come_sailaway | [Closed] When I get lost, dear, I'm not alone

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[Closed] When I get lost, dear, I'm not alone

Who: Marc Spector and Steven Grant
What: Catching up.
When: Post-camping.
Where: Their cabin.
Warnings: Potentials for general poor mental health, unnatural codependency, and some slightly uncomfortable affections? Will update/clarify if needed.

After a shower washing off the remnants of that whole camping experience, plus maybe a drink or so before he ever even came back to their cabin, Marc is finally feeling a little more like himself. A little less certain that there's a killer waiting around the corner for them. No monsters under the bed, surely. It'll just be whatever personal demons that might have him jarring awake or moving restlessly in his sleep. But that's-- just life.

He brushes back his hair, slips into a pair of underwear and then...

He takes a moment to make sure Ammit is nicely tucked away in the drawer. He's still paranoid over that. They're sitting on an actual god for all he knows... and while that means she's not a threat back home, he has no idea if it means she is here or not. But the ushabti is still in there, undisturbed as usual. Good.

After that, he's crawling into bed and unceremoniously sprawling himself out on his stomach next to Steven. One arm pillows his head to keep it angled up to look him, the other slides around his middle loosely. "C'mon, man. put the books away. Getting late."

... It's probably not okay, just how much more at ease he feels with Steven back at his side, in his room. It's not the same as hiding behind him, letting him front in the body, but... it's still a comfort in a very real way. Something he missed at camp, no matter how often they met up or hung out or whatever. It feels like he can breathe again, now that Steven is back near him, back where he can hope to keep an eye on him and keep him safe.

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Steven couldn't wait to get back, honestly. Something about their cabin feels like it's their space. Almost like they're back in the same body, in Marc's head, just being close to each other, talking, hugging - it's nicer and safer than being out there. He only took a brief detour because he was told he had a package waiting for him, but after picking it up he went straight to the room, so he got changed and washed up first and was well into the 'just one more chapter, Marc' bargaining phase by the time Marc joined him in bed.

Truth be told he was having a little trouble focusing, so he didn't actually get much farther than the last chapter he promised he'd stop at. Once Marc is there trying to pull him away from his book, he knows there's no point trying to continue, so he sets it aside back on top of the neat stack with a sigh and reaches for the box on his bedside table before settling down in bed and putting the package down on his stomach. He'd half a mind not to give it to Marc, just because it's a bad reminder of that other Egyptian god. But he can't keep something like that away from Marc forever. He never was the one with all the secrets.

"This 'arrived' while we were gone. I know it has my name on the box, but. It's yours." Easy to ~~think he's not real and not care whether to address it to Steven or Marc~~ mix them up, he knows. "Be careful, it's sharp," he murmurs. He has no idea how they got the ~~murder croissant~~ crescent blade on board or what it means.

"What?" He wrinkles his nose and, reluctantly, sits back up from his comfortable sprawl to take the box. He opens it up and looks inside--

To the crescent blades? He finds himself frowning as he reaches in to let his fingers brush over it, as if testing to see if it's real. Feels like it. Feels old and familiar and-- he's not sure how else to feel. On one hand, it's something he can use to protect if it comes down to it ~~or kill if he's forced to~~, on the other hand, there are a mile of bad memories attached to this thing. "What the hell?"

There's maybe a too paranoid look around their room, as if he half expects Khonshu's voice to pop up in his head to deride him or the 'worm' or... something. Even if he knows that's not happening. Khonshu is locked away and there's no additional power attached to the weapon.

"Huh." What else is there to say? It feels like someone trying to dick with them or something. Shifting, he puts the box off to the side, within easy reach.

"... Guess now's as good a time as any to say I spoke with the Captain. Briefly. Weird guy."

Really weird guy. "Kinda regret not having that now."

"I don't think he's here," Steven whispers, but he glances over the other side towards the curtains and little balcony just in case. Maybe he is and only Marc can see him now. Steven wouldn't know how this works. He'd been visibly upset when he opened the box but now he's just. Invisibly upset. He had hoped they had left all that behind. The blades are beautiful, but they belong in a museum, framed up behind bulletproof glass, to be admired for their workmanship and the inscriptions and just how old they must be, how much history they have. They're not supposed to be used.

"You met the captain?" Steven starts to prop himself up on his elbows. "What happened? Did you get in trouble? Why did you need those?"

"He's not," Marc confirms quietly. He'd have made his very noisy appearance by now, berated them for something, demanded to see Ammit. Something. He lets out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. He's not-- sure what he's feeling, really, those things being here. The reminder.

"Yeah, before we came back here." He shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing-- happened. He's a weirdo. Insane, maybe... and trust me, I'd know a thing or two about that."

Considering, you know, he is insane. "Not sure I'd prefer him over Khonshu or not. At least with Khonshu, we knew what we were getting."

Steven lowers himself back onto the bed again, fidgeting and creasing the hem of his shirt. That's unsettling. He didn't know what he was thinking of when people talked about the captain but he was imagining someone more charismatic, put together, knew what he was doing, and just. Kind maybe. Sympathetic. Taking them somewhere and promising it'll be nice when their journey is over even if it's a lie. He wasn't expecting 'insane weirdo'.

"Why do we always get stuck with those..." Steven grumbles, lamenting how those simple days with Donna at the museum are behind him.

"Oi. Don't say that. Khonshu is just as deplorable." Honestly Marc. You're going to stress him out even more behind on the outside where Steven has to work extra hard to wean him off that parasitic vulture.

The thought that the captain might have given them the blades to taunt to torment them didn't really cross his mind up until now, since Steven had just assumed he wouldn't be an arsehole. Now that he's thinking about it, his eyebrows furrow, and he turns his head towards Marc.

"Should we get rid of the blades?" They're-- clearly also upsetting for Marc. And out of sight, out of mind is how they both deal with things.

Maybe Marc's wrong. Maybe the guy's just never had to deal with people directly and he doesn't know how. Maybe he wasn't just using them as moving, living toys to do away with eventually. He doesn't want to get his hopes up that there's something just.. not awful waiting for them.

"I don't know. Our luck, I guess." They draw in assholes, maybe. People who want to exploit others.

"Yeah, well, we knew what to expect, didn't we? He didn't pull out surprises." He said kill, they did it. It was... easier. Simpler. But he huffs out a sigh and shifts back down on the bed, folds his arms over his stomach loosely.

"What?" He shakes his head at the question. "No. We might need'em. Better to keep them with us, I think."

He'll deal with it, just like he's dealt with so much else he's done because he knows it's the thing he should do

"Leave me out of it... I didn't agree with anything he was or what he wanted." Steven sulks a bit. He's always hated that Marc's turned him into a killer and got him involved in all this. The best he can hope for is to get Marc to leave all that behind, for good, but he's not sure he has that kind of sway on Marc when he's so prone to just. Spiraling. Making them both feel helpless.

"Maybe he plucked them out of wherever he could have possibly found them without Khonshu and gave them to us to make us upset," Steven points out. If Marc isn't unsettled at least, Steven definitely is.

He nods at that, deflating. Yeah-- yeah. He knows that. He can argue that Steven was never supposed to know about it, but that won't make things any better. It'll probably make them worse and Marc didn't want to... fight. Not really. At least not about that.

"I'm not upset." That's a lie, but... whatever. "Anyway, if he wanted to upset us, he could-- he could've chosen something worse, right? Not given us a weapon. I can think of at least a dozen other things I wouldn't have wanted in this room."

At least they've got a proper weapon now. "Don't worry about it. I'll find some place safe for them. Out of your sight."

That doesn't mean they're not there, Steven wants to point out. But he doesn't want to argue either. He just breathes out a long sigh and turns back to look up at the ceiling. They'll probably end up in the Ammit drawer, along with whatever else they don't want to deal with.

He could have at least given him his poles. Steven would have felt better with poles.

"He's probably watching us right now, having a bit of a wank," Steven muses, wrinkling his nose as he rolls over onto his stomach closer to Marc, elbows tucked under him in a Steven loaf so he's stopped fidgeting with his shirt.

"Don't hurt him, alright? Promise me. I don't want anything happening to you."

They'll be there in case they need them, that's all. It's a good idea, whether Steven is comfortable with it or not. Maybe-- they'll get Steven some means of defense too. It'd be a good idea.

Ugh, what a mental image though. He wrinkles his nose in kind, shaking his head.

"Well, we're not giving himself much to wank over, are we?" He huffs out a sigh and shifts back to his side to face Steven properly, settling an arm back around him loosely again.

"I'm not gonna hurt him unless I'm sure I can win, alright?" He can't promise not at all. He can't just let this jackass toy and use people. But he's not dumb enough to think he'll win if he attacks him on uneven ground.

"Promise me you'll be careful. You ever need me, I'm there. I don't care what's going on."

"That's-- not what I asked..." But you know what? Fine. He'd rather Marc be honest than promise him this and then go and off himself tomorrow in a fiery blaze of impulsive stupidity.

"Yeah. Yeah alright. I know you are." He'll always have Marc even if he can't just ask Marc to take over or anything. Settling down lying flat on his stomach and chest, he keeps his head turned towards Marc and lowers his gaze, curling his hand into the sheets.

"You know I-- always need you," he points out quietly, managing a small smile. He doesn't want Marc to think he's only wanted in times of duress or whatever, like some kind of crutch that's not needed in 'normal times'.

He wants to insist that Steven probably doesn't need him as much as he thinks. He didn't even know Marc existed until a little bit ago after all -- and before that? Marc was just a nuisance. But maybe part of him wants to be needed. He doesn't want to just be-- a parasite.

Maybe he just doesn't want Mom to be right about him after all.

He smiles a little in return, his fingers idly plucking at Steven's shirt. "Well-- I'm here for that too, buddy."

He huffs out a sigh, seemingly contenting himself with toying with Steven's shirt. "I'm trying, you know. I just don't know what better looks like."

He's never been-- healthy. He's never been happy. Even with Layla, there was a cloud that hung firmly over him. If they hadn't been working together on top of all the play and marriage and all that? They'd never have lasted as long as they did, he thinks. Hell, it was a relationship built on lies anyway. "It's even harder when I just-- have to be here all the time. I've got to exist constantly. But I'm not gonna leave you alone."

Just because he didn't know Marc was there this whole time doesn't mean that Marc hasn't always been trying to help his life go smoothly. Put food in his fridge when he wasn't looking. Kept bad people away from him. Tucked him in at night after a long day at work and made sure all the bills were paid for. He probably wasn't even living in mum's flat - she wouldn't have wanted him to have anything. Maybe it's Marc's. Who knows?

"Let's just be ourselves," Steven suggests softly, reaching over to slide his hand up Marc's cheek, brushing at the hair behind his temple lightly with his thumb.

"If you don't want to be here, maybe you can just-- give me a sign?" Steven swallows. Should he be encouraging Marc to just take his hands off the wheel and disengage? It doesn't seem like a good idea. And yet. How can he make this space as safe for Marc as it is for him? He owes Marc that much, even though it's not his fault that they're split up like this.

"Like... if you pull the couch out and just stay there. I'll know. And I'll take care of you." He'll bring Marc food, and water, and anything else he wants, and look after him until he's ready. He won't even pester Marc to talk to him, tell him what's wrong, or anything like that. He'll just be-- the looker-afterer that Marc made him to be.

There's the slightest tilt at the touch, into those fingers, eyes closing momentarily. There's another part of him that wants to scoot in, bury his face against Steven and shut everything out for a while, try for some sleep. He doesn't though. Steven would obviously let him, he'd get it.

But-- "How is that any way for you to live?"

Taking care of Marc because he's too worn out to exist? That's more of a burden than he wants to be. Or should be. He huffs out a sigh and does let himself press in closer, enough to press his forehead to Steven's shoulder. "You know-- when I was in the infirmary, some guy caught me. I was just-- looking for some sleep pills. Maybe something a little stronger."

Because Steven didn't want him drinking and Marc-- needed something else. Sometimes. "Gave me grief about it, a little. Then tried to get me to go see some doctor here because apparently he'd helped him with-- some of the brain stuff. Not sure how I feel about-- someone knowing that. About me. Or suggesting that."

But the guy seemed to have a similar issue. Marc can admit he probably hadn't meant ill. Just Marc isn't gonna live the rest of his life pilled up for anyone, even if it wouldn't hurt Steven as they are now.

"Ava knows too, though. More details than the guy in the infirmary. She was persistent... she also wanted me to tell you she's sorry. She's just-- not used to people being nice." He's not sure if that'll make anything better between them, but he'd promised he'd pass on the comment all the same. Maybe it'll distract from any panic.

"It'll be just like old times! We'll just be in here instead of in your head. And I'd want to look after you Marc. I'll be-- quiet, and comforting. Promise. And-- and you can look after me too, yeah?" Steven rolls over to his side just a little bit so he can slide his hand into Marc's hair and hold his head close, pet him gently. Of course it's upsetting to hear that Marc is self-medicating but that's how this Steven Grant mess started to begin with, innit?

"At least he did, so I don't have to," Steven chides quietly. It's not a secret that Marc could keep forever, although Steven is well aware that anyone would rather talk about things on their own terms than be confronted about their unhealthy habits and feel forced to excuse it with something.

"You're free to confide in anyone you like. I haven't told anyone. It-- didn't seem fair on you. But... do you want to talk to the doctor? I'd support you, either way." Yes, of course Steven is anxious about what that would mean for himself. He's not going to let that get in the way of what Marc wants to do though. Ultimately he wants Marc to feel better, whatever that might mean for himself. He'll worry about it later, anyway.

"Yeah? She's alright, really. It was my fault," Steven reiterates, turning his head a little so they can nuzzle each other while still thumbing through Marc's damp hair. "I wish I could just make friends, like that. But it's hard work. Sometimes I feel like you're the only one who understands me." And he's not going to let anyone take Marc away, if he can help it.

"Of course I'll look after you." Whatever Steven needs, he'll do it. And right now, Steven isn't discouraging him from squirming in closer, pressing his face in against him. This feels-- so much better already. He'd missed sleeping next to Steven properly.

"I don't take shit all the time, but-- you know. Sometimes you just gotta sleep, man." And not have nightmares or sit and stare at the ceiling, hoping your mind calms down enough to even let you drift off. He can do without -- not like when he was in the military, he got to do shit like this. But you know, dying is a little more stressful, nearly letting someone unleash a god that was gonna kill even kids, being separated from Steven... sometimes he needs the edge taken off the anxiety, the dark thoughts.

"No, I don't want to talk to a doctor. I'd rather-- work on it myself." Alone. He might need the help, but the idea of that-- getting out there, it sets him on edge. He knows what people would think. How they'd treat him.

"I won't go sharing it around either, not to just anyone. It's not any more fair to you." He doesn't want anyone giving Steven those looks either, treating him any-- different.

"It wasn't your fault." He tightens his arm around Steven, pulling him in a bit closer. The nuzzling, the closeness. It's not-- normal. He should probably discourage it, but all he can do is press in closer, welcome it.

"Well, I have been in your head forever, buddy. I know you inside and out..." There's a soft laugh as he nudges his forehead against Steven's.

"Look, just relax, alright? It'll happen. You're too-- you for it to not."

He can't sleep or eat or drink or sleep for Marc anymore, unfortunately. He could sit with him, pet him, feed and water him, shave him, but it's not really the same. And he knows it's hard. He's been having a hard time himself. But he's not sure popping pills or drinking himself to oblivion is the answer. And they can't both be doing that, anyway.

"Okay. We won't talk to anyone then." Marc has to want it in his own time. Steven doesn't want to push him, or drive him to acting out and hurting himself again. It was so distressing to see him like that, even if it might be helping him in the long run.

His hand drifts from Marc's hair to his lower back as Marc pulls him in so close that a sneeze would make them inadvertently kiss, and he gives Marc a few slow reassuring lower back rubs. Tipping his head up, breaking forehead contact, Steven kisses Marc on the forehead while his hand stays splayed over his lower back.

"Think you could sleep tonight without any help?" Marc's-- really warm, actually. And Steven's presence likely isn't helping. But he's hoping that if he needs something to get some sleep, it won't be anything more than turning the AC down a couple degrees and, if required, a bedtime story.

"... You can. I'm not-- gonna stop you." It's Steven's life, and he wants that to be clear. But he's not putting himself back in that position again. He's not revisiting all that shit again. It's not gonna help.

Maybe he should be discouraging stuff like this too. It's gonna be hard for Steven to strike out on his own if they're-- cuddling in bed, if Steven is kissing him... even if they're just chaste little pecks on the forehead. He doesn't though. He shifts enough to hook a leg in between Steven's with a soft laugh.

"Oh, I'm not moving," he promises. "And neither are you from the looks of it."

... Mostly because Marc's pretty sure he's made that one pretty impossible. There's a bit of a smile as he tilts his head back, meets his eyes.

"I think I can manage some sleep finally. Didn't get much while we were camping... I'm beat."

"It's your life, Marc. I can't. I won't." It's not for him to say anything and-- well he's happy to talk about what he's been doing with his bits of life. The museum. Gus. London. But not anything about their much more distant past.

"Yeah. I didn't much enjoy it, in the end. Not if the alternative is this." He wouldn't have minded camping if that was all he had available. There are much worse alternatives. But there wasn't much alone time to cozy up with Marc, check in on him, eat together and try new things together. The bathroom situation wasn't that ideal either.

Most of all he was just worried for a lot of the trip. Everyone was adamant there was going to be a bloodbath and the unhealthy levels of codependency between them got to be too much to bear that Steven couldn't stand to be alone for too long. Now he's got his books there and he's got his Marc here and maybe he can sleep a little easier too.

"Get some sleep, alright? We can talk more in the morning."

"Mm..." There's the barest hint of a smile. "Careful, buddy. You trying to get me to swoon with all that sweet talk?"

But it was-- a lot. Being separated still felt wrong in ways Marc wasn't good at articulating -- not that he was all that great at articulating anything at all really. Not unless he was cornered into it. At least this-- eases it somewhat. Being alone, tucked away.

Maybe he can actually get some decent sleep tonight.

"Yeah... yeah, okay. Good night, Steven."

"Only you would swoon over me..." Steven ducks his head and smiles a bit before reaching down for some blankets to pull up and over Marc's tummy, keeping their legs warm. They won't be able to sleep in such a ridiculous configuration all tangled up in each other but they'll eventually settle on a good compromise, with Marc's head tucked in against his chest and an arm still wrapped around Steven holding him close.

Thankfully they're too tired for any midnight whimperings about mum or any excited exclamations of each other's names. Or worse - any kind of exclamation over Layla. Marc will just find Steven latched onto his hip like a barnacle, hand frozen mid-soothing motion of his thumb stroking Marc's waist.

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[Closed] When I get lost, dear, I'm not alone

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