Tired, exhausted and with a hell of a headache, he opens the window and leaves a bloody imprint. "The night isn't over yet," Khonshu says harshly, but Marc ignores it. He's tired and slowly bleeding out. He knows the god wouldn't let him die, but he won't heal him either. Clumsily, he crawls through the window, catching the cloak and crashing to the floor louder than intended.
He bites back a curse, but lets a painful grunt escape his mouth. He can hear Khonshu laughing on the other side and then a dog bark joins in. His head seems about to burst. The barking is a menacing bark that also has an underlying growl that would definitely put Marc off if he didn't know the dog.
With a sigh he gets up and looks for the golden ball of fur. The dog is on the stairs. Ears laid back, fur standing up threateningly to make itself taller, and postured ready to attack. "Shhh. Lucky. It's me," Marc says calmly. The bark becomes a snarl, which only ends when the white mask disappears from his face.
The growl turns into a joyful whimper, which makes Marc sigh contentedly. Lucky trudges down the stairs and comes running towards him, tail wagging. The rest of the suit also disappears. "You can't hide here forever," Khonshu says disapprovingly. Marc gets up clumsily and closes the window.
Lucky nestles on his leg, still whimpering happily. "You're a good boy," Marc says and pats the dog. He is careful not to spill blood on his fur. Slower than he wants, he sneaks through the apartment, climbs the stairs and enters the bedroom.
Clint lies on his side, snoring softly. Marc's legs almost give up at the sight of the bed and every cell in his body just wants to go to bed. However, the tiny part of his mind that can still think clearly directs him to the bathroom. He has to treat the wounds and clean himself up. Marc almost trips over a towel, which is lying on the floor and rolls his eyes.
Clint is one of the most chaotic people he knows and this has often led to minor accidents.
He throws the towel in the laundry basket and then begins to rummage around in the small closet for the first-aid kit. Finding it, he sits on the floor and leans against the shower stall. Lucky looks at him from the door. "Don't worry, it will heal again," he explains to the dog, which is still looking at him, wagging its tail.
He lifts his t-shirt and sees that blood is still oozing from the wound. "Damn," he curses and rummages in the box for something to sew up. Clint treats most of his injuries himself and has no problem stitching up minor wounds himself. Marc also knows that Clint gets most of his material from Murdock's doctor friend.
When he finds what he needs, he takes the small disinfectant bottle and sprays the wound. "Oh damn," he hisses at the burning sensation, tears welling in his eyes. The wound hurt less than the disinfecting. He takes a few breaths and tries to breathe away the pain. It works a bit.
He puts the needle to the wound, it sends new pain through his body and-
"Har' 'ight?" Clint asks drowsily and suddenly stands in the bathroom. Marc jumps slightly at the surprise and the needle slides through his skin, which elicits a painful groan. "So'ry," Clint murmurs, then kneels down next to him. Marc sees that he is at least wearing one hearing aid. "It's okay. It would have had to be in the skin one way or the other,” explains Marc, voluntarily leaving the needle to Clint.
"Have you disinfected it?" Clint asks as he begins to sew up the wound with precise, careful hands. "Yes," Marc confirms, leaning his head against the shower stall. He tries to ignore the burning pain, but succeeds only moderately. Damn Khonshu. He knows he shouldn't have annoy the god. He could have been healed and fighting the next fight.
The thing is, he's tired.
He's tired of the never-ending battles.
Tired of the god.
Tired of everything.
Night after night he goes out and carries out the commands of a god who has nothing left for him but ridicule and scorn. He'd be lying if he said there wasn't a time when he liked doing it. It's a good way to release pent-up anger. Only all the anger never seems to fade. It always seems to be piling up more than he can get rid of. It's a vicious cycle that he can't break.
"Done," whispers Clint, bringing him out of his trance. Exhausted, he opens his eyes and looks at the neatly stitched wound. Clint gently rubs an ointment over it and sticks a plaster on it. "Starting tomorrow there should be some air. But I think it's better for now if the wound stays clean." "Thanks," Marc murmurs exhausted.
Clint gently places a hand on his cheek and Marc presses into the warm loving touch. "You should sleep," Clint says softly, then helps him to his feet. "I haven't showered yet," Marc says and smells the sweat in his nose. "It's okay. I smelled worse," Clint grins, but points to the closet. "You should change your clothes, though."
Marc nods and puts on the next best thing he can grab in the closet. He is wary of the wound, but manages to get the shirt over his head without tearing the stitches. Sighing, he settles into bed and inhales the familiar smell. Gently, Clint's arms wrap around him and a kiss is planted on his cheek. He listens to Clint's gentle breathing and falls into the same rhythm. Lucky lies down at her feet and a low growl escapes him, aimed at something in front of the window.
Khonshu stands on the fire escape and shakes his head before disappearing. The Labrador calms down immediately and Marc's eyes close. The silence that surrounds him acts like a soft blanket, which drives his body and especially his mind to sleep faster.