[ He's been trying to keep that wall up, because some stubborn part of him wants, so badly to prove something. He's not sure if it's to himself or Marc anymore.
The world comes in pulses, little glimpses of sensation. Cold being the overwhelming one. The world shudders and gasps or maybe that's Steven, letting his guard down at the voice and the world around them is frozen. He still doesn't talk, but he does type, afraid of being heard, ]
[His voice is a little more insistent this time. The flickering of reality doesn't make him feel any better about Steven being in control right now, but he won't force himself forward unless Steven relents.]
Not making me feel any better. But I trust you. Try the key and if it doesn't work we'll find another way in. We're cold.
[ His teeth dig into his lower lip to keep himself from responding, the resounding ache that follows tells him that the throbbing behind his eyes isn't entirely internal. ]
What's the worst that can happen, I've got you with me, yeah? Are you sure we wanna go inside? Won't they be there? I see why they took our shoes. [ It hurts. ]
[ The desire to go inside only lessens at the mention that they might be dead, the hesitance is obvious but it's followed soon enough by compliance. Round to the back, the door isn't locked and he doesn't think the tiny key would work anyway.
The smell keeps him from going inside. Something's wrong. ]
Smells like bad meat and worse fruit. Something's really gone off.
[ It's quiet though, and that tempts him. Cracking the door a little more he remains low to the floor, inching inside if only to get out of the snow, to get out of the throb. He's not sure if he's in pain or numb anymore below the knees. ]
Lady luck on our side for once? [ He hopes, prays, but there's this nagging... something on the tip of his tongue. Something ugly.
Inside the floorboard gives a creek, shaking off the snow, but the place is cold. Dead. But clean, no dust, no remnants. He leaves the door open. The smell is worse. ]
Little bit arrogant, yeah? [ It's a tease, but it barely manages to cover how nervous he feels. How his fingers shake trying to text. It's cold and as his body starts to warm it hurts worse than the chill did. ] Looks like a fight. You might be r [ -- the message dies, he can see a glimpse of red against the tile down the hall, a clump of hair in the kitchen doorway. His chest feels like collapsing. ]
[His worst fears are coming to life and the fact that Steven is the one discovering this only makes him feel sicker, like he can't handle it himself. Marc presses a little more, his voice stern:]
Steven, let me take over now. Please.
[He doesn't need to see this. He doesn't need to deal with any of this.]
I can handle this. I've dealt with this kind of thing before, you shouldn't see this.
It's- It's- [ He stumbles verbally, like he's trying to find the right words, one hand pressing hard into his own chest, clutching there as the other hangs idly, like he wants to grab onto something but doesn't know what. ]
You think we did this? [ His voice suddenly feels so small, so raw.
He can feel that pressure, the throb that makes those small steps closer stop, squeezing his eyes closed, fighting even if he doesn't entirely know why. ]
[Marc's voice is surprisingly gentle despite being so firm, pushing forward until he feels Steven finally relent and allow Marc to take over the body. The feeling is always a little disorienting at first but that incredible stench wakes him right up, along with the bitter cold, their feet absolutely frozen. He shudders and rubs his hands along their arms, looking around cautiously.]
Maybe not you or me, but someone else... [His voice trembles some upon admitting that. There's an ache in his right hand as if he'd punched someone not too long ago either. Marc grabs the phone Steven found to turn on the light, using it to navigate the small house.
Yeah, that's definitely a dead body in the kitchen. He pulls their shirt up to his nose. Even Marc can barely stand the smell, yet he crouches by the body to check pockets for any identification.]
[ It's a feeling of uselessness, coated with a thick layer of numbness. Darkness and nothingness that comes with being trapped inside. It's nowhere near as bad as it used to be now that they cofronted more often, but that doesn't mean he doesn't squirm uncomfortably under Marc's skin. A distant sort of sensation, writhing with stress. ] Right. The stabby fellow. [ Not the best descriptor, but noth times they had established it to not be either of them it had been the one, even if Steven had been unsure at first, he had no reason to doubt Marc now. ]
Not my phone either. [ He adds helpfully, as if it isn't painfully obvious the sleek black thing isn't his old phone with it's clumsy hieroglyphic case.
There's a flinch, something sharp and sudden and maybe he looked too long or thought abotu it too much, but the voice in his head is quieter. ] A few days? How-- how much time have we lost? [ There's no way for either of them to know, but he asks anyway, feels that familiar sense of madness creeping in at the edges. ]
Who-- I have no idea who these people are. [ The pockets have little to offer, a key or two here or there, keys that could belong to anything, cuffs soaked in red on the floor, already nearly dried and glued to the tile. Steven's breathing is loud. ] We shouldn't-- we need-- we ha-- we have to go, right? Marc? We have to go Marc, we have to-- there are a lot of people in here.
[Steven's voice is ringing with anxiety in his head and it isn't helping Marc to calm down any. He tries to steady his own breathing to lower his heartrate but hearing Steven so panicked only adds to his own anxiety, that feeling of helplessness seeping through him, along with the fierce need to protect them both from this mess they've stumbled into.]
Shhh, shh. We're gonna go. First need to find some shoes and keys, alright? I've got us.
[He's whispering quietly just for Steven while keeping his ears perked for any noise in the rest of the house. He has a feeling no one here is still alive. Vaguely, he has a familiar sense of being watched, which has everything to do with the moon peeking in from a window nearby.
He grabs a knife from the kitchen just in case, sneaking through the rest of the dark building. He finds another body in the living room, similarly useless to them, and when he heads upstairs the wood creaks beneath his feet.]
Someone has keys. Makes no sense to abandon that car like that.
Alright. Alright. [ His voice wavers slightly, swallowing even though he doesn't have a need for it. Some of that anxious pressure easing off, voice softening as if he was suddenly worried he could be heard. ] I trust you. [ Maybe he doesn't need the affirmation, it sounds more like Steven is muttering to himself anyway. ]
Keys, right. Little one wouldn't do any good. [ It's half for himself, half for Marc. His breath is soft little panting puffs but quieter than before. There's tension there, but he's keeping it wrapped around himself, clutched tight in his chest, like he realizes it threatens to overflow. IT's strange to feel so much and nothing at all. ]
Careful. [ No doubt he is, but Steven doesn't know how to shut up when he's stressed-- or in general really-- and in the reflection of paintings mounted on the wall he's grinding his teeth against his lip, no doubt to the point of scraping flesh off if he was still in the body. His eyes seem caught between Marc and the stairs above.
The top floor seems worse and yet better; it's clear they'd been staying here for a bit. Some rooms had clothing, ritualistic items, blood, candles, and most of them held bodies of some sort. Folded over the edges of dressers, shoved into tubs, half crawling under a bed frame.
Eventually, there are keys, several sets to pick through in the hallway.
Steven wheezes quietly, feeling even smaller than before. ] Why didn't we take the keys?
[The amount of bodies is truly worrisome and Marc half chokes from the smell, not wanting to go any further than the rooms near the top of the stairs. Jesus fuck. Did they really do this? Did he? He can't find it in him to include Steven here, when he doesn't even want Steven to see these bodies, let alone imagine his hands were used for something this gruesome. He's trying to keep his shit together but it's getting more and more difficult as the bodies keep appearing and he's reminded of how high his body count was already, and already feeling prepared to take the blame for all of these deaths too.
Steven's little voice in his head is the only thing keeping him from running away right now. He needs to get him to safety and that's all that matters.]
Looks like some kind of cult or some shit. [He murmurs with his shirt still pressed up to his nose. He finds the sets of keys and grabs anything that looks like it belongs to a vehicle, pondering Steven's question in the meantime.]
Maybe... we were staying here? Hiding out for a little while. I dunno.
[He is more than happy to head back downstairs though, now confident no one else around is alive, and Marc doesn't want to stick around to find out if their buddies are coming to look for them any time soon. Honestly, the sooner they can leave the better.
Marc is heading for the front when he notices some sneakers haphazardly kicked off near the door, and what looks like an old coat hanging nearby. A quick check of the pockets provides nothing but some spare change and pocket lint, though he's quick to notice -]
This is Canadian money. [Eyebrows rise as he begins to steal the shoes too, and of course they seemingly fit.] We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, buddy.
What's with cults? Why can't they just obsess about something normal like ice cream or classic movies? [ It's absolutely ridiculous but he can't keep himself from yammering, a sort of background buzz to whatever Marc was doing. A small release in the tension that threatened to overwhelm one if not both of them. ]
Hiding out-- bloody hell Marc how long have we been here? [ He'd lost time before, of course, and it's a familiar sort of panic that rises in his tone as his fingers work together in the abyss, dragging against his nails in a way that would provide some sort of sensation were he actually able to feel anything at all. Before it had been hours, evenings, ending in days-- but the amount of time that it would take for these people to be good and gone couldn't be any small amount. ]
Are these-- [ Ours? He wants to ask but something stops him, the world lingering unsaid even though they both no doubt know what he's worrying about now. After a second he lets out a breath and shakes his head, he needs to focus or else he's just going to ba a burden, and he promised himself he wouldn't do that anymore... ] Doesn't matter. Take the coat too. Anything else we can grab, yeah? Not like people are-- are going to need them, and we do. [ Of course it all fits, because it's theirs, it has to be, but he just ignores it shaking his head. ]
If they don't work maybe we can... can I don't know, hotwire it or something? That's what they do in the movies, yeah? [ He has no idea if Marc even knows how to do that, but he's just going to assume he does, because Steven absolutely does not. ]
Can--Canadian money? [ If he could move he'd be pulling his hair out, it's obvious in the strain at the end of his tone. ] What're we doing in Canada? [ Not that he supposes Marc knows, but he can't help himself, he doesn't know what else to do. His voice tightens, softening, desperate. ] Marc... it's- it's had to have been days. [ Maybe more. ]
[Marc's breaths are too shallow as he slips on the coat too, not wanting to take deep breaths in a house smelling like death, but Steven is still panicking quite loudly in his head and he needs to calm down for them both, because if he freaks out... then Steven will be left to fend for himself, and Marc won't have that.]
Definitely days. Did you check the glovebox in the car? The trunk? [No, he wouldn't have been able to access the trunk without keys, right? Knowing Steven, he probably panicked too much to think about that and Marc can't blame him. If they're in another country though they're going to need a passport to go back home and it's bound to be here somewhere.
He heads outside into the cold and that's when he takes deep, gulping breaths of air, fumbling with a set of keys in the dark. He heads to the back of the jeep to try each set, pocketing them when they don't work. The less fingerprints he can leave on this scene the better.
Finally, blessedly, one of them does work on the car and Marc lets out a soft curse of relief when the trunk pops open, revealing a couple duffel bags that look like the type he carries when he's traveling. He already knows what he'll find when he unzips one, money and weapons stuffed neatly beneath a false layer of clothes. He grabs one of the pistols to keep with him just in case. A cold dread passes through him. This really was them. This was... someone else within them taking control without them knowing.
The thought makes him sick and he's momentarily dizzy, leaning into the car as he feels a headache forming behind his eyes. Marc needs a moment, taking deep, ragged breaths as he tries to keep his cool.]
Steven... I need you to stay calm, alright? I- I'm gonna get us home but I can't do this without you. Just relax.
No. Sorry. [ It's not even that usual layer of sass, he sounds genuinely sorry he hadn't thought to check anything at all. He'd dug through his pockets, found himself wanting for anything but the phone and scrambled out. He'd been so afraid they would hear-- the people he now knew would hear nothing ever again-- that he hadn't wanted to hang around. Turns out he wasn't escaping anything but roadside corpses.
The thought makes him flinch before he can help it.
The gun doesn't do them any favors and if it wasn't for the wave of something passing through them-- sickness? anxiety?-- he might have said something about it. Instead, he's quiet for maybe a little longer than he should be, visible in the reflection of one of the rearview lights. ] Sorry. [ Again just the same thing, quieter than before, like he's curling inward instead of expanding outward like he had before. Pushing himself down to be less oppressive. ] We should get in the car, turn the heat on for a few seconds Marc. We're not going to do much of anything if hypothermia kicks in. [ The shoes and coat help, but he's worried about the bone-deep chill he had felt earlier. ]
Do you want me to-- I can handle that, do you need a second? [ When he woke up before there hadn't been time to think about what was wrong, or what had happened, everything was a constant stream of pressure pushing him from one place to the next. Smothering him under the need for action. Now everything felt slow, sluggish, and yet twice as overwhelming.
Maybe it's because he knew there was someone else there, someone who could be there right now, capable of these kinds of things.
Damn. ] Road looks empty enough, check the fuel? [ He's trying, desperately, to help. ]
[It's very unusual for them to wake up in the thick of things like this days out in advance. Marc remembers when he would take the body out without Steven knowing, he did his very best to bring them home safe and sound and tuck them back into bed so Steven wouldn't be any the wiser, but also to prevent him from having disorienting freak-outs like this. He wasn't always successful - obviously - but he always meant well. What would have caused their potential third half to come out this far but abandon them to the consequences of his actions? Maybe he isn't okay?
It hurts his brain to think of this right now and he physically has to calm himself, his head already pounding from stress, but he's glad he isn't alone. While Marc knows he'd manage to handle this by himself if need be, these days he feels better having Steven co-conscious with him, nearby and a steadying force. It helps him a lot.]
Maybe. Yeah. I'm okay just- [Maybe not actually. Marc takes another breath and zips the bag up again, shoving it further into the trunk, before slamming the door shut. He presses his forehead to the rear window, closing his eyes, trying not to think about how out of control he feels right now.] Can you manage? I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry. I just need a minute.
Yeah, yeah, of course. [ Maybe he sounds a little over-eager, but he knows Marc well enough to know that if he doesn't sound like he can handle it he won't get control of the body. Won't be able to force him to take a breather. This was much easier. Swallowing he tries to ease things over as fluidly as he can, a slow tide filling up the room rather than a sudden wave crashing against his mind. It takes him a little to orient himself, even co-fronting it felt odd to have all the limbs under his control again.
It reminds him to keep his breathing measured at least. If he can drag that ability to choke stress down into the body it might help both of them. His fingers fumble briefly before he pulls back from the car, standing straight again. He palms over his body thoughtfully, finding the keys again, scowling a little at the smell of tobacco and cologne he knows isn't his or Marc's in the collar of the coat.
Their legs feel so stiff and he stretches a little before pushing around to the side of the car, prying the door open now that they know which keys to use. Sliding into the seat and snapped the door closed behind him. Even just being out of the light wind helps a little. Everything feels swollen with the cold and he hates the tingle that crawls along his skin. Two-thirds of a tank. They must have refilled on the way to the base; that meant there was probably some place at least close enough for them to drive to.
He shoves the key into the ignition, pressing the break and listening to the way it chokes against the cold. Sputters and groans before rumbling to life, the soft vibration filling him with a flood of relief. He snaps the heater off, for the time being, turning all the dials as high as they can get, rubbing his hands together while he waits for the engine to warm up enough to provide actual heat through the vents and not just whispers of cold air. ] Couldn't he have at least got us kidnapped somewhere warmer? Sheesh.
[Switching like this can be exhausting but it's necessary right now. Marc needs to calm down. Ironic, considering he was the one telling Steven to relax just a few minutes ago. It's the thought of another potential alter messing with them without their knowledge that is bothering Marc the most right now and he doesn't know what to do. What if they come out without warning now? Will him or Steven be able to stop it?
Bless Steven for being okay taking control for a little while though. He is braver and stronger than he gives himself credit for and Marc appreciates him more than he can say. He's happy to take the backseat for a while and watch as Steven gets into the car, starts it up, trying to ease the chill through their body.]
Check... Check the glovebox. Maybe our papers are in there. We need to find our passport. [Deep, deep breaths. Marc is trying not to be loud about it too but he can't help the way he struggles with his breathing, a panic attack only abated by the fact that Steven took over.]
[ He can't drive but he knows well enough to rev the car a little just so he can get the engine running a little harder and give himself some heat. His skin feels tingly and aches against his body but he's doing his best. He nods as Marc speaks and leans over, prying the glovebox open. There's a pair of gloves in there that he knocks onto the floor, a lot of needless paperwork and after a second he finds a passport. ] Finally.
[ A little sigh as he finds something of substance, but flipping it open doesn't offer him any relief. It's them, their face-- dressed differently, a button-up but not one of Stevens, a tie he'd never worn and a smile that didn't seem in place on either of their faces. The name was obviously fake, too, and after a second Steven makes a small pained noise in the back of his throat. ]
This isn't yours, is it? [ Didn't take an idiot to know it wasn't Steven's. ]
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[ ... ]
difficultlemondifficultmarc
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[He forgoes texting to just speak to Steven directly, voice clear and calm in Steven's head.]
I can still take over, you don't have to do this.
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The world comes in pulses, little glimpses of sensation. Cold being the overwhelming one. The world shudders and gasps or maybe that's Steven, letting his guard down at the voice and the world around them is frozen. He still doesn't talk, but he does type, afraid of being heard, ]
I'm fine. See? Fine.
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[His voice is a little more insistent this time. The flickering of reality doesn't make him feel any better about Steven being in control right now, but he won't force himself forward unless Steven relents.]
Not making me feel any better.
But I trust you.
Try the key and if it doesn't work we'll find another way in. We're cold.
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What's the worst that can happen, I've got you with me, yeah?
Are you sure we wanna go inside? Won't they be there?
I see why they took our shoes. [ It hurts. ]
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They could be dead.
[There's a pause between messages where Marc sighs again, audible to Steven.]
Sneak around the back, try to see if you can see anything through the windows.
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The smell keeps him from going inside. Something's wrong. ]
Marc... something's not right-
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[He's getting nervous, urging forward a little more, like he's ready to take over in an instant.]
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[ It's quiet though, and that tempts him. Cracking the door a little more he remains low to the floor, inching inside if only to get out of the snow, to get out of the throb. He's not sure if he's in pain or numb anymore below the knees. ]
Maybe it's been abandoned for a while now?
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[There's another sigh and he curses, like he doesn't want to admit this, but he probably should:]
I think we were the most dangerous thing here, Steven.
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Inside the floorboard gives a creek, shaking off the snow, but the place is cold. Dead. But clean, no dust, no remnants. He leaves the door open. The smell is worse. ]
Little bit arrogant, yeah? [ It's a tease, but it barely manages to cover how nervous he feels. How his fingers shake trying to text. It's cold and as his body starts to warm it hurts worse than the chill did. ] Looks like a fight. You might be r [ -- the message dies, he can see a glimpse of red against the tile down the hall, a clump of hair in the kitchen doorway. His chest feels like collapsing. ]
Oh no.
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Steven, let me take over now. Please.
[He doesn't need to see this. He doesn't need to deal with any of this.]
I can handle this. I've dealt with this kind of thing before, you shouldn't see this.
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You think we did this? [ His voice suddenly feels so small, so raw.
He can feel that pressure, the throb that makes those small steps closer stop, squeezing his eyes closed, fighting even if he doesn't entirely know why. ]
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[Marc's voice is surprisingly gentle despite being so firm, pushing forward until he feels Steven finally relent and allow Marc to take over the body. The feeling is always a little disorienting at first but that incredible stench wakes him right up, along with the bitter cold, their feet absolutely frozen. He shudders and rubs his hands along their arms, looking around cautiously.]
Maybe not you or me, but someone else... [His voice trembles some upon admitting that. There's an ache in his right hand as if he'd punched someone not too long ago either. Marc grabs the phone Steven found to turn on the light, using it to navigate the small house.
Yeah, that's definitely a dead body in the kitchen. He pulls their shirt up to his nose. Even Marc can barely stand the smell, yet he crouches by the body to check pockets for any identification.]
Been dead a few days at least. Don't look.
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Not my phone either. [ He adds helpfully, as if it isn't painfully obvious the sleek black thing isn't his old phone with it's clumsy hieroglyphic case.
There's a flinch, something sharp and sudden and maybe he looked too long or thought abotu it too much, but the voice in his head is quieter. ] A few days? How-- how much time have we lost? [ There's no way for either of them to know, but he asks anyway, feels that familiar sense of madness creeping in at the edges. ]
Who-- I have no idea who these people are. [ The pockets have little to offer, a key or two here or there, keys that could belong to anything, cuffs soaked in red on the floor, already nearly dried and glued to the tile. Steven's breathing is loud. ] We shouldn't-- we need-- we ha-- we have to go, right? Marc? We have to go Marc, we have to-- there are a lot of people in here.
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Shhh, shh. We're gonna go. First need to find some shoes and keys, alright? I've got us.
[He's whispering quietly just for Steven while keeping his ears perked for any noise in the rest of the house. He has a feeling no one here is still alive. Vaguely, he has a familiar sense of being watched, which has everything to do with the moon peeking in from a window nearby.
He grabs a knife from the kitchen just in case, sneaking through the rest of the dark building. He finds another body in the living room, similarly useless to them, and when he heads upstairs the wood creaks beneath his feet.]
Someone has keys. Makes no sense to abandon that car like that.
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Keys, right. Little one wouldn't do any good. [ It's half for himself, half for Marc. His breath is soft little panting puffs but quieter than before. There's tension there, but he's keeping it wrapped around himself, clutched tight in his chest, like he realizes it threatens to overflow. IT's strange to feel so much and nothing at all. ]
Careful. [ No doubt he is, but Steven doesn't know how to shut up when he's stressed-- or in general really-- and in the reflection of paintings mounted on the wall he's grinding his teeth against his lip, no doubt to the point of scraping flesh off if he was still in the body. His eyes seem caught between Marc and the stairs above.
The top floor seems worse and yet better; it's clear they'd been staying here for a bit. Some rooms had clothing, ritualistic items, blood, candles, and most of them held bodies of some sort. Folded over the edges of dressers, shoved into tubs, half crawling under a bed frame.
Eventually, there are keys, several sets to pick through in the hallway.
Steven wheezes quietly, feeling even smaller than before. ] Why didn't we take the keys?
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Steven's little voice in his head is the only thing keeping him from running away right now. He needs to get him to safety and that's all that matters.]
Looks like some kind of cult or some shit. [He murmurs with his shirt still pressed up to his nose. He finds the sets of keys and grabs anything that looks like it belongs to a vehicle, pondering Steven's question in the meantime.]
Maybe... we were staying here? Hiding out for a little while. I dunno.
[He is more than happy to head back downstairs though, now confident no one else around is alive, and Marc doesn't want to stick around to find out if their buddies are coming to look for them any time soon. Honestly, the sooner they can leave the better.
Marc is heading for the front when he notices some sneakers haphazardly kicked off near the door, and what looks like an old coat hanging nearby. A quick check of the pockets provides nothing but some spare change and pocket lint, though he's quick to notice -]
This is Canadian money. [Eyebrows rise as he begins to steal the shoes too, and of course they seemingly fit.] We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, buddy.
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Hiding out-- bloody hell Marc how long have we been here? [ He'd lost time before, of course, and it's a familiar sort of panic that rises in his tone as his fingers work together in the abyss, dragging against his nails in a way that would provide some sort of sensation were he actually able to feel anything at all. Before it had been hours, evenings, ending in days-- but the amount of time that it would take for these people to be good and gone couldn't be any small amount. ]
Are these-- [ Ours? He wants to ask but something stops him, the world lingering unsaid even though they both no doubt know what he's worrying about now. After a second he lets out a breath and shakes his head, he needs to focus or else he's just going to ba a burden, and he promised himself he wouldn't do that anymore... ] Doesn't matter. Take the coat too. Anything else we can grab, yeah? Not like people are-- are going to need them, and we do. [ Of course it all fits, because it's theirs, it has to be, but he just ignores it shaking his head. ]
If they don't work maybe we can... can I don't know, hotwire it or something? That's what they do in the movies, yeah? [ He has no idea if Marc even knows how to do that, but he's just going to assume he does, because Steven absolutely does not. ]
Can--Canadian money? [ If he could move he'd be pulling his hair out, it's obvious in the strain at the end of his tone. ] What're we doing in Canada? [ Not that he supposes Marc knows, but he can't help himself, he doesn't know what else to do. His voice tightens, softening, desperate. ] Marc... it's- it's had to have been days. [ Maybe more. ]
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Definitely days. Did you check the glovebox in the car? The trunk? [No, he wouldn't have been able to access the trunk without keys, right? Knowing Steven, he probably panicked too much to think about that and Marc can't blame him. If they're in another country though they're going to need a passport to go back home and it's bound to be here somewhere.
He heads outside into the cold and that's when he takes deep, gulping breaths of air, fumbling with a set of keys in the dark. He heads to the back of the jeep to try each set, pocketing them when they don't work. The less fingerprints he can leave on this scene the better.
Finally, blessedly, one of them does work on the car and Marc lets out a soft curse of relief when the trunk pops open, revealing a couple duffel bags that look like the type he carries when he's traveling. He already knows what he'll find when he unzips one, money and weapons stuffed neatly beneath a false layer of clothes. He grabs one of the pistols to keep with him just in case. A cold dread passes through him. This really was them. This was... someone else within them taking control without them knowing.
The thought makes him sick and he's momentarily dizzy, leaning into the car as he feels a headache forming behind his eyes. Marc needs a moment, taking deep, ragged breaths as he tries to keep his cool.]
Steven... I need you to stay calm, alright? I- I'm gonna get us home but I can't do this without you. Just relax.
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The thought makes him flinch before he can help it.
The gun doesn't do them any favors and if it wasn't for the wave of something passing through them-- sickness? anxiety?-- he might have said something about it. Instead, he's quiet for maybe a little longer than he should be, visible in the reflection of one of the rearview lights. ] Sorry. [ Again just the same thing, quieter than before, like he's curling inward instead of expanding outward like he had before. Pushing himself down to be less oppressive. ] We should get in the car, turn the heat on for a few seconds Marc. We're not going to do much of anything if hypothermia kicks in. [ The shoes and coat help, but he's worried about the bone-deep chill he had felt earlier. ]
Do you want me to-- I can handle that, do you need a second? [ When he woke up before there hadn't been time to think about what was wrong, or what had happened, everything was a constant stream of pressure pushing him from one place to the next. Smothering him under the need for action. Now everything felt slow, sluggish, and yet twice as overwhelming.
Maybe it's because he knew there was someone else there, someone who could be there right now, capable of these kinds of things.
Damn. ] Road looks empty enough, check the fuel? [ He's trying, desperately, to help. ]
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It hurts his brain to think of this right now and he physically has to calm himself, his head already pounding from stress, but he's glad he isn't alone. While Marc knows he'd manage to handle this by himself if need be, these days he feels better having Steven co-conscious with him, nearby and a steadying force. It helps him a lot.]
Maybe. Yeah. I'm okay just- [Maybe not actually. Marc takes another breath and zips the bag up again, shoving it further into the trunk, before slamming the door shut. He presses his forehead to the rear window, closing his eyes, trying not to think about how out of control he feels right now.] Can you manage? I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry. I just need a minute.
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It reminds him to keep his breathing measured at least. If he can drag that ability to choke stress down into the body it might help both of them. His fingers fumble briefly before he pulls back from the car, standing straight again. He palms over his body thoughtfully, finding the keys again, scowling a little at the smell of tobacco and cologne he knows isn't his or Marc's in the collar of the coat.
Their legs feel so stiff and he stretches a little before pushing around to the side of the car, prying the door open now that they know which keys to use. Sliding into the seat and snapped the door closed behind him. Even just being out of the light wind helps a little. Everything feels swollen with the cold and he hates the tingle that crawls along his skin. Two-thirds of a tank. They must have refilled on the way to the base; that meant there was probably some place at least close enough for them to drive to.
He shoves the key into the ignition, pressing the break and listening to the way it chokes against the cold. Sputters and groans before rumbling to life, the soft vibration filling him with a flood of relief. He snaps the heater off, for the time being, turning all the dials as high as they can get, rubbing his hands together while he waits for the engine to warm up enough to provide actual heat through the vents and not just whispers of cold air. ] Couldn't he have at least got us kidnapped somewhere warmer? Sheesh.
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Bless Steven for being okay taking control for a little while though. He is braver and stronger than he gives himself credit for and Marc appreciates him more than he can say. He's happy to take the backseat for a while and watch as Steven gets into the car, starts it up, trying to ease the chill through their body.]
Check... Check the glovebox. Maybe our papers are in there. We need to find our passport. [Deep, deep breaths. Marc is trying not to be loud about it too but he can't help the way he struggles with his breathing, a panic attack only abated by the fact that Steven took over.]
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[ A little sigh as he finds something of substance, but flipping it open doesn't offer him any relief. It's them, their face-- dressed differently, a button-up but not one of Stevens, a tie he'd never worn and a smile that didn't seem in place on either of their faces. The name was obviously fake, too, and after a second Steven makes a small pained noise in the back of his throat. ]
This isn't yours, is it? [ Didn't take an idiot to know it wasn't Steven's. ]
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