Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Mark fails to stop the quick catch of his heart from tugging out a part of him he’s kept long dormant – His thoughts drowned out by the tidal wave of sadness that washes through him, unsure of whether or not he’s mistaking what he feels for pity or a fucked up mixture of both.

“That’s not good,” He thinks grumpily to himself, his eyes creasing from behind his blackened lenses. He readjusted the position of his sword out of habit, the light glinting off its edge and causing the older woman on the other end to flinch, her arms noticeably tensing around the small boy in her arms. He’s sure he looks the part of some sinister beast with his recent catch laying limp in his other hand, a bite taken out of it and staining the skin around his mouth a shiny dark red, perhaps a feather or two stuck to his suit as well since he was never polite with his meals – never had reason to anymore since human customs were lost on him nowadays.

It’s been a while since he interacted with a human, nonetheless, a foolish woman bringing her spawn into the mountains they were warned away from if his deal with Stedman was still being upheld. There’s a reason no one but himself was allowed in these parts, why he’s sworn himself into a life of seclusion. He refused to walk the same path his father had – pretending to be something he wasn’t. He knew what he was, came to terms with it even. But still, there came instances where he’d see the face of a stranger and make the unfortunate misconception of thinking he was seeing someone else for that split moment – someone who he remembers opening the curtains for him in the mornings, someone who’d let the sun shine on his face before shading them with their body and someone who would brush his bangs back so they could press their lips against his forehead and remind him that once upon a time, he’d truly been loved at one point. 

Loved by someone – possibly a woman, maybe his mother? A human, one of the lambs his father sought to take control of. The details were lost on him, the remnants of his past yet another part of him he discarded alongside his father that day. But try as he must, there are parts of him he’ll never be able to be rid of, a part of him that refuses to let go no matter how much he tugged and pulled away from it. 

“Mark, what’s the matter?” Their voice, faint and all but forgotten, used to ring out like gentle chimes, coaxing him to instinctively relax his tensed shoulders and let his guard down at the mere reminder of their presence and what it used to bring into his life. 

And now, what it leaves in its absence. 

Mark flinched at the sudden shriek of distress that came from the boy, momentarily bringing Mark out of his daze as he once more regarded the lambs in front of him. Mark begrudgingly lowered his sword, his overly sensitive ears beginning to ring from the high-pitched sobs he was not about to see dealt with by the same woman who brought about these discomforting feelings in him.

“ Please! Please, we won’t cross into your land ever again! Just please let us leave, we beg of you!” Instinct screamed at him to throw his sword to the side and tear this woman apart from limp to limp simply for causing him to falter when not even his father could during their last stand. But his instincts also screamed at him to kill the boy instead for being in a position that should be his . 

And as soon as that unknown urge came about he sheathed his blade and turned away from the pair, his arms crossed as he bit out through gritted teeth, “ Leave , you won’t be getting another chance if you come this way again, got it?” His voice was quiet from disuse, with a gravel to it as well. Nonetheless, he got his point across. He didn’t quite care what they thought of him anyway.

The woman had let out a grateful sob almost simultaneously, thanking him profusely as she carried the boy in her arms as far away from him as possible. Stupid , both of them were incredibly stupid. Thanking the beast for sparing them as if it hadn’t just threatened their lives a moment earlier. His pointed nails dug into the flesh of his forearms as he stayed stationary and followed their scents until he was sure they were gone, never to be seen again. Good . They shouldn’t have met in the first place, and if she had some semblance of a brain, then she’d warn others away from his territory in place of Stedman since he doesn’t seem to be upholding his part of the bargain any longer.

He’ll give the older lamb the benefit of the doubt, and chalk it up to human nature to explore. But if it were to happen a second time, then he’d depart and remind them of why the deal was made in the first place.

Mark returned to his catch, elongated fangs sinking easily into the tender flesh of the bird as he walked along the trail he was gradually getting to form from constant walks in the same directions. Back when he lived as mostly human, he did everything in his power to conceal his natural Viltrumite instincts, kidding himself into believing he was something he wasn’t. But nowadays he was allowed to do whatever he wanted – in his respective territory – and embrace the side of him that's always called to him. He loved to hunt, the thrill of the chase made each catch worth every bite. He loved to take, scaring away any predators that had challenged him for territory. It was in his nature to conquer, to dominate all living things beneath his strength levels. But the human side of him he’d inherited is what kept him tame and from becoming the same beast his father was. And ultimately, it’s what led him to decide to live the rest of his days in seclusion.

Things were better this way . He’d remind himself of that constantly in the rare instances where the ache in his chest would stubbornly persist. And now, after being reminded of something he’d lost, repeated those same words back to himself like a mantra. Things were better this way because now nobody has to suffer from a Viltrumite ever again. As long as he was here and they were there, nothing bad had to happen ever again. Nobody had to get hurt, nobody's mother had to be taken away from them at too young an age–

Mark swiftly climbed himself up a tree, his widened eyes honed in on a rabbit carelessly grazing the grass, unaware of the predator watching its every move. He didn’t need to keep hunting, his hunger was satiated for the time being. But his energy from earlier had begun to feel discomforting beneath his skin, causing him to shake and his skin to itch from the need to let it out on something. The rest of his day was spent hunting, and then once he’d calmed down, he made sure to wash away the remnants of his day in a river not too far from where he set up camp before turning in for the night. 

His slumber was spent restlessly tossing and turning from one place to the next, caught in a memory once lost with time.

“Nothing’s the matter,’” He grumbled, regretting it as soon as he did since talking back to them was against the rules, and whenever he went against said rules he disliked seeing the look of disapproval he’d receive in return. It made that feeling in his nose sting all the worse. He let out a hiccup before he could prevent it and as soon as he realized he’d been caught doing what he wasn’t supposed to, his shamelessness came out in full force. 

His father would hit him if he were to see him like this while calling him weak for crying and reminding him that Viltrumites never cried since the act was beneath them. But in place of hands that bruised came the ones that softened his worries instead, those familiar fingers – always gentle, never rough, brushed a few strands of his hair behind his ear as arms much longer than his wrapped themselves around his trembling frame. 

“Oh my sweet boy, I’m not mad at you, you’re not in trouble,” She gently held his chin, lifting his head so he was looking at her. “Do you remember what I told you? That as long as we’re together, you can cry as much as you want. I’d never be upset at you for it either.” 

Mark held eye contact for a moment before looking away when another hiccup shook his frame. “Mhm…” He mumbled, nodding his head along with his answer and pressing the side of his face further into his mother’s embrace. At that moment, he was able to forget the ache on his wrist from when his father grabbed him too roughly or the memory that had scarred itself into his brain as he was forced to watch his father tear a person in half for interrupting their “training” session.

All he focused on was the tender squeeze in his heart, the fuzziness that wrapped its way through his thoughts as he was comforted by the simple fact of family and love and what was his. 

Mark would be forced awake the very next day by the deafening crack of thunder from not too far away, his immediate reaction was to jump out of bed and resume a stance that would make it easier for him to attack if the danger were to attempt to strike first. His patience allowed him a few minutes at best before his restlessness got the best of him, his flared nerves itching to get rid of whatever it was that threatened him and soon so he could go back to resting. His dream had been nice for once, forgiving amongst the sea of memories that were far from it. 

He gave the air a quieted sniff, nothing with a distinctly living scent was detected, only the curious scent of ozone and eggs if he had to compare it to something familiar. He grabbed his recently dried head mask and put it on, quickly tying the strings together in the back he then reached for his sword and followed the scent’s trail to its source where he was met face to swirls with a mysterious mass that doused the surrounding area in its green radiance.

“What the fuck even are you?” He knew it wouldn’t respond, it was a rhetorical question only meant to humor nobody but himself. Mark looked around, the following area was undisturbed for the most part, and it looked as if nothing had created whatever this was – meaning he was by himself trying to figure out whether or not this swirling mess was a danger or not. 

Mark picked up the nearest rock and chucked it as hard as he could at the swirls, almost disappointed when there was no reaction whatsoever. He pouted, picked up another rock, and repeated his actions for a while until he grew bored. He didn’t know when he resumed a sitting position, his chin resting on both the palm of his hand and the hilt of his sword as he threw rocks and played the guessing game on whatever it was that was occupying his lawn. 

“Stedman’s doing? Nah, he’s dramatic but he would have made his entrance by now. Something alien? Maybe, but why here? Ugh, maybe it is a living thing and has always lived in these parts and I’m the intruder…” Mark let out a yawn, his earlier excitement all but vanished by now as an hour had passed of him simply sitting and watching the green amalgamation do nothing.

“Would you kill me if I were to fall asleep? Do you even understand what I’m saying? Whatever, how the hell do I get you to leave me alone– ” Mark interrupted himself by jumping up in alarm, the green swirls spinning more quickly and its size growing from a comfortable two feet tall and wide to double that in a flash. Mark barely had time to react before it was consuming him whole. “ Holy shit! ” Mark just barely managed to shout before his world was encompassed by that same shade of green that had started to become the source of his headache. 

He was falling, and the Earth around him smelled unfamiliar now – no longer was he welcomed by the overbearing scent of moss and mildew, instead, he was overwhelmed by the old memory of smog and over-processed food that would linger on his clothes back when he lived amongst the humans. Mark reacted before he could process what he was doing, taking flight and successfully breaking his fall at the last second before he could become a smear of red on the pavement his body cut through. 

Over the ringing in his ears, he could faintly make out the chorus of screams that followed his unruly arrival, alarms here and there mixing in with the fray but more distant than everything else attacking his senses. Mark let out a groan, one hand rubbing at the ache at the back of his head while his other hand clenched and unclenched numbly at the hilt of his blade. He turned himself over, one knee propped up as he did his best to regain his bearings. He took a deep breath in, the hairs at the back of his neck raised from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and did his best to relax when he exhaled that same breath feeling more steady than he was before. 

Everything had happened all too suddenly. One moment he’d been chilling on some grass, carelessly throwing rocks at the green amalgamation, and the next he’d been sent flying miles above land and into some city where he’d rather be anywhere else but . His first thoughts go towards Stedman and their deal, and how he wasn’t supposed to leave the mountains, and if he were to break that then he’d face the consequences of being locked up like a beast in some zoo for his people to poke and prod at like the vultures they were. 

“ Fuck… ” He slurred, standing on unsteady legs, his hand tightening around his blade as he looked at his other hand, his vision doubling somewhat before his healing factor kicked in and he was seeing normally once more. His palm was stained red, but he wasn’t too worried about that, knowing that by now his injury would have closed up. 

If Stedman tries to get on his ass for leaving the mountains, then he’d bring up his uninvited guests from yesterday and how he wasn’t technically the first to break their deal–

A loud boom sounded out, its shockwaves causing Mark to stagger on his feet for a moment before he averted his gaze and met the goggled eyes of a figure from not too far away. The stranger looked male, his mask and overall outfit looked similar to his with the obvious difference in aesthetics. Where Mark chose to style his blackened lenses into a blindfold that tied at the back of his head, the figure in front of him wore theirs like a mask of sorts – like a damn superhero from the city would. It got creepy when he noticed how similar the top half of their outfits were, nearly identical. Things started to stray back into originality once more however when it came to their bottoms; Mark chose to wear something a little more loose, black and blue cargo pants with stylish yellow fabrics adorned on each side of his hips that weren’t at all practical in battle or hunting but gave him something to admire whenever he catches his reflection in passing. 

The creepy ass stranger stood there and stared at him, scrutinizing his appearance like he was to him and most likely making the same connections he was. Mark tilted his chin downward when he saw the tick of tension in the stranger’s jaw, the tightening of his fists, and the similar shift of head movement for when he was anticipating an attack.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” The stranger practically growled, his statement taken more as a threat in Mark’s eyes. It was unnerving, not his words, but how similar they sounded as well. Was this guy sent by Stedman? It was difficult to get a read on him with everything else currently occupying his thoughts and senses. It left him on an unsteady foot, and if there was anything Mark disliked, it was being at an immediate disadvantage. 

Mark pointed the end of his blade at the guy, a half-frown on his face. “Did Stedman send you?” He asked instead, choosing to ignore the earlier threat. “If so, tell him it wasn’t my fault and that he broke the agreement first,”

This is what caused the stranger to falter, his shoulders lowering somewhat in obvious bewilderment before he shook his head. “ What? No, whatever! You’re coming with me, whether you want to or not!” 

Mark was really hoping the stranger wouldn’t say something like that, he hadn’t bothered listening to orders in ages and he wasn’t about to start now. “How cliché– ” He wasn’t given much time to react, where the stranger was a comfortable distance away, they were now directly in front of him with a fist pointed at his jaw for a clean knockout. Mark quickly sidestepped, his eyes widening at the prospect of being caught off guard for the first time since he’d fought Dad all those years ago.

Mark jumped back, his feet sliding against the ground as he gave the stranger a toothy smile, fangs bared in all their pointed glory. “Wow! You’re quick! I haven’t been caught off guard like that in forever!” Not like that anyway, at least with his father he knew what to expect. But this was a completely different playing field, wasn’t it? How exciting! He thought, his adrenaline from earlier returning to him in a rush.

The stranger didn’t respond with words, each of his punches was dodged and due to the stranger’s sheer speed alone, Mark was forced to play defensively rather than offensively lest he take the brunt of this guy’s punches head-on. Mark waited for his opening, familiarizing himself with the guy’s rhythm until eventually, like clockwork, he found the opening he was looking for. He slammed the hilt of his blade against the guy’s temple, just enough to knock them out. He regretted it as soon as he did however once he realized just how durable he was to his attack – his wrist caught in the stranger’s steely grasp. He was allowed a moment of clarity to think, “ Oh fuck– ” before he got his face bashed in by the stranger’s forehead, his nose crunching instantly and the glass of his goggles shattering upon impact. 

Mark let out a yelp and used all of his force this time to push the stranger off of him, once more creating distance between them. This time, Mark acknowledged the stranger and his capabilities, no longer seeing a brave little lamb but instead something more similar to what he is. He felt almost stupid for not seeing it sooner… it couldn’t be, right? Nah, that’s ridiculous–

He swiped his arm across his face, his tongue swiping out and licking the blood off his split lip. “You’re a lot stronger than you look,” What does he call him? Would he tell him what his name is if he were to ask? Or is his name exactly what he thinks it is? 

“And you’re a lot weaker than I thought,” 

This caused Mark to snort in amusement, regretting it as soon as he did when the sting in his nose became more pronounced. “ And funnier! You’d think with such a serious-looking costume you’d lack a sense of humor.” 

“Yeah? Well, your costume isn’t any less serious looking than mine, just less practical.” 

Mark felt his shoulders shake with laughter before he broke out into a fit of it, confusing his opponent standing in front of him further as he watched him through squinted eyes, his opponent lowered his fists and made a face that only caused Mark’s amusement to rise. “You know that’s exactly what I thought when I first saw the design! Say, we’re kinda like the same person, don’t you think?” 

The stranger practically deadpanned, his head tilted in what could only be disappointment. “Are you… are you serious?” 

“Nah, only when I need to be, like now!” With a maniacal-like smile on his face, Mark lunged and smacked his opponent full-force across the street, his body sent flying the exact distance he’d expected him to. Before he could hit the ground Mark grabbed onto his neck and slammed him back first into the pavement, the cement splintering with the force. He watched with satisfaction as his opponent coughed and sputtered beneath him, his fingers moving up to claw at his hand but freezing in place when Mark raised the sharp edge of his blade to the delicate skin beneath the edge of his mask.

“You seemed pretty durable, so when I realized back there that I didn’t have to treat you the same as all the other little lambs, it got me thinking,” Keeping a hand tightly gripped around his neck, he loosened one finger from the hilt of his blade and slid it across the edge of his opponents mask until it caught. “ Where have I seen this before? You certainly don’t look like Dad, or maybe you do, the family resemblance is hard to shake when you mix in something as dominating as Viltrumite DNA, right? ” 

For a moment, Mark was stunned, reeling in his thoughts and trying to come up with a probable conclusion when his naked eye met his opponents. The same – as if he were looking in a mirror. But then his eyes lowered to his twin’s gritted teeth and impulsively he dug his thumb beneath his lip and parted the flesh until his opponent's canines were revealed. 

“Where the hell are your fangs?” He managed to exclaim right before he was knocked away from his body-double and into a wall, shattering all the windows in proximity. In his momentary lapse, he had dropped his blade, leaving him without the tool he came to rely on when his opponent had gotten back onto his feet and lunged an attack in his direction. 

Mark grabbed his twin by the wrists right before he could get grabbed by him and threw him onto the ground with a loud slam. And after noticing that there was someone else coming up on him he swiftly turned, his hand flat and arm aimed to decapitate anyone at the receiving end of his fatality – only to freeze a split second before he could finish the move, his breath caught in his throat as the side of his hand was left ghosted over the neck of a kid that had an equally stunned gaze as his.

“ Oliver! Damnit! Get out of here! ” Mark kept looking between them, the pieces clicking together. 

Oliver . This kid's name is Oliver, and that family resemblance he spoke of earlier was present in the boy as well. Oliver . That’s… that was the name of Grandpa, wasn’t it? Sometimes, when his father was busy with some Guardians of the Globe business, and when his mother had to work a bit longer than originally scheduled, he’d be sent to his Grandpa and Grandma’s house. There, he would be reminded of what it was like to be a kid – to be human . He had his own bedroom, one that used to belong to his mother before it was renovated to be his. And there he had all kinds of toys, his birthday and Christmas presents that were hidden from father all in the same place. He loved going there, he loved who he would meet there. 

There was a stuffed dog named after a character from some kind of story he used to adore, wasn’t there? If he were allowed to linger on it further, he’s sure he would have gotten the chance to remember. But right as he was about to remember its name – Science dog? No, that doesn’t sound quite right – The back of his head was slammed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in an instant as the last thing he was conscious of was the bewildered look of the boy who happened to share the same name as his once forgotten Grandpa.

Chapter Text

Mark remembers the day that initially set him aside from all the other kids his age – the day when he was forced into an internal battle over his Viltrumite side urging him to commit to an act that would ultimately ostracize him from his family until it was too late to rekindle what once was. At the time he couldn’t place why that itch beneath his skin persisted, his legs stuck in a constant loop of bouncing as he struggled to sit still and watch the show his Grandpa had put on while he took a nap beside him on the couch. He knew he was supposed to remain quiet lest he face restriction for disturbing his Grandpa from his much-needed slumber – something about him being sick and needing all the rest he could get, the details were lost on Mark as he was too young to understand what that entailed at the time – but that itch had gradually turned itself into an aching need to sink his teeth into something, his gums pulsing with a need his blue popsicle could no longer satiate.

He didn’t understand what was going on, or why his stomach was beginning to cramp from a hunger no food in the house could fix. Mark let out a gag and before he could expel the contents in his stomach on his grandparent’s carpet, he rushed into the bathroom and dry heaved into the toilet until he was left a sobbing and gasping mess, tears and snot left unwiped. 

It was like a snap – one moment everything had been fine, a smile on his face as he swung his head from left to right alongside the jingle playing on the T.V., and the next he was hyper-aware of everything around him; the yellow lighting inside his grandparent’s home had become less dimmed, the scent of all the spices in the cupboards could be detected from behind closed doors, and every living pulse from within a mile radius could easily be picked out and judged based off their vitality. 

It was then that Mark learned the truth about Grandpa and his sickness, fear, and grief over what he’ll soon lose constricting tightly in his chest. Decay, organs that no longer sat right inside his Grandpa’s body, the rotting of his still alive skin– he could sense it all now. With his newfound knowledge, he’d of course went against his Grandpa’s wishes and woke him up with a shout, small hands shaking away at the older man’s shoulders until he was being coddled and forced to calm down so he could explain what the prevalent issue was.

But his Grandpa had chalked up his alarming behavior to him feeling sick and had him lay down in his bedroom after much convincing, the covers pulled over his head and pressed tightly against his ears as Mark made futile attempts to block out everything that overwhelmed his senses. He could hear Grandpa’s conversation from a room over, his concerned voice relaying what had just occurred to what sounded like his mother from over the phone. Mark hiccuped once, his hand over his mouth as he did his best to keep his watermarks in check, but after getting confirmation of his worst fears coming to fruition – his mom and dad coming to pick him up early – he outright sobbed. 

Everything had sucked. The hunger that coiled itself deep into his core never left, his gums were still aching with the need to sink into something and soon, and it felt as if a million different bugs were crawling around his skin that he couldn’t get to go away no matter how hard he scratched.

Mark had held out long enough, he needed these scary thoughts swarming around his consciousness to go away soon, or else he might begin to scratch his skin until there was nothing but the bone. So he let whatever it was overwhelming him take the reins, an immediate sense of freedom washing over him as he unlocked the bedroom’s window and hopped out from it, his blown-out pupils searching for the closest pulse in proximity before his mind went blank and his body moved purely on instinct. 

When he finally came to he realized he was sobbing, vision blurred from tears as he stared at his hands stained with the same red his father’s often were. He swallowed, something slimy and sweet dragging down his throat as hands that weren’t his own gently held the sides of his face and guided him to look into their eyes. Never once had he seen his father’s eyes shift away from that cold and unforgiving mien he seemed adamant to display, but now there was something – a spark of sorts that spelled hope that Mark wasn’t at all reciprocating. 

“Dad?” He hiccuped, his heart sinking into his stomach at the realization that he’d just been caught crying in front of his father. Not allowed. Against the rules. Obey–

“Open your mouth.” His father commanded which had Mark complying almost immediately. His father’s index finger lifted the corner of his lip as he began to inspect the insides of his mouth. Mark made sure to stay perfectly still for his father, not wishing to anger him further than he already had. “Your fangs are coming in nicely, though it would seem you need more discipline over your… impulses .” 

Mark couldn’t conceal the tremble that began to wrack his frame. He wanted to apologize, and promise his father he’d never make this mistake again– but the realization of what he’d just done finally caught up to him. 

“I… I ate Grandpa’s cat,” A numbness washed through him – his blood running cold at the prospect of never getting to play with his Grandpa’s grey tabby ever again and how he had just eaten one of his first and only friends. “I didn’t mean to, Dad. I… I didn’t want to hurt Tuna…”

His father scoffed, uncaring of his son’s distress. It was apparent to Mark that his father found him ridiculous at the moment, human sentiment once more overtaking any sense of reason a Viltrumite should have. “It was going to die anyway, it was old– weak . Something so pathetic shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Do you understand, Son?” He didn’t understand, but he nodded his head anyway since it was expected of him. 

The berating thoughts were never-ending, even while his father explained to him what was occurring with his body, not-so-subtle reminders thrown here and there over what he was. A cat-eating monster with no control, a beast that ate his friends – or in his father’s words, a VIltrumite . 

After that day, he was no longer allowed at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The time he would have spent there was instead spent towards his training efforts, his father more determined to hone him into the picture-perfect Viltrumite he’d swore he could become now that he’d started developing his powers. 

“Someday, you could become greater than even I have become, reach higher feats that I could only begin to imagine,” He’d said, promising almost. But now he was acquainted with the cost of greatness, and it tasted of iron and everything bitter.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out where his body-double had brought him to after smacking him with a nasty right hook to the cranium. His location was about the only thing that seemed to make sense, which by Mark’s standards, was low as hell. But he’d been at a worse disadvantage before, mainly around the time when he’d first started to grow more into his viltrumite heritage and when his father had figured it was a good idea to have a kid fight against two superpowered twins. At least now he didn’t have to worry about whether or not he was about to get vaporized down to the molecular level – or he hoped that wasn’t the case anyway.

There were a few things he could be grateful for at the moment; Stedman tended to keep his over-polished facilities as secure as possible, every surrounding wall soundproofed well enough for Mark to be able to once more hear his thoughts again since getting forced through whatever it was that green shit is. That’s what he hated the most about crowds ever since his senses were heightened tenfold – the noise , the bright lights , and especially the smells . The only downside to being contained would have to be the overhead light beaming down on him at all times, its rays forcing Mark into a squint. There was an ache in his shoulders as well due to him being strewn from each wall like some fucked up rendition of Jesus, his hands numb from the lack of blood flow he was allowed at his current angle.

If he didn’t know Stedman as well as he did, then he would have called all of this highly excessive. He totally would have come back willingly with his twin if only he had asked nicely. It's not like he wanted the conflict to occur, his relationship with the GDA was already on their last strings since the catastrophe with his father. But he knew Stedman enough to know that the man tended to lean more towards extreme measures to get his point across – and the point that Stedman was trying to get across? He was pissed . And he wanted Mark to know exactly just how pissed he was. 

Mark could feel the delicate skin of his wrist begin to chafe as he jostled around with the metal keeping him in place. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to reach over and scratch at the irritated skin, possibly even give it a few bites if only to ease the ever-present ache. He was distracted from the facts of his predicament when a swish broke the silence, his attention snapping toward the person now occupying the room with him.

His jailer didn’t fit the exact memory he had of him when they’d last interacted with each other; a few more lines indented into the older man’s skin, his frown lines more prominent too. The only thing that happened to ring any sense of familiarity was his usual mien; calculated precision in every step and action he took, his eyes – always steeled into nothing but scrutiny – regarded him with a little more anger than what he was used to. Mark wasn’t at all surprised to see his right-hand man follow in his steps, the door shutting behind them both as he handed his boss a clipboard with some paper on it wordlessly. He can’t remember his name, something that started with a “D” he thinks. His interactions with the GDA had always been far and few between, only ever doing it if he was forced to. But he was comfortable enough with his knowledge to acknowledge the guy as someone who was highly regarded by Stedman, his undeniable loyalty to his higherup something even Mark could respect in passing.

Stedman pulled the pen attached to his breast pocket out with a soft click and began scribbling down whatever it was he had already assessed. “And here I was beginning to think sleeping beauty was never going to wake up. About damn time,” 

Mark’s face scrunched. “Ew, don’t tell me you were gonna kiss me awake if I didn’t,”

“And you’re just as much of a smartass as the one here, great . But I’m not here for small talk, I’m here to talk business.” Stedman looked up from the clipboard, his eyes steadying into a squint. “Why are you here?”

“Because you brought me here?” He swiftly replied, his tone slightly condescending as he thought the answer was obvious and immediately proving Stedman’s recent assessment correct. 

“Let me rephrase that, how did Angstrom bring you here? Last I checked, your boss’ corpse is rotting back in our facilities morgue for supes.”

Grimm, but not far-fetched for Stedman’s standards, Mark thinks. But still creepy.

“Well, last I checked, Armstrong died like… over a decade ago or something? I don’t know! I haven’t studied human history since I was a kid,” And even that hadn’t exactly lasted long, the history of humans was insignificant or whatever his father had told him way back then.

Stedman made a disgruntled expression. “ I’m not talking about the guy who walked on the moon, Mark. But ironically enough, I think I may have the answer for my next set of questions,” The sound of his pen scratching against paper kept the silence between them from growing uncomfortable. Through the faint scribbles, Mark focused on Stedman’s erratic pulse, and curiously enough, the lack of one in his right-hand man. 

“I’d like to just get this out of the way while you’re here,” Mark started matter-of-factly, his expression deadpan almost. “That you were technically the one who broke the agreement first, not me,” It didn’t exactly scream fair, he wasn’t hanging Stedman up to dry no matter how much he wanted to at the moment. “So if you’re going to be upset at me, at least make it make sense?”

Stedman’s hand froze, Mark could hear the way the older man’s breath stuttered faintly – surprise, possibly unease? When he returned to making eye contact with Mark he regarded him a lot differently this time, a realization of sorts flashing through his irises as if he’d just found the last piece to his puzzle.

“Are you familiar with Angstrom’s abilities? How he’s able to create tears across the space-time continuum to travel from one dimension to the next?”

Mark blinked. Silence, and then, “ Wow , whatever the fuck that meant…” 

Stedman grumbled, scratching down tidbits of information on that clipboard of his and then promptly handing it back to his lackey. “You’ve traveled to an alternate dimension, the reality you’re familiar with is different now. Does that make sense, fangs?”  

Mark huffed at the nickname. Real original , he thought, but ultimately decided on keeping his snark to himself since he wasn’t exactly on the steadiest of ground right now to talk. “And this is Armstrong’s fault?”

“ Angstrom ,” He corrected unhelpfully, “And possibly it was his fault, are you familiar with his green portals?”

“That kind that smells like eggs?” 

“I don’t know what they smell like, but if you were taken through a green portal then either someone similar to Angstrom opened it or it’s time I pay a visit to the morgue.”

The man beside Stedman cleared his throat, finally deciding now was the time to make his presence known. “Invincible is currently down there checking things for himself, sir.”

“What? Who the hell am I going to have to fire for giving him access?” Stedman seethed. 

“No one, sir. He–”

“Put another damned hole in the wall, figures.” Stedman interrupted, his anger palpable. Mark listened with intrigue, his mind repeating the name Invincible a few times as he remembered how once upon a time, he’d gone by that name when he tried playing hero all those years ago away from his father’s watchful eye. 

Mark couldn’t tell whether or not his counterpart – which he was still coming to terms with, a whole other version of himself – was on the good side of the law or the bad, but from the sounds of it he was leaning more towards public nuisance. His fangless double, not a clone as he’d initially thought, was just a version of himself that hadn’t grown into his Viltrumite heritage in the way he was supposed to. 

His pity for his alternate self had begun to expand the longer he dwelled on that possibility. A Viltrumite without fangs was like a human without arms. They’ll always be missing a vital part of themselves, a phantom pain that’ll haunt them for their entire lifespan. Or in most cases than not, a horrifying verdict that would sentence them to execution for being a lesser version of what a Viltrumite should be in the ever-expanding empire.

When Mark had been fangless, he remembers the rare occasions when his father would treat him like something delicate – his spawn which he made sure to keep under his watchful eye in case of a situation where something was to threaten his life. A fangless Viltrumite, usually those in adolescence, were meant to be protected. So to meet one of his own, without fangs, engaging in a possibly life-threatening battle had Mark feeling… a mixture of confusing feelings, none he wanted to linger on for too long either. 

There was a chance he was a late bloomer, but for that situation to be with merit he’d have to be anyone but himself. There was a little one – Oliver , he remembers – who looked similar to him too. He too was fangless, but more noticeably, purple. Oh… did he have a son in this universe? Or did his alternate self have a son? 

Yet another thought he didn’t want to linger on for too long. It wasn’t his privilege to – it’s not his life. He knew that, yet he couldn’t contain the onslaught of questions running through his mind as he let one slip.

“The me from this universe seems like an angry guy, is that normal?” He’d barely joked with him when they were fighting, and when his son had suddenly joined in with the fray all previous traces of humor, as brief as they were, were gone in a snap. Not that he could blame him, if his kid had almost gotten their head chopped off then he would have been pissed too…

“Nowadays, yes.” Stedman pinched the bridge of his nose, looking and sounding the part exasperated as he continued. “ It’s new shit every week . Look, you don’t exactly scream mass murderer, but we have no way to verify whether that’s true or not.”

“I’m–”

“So until you can prove to us that you’re willing to cooperate, we won’t send you down to join the rest of the Mark variants who failed to do so.” 

Mark’s lips pursed, unease evident as he gave Stedman a nod. 

“Good, now if you excuse me I have to call the guy who specializes in patching up Invincible shapes holes in the walls…”

“Wait!” Mark called out as soon as Stedman went to turn. The older man paused, his body half-facing the door and half-facing him now. He raised an eyebrow, urging Mark to elaborate on whatever it was he wanted to say. “You can’t just leave me like this! I can’t feel my hands, dude!” 

“Lately, I don’t give a damn what you can and can’t feel. I’ll be back soon, so until then deal with it yourself.” 

The swish of the door was like a slap to the face and caused Mark to flinch, the silence Stedman had left in his wake almost deafening as all Mark could do was groan out his annoyance as he shifted here and there to find any semblance of comfort in his confines. He hated this– hated this version of Stedman and his stuck-up nonsense attitude. At least his Stedman was willing to negotiate, the one here came off as a complete asshole. 

The moment he got out of confinement he wouldn't hesitate to give that old man the bird. 

Inside the otherwise pristine and unblemished room of his enclosure, he found the first mark of imperfection – a small scratch on the white marble just a foot away from where he was. It wasn’t of significance, nothing he should have paid any attention to in the first place (and not one he would under normal circumstances). But the longer he stared at it, the more he wondered what could have gone down before he’d been placed here, who else had taken up his position, and more importantly – what happened to them?

He wonders about the other variants of himself, and what the blatant threat Stedman sent his way had entailed for them. Had they been strung up by the arms too? Warned to submit themselves to the GDA and when they didn’t, were they killed by him? The version of himself from this dimension, the one he’d foolishly underestimated despite knowing better. Had they made the same mistake as him in that regard, thinking they were greater than he was?

“It’s important to learn from history so you don’t repeat the same mistakes as those who came before you, ” He remembers being told, their voice chiming through his thoughts like a blade made entirely out of ice. He couldn’t recall what else he’d been told after that, a small mercy, he supposed. “Human or not,” He tried to think on it longer, the voice that was as close as it was far away.

His thoughts came to a halt, his heart lurching into his throat before he swallowed down his nerves and shifted himself so he was at a better angle to face the heavy presence that had just made itself known. His outline was faintly illuminated by the lights on the other side of the door, but the unmistakable weight of his stare as well as an appearance that was similar to his made it obvious who decided to pay him a visit in place of Stedman.

“Cecil told me you’ve been cooperating so far, and if what I’ve been told is the truth then I have some questions,” The Mark of this dimension stated, his body radiating enough superiority to have Mark resisting a scrunch of his nose. He hated listening to the commands of others – especially to those who demanded his loyalty or anything similar to that without having earned it first.

“Sure, just make yourself at home, maybe grab a chair while you’re here,” There wasn’t anything of use he could provide anymore, at least not in the information department. Something familiar nagged at the back of his consciousness, of a time back in his dimension when a scenario akin to this one had occurred. They didn’t want him fighting for them anymore, no longer seeing a use for him or refusing to once his business with his father had concluded.

If he was lucky, he’d be able to fall into that same routine in this dimension. 

“I’m not here for small talk either, so cut the bullshit before we even start, dude.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Well? Hurry it up then! I don’t have all day,” 

His attitude was ignored. “Did you go through Angstrom’s portal willingly?”

“Huh?” He had to take a moment to remind himself what he was talking about, recognition of his words ringing through him after recalling who Angstrom was. “Oh, that. The green swirly shit– no, if anything I was trying to make it go away.”

His variant flexed his fingers into a fist. “And?”

“And? And what? It’s kinda obvious that I failed considering, I don’t know, everything?” He said the last bit with a mocking lilt, his variant’s glare felt through his lenses.

“You’re in this situation because you’ve proven yourself to be hostile,”

“You attacked first, asshole! If anything it was self-defense!” The nerve of this guy! 

“Because you weren’t willing to cooperate when I asked!”

Mark’s mouth thinned into a straight, unyielding line. “I didn’t have an incentive to because I hadn’t done anything wrong, and might I add, I still haven’t done anything wrong!”

“If you’d just listened in the first place then maybe we would have gone easier on you.”

Mark scoffed and as soon as he did his variant copied, only proving to agitate him further. “Is this what you really came here for? To start another fight with me?” He accused. His variant had the gall to look offended at it too.

“No, of course not. There’s a lot I want to ask you, but lately, I don’t know if you’d tell me the truth,” 

It would seem the truth his variant wanted would be nothing more than lies to validate the false narrative he wanted to spin on him. That much he could gather based on how this conversation had begun. “You should leave, if you think I’m going to answer to you then you’re wrong,”

Was it his bravado or shameless ignorance speaking for him? Mark realized right then and there he should have kept quiet, why it was stupid to challenge the guy who had beaten him once before in more fair circumstances. But by then his face had already been grabbed, the pressure from his variant’s fingers that pressed the skin of his cheeks together was enough of a lesson for Mark to realize his mistake. 

The muscle feathered in his variant’s jaw, his restraint apparent in the way he could feel his fingers lessen their assault against his bruising skin. “You either answer to me, or I’ll make sure you can never answer again, got it?” 

Mark wanted to draw back into himself, to distance himself away from his variant’s wrath that reminded him all too much of his father’s in that moment. He lowered his head subconsciously, an old habit of submission his father had ingrained into him, and shifted his line of focus back to the floor. 

“Fine,” He whispered out, shame heating the tips of his ears long after he felt the pressure on his face release. 

“Good, glad we could come to an agreement then. So, about those portals…”