Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jake was snapped awake, feeling confusion, fear, panic rip through him, and he yanks forward, lashing out at whatever the fuck was ensnaring his arms.

He feels a bone break underneath his foot, and a jaw shatter against his fist, and the world slows just enough that he clocks the six people surrounding him. One falling to the ground.
He goes for the asshole with the rifle first, jabbing him in the throat before hauling him into the dude next to him, the dude catching the barrel of a rifle to the eye.

“The scarab! Don’t let them take the scarab!” Is bellowed in his ear, and he locks eyes with the older man in blue slowly stepping back, hands wrapped around and cradling something.

Jake redirects an incoming knife into a blonde lady’s chest, yanking out the knife and slashing at the bald dude, this one wearing a generic brown vest, already turning as he pulled the knife out of an artery, and stabbed down into the blue-older man’s hand.

The man screamed, and Jake yanked up and out, prying a golden beetle out of the man’s hand.

He silenced the man with a kick to the head, before punching out broken-jaw dude, and rifle-dude, their skulls echoing as they hit the cobblestone again.

Jake breathed, tossing the knife, before regretting it as he turns to stare at the stunned crowd, raising his fists by habit, before the pollo polvoriento was yelling, “Surrender the body at once!”

He felt something press against his skull.
Typical. No gratitude at all.

Jake let his vision jerk away from him as he’s shoved back.

Chapter Text

Jake snaps into the body with a gasp, something wrapped around his head, and he shoved the gun away from his face just as it goes off.

The shot rings in his ears and the glass goes cloudy as he elbows the dude in the nuts, shoving him into the back of the van.

Okay. He’s in a van, in a car chase.
God, Marc has all the fun.

Jake steadied the gun to settle in his hand, and ducked down as more gunshots echoed overhead.
Oh shit, how many cars were chasing them right now?

He aimed at the dude in the back, jerking as the car next to him rammed him. The dude in the back got away with a bullet in the shoulder, and Jake scowled, firing a shot at the car on his left.

He straightened the truck again, shooting at the screen so that he could fucking See past the cobwebbing mess. He ignored the glass shards falling into his lap, twisting around in his seat just enough to kick the charging asshole into the back of the van, crushing boxes and avoiding falling out the back by the skin of his teeth.
Jake aims for the head this time, and the dude goes slack against the door frame.

Alright, one, two, three… four cars chasing him. That’s do-able.

Jake whips around, and fires at a car, it swerving slightly, but not giving him the right angle to kill the driver.

He’s turning back around, exhaling a breath, when he finally notices the paste coating his hand and making the gun slippery. The smell of sugar and chocolate past the gunpowder, and the fucking icing on his jeans.

Holy fuck, is Marc escaping in a cupcake van?

Did he seriously use a cupcake as a improvised weapon?

This is seriously the greatest day of Jake’s life.

“Now is not the time for laughter!”

“¡Estoy usando una furgoneta de magdalena para una persecución de autos!”, Jake is finally able to wheeze out, firing a couple more bullets to his left, car 3 swerving dangerously as the driver jerked and went slack over the wheel.
Holy shit, he was never going to forget this.

“Enough! The world is at risk here!”

Jake cackled, and gasped as his vision went white, a heavy pressure against the inside of his skull–

Chapter Text

Jake gasped, hunched over, and slid lower when bullets grazed his hair.

He was still behind the wheel, and Jake choked on a laugh, picking up the gun from where Marc must have dropped it.

Mierda, what the hell made Marc drop the gun? He doesn’t feel in pain at all…?

More gunfire rips overhead, and Jake just leans down lower, glancing up to analyse what was left of the road before using his knee to keep the wheel still, checking the rounds left in the gun.

Five rounds left. The fuck? Did Marc not shoot at all?

Jake slid the magazine back into the gun with a click of his tongue, and slammed on the brakes.

He grinned as cars 1 & 2 shot past (huh– where’d car 3 go?), shooting at each of the rear windows, before slamming on the gas, listening to the van purr as the back of car 2 got closer and closer.

Jake’s nose almost met the wheel as he rammed into the back of the car, but aside from the dickheads swerving dangerously, stayed on the road.

He leaned back as more bullets flew, the car 1 drifting back behind him and car 2 leaning closer to his side.

Holy fuck he’s gotta come back here sometime.

A road with no railings on a cliff, overlooking those snow capped mountains? Come on.

Car 1 decided it’d try copying him by clipping one of his back tires, in hopes of forcing him to drift closer to the edge, or risk rolling the van.

Jake could do one better.

He cackled, yanking the wheel as he shoved the gearshift into reverse, ignoring how the gears ground in protest.

He grinned as the world spun on it’s axis, and both cars came into view.

Two bullets found a snug spot in the driver of car 1’s chest.

Something rushed up, pressing against the back of his eyes, and he had just enough time to curse, because it was just getting good–

Chapter Text

Jake blinked, the rush of humming adrenaline beating in his chest like a drum, making him restless and uneasy, even as he tried to relax.
He tried not to be horribly disappointed.
The shit he sacrifices for his compañeros de cerebro…

It was quiet and dark here.

Jake paused, watching as Steven walked through a shadowed museum.

Huh. What was Jake here for?

Jake pressed close to Marc within their mind, watching as Steven continued walking, following the sound of some kind of dog–

Jake watched as a jackal slowly stalked past, quietly shadowing Steven.

For a single second, Jake considered surging forward, before realising that Marc was already acutely aware.

Oh, Marc was already keeping an eye out for Steven.

There’s definitely no risk to Marc– it was a jackal.
And there’s only one anyways.

Yeah, Marc definitely has this handled.

Jake busting out would honestly just be overkill, and possibly put Steven at risk– what with all the expensive pottery and shit around.

Jake let himself sink away from the front, keeping a close eye on Marc’s emotions like normal, but nothing seemed wrong, just echoes of his usual determination, protectiveness, and concern pressing against Jake.

Jake let himself go blurry, drifting away.

Chapter Text

Jake was snapped forward, his vision swimming as blood pulsed behind his eyes.
His jaw and skull pounded, thumping with a burning heat.
He feels something underneath his back, and he tried to get his eyes to focus.

He can see the sky, powerlines, and an awning, before pain laces through the side of his skull, and his vision whites out.

-

He comes back to the body breathless and confused.

It was dark and musty, and his arms were bound behind him, and he couldn’t move, limbs thumping against coarse fabric.

For a single breath, he has a horrified thought that he was in a coffin, before his brain sluggishly catches up.
No, no. He was on his side. He’s been in this situation before.

You only had to be in one car trunk to get a good idea as to what all other trunks are like.

Jake gasped in air, ignoring the sensation of the walls pressing against him, threatening to crush the breath from his body.

He ran a mental eye over his body, taking in the throbbing of his skull, the ache of bunched muscles, and the thin plastic ziptie keeping his arms pinned behind his back.

Jake snapped the ziptie, ignoring how the ligaments in his wrists screamed at the treatment.

The car’s brakes screeched, and Jake listened as the engine was shut off, arguing and talking muffled but finally audible.

Car doors are opened, before slamming closed.

Jake took a shuddering breath, forcing his rage down and placing his arms behind his back.

Jake was snapping a leg out before the trunk even finished opened, catching a dude (moustache, headwrap, jacket) in the chest, who vanished from his eyeline.

Another dude (curly hair, beard, patterned hoodie) and a kid (fancy hair, red scarf, jean jacket) grabs his arm.

Jake lets himself be pulled out of the trunk.

He lets himself be dragged a couple of feet, before deciding that was far enough.

The kid went down with a choked noise from a gut shot (serves the kid a lesson – little shit needs to stay out of real fights), and snapped Curly in the chin with an elbow.

The first dude, who was dressed like a hipster pirate, surged forward with a very nice knife.

Jake let Pirate come to him, ducking out of the way of the first slash.

It was a little disappointing how easy it was to grab Pirate’s arm and break his wrist, burying the knife neatly in between ribs.

“Gaatak dahya, magnuun!”, Curly spat, struggling to his feet.

Crazy, huh?

Jake couldn’t help the laugh that tore out of his mouth, grabbing Curly by his head and dragged him up.

This cabrón wanted crazy?

The knife felt satisfying sliding through sinew, flesh, and organs, until it was buried to the hilt.
Jake could feel through the handle how the blade tip has met the slightly resistance – cutting through intestine until reaching a kidney.

The sound the man made around the knife brought a smile to Jake’s face.

This fucker locked him and his compañeros de cerebro in a fucking trunk. In a too small space Marc wouldn't have been able to handle, and Steven was too naïve to escape.
These fuckers were trying to hurt his compañeros.

Over Jake’s dead fucking body.

Jake held on as Curly tried and failed to squirm away, clawing at Jake’s face and choking as blood soaked both of their fronts, coating Jake’s hand.

Jake tightened his grip on Curly’s hair, tilting the bastard’s head so Jake could watch as the terror begin to fade as the light began to flicker out.

Yes, Jake is fucking crazy.
He’s a monster.
And he’ll be whatever monster he needs to be so long as these fuckers don’t touch Marc or Steven ever again.

Jake will laugh while he does it, every time.

Jake froze though, at the reflection in Curly’s eyes. How there was pressure pressing from the back of his eyes like they wanted to pop out of his skull.

Jake tried to hold on, but Marc’s panic felt like a tsunami, and Jake couldn't swim, limbs numbing, because all of the threats are dead, so he can't –

Jake was swallowed under the waves.

Chapter Text

Jake snaps to awareness, feeling like he went toe-to-toe with a truck and lost.

There was an explosion and Jake gasped, curling his arms around his head, his vision flickering at the sound of popping that followed it – a shrapnel bomb–?!

He rolls to his feet, hanging close to the ground.
He was standing in a desert in the dead of night, cold clinging to his skin, the stars casting minimal light, the moon hidden from sight.

He tastes blood in his mouth and the smell of gunpowder.

Jake watches light from the explosion fade, and realised that the only person left standing was a familiar woman – Marc’s wife.

She was breathing heavily, framed by smoke and thin starlight, wiping her face before she’s glancing back at him.

“What?”, she panted, like this was a regular day for her.

She was climbing into the truck, searching through the bodies, as Jake just tried to get his lungs to try and work normally.

He swallows, staring at the sky and listening to her shifting around.

Jake isn’t immediately shoved down or yelled at, and it feels deeply unsettling how he is still at the front, in the driver’s seat.

Marc’s wife hopped out of the truck, rolling her shoulders with a sigh, and motioned him to follow her.
They climbed into the car that wasn’t totally riddled with bullets, and Jake was disappointed and relieved when she began to drive.

His brain was swimming in his ears, and he tried to focus on manually inflating and deflating his lungs, trying not to stare at how the already faint starlight was obscured by the roof– making the already tight space feel so much smaller.

Jake tried to swallow the knot in his throat, dragging a hand into his hair, trying to straighten the mess of his brain and think of why his chest suddenly had this hollowed out sensation slided into his chest. Like a piece of him had been carved out.

Something appears in his periphery, and he felt all of his muscles spasm against his will, before he forces them to freeze, the movement being Marc’s wife passing him something.
He can barely see her expression through the darkness, the determination and concern blending together in the minimal light.

He takes the object, a packet of pills, it crinkles in his hands, and he holds it closer to the window so he can read “إيبوبروفين” – ibuprofen.
He realises that he can’t remember the last time he’s struggled to read at night.

“Are you okay?”

Jake’s tongue is heavy and dry in his mouth.

He can’t feel Marc or Steven, and something feels like it’s been forcibly hacked off him – and he’s trapped in an enclosed space with someone he doesn’t know and–

Jake punches out two tablets, pretending to take them and letting the meds slide down the side of the seat. The second he finished the motion, he realised he hadn’t even considered if he genuinely wanted them or not – muscle memory taking away the possibility of preventing the migraine that was already starting to pulse behind his eyes.

His hearing swims and– oh, Marc’s wife was speaking–

“– okay?”

He swallowed, “Y-eah”, he managed to slur out, Marc’s accent, Marc’s voice, Marc’s tongue, thick and clogging his throat.

He forced himself to breathe around the pressure building somewhere behind his sternum, somewhere rising to the base of his throat, because this was an innocent party – this shit wasn’t her fault.

Jakes tries to think of something to say, to turn his suspicion away. She seems mad or concerned or upset – and fuck, he doesn’t want to mess this up.
He doesn’t know how to act like Marc around his fucking WIFE.

He couldn’t even begin to consider what they normally talk about – god why couldn’t he do small talk? He’s fucking amazing at small talk.

He shoves the rest of the pills into the glove compartment, resting his head in his hands.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a car?”, he manages to slur out, because surely the healing would have kicked in by now? The suit was only really needed for big injuries – why was their body so –

“Khonshu’s been imprisoned, he said something about needing you to get him out–”

Jake’s hearing went fuzzy. The beating in his head pulsing against the inside of his skull.
His blood roared in his ears.

Khonshu was imprisoned?

Jake pressed a hand to his chest, searching for that cooling sensation that always predated bandages soothing away wounds, winding around breaks and gouges, righting limbs back into place and ensuring they kept breathing.

The god they were partnered with was imprisoned– Gone– and with it his last resort.

The healing was gone.

Jake sucked in a breath, his lungs trembling violently in his chest cavity, and he pressed his fingers into the meat of his face, the slicing pain giving him a fragile handhold as the world went liquid around him, drifting and pressing against him.

He wished he could lash out it– could do anything but sit here and TAKE IT–

“Do you need me to be quiet or talk?”

His body spasmed again, and he tilted his head back towards Marc’s wife, whose determined gaze didn’t leave the horizon where silver light was beginning to spill out.

Jake released the breath he’d been holding, finding his vocal cords frozen again in his throat, dead strips of useless muscle, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

She glanced his direction.

“Tap once for yes, twice for no, three times for other. Do you want me to talk about something?”

For a second he can’t stand the sound of her voice.

Then the quiet settles in the air, latching the claws into the soft tissues of his body.

He knocks – almost punches – the glove compartment once.

Marc’s wife hums, and nods, and begins talking.

Jake swallows, only half listening as the woman begins to ramble about a piece of pottery that she had recently re-stolen straight out of some rich asshole’s collection.
And how insulted and vindicated she was when it took the dickhead two weeks to realise that the piece had been stolen at all.

Slowly, one agonising minute after another painful minute, Jake started to unlatch his nails from the soft tissues of his face.

Finally, he was able to lean back, still manually inflating and deflating his chest, forcing his breaths to remain even and deep, even as his brain shrieked that he was going to suffocate here.

He focused on breathing and listening to Marc’s wife’s voice, desperately trying to imagine her going about the break-in, and not Marc or Steven bleeding out with no way for Jake to save them.

He breathes, and slowly lets himself sink down into that fuzzy sinking feeling, absentmindedly letting the static take him, watching dawn break over golden sands.