Chapter Text
Marcus keeps having that dream.
It’s more of a nightmare.
He’s back at the orphanage. Those fuckers are chasing him, screaming, mutating into monsters that reach out with long claws to tear at his scarred body.
They want to kill him.
They want to consume him completely.
Marcus wakes gasping. His shirt is drenched with sweat. He’s shaking so hard one might think the room’s temperature is below zero.
“You okay, Marcus?”
Shabnam is half-sitting up and blinking groggily in his direction.
Marcus swallows, nods.
He does not return to sleep but remains sitting up in bed, biting his nails and fidgeting.
Sleep does not come that night. It doesn’t come the next three nights either.
On the fourth day of no sleep, Marcus finds himself in Master Lin’s office with a group of his closest friends. The headmaster informs them that they have a unique assignment in another city.
They will stay at a designated safe house. They will kill a former student gone rogue.
Master Lin looks Marcus up and down where he’s wobbling on his feet. Lin looks to Saya but does not say anything about her pledge’s ragged appearance. The weight of his gaze suggests to her, though, ‘He’s your responsibility.’
They pack up and roll out at eight am the next morning. Willie drives. Marcus insists on sitting in the front seat.
He looks in the rear view mirror and sees Petra, Billy and Lex in the very back, squished but comfortable. Petra’s legs are over Billy’s. Billy leans into Lex’s side while Lex stretches his arm over Billy’s shoulders on the back of the seat.
Marcus knows that if he were back there, the touch and proximity would have him falling asleep immediately.
He’s not ready yet. He can’t handle the torture of those fucking memories of the past, can’t stand the way they warp into something more dangerous.
Lex says something and the three in the very back laugh. Marcus averts his eyes from the scene.
Marcus retrieves another cigarette from his pocket and lights it. He takes a drag so deep, the cigarette almost burns down to the filter.
“Damn, dude, you’ve almost smoked two packs today,” Willie says.
“He’s stressed,” Maria says from the seat behind him, a smile in her tone.
Suddenly her hands are on his shoulders. Marcus is glad the road is loud because he actually whimpers at the feeling of her thumbs massaging his sore shoulders in soothing circles.
“Dios mío,” Maria says, now sounding serious. “You’re really tense, Marcus.”
And he knows, he fucking knows. He hurts and he’s tired and he’s leaning forward and out of her grip even though it’s all he wants because he cannot allow himself to fall asleep.
The nightmares like wolves wait at the corners of his mind for his guard to drop.
They’re not fucking dropping yet.
Marcus turns on the radio. He inserts a CD from Billy’s collection stored in the dashboard. At the first sound of screaming punk music, he turns it all the way up.
“I don’t like this shit,” Saya says. “Turn it down.”
“I like it.”
The back row doesn’t seem to mind; Lex and Billy are hopping in their seats. Petra rolls her eyes.
After two hours, they decide to stop for gas and snacks. After two hours, Marcus is feeling even more like complete shit.
They all get out of the car to stretch their legs. Marcus has to use the exterior of the car to stand.
Lex stands close to him. Marcus wants to reach out and hold his hand because he’s feeling really dizzy and he doesn’t want to float away or fall out.
“Oi!”
Marcus blinks as his forehead lightly bumps Lex’s. Lex has a grip on both of Marcus’ biceps to hold him upright.
He must have lost his balance for a moment.
Marcus shakes himself and stands up straight. He takes a shaky step back and away from the comforting touch that wants to guide him to sleep.
A feeling of alienation runs through him. Marcus feels distant. Unwanted.
“Don’t,” he says with a lick of his chapped lips and a slow blink, “don’t touch me.”
Lex furrows his brow. “You were the one falling into me!”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever nothing, you bloody cunt!”
Marcus waves him off as he sways heavily on his feet. He got pissy when he was tired but this is beyond that. It feels like he’s drugged up on something shitty and cheap. He feels irritated enough to want to fight everyone even though he could barely stand up or know what’s really happening.
He doesn’t even notice that all of them are back in the car until Willie puts up the gas nozzle and rounds the side of the car.
“Marcus, you good?” Willie says with an unsure look. When he doesn’t get a real answer, Willie steps closer.
Marcus plants a hand on Willie’s chest when he gets too close. He pushes him back weakly. Marcus snarls his lip and he really doesn’t know why he’s mad or what he’s doing anymore.
He doesn’t feel good.
He wants to be okay again.
He wants this to end.
“I don’t need anyone,” Marcus slurs. “I’m fine.”
Willie looks down to where Marcus touched him. When he looks back up, his concern has been replaced with acute irritation.
“If you don’t need anyone,” Willie says, “then you can find a ride back to California by yourself.”
Willie gets in the driver’s seat, leaving Marcus standing by the gas pump dumbly. He can’t see the others through the tinted windows but he’s sure they’re all staring at him.
The car starts to drive off a few yards out of the gas station and a little up the dusty main road. Willie thankfully pulls the car over to the side of the road not too far away.
Panicked, Marcus runs after it clumsily.
The passenger window is cracked only an inch.
“Open the door,” Marcus pants.
“You gonna act right?”
Marcus clenches his jaw. He bares his teeth. His furious reflection in the glass is frightening.
“Open the fucking door!”
The wheels spiral against the dirt. Rock and dust go flying as the car accelerates a few more yards ahead.
Marcus whines as he jogs half-assedly after it.
“Okay, okay, I’m done,” he says. “Please open the door.”
The sun is hot and his head is spinning and Marcus leans against the door for support, an expression of both physical and mental hurt dancing across his features.
“Please,” he whimpers and he doesn’t have enough energy to hate the way it sounds like he’s begging.
The door unlocks.
Marcus falls inside. He shuts the door, puts his elbow on the armrest and hides his face in his hand.
No one speaks as the car begins its trajectory to the city. The air is tense. Marcus can’t stomach to look at any of them; the guilt is nearly overwhelming.
His breathing gets a little strained the more he thinks about his previous behavior. He’s angry again but this time at himself.
They don’t deserve to be treated like that.
Maybe they should have left him behind back there. He probably deserves it. Everyone leaves him eventually, it’s only a matter of time.
Marcus’ chin quivers but he refuses to cry. He feels like a complete mess and fuckup.
He feels like he’s falling apart.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He clears his throat, sits up straighter in his chair but keeps his eyes on his lap. “I’m sorry I acted like a dick back there. That was uncalled for and… so fucking stupid. I’m not proud of myself. I’m embarrassed and upset that I treated you all that way. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Billy says after a brief moment of silence. “We all have our moments. I’m sure we’ll all have the chance to show our asses before this trip’s over.”
“I’m sorry, Willie,” Marcus mumbles.
“It’s fine, man.”
“I’m sorry, Lex.”
“‘s all right.”
It’s mostly quiet for the rest of the forty-five minute car ride, nothing but the soft crooning of the radio. Marcus has to bite the inside of his cheek so it doesn’t lull him into sleep.
“This is the safe house?”
They all look at the address written on the paper given to them by Lin with the instruction to burn it as soon as they arrived. They look up.
“It can’t be.”
“This is the address.”
A rinky dink shack sat between two large abandoned buildings. No windows and a rusted metal door, it is nondescript here on the edge of town but heavily weathered.
It’s no hotel, not even a motel.
It’s a box.
They grab their bags and move inside but Marcus is stuck in time behind them, only following when that hint of fear at being abandoned flares up within his chest.
Halfway to the door, someone grabs his wrist. He whips his head to his left.
Saya is looking at him. Her voice reads annoyance but her face reads heavily concerned.
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting weird all day. You look...terrible,” she says. “Are you on something that we don’t know about? Pills? Tell me what’s going on right now.”
Marcus pulls his hand from hers. “Stop.”
“You’re worrying me, Marcus.”
“I don’t- I-... Don’t worry about me. Please. Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Do what?”
“Get wrapped up in my shit! I can handle it, I can, I can…”
He repeats this softly to himself like he’s trying to will himself to believe it.
“Marcus, what are you talking about?”
“I need a smoke.”
Saya hesitates to leave him alone but ultimately understands his need for space. Marcus leans against the front of the shack sucking on yet another cigarette, alone.
He feels guilty for making her worry. No one should have to worry about him. He’s the one who worries about them . He’s the one who feels the need to protect them.
Marcus is fine.
God, he wishes he believed that.
When he goes inside after two more cigarettes and a period of reflection of how pathetic he is, he finds his friends getting ready for bed.
There’s not a shower in their criminally small hideout so they all wash up in the kitchen sink. Saya lathers her hair with dish soap. Lex stands shirtless nearby scrubbing suds under his arms. Petra helps Billy wrap his hair up in a dish towel like hers. Maria and Willie brush their teeth.
Marcus should probably do the same but he can’t find the energy.
They roll out the sleeping bags they find in a nearby closet on the floor next to each other. They do not admit it is for preferred proximity but claim it to be an efficient battle strategy if they are attacked in the night.
The lights turn out. Marcus’ stomach twists.
An hour later and everyone’s fallen asleep. Marcus sits up against the wall still in his sleeping bag. His eyes drift across the room from empty shelves to tables, counters, the door.
His eyes scan the floor around him.
In the dark he can see the girls curled up in their sleeping bags like caterpillars in cocoons. Their hair is still a little wet. Their makeup is off.
Marcus thinks they’re beautiful.
Lex sleeps shirtless. Billy’s mohawk is unstyled and limp after a brief wash but looks incredibly soft. Willie’s strong arms are up and folded under his head.
All of them sleep without a worry.
Marcus is suffering.
He pinches his arms, digs his fingers into his skin, pulls at his hair, does anything to keep himself awake and away from the terror that awaits him.
Marcus is fighting, fighting… fight… fi...
His head drops forward.
Marcus wakes to the sound of his own screams.
It’s fucking jarring. He’s trembling outrageously. He feels sick to his stomach. Fat beads of sweat drip from under his arms and his mouth is dry and his cheeks are wet.
For a while after waking, he isn’t sure where he is.
Nightmare and reality blur together and he interprets the shadows surrounding him to be the ones who want to kill him.
Someone moves on his left. Marcus recoils in a panic.
Saya holds her hands up. “Marcus,” she says slowly, “you’re safe. It’s us.”
Marcus stalls for a second. He looks around in shocked confusion. The six faces staring at him in the dark are not malicious but deeply worried.
These six faces are familiar.
Marcus feels the cursed prickle of fresh tears forming in his eyes.
He turns back to Saya. He falls into her chest.
Marcus surrenders completely. He allows himself to feel a mess and gives up on trying to ward these waves of intense emotion off.
He feels filthy and confused and embarrassed and afraid and anxious and sad and weak and a million other disgusting things.
The ones sitting up around him are quiet and unmoving, clearly in shock at his behavior. But when Marcus makes a series of strangled sounds of residual fear and panic, they throw all hesitance out the window and say ‘Fuck it,’ as they slide closer to him.
Petra holds Marcus’ right hand in both of hers. Lex holds his left and tangles their calloused fingers together tightly.
Saya is all he can see in front of him. He can feel Maria lean against his entire back. Billy guides Marcus’ legs into his lap and rubs his knee soothingly. Willie holds a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, firm and grounding.
“F- Fuck,” Marcus gasps through a series of harsh hiccups that jolt his entire body. “Sh- shit-“
“Shh,” Saya hushes, a hand now on the back of his head holding him to her. Marcus slams his mouth shut but continues his involuntary shaking.
Saya drops her head a little to whisper privately into his ear, “We’re right here, Marcus. You’re safe. We’re not going to let anyone hurt you.”
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, then squeezes the hands in his. Saya runs a hand through his hair and he doesn’t even attempt to suppress the small whines that escape him.
“You’re tired,” Saya says in final realization.
Marcus heaves a dry sob against her. “ Exhausted .”
He feels a shift in those around him, something like a physical flex so subtle they might not have realized they were doing it. It’s like they’re preparing to protect him from physical harm, like they’re erecting a wall of muscle and bone around him to hide him from the world.
There is no doubt in Marcus’ mind that they would fight to the death anyone who so much as looked in his direction right now. Thankfully, there’s no one here but them.
“N- Nightmares,” Marcus answers when Maria asks him softly why he hasn’t been sleeping. “The past. Shit I should be fucking over but I’m not .”
The silence that follows highlights the shoddiness of his breath. It’s like they’re unsure if they should say anything.
Billy tries.
“Well, we’re not going anywhere, dude,” Billy says quietly. “You can’t scare us off with your shit. You can talk to us about anything.”
“You’re a filthy Rat like us, darling,” Lex says with a soft smile and his thumb stroking Marcus’ scarred knuckles. “And Rats are pack animals. We look out for each other.”
“ No estás solo , Marcus,” Maria says. “You never were.”
“Whatever shit happens, we’re your backup,” Willie says. “That means out on the street and here in private. No question.”
“You don’t have to suffer in silence,” Petra insists. “That’s what we’re here for. We’re your friends.”
“We care about you, Marcus. We…” Saya clears her throat then exhales any reservation so she may reveal their shared truth. “We love you.”
Marcus’ first instinct is to shake his head like it isn’t true, like it’s some elaborate method to manipulate him, like he doesn’t deserve it.
But there’s a murmur of agreement around him and Marcus chokes out a few sobs into Saya’s chest because those words mean so much more to him than they know because of the family and friends he’s lost.
These people around him feel like both.
Marcus cries. They do not mock him.
Instead, they hold him, soothe him and let him weep his lingering frustration with the past, his remaining fear, the relief at finally being accepted, the amazement of being loved.
He wants to tell them it’s been so long, that he doesn’t remember what it feels like to be cared about, but he can’t form words.
Half of them might be legacies but they’re all acting like rats tonight with how they’re piled up with no room between them.
They all lay down and huddle close with no intention of ever leaving him, not even after he falls asleep.
“Sleep,” Saya says.
“You’re safe,” Billy says.
“We got you,” Willie says.
They can feel every breath come from each other, every comfortable shift of tired muscles. Together they are a single organism.
Marcus is the first to fall asleep. He’s out in less than a minute after everything quiets. He snores with his mouth open and his body entirely lax, thoroughly passed out after so long awake.
Despite the mildly obnoxious sound, his friends let him sleep.
And the few times throughout the night when he quiets abruptly or twitches, it’s like magic how one or two of them blink awake long enough to rub his arm, stroke his cheek or hold his hand until he’s returned back to deep sleep.
Marcus doesn’t dream that night.
And he’s more than fine with that.