighed heavily.

“Oh those are the fish you were talking about.” Steven exclaimed, walking over to stand next to him. He thought for a moment, before going slightly pale and looked at Marc. “Um. Marc?”

“Yeah?” Marc murmured, meeting his eyes.

“If I'm here.” Steven pointed at himself. “And you’re here.” He pointed at Marc. Marc stood up straight.

“Who's controlling our body?” He finished the thought. He looked around the room again, frantically, before opening the door and exiting out into the corridor, Steven following behind him.

“It's okay Marc, it'll be fine.” Steven called after him as they quickly approached the elevator.

“They're out there with Layla, they could say or do anything.”

“So could you or I.” Marc spun around to look at Steven, stopping just in front of the elevator doors.

“Every time we come back from that guy being out, destruction has ensued. Someone has been killed, or injured. You think they'll be all chummy with Layla?”

“Well if we just assume they'll hurt her. If we assume that they're ‘evil’, then, maybe, that's exactly what they'll be.” Steven argued, gently grabbing Marc by his shoulders. “We know nothing about this alter, we can't just make assumptions.” Marc laughed bitterly.

“I think we have plenty of evidence.”

“And if I had kept with my assumptions of you?” Steven asked, making Marc freeze. “What if I continued to assume that all you do is hurt people? And that you ruin people's lives?” Steven took his hands off Marc's shoulders. “But there's more to you than just the first impression. We should at least try to give them a chance. We haven't even met the guy.” Marc stared in silence for a bit before exclaiming in frustration, running his hand through his hair.

“Fine.” He said sharply, turning and entering the elevator. Steven sighed softly.

“Thank you.” He walked in to stand next to Marc. Marc glanced at him before pressing the up button. Nothing happened. Marc pressed it again. And again. Still nothing.

“Come on.” He muttered, hitting the button harder and then punching the wall of the elevator.

“It's not working.” Steven said quietly.

“Yeah no shit.” Marc retorted, leaning with his hand on the wall and hanging his head in frustration, taking heavy breaths.

“Where's it supposed to go?” Marc glanced at him and then pointed at the buttons.

“This one is supposed to take us ‘up’, back into the body. This one takes us down to…” He trailed off, sighing heavily and shaking his head.

“Down to… where?”

“Doesn't matter. We want to go up.” Marc pressed the button again. “Come on, work.”

“Maybe they don't want us there?”

“So what, they can just block us from the body?”

“It's not unheard of.” Steven shrugged. “We've forced each other out of front before, it's kind of like that.” Marc sighed, thinking.

“Layla asked if they were dangerous.” He murmured. “And then. I don't know,” He looked at Steven. “It felt wrong. But it wasn't… me that was feeling it. And then it was like I was shoved out.” Marc exited the elevator, sighing again.

“Where are you going?”

“Well if we can't leave, we might as well look around.”

“Right, yeah.” Steven followed, briefly looking back as the doors closed behind him.

“Right, that one's the apartment.” He pointed at the wooden door they had left from before. “Everything else,” He looked down the hallway. “I have… no idea.” He folded his arms.

“Well, there's only one way to find out.” Steven approached one of the white doors and slowly opened it.

“Steven, no-” Marc started, stepping towards him. The door opened to reveal a completely empty room, with the same floor, walls and ceiling as the hallway.

“Huh.” Steven peaked his head in, looking around. He leaned back out and closed the door, looking over to Marc and shrugging. “Nothing.” Marc stared at him blankly. “What? It's just our mind, it's fine.” He joked lightly, moving to a wooden door. “Maybe… The white doors are empty, the wooden ones have something inside them?” He suggested, shrugging again.

“Do we really want to find out?”

“You're the one who suggested we look around.” Steven opened the door and looked in. “Oh.” Marc walked over, looking in. He breathed in sharply. It was their childhood bedroom. But with those same hospital walls and ceiling. Marc slowly walked in, breathing shaky as he looked around. His action figures. The posters on the walls. His belt on its hook. He walked over and gently touched the leather, hand shaking. He looked over at Steven, who stood in the doorway, mouth open slightly.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly. Marc looked back at the belt and then around at the room again. He thought for a moment.

“It's different.” He mumbled, walking to the bed and sitting down. “I mean the walls and roof, obviously, but. When we were in the Duat, it's like it had some.” He paused. “Some filter. Like it was dimmed.” He looked around once again. “But this is so bright. And warm.” He looked at Steven, brow furrowing.

“I loved this place.” Steven told him, walking over to sit next to him. He looked over at the Tomb Buster poster, and sighed quietly. “How is it fair?” He looked at Marc beside him. “You can remember the terrible things she did. And I don't.”

“It's not fair.” Marc replied. Steven gently leaned his head on Marc's shoulder. “And I think I used to hate you for that. But that's not fair either.”

“I think I hated you too.” Steven said, chuckling softly.

“Yeah. I don't blame you.” Marc smiled.

“But.” Steven continued. “That was before I got to know you.” He sighed, taking his head off Marc's shoulder and laying down on the bed. Marc looked over at the poster Steven had been staring at.

“You know. Just because you came from a story.” He twisted around slightly to look at Steven. “Doesn't mean you're ‘made up’.” Steven thought for a moment.

“I know.” He murmured. “It just… Hurt. That's all.” He paused, thinking some more. “I thought it meant you were the ‘real’ one and I was just some character.” He paused again. “I know that's not true now. That that isn't how it works.” He smiled.

“You've done a lot of research, huh?” Marc asked, smiling softly at Steven's grin.

“I like learning things, what can I say?” He sat up and shrugged. “To think that a child can find so much comfort in a character that their brain takes that character and makes a whole person? That's incredible.” He paused, smile falling. “Sad. I wish that,” He paused, choosing his words. “I wish we didn't have to go through everything we did for me to exist. But,” He looked at Marc. “I was there to protect you.” He grinned. “How amazing is that?” He stood up, offering Marc a hand. “C'mon, there's another door across the hall.” Marc hesitated before grabbing his hand, Steven hauling him up and leading him out, Marc closing the door behind them.

They crossed the corridor and Steven turned the handle, only to find the door refused to open. He frowned and jiggled the handle a bit, trying again but to no avail. He looked at Marc and shrugged.

“Here, let me try.” Marc told him and beckoned for him to step back. Steven moved away and Marc positioned himself with his shoulder to the door. He pushed, turning the handle and fell into the room as the door opened and quickly swung at his force.

“You alright?” Steven asked, unsuccessfully masking a chuckle.

“Yeah.” Marc grumbled as he pulled himself up, facing into the room. The two of them looked into a replica of Marc’s storage locker, their green reflections staring back at them from the metal walls. Almost everything was the same, though instead of the cot in the corner, there was a pristine, white hospital bed. Marc shook his head, sighing. “This place makes no sense.” He mumbled, putting his hands on his hips. Steven entered looking around and sitting down on the bed, leaving Marc standing in the doorway.

“So…” Steven looked around. “You’d sleep here?” He paused, brow furrowing. “Or… there?” He shook his head in confusion. Marc smiled, bemused.

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it just felt weird sleeping in your apartment.”

“How come?”

“It wasn’t mine.” He said, shrugging again. “It felt like I was intruding.”

“Oh.” Steven murmured. He hesitated for a moment, fiddling with his sleeve. “Do you still feel like that.” Marc thought for a moment.

“No.” He paused. “It’s like we’re roommates now.” Steven smiled. He thought for a moment, continuing to fiddle with his sleeve, staring at the floor.

“What is that?” Marc asked. Steven looked at him.

“Hm?”

“That thing you do. With your sleeve.” He pointed. Steven looked down at his hand.

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Just fiddling, I guess. Just a thing I do, haven't really thought about it.” He paused. “It's calming.” He looked at Marc and shrugged again. Marc nodded, thinking. “Kinda like that thing you do with your hair.” Steven added. Marc tilted his head slightly in confusion. Steven demonstrated, running his hand through his own curls and gently tugging at them.

“Oh.” Marc said. “I mean, that's a stress thing though.” Steven raised an eyebrow. Marc stared in silence, thinking. “I guess it isn't so different.” He finally agreed. Steven chuckled softly, tilting his head to poorly hide his smile. Marc crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame and glancing back down the hallway.

“If they don't want us there then maybe it's none of our business.” Steven told him.

“Of course it's our business, it's our life.” Marc said, looking back at Steven and then at the elevator again. “Why do you have to be so…” Marc trailed off.

“So what?” Steven asked, crossing his arms and staring at the back of Marc’s head. Marc thought for a moment and turned to look at him.

“Doesn't it make you angry? Not being in control?”

“Of course it does.” Steven told him, voice wavering. “But don't you think that means they feel the same? If it makes you angry and it makes me angry, how do you think they feel?”

“See, that's what I'm talking about. You're so,”

“What; compassionate?” Steven interrupted, almost yelling. He quickly looked away to take some breaths. “Look, I get it. I can be a pushover.” He looked back at Marc. “But I think you need to consider that if you're traumatised.” He gestured out the door. “Maybe they are too. And they deserve compassion as much as you do.” Marc stared for a long while, breathing through gritted teeth, keeping eye contact with an unmoving Steven. Marc finally crumbled after what felt like minutes and looked away, tugging at his hair with his hand.

“You're right.” He murmured, staring at the floor, his posture hunched slightly. Steven slowly got up, walking over, and gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I know it's scary. Trust me, I've been there.” Steven titled his body to catch Marc’s gaze. “But we worked it out then and we'll work it out now.” Marc made eye contact and remained silent for a moment.

“What if there's even more that we don't know about?” He asked, his anger from before drained and replaced with despair.

“Then we'll figure that out too.” Marc stared for a bit longer before leaning into Steven, burying his head into his shoulder. Steven wrapped his arms around him, holding on tightly. Steven thought for a moment, gently rocking side to side, keeping his breathing steady. “I know you don’t always like having me around,”

“Steven-”

“Let me finish.” He said firmly. “I know you don’t always like having me around, but, I will always be here if you need me.” He pulled away, still holding Marc by the shoulders and looking him the eyes. “And if I’m not, well,” He smiled. “I can’t exactly be far away, now can I?” They held there for a solid thirty seconds, staring into each others eyes, interrupted by Steven lifting his head to look out the door, taking one hand off Marc.

“What?” Marc asked, leaning to look down the hallway. Steven was silent for a second, like he was listening for something.

“I could’ve sworn I just heard my name.” His voice was quiet as he stepped out into the hall.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Marc replied, moving to stand next to him. Steven kept staring ahead at the elevator, but his eyes were unfocused, like he wasn’t really there. “Steven? You alright?” Steven looked at him and then back at the elevator. Marc stepped away slightly as Steven began to blur and flicker in and out of sight. Marc took quick, sharp breaths as Steven disappeared before him, leaving him alone in the hallway. “Steven?” He desperately called out. “Shit.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his head as he looked up and down the hallway. He stood there, thinking. Should he try the elevator again? Could he just will himself into front from here? Is that where Steven even went? If he heard his name, maybe he went to investigate? Did he even mean to do that?

Marc’s racing thoughts were interrupted as a door behind him opened. He span around to face the person stepping out. Once again, the same body as him, but this definitely wasn’t Steven. His face was stern, shadowed slightly by the cap on his head. He wore a bomber jacket and gloves and was staring directly at Marc.

“Hello Marc.” He said after a moment of silent staring. His voice was rough, with a tone that sent a shiver down Marc’s spine. Well then, Marc thought. That’s goldfish number three.