Chapter Text
Tonight was one of the worst normal nights he could say he’s had on patrol so far.
Marc was tired, extremely so. Because Khonshu has had him running through the city following leads for hours, ofcourse all of them were quick and easy to deal with.
Nothing different but the average mugger or assaulter who were now on their way to either the Police station or a Hospital. Most of which being the latter.
But now? The current lead that he was being sent on was a mess, constantly stopping and starting in different places as the Moon God only described whatever it was as bursts of energy,
“Please , I mean please tell me you know what you’re looking for.”
But the God said nothing, and Steven wasn’t awake to fill the silence of the night with his commentary.
He frowned as the tug of the moon only dragged him further along, his body would have probably been sore like nobody's business if not for the magic suit wrapped around it.
Marc finally felt the tug go down, crouching and allowing himself to display his weight onto tippy toes. Eyes narrowing at the sight, brows raising almost immediately after.
‘I.. was not aware there were two .’
Which wasn’t ominous at all, ofcourse. Because as he peered down at two men huddled into the darkness of an alleyway, which he could make out quite well.
One was slightly taller than the other, a short mess of dark and white curls on his head. Colour was hard to make out but it was clear he was filthy, and so was the one who was being cradled in his arms.
And that guy was the concerning one, very skinny, almost sickly so, his hair was long and splayed down to touch the ground from where his head was cradled into his friends(?) arm, he was covered in a fair amount of dirt himself but there was this inky black soaking into his clothes from a knife that was dug into his chest, dripping onto the concrete and spreading into a puddle.
Marc would’ve thought him dead if he couldn’t see his mouth moving in a quiet incoherent babble, and the way his eyes shone green like a toxic LED.
The taller one, who was definitely quite bigger too. (not in a bad way, damnit.) was talking, alot louder but not loud enough that Marc could make it out. He was also definitely crying.
Marc couldn’t make anything else out, oddly enough, it was extremely hard to focus on them especially the taller one. But they needed help, he knew that part.
‘Do be careful my Knight, they are.. Dangerous , I can feel it.’
He grunted, ignoring the God as he allowed himself to slip off the roof, right where the light stopped and slipped into the dark of the brick corridor-like space.
“Hey, hey–” Marc began, as the larger man immediately snapped his gaze up at him, Marc stared back into his tear filled eyes. Slightly unnerved.
“What–” The man interrupted, voice shaky as Marc noticed the inky blood covering his hands that were dug into the shoulders of the man on his lap.
“ Shit.. Look, I'm here to help. Okay? Your.. uh friend here, clearly needs a hospital.” He began, the man only licked his lips and turned his gaze down to the other man. Who’s wordless babble was stopped, mouth only limply hanging open.
“I– Okay. Please, that’d be.. G-great.” He nodded, carefully leaning the man he held forward.
“Okay. Great.” Marc stared, before moving closer and leaning down to pick up the skinny man, one arm under the crook of his knees and the other cradling his back. He took some steps into the light, taking a few seconds to observe the sickly looking man.
His hair was mostly brown, with peppering streaks of an ageing grey falling over his face and towards the ground, dotting scars speckled over the dark-pale skin like freckles. His cheeks hollow like a starved man, yet those glowing green eyes stayed blown wide, he barely noticed how they shifted to stare at him. But he felt it, felt the gaze digging into what’s truly him.
He shook his head, trying to ignore the feeling of deep rooted fear as he stared at the man's friend. He was standing now, in the light. Marc could make out now that his hair was mostly ginger, but bunches of white grouped throughout the locks that looked more like an extremely well done dye job than age.
It was still so hard for him to focus on the man.
“Let’s go, tell me what happened on the way there. Or not, your choice.”
“R-right.” The man nodded as Marc moved to turn around, he knew where the closest hospital was from here thankfully enough.
Khonshu was eerily silent, he knew the God was watching. Yet he felt more watched by the wide eyed man in his arms than the being in his head.
Marc would usually be taking the roofs to get to his destinations, but the streets were emptier than he remembered, and the few people who did walk by didn’t even turn their heads at him, the man in his arms, nor the tall ginger who stalked behind Marc.
It was.. Quiet, Marc didn’t speak, the Man didn’t speak, Khonshu didn’t speak. The living body in his arms had begun his loop of unidentifiable words as he stared through Marc’s skin and into his heart.
He honestly couldn’t wait to get this over with.
He hated feeling so.. Seen, it made the pit in his stomach churn.
Marc picked up the pace, and so did the man behind him.
“S-so.. Uhmm who– what are you?”
Rudely worded, Marc only hummed instead of scoffing like he wanted to.
“MoonKnight, fist of Khonshu, Protector of the travellers of night.” He said, the words flowing out his mouth in the rehearsed manner he had said so many times before now.
“Right. Uhm.. I’m Martin.”
Marc noted that, but for some reason the name didn’t want to stick in his memory.
“And this one?” Marc said, regarding the one in his arms. The tall man; now Martin only looked away. Before sighing through his nose.
“J-Jon. That’s his- that's his name.” He said, almost unsure about the words that came out of his mouth.
“Okay.” Marc nodded, keeping up his speedy pace until they stopped outside the hospital. He paused, before turning his gaze to Martin.
“You go get a nurse, or a doctor.”
Martin stared at Marc for a moment, Marc finally took note of the round glasses on the man's nose that had a crack through the right lense, and a thin fog on the rinds of the clear surfaces.
The ginger only nodded after that, beelining into the building.
Marc placed ‘Jon’ onto the ground, the name felt like the taste of vanilla extract in his head.
He watched through the glass doors as Martin was rushing back outside with someone in tow, Marc quickly turned and ran back off into the dark.
Hands allowing himself to scale the building next to the hospital, he perched onto the roof as the nurse seemed to be calling for assistance.
Even from here he could feel the heavy gaze of what should’ve been a corpse bare onto him, and as he looked down the head of ‘Jon’ was lolled in his direction, once again cradled by Martin.
As Marc caught his eyes, stuck in a seconds-long staring contest with the unblinking body. The man opened his mouth and began his babble again, Marc frowned and shook his head. Turning on his heel and making away back into the night.
‘We will meet them again, My Child.’
“I hope not.”
‘Hm.’
Marc furrowed his brow at the God, before he felt another tug at the centre of his chest as he knew the moon was beginning its slow sink towards the horizon. It was time to go home.
Martin frowned at the missing figure that had helped carry Jon here, but it wasn’t the forefront of his worries as he sat onto the ground and cradled the man's head to his chest. The dry, staticky, intangible words of what was no doubt another statement drawing from his lips.
It didn’t bother him anymore.
He raised a hand to tilt the smaller man's head towards him, leaning Jon’s weight onto his as the nurse he had brought out was getting them a stretcher and a few extra pairs of hands.
He wanted to cry again, he felt cold and alone and he knew that he had dragged the Lonely here with him. The same way he knew those bright Green eyes that were once a comforting dark brown held the Eye, the Beholding, the Ceaseless Watcher.
He only whimpered and held his boyfriend's head to his shoulder, Jon’s body did not move other than the occasional twitch and sputter. His eyes did not even blink, he knew if the other wasn’t so weak with hunger, then there would be so many more pupils blaring into him.
Martin looked up and smiled nervously,
The nurse was back.
A kind lady named ‘Aliana Lorenzo’ who stared at both of them with big brown eyes that were filled with fear and worry.
Her fear felt.. Sour, on the tip of his tongue he felt that she feared The End, but not of herself. Of the man who was supposedly dying in his arms.
Martin didn’t know why he could feel it, he was no way aligned with the End.
But that wasn’t important, not right now.
The Nurse, Aliana, didn't smile back. He silently muttered that Jon’s bleeding had stopped on the way here, he hoped she heard him as she saw her nod.
Another nurse padded outside, and Martin only watched full of nerves as they took Jon and laid him onto the stretcher.
He was ushered away himself to get checked over for injuries, though he knew he had nothing other than the odd scrape, none of the blood on him was his, it was a mix of mostly Jons and the residue blood of what used to be Elias Bouchard.
They didn’t ask questions, not when his fog clouded their ability to second guess him.
Martin couldn’t help the way the Lonely surrounded him, he almost found comfort in the way no one looked at him.
He allowed himself to go unnoticed, just this once so he could slip by staff and patients and into the room Jon was in.
It wasn’t a surprise when the equipment told that the man was dead, the only sign of life being the way his eyes were wide and bright, moving around as if looking for something.
He remembered the first time he saw Jon like this, but last time Jon’s eyes were closed and Martin didn’t know if he’d ever talk to the man again. When Martin’s mind became home for thick empty fog that shadowed him from the people around him, after they both had lost Tim. There was a lot of grief, that last time.
Maybe just as much, this time around but he knew he’d see Jon again. And he hoped with Jon gone and Magnus dead that their home would be okay, now that they were somewhere else they'd get that one shot at trying to be okay together. But the feeling of fog in his fingers and the itch of a feeling on the back of his neck. He knew he’d have to work a little harder to get that.
Martin sighed, breath shaky as he placed his hand onto his partner's chest.
He had gotten used to the lack of a heartbeat the body held, even though it still kept itself warm somehow.
He opened his mouth, just for a moment before furrowing his brow. Nodding to himself as the edges of his own body blurred into cold smog.
Even through his messy fog and lack of focus, he heard the click and whirr of a tape recorder beneath the nurse bed. His lips felt dry as he opened his mouth, the next words slipping out of his mouth like cold yet smooth butter.
“Statement of Martin K. Blackwood, regarding.. Uhm.. Going Somewhere Else,”