look what they've done to you

Layla stared at the blinking coordinates on her tracker, lips parted in shock. It had worked.

That dizzying sensation that came with witnessing the act of a god reshaping the very structure of the night sky was fading as she teetered on the sand, disoriented as she looked for his avatar.

"Steven!" Ah, shit. Layla staggered over and folded on her knees, grasping his shoulders.

"Euuuoorgh.." He groaned, hunched over in the sand, white suit torn open.

"Are you okay?" Layla ducked her head to study his face. It was pale, sweat dripping from his chin. "What happened?!"

Steven opened his mouth to reply, but flinched heavily and jolted forwards. Layla wasn't quick enough to catch him and he collapsed down into the dune, still grunting in pain.

To have only known the existence of Egyptian gods and their presence on his world for a few days, as well as only having that time to get used to the moon god and Marc wrenching all of his control and willpower away...Layla shook her head as she shuffled down the sand on her knees and cupped his cheeks again.

No wonder he was a fucking mess.

"And to think-" Layla breathed, Steven's eyelashes fluttering, his expression contorted with an agony she would never know. "I admired Khonshu once."

Now look what they've done to you.

Layla patted Steven's shoulder. "Steven? Can you hear me? You- we've got to go."

He was now fully limp, and if his weight hadn't been resting on her arms he would've been faceplanted in the sand.

Layla beat back the growing tendrils of worry the best she could, feeling his pulse. It was thudding dully, all of his strength diminished.

It was strange to feel such a strong surge of protectiveness flare inside her for what was technically a stranger, but she tugged him closer nevertheless. "Steven. Please."

Layla bit back a curse word at the lack of response. Steven was fully out of it.

"Fine." She murmered, blowing a frizzy curl away from her face and glancing at their car down below.

"Let's improvise."

It wasn't too difficult transporting her possibly-comatose kind-of husband/stranger down the sand. One push and he would've rolled to the base of the hill and she'd drag him the rest of the way.

Layla knew this. She also knew he was heavily conked out, and wouldn't feel nor remember this.

So fuck knows why she'd lifted him onto her back and slung his suit-clad arms round her neck, staggering and down the sand with gritted teeth.

They reached the car under the foreign stars, and Layla propped him up against the wheel as she went back up for the tracker.

It was cold, but there was a convenient stash of blankets in the trunk that Layla fashioned into a makeshift bed for Steven's unresponsive form. She placed him carefully in the back, frowning at how he mumbled suddenly.

His forehead creased as Layla lingered by the open door.

"No-" Steven growled, eyes squeezed shut. The hand dangling off the carseat lifted to form a tight fist that Layla watched intently. It pounded once against the seat foam, and then whistled up to smack his own forehead. "Wasn't me...m sorry....I promise-"

Layla filed his worrying mumbles away for future confrontation and snatched his fist back.

She sat with her thrashing husband for an hour, focusing on memorising the coordinates and forming a plan of action instead of smoothing the hair off of his forehead and easing the tension in his clenched fists.

Eventually, Steven calmed and slept restfully, and Layla found her own eyes drifting shut, leaned uncomfortably in their awkwardly squashed position against the closed car door.

Layla fell asleep beside the tortured man, deciding not to question why the skin under her stinging eyes was wet and warm.