Into The Fire
“Promise.”
Without letting go, Marc closed his eyes and let himself fall through the gate’s opening.
Falling. Marc was falling, down into nothingness. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t feel Steven. Oh god why couldn’t he feel Steven? Had he been lost to the vacuum of existence? Where was he? Alone. Alone and falling. There was no oxygen for him to breathe, no light. Just empty air and whistling wind.
Slowly, but surely, the pain came back. First in his feet and ankles. Tired from walking. Then his legs. Sore from running. His core. Carrying himself stiffly. His arms and fists. Punching with full force. His chest-
Two pinpricks of searing, white hot pain exploded into his chest. The bullets. There were bullets inside of him. It was quickly overshadowed by the agony of a heart restarting. Blood that had congealed in his veins was pumped through at an agonizingly slow pace.
There was a scream ringing in his ears. The voice was quickly lost to the wind, but it didn’t matter, he was in agony. It wasn’t until the sound died out that he realized it had been coming from his own mouth.
Wind became water. Falling became drowning. Marc shot up, spluttering and coughing up a cocktail of blood and water as adrenaline forced him to scramble into a sitting position. He swayed back and forth as he took in deep breaths through lungs that had been inactive for too long. He was back. He was alive. He let out a strained sound as he tried to get up, pain of the gunshot wounds causing his vision to waver in and out of blackness. He coughed again, blood dribbling from his mouth as he gripped onto the ledge.
“....Steven?”
•••••••••••••
That was it, they were gone from the duat and into the light. The rumbling of oncoming sand became gradually more distant, and Steven could feel himself slipping away. He tried to keep a grasp on himself but it was a fruitless effort; they couldn't remain this way on Earth. It was an unpleasant sensation to put it lightly, as if he were switching, but with more permanence, losing more of himself than he usually had to. He clung on tighter to Marc, then.
Nothing. He was no longer there. Confined into a headspace he had never really been familiar with. Sure, he hadn't always been fronting, but the space between when he was always seemed to simply black out for him, that lost time never filled. But now he was aware, now he had met Marc he knew why, and suddenly he was able to remain in some way. It was honestly a bit scary now he knew, but it was far, far better than the way it was before. Now all he needed to do was connect to Marc in some way; find out how he could still be there, in the passenger seat so to speak.
He concentrated as hard as he could, tensing completely as if to will himself forward. He was there. Hesitation, it felt different. He could hear things. The sound of water, an echoing chamber in the heart of a pyramid. He knew what was going on, he was conscious of his surroundings. Not in control, not fronting, but there. And now he was there, it was easy. It was natural in a way.
“Yeah, I'm here- oh god this is weird, gonna have to get used to this. Can you hear me? I mean I hope so-"
••••••••••
It was taking everything within Marc to not pass out again. Every breath was agony. Every beat of his heart sent black spots dancing in front of his vision. He let out a low groan, forcing himself up on one knee.
There was a moment where he felt completely, and utterly alone. It was terrifying. While the field of reeds had been a safe place that he could’ve dealt without Steven being with him, this? This was shattering.
There was a ringing in his ears. A pressure in his skull, like a headache not fully formed. Did he get a concussion when he had fallen back into the water? At the time, that was the least of his problems. But no, the pressure became something comforting, almost like a weighted blanket. The ringing became a voice that came from his own lips. He wasn’t fronting, he was just....there. It didn’t feel wrong, it was as if they both had control, only needing to reach out to use it. Steven.
“Yeah. I can....I can hear you.” He nodded slightly.
There was no time to marvel at how Steven had just been able to communicate with him without a mirror, as he felt yet another presence. Khonshu.
He let out a cry of pain as the two bullets exited his chest, clinking onto the floor. He stood up, shaking and dizzy, but strong. Pulling down his sleeves, wrappings erupted from nothingness, covering his body. Wrists, legs, chest, shoulders- finally, his face was concealed and Marc took in a deep breath, no longer in the agony he had felt.
“You ready?”
••••••••••
They’d done it, they’d actually done it. He barely had time to think, things were on the move, they needed to go. Khonsu was back and that meant business. He was quite impressed by the fast healing; 2 shots to the chest shouldn’t be a bounce-back type of deal but then again, they were dealing with an ancient Egyptian god that looked like a giant dead bird so who’s to say what’s possible. Everything was sure to start moving very quickly. Steven only hoped he’d be able to keep up. “Ready! Let’s go beat up an old guy with a cane… Harrow, let’s go beat up- yeah no you get it.”
Steven couldn’t quite believe how quickly they managed to get to grips with being co-conscious, but it only served them well that night. Reuniting with Layla was a welcome return, but he made sure to find a quick moment to say hi, then stepped back out. The pace didn’t slow though, punches being thrown, kicks, stabs, general brutality lit the night air. It was a lot to get to grips with so quickly. Steven actually did impress himself that night in terms of hands-on combat, managing things he’d never even dreamed of being able to do, though he figured he could attribute most of it to the funky suit. Still, it was when Marc found himself pinned by Harrow that things took a turn. What that turn was, neither knew, for it was in the blink of an eye that everything was different. It wasn’t Steven. It wasn’t Marc. Harrow was incapacitated. People were dead.
It was that moment that stuck in their memory most pungently, even as time continued to pass. What had happened? Why had it happened? What didn’t they know? In the time after the fight, their strength of communication only grew. Their new method of interaction became second nature, and though it sounded odd to an outsider, it worked for them and that was all that mattered.
But there was still time missing. Still time completely unaccounted for. They had both grown used to having bits and pieces disappear, so why should it still do that? They’d sorted things out between them, so what was still interrupting? Was one of them simply not taking accountability for things they’d done, or was there something larger at play here. Truly, they weren’t sure which they preferred.