Chapter 2
Steven let out a low hum from behind him.
The dent, or perhaps more accurately described as a gash, was directly underneath the shower head. It was as if someone had been mid wash when out of no where they decided then would be the best time for some remodeling. It had to be with their bare hand, if the streaks of red buried in the nooks and crannies of the tile meant anything.
The answer was blindingly obvious, and yet Marc still struggled to do more than stare at the reckless show of violence in the wall. He could feel Steven waiting for him too, standing cross armed in the mirror with an expression he was too on edge to fully comprehend. After what felt like hours, the he finally sighed.
“Well, we definitely punched a hole in our wall.”
“How though? I sure as hell didn’t do that, and I know you didn’t. Well, at least I hope you didn’t. Maybe we were actually sleep walking this time?”
“Sleep walking? Steven, think about what you suggested for one second, and please tell me you’re not actually that stupid.”
There was no way either of them could have sleep through a fist to the wall. His eyes trailed down to his fist, currently laying limp against his side. It wasn’t a fresh bruise, maybe two or three days old. The sore been beyond painful to wake up to, and the fact neither of them bothered to address it kept rearing its ugly head. That, and the realization that they hadn’t showered in days. He hadn’t even noticed.
“Well, what are we going to do?” Steven began again. “There can’t seriously be another. I told you we should-”
“No, we don’t need a therapist.” Marc spat. “I told you, we’ve already gotten everything worked out. Our lives are balanced, we both have jobs, all that communication shit you’re always preaching about. I don’t see what a therapist would do other than state the obvious.”
Steven huffed, and Marc took his cue to look back at the wall. As easy as it would be to argue, it was four in the morning. He could feel the stress from the day still weighing on his body. Every inch of himself ached in some form or another, and the heat from their apartment did little to help. “I guess a dent in the tile doesn’t mean we can’t still use the shower, right?”
“What? Are you seriously still considering showering after finding a bloody hole punched in our wall?” Steven gasped.
“I mean, yeah. It’s 4 am Steven, you have work tomorrow. What are we going to do about it tonight?”
Several sentences started, but none of them were completed. All he ended up getting was a few meek sputters, before the other finally relented. “Fine, but we’re talking about this in the morning. I don’t feel comfortable just- continuing on like nothing happened.”
“I know Steven, I know.”
With that, Marc watched the anxious face in the mirror shift back into the fatigued one he’d grown to know. With the shower once again started, and temperature yet to be at the perfect spot, Spector took the few seconds he had to look at his expression a little more closely. The deep-seated bags under his eyes, the pale skin, the five o’clock shadow. Every pore on his face seemed unnaturally noticeable, and it was hard not to think of all the people who’d seen this same face today.
One he struggled to identify as his own.
~★✡★~
Despite having the schedule in place for almost a month now, it never ceased to surprise him whenever he actually found himself with the body.
Being in control was better, no doubt. That still didn’t make the transition from backing, to being in front any less jarring. His first instinct always seemed to be stretching his arms out as far as they could go, as if to test just how much jurisdiction he really had.
After a night at the bar, the usual time to wake up at tended to be around 10, 12 if he was in control rather than Marc. Today, however, he’d woken up at two. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d risen so late, though at the same time he supposed they did have a rather rough night. One he both dreaded, and found himself on pins and needles waiting to discuss further. First and foremost, though, was tea.
Steven went about his normal morning routine a little faster than he usually would have. His ‘routine’ mostly consisted of brushing his teeth, taking a shit, and making something for breakfast. It wasn’t overly complex, but it was still a habit, and consisted of more things than Marc tended to do. During his daily plop it was difficult to resist the temptation to pull back the shower screen, as if checking would make the discovery suddenly a dream. It wasn’t though, much to the dismay of both him, and his swollen fist.
Neither of the men had spoken a word until Steven had properly settled himself in at the dinner table. His meal consisted of a single piece of toast and a bit of beans he’d made earlier in the week. Both seemed equally unappetizing, but he knew well enough that if he was going to be encouraging Marc to have a healthier dietary plan, then he’d need to make a good example. Knowing this didn’t stop the uncomfortable churning in his stomach whenever he lifted the fork full to his mouth.
After almost a full five minutes, Marc finally broke the silence. “So, thoughts?”
Steven shrugged, avoiding the gaze in the antique mirror. He’d managed to find the relic at a jumble sale a few weeks prior. Most of the frame was rusted, but it fit the aesthetic of their flat rather well. “Well, I feel like I’m the least qualified person to know what to do. I mean, I didn’t even know you existed until two months ago.”
“Hey, let’s not say there’s someone else at play just yet.” Marc reasoned, arms crossed. “There’s got to be another explanation for this. I mean, I would know if there was another alter.”
“Cause you’re the original?”
“Yeah! Wait, well, you know what I mean there bud.”
Of course he did. Marc was the original, the “host” as google had labeled it. It made sense he would be the one with the most insight into what the hell was going on. The man had managed to go keep him out of the loop for pretty much their entire life after all. Steven took a slow sip of his cuppa. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bonkers to think about. WebMD says the average amount of alters for a person to have is around 10, perhaps we’ve got several in here we don’t know about.”
“That’s different.” The reflection spat. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? How? Is it because we’re more mentally stable than them?”
“No, its not that. Its just- you’re stable. You eat, you sleep, you’re kind and dependable. I don’t need any other alters. Not like I need you.”
Steven’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Ignoring that half the other’s examples were basic human functions, the explanation didn’t cease to make his insides warm up. Somehow finishing his plate suddenly seemed a tad easier, though Marc didn’t seem to notice a thing. Steven continued. “Okay, okay, you don’t think there’s anyone else.”
“I know there isn’t anyone else.”
“Mhm, sure. Well- if that’s the case, then how the hell do we explain the hole in our wall, and our nasty hand? Planning on revealing your secret pass time as a boxer, hm?”
“I wish it was as simple as keeping secrets.”
Silence once again filled the space between them. Whether it was because Marc had dipped, or because the man was thinking, he wasn’t sure. Either way Steven finished his meal in silence before making his way over to grab his coat. Work wouldn’t begin until eight, but leaving the apartment always seemed to help clear his mind.
“Steven, where are you going?”
“Out.” He replied simply.
“Steven, I swear, if you’re leaving to talk to that stupid statue guy-” A playful twinge littered his voice.
He shook his head with a weak laugh. “No, I’m not going to go talk to him. Besides, the twat doesn’t even sit until after four.” The fact he knew the exact time was a little depressing, but he decided to push past that and leave before Marc could get another word out.
By the time he was out of the flat, Marc was fully backed, and Steven could relax ever so slightly more. Not that he didn’t enjoy the man’s company, by any means. It was just nice to be by himself from time to time, walking outside alone with his thoughts. It seemed best to leave the incident in the bathroom behind him, at least for the moment. There were simply too many variables to think about, and it seemed better to just try and enjoy his day while the other recovered.
With no other immediate people he’d refer to as his “friends”, Steven often opted to spend the couple hours he had before work at the quaint book shop a few blocks away from the pub. The whole atmosphere was beyond soothing, and to his absolute delight, Jasmine was working the afternoon shift. He found a delicate smile on his lips before he even opened the front door.
“’Ello Jasmine, been a bit, eh?”
The woman behind the counter’s face lighted up. She had the most dazzling hue of blue eyes he’d ever seen, and though he would never admit it, it was hard not to feel excited whenever he heard that distinctly southern American twang. One she claimed time and time again she didn’t have. “I wouldn’ say that. How’s the new book treating you?”
Steven stared at her blankly for a few moments, before his cheeks turned a deep shade of red. “Oh, this!” He held up the novel he’d purchased a week ago. He’d barely gotten around to touching it, the spine still had that new book smell. “It’s going just fine, thank you. I figured I’d swing by and start reading the silly thing. Gotta find out what the problem is with Mr. Blackstone, ha-ha.”
“Still can’t believe you’re the type to read such a girly-thing. Not that that’s bad, by any means.” A playful smile stretched across her lips. “Hey, just keep this copy cleaner than your last one, hm? Can’t have you buyin’ up all my copies.” Jasmine teased, before diving her head back into whatever mystery novel she was on now. The brit hardly knew what she was talking about, he couldn’t recall telling her about the time he’d spilled tea on his stack of books. The incident must have slipped his mind though, and Steven shrugged the comment off. She clearly didn’t think much of it.
The next few hours would go by in an instant. Time was already something he struggled with on a daily basis, and reading always seemed to fasten the problem. Within just a hundred and fifty pages he was already leaning on late for work, and Steven found himself jumping to get off his cozy spot on the couch.
“Ooh, I suppose I better be off now. Cheers.”
Jasmine didn’t respond, though he hardly allowed himself the time to fully process the rejection. His attention was instead on slipping through the doors of the already fairly busy pub he’d learned to call his job. Maria was thankfully the one running the bar, and his posture loosened. He slipped behind the counter and made quick work clocking in.
“Hey, feeling a little better today, Marc?”
“Actually, its Steven today. Week days, remember?” Steven hummed without much thought. Work was just about the only place that knew about his DID. Marc had been uneasy with the idea at first, but after a little more discussion they both agreed the best way to balance their life was to work together, not hide one another. Though many of the employees were reluctant at first (and he was pretty certain a select few still believed it was all an act), most got used to the adjustment fairly quickly. Maria nodded. “Ah, I see. I wasn’t sure if you two were going to keep changing it or anything. Well, I hope Marc is taking it easy.”
Steven raised an eyebrow. Had Marc really been that off yesterday? For most of the period he was fully backing, and they never really bothered talking about what happened during their respective shifts outside of brief comments, but from the short portion he’d watched near the end the man had seemed composed enough. He’d never known the American to get overly emotional to the point of people taking notice. Before he could ask anything further though, a lad was already ordering his shout. Steven shook the thoughts from before off, and turned his attention fully towards the task at hand.
~★✡★~
The next few hours passed by without any real hiccups to speak of. Though he would never claim bartending was his greatest skill, he managed to pull by without major effort. People came and left, and by the looks of it, the night would be pretty regular. The type of people to go to a tavern close to midnight on a Monday varied, but the crowd tended to be tamer. Mostly drunkards and foreigners. It made the shout from the front doors all the more jarring.
“Oi, cunt, you the one who decided to give my mate a bloody nose yesterday?”
Steven’s whole body stiffened, eyes snapping up to the buff golden retriever strolling up to the bar. For a few seconds he found himself glancing around the room, as if the question could have been for anyone. All eyes were pointed anywhere else though, and the brit found himself stumbling to find the words to respond.
“Uh, I think you’ve got the wrong person sir.”
“No, this is the bastard.” The man beside the other spat. He hadn’t even noticed the significantly smaller man, but upon a second glance it was apparent someone had roughed him up, if the giant purple bruise over his nose meant anything. “He thinks he can put on an accent and get away with it.”
“I’m not getting away with anything, okay? How about we all just chill a little, I’m not trying to start any-hey!” Steven yelped, whole body flailing with the sudden move to yank him by the shoulders. He could hear Maria running over from across the room, but it was hard to make out anything she was saying over the thumping in his ribcage.
“You should have thought about that before you shoved your nose in other people’s business.”
The breath was horrid, and out of everything going on, that was somehow what stuck out the most. The wretched smell that came with being two inches away from the bugger’s mouth. His whole body quivered, hands balling into fists.
“I- I don’t think this is a good idea mate-”
“Oi? And why’s that?”
Steven wasn’t sure, they weren’t an avatar anymore. Any fighting skills he’d had vanished the moment Khonsu had released them. An uneasy sensation filled his stomach, one that built up higher and higher. His ears began to rang, but before he could-
~★✡★~
-think of what to do - Steven screamed.
He was in an alley, somewhere near enough to the pub to where he could still hear the nightly players down the street. His hands trembled, fists clutching the collar of one of the people from behind the counter. He let go instantly, hands retracting up against his chest.
Blood, so much blood. No stabbings, no bullet wounds, but he could tell at least one of their noses were fully broken. Blood was trickling down the main blonde man’s forehead, and dripping onto the ground. There had to be at least four of them, all in similar conditions, though his brain felt too out of it to properly count.
Steven stepped back, before flinching with the sudden sound of footsteps coming his way. His eyes widened, and without any thought at all, he was soon sprinting deeper into the dark alley way.
“Oh Marc, we’re so screwed.”