RED FLAGS â PART 12
CO-WRITTEN WITHÂ @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)
Summary:Â You get more than you bargained for when you follow Marc out into the night. Or alternatively: đ” Fighting evil by moonlight. Winning love by daylight đ”
Content:Â Cthulu horror, violence, blood and gore, angst, yikes overall.
Word Count:Â 6.2k words
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Youâre not thinking straight.Â
Somehow youâre already at the end of the hallway, pushing the button for the lift and having a staring contest with the red floor indicator, and you donât even know if you managed to lock up behind you.
The lift is stuck at the ground floor, apparently unwilling to do the one bloody thing a lift is supposed to do and lift itself. You canât be bothered to wait. Before you even properly register making a decision, youâre already down the five flights of stairs, out the building's front door and onto the street, cheeks stinging from the bone-chilling cold.
Usually, the residual heat from the bustle of city life coupled with fumes from the busy traffic will keep London warm enough even in the dead of night. But now, as you make your way down the cramped street, itâs so cold that your breath is frosting in front of you.Â
Itâs eerily quiet for Central London. The only sound is the one made by your feet carelessly splashing through the puddles of rainwater filling the potholes in the cracked pavement, and it seems to echo off the tall concrete walls on either side of you.Â
You donât know what youâre doing.
It would be better, safer, Â smarter for you to go back upstairs where you could stay comfortably warm under the covers while you wait for Steven to return to you in the morning.Â
You know all of this, but you donât turn around. Donât even hesitate. One foot after the other, you stride determinedly down the narrowing passageway thatâs lined with pungent beer bottles and deep fried chicken bones, until you reach a fork in the street.Â
This is all so stupid.
You donât know which direction Marc wentâright or leftâdonât know what his intended destination is or if he even came this way at all. But you do know one thing. Â
Marc Spector loves you.Â
His quiet voice still echoes between your ears. âI love you tooâ, heâd said, and it was real.Â
You chance left into an even smaller alleyway. You donât know why, other than that the dark tapered alley seems like a more likely place for Marc to have slunk off to in the middle of the night.Â
There are no street lights here, and the walls on both sides seem to narrow in on you, until you feel like they're practically scraping against your shoulders. Somehow, even though youâve been more or less living in this area as of late, youâve not ever come across this path before.Â
A foetid smell lingers in the air, like someoneâs left rotten eggs out in the sun. Londonâs never exactly smelled good, but the sudden overwhelming odour stings your nostrils, invading your throat in a way that threatens to have you doubled over, dry-gagging.
The rain is coming in heavier now, but it does nothing to help with the smell. Just permeates every single layer of your clothing, until youâre soaked all the way down to your socks.Â
Youâre bloody freezing.Â
Something doesnât feel quite right, but you chalk it up to the fact that you've chosen to take a stroll down a dark alley in East London in the middle of the night by yourself. Not your brightest decision ever, but here you are.
A tingling at the back of your neck makes you throw a quick glance over your shoulder, checking to see if someoneâs watching you, but thereâs nothing there. All you see is the same depressing-looking alley that you just came down. Red-rusted brick walls above a concrete street covered in manky puddles and rubbish, just like every other dirty little alleyway in East London.Â
Somehow, this does nothing to reassure you.
The skin between your shoulders itches, prickling with uncomfortable heat despite the cold, and it feels like a warning sign.Â
Despite the fact that youâre wearing sturdy boots and covered from toes to chin, you still feel uncomfortably exposed. Like any minute now something might start nipping at your heels from behind. Itâs the same illogical fear you feel when youâre alone in bed at night with your feet sticking out from under the covers. Youâve left yourself defenceless and vulnerable to the monsters under the bed. Itâs only a matter of time before something from the darkness will reach out and grab you by the ankles, dragging you under.Â
You continue forwards, hurrying your pace with every step. Itâs irrational, but you canât shake off the feeling that if you donât, something will catch up to you. Â
Some sort of.... clicking starts up behind you, and you slow to a stop. Some lost survival instinct is screaming at you, telling you to freeze. To hide so it won't see you.
The unsettling noise continues, rattling oddly in your ears and growing ever more distorted as it echoes off the walls around you. Youâve never heard anything like it, and you wish you werenât hearing it now. Itâs⊠strange. Not quite right.Â
Other.
The noise stops, leaving just the sound of your breath rasping in and out of your too-tight chest. You force yourself to move; fighting the warning siren of your heart hammering painfully hard in your chest, you turn slowly to look over your shoulder at the alley behind you.
Thereâs nothing there. You're alone.
Slowly, slowly you turn the rest of the way, but there's still nothing. Aside from the usual smattering of rubbish, the only thing in the alleyway is the image of the moonlit sky mirrored on the rain-covered, empty pavement.
You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and force yourself to keep breathing, fighting the stubborn tightness of your chest to take in deep, calming breaths that turn visible as you exhale against the crisp air.
So you heard an odd sound. And what of it? Probably just someoneâs ancient radiator clicking up a storm. Thatâs all. Everything else is just your overactive imagination. Might even have been a bird. Someoneâs escaped parakeet doing a strange mating call perhaps. What do you know? London wildlife has always been unpredictable and strange, after all.Â
Youâve nearly managed to convince yourself, about to turn on your heel and continue on your way when you spot it. The gentle ripple pattern spreading out across the thin sheet of water covering the grey concrete. Not unusual in the least, given that itâs raining. Except itâs a large ripple. Too large to be from the rain.
Despite the freezing temperature, your spine prickles with cold sweat underneath your thick coat.Â
The noise starts up again. It warbles and clicks-clicks-clicks. You canât pin where itâs coming from. Itâs disorientating. It comes from the ground, rattles off the walls and lingers in the air above. Itâs everywhere.Â
Water splashes on the ground some feet away from you, a small spray going up in your peripheral vision, like something stepped on it. Something heavy. Something large.
But thereâs nothing there. And that maddening clicking noise wonât stop.Â
You canât see anything in the empty space over the water puddle in front of you. Nothing, not even the smattering droplets of the pouring rain. The water is eerily still which⊠canât be right.Â
You narrow your eyes at the puddle, dragging your gaze upwards, andâŠ
Thereâs a hole in the rain.
A void of some sort, defined only by the absence of the falling water. Following the empty space upwards, you can see a clearly defined boundary where the droplet starts again. Like the rain is bouncing off a transparent surface.
Thereâs something there. Something solid. Something big.
A huge eerie shape. As you squint at it, you begin to recognize that the water is outlining crouching limbs and a torso. Your brain keeps trying to pin down what it looks like, but itâs not the shape of any animal you know of. Thereâs something not right about its form. It's disproportionate; all overly sharp edges and grotesque bulging curves that make your skin crawl. The angles are wrong somehow in a way that makes your brain itch to look at them.
Itâs...Â
ItâsâŠ
Not of this world.Â
You hold your breath, standing motionless, feet rooted to the wet pavement as rain pelts your face so hard it stings.Â
Click. C-Click. CCCCClick.Â
The noise rattles closer. Louder now. It feels like itâs burrowing under your skin. Into your brain. But the warning sirens blaring inside your head are louder still. Deafening. Every instinct and nerve ending in you is screaming one thing.Â
RUN.Â
You turn and run, one leg leaping in front of the other. You run without looking behind you. Running even as you almost stumble, feet skidding against the slippery-wet concrete. Your lungs burn, but you donât stop. Donât dare look back. Eyes fixed on the dim, rain-fogged light at the end of the alley in front of you. You run.Â
Thereâs a loud crash behind you. A percussive thunderclap of sound that hurts your ears. The crunch and clatter of concrete being torn apart.Â
But you donât stop. Donât look behind you to investigate. You run.Â
You run, ignoring the bile pushing its way up your throat. Run, ignoring the shrieks of sound erupting behind you. Running from the sound of a wounded creature, like no animal that you have ever heard in your life. A hellish scream that doesnât sound of this world, tearing through the thin space. A pain that is born out of pierced flesh and broken bones. You run.
Stupid. Youâre so fucking stupid.Â
Why are you here? Why didnât you just stay in the safety of your home, tucked up in bed under the covers? The stinging wetness in your eyes blurs your vision as you tear down the alleyway. Does it open out into another street or dead end? You canât tell yet, but thereâs nothing else to do. You run.
You collide with something solid and firm.The impact knocks the wind out of your lungs, and a strong pressure surrounds you from every angle, grabbing hold of your shoulders and constricting around your ribs. You canât run.Â
You canât breathe. Thereâs something clamped over your mouth and nose. Coarse gauze pressed into your nostrils, suffocating you.Â
You make a desperate attempt to free yourself, arms trying to push out against the tight hold, hands clawing at whatever you can reach, but your pathetic attempts are no use. The grip only tightens at your resistance. Itâs too strong. You canât get free.Â
This is it. Thereâs nowhere left to go. Youâre trapped. Itâs over.Â
Still, you canât stop fighting, thrashing in every direction, trying to squirm yourself loose.
âStop! Stop!â
You recognize that grumpy, impatient voice. Youâd know it anywhere, even muted as it is by the blood thundering in your ears. You register that the solid weight holding you captive is a person.Â
Marc.Â
You go limp. Shoulders slumping into his hold. Legs no longer kicking as your feet settle onto the ground below.
âIâm gonna let go of you now. I need you to not fight me. Or scream.âÂ
You nod into his hand, and the pressure finally gives, as does his grip. Then youâre free.Â
Turning around, the sight that greets you nearly has you screaming and running after all because itâs not Marc at all. ItâsâŠ
A mummy.
Layers upon layers of white gauze are wrapped like bandages over every inch of the body before you. Wound around limbs and woven over a broad torso, continuing up to shroud the face.Â
And the eyesâŠ
Where the eyes should be, the eye sockets are hollowed out. The gorgeous brown you expected is absent, replaced by a white glow that blinds you when you try to look directly at it.
You wobble on your feet, a sick nausea filling your throat.Â
It spoke like Marc. Used his voice.Â
Oh god! Is this some monstrous creature that mimics human voices to lure in its prey?Â
Did it eat Marc!?Â
Is it going to eat you!?Â
The glowing eyes narrow into impatient triangular shapes, the shoulders pulling up and back while the feet shift in an almost nervous gesture. An odd sense of recognition fills you.
âM-Marc?âÂ
The eyes narrow further into a scolding glare. Even without a mouth, you can tell heâs scowling at you. The thing growls, but itâs a human sound. And a familiar one.Â
Marc, definitely Marc.
Only he could manage to scowl behind a hoodie, three layers of mummy bandages and a glowing Halloween mask.Â
As you watch, the hood and mask recede, evaporating into thin air. White bandages give way to golden-tanned skin, and youâre greeted by the face you know so well. Hard eyes staring down at you above steel-cut cheekbones and a jaw set with displeasure.Â
âMarc!â Thank god! Relief floods your chest, but itâs short-lived. That thing could still be out there. âWe need to go!â
âWhy are you here? You canât be here,â Marc grates out, resisting your attempts to pull him into motion. Heâs clearly furious, but right now the two of you have got more important things to worry about.                                                                                 Â
âWe need to go,â you repeat, pleading with him, hands grappling for his, trying to tug him in the direction you were running before, but he resists you effortlessly, like heâs anchored to the spot. You might as well be trying to tug a stone statue.
âMarc, please! Thereâs something out there! Like aâ aââ you fumble, unsure of what to name it, because you donât know what the hell that thing was.Â
An invisible monster? A demon? A boogeyman?Â
âI donât know what it was! Some kind of⊠creature. Something big,â Your voice breaks. Your fingers tremble where theyâre curled over his arm, and you grip harder. Digging them further into the bandages, trying to get them to stop. âYou have to believe me Marc!â
Heâs not going to believe you, is he? Heâs going to think youâve lost the plot and need to be sectioned. God, maybe you do.
But the vexation in his face fades as he watches you, his expression shifting into something softer, filled with worry. His hands reach for you, the bandages soft against your cheeks.Â
âHey. Hey, itâs okay.â He tips your chin up, eyes searching your face, and if he thinks you are mad or hysterical, there isnât a trace of it in his gaze. Thereâs no disbelief. âI know.âÂ
His calm acceptance stuns you.Â
âWhat do you mean you âknowâ?âÂ
âI know because IâŠ,ââhe hesitates, mouth set in a grim lineââI took care of it.â
âYou took care of⊠what? Marc, whatâ? What do you mean by that?âÂ
Marc falters at that, and runs one gloved hand over his hair. His eyes dart around like heâll find the answer hidden somewhere behind the overflowing rubbish or carved into the worn brick of the alley wall.Â
âIâŠ,â He hesitates again, glancing at you and then away, like he canât make himself hold your gaze. âThis is what I do,â he finally spits out. âI tried to keep this shit away from you. Itâs not something you were ever supposed to see. I need you safe.âÂ
The unhappy set of his mouth makes your aggravation falter, but you need to understand.
âWhat do you mean? Tried to keep what shit away from me?âÂ
âIââ He breaks off, eyes darting up and across the wall of the building across from you, high above your head. âShit. We need to go.â
Oh sure! Now he wants to leave. (Though itâs not like youâre going to argue.)
Marc grabs your arm again, and you do your best to keep up as he hauls you along down the alley.Â
You try to watch the alley walls and street as you run, searching for any sign of the grotesque invisible creature from before, but you canât make out anything in the pouring rain this time. You try to listen instead, but you canât hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
Marc stops suddenly, and you stumble to a halt as well, crashing into his back and nearly falling.Â
âMarââ
âQuiet,â he cuts you off with the low demand, and the quiet urgency of his voice has you freezing instantly. He stares at the mouth of the alleyway, then up where the moon is just barely visible in the gap between the buildings, eyes wide and alert, face rigid with something like fear. It makes your own fear balloon, your pulse screeching in your ears.
Suddenly thereâs a scraping sound, and small bits of brick fall from above, skittering down from the wall on your left. You peer at the shadowy face of the building, but thereâs nothing to be seen.
Another grinding sound, closer this time. Something large and heavy rubbing against brick. Another shower of gravel and debris, but you still canât see where the bloody thing is.
Dread curls in the lining of your stomach.
Then it starts again, that otherworldly clicking that seems to burrow right into your skull. You cover your ears reflexively. Would claw them right off if only it would make the noise stop.Â
Marc reaches for you then. Moving slowly and deliberately, he wraps an arm around you, scooping you close against his chest and taking you with him as he backs away.Â
You huddle against him, staring up at his determined profile. His eyes are trained on a spot on the building across from you, clearly seeing what you canât.Â
Without looking away, he leans in closer to you and whispers, âGet ready to run.âÂ
Heâs barely finished speaking when the wall crumbles above you, and Marcâs arms untangle from you, leaving your side.Â
You think you catch the sight of something moving in the rain, a slight distortion visible as the shape crosses in front of the moon, then youâre shoved to the side, voice echoing in your ears.
âRun!â
You werenât ready.Â
Shoes skidding backwards in the slippery rain, you lose your footing, and go down. You land hard on your bum, and canât seem to get up again.
Everything is happening too fast.Â
Your chest hurts. Breath stuttering in your lungs, too quick and shallow to let you take in any oxygen. Your heartbeat is pounding so rapidly against your ribs that youâre sure itâs going to rip a hole straight through your chest to the open air.
Itâs too bright.
The light from the moon above seems to flood the alleyway, and your eyes throb.
Too loud.Â
A solid thud reverberates through the air mere feet away from you. Itâs the sound of knuckles meeting flesh. A blood curdling shriek rips through the space.Â
Too much.Â
Marc's forearm is held up, parallel to the wall, like heâs pinning something that isnât there. Something large and thrashing. Your eyes are fixed on the bizarre scene before you. You donât understand what youâre seeing. Donât understand how the man who folds your clothes in neat squares and makes you lukewarm tea is the same man as the one who stands before you now. Poised and calm in the violence. Holding his own against an otherworldly monster, and winning.Â
None of this feels real. Â
His fist slams forward, landing some distance away from the brick. Punching into the invisible air. But thereâs a horrifying squelching sound with each landing punch that lets you know something is there that youâre not seeing.Â
You watch, so focused on Marc and the damage heâs meting out that you almost donât notice when a damp gust of air grazes against the fine hairs on the back of your neck and sends the soft skin underneath prickling. You fail to take it as the warning sign it is.Â
Fuck. Thereâs another one!
You donât have time to react. No time for anything. Just the sound of glass crunching against asphalt, and something slamming into your back, so forcefully that the impact threatens to crush your ribs.Â
You land face first this time, cheek kissing the concrete with a painful sting. Thereâs a heavy weight on your back, and mud in your mouth. Or maybe blood. Everything tastes like pennies.Â
Marc shouts your name. His voice is raw, panicked. So full of fear it's almost unrecognisable.
You want to go to him.
Anchoring your elbows on the gravelly ground, you try to push up against the heavy weight pinning you to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts. Your shins are stinging. Cheek too and your forearm where your sleeve must have ripped. Your ribs are one big throbbing blotch of burning pain. But you manage to lift your head up in time to see Marc leaping towards you.
He seems to be suspended in time, one hand pulled back, the other outstretched in mid-air as he reaches for you. Droplets of rain sparkle where theyâre caught in his hair, and others seem to trickle leisurely down his forehead above his brown eyes that are wide in blind panic.Â
You feel it before you see it.Â
His fingers curl around your wrist, the solid weight of his hand clamping tight around your forearm. Time speeds up again at the touch. You hadnât realised sound had gone missing too until it returns with a deafening fury.Â
The suspended rain smatters down all around you. Marcâs other hand impacts the creature pinning you down with a sickening squelch, and a grotesque shriek tears through the space behind you, tapering off into a rheumy deathrattle.Â
Marcâs face fills your vision, the terror in his expression just starting to shift into relief when some small distortion, barely seen out of the corner of your eye, breaks into your line of sight, and heâs ripped away from you again by some invisible force.
You donât understand what youâre seeing. Thereâs some disconnect between whatâs happening in front of you and your brainâs ability to process it.Â
You know that canât possibly be Marc hurtling through the air, white cape billowing behind him like a white flag of surrender. Surely thereâs no need to worry because of course you arenât seeing his body impact the side of the building with a horrifyingly meaty thud that reverberates in your bones, and then tumble to the ground in a shower of broken masonry
You stare at the pile of white fabric and brick pieces there on the ground for a moment, and your heart pounds so forcefully that you feel lightheaded.
Itâs a horrible nightmare made reality, and your brain wants to fight it. To pretend itâs not happening. Tell you that itâs not Marcâs lifeless body lying facedown on the ground in front of you.
But⊠it is.
You can feel the bitter acrid taste of the truth carving itself into your throat.Â
You scramble up, ignoring your bloody knees and the searing pain in your side, not stopping until youâre hunched over Marcâs body. Heâs terrifyingly still. You grip his shoulder, tugging hard until youâve managed to turn him onto his back, all the while begging to any deity or higher power who might be listening to please let him be all right; let him be awake; let him still be alive.Â
Please.Â
He has to be.Â
Cupping his cheeks in your palms, you have to swallow the raw sob in your throat at how cold his skin feels against yours.Â
A pulse. You need to check for a pulse.Â
You shove two fingers against the column of his throat up under his jaw, trying to find the right place, but the stupid bandages are too bloody thick. You canât feel anything through them. You tug at them, trying to rip them free or wedge your fingertips underneath to get at bare skin, but theyâre hard as steel. You donât stop though, clawing at them now because youâve got toâÂ
A heavy, thudding footfall lands on the ground a short distance away, and you jerk your head up.
The creature is there in the alley, right in front of youâŠÂ
All you can see is the malformed outline, silhouetted by the cascading rain refracting in the moonlight. It turns slowly towards you, feet grinding against the pavement.
Absolute terror swamps you. Every cell in your body is screaming. You need to escape!
RUN!Â
You scramble to get ahold of Marc, barely managing to wedge yourself underneath him until you can wrap both your arms around his chest from behind and heave, straining to drag his uncooperative body away from danger. You donât get very far. Â
Marc is heavier than he looks, and your feet scrape and skid against the wet concrete as you desperately try to drag both of you backwards. You barely manage to budge him at all, gaining at most a few inches before the creature begins clicking again.
You can see the outline more clearly now. If you squint you can just make out mangled tentacles protruding from where its head must be and writhing grotesquely in a way that your eyes refuse to focus on. Your breath seizes in your chest and you have to look away, your body wracked with shivers.
You watch it come out of the corner of your eye, thick limbs advancing on you one torturously slow step at a time. You donât understand why youâre still alive. The creature certainly seemed capable of ferocious speeds when it had attacked Marc before. You get the feeling itâs mocking you. A giant supernatural cat playing with its prey before it eats, and youâre the hapless dinner.Â
The thought sickens you.
You tighten your grip on Marc, wrapping your arms around him with renewed determination. Clutching him as close as you can in a futile attempt to protect him from this thing. Unwilling to let it have him.Â
Thereâs more loud clicking, closer still, scraping against your brain like nails on a chalkboard and making your spine curl.Â
Youâre out of time. Out of options. Your brain furiously scans through a lifetime of collected memories and information for any shred of useful knowledge. Anything to help get you out of this, but thereâs⊠nothing. No secret escape route. No Hail Mary play.Â
 Itâs hopeless.Â
You wish it hadnât come to this. That you could somehow save Marc and Steven and yourself. That you had more time.Â
You wish you had taken the time to eat the breakfast Stevenâs made for you with him yesterday morning. That you could have had the chance to taste Marcâs pancakes again. That you had kissed Steven more often (should have done it every opportunity you had), gotten to see that sunshine smile of his light up the room one last time. That you couldâve told Marc you love him in person.Â
But thatâs the thing isnât it?Â
You donât have all the time in the world. You never did. Everything has an end.Â
You hug Marc closer to your chest. Youâre just glad you got to face your end here with him, together.
Searing pain rips into your ankle as cold claws sink into your flesh. The breath youâve been holding all this time is knocked out of you. Any small shred of peaceful resignation youâd been able to muster in the face of certain death is ripped away, and you react without thinking.
Your foot flies out in a swift kick. The heel of your boot connects with something soft and pulpy that yields with a sickening squelch.Â
Thereâs an angry clicking shriek. It rattles your eardrums painfully and vibrates through your chest, like standing too close to a speaker at a club. The monster takes a step back, but the taloned grip around your heel doesnât ease, dragging you with it.Â
You kick again. Firm sponginess that makes you think of decomposing flesh. Unnaturally soft for something still moving. You think you might vomit.Â
The thing screeches but doesnât loosen its grip. Asphalt and shards of glass dig into your back as it drags you along. You try to cling to Marc, but you canât. You might as well be a flea for all the hope you have of challenging its strength.Â
You twist around onto your front. All you see is mute greyness of the alley. The increasing distance between you and Marc as the thing drags you along. You try to claw at the ground but thereâs nothing to hold onto. Your watch, somehow miraculously still on your wrist after everything, pops free now, and you watch it disappearing from your sight, growing smaller and smaller as youâre dragged away, and somehow thatâs the final staw. You squeeze your eyes shut on a ragged sob, draw in a half breath to scream, andâŠ
Everything stops.Â
Itâs dark behind your closed eyelids. Your throat is raw, burning. Are you still screaming? You must be, but you canât hear anything anymore. Thereâs no more clicking. The rain seems to have stopped. You canât feel it falling onto your skin or the asphalt scraping against your torn clothes.
Are you⊠dead?Â
If you are, why do your knees hurt so much?Â
You crack your eyes open to find yourself staring up at the pitch-black sky lit by a perfectly circular moon.Â
Something white flutters in the periphery of your vision. A white⊠flag? No, itâs a long flowing white cape that hovers over your body.Â
Marc!Â
Or⊠is it?Â
Somethingâs different.Â
Tracing the cape upwards, it takes your frazzled brain a second to register whatâs changed. This mummy is missing bodyparts! Or⊠no. His costume is just a different colour. Solid black ink runs up his legs instead of the white bandages that were there before, masking his outline against the black sky above..Â
Is this someone else?
You crane your neck towards where you last saw Marcâs body lying on the pavement, but heâs not there any longer.
This must him, then.Â
âŠIsnât it?
Heâs standing hunched over empty air, a vicious brutality emanating from his entire body that wasnât there before as he delivers repeated bone-shattering punches toâŠ. nothing. His fists sink into the space that you know isnât really empty. You can hear the impacts now, even if you still canât see the creature. The dull wet thud of knuckles connecting with flesh over and over and over again, with almost mechanical precision.
With each blow the same hellish scream you heard earlier rings in the air, but itâs growing weaker, soggier each time until finally it fades all together. And the stomach twisting crunch of bones breaking grows ever louder as his fists sink deeper and deeper into the invisible mass.Â
Then, finally, silence falls.
Squinting your eyes openâwhen did you close them?âthe first thing you see is his silhouette standing some feet away from you. Right where you last saw him, but heâs standing upright now, towering over you and whatâs left of the creature, a now semi translucent mass that glints wetly.
Thereâs an unsettling calmness to him as he takes a step back, head tilted to the side as his eyes narrow, observing the thing with disdain. One leg lifts, rising above the ground, poised like an executionerâs axe⊠and then falls.
The creature isn't making any sounds anymore, not even a whimper when that foot comes down, delivering an earth-shattering stomp that shakes the ground beneath you.Â
There is only a stomach-churning, pulp-crunching sound, of something moist-yet-solid being torn through. You clamp your eyes shut, stomach roiling, trying not to think about what is there that you canât see. Instead you imagine heâs stepping on a bag of rotten fruit. Repeatedly.
You donât dare to open your eyes again until everything goes quiet.Â
But the horror of the moment isnât quite over yet. He stands still in the same spot, unmoving. His shoulders squared but loose as he stares at the place the creature had been with a disdainful sneer on his features, eyes flat and blank. He eyes it like heâs inspecting a squashed cockroach stuck to the bottom of his shoe.Â
The hairs on the back of your neck are still standing on end. Your body is screaming out to you that the danger hasnât passed. Something even more dangerous is standing before you. The scene plays out like some twisted nature documentary where a rabid bear was just ripped apart by a monstrous wolf.Â
Marc tips his head to stare up at the night sky. Something changes. The whole of his body seizes, shoulders pulled taut, head thrown back like heâs being yanked up by invisible puppet strings.Â
The linen covering his body slithers down his limbs like receding snakes. Every inch of the primordial gauze disintegrates into dust and smoke, giving way to the much more familiar tight jeans, form-fitting t-shirt, and loose jacket.Â
As if finally satiated, whatever force had its hooks in him relinquishes control, and he slumps forward, feet still firmly grounded to the asphalt, and opens his eyes.Â
And then Marc is back. You thinkâŠÂ
Marc seems disoriented at first, breathing erratically. His body language is a stark contrast to the one he held mere moments ago, as though the calm callousness has disintegrated with the mummified gauze. Now heâs hunched over, tense, and appears confused, eyes darting around the alleyway until they land on you, still flat on your ass on the concrete ground.
His eyes stay on you as he covers the distance between you in three great strides, his footfalls skidding along the rain-slick concrete before he falls to his knees beside you. You turn your head, trying to look behind you to observe all the damage, but Marc cups your face in his hand before you can see anything.Â
âHey. Hey, you look at me,â he says, voice rough but hands gentle as he smooths your hair back from your face. His eyes search your face frantically for a long moment. It must eventually penetrate that youâre all right because the panic in his eyes finally melts into relief, and seems to spread to the rest of him. The harsh line between his brows relaxes slightly, and he lets out a long breath, the tight line of his shoulders softening.Â
Then heâs cupping the back of your head in one hand, and hauling you into his chest, and holding you there, pressed tight against him. It makes it hard to breathe, your face mashed up against his firm chest, nose and mouth partially buried in his shirt and jacket, but you only want to press closer, have him hold you tighter, for as long as he possibly can, even if it chokes the breath out of you.
âItâs okay,â he says after a long moment, âYouâre okay. Youâre alright. Iâve got you.â
Youâre not sure if heâs trying to reassure you or himself.Â
His voice is gentle and comforting as he rests a firm hand on the small of your back and keeps it there. His eyes are soft now, no longer cold and blank, even if they do look sad.Â
âYouâre safe,â he tells you. Â
Itâs not until he says it that it finally sinks in. The rigid muscles in you melt. Your heightened survival instincts dim, your body finally willing to accept that the danger has passed.Â
His grip around you loosens, and the palm of his hand roams over the top of your shoulder, fingers resting on the pulse of your neck, before ghosting under the place that stings and smarts on your cheek. Thereâs a tremor to his touch, but heâs still meticulous as his hands run gently down your arms, across your back, stomach, and ribs, inspecting you for injuries, and cataloguing the location and gravity of each.  Â
A long time passes before Marc is satisfied and finished with his examination. Then he lets you go and leans back, shimmying off his jacketâthe very one youâd been haunted by when he lent it to you once beforeâand settles it around your shoulders. Residual heat from his body still lingers in the fabric, instantly warming you and making you aware of just how cold you were before.
You stare up at him, through the rain as the pale moonlight shimmers off the droplets of water caught in his hair. The familiarity of it makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest. Once again the two of you find yourselves in the middle of the rain with Marcâs jacket wrapped around you. Itâs a deja-vu you wish you can relive a thousand times over.Â
âCâmon,â Marc says, holding out a hand and helping you to your feet, âLetâs get you home.âÂ
~ Continue ~
Dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss because I am just very happy I have a friend like her in my life and that I get to share this story together with her.
a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs đ€Ąđđ€Ą
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