Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ground is shaking and Taweret’s calling them back. Her voice reverberates across the frozen memory of their old neighborhood.

Steven looks at Marc, squeezes his forearms one last time. The other man nods at him, and together they run off down the street.

The empty corridors of the psychiatric ward welcome them back, doors slamming open and closing shut. The light fixtures on the ceiling are teetering off to one side, flickering on and off ominously, and he can feel his feet slipping.

“Hold onto me, Steven!” Marc shouts, stretches an arm out in his general direction.

Steven reaches for him, their fingers graze for a moment, and then the ship veers off to one side and he’s thrown straight through one of the open doors.

“Steven!”

It closes shut.

Hands stuffed into his pockets and eyes hidden underneath a cap, Marc cuts an intimidating figure. He’s weaving in between the aisles like a man on the hunt, his footsteps sure, and Steven has trouble keeping up.

This isn’t his Marc, he knows that much.

His Marc is somewhere out there, probably running through blinding white halls looking for him. Steven remembers hearing his shouts echoing off of the tiles before he stumbled and ended up here, instead.

This Marc, Steven laments, is standing in front of an entire shelf of Cheetos and making grabby motions with his hands. He can’t seem to decide between two flavors of chips (regular Flamin’ Hot or Flamin’ Hot Limon).

Steven didn’t even know he— they?— could handle anything remotely spicy.

Is this why he’s been finding Cheeto dust all over his clothes?

He thought that it was J.B. rubbing salt in the wound after calling him Scotty, made even worse by the fact that the man probably did know his name was Steven all along and was just playing up the act.

Oh, god. Steven wants to put his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the events of the entire day.

Somehow, finding out that Marc’s been mooching chips off of him is just the cherry on top. Well, aside from being a ghost in the other man’s memories. But he’s quickly learning to take things in stride.

Marc grabs the Limon ones and then makes his way to the till. Steven groans and crosses his arms as he follows the other man around.

“I’m grilling you about your snacking habits right after this,” he grumbles, looking around the store and trying to take note of anything interesting.

There’s no one else here and Steven can’t find the exit. Every time he tries turning a corner, he’s either in another aisle or back where he started. He doesn’t know where to go from here, so he figures sticking around this memory of Marc is his best shot at finding his way back to the other, other man.

Steven makes a face. The semantics of this entire thing are getting confusing, so he might as well not bother getting into them. Instead, he leans against the counter and watches as Marc busies himself with digging out his wallet.

His movements look strained, though, and Steven’s at the other man’s side before he can even think about it, searching him from head to toe.

Marc doesn’t look hurt. Being the avatar of an Egyptian god has to have its perks, Steven thinks, but that doesn’t mean it’s not tiring.

Peering under the shadow of the cap, Steven has to hold back a gasp. There’re bags under Marc’s eyes, so dark that they look like bruises on his pale skin. And now that he looks closer, he can tell that the other man’s having trouble standing upright.

There’s a flare of anger starting in the middle of his chest, burning away at him and leaving him breathless. He digs his nails in his palms, can feel them shaking in restraint.

He has a few choice words for the old pigeon bastard next time he sees him. 

Marc’s hugging the bag of chips to his chest like a pillow and Steven can feel himself deflating at the sight, his body turning cold and numb like the switch of a light. He just wants to hold Marc and let him rest.

He can’t help noticing the dried blood smeared across the other man’s forehead. He reaches out slowly, carefully, and tries to use his sleeve to rub it off.

Steven pulls his hand back and looks at it.

There’s no blood.

He doesn’t know why that disappoints him.

It’s just a memory, after all. This all already happened, and it’s not like he could do— could have done— something. But it still bothers him, seeing the other man in this state.

(Marc’s looking at Steven but not really seeing him, eyes unfocused. “All the things I'd done...” he croaks, and Steven can see the unforgiving weight on his shoulders so, so clearly.)

(“You were just a child,” he tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”)

He puts his head in his hands and takes a deep breath, releases it through his nose. There’s a world that needs saving and Marc’s somewhere out there looking for him. The least he can do is focus on the task at hand and try to find a way back to him.

Easier said than done, but, well.

This Marc slaps a five onto the counter and pushes the bag of chips forward. Then, he pulls the plastic bin next to the till close and starts rummaging through it. Steven peers over his shoulder in curiosity.

They’re packs of gum.

He didn’t take Marc for a gum guy. Or, rather, the idea of someone like Marc— Moon Knight extraordinaire— chewing on something like 5 gum was a bit ridiculous.

But, hey, they all need cheat days, right? It doesn’t mean that he’s happy with the bag of Hot Cheetos looking up at him from the counter.

The amount of sodium in just that one serving? 

The animal-based ingredients?

Steven wants to throttle Marc. Just a little bit. But then he looks over again and sees the blood on the other man and the exhausted slump to his shoulders.

Let him rephrase that.

He’ll throttle his Marc later when he sees him again.

Soon. Hopefully soon.

In the meantime, he resigns himself to watching Marc dig through the random assortment of flavors with detached interest. “Oh, I’m partial to the fruity ones,” he points out casually, as if in conversation. 

“My favorite’s strawberry,” he continues, “but on the off chance that there isn’t any, I like…”

Marc picks up a watermelon flavored pack of gum— picks up several of them, actually— and flashes them up to the employee.

“Add these too, would you?”

Steven stares at him.

I like watermelon flavored gum too.

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe they both have the same taste. Steven looks over at the bag of Hot Cheetos.

No, no, it’s clear that they’re two fundamentally different people with fundamentally different preferences. So it must be for him, right… ?

He doesn’t know why that bothers him so much.

Why Marc knowing and remembering such a small detail about him is making him feel some sort of way.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice the other man striding past him to the exit. The bell above the door chimes and Steven whips his head around, calls out, “Marc!” even though it’s not like this Marc would be able to hear him.

It occurs to him then that there’s actually an exit where he couldn’t find one before, but he’s too busy chasing the other man’s back to really put much thought into it.

The door’s closing but Steven manages to get there just in time, squeezes his fingers through the opening and wrenches it open.

“Marc, hold on-”

Steven stumbles to a stop, breathing hard. He looks around in alarm, taking a couple of steps back.

He’s in another store.

This one’s more of a mom-and-pop shop, though. It’s cramped and crates are pushed close together to form narrow aisles, and it looks like the place hasn’t been cleaned in quite some time. The air’s sweltering hot and there’s already sweat beading on his forehead, trickling down the side of his temple.

He turns around, expecting to find the exit he just left through, but meets his reflection in the glass door of one of the walk-in coolers instead.

“… Marc?” he ventures, hesitant. “Are you in there?”

No one answers him.

Steven sighs, then turns back around to get an idea of what’s happening. It reminds him of before, when walking up each flight of stairs brought him into another one of Marc’s childhood memories.

Not like it was much of a childhood, anyway, but…

He starts wandering around cautiously, observing the blurry outline of the outside world past the frosted storefront windows. Surprisingly, it’s empty despite the early afternoon light streaking in. Like last time, there doesn’t appear to be anyone else in the store.

Marc’s somewhere around, because this has to be something from his memory, but aside from the muted sounds of people going about, everything outside of this small bubble of space seems… indistinct.

Even the face of the employee manning the till, Steven realizes, was merely a blur. Like he was seeing it through some sort of filter.

Marc’s memories feel very… closed off. Guarded. 

Steven doesn’t feel like he should be here, watching all of this, but it’s not like he has a choice.

He feels a blast of cold air and hugs himself, almost jumps in place when he turns to see Marc next to him. He’s opening one of the coolers, snatching up a six pack of beer.

Steven wants to grumble again, wants to tell him off, but he’s still feeling unsettled. He follows Marc as he goes about the store, picks up another bag of Hot Cheetos— goddamn it, Marc— and lets his thoughts run loose.

Again, he still doesn’t know why such a small detail like Marc knowing his favorite flavor of gum is throwing him off so much.

Even more so than learning about mum.

And maybe he should be more shaken up about that, but it’s not like his calls were ever returned. It’s not like there was a relationship there to salvage from in the first place.

So yes, he’s come to terms with her death, in the short amount of time he’s been here, wherever here is, and he feels like it should have hit him harder to learn the truth even though it doesn’t.

But that doesn’t mean he’s come to terms with the shell of a life that he’s been living.

Steven stumbles to a stop and has to lean against one of the shelves for support. He grabs onto the plastic, can hear it squeaking in protest under his grip.

Or, rather, the life that Marc’s been giving him.

And that’s what hurts more, has him breathing hard. 

Marc walks past, idly swinging a plastic grocery bag. Steven watches, numb, and can’t bring himself to stand upright just yet.

The other man is headed toward the exit but he doesn’t leave, instead turns the corner at the last second, and Steven can’t help himself. He follows after on unsteady feet, tries to swallow past the lump in his throat.

He finds Marc crouching down in front of one of those little capsule toy vending machines, counting change in his hand. Steven walks up behind him slowly, his footsteps quiet despite knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference.

Looking over the other man’s head, he watches as Marc puts in two coins and turns the handle. There’s the sound of shuffling coming from inside, and then he reaches in and takes out a plastic ball. Popping open the cap, he shakes something out into the palm of his hand.

Leaning in closer, Steven imagines he can feel the tickle of Marc’s hair brushing the side of his jaw. He looks down.

Oh. He has that keychain.

It’s in the shape of a little goldfish. He bought it because it reminded him of Gus and keeps it on his key ring, but he doesn’t remember when he got it.

Never questioned it, actually. Just assumed he had picked it up one day.

Steven frowns.

Has he just been… filling in gaps in his memory? Connecting the dots with lines when there weren’t any dots to connect in the first place?

He wants to say something, doesn’t know what, really, and knows that it wouldn’t matter— not to this Marc— but he wants to, anyway. Turning his head to the side, he opens his mouth.

But nothing comes out. The words are stuck in his throat. Steven sighs, crouching down next to Marc and keeping his eyes on the ground instead. After a moment, he looks up, tries to speak again, but no. He’s too much of a coward.

Instead, he stares up at Marc, notices that he looks worse than he did before. Steven didn’t notice earlier, caught up in his downward spiral of thoughts, and he feels some awful emotion settling deep in the bottom of his stomach. 

Just how often was Marc pushed to his limits?

“… you don’t look so good there, mate,” he manages to say, choking up.

Marc looks like death warmed over, but he’s playing with a keychain worth fifty god damn pence like a little kid, dangling it between his fingers, and there’s the smallest of smiles on his face.

Steven’s out of breath just looking at it.

The other man puts the keychain back into the little plastic ball it came in and then stuffs it inside his jacket with a gentle sort of care that Steven wouldn’t expect from him.

No, he tells himself. That’s not right.

Marc’s always been gentle. 

Sure, he’s not gentle in the way most people are, but Steven thinks about the flat, and the sand, and the tape on the door frame. Marc’s tried so hard to keep him away from this part of his life, and of course it hurts to be kept in the dark for so long, but…

He did it because he cares.

This isn’t some ground shattering, earth breaking revelation. No, it’s not, but it still gives Steven pause, makes him take things in a new light.

He watches in some sort of trance as Marc stands up, dusts his legs off and adjusts his hold on the grocery bag, then starts walking off.

“… wait, wait,” Steven calls out, tries to ignore the crack he can hear in his own voice. “Please, Marc, you’re tired. Come back over here-”

Who cares if this is a memory, he thinks, and stumbles to his feet as Marc turns the corner. He wants Marc to come back, he wants Marc to give him the stupid keychain himself and not just hide away like what he’s been doing for so long.

By the time Steven makes it around the corner, Marc’s already opening the door. The sound of the outside world comes flooding in, almost bursting his ear drums. It’s so loud, for some reason, and Marc’s leaving, he’s leaving-

“No, no, no, where are you going-”

He trips on nothing as he runs after him. The bell above the door chimes as he pushes at it and tries to grab Marc’s shoulder, tries to make him turn around.

Steven almost falls onto the floor in his haste, has to put his hands out in front of him for balance. He looks around, hands on his knees and panting.

It’s another store.

He draws his lips into a tight line.

He’s starting to see a pattern here.

It looks like a retail chain. The tiles are clean and there’s some pop song blaring from the speakers, but he can’t make out the words and it sounds like he’s hearing it from underwater.

Steven looks behind him, knows he won’t find the door he just left through, and he’s right. It’s not there anymore.

He hears the sound of footsteps and the rustle of clothing off in the distance. Steven doesn’t stop to think. He just runs. Turning his head left and right, searching through empty empty empty aisles with the fervor of a mad man.

After a while, he stumbles to a stop, breath caught in his chest. 

There he is. Hands in his pockets and rocking back on his feet, head hidden under a hoodie. He’s looking up at something but Steven wants Marc to look at him instead.

“Marc,” Steven breathes. He takes slow and careful steps forward until he can’t help it anymore and he’s in a full on sprint. “Marc!” Steven cries again, flings himself at the man’s back and throws his arms out.

Steven goes right through him.

He tries again, but his arms close around nothing. A hollow, cold feeling crawls up his sides when he realizes that he really can’t do anything.

“… Marc, I’m here. I’m here.”

Marc doesn’t hear him.

He wants to try again, wants to touch Marc and feel the give of skin under his hand, but he bites his lip. Keeps his hands glued to his sides, fingers flexing with the need to reach out.

In the end, all Steven can do is look at Marc, and he can’t help but find himself wanting. There’s this soft blue light on the other man’s face, illuminating his side profile with a gentle sort of grace that makes him breathless for reasons he’d rather not get into at the moment.

He starts at the image. Blue? He turns to look, eyes going up. Some sort of sound leaves him and he puts a hand over his mouth.

Fish tanks line the wall, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. The smooth electric hum of the water filters reaches his ears. A colorful school of fish swims past, and he can’t help watching the metallic luster of their scales. Steven glances back at Marc, finds him leaning in close to the glass.

There’s dried blood in the creases of his face, hidden in the shadow of his hoodie, but he’s watching the fish swim with the awe of a child. He’s got his eye on one in particular.

Steven looks back at the tank, sees one of the fish struggling.

It’s only got one fin.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and bends over on his knees. No, no. He can’t do this. Not right now.

(Marc told him earlier, “This was the moment our lives started bleeding into each other.”)

(But Steven wants to ask, “Yeah, but how much of you bled into me, and how much of me bled into you?”)

He should leave. He should go and find the store exit, see if there’s some way to get out of this. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be here.

Marc’s tried so, so hard to hide himself from him. What right does he have, going through his memories like this? He’s already gone through them once, he shouldn’t go through them again.

But he doesn’t want to leave Marc alone.

This Marc, that Marc. It doesn’t matter.

Past, present, it’s still the same Marc, isn’t it?

And he’s been alone for so long, hasn’t he?

Steven grips the bottom of his shirt tight and pulls it, almost choking himself in the process, and swallows the bitter taste of guilt on the back of his tongue.

No, not anymore.

He takes a deep breath.

“… you, um, you come here often?” Steven starts. He covers his face with both hands and lets out a loud groan. “No, wait, that came out wrong.”

Shaking his head and rubbing his sweaty hands on his sleeves, Steven steps up next to him. Not so close but not so far. Out of curiosity, he taps on the tank with a finger. None of the fish respond, and Marc doesn’t turn to look at him.

Steven runs his hands through his hair and pulls on it tight.

What am I doing?

“… uh, thank you. For the goldfish. For Gus, I mean. He’s a good friend. A good listener, too,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t know how to continue, can’t stop wringing his hands together. “… but it’s not like he has a choice, I guess. Stuck with me, and all that.”

His body’s faced forward but his eyes are on Marc.

“Just like you.”

Marc’s looking ahead and Steven’s looking at him. Somehow, in a way, it feels like their roles have been reversed. It makes him choke out a laugh and he has to rub at his eyes with the back of a hand.

So this is what it feels like, huh?

Eventually, Marc calls for an employee, pointing at the goldfish and asking for it in a gruff voice. Steven pretends to be in on the conversation, nodding his head and inserting his own commentary every now and then.

The bell chimes when Marc goes to leave, and it’s a sound he’s getting used to. Steven goes to follow but pauses at the threshold of the door. He looks back at the fish tanks lining the far back wall, and the blue glow coming off of them, for a moment. He nods to himself, then steps into another store.

Steven doesn’t stumble this time. He rolls his shoulders back, a determined look on his face, and goes to find Marc. Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Sometimes, it’s a retail chain. Other times, it’s a corner store in some place Steven doesn’t recognize. One time, it’s even a small antique shop he used to see on his bus ride to work but never bothered going into.

He starts slowly but surely putting together the pieces of his life that Marc has given him.

(The magnets on his fridge, the books on his shelves, the postcards on his walls.)

Tiny, miniscule details he thought unimportant about himself, Marc knows by heart. 

Steven walks by his side and talks to him like they’re out shopping together. Comments on his choice in snacks, groans whenever he never buys a single vegetable, turns red in secondhand embarrassment when Marc starts arguing with the employee over prices.

And Steven thanks him. Thanks him a lot.

He says it so many times, he feels his throat become hoarse with it. Good practice for when he can say it to the real thing, at least.

It’s nice and almost domestic when he can manage to ignore the twist in his gut whenever he sees the remnants of dried blood on Marc’s skin, the bone deep exhaustion outlined in the man’s face.

Oh, he’s going to have a stern talking to one old pigeon bastard when this is all over. But for now, he’ll continue making up for lost time.

So who cares if this all already happened? 

He’s not leaving Marc alone.

Chapter Text

Steven presses his forehead against the door, can feel his breath fogging up the glass. He’s mentally drained, even though his body feels fine. It doesn’t make sense.

Well, to be honest, nothing has, ever since waking up in that sarcophagus, but he’s been through worse.

Shutting his eyes tight, he takes a deep breath.

He pushes at the door with numb hands and hears the chime of a bell above his head announcing his exit for what seems like the hundredth time. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just wants to rest for a little while.

Steven hears the bubble of a water filter.

Recognizing the sound, he looks up in shock. 

He’s back in the flat.

Books are stacked on top of the counter, almost on the verge of falling off. A cup of coffee is sitting on a coaster, smoke wafting off of it. Steven can smell its aroma from a distance, can even recognize the brand of oat milk used.

The circle of sand around his bed is untouched, pristine, but his bedsheets are rumpled like he had just woken up. The warm light from the open curtains tells him that it’s early morning.

He takes one step, and then another, into his flat. There’s no pop music playing in the background, no hum of the AC, no droning buzz coming from overhead fluorescent light fixtures.

It’s quiet. It’s unsettling.

Steven walks around his home like a stranger, feeling like there’s something off despite the near perfect resemblance.

He stops.

There. In the fish tank.

He walks over, giving a small distracted wave to Gus while leaning in close to the glass.

There’s another goldfish swimming around. Huh.

“Seems like you got yourself a little friend while I was gone, you rascal,” he murmurs, “and you don’t even pay rent.” He taps the glass and watches as both goldfish ignore him, weaving in between the small Egyptian-themed decorations sitting at the bottom.

He stares at the rather cute version of Taweret’s boat. It’s much, much more impressive in real life… or in the underworld, if he’s going to be particular about it. But then again, it’s not like…

Steven puts his hands on the tank and stares for a moment.

They… they were on a boat too, weren’t they?

The door to the flat bangs open and he turns around in alarm, but before he can do anything, someone careens into him and arms are wrapping around his shoulders.

“Steven!”

Marc throws them both to the ground and Steven’s dizzy and all of a sudden breathless, but that doesn’t stop him from hugging Marc back just as tight.

He can touch him.

Oh, my god. I can touch him. Finally.

He pulls Marc’s head under his and just rubs his face into the other man’s hair. They’re sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs and Steven’s so, so relieved and there’s a stinging behind his eyes that he’s trying hard to blink away.

“It’s felt like for- forever,” Steven hiccups, forcing the words out. He breathes in the other man, closes his eyes and just feels.

“What- Steven? Steven?” Marc tries to wiggle out of the hold he’s caught in but can’t, so he resigns himself to gripping and pulling at the other man’s shirt from behind. “It’s only been a couple of minutes, what are you talking about?”

Steven pulls back and looks at him in dawning realization. Of course. Of course time would work differently here. He wants to put his head in his hands and groan but he can’t help staring at Marc.

His Marc. Breathing hard and looking just as relieved as he is.

Steven wants to spend hours just taking him in.

“Are you good, man?” Marc’s asking him, looking concerned. “You keep looking at me like…”

“Like what?” Steven says, distracted. He keeps pressing his fingers into Marc’s shoulders, curling them tight and savoring the feel of having the other man close to him.

Not close enough, though. Never, not like this, but it’s good for now. After biting his lip and keeping his hands to himself for so long, he can’t help wanting to just touch.

Marc blinks at him for a moment but then has to look off to the side, uncomfortable with the attention.

“… nothing, never mind.” He coughs into a fist. “Uh, anyway,” he starts slowly, helping Steven up from the floor, “we need to get back to that hippo god thing, come on.”

Steven gawks at him. “Excuse you, her name is Taweret, the goddess of-” but then he cuts himself off, proceeds to grip Marc’s shoulders so hard that his knuckles turn white.

“What-” and Marc almost trips as he’s suddenly spun around in a circle. “What are you doing?” He pushes at Steven’s chest but there’s no give.

“You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“No? No, I’m not hurt?” Marc asks, looking at him weird. “I should be the one asking you that. You fell straight through the goddamn door!”

“Are you sure that you’re not, like, bleeding somewhere? You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?”

Marc pushes Steven’s hands away gently and raises his eyebrow in confusion. “No, no, why would I be hiding anything? And why would I be hurt in the first place?”

Steven doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him like he’s expecting there to be something on his face. Marc furrows his brow in frustration and almost steps back when Steven reaches out.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get wrinkles,” he’s mumbling, rubbing his thumbs across Marc’s forehead in a soothing motion. “Marc, I… I’m so glad I can finally touch you.”

Marc feels warm all of a sudden, almost leans into it but stops himself. He grabs Steven by the wrist and pulls it away from him.

“Steven, Steven, can you stop- please- what’s going on?”

But Steven doesn’t say anything, just keeps flicking his eyes across every inch of Marc’s face. He feels like he’s been put under a microscope, and has the distinct feeling that Steven knows more than he’s letting on.

Marc slides his hand down Steven’s wrist, opting to put their hands together instead. He tugs on Steven, suddenly nervous. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Steven opens his mouth but falters. He looks down and studies their joined hands. He doesn’t know how to start.

 “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Steven keeps silent so Marc sighs in frustration, tired and impatient. “God, for the love of… Steven, come on-”

“Because you were hurt all those other times!” Steven shouts at him, voice cracking at the end. “So let me be worried! Because you don’t bother taking care of yourself!”

Marc lets go and puts his hands up in the air.

“Woah, buddy, calm down,” he starts, trying to keep his voice level, but Steven can hear the slight tremor in it. “‘All those other times’? What do you mean?” 

Steven throws his arm out, gestures to the rest of the flat. “This! Everything! Everything you’ve given me!” He’s panting now, and it hurts to breathe but he can’t stop. “You were hurt but you still- you still went out of your way, when you didn’t-”

Steven stutters, can’t form sentences.

“Marc,” and he hopes that it’s enough, that the other man can hear and feel the appreciation and sheer emotion in just his name.

But Marc’s shrugging off Steven’s hands. “No, no, no, what are you talking about?” He looks hesitant and Steven wants to hold him but the other man’s backing up.

There must be something on his face because Marc’s shaking his head, starts laughing a bit hysterically to himself.

“I guess we already had one self-discovering journey about mom,” and Steven winces at the reminder but Marc can’t find it himself to stop, “so what’s- what’s one more, right?“

He gets quiet all of a sudden.

“How… how much did you see this time?”

Steven doesn’t know how to respond so he doesn’t. He just looks at Marc and hopes that his eyes can say enough for him.

Silence stretches across the flat. After a moment, Marc nods, as if coming to some sort of inner decision. Steven can see his expression closing off so easily like it’s second nature.

No, no, don’t do that, Marc.

Not again.

“You know what? Never mind. We’ve been here long enough. We should just go and find-”

Steven grabs Marc’s forearms and pulls the other man in close.

“You like Hot Cheetos an abnormal amount. Especially the Limon ones. But occasionally, you’ll go for jalapeño to switch things up.”

Marc opens and closes his mouth but nothing’s coming out. His eyebrows are almost touching his hairline and Steven would make fun of him if he wasn’t busy running his mouth off.

“You drink beer a lot, which you shouldn’t— think about your liver, you idiot— but only Bud Light, and I’m guessing it has something to do with you being an American.”

“Steven- what-”

He takes a deep breath.

“You like spicy things but you’ve also got a sweet tooth. You prefer those lil Hostess cupcakes, but Twinkies are a close second.”

Steven pokes Marc’s chest with a finger, almost pushes the other man back with the amount of force.

He takes another deep breath.

“Also, your sugar intake? Ridiculous. Think about the long-term effects on our body! Going out every couple nights because you got the zoomies and the old pigeon needs you to shank a big bad isn’t going to immediately cancel out the sheer amount of sugar you consume.”

Steven sees Marc going weak at the knees, catches the other man by the hands and goes down with him gently. Steven pulls him closer by the sleeves until they’re face to face and Marc can’t look away. 

“You know the most stupid, little details about me, like my taste in gum,” Steven laughs.

Marc’s voice sounds broken but he’s laughing, too, looking at Steven like he can’t believe the other man’s really there. He starts rubbing at his face, looks down at the floor for a moment before looking back up, eyes red-rimmed.

“You’ve got shit taste in gum.”

“Shut up, I’m doing a whole little speech here-”

“It’s not that little-”

“Marc,” Steven sighs, but he’s looking at him in fond exasperation and it gets Marc to shut up. “You know so much about me. And you’ve done so, so much more for me.”

He puts a hand on the back of Marc’s neck and bumps their foreheads together.

“Just… let me learn about you, okay?”

He can feel Marc shrinking in on himself so he pulls them closer together until they're breathing the same air. He won’t let the other man hide anymore.

“Please.”

He holds his breath.

Marc looks at him, really looks at him, then nods. It’s small and uncertain, but a nod nonetheless, and Steven feels all the air leave his lungs, can’t help beaming.

“Thank you, Marc.”

Marc nods again, his lips pursed. He looks awkward, like he doesn’t know how to respond to gratitude, so Steven plays with the hair on Marc’s nape for a little bit before yanking on it playfully.

“… on a related note, we should definitely discuss your eating habits,” he starts, and has to suppress a grin when Marc groans.

“No more hiding from me, and that goes for this, too,” Steven says, and can’t help chuckling when Marc just shoves his face into the space under his chin.

He can feel a hitch in Marc’s breathing but doesn’t comment on it, continues combing his fingers through Marc’s hair and just letting the moment last. Rubbing circles into the other man’s lower back, he looks around at the flat.

It feels good being able to know the history behind it.

The ceramic on the counter makes a soft clatter before the cup of coffee from earlier falls over, spilling across the counter. The ground starts shaking and there’s a rumbling coming from somewhere far off in the distance.

Steven pushes Marc’s face into the column of his neck and holds him protectively, covering the other man with his body.

It doesn’t last more than a minute, but it’s a sudden reminder that they can’t stay here much longer.

“Oh, shit, we still gotta save the world, don’t we?” Marc mumbles into his skin, and Steven’s about to respond but he hears the creak of wood and his head goes up in alarm.

They both turn in unison toward the entrance and stare in shock as Taweret gives a little wave with her hand, bending her head to get into the flat and gripping the side of the door frame for balance.

“Hello, boys! I was wondering where you both were!” she greets them, her voice sing-song and melodic. “I got a tad bit concerned when I couldn’t find either one of you. We’re short on time, you see.”

She pauses when she notices them on the floor, arms around each other and faces slack-jawed looking up at her. “Oh!” she exclaims, bringing her hands together and looking at them with glee.

She approaches them with slow steps, then crouches down. The golden beads in her braids make little clinking sounds as she moves and there’s a warmth radiating from her that makes them both feel more at ease despite the circumstances.

Taweret places a hand delicately on top of Marc’s head, and he turns in Steven’s hold to better look up at her.

“Marc, Steven,” she starts, glancing at them both in turn. She smiles and her ears flutter with the movement.

Something’s going to happen, Steven can tell, so he buries his face in Marc’s hair and squeezes him tight before nodding at her in the space between one breath and the next.

She points to the scales next to them on the floor as if they were there all along.

“It looks like your scales have balanced.”

Marc wakes up coughing in a pool of water.

Turning to the side and getting his hands under him, he thumps his chest until he can breathe right.

He should be dead. He should be dead but he’s not.

He looks down and traces his fingers over the bright red stain on his shirt, can’t help feeling like this is a dream and that he’s still back in the flat with Steven’s arms wrapped around him.

Steven.

He pushes off of the ground clumsily, weighed down by his wet clothes and the sudden chill. He hugs himself and starts looking around the empty tomb.

“Steven? Steven?” he calls out, and can hear his voice cracking at the end.

He takes a step forward but slips and falls back into the water, kicking up a splash. Cursing up a storm, he wipes his face with a hand and gets back up.

“Steven, bud? Where- where are you?” he tries again. His heart’s beating so loudly in his ears, he’s not sure if he can hear anything else.

What if something happened to him? What if he’s dead? 

Marc can feel his hands shaking and doesn’t know what to do.

“-here! Marc! I’m here!”

Marc blinks away the black on the edges of his vision. “Steven?” he chokes out. The relief that hits him is so immense, he starts swaying on his feet and has to put a hand on the wall. “Where ya at, bud?”

“Marc! Marc! I’m here!” Steven shouts again, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the water. Marc collapses back onto the ground, hovering his hands over the surface like he could touch.

“I’m still here,” Steven repeats, eyes going soft at the panic on Marc’s face. “I’m not going anywhere, mate. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Marc lets out a weak laugh and can’t help smiling from ear to ear. “Yeah, yeah.”

(It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.)

Steven coughs into his fist and feels the telltale signs of his cheeks going red. It’s warm and it’s tingly and he prays to every higher power out there— not Khonshu though, the bastard— that the ripples in the pool are distorting his image enough that Marc won’t notice.

“Hey, you alright, Steven?” Marc asks him, concerned.

“Yup, I’m aces, all good over here, nothing to worry about!” he rushes to respond, but Marc still looks unsure so Steven gives him two thumbs up (and tries to ignore how lame that probably just made him look).

Marc hesitantly nods at him but lets the topic go. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, feeling sensitive and way too vulnerable, but it’s okay. Steven’s here.

He presses a hand to his chest and feels his heart beating. Their heart. Despite the soaked clothes sticking to his skin and the cold nip in the air, he feels good.

Glancing around the tomb, Marc sighs and stretches his legs. “Guess we gotta go beat Harrow’s ass, huh?” 

Steven crosses his arms and nods up at him. “Yeah, time to go save everyone and all that.” He pauses and then slaps his forehead in realization. “Oh, god, I hope Layla’s safe!”

Marc makes a sound in agreement, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Knowing her, she’s probably trying to track the bastard down on her own.”

Steven can feel his blood pressure rising but Marc looks down at him from the corner of his eye. “… it’s Layla. She’ll be alright. I’m more scared for Harrow, if I’m being honest.”

Steven sighs, “You have a point there. Doesn’t mean I’m not worried about her, though.”

Marc nods, wringing the water out of his clothes. He stands up on feet steadier than they were before and stretches his fingers out. He can feel the familiar hum of energy sizzling over his skin.

He spreads his arms out and prepares to summon the suit.

“Oh, hey, wait, before you do your thing, you know what we should do after all of these world-saving shenanigans?”

Marc drops his arms, deciding to entertain Steven for a little bit. “Yeah? What?” He bends over and drags his fingers over the surface of the water, waiting.

“Buy another goldfish.”

“What?” He looks so offended, Steven wants to laugh at him. “No! Do you know how many times I’ve bought a damn goldfish for you? The employees there have it out for me.”

“That’s because you haggle them,” Steven quips.

Marc splutters, and this time, Steven doesn’t hold back his laughter. “Well, that’s because- look, man, fish food ain’t cheap and- and in this economy, you can’t expect… you’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

He swats at the water, annoyed, but there’s a smile on his face and it makes Steven feel warm.

“Why do you want another goldfish, anyway?”

“Well,” Steven says, and thinks of the two goldfish swimming together.

He thinks of them, and he thinks of him and Marc.

“I think Gus is feeling rather lonely, don’t you?”

And if Marc’s confused but oddly flattered at Steven tearing Khonshu a new one for his sake some time later, well.

Let’s just say he doesn’t quite mind the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.