#layla moon knight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inknopewetrust · 2 years

Text

𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚜

summary: Harrow’s efforts are thwarted when an unsuspecting hero takes control.

pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader word count: 4.1k

warnings: angst, violence, spoilers for episode 6.

quick links: masterlist // “part 1” resolutions —can be read as a stand alone but… why not read both :)

He hated when the moon slipped its ugly crescent between the curtains.

It made him feel as though death followed him everywhere; that he was indeed a killer when it was the last thing he ever wanted to think about.

And the sheets felt like they were suffocating him because of it.

Gripping, grabbing, grappling with what they could to choke the life from him and the memories of the evening not some three hours before begging to be heard and voiced—but they fell to deaf ears. How could he just lay there? Still… silent in the darkness of a desolate apartment in Chicago, comforted by the wounds of survival and the promise of another day.

His tired eyes hated that moon.

It’s silver sliver breaking the pane of glass into two—one for each of him that he knew; building up the reflection casting to the floor, to the bed’s edge, and to the white sheets stained with his sweat. Eventually the moon met him. Shining on his bare arms and cascading across this chest as he laid motionless, empty.

Marc Spector was a man of many things, but not known to kindness.

The emptiness inside of him fulfilled by nothing sans a void of darkness that broke open for Konshu, allowing for his deeds to be done from the bloody hands of one who claims to be broken, lost, and hopeless yet was chosen by a God. He’d never truly understand, Marc, how Konshu chose his victims.

And by victims he meant avatar’s, not the people finding judgement at Marc’s fists.

The task bestowed upon him became a mask. An opportunity to hide the man he truly is for one who isn’t scared of himself, of his past, or the memories that plagued him in the deepest hours of the night where the moon crept into his most sacred of spaces.

At some point, Marc’s mind had decided the reminder was enough.

The bed frame creaked—shifting under Marc’s weight and releasing to its supports and reverberating into the wood below. His bare feet wavered the nearly-warped floor, hastily making way to the curtains and feeling the textured fabric between his finger tips as he grasped each edge.

Rough. The texture was rough, like sand. Not kind, or forgiving, or pleasant. The moon stared at him closer through the glass; the curtains open for him to stand in between and holding them tightly, Marc closed his eyes.

‘One night. One night.’ He thought to himself. ‘Just let me have this one night.’ Throwing the curtains closed, the moon disappeared.

The light in the room was gone. He was no longer basking in its white light—but standing in the silent night to peace. He needn’t escape to protection when the world was silent.

“Marc?”

The world was never truly silent, however.

“When did you get in?”

The bed was so far away in that moment. As though a camera was pulling far from its subject, Marc felt the calls going unanswered—but not listening to his mind to speak.

“Marc?”

The voice was tired at first. The kind where a deep sleep is disrupted suddenly and there is nothing but words that come tumbling out for the sake of a better alternative. And then it grew more concerned. He could hear it. Growing in confidence and volume, the second time was the most alert of the calls.

“… Marc?” The third was uncertain. Was it him? Was it your eyes playing tricks on you or did you judge the man terribly upon your first meeting years ago. 20/20 never did anyone good.

It was hindsight, after all.

There was no call of his name the fourth time. Just the distinct sound of a lamp switching on and a golden glow emitting from beside the right side of the bed.

Marc’s feet were frozen to the ground—in some kind of way.

For one night, Konshu was not whispering in his ear. How did he know? The moment the moon went away and his silent pleas had been manifested, a disgruntled voice called out:

‘Fine.’ One night. Not a commitment to be dealt with pain; a sweet symphony of peace had washed over him and Marc Spector—alien to that feeling—was not sure what to do.

“Marc, what’s wrong?”

The ex-mercenary shook his head, unable to form words to describe the feeling. A weight lifted from his shoulder; pulling him to the surface for air while it’s impending return hangs tightly on his leg, but a brief moment of reprieve is enough.

“I just…” Marc trailed off, remaining stuck in a realm of uncertainty. Something was itching, scratching beyond Konshu’s presence and asking to be said.

The quietness took over and his mind repeated one name: Layla; all reiterated with a guilty conscious.

In the still of the night, a golden lamplight illuminating the room, Marc saw your tired face. The last few years had been hectic—his own travels, Konshu, and what set it all off, half of the world gone—you included. That’s where he found Layla and when things returned to a relative normal, he found himself unable to admit the double life he had been living—both physically and in some terms, mentally, but he thought he had everything under control.

Until he had returned from Konshu’s bidding that evening. You believed his lies. That he had taken up odd jobs for old military buddies that lived in the area and it was not always guaranteed to be a classic 9 to 5.

Some days, Marc would see the way you looked at him and think you had figured it out—that he was with someone else and not the man you had known. However, you never said anything. You always gave a smile and when he asked “what?” You’d respond “nothing, just looking at you.”

It broke his heart to know how devoted you were.

With that same unwavering stare, you held your hand out to him from the bed.

“Come back?” You never demanded. How could he refuse?

Marc’s bare feet padded against the wooden floor—still creaking with every step but eventually his knees hit the mattress; taking your hand in his, you helped him settle in bed before switching off the light once more.

“Thank you.” Marc whispered as time slowly ticked past. His lips ghosted your forehead as you laid with your head on his shoulder.

“For what?” You responded so quietly he thought you had already returned to sleep.

“For understanding.” He needed the quiet to decide. He never got to decide for himself.

You didn’t know exactly what he meant.

But when you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

The next time you saw him was his mothers shiva and then he had left for good. The news was the one thing that brought you back.

As Arthur Harrow descended deeper into the pyramid, the hotter it became.

You had never been to Egypt before; it’s sights not unfamiliar but the land itself was. Seeing things, like a ancient structure cracked open by the purple light emanating from the man’s staff, questioned what you knew.

The world had nearly gone crazy from the time you were a kid until now. Everything was woven with mythology or other-worldly beings and it was hard to believe—until you saw it.

You stood amongst his followers with your hands bound. Feeling like a piece of meat for sacrifice, the nerves of what Harrow wanted were building. How did he know of you? You thought you acquainted what was an “average person” but here, beside the great structures of the past, Harrow had deemed you important to be there.

A part of you already knew it had something to do with Marc, you just hadn’t seen him yet.

After the purple glow had faded, the stones were parted enough to pass and a rough hand shoved your shoulder.

“Move.” You didn’t know his name. He was a henchmen of Harrow who sold his life away for the purpose of what? You could barely comprehend what was happening in front of you that, understanding their purpose was another pill that wouldn’t be easy to swallow.

“Come on.” He shoved again when your feet didn’t move.

The glaring sun met your eyes as you turned and looked over your shoulder at him. His face made you believe he was born angry. A heavy brow, critical eyes, and hands ready to be balled into fists. Men like him were convinced that their purpose was to save when it was really to kill.

“I said MOVE!” He shouted in your face, ready to pounce when a hand came in between your body and his, sticking out in protection, blocking you from his wrath.

“I got it from here. Go on.” The voice was feminine, stern and demanding. The man looked at her uncertain but said nothing as he huffed away, following after Harrow and the others.

The woman who intervened had a cloth covering her face, her hood over her hair. Her eyes were curious, yet filled with a frenzy that the others didn’t have. She waited until all others past before following with you, her hand on your elbow.

“Not going to yell at me to walk faster?” You didn’t know what made you speak out. The halls were suffocating, dark but growing hot; the heat from the sun beating down on the structure and making beads form on your hairline. The woman shook her head, the curls on her forehead bouncing with every step.

“No, just keep quiet.” She wasn’t angry; that was different from the rest of them.

“You have a name at least?”

The person walking in front of you turned, shushing you before continuing on with the convoy. The woman gripped your arm a little tighter, pulling her face closer to yours and whispering:

“Why does Harrow have you?”

“What?” You mumbled back with a furrowed brow. Her question was beyond what you believed she would ask. None of these people cared, why should she?

“Who are you to him? A sacrifice?”

“No!” You shook your head, fearing that your thoughts and her words could come true as everyone slowly descended further into darkness. “He just...” You trailed off, not sure if she would believe Harrow knocked you out and the next thing you knew you were in Egypt. “I was just looking for someone and he got to me before I could.”

The woman’s eyes behind her mask narrowed, confused, in a sense.

“He was on the news. Some security guard at a museum leaked a video of him acting strange and it went viral... I didn’t know where he was.”

“Marc?”

“You know him?”

She nodded her head before looking away to the group in front of the both of you. Everyone had stopped walking as Harrow lifted his staff and the purple glow emitted from it again. It rumbled the rocks before you, shooting cracks through them until they broke apart and the inside of the pyramid, the chamber, was revealed.

The woman pushed you to follow beside her as the group descended the steps and into the chamber–defenders already assembling in their forms to protect the structure they served, but you did not know that.

As Harrow prepared to engage in a fight, the woman turned to you in a rushed panic.

“You want to help Marc? Then come with me.”

She ran as fast as she could to the hall that broke away from the chamber on the left. You needn’t look back at Arthur Harrow killing innocent people to know that you needed to follow her.

She walked fast.

Her feet taking her speeding through the halls as fast as she could and in her consciousness, her head continued to look back for both the reality that Harrow’s followers would soon indeed follow, and that you were with her.

You made her curious. A single prisoner bound to Harrow’s crew without a reason and someone who knew her Marc.

Her mind could only think of a number of scenarios that would bring you here—not wanting to believe the one that came to mind first.

But that would have to wait. The wall of Gods cast in stone was quickly approaching. The woman pulled her mask down, turning to you once more.

“I don’t know how you know Marc, but this is the only way we can help him. Khonshu has been cast away and we have to set him free. What ever you do, do not let him choose you as his avatar.”

“His what!?”

“Marc will die if not for Khonshu, don’t limit those chances.”

“He’s dying!?” Your eyes went wide, not able to understand her completely. Egyptian Gods, avatars… the only avatar you knew of was Aang, and he was a cartoon.

“Just…” she huffed, frustrated. “Follow my lead. Don’t say anything.”

That you could do.

She turned and scaled the wall with her eyes for this so-called ‘Khonshu.’ A God, supposedly. Nothing should surprise you, however. You were blipped away by the snap of one man’s fingers and stranger things have happened in the world. But because it had to do with Marc, it’s surprised you. It put you near the center and you hated it.

The woman stopped when she found the statue and grasped it tightly.

“Remember, don’t let him choose you.”

“I remember.” You told her.

She walked further to a gap in the wall between a pillar and the end of it. Placing the statue on the ground, she stepped on it, crushing it to pieces as smoke began to fill the area around her. Suddenly, a massive being with the structure of a bird made solely out of bones appeared before the both of you.

“I do not sense Marc Spector in this world.” The tone was deep and unsettling. You meekly shrunk behind the woman as the God spoke. Without eyes to see, it looked at her and in extension, you.

“He died fighting, no doubt.”

“Marc’s dead.” You whispered beside her in disbelief.

“Fighting your war.” The woman responded in anger, ignoring you.

“And it’s far from over. If Marc is truly gone, I am in need of an avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night…”

The God did not finish. The woman, Layla, spat at him.

“Are you joking!? You turned Marc’s life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?”

Khonshu was unimpressed. So it played dirty, as many Gods did.

“Then what of you, Y/n L/n, will you protect the travelers of the night as Marc did? It is far more fitting for the woman he trusted most to follow him in service.”

Layla was hurt.

But you knew the response.

You knew there was only one answer. Layla told you so, she knew what she was doing. The answer was no.

“Even if Marc is dead,” your voice felt more powerful than you thought—it wavered with sadness, however. “No tragedy could convince me this is what he would have wanted.”

“You won’t win against Harrow and Ammit alone.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Layla told him, defying the bird’s expectations.

“Marc was in crisis over you both… is lack of focus got him killed. You need a plan, little bugs… what I offer…”

“I don’t care what you can offer! Neither of us do!” Layla responded again. “Marc didn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. She doesn’t trust you. We’ll work together without either of us enslaving ourselves to you.”

The God needed no convincing. Layla was not giving her or your body to Khonshu to do his bidding, those hands belonged to someone else.

“We must rebind Ammit.”

“How?” You asked from behind her and making your stance in the situation heard. If Harrow brought you for a purpose, then you would pave that path.

“Only an avatar can do it.” Of course.

“I said no.” Layla reaffirmed and in an instant Khonshu was gone. He wasn’t going to win here, and certainly not by going back and forth with two women who did not want to be an avatar of him.

“Where did he go?” You asked, looking over your shoulder as if he would reappear again.

“To Harrow. Come on,” she set off once more. “They’ll know we did this.”

“Where are we supposed to go? It’s a pyramid!”

“There are a million paths. But we need to get out of here.”

“Wait!” You called after her, trying to catch her arm as she tried to avoid a silence. “Wait, Layla, please!” You cried out.

“We don’t have time to sit around and chat, alright?” Layla called out behind her.

“I don’t need a chat… how do you know Marc?” You asked her, keeping up with her speed and following in step beside her. She laughed and you furrowed your brows.

“I’m his wife.”

Wife.

Layla was Marc’s wife.

Your Marc.

Has a wife.

“I assume you didn’t know.” She said after the fact.

“Of course not.”

“Well I didn’t know he had a… girlfriend either.”

You were the girlfriend… you could have cried.

“I didn’t know he had a wife.”

Layla stopped her movements and you stuttered to a halt. She looked at you, truly, for the first time in that moment.

How different you and her were.

The faces, the hair, the eyes, nose, and lips. From the few minutes she had in your presence she knew you were nothing like her, but that didn’t make you a bad person.

It’s not your fault Marc has his secrets.

“How did you meet him?” She asked, her chest rising and falling quickly as she caught her breath.

“We grew up together. Went to the same school.”

She nodded her head, beginning to feel as though she was the ‘other woman’ yet she was the one he swore fidelity to.

“Do you live in London with him?” That made it seem like there could be more.

“No… I live in Chicago… I work there too.”

“And where were you six years ago?”

“I wasn’t…” you shook your head, trying to ease her pain as yours grew too. It was complicated, beyond means. And somehow, you were both choosing to understand rather than hate. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” She understood—that snap.

“I don’t know what’s going on, really. I just went looking for him because he disappeared two months ago and I’m scared for him.”

“Do you know about Steven?”

The difference between Layla and you was that she didn’t know about his DID. He had confided in you, found solace in it, but never let you see it. For a long while, Marc could control it well. He knew himself and the situations he put himself into but his mothers Shiva was too much and they began to merge—his alters.

There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but Marc wasn’t willing to risk the thought of his alters hating you or being something you disliked about him.

It was self preservation.

It was protection.

And you understood it.

“To an extent.” You replied and she nodded her head.

“We’re, um,” she cleared her throat. “Separated… Marc has demons he needed to deal with and we just never got around to signing the papers.”

“Oh.” Was all you could say now.

“It’s not our fault, his decisions. Marc’s a good guy and I’ll do what I can, as I know you will too, but it’s dangerous out there. Harrow is… a killer. A born one and there is no mercy from him nor Ammit. I need you to know that.”

“I could gather that.”

Above you, the ceilings shook with a fury and sand came filtering out of its cracks.

“There are good Gods. If it comes to it, go back to that hall—where those statues are, and find the one with the crescent headdress. They imprisoned him for a reason, but he’s good. If the Gods need avatars, we need good ones.”

“Me? An avatar of a God?” You laughed, not willing to accept her logic. “I am just a regular person, Layla… my life is not meant to be bound to a God.

“If we are chosen to lead, then we do.”

“But I am not meant to! I have a life! I have people who depend on me everyday—“

“—then you know exactly what it’s like to be called to lead. If not for yourself, then do it for Marc. Harrow brought you here to pawn you. Take that and make it his end, for Marc.”

In the heated halls of the great pyramid, Layla stared at you with pleading eyes. She loved Marc even though they were not on the best terms, she forgave you without blame because the one who brought you together was faulted. She needed you to be a hero—a trait you must have experience before but never self-admitted it because pride is often vain.

You needed to be a hero.

For Layla and Marc.

“Fine.” You agreed. “I’ll do it.”

It did not take long for Layla to send you back.

In the chamber of the Gods, the avatars of those still lingering to life laid nearly still. A man tried to crawl to safety and as Layla helped him, he detailed the ways to defeat Ammit but again, avatars were the only answer.

“What do we do?” You asked her, the man falling to the floor dead and you tried not look at him.

“We need more avatars.” She looked to the ceiling as though she was looking to the heavens. “Go to the wall but don’t go into the chamber. If Harrow sees you, there is no telling what he’d do.”

You nodded your head, but your feet stayed planted. She sensed the fear, she could see it in your eyes.

“Go…” she whispered, grasping your arm. “For Marc, right?”

The thought of Marc watching from whatever land laid beyond made you want to crumble and cry but you knew there was only one way. If Layla was going to do the same, you had to too.

So you sprinted off down the hall and moved as quickly as you could behind the pillars and crumbling stone.

Not a minute into your trek, Layla’s name screeched through the hair in a high pitched tone. It had to have been heard by Harrow because immediately, the entire structure began to shake. The walls getting thinner, the pyramid collapsing within itself.

“Keep going…” you mumbled to yourself. “Keep going.”

A stone fell from the ceiling as you turned a tight corner, halting your movement with the fright that you’d be crushed. But you kept going.

Within seconds, you could see the amber glow of the candles where the journey began. Each statue shaking from the pyramid’s movement, the flames behind them wavering too.

The one with the crescent headdress.

You searched row by row until your trembling fingers came upon a figure in the headdress Layla had told you and held a pen-like object in its hand.

“Please don’t be bad.” You whispered. “Please please please.”

Pulling it from its resting place, you placed it gingerly on the ground.

“And don’t be fucking scary.”

You stepped on it and the statue crumbled to pieces, emitting a green and yellow glow along the fog.

Like Khonshu had, a figure with the head of an Ibis, rose tall before you.

“To whom do I owe my gratitude for setting me free?”

The voice was masculine, deep. The head turned and looked down at you with eyes blinking green.

“A woman.”

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, beyond your element in that moment. “Yes. I am Y/n, the one who… released you.”

“It has been many years since I’ve seen these walls.” The God felt the crumbling stone with delicate finger tips. The talons scraping the walls with a deafening scrawl. “Do you know who I am?”

“Would it be wrong to admit no?” You felt silly talking to a God. Who were you to do so?

“No, no it would not.” Like a wind, the creature moved from the small space it had been given and around to the entryway of the small hall. “A wise decision for a mortal to make.”

It circled you like prey.

“I am Thoth, God of wisdom, magic, and judgement. And what hath your judgement be?”

“I do not wish to be judged.”

“Do you need wisdom?”

“No.” You rolled your shoulders back as the crumbling stopped around you. “But I am something you need.”

“And I need you for what?”

“An avatar.”

Tag List: @slytherheign @alotofsomething @milkiane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @silvery-luna @marasmixers @yesraazzi @spideysimpossiblegirl @ohmygodsebastianstan @trash-panda99 @teamspideyman

Tag list // CLOSED

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight marvel #moon knight x reader #moon knight spoilers #moon knight #oscar issac x reader #Oscar Isaac #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #Steven grant #Khonshu #layla moon knight #women supporting women #we love Layla here

1K notes · View notes

damn-stark · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1 Wolf

Chapter 1 of Moon Star

A/N- I finally finished the first chapter! I really hope you guys like it!!!

Warning- Violence, talks of blood and weapon, angst, surprise guest, swearing.

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader

Episode- 1x02

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“Y/N Spector!”

A crowd of students cheer, a small handful hollar from excitement while the crowd booms with clapter. It’s not everyday one graduates from High School after all. It’s a one time special event.

Which is why such an event should be celebrated, it’s meant to be a joyful filled moment; it is for some. It should be remembered. Especially by a father with only one child who he said he loved with every bit of his heart.

Shouldn’t he be here?

As your eyes searched every row of happy relatives, once, twice and three times while you walked down the runway, he wasn’t there. Layla, his wife is there with a smile on her face, your grandfather is there beside her clapping and grinning a happy toothy grin, but he isn’t.

When you take the diploma and begin heading down you double check, hope that you may have missed him in the sea of people. Sometimes he did like to lurk in the shadows. But….when you step down, reality sets, illusions fall. After all the promises, all the tender words, all the caring, it all amounts to nothing at this moment.

“Your father is ungrateful. He’s a bad man who does bad things. Wolfie, he doesn’t care, but I do. I love you.”

——

*SOME TIME LATER. NEW YORK*

A proud smirk tugs on your lips as you see the artifact in your hand gleam gold under the colorful lights flashing overhead.

Another successful grab.

“Item secured,” you talk through the mic hidden in your ear. “I’m on my way, start the car.” You shove the artifact in your bag and quicken your stride as you see the back door approaching.

You approach it and push the door open, but as the door gets thrown back you come face to face with four men dressed in fancy suits.

Fuck.

Just don’t panic. Smile and act normal.

“Pardon,” you mumble and try to walk past them, but one of them steps in your way and grabs your arm to yank you towards him. “Excuse—get your hands off me,” you sneer and knee his crotch before you use your bracelet to zap his neck.

The man lets you go right away and groans and grunts out in pain, letting you turn to return inside even as the three men chase after you.

“I’m…compromised,” you say in your mic between pants whilst you turn the hall and push past people. “Turn at 22nd ave.”

“Shit watch it!” Someone yells out.

You throw your hand out to apologize and don’t bother to look back as you turn a sharp right to head towards the elevators.

“Shit, y/n, what the hell happened?” Layla responds. “How many?”

You peer back and hear the commotion of hurried footsteps so you slam on the elevator button with desperation.

“Four. But I took one down, so three. I’ll lose them.” You assure her and keep slamming your fist on the button, but to no avail. “Fuck. Damn it. Damn it!”

What kind of fancy building doesn’t have working elevators!

You snap your head from side to side until you see emergency stairs at the end of the other hall. So you quickly proceed to break into a sprint, having to swerve to the side so as to miss hitting some passersby.

When you reach the stairs though, the three men catch up to you. One tries to pull you back, but you throw your elbow back and hit his nose, before pulling out a dagger hidden in your bracelet to stab another man's arm before throwing the door open and rushing up the stairs.

The three men keep following you nevertheless.

“Come here if you know what’s good for you, you little rat!” One of them yells from below the stairs.

You glance down and see the three down one flight of stairs. Damn.

“Y/N where are you now?” Layla comes in through the mic again. “If you don’t respond in thirty seconds I am going up there I don’t care what you want.”

You try to quicken your pace up the damn stairs and talk back between heavier pants. “Running up the stairs, thanking you for dragging me on morning jogs. I’ll be going radio silent until I reach the car. Bye.”

“No! Y/N! Wolf! Wolfie! Don’t you dare—!”

You lift your hand to your ear and turn off the mic in your ear even after Layla’s protest, ending up grinning as you reach the top of the stairs and see the exit.

Finally!

You shove the door open and in that instant see two more fucking men!

Yet you don’t let that bring you down, instead you slowly begin to grin at them. “Gentlemen,” you greet. “I was just coming out for a smoke in the silence.”

One of the men on the right scoffs and pierces his green eyes on you. “Hand it over gently and we won’t have to hurt you, girl,” he spats.

You blink repeatedly and touch your chest. “Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I came out here to smoke.” You step to the side and the men follow your step. “Now if you don’t mind please leave me alone.”

The second man to the left rolls his eyes in annoyance, and the three men who were chasing you finally catch up, all breathing very heavily.

“Her bag,” one of them groans. “It’s in her bag.”

You sigh and slowly lose your smile. The first man reaches over, but you grab his wrist in time and manage to just slightly turn him whilst you kick the second guy in the chest to knock the air out of him. You then lunge forward and proceed to use a small blade in your ring to swing it from the first man’s cheekbone to his eye, making him scream and stumble back.

The men behind you try to reach you, but you turn and slam the door shut on one man’s hand.

“Okay,” you whisper in panic and rummage through your bag until you pull out a small gadget that you stick on the knob that surrounds the metal in electricity so they wouldn’t touch it. “Perfect.” You smirk and turn to head towards the fire escape.

But of course just as you reach it the man who you knocked out at first is climbing up them. You turn to try and your luck back inside, but the men find a way through your gadget and begin to come at you with their guns now.

“Great,” you breathe out and stand in the middle. “Look,” you address all of them. “I promise I’m not worth all this trouble, I have nothing.”

“Why are you running then?” The man climbing out of the fire escape asks.

You peer over at him and acted frightened. “Because you’re after me. All of you, four scary man after me, a woman.” You feign a frown and force tears to your eyes. “I’m just scared.”

One of the men that comes from inside the building slowly begins to lower his gun. And you think it’s because somehow your shitty acting got to him, but when you hear a thud behind you, you look back and see…Spider-Man turning away from the man he just trapped on the floor with his web.

Spider-Man. Fucking Spider-man, it’s—he’s actually not so tall, he has more muscle than the pictures do justice—no, focus. Get out of here.

“Please—” however, before you can finish asking for help his arms suddenly wrap around you, and he rapidly swings you around to save you from the bullets.

“Oh my god,” you pant and grab onto his arms.

No matter how many dangerous situations you’ve been in, being shot at isn’t something you’ve gotten used to yet.

“Just hold on,” Spider-Man says in a very young voice, yet not so young to make you believe he’s a teen, he’s maybe a young adult. “Stay here, you’ll be okay,” he continues and slowly pulls away from you.

You meet his big white eyes and nod before you watch him turn and use his webs to pull one gun away from one man. He then uses that gun and swings it to hit the second man.

“Don’t you have something better than to pick on a girl half your size?”He says and you quietly take this time to turn around and head towards the fire escape.

As soon as you reach it you check back, and when you notice Spider-Man still fighting the men you quickly climb down.

“Layla,” you say after you turn on your mic.

“Y/N! Oh thank goodness! Where are you?!” Layla immediately responds.

To reach the ground quicker you instead you the ladders to slide down to the ground. “I’m on my way,” you let her know with a small smile.

Your feet touch the ground and just as you’re pulling away to finally leave the damned street, suddenly something sticky keeps your hand against the railing. When you look back you see a web.

“I can’t let you do that,” you hear Spider-Man say from behind you.

You let out a small sigh and look over your shoulder with a feigned hurt look. “Look, I’m not with them I promise. I just want to go home.”

Spider-Man begins to walk over to you, and you follow every step he takes. “That’s why they were chasing you with guns?” He retorts with a bit of snark in his tone.

You keep taking your innocence nevertheless. “Yeah, they wanted to hurt me. I managed to run away, but they kept chasing me.”

Spider-Man makes it in front of you and his white bug eyes narrow. “So if I check your bag now there would be nothing in there.”

You shrug. “Unless you’re, like, into pads and stuff like that then no.”

Spider-Man scoffs in amusement and takes a step toward you, and you tilt your head.

“Can I say,” you continue whilst you slowly smile. “I’m a big fan. I’ve been one since your early days when you’d wear….sweats.”

He huffs. “Look,” he says as he drops his head. “I’m going to make it simple since you look like a…nice girl.” He faces you again. “Give me what you stole and I will let you go. Simple.”

You narrow your glare and check him out, catching the gadget where his webs come out of, and meeting his eyes again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you continue to act dumb and watch him get very close. “Let me go, my mom is waiting for me, she'll begin to worry.” Layla wasn’t your real mother but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay,” he sighs and tilts his head just sligtly. “Show me that you don’t have what you stole and I’ll walk you to your mom.”

“Promise?” You ask sweetly and bat your eyelashes.

Spider-Man blinks and you see his Adam’s apple lift and slide back down. He then nods and pretends to reach for your bag, but you turn rapidly and use the blade in your ring and manage to cut the web to free your hand. Spider-man tries to retaliate by trapping you again, but as he throws out his hand to shoot his web, you throw your blade from your bracelet and just barely manage to hit his web gadget and disable it with electricity.

“What the…” Spider-Man gasps in disbelief and looks at you and his gadget with bewilderment.

You quickly rush him and try to kick his chest, but he manages to grab your foot. “Not so fast.”

You hold his gaze and smirk at him before you yank your foot back, and counterattack by kicking him back before you lunge forward and use a smoke gadget you had to paralyze him.

“Wow,” you say all giddy as you pick up your crescent snapped blade. “I took you down. That’s…” you sigh and turn to beam at him. “I, hm. Wow.”

Spider-Man coughs and his eyes widen. “No, yeah props to you, but you completely proved me right just now.”

You shrug sweetly. “Maybe I did,” you retort and begin to walk away. “Does that earn a name?”

Spider-Man tilts his head and shakes it. “No,” he says. “Beats the purpose of a secret identity.”

“Hm, worth the question,” you sigh and smirk at him. “One, the paralyzation will wear off in about ten minutes. Two, I don’t steal. They’ve already been stolen.” You scoff softly and pull out a piece of paper to jot down your number, as you walk to him you offer him a sweet smile before placing the paper on his hand he had stuck.

“Okay, thanks,” he whispers in disbelief. “That’s, uh, b-bold. What if I’m an old man?”

You shrug. “It’s okay, I’ll take the risk.” You wave at him and walk away from the alleyway. “Bye-bye now Spidey. Text me, maybe we can run into each other again someday.” You turn the corner and hear a distant response.

“Bye…I…bye.”

You grin slightly as you pull off the wig from your head and throw it aside, before you pull off your jacket and throw it in some trashcan as you stride down the street towards Layla.

Luckily you don’t get chased down by Spider-Man so you make it to the car safely. And once Layla sees you her eyes brighten and relief finally washes over her.

“Y/N, what the hell where have you been?” She asks as you open the car door.

You climb in and close the door before pulling the artifact out of your bag and showing it off to her with a very proud smile. “Got it, there were some snags along the way, like, Spider-Man, but I managed to take him down. Now drive before he finds us.”

Layla shifts to drive and blinks in disbelief before looking at you. “Excuse you did what?”

You meet her gaze and nod. “Yeah, no, I took down Spider-Man! With my paralyzation gas.” You show off.

Layla faces the street and hums. “That worked,” she mumbles in disbelief.

You nod and put the artifact back in your bag.

“Okay,” Layla sighs. “My turn.”

You blink and slightly narrow your gaze in confusion.

Layla glances at you before she hands you her phone. “Check the recently called list,” she says.

You carefully grab the phone and smile nervously before dropping your gaze to unlock the phone and checking what she said. The moment you see the recently called section your eyes widen, and a small gasp comes out of your lips.

“What,” you mumble. “This can’t be. He’s gone totally MIA. Are you sure?”

Layla nods. “No, yeah, I’m sure, it was him. His voice. He quickly hung up though. Can you maybe trace the call?”

You return your gaze to the phone and read the name again, Marc Spector.

Your dad. He called Layla his wife. After so long he finally called.

——

*LONDON*

“If I knew he was home we could’ve never left.” You mutter as you put your sunglasses on and hop on your scooter.

Layla puts on her helmet and adds, “we needed to go, I mean wasn’t it worth it? There’s only so much you can see of your campus online.”

You shrug. “I suppose but…” you start the engine. “You should’ve seen the virtual tour. It’s a lot better than they were six years ago. Besides,” you sigh. “Is it really smart to leave with my dad MIA?”

Layla looks over at you and shakes her head. “I told you when the time comes and if we still haven’t found your dad, he’s not yours to worry about.” She narrows her gaze and her serious demeanor doesn’t falter. “Do you understand y/n?”

No matter how much of a deadbeat he’s been, especially ever since you came back, he’s still your father, you’re still worried.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “I understand.”

Layla nods and looks ahead again. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushes back her kickstand and leads the way.

Fortunately there isn’t much traffic so you’re able to keep up without having to be cut off, or having to lose sight of her because people can’t respect those on motorcycles.

And futhermore, unlike New York, the sights you drive by are more enjoyable and more beautiful…

Then again maybe that’s just because you’re a bit bitter about leaving. Even if Layla and your grandfather say “it’s good for you wolf, you’re going to gain a lot of new experiences.”.

It’s whatever. The far more enjoyable experiences are made by Layla’s side going on adventures. The great experiences are—

Suddenly out of nowhere Layla comes to a sudden halt and you’re forced to turn to the side to break so you wouldn’t crash into her. However, as your use your feet to come to a skidding stop you see your…your dad on the ground.

“Marc?” Layla asks in disbelief. “Where have you been?”

Said man pulls his arm away from his face and looks over at her. “Ar-ar—Layla?” He asks.

You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward. “Dad?”

Immediately your dad snaps his eyes towards you and furrows his eyebrows even deeper. “I—you—who are you?”

You share a confused look with Layla and then narrow your gaze back on him. “What are you on about?” You question him almost offendedly.

Your dad slowly begins to push himself to his feet and shakes his head as he looks behind him. “Something is after me. It was just behind me.”

You glance at the building but just see casual passerbyers minding their own business. No one comes running out, nor is there any screams.

“What are you talking about, Marc?” Layla asks.

He scoffs. “Just please help me get out of here. Please take me home.”

Layla shares one last puzzled look with you before she addresses your dad. “Get on. Let’s go y/n.”

You put your sunglasses back on and follow after her through the streets of London. It seems that she and your dad are having a conversation but due to your helmet and the air that keeps hitting you as you drive, you can’t hear shit. And she keeps looking away from her mirrors so you can’t read her lips either. All you have is expressions and she keeps the same angry and annoyed one since you found him.

He however is different. He looks scared and confused. Something strange to see on a man you thought was incredibly fearless. It’s like he’s in a state of anxiety by the looks of his tensed shoulders and widened eyes. He almost seems like a different person. More so when you speak to him once you finally make it to some apartment complex not far from home.

“Where the hell have you been, dad? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Your dad looks back at you and swallows thickly before he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he stammers as he walks you two to the elevator shaft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clench your jaw and feel your eyes flicker away from him, whilst Layla shoots him a glare.

“Marc, what are you doing?” She scolds him.

Said man walks you inside and presses the button to his floor once you’re all inside. “Let’s just wait. Just wait,” he interjects nervously and stands at the far end of the elevator that's as far from both Layla and you.

He stands stiff, he just keeps stealing looks as if he’s actually confused. And you keep trying to avoid looking at him now so as to not get even more mad than you already were. It makes things awkward in the elevator and makes the ride quite uncomfortable and longer than it actually was.

Once the elevator comes to a halt it actually feels like you can breathe again. Yet your anger doesn’t subside. It only heightens as he walks you into an actual apartment that seems to have been occupied for quite some time, basing off all the damn clutter spread everywhere.

“Damn,” you mutter. “This place is a piece of junk.”

“Excuse me?” Your dad asks.

You scoff as you put your sunglasses away and look around at all the bookshelves, papers hung up against the wall, and finally land your eyes on a big fish tank that contains one single goldfish.

“Huh,” you interject beside Layla. “Cute.” You step back and continue to wander around, managing to catch your father muttering something.

“I just want my life back.”

You scoff in annoyance and just let Layla answer. “Yeah. I’m getting that.”

“No, no.” He interjects right away. “Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you, just talking to myself. Sort of.”

You come to a stop in front of a sand barrier that’s around the bed, and slowly look up and see chains and cuffs….

Disgusting.

“Wow,” you breathe out and squint your eyes to make sure those were actually cuffs. “Kinky are we?”

Footsteps approach, and as you glance back you see Layla and your father approaching—“uh, this is your flat, Marc?” She asks.

“Um, I’m Steven,” he corrects her, making you briefly narrow your eyes before you turn and catch Layla finally seeing the same thing you did.

“Are you living here with someone else?” She demands to know.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he quickly assures her. “No, um, this is my mum’s flat.”

You look over at your dad and part your lips out of shock. “Grandma has a flat in London?”

He meets your gaze and stays quiet as he looks away more confused now. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums after a while.

Huh, she never mentioned.

You hum in response and move away.

“But,” he adds. “My mum never mentioned you. At all.”

You scoff. “What are you talking about?” You snap in annoyance. “You left me with them. Or what?” You begin to walk over to him and shoot him a pointed glare. “Did you take advantage of the five years I disappeared to actually erase me from your life?”

He stays quiet and begins fiddling with his fingers.

You wait for a response, for something but he just shakes his head.

“Right,” you scoff and shake your head. “I get it, dad,” you sneer and turn away to walk off and snoop somewhere else

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?” Layla thankfully interjects the silence.

They bond over the poem, whilst you find French and Hieroglyphic books on his overpiled desk.

“So, you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” You ask as you pick up a book off the desk.

Layla walks over and overlooks the things you were looking at too.

“Yeah, well…that’s not that impressive, really. It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language,” your dad says as he walks over too. “It’s more like a…”

“Like an alphabet?” You finish saying for him as you put the book down. “Yeah. Layla told me.”

He glances at Layla behind you and then back at you to continue. “Yeah, and…well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

Yep learning that.

“Sure,” you scoff, and he doesn’t stop talking.

“For example, like this one here, right?” He points to an example.

You look over and recognize it thanks to Layla’s teachings. “Funeral rites,” you mention dryly.

“Well, someone knows their unilaterals. You.” He points, and you pass a weird look. “That’s amazing.” He says nervously.

You narrow your gaze and feel your lips flicker to weird frown, whilst Layla begins to chuckle.

“Sorry,” he immediately interjects as he looks over at Layla. “I don’t mean that in a creepy way to your daughter.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Layla says and meets his gaze. “I’m not buying this, Marc. Use whatever accent you want. Yeah. Come on, Wolf.” She begins to walk off, and you don’t hesitate to follow her without even as much considering your father—“let’s just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” She grabs her bag and pulls out the divorce papers.

“Did I?” Your dad stammers. “Uh…”

Layla hands him the papers and he begins to search for something in his jacket.

“This is what you wanted,” she says as he ends up pulling out glasses you’ve never seen him wear before.

“Let’s have a look here,” he mumbles.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on,” Layla continues. “But I'm not forgetting y/n. We can be whatever you want Marc, I don't care, but I'm still going to be in her life.”

You smile faintly and watch as your father reads the papers he had sent her. “All right. Divo…Divorce?”

You further narrow your gaze and keep watching him.

“Yeah,” Layla nods. “Are we doing this or not?”

“I would never divorce you.” He retorts and just adds more confusion.

“What are you doing?” Layla snaps.

“Look, you both seem absolutely lovely,” your dad says and looks between the both of you. “Even with the snappy attitude…”

You smirk faintly at his comment and move back to the door to fold your arms over your chest.

“…This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit, yeah?” He continues to say. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening. I don’t expect you to believe me. I honestly don’t really believe it myself, all I can do is try to…try to show you what I found.” He moves to the gym back on a small table. “I found this bag in the storage locker. And inside of it is all sorts…” he unzips the bag and begins to look through it. “…of things.”

You step closer and raise your head to look over his shoulder.

“Most interestingly…” he suddenly pauses and looks up and gets his eyes lost on nothing ahead of him.

“Most interestingly is what?” Layla queries.

You tilt your head and squint.

“Nothing,” he then deadpans.

“Nothing?” Layla retorts.

Once again your father faces her and repeats himself. “Nothing nevermind.”

Layla walks to him to press further. “What’s in there?”

You drop your arms and step forward.

“Nothing…wait—” he trails off as you shove him aside and rummage through the bag. Layla walks to your side and watches until you pull out a golden scarab.

“Is this?” You mumble and slowly face Layla. “Is this it?”

Layla’s eyes widen and she reaches over to grab it from your hand before glaring at your dad. “The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti? What we fought side by side for.”

“No,” he mumbles.

“This whole one-man show is just what?” Layla argues. “So that you can keep it for yourself?”

You look at him up and down in disappointment and some confusion, but keep quiet since you’ve only recently been told about their adventures, you’ve only recently been involved thanks to Layla.

“No, no. I swear…” he tries to say but gets cut off by Layla.

“Wow. After all that we’ve been through—no, no just stop! I’m supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in wh-what, a gym bag?”

You look back down at said bag and continue to rummage through in hopes you’d find something valuable. But it’s not there. You do end up finding something else though, an invitation and a pass to your graduation ceremony.

The envelope seal is open, but the papers inside are still straight and clean. As if it was untouched. As if he never debated going.

And this is where he shoved it, in this damn bag.

“Take it,” your father says to Layla. “Take it, you can have it. Take it, take it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I swear. Have it.”

Layla shakes her head and stays quiet.

“I am not Marc Spector,” he keeps insisting. “I’m Steven Grant…”

That’s not what his actual passport says. Or his birth certificate, or your years of actually knowing him.

“I work in a gift shop. Well, I used to work in a gift shop,” he says almost as if wants to cry. “And I think I’m in real danger, and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me….Please.”

You look up and keep staring at your father.

“You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this?” Layla asks, and your father shakes his head. “Our adventures. Or our life together?”

He shakes his head and mutters, “oh, God, I wish I could.”

He’s really committed to this Steven persona isn’t he?

Nevertheless, a knock raps on the door and a woman’s voice echoes from behind the door. “Steven Grant, can we have a word?”

Your fathers eyes widen out of panic. “See?” He points to the door. “Oh, God, they’ve come for me.”

You step towards the door and look over at him. “Why?” You ask.

“I vandalized a toilet.” He shares, and you snort quietly.

The knocking proceeds to continue and your father finally answers. “Yeah, just a minute!” He then begins slowly sneaking towards the door as the woman continues.

“Steven Grant?”

“Yeah?”

She hasn’t announced who she’s here in part of. No title, nothing.

“Wa—” you end up cutting yourself off as you feel Layla's hand on your arm to begin pulling you back.

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here.”

You look around the room and point to the window.

“Yeah, yeah, one second.”

Layla sneaks over there and tries to avoid dropping any books piled on the floor as she pulls open the window as quietly as she can.

When it is opened, she waves you to climb out to the roof first before she follows once you carefully step to the side. As you’re on the roof, you look down and see it’s quite a fall so you grip onto the ledge of the roof and slowly climb higher up so Layla can grab onto the ledge too.

The moment you hear footeapes approach from the inside she pushes you back, and proceeds to press her back against the wall until you hear those same footsteps recede.

“You’re in possession of a stolen item,” you hear a man’s voice from the inside. It’s distant and barely audible thanks to the damn outside noise.

“I can barely hear,” you complain.

Layla huffs and puts her hand out so you can wait there as she carefully steps closer to the window to listen for the both of you. You try to step forward but your foot slips and you claw your nails in the wall so you wouldn't fall and drag Layla down with you.

“What are they—”

You’re shused again but this time she only stays quiet for a few minutes before she looks back at you slightly panicked. “They’re taking him.”

You gasp softly. “What?”

Layla presses her ear close to the window and waves you over as she begins to slowly walk back to the window. You follow in tow and jump back inside, but accidently knock down a pile of your fathers many books.

“Oh, shit,” you sneer.

Layla walks to the door and assures you over her shoulder, “it’s okay they’re not here anymore. But we’ll lose them if we don’t follow.”

You nod and make it out of the house to return to your scooters.

“Do you believe him?” You ask Layla as you’re in the elevator.

Layla pulls out the scarab and sighs as she shrugs. “I don’t know what to believe. Part of me does because he actually sounds so convincing, but as I look at this I contradict that belief. You?” She asks as she glances at you.

You let out a deep breath and shrug. “I don’t know, really. I find his behavior weird but….he’s left me before, so it’s hard to believe him and not think of this as some sort of trick to push me away again. On the other hand I’m trying not to let my anger blind me, I’m trying not to let my grandma's voice get to me, I want to believe him, so I don’t know,” you scoff and drop your head.

Layla places her hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes it as the elevator doors open. “You have every right to be angry. We’ll try and figure him out after we help him.”

You nod and don’t add anything, you just walk out and catch a man and a woman walking your father out of the building. They get in some black four door car. You follow but make sure to keep your distance so they wouldn't see.

And while you drove you couldn’t help but think about Layla, how you used to be angry because you were afraid she’d steal your father away. You used to be jealous of her. You’d actively wish for their downfall, you were cruel, but….after coming back she was there and he wasn’t.

Every bit of life changed, it was overwhelming and he was never there, but she was, she was always there even if she had no actual reason to. So now you can’t imagine life without her. She’s like the mother you never got to have. So part of the reason why you’re actually in search of the deadbeat is because of her, because she gives you hope and tries to sway you to look at Marc differently, not in the way your grandmother tried to make you see him. It’s because of her that you’re now following his kidnappers to some far lively residential area.

“It’s very…” you comment as you look around at all the people, at the goat passing by. “Lively.”

Layla looks back and nods stiffly. “I’ll say.”

“Should we…” you look away from the goat and keep looking ahead. “Just go inside or something?”

“There,” Layla points. You follow her finger and see the man and the woman that had taken your father. “That’s them.” Confirming that they weren’t actually any kind of authority.

You scoff. “But…he’s not with them.” You look away and catch some people walking into some old brick building at the end of the pathway.

“What even is this place?” Layla mutters.

You shrug. “Who knows,” you sigh. “But look, there. People are going in there.”

“Let’s have a look.” She says and quickens her pace.

As you follow her inside you see more people inside, they’re all doing their own thing; watching things, eating, talking. It’s like a community, this whole place. It’s…cute. Yet you don’t see your father, nor do you take the obvious straight path further inside the rundown building, you follow Layla around the hall and listen to the distant voices that become less muffled the closer you get to the other side.

“…I kinda draw a line there, at child murder…”

Your eyes brighten at the sound of his voice. His new accent.

However, the voices turn quieter, muffled, and then louder again.

“I need to know, where is the scarab?”

Oh shit. That’s a new voice.

“Where is the scarab?” The manly voice asks again to who you most likely assume is your father.

Layla catches the sound of the demands and begins to quicken her pace. You follow and notice people in the hall the closer you get.

“Where is the scarab?”

“No.”

“Where is the scarab?” The mysterious man asks again.

As the archway comes to view, Layla rounds the corner and announces herself quickly. “I have it.”

When you round the corner, you see those same peaceful people gathered around your father, and see an older man with hair a bit above his shoulder and a cane in his hand in front of him.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding,” the man directs at Layla.

You clench your fists to be ready for anything, and meet your fathers gaze, noticing that he actually seems relieved to see you this time.

“Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe.” The man continues. And as you walk closer to your father people begin to crowd around you too.

“Summon the suit,” Layla instructs your father. And for the first time since you found out about this, time stealing god, you actually agree with Layla.

“S-sorry, what?” He queries.

Layla and you both look at him and she repeats herself. “Summon the suit.”

People begin to get closer and inch closer to Layla as you keep your eyes on the people.

“Summon the soup?” He asks in confusion. “What are you saying?”

Oh wow.

“The suit,” you sneer as you look back. “Your suit. Summon it!”

He meets your gaze with more confusion and shakes his head. “The suit?”

Layla presses the scarab against him and adds, “and keep this safe.” She turns and the man finally gives up.

“So be it,” he says, causing Layla to break into a run.

You quickly follow, and your father does but grabs onto her as if he’s scared.

Men try to stop her from taking your father but she shoves them away and leads the way up the stairs. She makes it to the runway, but you come to a quick halt as a man cuts off your fathers path. And rather than fighting him off, your dad grabs your arm and pulls you away.

“What are you doing?” You snap and let him pull you up some stairs.

He doesn’t answer though because you then reach the top of the stairs and see Layla fighting off some man before she throws him off the stairs. Your father looks down at the man as he crashes down a wooden surface, and follows your line of gaze over to the old man chanting something as he has his cane pressed against the ground, causing it to crack.

Layla proceeds to run over to grab your father to pull him with her.

“That was awesome,” he compliments her. You follow her up more stairs and run down messy halls until you all finally reach some kind of storage room.

“Here. Bold the door,” Layla instructs your dad, whilst you gasp as you see all the sarcophagus in the room.

“This is all a whole lot of bad luck,” you mumble as you proceed to look for a way out.

“Oh my god,” your dad gasps. “I’m going to die in an evil magicians man cave,” he panics, making Layla approach him, and for you to watch him with a puzzled look.

“No, no. Hey. Listen to me. Listen to me,” Layla tries to calm him down as she grabs his hands. “Your name is Marc. There’s a suit. I’ve seen you wear it. You bring it out.”

“No.” He shakes his head.

You scoff and roll your eyes before you step towards him to try and snap him out of this weird persona. “Dad, where are you? We need you to fight.”

He keeps shaking his head and sounds more distressed. “No, no. I can’t. Stop, please the three of you. Please, stop!”

You blink in disbelief, but fight off your confusion and slight fear of this new reaction of his and pull his arms towards you so he can look at you. “Listen to me. Your name is Marc Spector.”

He looks away but you grab his face and pull him back.

“Your name is Marc. You’re my dad, you’re Layla’s husband. You have a weird suit that I hate, but you need to bring it out! Dad!”

He keeps looking away, and more sweat gleams his face. Layla then joins in to try and get him to snap out of it too. “Where the hell are you? You need to fight!”

“Dad—”

“Stop, stop. leave me alone, the three of you! No.”

You kneel down and continue as you grab his arms.

“Hey, look at me you—”

“No,” he snaps at you. “No! Do you not understand I am not Marc! I’m not your dad! You’re wrong, you’re mistaken, I’m not your dad. You’re not my daughter!”

You go rigid and feel your breath catch as you blink in disbelief. He pushes your hands off him and drops his head again.

He’s been absent, you’ve been angry, but you still held onto hope. You foolishly still cherished your past memories even with all the stuff your grandmother would say, you never let her poison you. Even with all your anger you still did love him. More than anyone. But hearing him say those words now, hearing him yell them out begins to darken all that good stuff you still carried.

It’s like you could hear your heart cracking inside. Everything’s so quiet, so bleak.

“Y/N, listen to me he didn't mean it,” Layla tries to excuse him again. She always did that.

“I,” you breathe out and meet her gaze. “I don’t care,” you deadpan even if tears cloud your eyes, even if you feel like sobbing and screaming, even if you want to curl up in a ball.

You stand up and step away from the pair to look for a way out.

“You can do this, I promise!” Layla tries to comfort him now. Marc. Steven whoever the hell he goes by. “Steven…”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Of course he can’t. No surprise.

You scoff and turn away to run over and check the windows.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“It’s alright,” Layla continues to comfort him. “It’s all right. Okay. We’ll just find another way.”

Layla then joins you and tries to search with you. However he doesn’t follow, he stays and continues to panic, this time he spews out nonsense as the doors get barged open.

“Jackal. Jackal. Jackal!”

You look over but see nothing. “What jackal?” You ask and then look over at him as he steps back and keeps pointing at nothing.

“Jackal. Jackal…” he then trails off as he suddenly gets shoved out the window.

Without thinking you gasp and rush over to the broken window. “No,” you yell.

But once you look over you see him land perfectly, like, in a weird hero pose.

“Is he okay?” Layla asks.

You nod and sigh in relief. “Yep. He just…landed.” You remember your anger and betrayal and look away to continue finding a way out for yourself, not for him.

Thankfully, Layla finds a fire escape and you climb down on the side of the building. Now albeit, Layla wants to find Marc, so you stick with her.

And luckily as you were going to walk out of the alleyway, Marc comes crashing through another wall. This time he’s dressed differently though. You’ve seen his suit before, it’s quite cool if you should admit, but this one doesn’t have a cape, there’s no gold crescent moon on his chest, no hood. He’s just in a suit. A plain white suit.

Regardless, he quickly finds his footing and proceeds to tear a bumper off a car.

“You look different,” Layla stammers seconds before Marc gets pushed to the floor and then gets pulled back. You would’ve questioned it, the invisible jackal, but there's really no need. It all must be a part of how he has his powers. It’s inconvenient though, not being able to see whatever is attacking and shoving Marc to cars.

“Stay away from me!” Marc yells as Layla tries to approach him.

“Away from what?!” She exclaims before she gets shoved back to the ground.

“Layla!” You exclaim and run over to her.

Marc keeps getting attacked, he begins to get pulled off the ground and seems to be getting choked, not letting Layla accept your offer to help her off the ground because she quickly insists on grabbing a bottle by your feet to throw it at whatever has Marc held up against the car.

When the bottle crashes, the liquid within creates a silhouette of a jaw opening as the monster roars.

Layla proceeds to try and attack it, but it suddenly grabs her too and shoves her and Marc back.

“Fuck,” you murmur and pull your braclet apart to get ahold of your daggers. The monster seems to see your action as he lets the pair go because he growls your way; you feel it’s breath on your face, but don’t see it. So you don’t let it intimidate you. Instead you sprint towards it, but miss hitting anything, instead it continues to push Marc back again.

“Fuck you,” you grimace in annoyance before you pull your arm up and throw your hand down, managing to finally stab some flesh. However, the monster quickly retaliates and hits you back so hard you hit the ground.

You try to quickly push yourself to your feet, but suddenly something cold wraps around your ankles before it drags you back, making you scream.

“Y/N!” Layla yells and tries to fight it off, but it just shoves her back since she can’t see what his position is exactly.

“Get off!” You yell and twist around to begin kicking it. The monster then proceeds to pick you off the ground though and dangles you off the ground with ease. You try to continue kicking it, you try to reach for something in your pockets, but Marc then rushes over with something and hits it before Layla comes over too and stabs it with a dagger you dropped.

Just as it drops you though, it hits Marc and tries to hit Layla but she slides her feet back and dodges.

“Are you okay?” You mutter to Layla in between pants.

She nods and meets your gaze. “You?”

You nod and take back your daggers. “Yep, just trying to figure this invisible thing out.”

“I think I can. Get away from them, you,” Marc shouts, causing you to look over to see him prancing around and taunting it. “Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote. You’re in the wrongs ends, mate. You’re in my yard now.” He pulls his suit jacket off and throws it on the ground. “Yeah, come on. Come on. That’s right. Come on.”

You stand up to your feet and slightly narrow your gaze as you watch Marc slowly going back into the busy street.

“Ooh, lookie here. Lookie here. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a V. Oh, my God. Here you come, come on!” He shouts before he swings arm.

“Did he hit it?” You mumble and pat your pockets to try and find your gadgets.

Layla shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“Wagwan!” Marc exclaims. “I did it! You got planted!” He laughs as he points ahead of him. “Layla! Girls! Did you see that?”

You narrow your gaze and pull out a paralyzing agent. You don’t intend to answer, just smile awkwardly, but then Marc gets thrown back towards the street, causing traffic to stop, and people to finally gawk.

“I just need to see it,” you mumble and slowly begin to sneak forward towards the spot Marc got hit. “And I can hit.” Since this place is a residential area you don’t bother to get out any explosives as small as they are.

Then again if it gets in the right position you can throw it in his mouth, or Marc can since he sees it.

That’s a smart idea.

“Okay, Layla, let’s go towards it,” you say even if you don’t bother to stop and let her contradict.

She wasn’t of course, but you still gave her no time to argue before you quickened your pace to run to the street.

And just as you’re going to go near Marc as he keeps getting slammed against the bus, you stop as a car comes rushing forward. Marc steps back albeit and it’s possible that he pushes the monster in front of the car to get it run over. You can't really tell since he gets thrown back, but the car didn't seem like it hit him so he couldn’t have made such a big dent.

Regardless you still can’t help but be worried as he doesn’t move. “Hey,” you call out. “Are you—” you cut yourself as you see him beginning to push himself up, he then looks behind him and when you follow his line of gaze, you just see people getting pushed back. That’s it.

The corner of your lips tug to a slight before you break into a sprint towards it.

“Y/N, no, stop!” You hear Layla yell, but you ignore her.

Once you reach the spot people are getting pushed at by nothing, you activate the paralyzing agent and slam it against a big spot that’s between the people. And luckily the monster roars out, you can once again feel its breath and hear it in front of you, but it doesn’t move…

It doesn’t hit you, you don’t feel dry and cold skin slap across your face, or feel it grab your feet. It works again.

It works!

Before the paralyzing agent can wear off, you pull out your dagger and stab its flesh. It roars again so you pull out the small explosive and try to throw it towards where you feel its breath, and feel its spit come out as it roars. But before you can even activate the gadget something cold suddenly wraps around your throat. It lifts you off the ground and moves forwards to slam your back against a brick wall.

You groan and feel sharp pain radiate from your back and the back of your head. It continues to squeeze your throat, blocking out the air that came through, making you begin to gasp and hit at its arms, causing your eyesight to blur and the sounds around you to sound muffled with how fast your heart was racing.

Layla calls out for you, you can hear the muffled sound of your name, but you don’t see her or feel this thing let you go. You try to reach for something to hit it with in the meanwhile, but it slams you against the wall again.

Just as it seems like it might take you out, suddenly it roars before its grip slips off your throat and makes you hit the floor, letting you finally breathe in air again with every deep gasp.

“Hey, hey,” you hear clearer now and recognize that deep voice. “You’re okay. You’re good.”

You rub your throat and look up to see Marc in the old suit now.

“Wolf,” he says without an accent and makes you stare at him in confusion. “You’re okay. You did good.” He grabs your arm to try and help you up, but even if you can breathe again because of him, even if he calls you those names that have a way to reassure you, at the sound of his actual normal voice you grow angry again and rip your arm out of his grip to help yourself up.

Before he can say anything in the respect, the monster roars again.

“Get it out of here!” Layla instructs, and without a second of hesitation Marc runs away and you assume the monster does too, letting Layla and you return to your scooters.

Yet before you can even make it far on your scooters, both Layla and you stop as you see the same older gentleman from before talking to a man.

“I’m sorry, but that belongs to me.”

You can’t see what it is he wants from the man, but you assume it’s the scarab since he’s wasting his time trying to convince the man to hand it over.

“I can offer you food, clothing, but I am unable to offer you this. Thank you.” The older gentleman then grabs the man’s hand as he continues to speak. “I wish you could live to see the world we make.” Then the man's body gets pulled up for a few seconds before he just drops…

The older gentleman lifts the scarab you now see in his hand and looks at it for a few seconds, before he looks over and catches Layla and you staring.

And it’s at that moment that his eyes land on you that Layla drives off, and you follow her home since Marc handled the monster and Layla assumes he wouldn't go home since he knew that’s where you’d find him.

——

*LATER*

“…and if that man has the scarab that means he’s going to go to Ammit’s tomb,” Layla shares as she begins to pack a bag. “Khonshu doesn’t want that, he wants the scarab for himself too, so it means Marc is going there too. Which means we’re going there.”

You hum and stay quiet, you don’t agree or add anything on the matter, you stay sitting at the edge of her bed and just fiddle with your fingers.

Right away Layla notices your silence, she sees the way you’re sitting with your head down, and your back hunched and knows something is wrong.

“You should be packing,” she interjects.

You shake your head. “No,” you mumble. “I’m not going to Egypt with you. I’m going back home, back to Chicago. My grandpa is alone now, I’ll stay with him until I need to go to New York.” You sigh and lift your hand to pull off the gold crescent moon necklace that Marc had gifted you years ago.

“What, but I thought we were doing this together,” Layla argues, and you hear footsteps approaching. “I understand it might be dangerous, but you wanted to do this, don't let him stop you.”

You swallow thickly and sigh. “You heard him,” you mumble. “You heard what he said, I’m not going to go after someone who doesn’t care about me. If he doesn’t want to be a father anymore he doesn’t have to. I’m nineteen now, he has no legal obligation.” You stand up and try to storm off but Layla grabs your arm and turns you to face her.

“I don’t think it was him who said that,” she tries to argue in his defense. “I think that was someone else. Someone your dad didn’t talk to us about.”

You hold her gaze for a second all seriously before you chuckle and shake your head. “You expect me to believe that? He’s obviously lying, he’s making all that shit about being Steven Grant who doesn’t remember his past life, who has a completely new one to run from his old life. To run from me, from you.” You huff out of frustration and pull your arm away from her hand.

“So I’m done, I’m done trying to look for him, and trying to reconnect. He left me for a reason, Layla,” you mutter in a quivering voice. “I’ll respect it.” You turn to head to your room, but she stops you as you reach the door.

“For me then? Come to Egypt for me.” She continues to approach you, and you drop your head and groan. “I need your help. Your gadgets and your brains.”

She’s talking you up. Great.

“Egypt…” you pause and let out a deep breath. “Is a big place, how will you find him?”

Layla comes to a stop behind you, and you practically hear her smirk. “Maybe you have a way to find him?”

You do.

“I do,” you reveal with a slow cocky smirk tugging on your lips.

149 notes · View notes