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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year

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Nothing and Everything - Part 5

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, Mentions of hospitalization, PTSD.

Word Count: 5016

Part five: What do you do when the protector tells you to run? What if running isn't the answer? Sometimes logic disappears when all you see is pain.

Previous Chapter HERE

You were really mean.

“Shut up.”

Go back and apologize.

“Shut up, Steven. You don’t even know what was going on.”

He seemed so nice. Who was that?

“Go away. It was no one.”

He looked familiar. Do I know him? Is he a friend? Marc knows him, right?

“Mind your own business and shut up.”

It seemed like it should be my business. What did he want? It felt like he was trying to help.

Jake kept walking. Maybe if he ignored Steven, he’d get the message and go away.

Where are we going?

He focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. They had left the more familiar area of the touristy part of London and were quickly moving to the more industrious areas.

Are you mad at Layla? She’s tried calling twice and texted. You shouldn’t ignore her. You know she gets worried.

As if on cue the phone buzzed again and Jake didn’t even glance at it. He was mad at her. Mad that she didn’t trust him. That she would think that he wouldn’t be able to stop Marc if he even thought about hurting them. Mad that she thought Steven was hurting and he couldn’t do anything about it. Mad that she thought he was a danger to them.

Jake pulled out his phone and switched it off.

Jake, it looks like it might start raining. Can we go home? Layla is going to be upset.

Jake started to run. If he could just focus harder he could block out that nagging little voice named Steven.

The voice grew quiet and Jake at last found himself blocked off and alone. It was just the way he liked it. No one to tell him what he was supposed to do or accuse him of being a problem.

Jake kept going. It was what he did. He got them out of trouble. He moved them to safety. No matter the threat, he was there to get them out.

He didn’t want to see familiar faces or deal with problems that weren’t his. He didn’t want to think about Marc Spector or Steven Grant.

All he wanted was to do what he did best and fade into the background. Jake Lockley was no one.

And if he was no one, then he didn’t have any problems that needed solving.

–

Her mantra of “I’m sure he’s fine” had at one point turned into “I’m going to kill him” and eventually devolved into “He’s gone”.

After her conversation with Jean-Paul on the phone, she had tried to call them all day. When her calls started going straight to voicemail she settled for texts. The first two had been marked as seen but since then, they all sat there unread.

It was just like last time. Him leaving one day, walking out and kissing her goodbye and disappearing.

Steven wouldn’t do this to her. Steven would never let them run off like this.

Layla clung to the hope that was Steven.

So who was running? Marc once more trying to quit his life? Jake, who must have been so angry at her? Someone else who woke up and decided to go have their own life?

Fears that she had thought irrational in the beginning started to fester as the sun went down and the rains picked up.

What if Marc really did decide to leave her? What if Jake hated her so much that he convinced them all to leave? What if Steven was mad at her? What if there really was another in there that she didn’t know about? Would she find them months later in another city living under another name?

She wanted to cry but her fear and anxiety clenched down on her too tightly to even let the relief of tears flow.

She messaged Jean-Paul again pleading with him to find them.

It took him a few minutes to respond this time. “Let them walk it off. They won’t go far. If they are not back by tomorrow I will find them.”

She threw her phone at the couch and screamed. Frustration, anguish, fear, and anger. She wasn’t done. She was so angry. She was angry at herself. She was angry at Jean-Paul. She was angry at THEM.

Angry at Marc for keeping so much from her and taking away her decision to be involved in this life. Angry at Steven for being so wonderful that she had no choice but to love him. Angry at Jake for doing so much and not letting her be the one to help.

She was angry at herself for not asking more questions. For not demanding to know what made Marc wake up screaming. For not needing to know what made Jake fight so violently. For not asking Steven why he cried at night.

She screamed again and sank down. She had suffered loss too. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they understand that she carried her own pain? Pain that was so often ignored because she was doing so much to try to make them happy.

How many times did she tiptoe around memories of her father because she was afraid of Marc’s guilt? She wanted to honor him and instead she swept his life and memories away. She wanted to cry for him and instead she smiled and pretended his life hadn't mattered.

She looked around the apartment. She saw books and decorations and piles and piles of things that were not hers. Things that Steven refused to move. Things that Steven clung to out of fear of being erased. Where were her things?

Stashed into a drawer in the dresser. Pushed aside in the closet. Marc’s things barely made a dent. A drawer full of random items and a storage locker full of dangerous things that he clung to. The only one with less presence in here was Jake, who kept his life hidden away in his car.

It hit her then as she tried to find the life of the four people that occupied this space. The whole system was unbalanced.

They were all broken, her included.

It didn’t stop there. Tears fell as she went to pick up the phone and she dialed Jean-Paul again.

He picked up on the second ring. Always there, always waiting. Clinging to a friend that ignored him, hoping all these years for something…

“You love him, don’t you?” She wiped the tears from her cheek. She was met by silence. “It’s okay. I love him too. It’s never been easy to love him.”

“It’s even harder not to.” Jean-Paul whispered.

The rain outside started to fall harder and thunder gently rolled across the city.

“Please, come spend the night. I don’t want to be alone.” She looked out the window wondering where they were.

“Of course.” Jean-Paul sighed softly and she could hear the sadness there. “They will come back, chérie.”

“I know… But things have to change. I can’t keep doing this.” She sighed and brushed her hair back. “What if they don’t?”

“I’ll be there soon.” He hung up.

The unanswered question hung heavily in the air. The other, unasked question sat in the back of her throat heavily.

What if they do?

–

Keep going.

They walked across the desert, feeling the weight of death dragging them down as they bled out into the sand.

Keep going.

They walked across the stone and earth, feeling the water rise and fill their lungs.

Keep going.

They walked across the slick tile floor that smelled of chemical cleaners and medicine, feeling the drugs pull them down as their legs turned to rubber under them.

Keep going.

They walked through the halls of their school, tired and in pain from bruises hidden by their clothes. They hunched inward protectively as things flew at them, launched by yelling and jeering classmates.

Keep going.

They walked through the museum, exhausted and confused as the haze of missing memories clung to them. Sadness sinking deep into them as their fellow co-workers whispered and stared with such unkindness.

Keep going.

A shaking hand reached out to lift the lid of the sarcophagus, feeling how heavy and impossible to move it must be. Twin fists pounded on the wood. They could hear the pounding down the hall from one another. One cried and screamed, the other remained silent. Always silent. Only one of them would be rescued.

Keep going.

Shock kept the pain away. Cold and squeezing down on them as the second bullet tore into their heart. They could feel the emptiness as blood drained from their vital functions, tearing into their lungs till it suffocated them. They would drown after all.

Marc woke up screaming.

The panic surged through him as he flailed, clawing at everything around him in an attempt to get up and flee. Fingers dug into mug and grit and he felt the smear of water against his face.

It was dark and he could hear the rumble of approaching death. He scrambled to his feet, took three steps then fell off a curb into a stream of dirty water rushing for a nearby gutter.

He lay there for a moment, gasping and trembling. Slowly, the confusion faded and he found himself looking up at the dark night sky. The stars were far away and faded, washed out by the street lights around him and the falling rain.

Marc slowly sat up and took in the state of himself.

He was soaked to the bone, cold, and covered in mud. He felt for the essentials. His wallet was at least in his pocket, but his phone appeared to be missing. He had his keys, but there was no sign of their car nearby.

His palms were scraped up from his recent fall and he had a cut on his elbow that didn’t exactly look fresh but it didn’t look older than a few hours.

He was alive and in one piece. He could work with this. Next step: Where the hell was he?

He slowly got out of the gutter and back onto his feet. “Steven?” He tried, though he doubted very much that Steven had anything to do with this. No answer. With any luck, Steven was resting. Marc had a feeling that if Steven saw their state he’d be more than a little upset.

Marc took a slow breath then moved to the next logical conclusion. “Jake?”

Run. Keep running.

It was more of a feeling than anything. Communication with Jake was difficult for Marc. It came in bursts of images, feelings, and abstract thoughts.

Marc took a moment and looked around. The street was empty except for a passing car every now and then. There were rows of closed up shops and buildings. It all looked a little grim and dirty and Marc suspected they were in a rough part of town.

A bar down the street had a flickering neon sign that buzzed loudly, the only place that offered warmth and safety.

“Wonderful.” Marc took a step towards the bar, knowing it would be a mixed pressing and a curse. He could ask where he was and maybe even figure out why they were there…. And then he could continue to drown.

Jake fought back. Their legs stalled and Marc stumbled as he turned around and started to walk back towards the street.

“Fuck… Jake… Jake stop it!” Marc punched a leg and winced at the pain. “Fine. We’ll just stay out here and catch pneumonia. What the fuck happened?”

They stood still and a flurry of emotions washed over him. Anger, betrayal, and fear.

He saw glimpses of things he associated with Layla and some things he didn’t understand.

“We’re running from Layla?” Marc wiped the mud from his face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

A memory surfaced, quick and violent as it showed him white and bright halls and a chair with straps on it.

Sweat beaded across Marc’s forehead and his heart started to beat faster. “Oh.”

The hospital. The one thing Jake would run from no matter what. Run.

Marc tried to make sense of it. Run from Layla. Run from the hospital. Had Layla tried to have them committed?

It was unrealistic. She would never do such a thing to them. To him. Yet, here Jake was, running.

Marc tried to look at it logically. It wasn’t like it was all those years ago. It wasn’t his parents putting him in a car and driving him there. Wasn’t his parents signing the papers and then leaving him without a word. There were no orderlies there to drag him away and lock him up. No one to drug him and keep him from fighting.

He was a lucid and sensible adult. He was three adults if he was honest with himself. He knew that he could only be held for so long on a committal against his will. He’d looked it up. He knew his rights as a mental patient.

It made him wince that he’d have to look these things up, but the fear never really left him.

Even being committed against his will, they had to have probable cause. Intention to cause harm against himself or others.

Jake didn’t seem the sort and neither did Steven. As far as he was aware, he’d been trying to sleep through any funny ideas that snuck their way into his brain when he wasn’t looking.

He frowned more as the second option came to mind. Self committal.

Jake would never go willingly. He’d burn down the hospital before he set foot in there again.

Marc couldn’t recall signing any forms.

“Steven?” He called out, willing to risk the reserved English man’s wrath to sort this out.

The world blacked out and Marc found himself on a different street, stumbling forward with a determined stride.

Run.

Marc groaned and stopped them, looking around. He recognized less and less. Were they even still in London? The sky was a little lighter. How long had they been walking?

He eyed someone that walked by, bundled up and carrying a large bag.

“Hey.” He mumbled. “What area are we in? What’s the borough?”

The man paused and looked at him suspiciously at first then took in the scraped up appearance and mud. Another traveler of the night.

“Hackney.” The man clutched his bag tighter.

“Cheers.” Marc sighed. “Thanks mate.”

The man nodded then carried on.

Steven was suddenly very awake. Did that man just say we were in Hackney? Hackney?!

The utter shock and disgust was almost palpable.

“Settle down, Steven.” Marc grumbled. “I’m just trying to work out what’s going on. We’re perfectly safe and you know it.”

Safe in Hackney! Steven reached for the front and took it long enough to look down at himself then look around. He was utterly appalled.

Marc took the front back and tried to settle Steven down. “Jake says there was trouble and we had to get away. Do you know what it’s about? Did… Did someone try to put us in the hospital?” He knew better than to accuse Steven outright.

Steven was quiet for a moment as the wheels turned then suddenly Marc felt a mental door slam and his anxiety climbed. He didn’t know what was going on but his nerves were suddenly shot.

All he knew was that it wasn’t Steven that had tried to lock them up, but Steven knew something. Something that Jake had tried to relay to him. There was suddenly a scramble inside and everything blacked out.

Marc came to facing a different direction, walking quickly in a blind direction with the urgency of a man trying to find a familiar location.

“Not in bloody Hackney.” The words slipped out in disgust. “Can’t believe you took us to Hackney. Thought you were the smart one.”

Marc shook his head and tried to push back Steven. “Get us out of here. I want to go home.” Steven continued to prattle on. “Don’t you let him have the body back. I’m going to have words with him once we get home.”

Marc shook his head again and looked around. He had no mental map of this part of London. He’d been all over many of the boroughs, but it was hard to figure things out when it was so dark out, raining, and the landscape kept changing.

As if on cue, he was suddenly running down a different street. “Fuck you. I’m not going back. We have to get out.”

“Stop!” Marc clenched his eyes shut and tried to hold his ground. He was tired and sore and the rain wouldn’t stop coming down.

He didn’t want to be a part of this anymore but he couldn’t stop slipping in. He also couldn’t just leave Jake and Steven fighting for their safety. Steven, who desired comfort and familiarity and Jake who demanded freedom and security.

He gritted his teeth and found a payphone, his fingers fumbling with the controls as Jake tried to fight him.

He pushed in the proper currency and dialed. The phone rang three times before he heard a scramble and thunk before a rushed and breathless “Hello?”.

“Layla!” Steven pushed forward and stumbled across Marc. Jake tried to hang up and suddenly it was like a blank slate slid down over them.

“Steven?” Layla’s desperate voice called over the phone and they blinked slowly, suddenly feeling sluggish and confused.

“I don’t know where I am.” They managed to get out, feeling detached and so far away. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Marc? Are you alright?” Layla sounded afraid. “Are you safe?”

“I’m cold.” They looked down at the body, wondering if it was even theirs. It had to be. It moved when they moved. A hand came up and they stared at the cuts on the palm. “Hackney? I think… Someone is saying Hackney? There’s a… There’s a sign. Someone doesn’t want to say it. A bus stop. Twenty six?”

He could hear someone else in the background talking to Layla.

“Okay. I’ll find you. Don’t move okay? Can you do that? Can you stay there?” She sounded rushed.

They looked up at the sky for a moment, watching the water come down. “I don’t know. Someone wants to go. I don’t know where we’re going. I… I don’t know. I feel weird. I don’t like it.”

“Please. Please stay there. Can you stay on the line? Keep talking to me, okay? If the line cuts off, you have to call me back.” She was out of breath, running maybe?

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking.” They were being pulled in so many different directions. It hurt to try to focus. It was exhausting.

“Baby, please? You don’t have to talk about anything in particular. Just… Just hold the phone. Don’t hang up. We can sit in silence.” She was scared.

“I don’t like the silence.” Someone was also scared.

“Okay. It’s okay. Hey, I heard the cubs won a division the other day.” She was fishing. Trying to ground them? To pull one of them out, maybe?

It hurt and they shook their head, desperately trying to clear things. “Stop.” They looked up at the enclosed phone booth. They were floating here in this sarcophagus.

“We need to go.”

“No! Don’t hang up! Just stay here!”

“I gotta go.” They hung up and opened the door, slowly stepping out as the world under them failed to feel real.

The rain was fake. The sensation of their body feeling cold and in pain wasn’t real. It wasn’t their body. This wasn’t who they were.

Who were they? Who was in control? Was it the man that wanted to run, the man that wanted to stay, or the man that didn’t want anything?

They sat down on the curb and stared up at the sky as cars went by and more and more people started to move around them.

Time was unreal as the sun rose and the rain stopped. The light stretched on forever and steam came off their drenched clothes.

“Marc!” A voice floated around them and time jerked forward awkwardly.

“The body hurts.” He mumbled and held up his hands, showing the cuts.

Someone was pulling them up and wrapping something warm around their shoulders. They were pulled towards a car and time jerked, skipping fractions of seconds.

Someone was resisting the motion and someone else was desperate to get in. They turned away from the car and started to walk away. They only made it a few steps before they stopped and stared down at their hands again.

They blurred again and looked at the woman before them with blank confusion. “Please don’t…” He felt so small. So far away. “Don’t hurt us.”

“Oh, Baby… Baby no…” She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, rocking and stroking his back gently. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

They nodded and slowly got into the car, curling up in the seat and closing their eyes as the woman got in next to them and pulled their head into her lap, gently stroking their hair.

Marc felt himself shift and he reached out, desperately reaching for something solid to cling to. They couldn’t do this. They hated this. They hated this sensation. They didn’t know who they were and they didn’t know why they weren’t. This… This body that belonged to no one and everyone.

For the first time in his life, Marc struggled to be real. To ground and fight back.

“I don’t know who I am.” He gasped and clung to Layla.

“Shhh…” She soothed as she stroked his hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe here with me. I love you. I love you so much…” She had tears running down her cheeks and her fingers trembled as they worked through his curls.

Marc nodded and swallowed, feeling Steven start to relax but Jake still fighting. Multiple times they sat up and reached for the door, visions of them jumping out and running filled their thoughts. Each time, Layla gently pulled them back and continued to whisper soothing words to them as Marc jerked back into control and clung to her.

Time was hard to place. The car carried on forever. There was an awkward skip as someone lifted them from the car and carried them. Strong hands and arms that cradled them like a baby. Marc stared up at the face that he felt he should know. The mustache that curled and eyes that carried deep pain and sadness…

“Frenchie.” Marc wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and rested his head there, breathing in the past. He could still smell the faint traces of places they had once been. The wind and the heat at their backs. The campfires and spices of places they slept in. He breathed deeply, lost in memories and a different time.

The whole body jerked when hot water rushed over their body. He knew it was only lukewarm, but it seared them as it ate through the cold numb layer that he built up over night.

He watched old blood, grime, and mud swirl down the drain until the water ran clear.

Stepping out, they dried off with a soft towel that felt too soft and unreal.

Getting dressed was an automatic motion. Their eyes settled on a window and there was a crash as they climbed the sink and pushed the window open, intending to slide out and crawl up onto the roof.

Marc fought Jake as he still screamed about running. He was furious. Their yelling brought in Layla an Jean-Paul who took hold of their ankles and pulled them back inside, crashing them all down onto the floor.

Marc lay back and stared up at the ceiling. He started to cry. “I don’t want to do this… It’s so hard. So hard to fight. Why does it have to be me? Why do I have to stay?”

He laughed a little at the absurdity of it all. “Just give him the fucking car. Let him go. Let him run away. It’s all we do, right? We run away. Just give him the fucking car and let us go…”

“I can’t do that.” Layla clung to him. “It won’t help anything. He’s supposed to keep you safe, but how is this safe? Look at you all? Look what it did to your body? Look what it’s doing to you! Steven doesn’t want to go! How is this protecting you when it’s hurting you?”

Marc lay there and closed his eyes. He felt Jake shift and slam his fists into the floor. He heard someone yelling inside and then felt so very tired. They were so tired.

Steven sat up and wordlessly got up and walked them to the bed. He crawled across it till he could slip into the blankets and curl up into a tight ball. “I hate you.” He mumbled and clung to the sheets as if it might keep them still. “I hate you.”

The body had had enough and they fell asleep at last.

–

“Sometimes I wonder who this man was supposed to be before the trauma.” Jean-Paul was still laying on the floor, his hands over his face as he decompressed from everything.

Layla sat next to him, staring at the lump in the bed across the room. “I can’t think about that.” She sighed. “The trauma gave me the man that I love. It gave me all three of them, for better or worse… And I feel like a horrible person for being thankful for the pain he had to go through to become these people.”

The night was almost over and they had gotten no sleep. She didn’t think she would sleep after everything.

She couldn’t stop hearing the small scared voice on the phone, pleading for help. Most of all, she couldn’t stop seeing the lost look on his face. She had never seen them get so lost before. So mixed up that they didn’t know who they were.

She closed her eyes and the intrusive thought whispered Do you really want to keep doing this?

“Do you want some coffee?” She got up and went to the kitchen.

“Please.” He stayed on the floor. “If he tries to run again, I will be here.”

Layla turned from the coffee pot and started to make her own special brew that Marc joked would have been useful in the army. They would need the energy.

“Do you think he hates me?” She brought him the coffee and they moved to the table.

“No.” Jean-Paul sipped the coffee. He made a face and looked at the cup then nodded and took another sip. “Marc could never hate you. There is too much love in him, though he would never admit it.”

“I meant Jake.” Layla sank down in her chair and stared at her own mug. It had a cheesy picture of one of the pyramids. She was pretty sure Steven had bought it in the Cairo airport.

Jean-Paul let out a long hum as he thought it over. “No…” He at last relented. “Dealing with Jake is like trying to hold water in your hand.”

“Refreshing on a hot day?” Layla peeked up at him.

Jean-Paul smiled. “So refreshing. It will also slip through your fingers if you don’t do it right.”

“I’ve never seen him like that before.” She sipped the coffee and leaned forward to rest her chin on the table.

“Jake is a hell of a fighter, but he also knew when to run. Marc never knew when to retreat. He’d fight till the end. Jake has had to get them to safety so many times in their lives. Away from situations and away from threats, real or not.”

“I set off his flight response.” She mumbled. “He was trying to get away from me.”

“I’m the one that botched it.” Jean-Paul sat back in his chair and set the coffee down. “His worst fear was presented to him and he could see no other response than to run. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he needed to get them out. Fear is not always practical, you know.”

She nodded awkwardly, chin still on the table. “I’m sorry I put you in that position. I should have just done it myself.”

He snorted. “Please. It was good to know I am better off retired than still in the field. It was also good to see him again and know that I still care very much for them… And if I can help them in any way, I will always be there to try.”

“Thank you, Jean-Paul.” She slowly sat up and pulled her hair back. “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

“Only if I’m cooking.” He pushed the coffee aside.

She smiled. “I am sorry I don’t match up to your fancy European taste.”

“I think my taste is exquisite. Why else would I have such wonderful and interesting friends?” He glanced back at the sleeping lump in the bed.

“Hm. Interesting is right.” She got up and plopped a pillow and blanket on the couch. “Get some rest. I need to lay down for a little bit. I think it’s not going to get any easier in the morning.”

He nodded and moved to make himself comfortable on the couch, picking out one of Steven’s books of french poetry to relax into.

Layla slowly sank down into the bed next to the sleeping lump under the blankets. She was more ginger this time as she curled up next to it. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, but not close enough to disturb him. Was this a distance she could learn to respect?

An arm snaked out from under the blankets and wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.

Maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe it was time for her to start pushing for her own comfort too.

Part Six Here

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Marc Spector #Layla El Faouly #Frenchie #Jean-Paul Duchamp #This one goes hard #Ever gotten lost because you didn't want to go back?#Sometimes it's hard to admit you don't know where you're going

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